#sheriff of nottingham x reader

[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.

[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

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 6: out of care

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing

I took in the forest covered in fresh covered snow as I held onto George. He gently tugged at the reigns as we neared the portion of Sherwood Forest that Robin Hood and his band of merry men inhabited.

“relax.” George frowned, hand on my arm as I had tightened my grip on him. “I’m not after him today. We’re out here for you.” I furrowed my eyebrows behind him.

“For me?” I asked, resting my head on George’s back.

“Yes.” He confirmed. “You’ve been moping about the castle. It’s Christmas. You love Christmas. And yet you aren’t acting like it. So I’m making you go out and enjoy a little fresh air.” George squeezed my arm. “And it helps that snow had just fallen and it was the perfect moment to remind you why this time of year is so beautiful.” I smiled softly as I closed my eyes and enjoyed the ride.

“This is nice” I admitted. “George, where are we going?” He brought my hand up and kissed it.

“all in due time darling. All in due time.” He assured me. I settled against him and we passed the time in silence. Just as I was starting to nod off, George stopped the horse. “We’re here.” He dismounted and turned to help me down. I furrowed my eyebrows as I looked at the cabin.

“where is here?” I asked as George gently pulled me towards the cabin.

“this is my cabin. When things get to be too much, I come here.” He said as he opened the door, letting me in first before going to start the fire. “I thought I’d bring you here. Give you a chance to get away from all that’s bothering you.” I smiled at him and went over to hug him.

“thank you.” I breathed out. He hugged me back tightly before dropping a kiss to my head.

“you’re welcome luv.” He whispered.

[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.

[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 reader unless its spicy, 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!

[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...

[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

[muiitoloko]

hi, i love your work, you're one of my favourite writers and you're seriously amazing<33

could i please request a sheriff of nottingham x reader?? maybe with some angst thrown into the mix<3

it's okay if you don't do requests, i understand

i still adore your fics, they always make my day better<333

Title: Beneath the Veil

Summary: Perhaps, just perhaps, there was still a chance for redemption amidst the darkness of Nottingham Castle.

Pairing: Sheriff of Nottingham × Fem! Reader

Warnings: Violence, insult, infidelity, angst and Smut.

Author's Notes: Thank you so much for your kind words! It means a lot to hear that you enjoy my stories. I'm thrilled to accommodate your request for a Sheriff of Nottingham x reader fic. Your support truly brightens my day! 💖📝

As you listened to the maids gossiping about the Sheriff's indiscretions, your heart sank deeper into despair. The pain of knowing that your husband had never respected your marriage pierced your soul like a dagger, and the cruel words of the maids only added salt to the wound.

"I heard the Sheriff brought another woman to his chambers last night," one maid whispered, her voice tinged with pity.

"Of course he did," another scoffed, "have you seen Lady [Your Name]? It's no wonder the Sheriff prefers the company of other women."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you pressed yourself against the wall, hidden from view but unable to escape the cruel words echoing in your mind. The memory of the scar on your face, a permanent reminder of a childhood accident, burned with shame and self-loathing.

Your mind drifted back to that fateful day when your brother's playful antics had left you disfigured and marked for life. You had been just a child, innocent and carefree, until fate had intervened with a cruel twist of destiny.

"I'll pretend you're the dragon!" your brother had exclaimed, swinging your father's sword with reckless abandon. But his aim had been off, and the blade had sliced across your face, leaving behind a jagged scar that marred your once-beautiful features.

From that day forward, you had hidden behind veils and masks, shielding yourself from the cruel gaze of the world. Your father, desperate to salvage your future, had offered a generous dowry to any man willing to take you as his wife. And the Sheriff, seduced by the promise of wealth, had accepted, never caring for the woman beneath the veil.

As the maids continued their gossip, your heart ached with the weight of loneliness and despair. You longed for a love that would see past your scars, a love that would cherish you for who you truly were. But in the cold, unforgiving halls of Nottingham Castle, such dreams were but fleeting illusions.

With a heavy heart, you retreated to the solitude of your chambers, the echoes of the maids' laughter ringing in your ears. In the darkness, you wept for the love you had never known, for the husband who had never seen you as anything more than a pawn in his game of power and greed. And as the tears flowed freely down your cheeks, you vowed to never let the world see the pain that lay hidden behind your veil.

Later that night, as you sat alone in your chamber, the comforting click of knitting needles filling the air, you found solace in the rhythmic motion of your hands. Knitting had become a sanctuary for you, a way to escape the harsh realities of your existence within the castle walls.

Lost in thought, you focused on the delicate stitches forming beneath your fingers, each loop a small refuge from the pain that haunted you. The doll you were crafting slowly took shape, its form a testament to the love and care you poured into every stitch.

You had befriended the daughter of one of the maids, a sweet child with a smile that could light up the darkest of days. It was for her that you knitted the doll, hoping to bring a glimmer of joy to her young heart amidst the shadows of the castle.

As you continued to knit, your mind drifted back to the day you had first met her. She had been playing in the courtyard, her laughter echoing through the air like a song of innocence. And when she had approached you, unafraid of the veil that concealed your scar, something within you had stirred.

But before you could dwell too long on the memories, the side door connecting your chambers to your husband's suddenly swung open, and the Sheriff himself stumbled in, his movements unsteady and his eyes glazed with drink.

You froze, your heart pounding in your chest as you watched him, unsure of what to expect. The Sheriff rarely ventured into your chambers, preferring to keep his distance from a wife he saw as little more than a bargaining chip.

But tonight was different, his presence filling the room with a tension you could almost taste. You could smell the sharp tang of ale on his breath as he approached you, his gaze lingering on your face with a mixture of disdain and something else you couldn't quite place.

"What are you doing here, woman?" he slurred, his words slurred and his voice thick with intoxication. "Shouldn't you be off hiding in the shadows like the coward you are?"

You lowered your gaze, your fingers stilling on the needles as you braced yourself for his cruelty. But to your surprise, the Sheriff's tone softened, his eyes narrowing as he took in the doll you held in your hands.

"What's this?" he demanded, his brow furrowing in confusion. "Some pathetic attempt at charity? Who is it for, hmm? Another one of your pitiful schemes to garner favor?"

You quickly looked away, keeping your scar hidden as best as you could, not wanting him to see the source of his disdain. "What do you want?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper, the weight of his presence suffocating you.

The Sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at your lack of response. "You know what I want," he replied sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You tensed, your heart sinking even further as you realized what he was implying. Perhaps tonight, you had hoped, he would spare you this indignity, this painful reminder of your worthlessness in his eyes. But your hopes were quickly dashed as reality crashed down upon you like a wave of despair.

With a heavy sigh, you obeyed his command, slowly removing your clothes and climbing onto the bed, hiding your face in the pillows as you waited for him to take what he wanted.

The Sheriff watched you with a mixture of disgust and indifference, not bothering to hide his contempt as he undressed and climbed into bed behind you. It was always the same, the same position, the same routine, devoid of any pleasure or intimacy.

As he entered you roughly, you bit back a cry of pain, your body tensing against the intrusion. You couldn't understand how some women could enjoy such acts, could find pleasure in the harshness of it all. For you, it was simply a nightmare, a cruel punishment inflicted upon you by a husband who cared nothing for your well-being.

The Sheriff showed no mercy, his movements rough and hurried as he sought only his own release. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to endure until it was over, until you were once again alone in the darkness of your chamber.

And finally, mercifully, it was over. The Sheriff grunted in satisfaction, pulling away from you without a word, his disdain palpable in the air. You heard the rustle of fabric as he dressed himself, the click of the door as he left without a backward glance.

Alone once more, you curled into yourself, tears streaming down your face as you clung to the only comfort you had left—the comforting click of knitting needles, weaving a fragile thread of hope amidst the darkness of your despair.

As the days passed, the oppressive atmosphere of Nottingham Castle remained unchanged. The Sheriff's indiscretions continued unabated, his cruel words and actions a constant reminder of your marginalized existence within the walls of the castle.

That night, as the grand banquet commenced, you found yourself once again relegated to the sidelines, your veil shrouding your face as you observed the festivities from afar. Your husband, reveling in the company of his guests, showed no regard for your presence, his attention focused solely on his own pleasure.

As he drank, laughed, and indulged in the company of other women, you sat silently at the table, your hands clasped tightly in your lap. The sound of his boisterous laughter grated on your nerves, a stark contrast to the heavy weight of loneliness that settled in your chest.

A young lord, curious about your veiled visage, dared to question why you weren't partaking in the feast. But before you could respond, the Sheriff intercepted with a mocking jest, his words dripping with contempt as he belittled your appearance.

"No, no," he chortled, a cruel smirk twisting his lips, "I assure you, my dear lord, no one would wish to gaze upon such a sight. Trust me, it's a horror beyond imagination."

The woman perched on your husband's lap laughed lightly at his jest, her hands caressing his chest as she showered him with affection. You forced a smile, burying your pain deep within as you remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing your tears.

As the festivities continued, your attention was drawn to Emily, the sweet child you had befriended. You watched with concern as she struggled to serve the lords, the weight of the wine jug proving too much for her fragile frame.

When one of the lords raised his hand to strike her for a minor spill, you could no longer stand idly by. Rising from your seat with determination, you intervened, placing yourself between Emily and her assailant.

"No!" you exclaimed, your voice firm and commanding as you shielded Emily from harm, "You will not lay a hand on her."

The furious lord stood up and shouted at you, his face contorted with rage. The sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at the commotion. Ignoring the woman on his lap who was still showering him with kisses, he focused his attention on the unfolding scene before him.

"Enough!" he barked, his voice cutting through the air like a whip as he rose from his seat, his dark mood surfacing with palpable intensity. "What is the meaning of this disturbance?"

The lord turned to the Sheriff, his anger unabated as he pointed an accusing finger in your direction. "Sheriff, this woman dares to defy me, to interfere with my rightful authority over the servants. She must be punished!"

The Sheriff's eyes narrowed, his gaze flickering briefly to you before returning to the lord. "Is that so?" he replied, his tone laced with cold authority, "And what offense has my wife committed to warrant your ire?"

The lord sputtered in outrage, struggling to find words as he floundered under the Sheriff's piercing stare. But before he could respond, the Sheriff intervened once more, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"Leave her be," he commanded, his tone brooking no argument as he fixed the lord with a steely gaze, "I will not tolerate such petty displays of power in my presence. Return to your seat, and let this matter be forgotten."

