#sheriff of nottingham x reader

[muiitoloko]

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.”

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 1: December moon

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @deepperplexity, @smilingformoney

warnings: swearing

george and I rose through the forest. I pressed my face into his back as the wind blew through.

“it seems to keep getting colder.” I whispered. George nodded. “Before long we’re going to have to hole up in the castle.”

“Hole up in our room you mean.” George grumbled. “It’s going to be drafty. Whole damn castle needs to be redone to fix whatever drafts they can.”

“you and I both know that isn’t going to happen.” I said, laughing as George ducked to avoid a branch. ���We just need to find a new castle. Or a cottage.”

“I don’t want to move back into a cottage.” George grumbled. We broke through the edge of the forest and I looked up.

“Even with a view like that every night?” I asked, leaning back to take in the moon. George glanced over his shoulder at me before looking up. “I could get used to this.” I sighed as I settled against his back again.

“if that’s what will make you happy then consider it done.” George said. “It is a nice view. Almost as nice as the one I get to see everyday.”

“George.” I whined as I felt my cheeks heat up.

“now let’s get inside and warmed up. Maybe we can see the moon from a window.” George said as he dismounted and reached up to help me.

[slashingdisneypasta]

Sheriff Of Nottingham x Fem!Reader || Excerpt

Plot: You're the prettiest peasant in Nottingham, and so on carnival day you don't mind offering one simple kiss as a prize to the winner of the archery contest. You figure- what's the harm? You're an engaged woman and this may just be your last opportunity to kiss lips that aren't your husbands.

You aren't expecting a man such as the terrible Sheriff to find out you're the prize and participate. Or win-

Warnings: Its probably a mess because I wrote it while I was at work.

The Sheriff had won! A pathetic smattering of weak applause dies down quickly in the stands, no one being particularly happy he had dained to attend your little carnival. It was for the peasants; a little bright moment to hold onto throughout the dreary, poor Nottingham days. It was certainly not for him. If he had any manners at all, he would've stayed away.

But he didn't have any manners. He was terrible, and dastardly, and gross and impolite-- and now you had to kiss him!

You were seathing!!

You didn't want to do it! You wanted to look him in those beady eyes of his and claim second thoughts; say you didn't want to make your fiance uncomfortable.

... but your fiance was currently out of town on business, so that excuse wouldn't work quite as effectively. The Sheriff would counterargue, and you would end up embarrassed in front of everyone.

"Damnit," You muttered under your breath, eyes ablaze with frustration and hate on the smug, chubby (Ugh, how chubby he got while the rest of you starved infuriated you. He was more robust than even the horrible prince himself) 'law man' accepting forced congratulations from onlookers.

~

"Well well well, here we are!" The Sheriff jeered, all-too-pleased to be alone with you now. The tent was meant for the fortune tellers, deep midnight blue's and lovely maroon's strewn about setting the mood quite nicely. You'd been in here before, and the 'lady' with the fluffy red hair poking out from 'her' robes told you that you would be surprised with something today- well you were surprised. You were hoping that the fortune meant that your fiance would be home early,.. but no. No, that wasn't it. Not with your luck!

The Sheriff is about to lean in and just plant one on you- but you raise your hand up to his chest as fast lightning and firmly push him back with a careful glare. "... before that, I have something to say."

"Oh- " Either he's surprised to have a lady take such a stern tone with him, or he's surprised to see any peasant treat him so boldly, but he definitely pauses. Looks confused. Then shrugs, straightening up again with a gleaming, toothy grin. "Well, sure, sweetheart! Go right ahead~ "

Taking a deep breath, you straighten your shoulders and try not to squirm looking into his eyes. "... I want you to know, I don't care for you. You give law enforcement a bad name. You're a fiend." You blurt out bluntly, uncaring of the displeased responce you might get. You're expecting it, in fact.

... but he doesn't give that displeased responce. He just gives a jovial chuckle, his belly jiggling with the movement, and shakes his head at you. You're almost dissappinted. "Well, aren't you a bold thing??... "

"I want to be clear you disgust me."

"Oh, I heard~ "

"Good." You huff, put-out by his lacklustre and honestly, kind of amused responce.

After a moment, he tilts his head to the side and his eyes seem to glow in the darkness of the tent as be steps in closer to you once again. "Now, miss, do you think I could take my prize? Hm?~"

He'll have to duck down quite a ways, you think, noting the man's size. But, Sighing a frustrated sigh, you nod. "Yes you may, but I won't enjoy it and I hope you don't either."

"Can't promise that." He just says, before the Sheriff of Nottingham puts his large fat hands on either side of your face, and leans down, and smothers your lips with his.

Immediately you stiffen, giving a squeak against his lips at how he grabbed you so easily and overwhelms you with his sheer size. You were expecting a quick, sweet kiss when you signed up to be the prize for this competition! Mabhe on the cheek! Not- not- whatever vulgar mess this is!-

... and yet you feel yourself melting against the large fabcy pants brute of a man. You love your fiance, you love him dearly, but the Sheriff...

God, you can never think about this again after its over. It's so very horrendous. So appallingly bad that you return the kiss in order to make it go faster (thats the only reason, of course.). You have to make an oath to yourself after this. Never even think about this kiss ever again.

But for right now, it wouldn't be against your oath, to... slide your hands up his chest, would it? After all, you won't be thinking about it ever again (how soft but firm he is, the lovely fabric he wears in red and purple), so you dont see why you shouldn't...

Just as your fingers are cautiously linking around his neck, the Sheriff pulls away. He steals one more quick, greedy kiss, then steps back from you completely; a wolfish grin across his mean face.

Breathless, you struggle to pull yourself together. "Well- " Huff. "I do hope you had a terrible time."

An irritating, smug, grin pulls at one corner of the wolve's mouth. "Oh, dear, did I fail the assignment sweetheart?~ "

"... You ogre!!"

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

Payback

Sheriff of Nottingham x Reader

Couldn't get my mind off the sexy Sheriff, so here's a sequel to Under the Tree No actual plot, just George being a beast in the sheets. Enjoy! ;)

Tumblr won't let me post the whole story here, for some reason, so here's the Wattpad link

Payback - Sheriff of Nottingham x Reader

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 8 - NEVER-ENDING CONSEQUENCES

Pairing : Sheriff of Nottingham x OC (Catherine)

Summary : The Sheriff of Nottingham survived the wound inflicted by Robin Hood's sword. Now, he must go into exile and try to start over. Will he choose the path of vengeance or the path of redemption ?

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Blood. Curse. God's cursing. Violence towards a woman. If I forgot something, let me know.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I chose to make the Sheriff more human here, a bit like my dear soft Turpin. I hope you’ll like it.

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

He had survived the sword blow of that cursed Robin of Locksley. That stupid Robin Hood. Thanks to one of his faithful who had taken him to a clandestine healer, not without having taken care to replace his body with a corpse resembling him, him, William of Wendenal, the Sheriff of Nottingham once so feared was no more than a shadow. But a living shadow

"You will have to flee," the healer had told him, "if anyone knows that you are alive, Robin will come to finish what he started," she had added with a hint of admiration in her voice.

"Going into exile... what an excellent idea now that I no longer have a castle to maintain," William had whispered ironically.

However, he had not waited to know if the old woman would betray him or not to flee in the middle of the night. His whole body ached and he could feel the fever gnawing at him. He had collapsed on the edge of a village where the local leader had welcomed him without knowing who he was.

There, he had been fed, cared for, even tolerated, but only for a while. His arrogance, his irony and his sardonic phrases had made him hated very quickly. He had quickly sensed that his uneducated people were going to find out about him, he who had passed himself off as a simple lost traveler who had been beaten up for his purse. Without waiting, he had taken to his heels one evening when the whole village was celebrating the wedding of one of their own.

