Robin Hood 2010 - Tumblr Posts

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Blue Blood and Rain [3]

King John X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info •ko-fi•

Summary: You go to the King's chambers as requested.

Series Masterlist

A/N: A huge, huge, huge thank you to @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and helping me out with this one! <3

Warnings: Kissing, dry humping, coming in pants, reader is a virgin, overuse of italics, power dynamics because he's the king, I have totally made up servant/noble dynamics because I wanted to, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 2859

You'd expected a little more difficulty to get here. A complication. Something. 

But it had all been too easy.

Lady Bowhale had excused you from your duties early as she was meeting up with another noble. No one even noticed you as you made your way to the side of the castle that held the King's private chambers, why would they? 

The guards didn't even question you when you approached them, you'd hardly even held up the pendant the King had given you before they had already nodded and escorted you down the corridor. 

You wondered how many times they'd done this, how many times someone had been invited to his room for…for whatever was going to happen.

The guards leave you when you reach a door, returning to their post without a word.

You shift your weight from foot to foot, nausea building in your throat as anxiety worms and twists in your stomach. You breathe deeply and knock quickly before you completely lose your nerve.

“Come.” The King’s voice is firm and politely disinterested.

Maybe you had misunderstood. Maybe this was a terrible, terrible idea. 

You bite your lips together before you push open the heavy wooden door and step inside. 

You keep your eyes to the floor as you move, turning quickly to close the door behind you and then stand with your hands clasped too tightly in front of you. 

You miss the smile that spreads across the King’s face when he looks up from his desk and sees you. But you hear as he stands and walks towards you, the grind of his chair as he pushes it from the table, the faint rustle of his clothes. 

You keep your eyes cast down when he stops directly in front of you, barely a hand width away. 

“Now, now,” he gently places his forefinger under your chin and tilts your head upwards to meet his gaze, “is this any way to greet your King?” 

Dread flushes through your veins despite the tease in his voice. “I, Your Highness -Your Majesty- I’m-”

A smile pulls at his lips as you fumble with your words, but it doesn’t last long as he leans forward, pressing his mouth to yours and swallowing your distress.

He pushes you lightly up against the door, pressing his chest flush to yours as he deepens the kiss. One hand grips your hip while the other strokes down your cheek, your neck, squeezing lightly at your shoulder.

When he pulls back a fraction to break the kiss it leaves you breathless. “Just as sweet as I remember.” He mutters, moving his hand up from your hip to your waist, while he caresses your cheek with the backs of his fingers.

Heat runs along your skin. You bite your lip as you stare at him.

“Uh uh,” he tuts and presses his thumb against your bottom lip, gently easing it from between your teeth. “I am the only one allowed to do that.” His voice is low, heavy with lust as he dips forward again to kiss you. His tongue swipes along your lip before he nips lightly, using your gasp of surprise as an advantage to slip his tongue into your mouth. 

You pull lightly at his shirt, urging him closer, and when he presses his knee between your legs you open them without thinking. So eager to be utterly caught up in the heat of his kiss. 

You breathe hard as he trails his lips along your jaw, sucking lightly just below your ear. 

He grinds against you languidly, pressing his hardening cock to your centre and groaning when you instinctively buck. “So eager for me,” he mutters between kisses, his voice sending a shiver down your spine. 

He takes hold of your thigh, hooking his hand under your knee and spreading you wider as he places your leg over his hip.

A splash of panic settles along your nerves, overriding any pleasure his mouth brings. 

He’s obviously experienced, used to others who can at least keep up with him. It wasn’t as if you were completely naive, but you were certainly lacking in practical experience. 

“I, erm, Your Highness, I,” you fumble your words, letting your anxiety overtake you. You would be a disappointment. 

To your surprise he stops his onslaught on your skin, pulling back ever so slightly to look into your eyes while staying close. He smiles softly, stroking your cheek once more like he is calming a wild animal. “What is it sweet thing?” He lightly kisses your lips. “You can tell your King.” 

You swallow, breathing deeply as dread settles in your veins. This was foolish, you were being foolish. 

“You’re shaking.” He whispers, his voice sweet and gentle, as he takes hold of your left hand. He kisses your palm, your fingers, before he presses it to his cheek. “You need not be afraid of me.”

“I’m not afraid of you, Your Highness,” You say softly, but you’re not sure if you’re being completely honest. “I, I’m,  just…”

He listens intently for a moment, but when you don’t continue he presses his lips to your wrist and takes a step back, carefully lowering your leg to the ground. 

Your chest hurts. A deep widespread pain that all but robs the breath from you. You’d displeased him, you’d-

“Here,” he keeps hold of your hand, kissing your knuckles and gently guiding you further into the room. “Come, sit with me.” 