The lord hesitated for a moment, his pride wounded by the Sheriff's rebuke, but ultimately, he relented, shooting you a venomous glare before retreating to his place at the table.

As the room fell silent once more, the Sheriff turned his attention to you, his expression unreadable as he regarded you with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. And in that moment, you saw something in his eyes that gave you pause, a glimmer of something unexpected beneath the veneer of his usual indifference.

Feeling a sense of gratitude wash over you at your husband's intervention, you seized the opportunity to act. Without another word, you quickly made your way to Emily's side, offering her a reassuring smile as you guided her out of the room, grateful for the chance to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the banquet hall.

Later, as you reflected on the events of the evening in the quiet solitude of your chambers, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of gratitude towards the Sheriff for coming to your aid. Despite the complexities of your relationship, his actions had shown a rare glimpse of compassion, one that you couldn't ignore.

Perhaps, you thought to yourself, there was more to your husband than met the eye. And as you contemplated the possibility of thanking him later, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for understanding and connection amidst the shadows of Nottingham Castle.

A soft creak echoed from his bedroom, followed by the gentle click of the door closing. Hope flickered within you, prompting you to hasten to the side door that led to her husband's bedroom, eager to convey your appreciation.

But before you could reach for the handle, the muffled laughter of women emanating from inside halted you in your tracks. A sinking feeling settled in the pit of your stomach as the reality of your husband's actions washed over you once again.

Your footsteps faltered, and you withdrew from the door, the weight of disappointment pressing down on you like a heavy burden. With a heavy heart, you turned away, retreating to the solitude of your bed as you sought to drown out the sounds of your husband's revelry with other women.

As the laughter grew louder, echoing through the walls of the castle, you buried your face in your hands, tears stinging your eyes as you grappled with the pain of betrayal. Once again, the cruel reminder of your husband's infidelity shattered whatever fragile hope had begun to take root in your heart.

Feeling a wave of sadness wash over you, you closed your eyes and tried to shut out the world, seeking solace in the darkness of your own thoughts. But no matter how hard you tried to block out the sounds, they persisted, a constant reminder of the loneliness and despair that plagued your existence within the castle walls.

With a heavy sigh, you resigned yourself to another night of solitude, the echoes of your husband's laughter mingling with the distant sound of your own muffled sobs. In the silence of your chambers, you clung to the fleeting hope that someday, somehow, you might find a way to break free from the chains that bound you to this life of misery and betrayal.

And then, unexpectedly as the days passed, the atmosphere within Nottingham Castle grew increasingly tense. The Sheriff’s mysterious illness had left him bedridden and delirious with fever. His aggressive outbursts terrified the maids who attempted to tend to him.

You remained isolated in your chambers, indifferent to the Sheriff's plight, convincing yourself that he didn't deserve your care or concern. But deep down, a part of you still couldn't shake the lingering sense of worry and compassion for the man who was your husband, despite everything.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the castle grounds, a frantic knocking at your door shattered the silence of your solitude. Startled, you rose from your seat by the fire, your heart pounding in your chest as you made your way to answer the summons.

Opening the door, you were greeted by the sight of one of the maids, her face pale and her eyes wide with fear. "Lady [Your Name]," she gasped, her voice trembling with urgency, "the Sheriff... he's taken a turn for the worse. We can't... we don't know what to do..."

Without waiting for her to finish, you pushed past her, a sense of dread settling in the pit of your stomach as you hurried towards the Sheriff's chambers. As you entered the dimly lit room, the sight that greeted you made your blood run cold.

The Sheriff lay sprawled across the bed, his long black hair matted with sweat and his brow furrowed in pain. His eyes, normally sharp and piercing, were clouded with fever-induced delirium, and his once-strong frame seemed frail and vulnerable beneath the layers of blankets.

"Get away from me, you wretched wench!" he snarled, his voice hoarse and guttural as he thrashed about in a fever-induced frenzy, "I'll have your head for this!"

The maids cowered in fear at his aggressive outburst, shrinking back against the walls as they attempted to evade his flailing limbs. But you remained undeterred, steeling yourself against the Sheriff's aggression as you approached the bed with determined resolve.

"Enough," you commanded, your voice firm and unwavering as you reached out to restrain him, "You will not harm these women. They are here to help you, whether you like it or not."

The Sheriff's eyes widened in momentary surprise at your defiance, his struggles faltering as he regarded you with a mix of confusion and disbelief. But before he could respond, a violent fit of coughing wracked his body, leaving him gasping for breath and weak with exhaustion.

As the maids rushed to his side with water and herbs, you took charge of the situation, issuing orders and directing their efforts with calm authority. Despite your reservations and the lingering resentment you harbored towards the Sheriff, you couldn't stand by and watch him suffer without trying to help.

Day by day, you faithfully stood by the Sheriff's side, attending to his needs and diligently observing his condition. Despite his initial resistance and aggression, he gradually grew more accepting of your presence, his fever-induced delirium giving way to moments of clarity and lucidity.

As you sat next to the Sheriff's bed, your fingers moved deftly over the knitting needles, the soft click-click of the yarn providing a comforting rhythm in the dimly lit chamber. The Sheriff lay still, his brow furrowed in discomfort despite the damp cloth you had placed on his forehead to soothe his fever.

"What are you doing?" His voice, rough and hoarse, cut through the silence, breaking your concentration.

You glanced up from your knitting, meeting the Sheriff's brown eyes with a mixture of concern and determination. "I'm knitting," you replied simply, your tone absentminded as you focused on your task, "a blanket, for you."

The Sheriff's gaze lingered on you, his expression unreadable as he processed your words. "A blanket?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper as he struggled to find his voice amidst the fog of illness.

You nodded, your fingers never pausing in their work as you explained, "Yes, you said you felt very cold. I thought... I thought a warmer blanket might help."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the only sound the steady rhythm of your knitting needles. Then, the Sheriff spoke again, his voice low and hesitant, "Why... why are you still wearing that veil?"

Before you could respond, the Sheriff continued, his tone softer this time, almost gentle in its insistence. "We're alone, [Your Name]," he murmured, his brown eyes meeting yours with a mixture of sympathy and understanding, "You don't need to wear the veil while it's just the two of us."

His words struck a chord within you, stirring a sense of vulnerability that you had long buried beneath layers of self-preservation. With trembling fingers, you reached up to loosen the veil that concealed your scar, setting it aside with a mixture of reluctance and resignation.

As you hesitantly met the Sheriff's gaze, you saw something flicker behind his eyes, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that mirrored your own. But before you could dwell too long on the significance of the moment, he looked away, his attention drifting to the flickering flames of the hearth.

You felt your heart sink at his dismissal, the weight of disappointment settling heavily in your chest. But you refused to cry, refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing your pain. Instead, you turned away, retreating into the familiar comfort of your knitting, the rhythmic click-click of the needles a soothing balm for your wounded soul.

In the silence that followed, you couldn't help but wonder what lay beneath the Sheriff's stoic facade. You knew that he carried his own burdens, his own secrets and regrets hidden behind the mask of authority and power. And as you sat with your back to him, lost in your thoughts, you couldn't help but wonder if there was more to him than met the eye.

Meanwhile, the Sheriff's mind drifted back to memories of his mother, a distant figure from his childhood who had been both loving and strict in equal measure. He remembered the way she used to knit by the fire, her hands moving deftly over the needles as she crafted blankets and scarves with care and precision.

The memory of her gentle touch and comforting presence brought a pang of longing to his heart, a reminder of the love he had lost long ago. And as he watched you sitting by the fire, lost in your own world of needles and yarn, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of something unfamiliar stirring within him.

For the first time in years, the Sheriff found himself questioning the walls he had built around his heart, wondering if perhaps there was still room for warmth and compassion amidst the cold, unforgiving halls of Nottingham Castle. And as he watched you knit, a sense of hope blossomed within him, a flickering flame of possibility amidst the shadows of his past.

Later that night, as the flickering flames of the hearth cast dancing shadows across the chamber, the Sheriff's fevered dreams transported him back to his childhood home. In his delirium, he called out for his mother, his voice raw with desperation as he reached out into the darkness, seeking the comforting embrace of her presence.

You stirred from your sleep at the sound of his anguished cries, your heart twisting with sympathy as you watched him twitch and thrash in his fevered state. With gentle hands, you reached out to shake him awake, whispering soothing words of reassurance as you tried to calm his restless slumber.

"Shh, it's alright," you murmured, your voice soft and gentle as you brushed a lock of his unruly black hair away from his fever-flushed face, "You're safe here, Sheriff. It's just a dream."

But the Sheriff's delirium persisted, his cries growing louder as he begged for his mother's presence, his brown eyes wide with fear and confusion. In his fevered state, he mistook you for her, reaching out to grasp your hand with a desperate urgency that tore at your heartstrings.

"Mother, don't leave me," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion as he clung to you with a desperation that spoke of long-buried pain and longing, "Please, I need you."

Your heart ached at his distress, the weight of his suffering pressing down on you like a heavy burden. But you refused to let him succumb to his nightmares, determined to bring him back to reality with whatever means necessary.

With a sense of resolve, you assumed the role of his mother, your voice taking on a gentle lilt as you spoke to him with soothing words of comfort and reassurance. "There, there, Sheriff," you murmured, your tone soft and maternal as you stroked his fevered brow, "Everything will be alright. Mother's here, just like always."

But the Sheriff's fevered mind refused to accept your presence, his delusions clouding his perception as he continued to beg for his mother's return. "Mother, please," he pleaded, his voice breaking with despair as he clung to you with trembling hands, "Don't leave me alone. Not again."

You felt a pang of sadness at his words, a glimpse into the depths of his pain and loneliness that he had kept hidden from the world. But you refused to let him drown in despair, refusing to let him suffer alone in the darkness of his past.

"Shh, George," you whispered, your voice gentle but firm as you looked into his eyes with unwavering determination, "It's alright. I'm here with you, just like I promised. You're not alone, Sheriff. You never will be."

For a moment, there was silence between you, the only sound the soft rustle of blankets as the Sheriff's breathing gradually steadied. And as he looked up at you with tear-filled eyes, a flicker of recognition sparked behind the haze of his delirium.

"Mother?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to touch your face with trembling fingers, "Is it... is it really you?"