He had galloped for a long time and had had to swallow his pride to beg like those little scoundrels they despised. But he had had no other choice. He had often been beaten by wealthy men and if the threat of tearing their eyes out with a teaspoon had burned his lips, he had held back each time, well aware that it was he who the people would torture if they knew who he really was.

With the advent of Robin of Locksley and the return of King Richard, he was nothing and if he wanted to stay alive, he had to remain unknown.

He had finally ended up in a quiet little coastal village, had kept a low profile and had often made his tongue bleed by biting it to prevent any nastiness from escaping his mouth. He had taken a manual job with a blacksmith who patiently taught him the trade. 

The old man had not believed William's story that he had claimed to belong to a long line of blacksmiths himself. He was incapable of doing anything with his ten fingers, with his two hands too soft to have known a single day's work. But the blacksmith wasn't the type to meddle in what didn't concern him. He had seen enough in his life to know that sometimes, people just needed a second chance, far from everything.

But to his great surprise, he also found a form of peace in the work. It was hard, tiring, his hands were often covered in blisters or burns, but his mind was occupied. He mourned less his past life in luxury and comfort, he ruminated less on a revenge that, deep down, he knew would never happen.

He had even surprised himself by imagining a new life here, far from everything, a half-bitter, half-ironic smile when he thought about it. He, the Sheriff of Nottingham found himself living the life of an honest peasant... and he managed to be satisfied with it some evenings.

But that was without counting on fate, determined to make him pay for his past crimes. The never-ending consequences of his evil deeds seemed to want to prevent him from finding his redemption.

One afternoon, a traveler thought he recognized him and quickly, the rumour had spread: he was the ghost of the Sheriff of Nottingham.

"I'm not stupid, my boy. I was lucky enough to learn to read, write and to be taught by a priest when I was a child. I don't believe in ghosts," the old blacksmith had told him one evening when William's situation was critical.

"I..."

The old man had raised his hand to stop him from speaking. 

"Don't say anything. If I don't know anything, I won't be able to tell anything. What I do know is that ghosts don't have scars," he had said, pointing to the scar that still crossed William's cheek, "and you have more than you think. That one on your cheek is probably not the most painful, it's the ones here that torture you and make you scream in terror every night," he had continued, placing a hand on his chest.

William had said nothing. For the first time in his life, he was out of control and a single word from this man could get him killed. But to his surprise, he didn't.

"You must run. If word reaches Nottingham that the terrible Sheriff is alive, the king will send a motion to have you hanged."

He had handed him a purse full of money. "It's more than I owe you for your work, but it will help you go far, far away."

"Why do you do that?" William asked curtly, taking the purse.

"Because I too, one day I sought redemption and I wished someone believed in me enough to help me find salvation. But I had to fight alone. I hope you find someone on your way to lighten your load, my boy."

William had answered a weak thank you before pulling his hood over his head and disappearing into the night, like the shadow he had become.

He had walked for days before arriving in this small isolated village. His feet bleeding, his throat dry from thirst and his stomach twisting with hunger, he had prayed, something he had not done for a long time, so that he could finally find the peace he probably did not deserve.

He had been greeted by the village priest, his skeptical eye had not prevented him from giving William something to eat.

"Where do you come from, traveler ?" he had asked him with a strong northern accent.

"I... I was..."

It had not taken long for his manipulative mind to fabricate a credible story. A story where, he, a public writer for the population of a city where he had never set foot there, had lost his entire family in a fire. He had then wandered, looking for death, but life had clung to him and he had ended up here.

The priest as well as the village chief had swallowed his story without batting an eyelid. It must be said that the inhabitants were almost all illiterate and very poorly educated. They believed in all sorts of idiotic superstition and still abandoned their children to the fairies when they thought that the said child had been bewitched. Which inevitably led to the death of the infant in the cold woods that surrounded the village. Everything William needed to find his place. The fact that he was educated, could read, write and count had quickly given him a place of choice among the villagers and a certain power, certainly not very significant compared to that which he had in Nottingham, but a small power all the same. And this small stability in his life so far from the one he had known almost did him good.

He wrote letters, collected taxes, managed disputes with his legendary skill and cunning, and negotiated with traveling merchants the most attractive rates the village had ever seen. This influence, certainly far from the power and authority he had once had, was enough to satisfy him, and the villagers, naive and uneducated, did not distrust him at all.

That day, he had just settled a neighbourhood dispute over the boundaries of the fields to be cultivated when his old wound on his chest came to remind him of itself. Robin Hood's sword blow. It had already been a little over two years, but this old wound still made him suffer from time to time. That day, to his great dismay, the scar seemed to ooze a little.

He knew who he had to go see. Her name was Catherine and she lived on the edge of the forest, alone. An old maid who had lost first her mother, then her father in the last eight years and who was fending for herself, which was quite impressive in itself. She was one of the few inhabitants who could read and write, skills taught to her by her grandfather who had been an altar boy and had almost entered the priesthood before meeting her grandmother, a very beautiful but not very intelligent woman who could neither read nor write. He had taught these two skills that he considered essential to his own children, then to his only granddaughter, his only descendant still alive today.

For the first time, William came to knock on the door of his small cabin. Receiving no answer, he pushed the door open, which creaked on its hinges. The interior was dimly lit, a heady scent of dried plants and damp earth catching him in the throat. The roof leaked and the wind seeped in through every crack, but the place was clean. A fire was dying in the fireplace while next to it, several shelves were collapsing under pots, cauldrons and small wooden boxes while a bookcase seemed to have long ago abandoned the heavy task of supporting all the books that were now stacked on top of each other on the only wooden board that still seemed to hold.

"No one ever told you that you don't enter strangers' houses," said a cold voice behind him.

He turned around, ready to retort, but his breath caught in his throat. She was beautiful. Not flamboyantly beautiful, but beautiful in her own way. Her small, mischievous nose and clear eyes softened her tired features.

"I need your services," William said simply, leaning against the doorframe.

"If it's for an amulet, come back tomorrow."

"It's for aa wound," he said, raising an eyebrow, impressed by the young woman's poise.

"Go see the priest, he cures everyone with a little holy water," she sneered.

"I'm afraid I'm not in God's good graces."

She examined him from head to toe and he saw right away that she was not impressed by his imposing build, his dark eyes and this scar which, he was convinced, added a crazy charm to him.

"Wolf bite, scythe blow ? Or maybe you simply tripped over your pride."

He smiled in spite of himself at her quick wit. It had been a long time since someone had shown this much quickness or had disarmed him. It must be said that in another era, he would have had her tongue cut out for being so impertinent.

"More like... an old memory. From my previous life. An outlaw and his cursed sword. A wound near the heart. But don't worry, it didn't make me any more sentimental."

She shook her head, a small smile playing on her pink lips.

"A wound to the heart ? I don't heal the troubled. Too bad."

She stepped around him, ready to place the fresh herbs she held in her hands in a mortar, but he held her arm with more delicacy than he thought he could muster.

"Please," he said, his deep voice softer than he would have expected, "I think the scar is infected."

"Show me that, then."

He approached the fireplace, set his jacket on the wooden chair, and slowly, theatrically untied the top of his shirt.

"I warn you, the show may be heartbreaking. It's not for the faint of heart."

"I've probably seen worse. Don't worry, I'm used to men who act like babies," she retorted, rolling her eyes.

She approached him and let him part the fabric. She carefully examined the reddish scar, bordered by inflammation.

"It's true that it's not very pretty. How long did you wait before you decided to come see me ?"

"I... wanted to give my body time to prove that it was up to the task of healing itself."

"I'm afraid it failed."

She turned to a large wooden chest in which she began to rummage frantically, looking for an ointment. She finally pulled out a small, purplish-colored jar that didn't inspire anything good in William, who still had the good sense to say nothing.