He gives you a reassuring smile as he leads you to a lush seat by the fire. It’s only now that you look around and truly take in the beauty of the room, the fine tapestries covering the walls, the dark wood furniture.

He gestures for you to sit first, bowing his head ever so slightly as if you were some Lady he was trying to court and not… you didn’t want to think about it. 

He sits next to you, angling his body so that he’s facing towards you, his thigh brushing against yours. Far too close to be innocent.

You swallow and bite your bottom lip. 

The King grins. “What did I tell you about that?” He teases. “Behave or I’ll kiss you senseless.”

“What if I want you to?” You retort, speaking before thinking. 

His smile widens, “That’s better,” and leans towards you again. 

“Your Highness, I am not,” you blurt out and he pauses. Inwardly you curse yourself. “I am not… experienced  in these matters.” You keep your eyes closed as you speak, it was easier than meeting his fierce gaze, from being distracted by his beautiful eyes.

“I am… I will be a disappointment to you.” You finally finish. “I’m sorry…”

He is quiet for a long moment. And it is only when you finally find the strength to open your eyes that you see him beaming. 

“Is that what you were so nervous about?” His amusement is clear in his voice. 

You nod, practically wanting to bury your head in your hands.

“Aww, my sweet.” He kisses your cheek, nuzzling against you and heat flows over your skin. He runs his fingers along your jaw as he leans back to watch you. “You’re nervous?” 

You nod.

He pauses, taking his time with his words. “I know I ordered you to be here but… tell me honestly, with no repercussions for you on my part, do you wish to be here with me?” 

You meet his gaze quickly and nod.

His grin returns at your eagerness. “Good, but I want to assure you that, at any moment when we are in my chambers together you can leave without repercussions. You can say stop, and I’ll stop, understand?” 

You nod again but he can see the worry written across your face. 

“I am not interested in doing things that you do not want,” he leans closer, “that you do not enjoy.” He lightly presses his lips against your throat and your breath hitches. “My pleasure comes from yours.” He whispers, kissing just below your ear. 

You shiver, instinctively moving to press yourself closer to him.

“You are not, and never will, disappoint me,” his breath is warm on your cheek as he guides your mouth to his once more. Kissing you like you're his only source of oxygen. 

“Though,” he mutters against your lips, “I am interested in what ‘not experienced’ means to you.” There’s a tease in his voice that sets your blood on fire. Part of you wants to hide your face, dissuade him from making you answer. But you can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t going to let this go so easily. 

“I…” you squirm a little under his watchful eye as he strokes your cheek softly, obviously enjoying your discomfort. 

But he seems to take pity on you, lending forward and placing a light kiss to your lips. “Alright, let me make this easier for you, yes?” 

You watch him a little suspicious of his smile, certain he’s trying to lead you into some sort of trap. 

“Am I your first kiss?” He asks, licking at his bottom lip with the tip of his tongue. 

You shake your head and his grin widens.

“I didn’t think so,” he brushes his thumb lower, stroking your jaw.

“You didn’t think so?” You put a little mock outrage into your voice and he laughs. 

“Your kisses are too sweet to be completely innocent.” 

“I am going to take that as an insult.” You jab lightly and his eyes gleam. 

“Oh dear,” he runs his fingers softly over your collarbone. “I best try to make it up to you then, do my best to get back into your good graces.” He kisses you gently, sliding his hand around to the back of your neck to urge you closer. Not that it was needed, you’d moved instinctively closer, craving more of his touch. 

He licks along your bottom lip before groaning as he slips inside. He licks into your mouth, stroking your tongue with his own before he kisses your cheek, chin, leaving soft, sweet impressions along your jaw until he reaches the point just below your ear. 

You moan weakly, your breath hitching as he lightly sucks, his fingers stroking gently across your skin. 

“Is that nice?” He coos, already knowing the answer and seeming far too pleased with himself. 

You nod unthinkingly, shivering as he kisses the same spot again, dragging his teeth across the faint love bite he left. 

You grab hold of his bicep, sinking your fingers into the soft material of his shirt and tugging him close without realising.

Another small moan leaves your throat as he pulls back once more and chuckles. For a moment he only rubs the top of his nose against your neck, inhaling deeply before he speaks. “Am I the first to kiss your neck?” He asks, silky smooth, the hint of his smile in his voice. 

You shake your head.

“No?” He teases, pretending to pout. 

“No but…” you swallow, feeling almost lightheaded. “But it didn’t feel like that.” 

“Really?” He presses another light kiss to your throat and you shiver.

“Really.” 

He chuckles, “what did it feel like?” 

“Hmm?” 

“When the other kissed your neck, what did it feel like?” 

You pause, trying to find the right words and not wanting to lie to him. “Wet.” 

He snorts, utterly amused. “Wet?”

You nod.