You nodded, your own eyes brimming with tears as you gazed into his, "Yes, George," you replied, your voice tender and full of compassion, "It's me. I'm here for you, just like always."

But the Sheriff shook his head, his brow furrowed in confusion as he struggled to make sense of his surroundings. "No," he protested, his voice growing more insistent with each passing moment, "You're not... you can't be... my mother. My mother is..."

His voice trailed off, his gaze distant as memories from his past flooded his mind with overwhelming intensity. And as he looked at you with a mixture of longing and despair, you realized the depth of his pain, the wounds of his childhood still raw and unhealed after all these years.

With a heavy heart, you reached out to him, your hand trembling slightly as you brushed his fevered brow with gentle fingers. "You're right, George," you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur, "I'm not your mother. But I am your wife, and I'll take care of you."

The Sheriff's brown eyes flickered with recognition as he gazed up at you, his expression softening with a mixture of gratitude and vulnerability. And in that moment, you saw something shift within him, a glimmer of understanding and acceptance that transcended the barriers of his fevered delusions.

But as you leaned in closer, your heart pounding in your chest, the Sheriff's gaze suddenly shifted to your face, his eyes lingering on the scar that marred your features. And before you could brace yourself for his reaction, he spoke, his voice hoarse and raw with emotion.

"You're ugly," he whispered, his words like a dagger to your heart as you recoiled from his cruel assessment. The pain of his rejection cut deep, reopening old wounds that had never fully healed, and you felt the sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

Without a word, you turned away, your shoulders trembling with the weight of his harsh words. The veil of self-preservation that you had carefully constructed around your heart threatened to crumble, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in the wake of his callous dismissal.

But before you could retreat further into the shadows of your despair, the Sheriff reached out, his hand wrapping around your wrist with unexpected tenderness. "Wait," he implored, his voice soft but determined as he pulled you back towards him, "Don't go. I... I don't want to be alone."

You hesitated, torn between the instinct to protect yourself and the overwhelming urge to comfort him in his time of need. And as you looked into his brown eyes, searching for a glimmer of sincerity amidst the darkness of his words, you saw something shift within him, a flicker of remorse and regret that mirrored your own.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the crackling of the fire, "I didn't mean... I didn't mean to hurt you. Please, stay. I need you."

His words touched something deep within you, stirring a sense of compassion and empathy that you hadn't felt in a long time. And as you gazed into his eyes, seeing the pain and vulnerability hidden beneath the mask of authority and power, you knew that you couldn't turn your back on him, not now, not when he needed you the most.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, nodding your head in silent agreement as you wiped away the tears that stained your cheeks. "I'll stay," you whispered, your voice barely above a whisper, "I'll take care of you, George. You're not alone."

And as you reached for your veil, the familiar weight of its fabric settling against your skin, you felt a sense of resignation wash over you. You would hide your scar, bury them beneath layers of silk and lace, to spare him from the ugliness of your past.

But as you adjusted the veil over your face, obscuring your scar from his view, you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for understanding and acceptance amidst the shadows of Nottingham Castle. And as you settled back into your seat by the fire, knitting needles in hand, you knew that whatever the future held, you would face it together, scar and all.

Days later, as the sun cast its golden rays across the stone walls of Nottingham Castle, the Sheriff finally showed signs of recovery from his illness. Though his body remained weak, the fever that had plagued him for days had finally broken, leaving him with a newfound sense of clarity and strength.

You stood by his bedside, helping him dress and offering words of encouragement as he struggled to regain his strength. Despite the lingering traces of exhaustion that still clung to him, there was a glimmer of determination in his eyes, a silent resolve to overcome the ordeal that had nearly claimed his life.

As you adjusted his garments, there came a sharp rap at the bedroom door, the sound echoing through the chamber like a gunshot. The Sheriff's brow furrowed in annoyance at the interruption, but he waved you aside with a dismissive gesture, granting permission for the visitor to enter.

The door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Sir Guy of Gisbourne, his tall frame silhouetted against the light streaming in from the corridor. His sharp features were set in a mask of concern, his piercing gaze fixed on the Sheriff as he stepped into the room with purposeful strides.

"Sheriff," Sir Guy began, his voice a deep rumble that filled the chamber with authority, "I've come to check on your condition. I trust that you're feeling better?"

The Sheriff nodded curtly, his gaze steady as he regarded his loyal lieutenant with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. "Yes, Sir Guy," he replied, his voice raspy but resolute, "I'm on the mend, thanks to Lady [Your Name]'s care."

At the mention of your name, Sir Guy's eyes flickered briefly in your direction, his expression unreadable as he took in the sight of you assisting the Sheriff. And then, as if noticing something for the first time, his gaze lingered on your face, his brow furrowing in confusion.

You felt a surge of apprehension as Sir Guy's eyes roved over your features, the scar on your face laid bare for all to see. The silence stretched between you, thick with tension and unspoken judgment, until finally, Sir Guy broke the uneasy stillness with a low chuckle.

"Well, well," he remarked, his tone laced with amusement, "So this is why you wear that veil. I must say, Sheriff, I've never seen anything quite so... striking."

Sheriff narrowed his eyes at Sir Guy of Gisbourne, his brow furrowing in confusion and irritation at the man's cryptic remark. "What do you mean?" he demanded, his voice low and tense with suspicion.

Sir Guy of Gisbourne smiled, a cold smirk twisting his lips as he met the Sheriff's gaze with icy indifference. "I mean exactly what I said, Sheriff," he replied, his tone dripping with disdain, "I've never seen anything quite so ugly in all my life."

The Sheriff's eyes widened in shock at Sir Guy's brutal assessment, his stomach churning with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "What are you talking about?" he growled, his voice rough with suppressed rage.

Sir Guy's smile widened, a cruel glint in his eyes as he stepped closer to the Sheriff, his voice laced with mockery. "Oh, come now, Sheriff," he taunted, "Surely even you can't deny the truth. I've heard the rumors, seen the way you've kept her hidden away like a shameful secret. And now that I've seen her face for myself, I understand why."

The Sheriff saw red, his vision clouded with a haze of rage as he took a step towards Sir Guy, his fists clenched in readiness for a fight. He didn't know where he found the strength, the courage to defy his loyal lieutenant, but in that moment, all he could see was red, all he could feel was the burning need to defend his honor, his wife's honor, against Sir Guy's cruel words.

With a primal roar of rage, the Sheriff launched himself at Sir Guy, his fists flying in a flurry of punches aimed at the other man's face. He saw the shock in Sir Guy's eyes, the moment of realization that he had pushed the Sheriff too far, but it was too late for apologies, too late for remorse.

As the Sheriff rained blow after blow upon Sir Guy's face, his mind filled with a white-hot fury that consumed him from within. He didn't care about the consequences, didn't care about the pain he inflicted, all he cared about was the burning need to defend his wife's honor, to silence the mockery and scorn that had plagued her for far too long.

But as he struck Sir Guy again and again, his rage slowly gave way to exhaustion, his strength waning with each passing moment. And it was only when he heard your voice, your shocked and horrified cries echoing through the chamber, that he finally came to his senses, the haze of anger dissipating like fog in the morning sun.

And as Sir Guy of Gisbourne fled the room, nursing his bruised face, you turned your attention to the Sheriff, who stood before you with a mixture of anger and confusion etched across his features. His brown eyes blazed with intensity, his long unruly black hair framing his face as he glared at you with barely restrained fury.

"Why did you stop me?" he demanded, his voice a low, rumbling baritone that filled the chamber with authority. "I was defending your honor, [Your Name]."

You recoiled at his words, disbelief washing over you like a tidal wave. "Defending my honor?" you repeated incredulously, your voice tinged with anger. "You were defending my honor?"

You took a step closer to him, your gaze locked with his as you struggled to contain the torrent of emotions raging within you. "You're the first to make fun of me, to call me ugly, to mock my scar," you spat, the bitterness of years of hurt and resentment boiling to the surface. "Did you really think I didn't know why you only fuck me from behind? You're disgusted to look at my face, so what does it matter if more people call me ugly?"

The Sheriff's expression faltered, his anger giving way to a stunned silence as he grappled with your accusations. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly, unable to find the right words to defend himself against your searing indictment.

Finally, he shook his head, his gaze falling to the floor as shame washed over him like a tidal wave. "I... I don't know what to say," he murmured, his voice barely audible above a whisper. "I didn't realize... I didn't mean to..."

But you cut him off with a sharp gesture, your patience wearing thin in the face of his hypocrisy. "Save it," you snapped, your voice dripping with contempt. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

It was too late for apologies, too late for redemption.

"Leave," he ordered, his voice raw with emotion as he struggled to hold back the flood of regret threatening to consume him. "Just... leave."

And with one final glance over your shoulder, you obeyed, disappearing through the side door that led to your bedroom, leaving the Sheriff alone with his thoughts and the weight of his mistakes. As you slammed the door behind you, the sound reverberated through the chamber like a final, damning verdict, sealing the fate of your fractured relationship with the Sheriff of Nottingham.

As the days passed, you and the Sheriff remained distant, avoiding each other's presence whenever possible. Meals were taken separately, with you retreating to the privacy of your bedroom to eat alone, concealing your face from prying eyes. Meanwhile, the Sheriff sat alone at the table, his appetite waning as he watched the servants tend to his needs, a pang of loneliness gnawing at his heart.

For the first time since your marriage, the Sheriff realized the emptiness of his solitary meals. He had never shared a meal with you, never sat across from you and shared in the simple pleasures of conversation and companionship. But he had never cared before, content to keep you at arm's length, to avoid the sight of your scarred face.

As he chewed his food in silence, the Sheriff made a decision. It was time to bridge the gap between you, to make amends for his past mistakes and reach out to you in a way he had never dared before.

That night, he came to your bedroom, his footsteps hesitant as he approached the door. You didn't look at him as he entered, your gaze fixed on the wall as you questioned his presence.

"It's time," he said simply, his voice tinged with a mixture of determination and uncertainty. "Time to try again."

You sighed, a mix of resignation and annoyance coloring your response. But you nodded, understanding his meaning as you began to undress and prepare for what you knew would come next.

To your surprise, the Sheriff stopped you, his hand gentle as he reached out to touch your face. "No," he said softly, his brown eyes meeting yours with a newfound sense of vulnerability, "I want to see your face this time."