"Stay calm. It's going to sting a little, but it'll do you good. I promise you that in two days, it'll be better," she said, dipping her finger into the thick paste.

She applied the ointment delicately, her thin, cold fingers making him flinch slightly, but despite the slight tingling, he refrained from making a sound, refusing to give the young woman that satisfaction.

"There you go. You should survive. But just to be sure, come back tomorrow, I'll check the state of the scar."

"There's no danger, is there ?"

She raised her head to meet his dark eyes and what she saw unsettled her, even if that glint of uncertainty in the eyes of this man who seemed to exude boundless confidence had disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

"None. If you come back."

Without another word, she turned away, crushing the herbs she had placed earlier in her mortar.

William left without a word, but not without telling himself that this woman, this famous healer who lived in seclusion and whose company the villagers only seemed to appreciate when they needed one of her remedies, was not lacking in spice.

And for the first time in years, he found himself looking forward to tomorrow.

After that, William looked for every excuse he could to see her again. He liked her wit, her defiance. She was not afraid of him and she was able to answer his barbs in a heartbeat.

That night, he didn't really intend to bother her, but the flickering light of a candle shining through the cabin's only window drew him inexorably. As usual, he entered without knocking. Catherine was there, sitting at a wooden table covered with dried leaves, a small knife in her hands.

"If I hadn't recognized your ugly gait, I could have slit your throat," she said without looking up from her work.

"With this toothpick ?" William sneered.

"Haven't you ever been taught manners? Or are you always breaking into people's homes without permission ?"

"Come on, it's dark, I wanted to make sure you were safe," he said with a predatory smile.

She rolled her eyes without hiding her amusement.

"What are you cooking ? A poison ? If it's quick-acting, I might be interested." he asked as he examined the organised chaos laying on the table.

"Some soothing herbal teas for old Thomas's stomach aches. But if you insist, I can find a remedy for your sharp tongue."

He laughed softly, his black curls dancing on his shoulders as his eyes wandered over the shelves.

"Who taught you to heal with herbs ?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"My grandfather."

"Was he a healer ?"

"No, but he learned everything from a shepherd who was also the healer of his village. My grandfather never dared... to use his talents."

"Why ?"

She pursed her lips, hesitating to answer him.

"He said that... it was as much a blessing as a curse. People... if you can take advantage of them so well, it's because they're not very thoughtful. It's not their fault. We're in a small village, far from the big cities and here, no one has access to education. All they know is hard work. I'm lucky to have been able to learn to read and write, even more so since I'm a woman. My grandfather was afraid that he would be accused of being a magician."

"But not you ?"

"They all already say that I'm a witch. But I guess as long as I cure them, they go with it," she replied with a smirk.

"And this ? Is it a love potion ?" he asked sarcastically, lifting a vial with an unappetizing greenish colour.

"Why ? You think you need it ? I'm afraid that if someone fell in love with you, your oversized ego would crush them."

He put the vial down with a slight smile, as much stung as amused.

"You are cruelly honest, Catherine. You have the art of seeing people, don't you ?"

She raised her head to plunge her green eyes into his.

"Let's say that... when you live among liars, you learn to read between the lines to guess the truth."

William swallowed, tense, perplexed. What did she know about him? 

Two days later, the wind howled above the village and the rain had just started to fall fiercely. William, soaked to the bone, his coat stuck to his skin, knocked on Catherine's door.

"You have learned to knock," she noted when she recognized him after opening the door.

Without waiting for her permission, he pushed her roughly inside, shaking himself like a wet dog in front of the fireplace, making the water fall from his black curls.

"I was hoping you would be kind enough to welcome me into your... home."

"I am always kind enough to stray dogs," she replied, taking a cloth to wipe the floor he had just soiled with his muddy boots.

"I was surprised by the rain," he explained, rubbing his hands in front of the fire.

She did not answer, placing a bowl on the table where a leak in the roof let water trickle through. She then returned to her concoctions, weighing and mixing herbs diligently. A soft silence settled between them, almost comfortable, but William could not help but break the surrounding tranquility:

"Why aren't you married ?"

"Because no one has ever proposed to me."

"According to old Thomas, two men asked your father for your hand in marriage in the past, but you refused them and your father accepted your decision."

"Old Thomas talks too much," she mumbled.

"Why do you stay alone ? Doesn't it weigh on you ?"

She thought for a moment before answering, her expression serious.

"Yes, sometimes, but... I want... I want an equal, someone who would understand me, with whom I could talk. Not to be the maid of a man who will order me around and beat me when I rebel."

William nodded gravely.

"And you, why do you stay in a place you despise ?"

"I'm looking for answers and also... Because I have nowhere else to go," he said in a breath.

She stopped her gestures for a moment to look at him, a glint of understanding in her eyes.

"I'm afraid you're in the wrong place. This village has nothing to offer."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the storm outside seemed far away compared to the storm in their hearts.

It was Saturday, market day. She was there, selling some remedies. William stopped in front of her stall, grabbing a jar to examine it.

"It's amazing how these gullible little beings who believe in the coming Armageddon aren't afraid of your magic potions," he said, opening the bottle to smell what it contained.

"They'd rather not suffer than believe in their superstitions," she said, snatching the bottle from his hands.

He opened another bottle and she sighed, exasperated.

"You have nothing better to do," she said, retrieving her small jar of salve she used for skin irritations.

"I'm very busy, quite the contrary. I observe the world, I think..."

"You think, you ?" she asked sarcastically.

"I'm thinking about how to charm the little healer around here."

She stood there for a minute, her eyes widening slightly, but she quickly recovered.

"Well, that's a failure," she replied curtly.

He leaned in slightly toward her, his hooked nose almost touching her little mischievous nose. Catherine, as if hypnotized by his big black eyes, was unable to back away.

"I'm not so sure," he said, his tone more serious than ever, "I think you like it a lot more than you care to admit."

He leaned a little closer, his eyes shining with mischief, while she was completely frozen.

"And you're very beautiful when you smile," he added before straightening up and casually walking away.

Catherine looked away, her cheeks red.

The peace William thought he would find was suddenly shattered when a storm, in late spring, came to blow heavily over the fields, devastating the crops, raising the dry dust of the recent drought, breaking the ears of corn which collapsed on the cracked ground.

The villagers were gathered in front of the village church, praying for a solution. A solution that the priest, a plump old man with a red nose and a stern face, brought to them on a platter.

"My sons, my daughters ! Our lands are suffering. Our families are suffering. God is punishing us. He promised us plenty, but he is punishing us. He is punishing us because we have allowed the devil to settle among us," he shouted to the frightened crowd.

William swallowed. How could he know, here, so far from Nottingham ?

"CATHERINE MORTON ! THE HEALER !" he yelled.

William turned livid. Catherine ? This young woman who was born and raised here ? Who had cured the inhabitants, saved their children from deadly fever ?

"Her herbs, her potions... she claims to cure, but at what price ? Her knowledge was given to her by the devil! And God punishes us ! He destroys our crops because we let him settle among us !"

The agitated crowd seemed to quickly forget the good they had done all these years, murmuring among themselves, letting the roar of anger rise, ready to blindly follow this imbecile priest.

"Capture her !" shouted one of them.

William straightened up quickly. Catherine was at home, certainly occupying one or the other of her concoctions. Even if he ran, he would never manage to make her flee. He was thinking at top speed, looking for a solution that did not come.

Meanwhile, two men, encouraged by the priest, approached the small cabin. She was unsuspecting, absentmindedly munching on a piece of bread while reading an old book. She jumped when the door was roughly kicked in, but she didn’t show her fear. She had already figured it out.

“I guess this isn’t a friendly visit,” she said, gently setting her book down.

One of them came up and slapped her so hard she fell off her chair.

“Witch,” he said, spitting in her face.