He chuckles. “Surely this is wet too, is it not?” He nips at your skin purposefully, dragging his tongue over your jugular and squeezing your hip when you sigh and shiver, pushing closer to him wantonly. 

“Yes,” you bite back the sounds in your throat, “but it’s…” 

“It’s…?” He raises his eyebrows expectantly. 

“It feels different, it feels good.”

“You didn’t enjoy it before?” There’s a light sadness in his tone that’s catches you off guard. 

“It was fine.” 

“Well, that will not do,” he smiles and leans back a little so he can look at your face, “fine is not exquisite is it?” 

You shake your head. 

His smile widens, “you deserve to feel wonderful,” he cups your cheek, gently urging you back to his warm mouth and soft lips. 

You comply eagerly, melting into the kiss and sighing.

Gently he slips his hands down to your waist and hips, silently urging you to move and climb into his lap.

At first, you hesitate despite your body screaming for you to comply. 

He nips at your bottom lip softly, licking into your mouth teasingly for a second, “please.” He asks softly stroking your cheek once more, peppering kisses over your skin. “Please.” He urges again, gently pleading with you

A happy sigh leaves him when you finally climb into his lap, your legs on either side of his. At first, you rest gingerly, not wanting to put any of your weight on him. But he carefully persuades you to settle, his hands warm as they trace patterns on your sides through your dress. 

He watches you intently the whole time, a small smile teasing at his lips when your centre finally brushes against his.

You gasp, your thighs tense at the touch. Instinctively you move back like you’ve been burnt, but he presses you closer, one hand flat on your back until your chests are touching. 

His clothed length presses hot and hard against you.

You squirm, breathing deeply as heat rises to your skin. 

“What about this?” 

“Your Highness?” 

He grins, chuckling kindly. “What about this?” He rocks his hips up as he holds your waist, perfectly massaging his cock against your clit. 

You whine, closing your eyes fiercely and grabbing hold of his shoulders, unsure whether you should push him away and or pull him closer. 

“Have you done this before?” He asks in that silky sweet tone as if he was speaking about trying a new meal.

You shake your head, still not opening your eyes, “No,” you manage to gasp out, swallowing, “No I haven’t.” 

“Oh,” he teases, “what a shame. So you’re telling me that no one has ever gotten to see these sweet little faces you're making?” 

Embarrassment scratches along your nerves. “No.” 

“Good.” He growls lowly, grinning wickedly, pulling you closer and mouthing at your neck until you are breathless and gasping, hanging onto him for dear life. 

He controls the steady pace, not wanting to overwhelm you any more than he already is. 

You shake above him, your body starting to move on autopilot as you chase the pleasure he’s giving you.

He watches you intently through hazy eyes, his breathing growing ragged as you begin to rock against him on your own.

“I can feel how warm you are, my sweet thing.” He says in hushed tones as he slides one hand from your hip to your thigh. He groans as you mewl, picking up the pace of his hips slightly as he presses against you. He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on making you do it again.

“I can only imagine what it feels like to be deep inside you.” He groans, breathless, pulling you closer again so he can once more slip his tongue past your lips. 

But before he gets a chance you flick your tongue into his mouth and he moans wantonly, his hips bucking as he eagerly accepts you. 

Your back arches as wetness builds between your legs, your body aching for him. He squeezes your right breast, pinching at the pebbling nipple until you squirm and whine and sink your fingers into his dark curls. 

You tug lightly, unintentionally at first, but it seems to set him off; has him groaning louder into your mouth as you eagerly drink down the sweet sounds. He rubs and ruts against you, moving you so you stroke against him exactly how he carves. 

The pleasure starts to amp up from its slow build, seizing your limbs as it gains momentum. You manage to pull your mouth back from his a fraction, your high pitched wrecked cries echoing around the room. “I…” You gasp, trying to form words.

“Oh god,” he groans, truly rutting against you like a buck in heat. “That’s it, that’s it, let it overtake you, let it, let me see you come.”

Your orgasm cracks up your spine like electricity, robbing you of thought. You press yourself as close to him as you physically can, your forehead against his as pleasure rocks through your body like a tidal wave. 

He gasps, moving frantically, trying to prolong your pleasure and the beautiful look on your face when his own orgasm catches up on him. 

He comes hard, spilling in his trousers and shaking in the aftermath. 

You both breathe heavily, still pressed close to each other. Sweat beads on your skin and when you open your eyes the King is looking up at you with soft eyes. 

“You are the first person to ever make me come without taking my trousers off, my sweet.” He smiles at you, the expression widening when you laugh and bury your face into his chest.

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gluttony - king john (2010)

Gluttony (n): overindulgence in food....or in this case..

cw: oral (f), overstim, uhhh dirty talk kind of, john being a brat, that's it.