Anger flared within you at his request, the injustice of it burning hot in your chest. Did he think that seeing your face would somehow absolve him of his past cruelty, that he could use you to prove something to himself?

But as you met his gaze, you saw something in his eyes that gave you pause, a glimmer of genuine remorse and longing that tugged at your heartstrings. Maybe, just maybe, he was trying to make amends in his own flawed way.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, allowing him to see you as you truly were, scar and all. And as the Sheriff climbed between your legs, you couldn't help but feel a surge of discomfort mixed with resentment. You lay on your back, staring up at the ceiling, your mind swirling with conflicting emotions. His touch felt foreign and unwelcome, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you in the wake of his hurtful words.

You winced as he slowly penetrated you, the dryness causing a sharp pang of pain to shoot through your body. Unlike the prostitutes he was accustomed to, you were not prepared, not eager to please him in this moment. But he pressed on, seemingly oblivious to your discomfort as he sought his own pleasure.

As he moved within you, you gritted your teeth against the pain, the grimace on your face not lost on the Sheriff. He watched you intently, his brow furrowing with concern as he realized the extent of your discomfort.

Deciding to try and please you in some way, he tentatively pressed his thumb against your clit, eliciting a surprised gasp from your lips. You looked at him with a mix of embarrassment and confusion, questioning his unexpected action.

He met your gaze with a slight tilt of his head, a hint of amusement dancing in his brown eyes. "Have you never touched yourself?" he asked, his voice low and gentle, the baritone rumble sending shivers down your spine.

Blushing furiously, you shook your head, denying his assumption. "No," you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of your own heartbeat. "I was taught... my body belongs to my husband. I was never... encouraged to... explore such things."

The Sheriff's expression softened, a pang of guilt tugging at his heart as he realized the extent of your innocence and naivety. He had never considered the possibility that you had never experienced pleasure in such a basic way, that you had been denied the simple joys of self-discovery and exploration.

He decided to change that today. The Sheriff's touch grew more confident and purposeful as he explored your body, his fingers dancing over your sensitive skin with practiced ease. With each caress, you felt a wave of pleasure wash over you, your body responding eagerly to his ministrations.

As he teased your clit, you couldn't help but squirm beneath him, your breath coming in short, ragged gasps as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy. Your eyes remained closed, lost in the sensation of his touch, soft moans escaping your lips as you gave in to the pleasure that coursed through your veins.

For the first time, the Sheriff found himself captivated by your beauty, the scar on your face fading into insignificance as he watched your expression contort with pleasure. In that moment, he realized that your scar didn't define you; they only added to your allure, making you all the more irresistible in his eyes.

With a newfound sense of reverence, the Sheriff leaned in to worship you, his lips trailing kisses along your jawline and down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You cried out in pleasure as he took one of your breasts into his mouth, the sensation sending sparks of electricity coursing through your body.

As he played with you, his fingers exploring every inch of your skin, he could feel how wet you were, your arousal evident in the way you clenched around him. With a sense of satisfaction, he realized that he was the one bringing you this pleasure, the one who could make you scream his name in ecstasy.

"Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice low and husky as he gazed into your eyes, searching for a sign of approval. And when you complied, meeting his gaze with a mixture of desire and uncertainty, he smiled, a sense of triumph coursing through him.

"It's good, isn't it?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of uncertainty as he awaited your response.

You nodded, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. But your actions spoke volumes as you arched against him, your body craving more of his touch, more of his love.

Encouraged by your response, the Sheriff leaned in to capture your lips in a passionate kiss, his tongue darting out to explore the depths of your mouth with a hunger that took your breath away. It was unlike any kiss you had ever experienced, wild and uninhibited, as if he wanted to consume you whole.

You moaned into his mouth, the sound muffled by the intensity of his kiss, your hands reaching up to tangle in his long, unruly hair. And as you kissed him back with equal fervor, you felt a sense of connection, a bond forged in the heat of passion and desire.

As the Sheriff's lips met yours in a fervent kiss, something shifted within him, a realization dawning with startling clarity. In that moment, amidst the heat of passion and the tangled embrace of your bodies, he understood.

He wanted you.

Not just in a physical sense, though the desire burned within him with an intensity he had never known. No, it was more than that. He wanted all of you – your strength, your resilience, your unwavering compassion in the face of his own shortcomings.

He loved you.

The realization hit him like a thunderbolt, fierce and indomitable, shaking him to his core. He loved you, scars and all, with a love that was raw and unrefined, untamed like the wild forests that surrounded Nottingham Castle.

He remembered the days when you had tended to him with unwavering dedication, the gentleness of your touch a balm for his fevered soul. He remembered the moments of vulnerability you had shared, the way you had looked at him with eyes full of compassion, as if seeing beyond the mask of authority to the wounded heart beneath.

And he remembered the night when he had lashed out at you with cruel words, the pain and betrayal etched in your tear-stained face. He had seen the hurt he had caused reflected in your eyes, a stark reminder of the damage he had wrought with his thoughtless actions.

But despite it all, you had stayed by his side, offering forgiveness where others would have turned away in disgust. You had shown him a kindness he didn't deserve, a love he hadn't known he craved until now.

As he kissed you with a hunger born of newfound understanding, the Sheriff vowed to make amends, to prove himself worthy of the love you had so freely given. He would show you that his love was not a fleeting fancy, but a force to be reckoned with, a flame that burned bright amidst the darkness of their fractured relationship.

And as he held you close, his heart racing with the intensity of his emotions, he knew that he would do whatever it took to win back your trust, to earn the right to call you his own.

For in that moment, amidst the tangled sheets and the tangled mess of their past, the Sheriff of Nottingham realized that he was in love with you, scars and all. And he would stop at nothing to prove it to you, to show you that his love was as fierce and untamed as the forests that surrounded their home.

As the passion between you and the Sheriff intensified, the air in the room crackled with electricity, charged with the raw desire that pulsed between you. His hands roamed over your body with a newfound confidence, his touch igniting a fire within you that threatened to consume you whole.

With each kiss, each caress, the Sheriff explored you as if he were uncovering a hidden treasure, his fingers tracing the contours of your body with reverence and hunger. And as he pressed his lips against your skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake, you gasped in pleasure, your body arching against him in silent invitation.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "I've been blind to your beauty for far too long."

His words washed over you like a soothing balm, banishing the lingering doubts and insecurities that had plagued you for years. In that moment, all that mattered was the intense connection between you, the overwhelming desire that threatened to consume you both.

With a sense of urgency, the Sheriff lowered himself between your legs, his mouth trailing hot kisses along your thighs as he teased you with his tongue. You gasped as he delved deeper, his skilled ministrations sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"Please," you begged, your voice a breathless whisper as you pleaded for more, "Don't stop."

But the Sheriff had no intention of stopping, not when he was so close to unlocking the secrets of your pleasure. With a wicked grin, he intensified his efforts, his tongue flicking against your clit with increasing fervor as he brought you closer and closer to the edge of ecstasy.

You cried out his name as the first waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body convulsing in ecstasy as he continued to pleasure you with single-minded determination. And as you reached your peak, the Sheriff's name fell from your lips like a prayer, a testament to the depth of your desire for him.

But he wasn't satisfied yet, not when there was still so much more pleasure to be had. With a growl of hunger, he rose above you, his eyes dark with desire as he claimed your lips in a searing kiss.

"I need you," he whispered against your lips, his voice husky with desire as he positioned himself at your entrance. "I need to be inside you, to feel you around me."

You nodded eagerly, your own need driving you to desperation as you wrapped your legs around him, urging him to take you. And as he entered you with a single, powerful thrust, you cried out in ecstasy, the sensation of him filling you completely overwhelming your senses.

The Sheriff's movements were slow and deliberate at first, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. But as the intensity of your passion grew, so too did the pace of his movements, his hips driving against yours with increasing urgency as he sought his own release.

You matched him thrust for thrust, meeting his every movement with equal fervor as you lost yourselves in the heat of passion. And as the tension between you reached its breaking point, you cried out in unison, your bodies shuddering with the force of your shared release.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your ragged breaths mingling with the echoes of your pleasure, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lay entwined in each other's arms.

And as you basked in the afterglow of your lovemaking, you knew that things would never be the same between you and the Sheriff of Nottingham. But somehow, that thought didn't scare you. In fact, it filled you with a sense of hope, a belief that maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance for redemption amidst the darkness of Nottingham Castle.

[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.

[myveryownfanfiction]

Rickmas day 15: cards and coals

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

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

warnings: swearing, mention of burning letters

“enter.” Came the reply to my soft knock. “Ah (Y/N). Bring me that bucket of coals would you darling?” I grabbed the bucket by the door and carried it over.

“what on earth are you doing?” I asked as I set the bucket down next to him. George grabbed the little shovel and added more coal to the fire.

“People will pledge loyalty to anyone.” George muttered as he threw something in the fire. “These are the cards from the surrounding nobility. Lords. Ladies. Barons. You name it. All trying to get in my good graces.” George turned to look at me with an eyebrow raised. “Or my bed.” I frowned and he leaned over to press a kiss to my forehead.

“and you wonder why I don’t like those fancy get togethers at the holidays.” I muttered. George chuckled before handing me a few cards.

“burn them luv.” He pushed gently. “You’re the only person allowed in my bed.” I smiled at him as I tossed a card into the fire.

“fuck the nobility.” I laughed as I tossed another card on the fire. “We don’t need anyone but ourselves.” George leaned into me as we watched the cards burn. He dumped the remaining cards in his hand into the fire and watched me do the same.

“maybe we shouldn’t have done that.” He muttered after a beat. “Could have used the kindling.” I shrugged and leaned into him.

“oh well.” I said nonchalantly. “I can think of other ways to keep warm.” George looked over at me with a smirk before pulling me into a kiss.