The two men grabbed her by the arms, dragging her to the village square where the market was usually held. Some of the villagers in the crowd turned their heads away, uncomfortable, while others screamed and spat as she passed.

William didn’t miss his bloody nose and the bruise that was already forming on his cheek. He clenched his fists but refrained from intervening. It wasn’t the right time yet.

Pushed into the centre of the square, Catherine fell to her knees, but the priest pulled her up by grabbing her hair. She said nothing, gritting her teeth to keep them from screaming.

"Admit what you did, witch !"

"I didn't do anything," she said coldly.

He slapped her, so hard that if he hadn't held her back with his other hand, she would have collapsed to the ground. In another time, William, with his power as Sheriff of Nottingham, could have intervened, had the hands of the men who beat her cut off, cut out the priest's tongue. But here, his power was minimal. He was nothing. He had to wait. Acting too soon would make him make a mistake that could well get her killed on the spot. And him with her.

"I'm not a witch," she repeated more weakly, blood flowing from her split lip.

"That's what we'll see ! Bring boiling water ! If you're innocent, as you claim, then God will protect you. If not, your flesh will burn as proof of your sins."

The basin of boiling water was already suspended over the fire, the liquid simmering. Catherine stared at the fire with a mixture of fear and defiance.

"Ah, nothing like boiled hands to brighten a dull day," William said as he approached.

"That's none of your business," the priest said, his annoyance not concealed.

"This is all stupid. If her hands don't burn, what do we do next ? Drown her ?"

Catherine turned her head to him, incredulous. She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or if he was truly trying to defend her.

“Let’s get straight to business,” William continued, his gaze dark, “let’s make a pyre tonight, and tomorrow, burn her. If she’s innocent, God will save her.”

Catherine’s blood ran cold. She felt betrayed by this man she had begun to have feelings for.

The priest thought for a moment before nodding.

“We have allowed evil to take root in our community for too long. But it is not too late to cleanse our land !”

“I am not a witch,” she repeated, feeling fear seep into every part of her being.

“A witch would never admit she was one,” a villager shouted.

"She is unrepentant," the priest cried, "she has made a pact with the devil ! There is only one cure: FIRE."

The spell was sealed in an instant and Catherine was locked in the cellar of the church. She would be burned at nightfall.

William, frustrated, grumbled. He had hoped to have all night to carry out his plan. That gave him less time, but he could do it. He had to. All afternoon, he watched them, these idiots who, after a few honeyed words coming from a priest as idiot as they were, would kill an innocent woman who had treated them.

Catherine, locked in the cellar of the small church, was shivering with cold. The rays of the sun barely filtered through the gaps in the stone walls that oozed with damp. The air stank of mold and, exhausted and frightened, Catherine gave way to despair, bursting into tears. She had wanted to help, she had wanted to be useful, to earn a little money to be independent, but her grandfather was right, her knowledge was a curse and now she was going to die.

William, for his part, waited, patiently. He had grown up and lived surrounded by plots, conspiracies and he had been the terrible Sheriff of Nottingham. He knew he had to act discreetly. He waited until the day began to slowly give way to night to sneak inside the church. He had no trouble knocking out the man in charge of guarding the cellar door with a well-placed blow from his stick.

"William ?" Catherine asked as the door to his prison opened on him.

"You'll thank me later, come on !"

He pulled her by the arm roughly. He didn't have much time.

"Wait," she said, trying to stop him.

But William held her a little tighter, preventing her from stopping walking.

"We don't have time, my dear. Try not to slow me down, this is the first time I've done something good and it would be a shame if your heroic rescue failed because you refused to obey."

Confused, Catherine fell silent and followed him, agreeing to abandon herself to him. They had almost rounded the village when an old man with a toothless smile saw them and raised the alarm.

"THEY'RE ESCAPING !"

"Don't let them escape," the priest ordered, "it's the work of the devil ! Catch them and burn them !"

They ran through the dark fields, but they could see the torches getting closer to them. William pushed her towards a thicket.

"What are you doing ?" she asked frightened.

"They're going to catch up with us. Run. I'll distract them."

"They'll kill you !"

"Don't worry, I've survived worse." 

He turned away but she caught his rough hand in her tiny, fragile, soft one.

"William..."

He stroked her cheek with his thumb, his gaze softer than she'd ever seen him before.

"I was the Sheriff of Nottingham," he said, waiting for her reaction.

Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't pull away.

"And I survived the sword of Robin of Locksley. Better known as Robin Hood. I'll be fine. Come on, run," he said with a bitter smile.

She reluctantly turned away before starting to run towards the forest. William, armed with an old rusty sword, prayed that his villagers were as bad at fighting as they were at everything else.

Catherine was hiding in the woods. She knew the villagers wouldn't dare venture there, they were convinced a vampire lived there, all because one day, an adventurous little boy had seen a man with dark, greasy hair and a hooked nose walking around there. She knew he was a man and not a vampire. He was also a healer and a nomad, but she had never said anything about it. It had been her secret since she was a little girl.

She jumped when she heard a noise behind her and turned around quickly, a small knife in her hands.

"It's me," William's weak voice said.

"You're hurt," she said as she rushed towards him.

She could see the blood escaping from his shoulder. His face was pale and he was clearly struggling to stay upright.

"Lie down, I'll heal you," she said as she approached.

The wound wasn't pretty and she didn't have much of a solution.

"Do you think you can start a fire ?" she asked him.

"And then you want me to go hunting, maybe ?" he asked with a sarcastic smile.

"I don't have anything on me to heal you, but I can close the wound with fire and a blade."

William knew immediately what she wanted to do and he winced, but he also knew he didn't have much of a solution.

"Won't the fire bring them to us ?" he asked, rubbing two sticks together.

"No, they're afraid of this forest. They'll think it's the vampire."

He raised an eyebrow but refrained from asking any questions.

"You're an idiot," she said, pressing the blade of her knife to the wound, which in the light of the fire seemed less serious than she had first thought.

William screamed so loudly that he made all the bats that haunted the woods fly away. The pain was so great that he thought his eyes would pop out of his head.

"You have no idea, no idea, what you mean to me ! What I would have felt if he had killed you."

"Oh, I think I have an idea, but go on, I like to hear you talk," he growled, sitting up with difficulty.

She stroked the wound with her fingertips, her cool fingers easing the pain. She was impressed that he hadn't fainted. He was strong, so strong.

"I've fallen in love with you," she whispered.

"Of course," he said with a big smile

His eyes filled with tears and when one of them escaped, rolling lonely down his cheek, he caught it with his fingertips.

"Catherine, don't cry. Everything will be fine. Make me survive and we'll see where this leads," he told her gently.

Two years later:

A rare sun lit up the Scottish moor, illuminating the white carpet that covered the floor like a thousand diamonds.

Inside the stone cottage, William sat by the fire, reading aloud while Catherine prepared a herbal tea to soothe the throbbing pain of her old scars.

She held out the cup to him but he grabbed her by the wrist, forcing her to sit on his lap.

"I like it," he whispered against her ear.

"Me sitting on your lap ?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Just being a man. A man with a woman. Among these Scots who don't seem to care about my... slight quirks."

"They don't care because here, you're just a man. No one knows who you were. Here, you get a second chance," Catherine replied, smiling.

"You're my second chance. For a long time, I had to pay the consequences of my past actions, but you, you are the consequence of my redemption. And the consequences for saving you, for loving you, they never end. Except that for once, it's not a curse but a blessing."

She looked at him tenderly, placing a hand on his cheek.

"You've made my life sweeter, William. Even if you're just an insufferable jerk," she replied, kissing him on the nose.

They exchanged a knowing smile before going out together. Tonight would be Christmas Eve, and William was looking forward to celebrating it with Catherine. In the best possible way. In their bed. Naked. And he hoped that the consequences of this night would appear very quickly. Within nine months.