[bunny-rambles]

well damn if i had waited three seconds you would have published your last answer to my asks before i replied to the first two :/ well, apologies while i fill your inbox once again

i LOVE the idea of robin hood tighnari so much and the imagery, yes yes yes let that man carry me into his strong arms ;;; also! straying a bit from the disney plot buy ;;; a cyno x reader x tighnari love triangle au with cyno as like the sheriff of nottingham who in this version is just a honest man who at the beginning fails to see just how corrupt the side he's trying to defend is? now that would be content

i love the idea of childe as the beast honestly. he'd make for such an interesting beast oml. well, we shall both write our versions with our respective protagonists and see what comes out of it! i'm sure you'd do an amazing job :3

also i'd dig into scara as cinderella but like — fun fact! in a traditional italian retelling of the tale cinderella murders her stepmom in cold blood lmao (also fun fact that story is called gatta cenerentola which literally means cat cinderella just to stay in theme lol) i could totally see scara like that. also, scara getting at the ball not because he cares but bc they told him he can't and he was like you know what? imma show y'all who would really slay this party??? i love that. noble reader meeting scara at the ball and falling for him?? scara throwing reader a shoe to tell them to go f/ck themelves and reader just mapping the entire city to find him?? also i feel like living with a family that told him how worthless he is poor boy is just really insecure ;; the second he sees you putting actual effort in finding him he melts on the spot

also scar scara LMAO i love this

and this is the second too long ask i send in less than ten minutes lol. again, i'm sorry

lots of love again,

- 🍓

NO NO WAIT I LOVE THAT?? It fits Cyno so well omg and it’s kinda canon actually, he only really became aware of what exactly was going on when Tighnari mentioned something about it in the game-

i have such a thing for huge beastly characters with tiny fragile s/o’s that they’d do anything to protect, so foul legacy childe and reader were perfect for it in my eyes <3 but I can also see s/o not exactly being helpless as a human, they’re probably stubborn af just like childe but their strength is no match to his own, that’s what I meant

CAT CINDERALLA yeah that’s definitely scara, no competition fr and yes he’s like ‘a ball? ugh lame but fuck it I’m going bc no one tells me what to do >:)’ and the shoe thing omg YES. ‘I HAVE TO GO DUMBASS’ and the shoe just lands directly in readers face. But readers really sweet like trying to find him only to tell him ‘ha… you forgot your shoe’ and scara 100% just falls head over heels for this absolute idiot just trying to give him his shoe back. Scara needs love, esp from growing up with his existence being constantly demeaned. Dw scara reader will shower u with kisses n a fancy castle they love u sm

Again, sorry this took so long, I miss u berry pls appear in my inbox soon

ti voglio bene 💞

[a-deadly-serenade]

Alchemy Between You & Me: Chapter 1: Arsenic [Guy of Gisborne/Reader]

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27362053/chapters/66860944

“Come now, we don’t want to be late!”

Your mother ushered you forward with a firm push on the back and you glared at her in response.

“I doubt we’ll be sorely missed if we’re a few minutes late, mother,” you replied sharply and sat down on the opposite side of the coach, away from your parents.

“You don’t know this sheriff,” she huffed. “He is a very punctual man, does not like to be kept waiting.”

“Well, I find it hard to believe that he’ll be eagerly awaiting my esteemed arrival,” you grumbled and focused your attention outside to peruse the scenery that slowly trickled by as the carriage made its way through the forest.

“Actually, you’ll find that several acquaintances on the council are quite interested in meeting you,” your father said.

“Really?” you replied, one of your eyebrows raised skeptically. “And why’s that?”

“Do you think we’ve gone this whole time without mentioning you?” your mother gawked.

“So you aren’t ashamed of your unmarried daughter who is currently pursuing academics instead of a husband?”

“Of… of course not,” she replied and cleared her throat as her eyes darted away from your annoyed stare.

“They’ve been most fascinated in this talk of you performing alchemy,” your father added with a hearty chuckle. “It’s becoming quite the trend for some within the ranks to try their hand at turning cheap metals into gold.”

“Father, I’ve already told you that no alchemist has ever accomplished such a thing,” you replied. “Think of it as an auspicious rumor and nothing more.”

“Nonsense! I’m sure they just haven’t discovered it yet!” he gave you a big grin and took hold of your shoulder to give it an endearing squeeze. “I bet you could though!”

You gave an awkward chuckle. “Right…”

The remainder of the ride was filled with menial chit-chat on the part of your parents as they tried to play catch up on the finer details of what you did during your time abroad. You were frankly relieved when the carriage was pulled to a stop and the coachman announced that you had arrived.

Stepping out of the carriage you are greeted by an enormous castle, its stone walls stretching high into the sky, locking you in. The plaza was filled with a dozen other horses and carriages and a few guards stationed nearby came over to greet you and your family.

“Welcome to Nottingham,” one said and the two bowed before you. “I trust you’re here for the sheriff’s private dinner party?”

“Yes,” your mother replied. “We aren’t late are we?”

“Not at all!” the other guard said. “If you would follow us, we shall escort you to the great hall.”

“Wonderful!” she grinned and took a tight hold of your arm. “Now, I shouldn’t have to remind you to be on your best behavior, yes?”

“Of course,” you replied curtly and flinched when she squeezed tighter for one second more before relinquishing her grip and following your father’s lead up the stairs.

With a heavy sigh, you followed after them. Heading down several hallways and a set of stairs, the two guards offered your family one last curtsy before they pushed open the large wooden doors and announced your arrival.

Down below, several rows of tables had been set up and they were filled with an assortment of foods. There were rich cuts of venison and pork, wheels of cheeses and baskets of fresh bread. Bowls of fresh fruit and platters of baked goods also intermingled amongst all of the savory options, and several servant boys and girls weaved through the crowd, each holding a pitcher filled with aged wine.

As you neared the bottom of the stairs, you heard someone exclaim,

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite nobles with their notable daughter,”

Your father chuckled and he and your mother both bowed before a short, balding man with a greying beard wearing luxurious black robes.

You quickly followed suit and you heard the man laugh to himself.

“Come, we are all friends here, let us dispense with such formalities,” he said and came closer to you. “Is this your little scholar? Hmm?” he asked and gestured to you.

“Yes, my lord,” your mother replied. “She has only just returned from Bologna.”

“Bologna?” he echoed. “Why I’ve heard they’re only second to Paris in terms of their education. But,” he tutted and a mischievous grin spread across his face. “I thought students were granted the status of a cleric by canon, yet here you stand, an educated woman.”

“Oh, well,” she laughed nervously. “She… she was only taught the basics by a friend of ours, a local professor at the university, nothing having to do with the seven liberal arts,” she feigned stupidly.

“Shame,” he quipped. “It’d be nice to discuss the semantics of moral philosophy with someone. I thought you claimed she was trained in alchemy?”

“Did you tell everyone in England that I was a training alchemist?” you snapped.

The man before you laughed. “Spirited! My last alchemist was a meek disappointment, I like it when they have a bit of fire in them.”

You grimaced and scoffed internally. This man was making you severely uncomfortable.

“Oh, but where are my manners?” he said dramatically and suddenly took a hold of your hand. “I am Vasey, lord of this castle and the town of Nottingham. It’s a pleasure to finally meet the lovely young lady that has managed to capture my interest.”

You felt your skin crawl and it took all the power within you to manage to flash him a shaky, crooked smile. “So,” you said softly and swallowed a lump in your throat. “You must be the sheriff.”

He grinned in response, the sight of a glittering jewel on his left incisor catching your attention.

“At your service. I’d love to have a chat with you later, my dear, but I won’t keep you from the festivities. Come,” he finally turned away from you to flourish at the literal feast decked out on the tables. “Eat, drink. Take this as a humble offering of friendship.”

“‘Humble’? You are much too gracious, my lord,” your father replied and the sheriff snickered at his praise.

“Yes, yes. Tell me, my friend, how have things been?” the sheriff wrapped an arm around your father’s shoulders and led him away from you and your mother as they started to discuss something in private.

“Well, that went better than expected,” your mother muttered and grabbed your arm again as she took you to a nearby table with a few empty seats.

A plate of food was all but shoved into your face and although you weren’t particularly hungry, you had an inkling that you should stomach something, lest appear ungrateful.

You picked at some roasted vegetables, but were grateful for the variety of cheeses available, and paired with the never-ending wine, you were able to find yourself somewhat satiated.

Taking a few more sips from your goblet, you felt your nerves begin to dissipate and you sighed as you leaned back into your chair.

Your mother was making meaningless conversation with a few other noblewomen beside her and your father, who had long since returned from his escapades with the sheriff, stood nearby, surrounded by a group of men who were all laughing and uproariously shouting about lord knows what.

Frankly, you did not wish to be pulled into either realm of their faux-pas spectacles so you quickly excused yourself and went over to admire one of the centerpieces. Yes, you were that bored and that stubborn.

How much longer do we have to stay here and play nice? you thought. The idea of having to speak with the sheriff again made your stomach tie into knots and you sincerely hoped that he’d get so wrapped up in everyone else vying for his attention that he’d forget about you.

You let your fingers trail across the beautiful bird feather that stuck out of the bouquet of flowers and heaved a heavy sigh.

The more you dwelled on it, the clearer it became that the only reason your parents had ushered you home as quickly as they did, was solely due to your most recent academic undertaking. During your time in Bologna, they hardly sent any correspondence back on updates about your other studies, such as literature or astronomy or even philosophy. However, as soon as you picked up a skill that could be monetized? Their tune switched almost instantly.

Although you had always had a tumultuous relationship with your parents, it saddened you that they viewed this skill of yours as nothing more than an opportunity to further their status. You were an alchemist, someone dedicated to discovering the mysteries of the universe… not a modern-day Midas that could turn piss-poor metals into gold.

Even tonight seemed to be a ploy of some sort. Had they only brought you along because the sheriff was so interested in you? What did they hope to accomplish?

You frowned and folded your arms across your chest. Something didn’t feel right, but you just couldn’t put your finger on it…

“Excuse me?”

You paid no mind to whoever had just spoken, lost in your own thoughts as you attempted to deduce your parent's plan.

“Excuse me? My lady?”

Ugh, you inwardly groaned when you realized they were talking to you. I suppose I can endure one conversation… you thought and hoped it would at least pass the time by.

Turning around you feel your heart skip a beat when you find a man standing before you, a rather handsome man, you might add.

He was tall, fair-skinned with short black hair that framed his sharp face. His bright blue eyes seemed to shine in the candlelight and he gave you a smile that made butterflies dance in your stomach.

“I apologize,” he said and his deep baritone made you gasp quietly in delight. “I did not disturb you, did I?”

“Oh no,” you quickly replied with a shake of your head. “No, I was… simply lost in my own thoughts for a moment. I should be the one apologizing. It was you who called out to me a moment ago, was it not?”

“Yes,” he replied. “I merely wanted to introduce myself,” he explained. “I am Sir Guy of Gisborne, the sheriff’s master at arms.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir Guy,” you replied and flashed him a charming smile as you introduced yourself.