[snowblossomreads]

🌸- Denotes Smut

December Moon - Sinclair Bryant

Secret Watching - Severus Snape x OC (Celestine Faye)

A Treat - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader

Darkest Night - David Friedman

Open Doors - Colonel Brandon x Fem!Reader

Wrapped Tightly - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Quiet Wishing - Judge Turpin x OC (Mary Taylor)🌸

Never-ending Consequences- David Friedman x Fem!Reader

Unwanted Solitude - David Friedman x Fem!Reader🌸

Lingering Touch - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Out Of Reach - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader

Missing Mirth - Jamie and The Metatron

To Belong - George Sheriff of Nottingham

Deceptive Kindness - The Interrogator x Fem!Reader

Decorative Obsession - Eli Michaelson x Fem!Reader 🌸

Thoughtful Gifts - Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Truthful Longing - Sinclair Bryant x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & Fem!Reader

Secret Visitor - Severus Snape x Fem!Reader

A Helping Hand - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Lionel Shabandar & OC (Angie Huang)

Wrongful Perceptions - Judge Turpin x OC (Caroline Bell)

Heartfelt Confessions - Lionel Shabandar x Fem!Reader, Sinclair Bryant x OC (Amiee Huang)

Shivering Certainty

Eve Of Revelations

Christmas Party

[myers-meadow]

Sheriff of Nottingham x reader: Dream

Title: Dream

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham x Guy of Gisbourne's wife.

Wordcount: 551

Warnings: some angst and pining. Nothing about reader's appearance is mentioned, only that she's a woman.

Written as part of self-indulgent September, for the prompt 'dream'. This is not strictly a self-ship drabble, but I thought I'd publish it anyway :)). Hope you enjoy!

Divider by saradika.

Sheriff woke with a start. No tolling of the church bells, no yelling guards, no clatter of sword fighting, no crying women. The night was quiet and dark. Above his bed, to the left, was a small window and silver moonlight streamed in. The only sounds he heard were the blowing of the wind and the rustling of his sheets as threw them off to sit at the edge of his bed. The fireplace crackled in the corner of the room, keeping the room warm enough during the cold late summer nights.

He sighed deeply. Just a dream... Another dream of her. Another one with a bitter ending, one that left him with his chest heaving and the sheets soaked with sweat. Looking at the window, it was still before the end of first sleep, so he got up and stretched. Mortiana would advice him if he asked, but nothing could help with the feeling he was left with after a dream like this.

During it, the secret apple of his eye was struck down by a wayward arrow from one of his terribly incompetent men. He saw his cousin Guy scream, run to her, kneel down and sob as he held her, blood flowing down her dress onto the stone ground. And George could only sit and stare from atop his horse, not knowing what to do - until rage made it's way to the surface, and he brutally cut down that failure of a marksman.

He closed his eyes, reliving the dream as its fragments already split apart like a pane of glass breaking. If only his cousin would perish in battle, and he'd be the shoulder his widow came to cry on. He'd be so gentle with her, so sweet. He'd wrap her in a warmth she's not seen while being with Guy, show her a life she could have only dream of.

He knew how wrong it was, and more than that he felt shame, he knew that it could affect his reputatin. If he played his cards wrong, both would suffer the consequences of that. She deserved better than a messy start of their relationship. After all, that's all he dreamt of. Of ways he could give her the world. She'd be his queen. She'd enjoy luxuries beyond compare, as long as she'd remain by his side. He knew she would. He tried it, before her and Guy were married, he tried seducing her, but she only had eyes for his cousin.

Thinking of that time, how it was for him those years ago, set his temper ablaze yet again. The unfairness of it! He went to the fireplace, taking the poker and stabbed the logs restlessly, a deep frown in between his brows. How could she prefer Guy over him? That stupid good-for-nothing idiot! Guy just got to her first... Well, George is the one who would last. And once he's planned something to get rid of Guy, once it's all through, she'd be glad that place in his arms was still free. The fire roared, before calming down, and George stared at it, hoping the rest of his sleep would be dreamless. It's already enough for her to plague his waking hours and he'd need the rest if he wanted his plan to be foolproof.

[snowblossomreads]

short and sweet (well not sweet hehe)😍

Rickmas Day 13: To Belong

Character: Sheriff of Nottingham (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) Relationship(s): George/Reader Warnings: smut, loss of virginity, forced(ish) marriage

AN: a short one today (unlike Alan's pp) but I got some doozies cooking up for some of the upcoming days!

Read on Ao3 or below:

George’s tight grip on your arm was painful, but there was a certain thrill to it. He dragged you into his chambers and threw you onto the bed, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

He was undoubtedly a selfish man. He had no qualms in admitting that. He always wanted more power, more gold, more land. And he wanted it all to be his.

When he’d come to your father’s house demanding your hand in marriage, you already knew him by reputation. You knew he’d take what he wanted. And if he wanted you, then you were as good as his.

You’d never imagined your wedding night to be like this.

Though he terrified you, there was something exciting there too. You’d seen friends and sisters married off to boring, stuck-up noblemen who’d stood at the altar stiff as corpses.

George, though, was something else. Something feral. He wasn’t afraid to show his passion - and he certainly wasn’t afraid to show it now as he untied his belt, standing over you with a hungry grin.

You had little idea what you were doing. An awkward fumble with a stableboy was the most experience you had. But again, the Sheriff of Nottingham’s reputation preceded him, and you were well aware that he had a habit of taking any woman he liked, at any time, and discarding them afterwards.

But you were his wife now, married for life, and he’d not be discarding you like he did so many others.

George bunched your skirt up around your waist and pulled your underwear away, his eyes alight with lust as he took in the view of your most intimate areas.

“This might hurt,” he said to you, his tone nonchalant, as if your comfort were merely an afterthought.

He positioned himself between your legs, and you tried to relax as you felt his manhood prodding at your entrance, pushing and pushing until — it slipped inside, stretching you out, and you couldn’t help letting out a moan of… pain? Pleasure? You weren’t entirely sure. The sensation was so new, nothing like you’d imagined, you could hardly comprehend how it felt… but you must have liked it, because you found yourself desperately craving more.

George let out a satisfied groan as he pushed himself inside you fully, your walls still stretching as they adjusted to the size of him.

He looked down at you and grinned possessively.

“You belong to me now,” he growled.

“Yes,” you whispered, knowing it was true, knowing that your life had been leading to this, to your one purpose: to belong to him.

And so you surrendered.

[rosebudfics]

~PLEASE READ BEFORE REQUESTING~

Minors DNI or lerk in the shadows

Hello fellow snape lovers! This is a new blog however I am not new to writing! I have a separate blog specifically for writing but I will not let anyone know what it is due to the fact that I am afraid I will receive hate/threats because I enjoy Harry Potter. And before anyone comes at me, no I do not condone to the actions that JK Rowling has done!!! I simply just enjoy the series because of how much comfort it brings me.

Request Rules:

I WILL write: fluff, angst, suggestive, female and sometimes gender neutral, and domestic stuff!!

I will NOT write: Smut, incest, pedophillia, rape/no consent, racism, homophobia, abuse, professor x student, daddy kink, piss/shit fetish or anything related to those!!

As for the characters I will write for, I will mainly write for Severus Snape however I am open to recieving requests for Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility, Sheriff Nottingham from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Hans Gruber from Die Hard, and David Friedman from Judas Kiss!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will write head canons, drabbles, and short fics! Possibly full length fics if an idea that i really like is either requested or i think of!

Masterlist Below the cut!

Severus Snape

New Professor - Snape x Professor! Reader

Sick Days - Snape x Wife! Reader

Girl Dad - Dad! Snape x Mom! Reader

Secret Lovers - Snape x Wife! Reader

Colonel Brandon

Your Last Night - (ANGST) Colonel Brandon x ill! Reader

Sheriff Nottingham

Nothing yet!