“What a lovely name,” he said and you felt heat rise into your cheeks at his compliment. “I thought it appropriate we meet as I wished to see for myself just who this infamous alchemist the sheriff kept heralding was.”

“Oh,” you replied and tried to mask your disappointment. So he was only interested in getting into your favors to please the sheriff… you supposed you should have anticipated this happening.

“I am curious to know what drew you to the field,” he said. “I heard you studied in Bologna. Do they offer alchemy as a class?”

Your eyes widened in surprise and you could not help the laughter that erupted from you. “What? A class? No,” you chuckled. “No, most schools are run and sourced by the church and I can’t exactly say that the church is the biggest fans of us alchemists.”

“Really?” he mused. “And why is that?”

“We seek to understand the meaning of our place in this world,” you explained. “One of the duties of an alchemist is to answer the great questions of mankind and I suppose trying to scientifically discover the meaning of life goes against the morals of the church.”

“Do your discoveries stray from God, my lady?” he asked you with a smirk.

“I doubt blasphemy is an appropriate conversation to hold over dinner, Sir Guy,” you replied just as playfully and bit your lip as he laughed.

“Just as well,” he said. “I’m simply surprised. You are so young, I never would have imagined a lovely woman such as yourself would find interest in the sciences.”

“Believe me,” you replied. “Transmutation and metallurgy are far more fascinating than playing the role of the dutiful daughter.”

“You’ve quite the sharp tongue,” he commented and you felt your face turn hot. “Are the churches in Europe far more progressive?”

“Only if they’re paid enough to be,” you replied in a whisper and giggled at the devilish smirk that spread across his lips.

This night was turning out to be more fun after all! It was a first for you to hold a conversation with a man that wasn’t immediately off-put by your wits. Not only that, he could hold his own and was not offended by your rather dicey sense of humor. Where had men like Guy been hiding out for all these years?

“Ah, Gisborne!”

The sound of the sheriff’s voice instantly soured your mood and you frowned. Well, tonight had been turning around…

Vasey paled in comparison to Guy’s stature however, in spite of this, Guy’s previous confident demeanor seemed to shrink under the sheriff’s intense gaze.

“I see you’ve found the belle of the ball,” he snickered and you laughed awkwardly in response. “I’m not surprised you came sniffing around here.”

“Sir Guy was merely introducing himself, my lord,” you replied. “He’s been engaging company,” you offered Guy a shy smile at his surprised expression.

“Gisborne? Engaging?” the sheriff chortled. “Well, that’s a first. Unless, of course, he jumped straight into discussing his own experiment.”

“Experiment?” you asked with a raise of your eyebrows. “You conduct experiments, Sir Guy?”

“Only one,” he replied and awkwardly shifted where he stood. “But, that was some time ago.”

“Yes, and it did not end all too well either,” the sheriff scowled. “Tell me, my dear, have you heard of black powder?”

“I can do you one better,” you said matter-of-factly. “I know how to make black powder.”

The sheriff’s eyes widened in shock and he gasped in delight. “You do?” he said softly and then grabbed your hands, holding them reverently as if silently blessing you. “Remarkable, absolutely remarkable.”

“Is… that what your experiment was?” you wondered, hoping that your question would get the sheriff away from you as soon as possible.

It seemed to work and he relinquished his grip to take a step back and nod his head. “Yes. Gisborne here had been in charge of commissioning someone but, unfortunately, he,” the sheriff dragged his finger across his neck and then shrugged his shoulders. “Took his secrets to the grave.”

“I wouldn’t exactly call the formula for black powder a secret,” you replied with a coy smile. “It’s been known by the Cathay Empire since at least the ninth century.”

“So you’re telling me, that if given the right ingredients, you would be able to cook me up a batch of black powder?” the sheriff asked.

“Of course, it’s a simple combination of charcoal and sulfur and—“

Vasey instantly hushed you on any further talk about this formula but assured you that your enthusiasm was very much appreciated.

“This is good,” he grinned. “This is very good. I should have known you’d be the perfect fit ever since your parents first mentioned you.”

You are clearly confused by his words, your face scrunched up together as you gazed upon him skeptically. “‘Perfect fit’? What are you talking about?”

“Oh,” he hummed. “Did mommy and daddy not tell you? That does add a bit of suspense to it then, hmm?” he laughed. “You, my dear, are to be my alchemist.”

“What?” you blurted out and started to laugh at the utter absurdity of the idea. However, any previous ideas of the sheriff lightheartedly joking evaporated into a puff of smoke when you took one long look at him.

Oh. He was serious.

“What do you mean I’m to be your alchemist?” you said carefully, your eyes narrowed only slightly.

“Do you think I just let anyone come to these private dinners of mine? A clue?” he shook his head. “No. I wanted to see for myself if you were as noteworthy as your parents heralded you to be and thankfully for you,” he took an imposing step forward and poked you in the chest with one of his stubby fingers. “You’ve passed.”

“My… my parents agreed to this?” you muttered and dread pooled into the pit of your stomach as your eyes whirled around in search of them.

They were nowhere to be found! Had… had they simply brought you here to be assessed by the sheriff? You weren’t something that could be passed around from one person to the next! You weren’t cattle!

“Where are they?” you seethed and the sheriff seemed to take an uncomfortable amount of glee in your anger.

“Their business is complete, my dear. My best guess is that they’re off to head back home.”

He made no effort to stop you as you shoved past him and raced up the stairs to make it to the courtyard.

Your heavy breaths fogged up in the chilled night air and the white light of the moon caused an eerie glow to fall on the shadows of the nearby coaches. You could hear a pair of voices whispering in a hushed tone as you neared your family’s personal carriage, anger coursing through your veins when you rounded the corner and came face-to-face with your parents.

“What have you done?” you snarled, catching them both by surprise.

“Darling!” your mother exclaimed and gave you a nervous smile. “What… what are you doing here? Surely you do not wish to miss the last half of the supper?”

“Save the act, mother,” you replied bitterly. “He already told me.”

“Told you what?”

The fact that she still tried to play innocent made your blood boil and you exclaimed, “He told me that I am to be his personal alchemist!” your feet stomped across the hard stone and you pointed an accusatory finger at the pair of them. “I am not some commodity to be passed around! First Bologna, now this? If you wanted me gone, at least spare me the theatrics and tell me outright.”

“Why would you say such a thing?” your father interjected. “You know we only want what is best for you!”

“That’s rich,” you replied sardonically.

“Watch your tongue, missy,” your mother snapped.

“No,” you quipped. “Do not lie and say that this decision was made with my best interests in mind when you and I both know that this is yet another cog in playing your roles as the sheriff’s loyal lapdogs—"

Smack!

The sound of a palm striking across bare skin rings out into the deathly quiet pavilion.

Your eyes are wide with shock and you feel tears start to well up and cloud your vision as you place a hand on your bruised cheek.

Your father huffed as he lowered his hand and gave you a menacing glare. “Now, I tolerated this attitude of yours when you returned from Bologna, believing you were scorned having been taken away from your studies prematurely. But this willfulness stops now. You are going to work for Vasey and that’s final,” he turned away to begin hauling himself into the carriage.

“Perhaps he will be the one to finally beat this resilience out of you.”

Your mother said nothing but her cold, piercing stare revealed all that you needed to know as she followed after your father.

When the carriage pulled out of the castle portcullis and receded from your view down the winding road of Nottingham, you released an arduous sigh.

You were silent as you ran in the direction of a nearby wall, hidden in the shadows and away from prying eyes. You rested your forehead against the stone, its natural chill cooling your heated skin. It was only then, did you allow the tears to fall.

You gasped as a torrent of tears streamed down your face and you weakly slammed your fist against the stone wall.

They had abandoned you… again.

You slowly crumbled into a heap on the floor, tucking your knees into your chest as you wiped away your tears with your sleeve. Were you the one to blame here? You always prided yourself on your sense of independence and headstrong attitudes, but could this have been your very undoing?

Bologna, you thought, despite giving your parents this newfound opportunity to brag about having an alchemist in the family, had not been nearly as successful in stomping out your spirit as initially hoped. Was Nottingham supposed to take its place then?

While you had been in Italy, for a brief moment, you almost felt in control of your life. The opportunity to both grow academically and spiritually had been life-changing. Your mind has been opened to the endless possibilities and questions that encompassed the human spirit and it was with this newfound knowledge that you were able to finally act independently.

Your whole life up until that point had been dictated by your parents, from what you wore, to what you ate, to even the company you kept. It took being sent thousands of miles away from home to make you truly feel alive.

However, you should have known that this feeling of boundless freedom was never meant to last. Sooner or later they would have you crawling back to England, willingly or not, and once again, it was impossible to not feel both incredibly powerless and incredibly frustrated.

You’d had your first taste at real purpose, one that you pursued wholeheartedly, and now that had been stolen from you as well.

No matter how hard you vied for change, the end result was always the same and an overwhelming sadness encompasses you at this realization, one that settles into the very marrow of your bones.

You took a gander up at the night sky, the stars twinkling brightly alongside the white light of the moon. Your eyes fluttered shut as you took a deep breath, your shoulders sagging from exhaustion as the reality of the situation caught up with you.

This… was your home now, this was your life now. You supposed it could be worse but you doubted that the sting left behind from this sense of betrayal would ever leave your bruised heart.

The sound of metal spurs clicking against the stone caught your attention and you're rooted to the spot as a figure emerged from the shadows and towered above you.

“Are you alright?”

Your eyes widened in surprise when Sir Guy appeared in the moonlight, his face creased with worry as he kneeled down before you.

Turning your head away from him, you cough into the crook of your arm and wave off his concern.

“Yes, I’m… I’m alright,” you said softly, trying to hide the tremble in your voice. “I just needed some time alone.”

He’s quiet and you hear the leather of his pants squeak as he adjusts his footing. “Do you wish to be alone?” he wondered. “The sheriff was worried when you did not return, so he sent me after you. I can tell him that you already went off to bed if you’d like.”

Your lips upturned into a smile and although your eyes were surely red and your cheeks surely puffy, you turned to face him to express your gratitude.

“That’s very kind of you, Sir Guy. I do not think I would be able to face the sheriff in the near future.”

“I’m assuming you spoke to your parents?”