Hans gruber

Nothing yet!

David Friedman

Nothing yet!

[scariusaquarius]

a sweet treat.

CHRISTMAS ADVENT BONANZA 2K24 Day 2: Mulled Wine, Guy of Gisborne

Guy of Gisborne x Gen! Reader Summary: Nottingham is in high spirits, preparing for Yule celebrations. A certain Sheriff has a craving, and he knows just who to go to for his thirst to be quenched.

-

A/n: Day 2 is here! I haven't written Guy in so long, I truly do hope that I captured his character. I have missed my blorbos so much <3

-

Genre: Humor, Friendship, Slight Romance Rated: Everyone Warning: Fluffy, Alcohol Consumption, Alcohol Mentions

-

Author: ScariusAquarius

-

It was winter in Nottingham; the smell of burning wood and spices heavy within the air as the people stayed as warm as they could while snow dusted the ground. Snow-turned-muddy slush covered the paths where the horses frequented, a pink nose turning up slightly in disgust as his horse trotted through the town.

While the people were dreary, the heavy taxes still taking a toll, it seemed that nothing could damper a festive spirit; not even the Sheriff of Nottingham. Though, Guy of Gisborne wasn't too terribly interested in enforcing the law for the day.

Even he had a heart, he had to think.

With purpose, Guy of Gisborne steered his horse to the outskirts of Nottingham where a vineyard was situated; the harvest season freshly ended and the crops beginning to whither. There was a scent within the air; spicy and reminiscent of apple cider, and Guy's cheeks flushed.

It seemed his favorite vintner in Nottingham was trying a new recipe.

When he got to the door, Guy slid off of his horse, making a face at the mud beneath his boots before he knocked upon the door. There was a yelp, a crash, and suddenly, the door opened to reveal you. You were wearing a purple-stained apron, grape juice staining your fingers, and there was sweat running down your temple.

Your cheeks were flushed, and if Guy didn't know any better, it would have seemed you were...up to extracurricular activities other than wine-making.

"Oh! Hello, Sheriff, I wasn't expecting you."

Guy raised a brow, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head.

"Truly? I do make it a point to come here after every harvest. Surely you would have remembered our annual meeting."

You couldn't help but to make a slight face at him, amusement coming over his face as he watched you become embarrassed by being caught.

"Ah, that's a good point. I've just been so busy that it slipped my mind. Come on in, it's way too cold for you to be standing out there."

Guy didn't hesitate, walking into the warmth of your home; the scent of spices and freshly-baked goods assaulting his nose and making him almost melt. You led him through the main home to the back where the wine cellar and the winery equipment was; barrels upon barrels stacked on top of one another. Your father was nowhere in sight, making Guy hum in interest as you began to speak.

"My father went to Barnsdale to sell some wine for the season, so the rest of the work has been left to me. I'm actually experimenting with the recipe this time. Here, have a cup and tell me what you think."

You grabbed a cup and a ladle, scooping up a hefty portion of steaming wine out of a pot that was situated over a low fire, various spices floating on the foamy surface. Guy was intrigued, looking up at you as you handed him the cup.

"Hot wine...and spiced? That'll be a hefty loss if this fails."

You gave him a look, placing your hands on your hips and raising a brow; making Guy chuckle in response to your sassy comeback.

"Well, I enjoy it, so even if it doesn't sell, I can stay drunk for however long I please. Now, would you please try the wine?"

"Well, since you asked so nicely."

Guy sniffed the wine first, looking at you the whole time. You seemed nervous, fidgeting from foot-to-foot as you watched him, and Guy hummed, positioning the cup away from his mouth.

"And what if this is a ploy to poison me, hm? Should I let myself believe a vixen like you wouldn't?"

"Oh, for the King's sake."

Guy grinned when you snatched the cup out of his hand and took a heft gulp, making a slight face from the heat of the liquid before giving it back to him and wiping the back of your hand against your mouth.

"There. No poison."

Guy chuckled before he teased, placing the cup to his lips right where your lips had been.

"I knew you couldn't...but now, I get a kiss by proxy. How lucky am I, the Sheriff of Nottingham?"

He wasn't sure if the blush on your face was from the alcohol or his words, but Guy was drinking it up as much as he could. When the hot wine touched his tongue, it sent a shiver down his spine and warmed him up so quickly that it felt as though sweat was already pearling at the back of his neck. His blue eyes were opened wide, his lips smacking noisily, and he hummed in appreciation.

"Now that is a cup of wine."

You beamed happily at him, grabbing another cup and pouring more wine in it for yourself, sitting down in front of him at the table.

"Truly, you like it? I was planning on distributing this at the market tomorrow. I think it would be very nice to share."

"Why not make a profit off of this? You would be highly regarded for such a delicious drink."

Guy was asking honestly; trying his best to understand your head and where it was that you were coming from, but you just sighed and shook your head.

"Gisborne, you know that I don't like to sell my creations like that. Regular wine, yes, but I always like to share my creations first before I ever consider selling. I want this drink to be something that can be enjoyed; not something that is sought after like the water and bread we already struggle to make."

Your words made Guy go quiet, and while you feared that you had said too much or somehow stepped over a line, it actually made the Sheriff think for a moment. There was a pregnant pause, the only sound within the room of Guy sipping his wine, and he replied back.

"Tomorrow, I will help you take this wine to the market and we shall let the people indulge."

You were in awe before you gently placed your hand over his own that was on the table, making Guy swallow slightly as he looked into your eyes.

"Thank you, Guy of Gisborne. I see that even the Sheriff can have a festive heart."

Guy scoffed, never letting your hand go as he spoke.

"Please, don't be ridiculous. I'm only doing this for the wine."

"Whatever you need to tell yourself, Sheriff."

END DAY 2

[arcane-vagabond]

Lord of Thieves Masterlist

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Taxes were too high and they were only going to get worse. King Thor Odinson was nowhere to be found, and the people were wasting away as the Sheriff of Nottingham, Brock Rumlow, came to collect under the authority of Prince John. But there's whispering in your town about a man who's been stealing the money only to give it back to the poor. You want nothing more than to go about your days and minding your business. But it seems this strange man has other plans. Who is he? And why does everyone seem so intent on making sure you're involved? (Robin Hood!AU)

Series CW: Thievery, Violence, Language, Kidnapping, Historical inaccuracies probably, Source material inaccuracies probably, Fluff, Angst, Eventual smut. I think that's it? Chapters will have their own specific warnings.

All posts related to this series will be tagged with "LOT" and "Lord of Thieves".

*Denotes Smut

Bucky Barnes Masterlist || Masterlist

Series;

Prologue (Coming Soon)

Drabbles;

Nothing to see here yet...

[muiitoloko]

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.

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 23: eve of revelations

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @illiana-mystery, @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @deepperplexity, @smilingformoney

warnings: swearing

people danced around each other as the ball continued on. Music swelled as I broke away from one of the men maid Marion had invited. I ducked away into a hallway before running into Marion.

“enjoying the ball?” She asked. I gave her a smile. “I know. I don’t know where some of these people came from. I did not invite all of them.”

“Don’t get me wrong Marion, it isn’t as big as it could be. But half these guests could take this place down. Especially with how much they’ve been drinking.” I teased. She looped her arm through mine before guiding me towards the courtyard. “I’ve escaped at least two marriage proposals already.” I whispered, bowing my head as we passed one of the lords. “From men old enough to be my father no less.”

“Well why not?” Marion giggled. “They’ll pass in a few years and leave you well cared for.” I shuddered as I looked at her.

“how much have you had to drink Marion?” I laughed. She shushed me as she giggled.

“shhh. It’s not lady like to drink in excess.” I rolled my eyes as I steadied her.

“alright Marion.” I said with a smile. “Besides. When I marry I want it to be for love not just status.”