You sighed and titled your head up to look back up at the dozens of stars that dotted the night sky. “Was it that obvious?” you replied dryly. “I was left with no say in the matter. It appears as though this had been their plan all along,”

“I hope you understand that you will not be treated as a prisoner here,” he said and you scoffed in response.

“Then why does it feel like it?”

You nearly jump out of your skin when Guy places a tentative hand on your shoulder and you look at him, absolutely bewildered.

“I apologize… if this isn’t exactly the life you envisioned. However, I assure you that life here in the castle isn’t completely unbearable.”

“Oh?” you said and felt yourself relax when you picked up the sudden playfulness in his tone.

“Once in a while, you’ll meet someone that turns this place around,” he said with a knowing smile and you laughed.

“I don’t know,” you replied. “I doubt even your charming company could help me warm up to this place.”

“It’s not all bad,” he said and you would be remiss to say that you weren’t disappointed when he removed his hand from your shoulder.

“Since Nottingham is at the center of this shire, all of the villages are in relatively close proximity. It’s a nice escape to visit every once in a while.”

“Would the sheriff even allow me to go anywhere?” you asked cynically. “Seems to me the only reason I’m here is to be his alchemist.”

“I am not sure what your parents told you, but you are a guest here in the castle,” Guy replied earnestly. “I know the sheriff may seem rather… eccentric, but you are now a valued member of his team. Think of being his alchemist as your job. Even the farmers that toil in the fields all day have time to rest, recuperate, maybe visit the market,”

You finally brought your eyes to meet his and felt your heart skip a beat at the smile on his face.

“I’m sure this must be incredibly jarring, being brought home from Bologna only to be thrust here of all places,” he said sympathetically. “In time, however, I am sure you will learn to see this place as a second home.”

His kind words helped dull the sting you had previously been feeling, nevertheless it was hard to remain optimistic in such a situation. For now, you supposed you could get by with exuding a facade of collective composure, at least long enough till you decided how you truly felt about this place.

You reached over and gave Guy’s arm a reassuring squeeze, his eyes widening in surprise.

“Thank you, Sir Guy,” you said. “I… I will try.”

He smiled and got up from the floor and offered you his gloved hand. You took it and in one strong pull, he hoisted you up.

“If you’d like,” he said. “I could show you to your room.”

“That would be lovely,” you replied with a smile. “Thank you.”

You shyly wrapped your arms around the one he politely extended to lead and the two of you silently began to walk through the halls of Nottingham castle.

It was much bigger than you initially anticipated and if it weren’t for Guy, you surely would have gotten lost. You started to worry about the following morning and sincerely hoped that the sheriff would send someone down to fetch you lest you wander off into an unsavory part of the castle.

The halls were sparsely decorated with various weapons and tapestries but nothing too extravagant, which you found a little odd considering the sheriff’s rather audacious wardrobe choice.

Walking up a set of stairs, Guy leads you down a hallway before slowly coming to a stop before a large wooden door.

“This is where you shall be staying,” he said and pulled it open for you.

It was fairly large and furnished with a bed, desk, armoire, and even a fireplace. It did not exactly feel very homey but, for now, it would do.

“Feel free to request anything that you may need with any of the guards stationed around,” Guy said. “They’ll fetch anything so long as they can find it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you replied and dragged your hand across the blanket that lay on top of the bed. It was surprisingly very soft.

“And, if you’d like, I could give you a tour of the castle tomorrow, to help you familiarize yourself with its layout. I know how confusing it looks to first-time visitors.”

“That would be very helpful,” you said and turned back to face him. “Thank you, Sir Guy—for everything. It’s reassuring to know that I have at least one friend here.”

His eyes lit up and he gifted you another stunning smile before he bowed his head. “Of course, milady. I will be here at your beck and call, all you need to do is ask.”

You giggled and curtsied as you said, “You are too kind to me. I will see you tomorrow, then?”

He nodded his head. “Of course. Till then, I wish you a pleasant rest of your evening, milady,” he said and departed with one last glance, closing your door with a quiet click.

[fizzyxcustard]

Why Did I Trust You?

Masterlist of fan fiction

Fandom: Robin Hood

Pairings: Guy of Gisborne x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Sadness, angst, betrayal (sort of!), depression mention, fluff

Comments/Notes: Requested by @puggledy-huggledy-is-not-a-pig who is the biggest Guy fan that I know. From the prompt "They told me not to trust you but I didn't listen."

I hope you like the fic. As always, like, reblog and comment if you enjoy. If you wish to be added to any of my tag lists, let me know.

Everyone kept telling you how Guy had always been taken with Marian, and that his heart still belonged to her. No one could get over lost love that easy. She had disappeared into Sherwood Forest with her lover, Robin Hood. Leaving Guy to pick up the pieces of a shattered heart. You had never met this Marian woman, but had heard plenty about her from the locals. 

You had travelled to Nottingham in high hopes of better income, and thankfully, you had been given a roof over your head, alongside the work, for all for your trouble. Guy had sorted that out for you. After all, he knew your father, who worked as a fellow tax collector in the next town over and often visited Nottingham to report to the Sheriff. 

Being a newcomer also meant that everyone was suspicious of you. And you had become aware of the rumours that people were spinning behind your back, despite being polite to your face. Snakes, all of them. Most days when you walked through the courtyard of the castle, heading in for your day of work, you’d see people gently shoulder each other. You’d see this action out of the corner of your eye, but as soon as they saw you’d noticed them, they would smile. Vipers! 

By the time you had been there six months, you knew it was time to move on. Nottingham was not quite the charming place that you had been told by your old townsfolk. Maybe the stories had been spun from those assuming that due to Nottingham being a central stronghold for finances, that the streets were paved with gold. That couldn’t have been any further from the truth. Only the Sheriff’s personal chambers were lined with gold; everywhere else was run down and full of squalor.

The last arrangements were in place, and the following day, you were ready to return home. It would take you about a day to walk to your meeting point with your father, who was coming by horse and cart to collect you. Messenger pigeons had been flying between you and your father for the last month, as your depression had gotten deeper and beckoned you home. 

The only good thing about the place was Guy. In fact, he was the only friend you had in this horrible place. The thought of leaving him was hitting you hard, and as you cleaned the larger chambers of the castle, you kept Guy’s until last. 

Upon stepping inside the room, you saw the seat that you sat in most evenings, where you would share dinner with him. You would watch the candlelight dance across his pointed features, highlighting the sadness in his ice blue eyes. Was the sadness remnants of an unrequited love? 

Tears kept threatening to fall down your cheeks as you cleaned the surfaces with a rag. At his bedside table, you moved the vase of flowers you had placed there three days ago, sweeping the dust beneath it. All you could feel was the painful, burning sensation of something lodged in your throat. 

Don’t you cry. Don’t you dare cry! 

As you made the bed and took one last sniff of his pillow, you realised that you had nothing of his. And you couldn’t leave Nottingham without at least one token from him, even if he had not given it you freely. 

There was a jewellery box which you knew Guy kept in his wardrobe, just behind his boots, on the floor. You could remember him telling you about it, where he explained that no one else knew of its existence, but you. 

Your hands were shaking as you approached the wardrobe, and slowly you opened the door, listening to it creak. The box was simple, with no inscription at all. It didn’t matter what it was that you took, as long as it was Guy’s; something to remember him by. Not that you could ever forget him in a hurry. 

Blood was thumping in your ears as you opened the box and looked upon two gold rings inside. That was all the box held, these two gold rings. The first one was a simple band, with no jewels or inscriptions. The other was gold, but had a simple green stone upon broad shoulders. You snatched the ring with the green stone and slipped it into your apron pocket. 

“What are you doing?” a deep voice came. 

You gasped, stepping back at the sight of Guy. When had he come into the room? “P…please, it’s not what it looks like.” 

“Oh, I know it was exactly what it looked like. You stealing one of my grandmother’s rings.” His eyes were so wide now, and you couldn’t help but swallow hard, feeling a rod of ice shoot down your spine. Guy was terrifying when angry, a trait that many a person had seen who lived in Nottingham. This was your first time of seeing his anger directed at you. 

“I’m sorry,” you whimpered. You pulled the ring back out of your pocket and placed it down on the table next to you. “It really is not what it looks like.” 

Guy turned on his heel. “They told me not to trust you, but I didn’t listen.”

“Guy, please,” you pleaded, touching his shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me!” he growled. “I let you in. I offer my vulnerability to you, and I offer you so much, and this is how you value our relationship? By stealing from me?” 

Tears fell down your cheeks. Your heart thundered, shattering even more with each beat. “I wanted something of yours, to remember you by.” 

“Remember me by? What do you mean?” Guy asked, his voice less hostile now. Slowly, he turned back to face you. 

Tears had begun to form in his eyes. His gaze was intense, and locked on you. 

“I would never have betrayed your trust, Guy. Believe me. I value you more than you realise.” 

“Yet you still plan to leave?” 

Of course he knew what you had meant. “You have no idea how it’s pained me to complete my duties today, knowing it will be the last time we stand face to face.” 

“Am I not enough to stay for?” The words only just came out of his mouth, broken by the breath that was struggling to get out. “I’m never enough.” Those words were despaired whisper. 

“Guy, no!” you exclaimed. “Never think that.” 

“But you’re leaving!” His voice had re-gained its power, and he stared at you. “I’ve been beside you in everything since you came here. Why am I not enough?” 

You reached out and took Guy’s leather-clad hand. “You are enough. Why don’t you think you are? Is it because of Marian?”

Guy closed his eyes for a second and sighed. Then he focused his gaze back on you. “I see the townsfolk enjoy talking about me.” 

“Don’t blame them. You’ve mentioned her before, and I guessed she’s the woman you love.” 

“She isn’t. Not anymore. I did love her once and she left. Every woman I grow to love leaves me.” 

Did that mean…? Breath caught in your throat, but you tried not to get above yourself in your want of him. “So other women before her have left?” 

Guy smirked. “Don’t deny what’s right in front of you.” He whispered your name and came closer, his body so close to yours. He looked down from his taller height.

You placed both of your hands on his chest, wanting so much to feel his bare skin beneath the leather. Your gaze met his and you leaned up, placing a gentle kiss against his lips. 

Guy opened his eyes, seeing uncertainty in your face. And gathering his confidence and love, he wound his arms around your waist and kissed you. 

The kiss was full of love, passion and desperation. Your tongues met, and within a few more seconds, Guy’s lips were on your neck. He was panting, and you whimpering.