“and what pray tell does that entail?” Marion said.

“like you and robin.” I whispered back. “A man who can provide for me. Who loves me as I am. Who won’t try to hide me away in some…castle…” I paused as the man I was thinking about entered the courtyard. Marion followed my gaze and smiled. Letting go of my arm, she pressed her cheek to mine in goodbye.

“I do believe you’ve found your man.” She whispered. “Good luck.” I frowned as she hurried away, watching her retreating form.

“My lord.” I bowed my head as the sheriff stopped next to me. George chuckled as he shook his head. “What’s so funny?”

“how long have we known each other?” George said, offering me his arm. “And you still insist on calling me lord.” I gently hit his arm.

“Shut up you ass.” I laughed as he led me out towards the gardens. “How have things been in Nottingham?”

“shit.” George said. “The lords keep encroaching. I’ve had to send the wolves out after them.” I leaned into him slightly as the cold wind cut through me. George moved his cape to cover me slightly before continuing on. “And every lady and their mother are sending eligible matches to the castle every day. It’s honestly getting frustrating.”

“I’ll bet.” I said, looking over at him. I bit my lip as I felt my chest tighten. Of course he’d choose someone of standing. Someone who could give him everything he wanted. I swallowed down my jealousy as we continued our stroll.

“and what of you? How many suitors have you turned away tonight?” George teased as he gently bumped my shoulder. “Or have you found the one here tonight?” His cheeks tinted pink, although it was hard to tell if it was from the cold or something else.

“two proposals. I turned them both down.” I shrugged. “My heart already belongs to another.” George nodded, his head tilted down.

“ah.” He intoned. We walked on in silence for a minute. “So it would be amiss if I were to ask…” I turned towards George, eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“George…” I looked at him, cheeks heating up. He looked at me bashfully. “Are you…asking to court me?” With a wink, George broke away from me. He bowed low before looking up at me.

“if you’ll have me.” He said, voice soft in the night. “You look like you’ve had a revelation.”

“I just didn’t realize that my sentiments were returned.” I admitted. George kissed the back of my hand as I smiled at him. “I’d love for you to court me George.” He smiled brightly as he straightened.

“it would be my pleasure.” George said, taking up our previous position and continuing through the courtyard.

[slashingdisneypasta]

A Royal Game of Chess is really making me wonder now what it would be like for the Sheriff of Nottingham to win a kiss from you 💋 XD

[starry-eyesanddaydreams]

NSFW Alphabet - Sheriff of Nottingham

Alright. Taking the plunge. First instalment of Rickman's NSFW Alphabet. Starting with George of Nottingham (who was ridiculously easy to write for, the sexy bastard) Enjoy! These are gonna be reader insert too.

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He never really cared before, when he was done he was done. But you brought out the softest hidden in that stony heart of his and he wants to make sure you’re properly cared for. He’ll bath with you and sooth any aches you have. Back in bed, he’ll wrap you both in soft warm furs and blankets and hold you against his chest, skin to skin, as you fall asleep.

B = Body part (their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

For himself, he likes his profile. The most amount of care he spends on personal grooming is keeping his beard trimmed nicely. For you, he's a classic tits and ass man. He loves how soft you feel to hold and touch.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

With this dirty bastard? Pretty much anything goes. He'll cum in you, on you, he's filthy.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He daydreams about having sex with you in front of the church alter. He’s got to do something to entertain his mind while attending a church he doesn’t believe to keep up appearances for the villagers. And the thought of stripping you both naked and taking you on all fours in their precious church, defiling their holy place with your pagan lust, is such a delicious daydream.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very. He likes sex and has had pick of women for a long time. Although these days the only one he wants is you.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Cowgirl. He likes to be able to watch and touch you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He can be playful and he loves to tease.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It's not something he bothers to much about, he has more important things to focus on.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

He’s not a very romantic person, but you are precious to him. You’re the only sweetness in his life and he makes sure you know it. No matter how rough the sex is, he’ll make you feel loved. Whispered and grunted words of love in your ear while he thrusts inside you. A kiss pressed to your palm as he pins your hands to the bed.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He doesn't really have a need to. He'd much rather find you for a quicky if he's in the mood.

K = Kink

Manhandling. He’s bigger and stronger than you and he loves to use that. Carrying you to your shared chambers over his shoulder, pinning you to the wall with your legs around his waist, ripping your clothes off. And along with that he also likes a bit of dub-con. Persuit and conquest. Of course, you both know you’re a very willing participant and it turns you on as much as it does him.

L = Location (favourite places to do the do)

Your chambers, usually. In bed or in front of the fireplace. But when the mood strikes, you could end up in an alcove in the castle or up against a tree in the forest.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

When you’re in public together, like going to church with him, and you look so proper and ladylike, but he knows that underneath your neat, modest clothes is a body that he’s explored and debauched in every conceivable way and how your sweet, demure voice can scream and curse as he overwhelms you with pleasure.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Nothing that would cause you permanent damage or actual pain. Spanks and love bites are one thing, but he won’t do anything that would make you bleed, scar or put you in real pain. You’re his to protect and keep safe.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Prefers to receive. But still enjoys tasting you and making you squirm and scream.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Depends on the mood. If he's stressed or particularly horny, he's fast and rough. Or in a more playful or loving mood, he can really take his time.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

He prefers to take his time and properly enjoy it, but sometimes he just needs you now, either because he’s horny or frustrated and needs to take the edge off.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

As horny as he is, of course he's up to experimenting. Only thing he's not into is anything voyeuristic. Not that he cares about himself, but he won't have anyone else seeing you like that.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

A couple is usually enough, but he can go four or so if he wants.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He has no need for toys. His hands, mouth and dick are well up to the task.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

When has way too much fun winding you up and making you beg.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Not overly loud, but he grunts and groans and definitely makes you know how much pleasure he's feeling.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He's actually got a very needy, soft heart under all that bluster. He hid it at first, but you eventually worked him out. When he opens up enough to allow it, he loves being sweetly loved and cared for by you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

That codpiece hides nothing. Big and thick and can stretch you out perfectly.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

High. His solution to everything is sex. Whether he's happy, angry, stressed, the answer is sex.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

He falls asleep fairly quickly after sex, you both do, as you’ve well and truly worn each other out.

[fizzyxcustard]

Invisible

Fandom: Robin Hood (BBC)

Pairings: Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pining, angst, insecurity, vague smut mention, attempted ghosting

Word count: 1880

Summary: From the imagine, "You are in love with Guy and he is still pining for Marian. You cannot carry all the pain."

Comments/notes: Takes place around season 2, despite the above GIF being from season 3. This fic was requested by @sazzlep

As always, if you enjoy, please consider a reblog. If you wish to be added to my tag list for any character, fandom, or fic series, let me know.

Marian had disappeared, leaving you with the shattered pieces of Guy’s broken heart. While trying to mend your own heart, you were busy tending to Guy’s. And that pain was becoming unbearable. Shifting the weight of two broken hearts was crippling you. 

Guy had left your home again at nightfall, having borne his heart to you. The woman he loved and had lived in high hopes of wooing, had run off into the forest with her outlaw lover. In the time you had known Marian, you had been on fairly friendly terms with her. But you had always been aware of her manipulative tactics, taking advantage of Guy’s feelings for her. For all those months and he had been completely blind to it, only seeing her sweet smiles as a hope for something more than just friendship. 

You stood at your front door and watched his dark shape, atop a black horse, disappear into the gathering dusk. You and Guy had been close friends for years, being each other’s rock, and this has been the case since he came to Nottingham as a young man. He had been swept up into duty for the Sheriff, but the two of you had still remained close. Guy had been the one who comforted you when your mother died, and had even brought you food when you fell upon tough times. Potential suitors had come to your door, and if they had not been to your liking, it was Guy who had told them to leave. 

How long could you continue this for? Every day you saw him and you felt more of your heart become warped from the inside, like a disease spreading outward. The only cure would be to take yourself out of the situation completely and sever yourself from him. 

The moon was high in the sky and you remained in that spot for some time, feeling the red hot tears fall down your cheeks. All of your pain was invisible to him; in his own anguish, he had completely overlooked you. 

***

Guy woke the next morning, light bursting through the window. 

Realisation hit him hard that he had overslept. 

He shot out of bed and began dressing quickly, only to see a piece of parchment on the stone floor at the foot of his door. Guy reached down and took the parchment, noting that there was no envelope. The parchment had just been folded. Upon opening it, he instantly recognised your beautiful handwriting. It brought a smile to his face. 

Guy, 

While I know that you are in the midst of deep pain, I must leave Nottingham. I plan to move back to my father’s home and search for work. I cannot carry the weight of both our broken hearts on my shoulders. 

May God watch over you and keep you safe. 

Leaving? But why? 

Guy raced from his chambers, heading down towards the courtyard where he slipped out to the stables and collected his horse. 

Once he had rode to your home, he jumped from the horse and banged on your door. No answer. Your own horse, a brown and white mare, had disappeared from the small field behind your house. 

Your father’s home was a two-day ride, and within seconds, Guy’s horse was galloping through the small patch of woodland which was to the north, leading out onto the main road. Surely you could not have gotten far. Guy was a far more experienced rider than you so would easily be able to catch up to you, despite your head start. 

***

The ride that morning had been pleasant. The sun was shining amidst a cloudless sky. A gentle breeze took the edge off the early summer heat. A simple breakfast was still sitting in your stomach quite nicely; bacon, eggs and freshly baked bread. There was an inn about half way, at the perfect place for you to stop, before continuing on the next day for the second part of your journey. 

All morning and you had imagined Guy’s face upon opening your letter. Would he even care at all? It seemed that he didn’t. Normally Guy was up around dawn, ready for his duties. He should have caught you just before you left, but you had not seen him. And you had given your letter to Abe, one of the guards, at the castle gate, two hours after sunset. Surely Guy would have received it by daybreak. 

You stopped for a quick break, taking a sip of water from a skin in your leather satchel. You sat down on a fallen tree trunk and took a deep breath, looking up at the rays of sunlight piercing through the bright green leaves. 

Suddenly you heard galloping hooves coming from behind. A figure emerged from the edge of the curving path, and got larger, moving towards you quickly. 

“Guy?” you whispered, feeling relief wash over you, but also fear. 

Guy stopped his horse a few feet from yours and jumped from the saddle, storming over to you. He stood in front of you, his arms crossed. “What is going on?” he asked, his voice tinged with frustration. His silver blue eyes were wide in irritation. 

“I told you in my letter. I can’t carry both of us anymore.” 

Guy sighed and sat down beside you. “Maybe you could start with telling me what you’re carrying and stop being so stubborn in carrying it yourself.” 

You looked at him, narrowing your eyes. “Are you sure you really wish to know? Because after I tell you, you won’t want to know me anymore.” 

Guy scoffed and rolled his eyes in annoyance. 

You looked at him, seeing that all too familiar smirk begin to form on his face. It made your heart flutter. 

“If you really believe that then you know me less than I thought you did. In fact, you don’t know me at all.” His tone was accusing and full of irritation.

You could see the offense written on Guy’s face, and you reached out to take his hand. “I didn’t mean it like that, Guy.” 

“Then how did you mean it?” he snapped. “You’re all I have in my life, yet you seem to think that I’ll walk away from you. Despite you being the one who was ready to walk away from me…” The words trailed off into a whisper and loud sigh. 

“Do you want to know the real reason I’m leaving?” you asked. “And if you do choose to turn your back on me then that is your choice.” 

Guy hissed. “I will never turn my back on you.” He pointed his finger at you in anger as he spoke. 

You got to your feet and took a deep breath. “All these years we’ve known each other and I’ve been invisible to you. You’ve never noticed all the times I’ve had to smile at you but wanted to weep. You’ve never seen how I feel about you. Instead all you’ve ever seen is a woman who has taken advantage of you and used your feelings for her to get what she needed. It’s crippled me.” Tears fell down your cheeks. “I love you, Guy. I love you so much and never once did you ever see it. I know you don’t feel the same way and I’m not expecting you to.” 

Guy got up from the tree trunk, and without a word, curled his hand around your cheek and kissed you. The kiss immediately became wanting, needing and hot. 

Reluctantly you shifted your head away and looked up at him, your tears blurring your vision. “I told you that I’m not expecting anything from you...” 

He smiled. “I’ve loved you from since the first moment we met. I was always invisible to you. I valued and respected you far too much to ever overstep any boundary. I was terrified you would think I was dishonouring you. Marian became my way of letting you go, but under it all, I never could. She was the hope of something I could never have with you.” 

“All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and because of me, you tried to gain love in a place where you would never find it.” 

“It wasn’t because of you. It was my own cowardice. I would look at her and see you, in everything she did. Then with each man who attempted to court you, I could see how impossible it was for me to ever think you’d be mine. A lot of those men were honourable and so much more than what I could ever wish to be.” 

“I know you, Guy, and all you’ve ever wanted is to be loved and needed by someone. I’m offering that to you if you’ll take it.” 

Guy kissed you again, and then let his lips trail down your neck. “And I will give that back to you tenfold, my love.” 

***

The two of you rode your horses back to your home, watching as thick clouds began to swarm in, threatening rain. 

By the time your house was visible, spots of rain began to fall. 

You pulled on the reins of your horse, bringing it to a stop in the pen behind your house. Guy had already dismounted his horse, his hand reaching out to take yours. You couldn’t help but smile and giggle as he helped you down, his ice blue gaze never unlocking from you. 

The two of you kissed again, the rain starting to pour all around you. The horses by now had wondered away into the small wooden shelter which was situated at the back of the paddock. 

“Let’s get inside,” you told Guy. 

He smiled in response and wound his arm around your waist as the two of you walked to the door of your home. 

Once inside, you started a fire and put a large pot of water to boil. “I need to head into the market for food shortly. I hope the rain stops,” you told Guy, glancing out of the window. “Is there anything in particular you would like for dinner? I can cook us a meal.” 

Guy never answered, but instead kissed you again. 

A short time later and the two of you were idly tangled together in your bed, having just made love. You noticed that Guy seemed the most content he had done for quite some time; he had a faint smile on his face as you rested in the crook of his arm. The only sound was the tapping of rain on the roof, and it soothed you. The heavy weight in your heart had now lifted. 

“Was that how you imagined our first time to be?” you asked. 

Guy grinned and kissed you again. “It was so much better than any of my expectations.” He gripped your hand tight in his and then kissed your head. 

“I suspect the Sheriff will be looking for you.” 

“He can wait.” 

You looked across at Guy as you began to slip from the bedclothes and pull your dress back on. “You’re taking a big risk thinking that. You know what he’s like.” 

“I don’t care anymore. I’ve got you, and that’s all that matters to me now.” 

***

Follow Forever tag list: @lathalea @middleearthpixie @xxbyimm @meganlpie @linasofia @knittastically @guardianofrivendell @asgardianhobbit98 @rachel1959 @luna-xial @mrsdurin @quiall321 @missihart23 @lemond57 @evenstaredits @catthefearless @the-fragile-heart-of-a-lady @glassgulls @sazzlep @solairewisteria @aliasauthor @littlebird-99 @albionscastle @heilith @court-jobi @absentmindeduniverse @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms @for-fuck-sake-im-alive @bookworm-with-coffee @danzalladaggers @ourlonelymountain @phantomessangel @estethell @windb3ll

Guy of Gisborne tag list: @puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig @emmyspov @whoooooisthis @dumbassunderthemountain