As you both slowed down, your breaths harsh, you embraced Guy. 

“Is this now enough to make you stay?” he asked. 

You looked up from his chest, and smiled. “What do you think?” 

“And maybe I have more reason.” Guy reached across to the ring you had placed on his table and held it to you. “I want you to have this…and be my wife.” 

***

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

Guy of Gisborne tag list: @whoooooisthis @emmyspov @dumbassunderthemountain

[annoyedfanfiction]

new sheriff

robin x reader part 7

warnings: spoilers (?), major character injury, violence, sickness, injury

Wednesday was market day, and despite the lack of goods for sale, there were still a few stalls, and the streets were crowded. Thea stood at the front of the podium, as John sounded a gong to garner the crowds' attentions.

"People of Nottingham county." Her voice was clear in the heavy silence, ringing with all the hopes of a nation. "Let it be heard and known about the lands and realms of Richard, His Majesty, King of England, that on this day, in the year of our Lord 1195, Vaisey, previously known as Sheriff of Nottingham, has resigned his control of the county." The street erupted into whispers, uncertain, hopeful. "With the power bestowed unto me as bearer of this letter of royal seal, I now deliver this position onto Robin, Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of Loxley, also known as Robin Hood." A cheer split the whole street. And then was instantly silenced by the arrow that flew at them, aimed for Robin's head, as he stood beside her. She shifted, almost imperceptibly, knocking him aside and feeling it sink into her neck, as Gisborne stormed in, ten men on his heels, and the people parted for fear.

"I am Guy of Gisborne, Lord of Loxley and Earl of Huntingdon–" The people booed behind him, cooing and snarling, as Thea pulled the arrow from her neck and pulled the bandage from her hand up to it, unseen by Robin as he turned to his old enemy.

"Guy of Gisborne, as Sheriff of Nottingham, I now strip you of your land and titles." Robin was made to lead the people, as he spoke with such calm confidence, despite having been almost killed, "And place you under arrest for treachery, conspiring against the crown, and the attempted murder of your King." His guards glanced from one to other, then dropped their weapons, as the crowd closed in around them, surging, snapping at their heels. Allan leapt off the temporary stage, strapping a rope around Gisborne's hands, and dragging him off the streets, with the crowd drowning out his curses against their lives. 

"The Council of Nobles is assembling today, as usual," Robin continued, as though one of the most influential men of their time hadn't just been dragged off in disgrace. Then he stepped off the podium, with John, Much, and Thea on his heels.

"Where did that arrow of Gisborne's even go?" Allan asked, laughingly, looking around the stage for any sign of it. John, beside him, shoved his elbow into his ribs, eliciting a slight yelp. "Wha–oh." Thea glared at them both, as if daring one of them to say a word to Robin, who was in front of them, surrounded by his people.

"We don't have to tell him right now," John muttered, leaning over to her, "But perhaps you should go and clean that up? He will be a while." She rested her head on his shoulder to listen to him speak.

"Fine, but make sure you get him to the council on time," she agreed, with a smile, "I'll clean up quickly, then go ahead to assemble and keep the council." John huffed, smiling, and lightly shoved her towards the castle.

"Where's Thea?" Robin asked, as John and Much practically dragged him back into the castle. "She went to get tidied up, and then to assemble and keep the council until you were done," Allan answered, honestly, the arrow wound burning on his tongue. "Never trusts me to be on time," Robin chuckled, picking up his pace towards the council room. John just looked at him, shaking his head. "We almost dragged you off that street," Allan pointed out, incredulously. "She's sensible."

"My apologies, Lords and Ladies," Thea was saying, as they entered, "The Sheriff will be here in a moment, he was just held up by this morning's events." 

"I apologise for my tardiness," Robin agreed, turning many of the council's eyes to him, "I had matters to deal with among the people."

"Robin Hood." A couple of Vaisey's favourite nobles stumbled a little. "Where is the Sheriff?"

"In accordance with the announcement made this morning, under the seal of Prince John," Allan said, confidently, as good at any role as always, "Sir Robin, Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of Loxley, is now Sheriff of Nottingham." A ripple of surprise ran through some of the unaware nobles. "Indeed, shall we begin business?" Robin asked, taking his seat at the head, and gesturing for John, Allan, and Thea to join him at the executive table. "Tax reports. Lord Agravaine." Halfway through her father's report, Thea slipped to her feet, almost silently, murmuring an apologetic excuse, and disappearing out a servant access door. 

"Lady Thea?" The cook caught her as she staggered into the kitchen, hand still pressing tightly to the now-bandaged wound on her neck. "Aren't you meant to be in the council meeting?" Thea nodded, then shook her head, continuing almost blindly through the kitchen, fishing an empty chamber pot from the storage cupboard. "Hot water, please," she rasped, and the cook raced to put the kettle onto the stove, as Thea staggered out of the kitchen, just as John came clattering down the same stairs. "Did you see Thea?" he asked, hurriedly. The poor cook nodded, waving him in the direction she had disappeared in, watching John follow her with all of his usual dark threat. "Thea?" He eased into the room, speaking softly. Thea was sitting miserably in one corner, leaning against the wall. She wretched again, and he pulled her long hair back. A soft knock sounded, and the cook entered, a bowl of warm water in her hands. "Thank you," John acknowledged, as the cook watched Thea worriedly. "What is making her sick?" she asked, as Thea leant back again, panting. "Is Robin still in the council?" Thea rasped to John, gripping his arm tightly, "He cannot abandon this council, it is his first as Sheriff." "He's still in there," John soothed, calmly, waving the cook forward with the water, "What's making you sick?" "Back," she answered, leaning forward to reveal a half-undone dress, with a bandage peaking out behind it. "Where Gisborne caught me." "He stabbed you before Robin shot him." The realisation seemed to physically pain the strong man, as he paused in unfastening her corset. "Why didn't you tell us?" "No time. I cleaned it, but–" She cut herself off as John cursed, inching off the bandage, to reveal the swollen, red skin. "Infection," the cook breathed. 

"We need Djaq," John stated, urgently, even as the cook pressed a soaking cloth to the weeping wound. "Djaq's in the Holy Land," Thea pointed out, "Just wash it, I'll  be fine." "No you will not!" John roared, startling the cook into a jump. "You'll always be fine, but what about when you aren't, Thea? What happens then? What happens to Robin? What happens to me?" His whirlwind vanished from the room, clipping the door shut behind him. "John, we can't afford to interrupt the council!" she yelled after him, but earned no response. "You would rather die of infection that jeopardise Robin's rule as Sheriff?" the cook asked, softly, once again pressing the steaming cloth to her back. "If I jeopardise Robin's rule, I jeopardise not only Nottingham, but the King and all of England," Thea replied, dragging herself to her feet, chamberpot in hand. "Would you mind helping me to my room?"

They would have made quite a sight, Thea with her dress halfway off to reveal a pulsing wound in her back, leaning on the cook with her bloodied cloth and water. Indeed, to Lord Agravaine's uncomprehending eyes, it was a shock. "Thea?" He caught her as she stumbled, with John rushing up behind them all, Allan on his heels. "Father." She greeted him with a weak smile, shifting some of her weight onto his proffered shoulder. "How did this happen?" he asked, as Allan pushed open the door of her room. "Gisborne stabbed me in the back," she informed him, matter of factly. "Apparently it's infected." "Apparently? Thea, this wound is beyond infected," her father scolded, lowering her onto the bed and pulling open the back of her dress to expose the wound again. "John and I are going to get a physician, Lord Agravaine," Allan assured him. "She's in the Holy Land!" Thea burst out again, "Robin cannot have both of you gone at the same time – especially not now. An English physician shall be fine." "The only one available is the Sheriff's personal pet," Allan replied, simply. "We need Djaq." "I'll go." Lord Agravaine stood up from his daughter's bedside, letting the cook tend to her wounds again. "Where can I find this girl?" "In a villa outside Acre," John explained, with Allan jumping in to gesture wildly in description of the location. 

"Father, it's dangerous," Thea warned, as the three men finished their discussion of the location. "You cannot get yourself hurt for me." "You are my daughter," Agravaine replied, simply, wrapping his daughter into a warm, gentle hug. "I will do anything for you." "You will at least need these." Thea pulled one of her tags off her neck and handed it to him. "She will know you are true." He placed the tags around his neck, almost reverently, and a kiss on her forehead, before he was gone. "Now you two get back into that council and get this done right," she ordered John and Allan. "No more fussing over me. Eva has this under control." John hesitated, as though he was about to disagree, but Allan tapped his arm, and they both exited the room. Thea grabbed the pot and wretched violently into it.

John pulled Robin aside as the council ended, with the nobles all filing out. "Where did Thea go?" he asked, immediately, "Is she alright?" "Gisborne stabbed her, three days ago," John replied, still gripping tightly to Robin's arm. "She didn't tell any of us before she went to London. It's infected and she's taken a fever." Robin's face darkened, and he ran a hand through his hair, cursing. "How is she? Has she got a physician?" John followed Robin through the corridors, to his stream of questions, which cut off abruptly as they entered Thea's room. The cook jumped to her feet, bowing her head. "My Lord Sheriff." Robin smiled at her, but tightly, not taking his eyes from Thea, who was once again wrenching into the chamberpot. "No need for such formalities, Eva," he murmured, "Thank you for tending to Thea." "It is my pleasure," Eva replied, easily, "But I am afraid there is only so much that hot water can do. She needs medicine." "John, which physicians are–" "Only the Sheriff's pet," came the answer, immediately, "We've sent for Djaq." "Good," Robin turned to face them, "Did Allan–" He cut himself off as Allan slipped in the door. "Lord Agravaine," John said, gruffly. "Robin," Thea mumbled, reaching out a hand in his direction, watching through almost unseeing eyes. "Why didn't you tell us, Thea?" he questioned, softly, sitting on the bed beside her and pulling her close to him. Her forehead was dappled with the fever's sweat, and she was shivering. "There was no time," she whispered, voice crippled, "I washed it, but I had to get to London. I didn't think this would happen." Robin sighed, pulling her hair back away from her flushed face, fingers brushing against her bandaged neck. "What is this?" His voice almost burned in his throat. "Gisborne's arrow," Allan breathed, "This morning." Robin released a breathy growl, but Thea grabbed his arm before he could move. "Stay."