It was a tossup between greed and gluttony for him, but I picked gluttony bc oberyn snatched greed

it's pretty straightforward. John has a luxurious lifestyle, his diet has consisted of the most sought after delicacies and he can have as much of it as he wants. why can't this extend to other tastes?

He'd played a naughty trick.

Of course, nothing was ever simple with him, and you should have been suspicious from the start. Was it odd he'd requested supper in his chambers? Yes. Was the lack of staff and more importantly, food, slightly strange? Yes.

Was being spread-eagle on a velvet bedspread for the better part of an hour out of the ordinary?

Not really.

John had developed a terribly addictive habit since you'd married. Mind you, his appetite had been voracious before, but now that he had the legal ties of marriage and free roam of the castle, his hunger could not be satiated.

You were only glad he'd stuck to his quarters, instead of devouring you in more public settings. You never mentioned it, for fear he'd get a bad idea. There were enough peasants trysting in the courtyard as it was. You were a queen, for God's sake.

Though at the moment, you felt akin to a puddle of syrup, moaning and twitching as he had his way. John's grip was bruising on your hips, corded forearms flexing and squeezing around your thighs as he tried to fit as much of you in his mouth as he could.

Sweat and fluid trickled down your legs, staining rivers on his ruined shirt. Both of you were soaked, and there was not a clean scrap of clothing in sight.

His tongue was skilled and efficient, reducing you to tears in an instant. He'd been ravenous, kissing and biting and sucking until the initial craving had been sated. With the casualty of entering one's home, he'd settled between your thighs and made a meal of your cunt.

You mewled, quivering from the intensity. Fire, pleasurable as it was painful, burned a hot stripe through your core, releasing another wave of slick. John mumbled a thank you - perhaps the only time he used his manners - and licked harder, sucking the nectar straight out of you.

"S..sstop," you whispered hoarsely, "John, you're h-hurting-"

He flicked his sharp gaze to your disheveled face. A sheen of want had glazed over his face, lips slack and dripping. Displeasure flickered across his brow, before huffing and returning to the task. Your head dropped back to the pillow, a dejected moan tearing from your throat.

The licks were gentler now. He'd given your clit a blessed break, lapping gently at your outer folds. You still twitched and cried, but the tears fell slower and you took a deep breath for the first time. His hands shifted lower, lovingly stroking your tender flesh.

It's over, it's over, your delirious mind cried with relief, shakily returning to conscious thought. John smiled at you, drinking in your heated cheeks and coital glow.

"I'd have a painting of you like this," he murmured, tracing your shining pink core. You whined at the contact, attempting to cage his hand away. Tutting, he delivered a swift smack to your ass.

"Stay," he said sternly, settling back down.

His mop of curls were sweaty as he reclined against your inner thigh, absently sucking at your skin. Hot pleasure pulsed through your cunt, seeping wetness all over the sheets. A tremor rocked your core, contorting your body away from his scalding touch.

no more, no more, your skin moaned.

John tsked and clumsily wrangled your legs back in place, biting admonishingly on your ass. Finding a new dessert to please his tongue, he focused his lustful attention there, squeezing and fondling while you moaned into the pillows.

"Hush, little wife," he slurred, smacking his lips at your taste, " 'M not quite finished."

Fingers curling around the cotton of your nightgown, you hiccupped and wailed as another powerful wave crashed over you, bowing your back into the mattress. John moaned at the sight of your puffy pink folds shivering in the low candlelight, clit stiff and swollen from overstimulation.

Everything was hot and wet. You couldn't tell if it was his tongue or his fingers plundering your messy cunt, the thickness and speed too overwhelming to process. Tears blurred your vision, the wanton moans and sucking noises all you could feel from your husband.

You writhed under him, nightgown ripping down the front as he fought to continue his feast. John greedily grabbed hold of your soft stomach, pausing his action to kiss at your breasts. The new stimulus hadn't fixed the issue of your shredded nerves, merely shifted the focus.

In not nearly long enough of a reprieve, he'd returned to eating your cunt. The slick noises were loud against the stone chamber. John's shirt was plastered to his golden chest, linen soaked to transparency. His face was dripping and milky, pink lips shimmering.

You'd find him beautiful if you could see straight.

It was a gratuitous fight between more and too much, one that your fuck-drunk mind struggled figure out. A protest would come to mind, then another orgasm would wrench it away, leaving moans and gasps in its stead. Your voice howled for it to end, but your hips ground onto his face like your life depended on it.

John reveled in your desperation, grinning at every moan. Your lust fed his, empowering him to continue.

"Good, love," he cooed, watching your folds seize and leak another mouthful of ambrosia. He greedily lapped it up, taking time to drag his tongue through each crevice of your heaven. His tongue's repeated strokes and attention had softened your skin to velvet. It was a wonderful sensation on his tongue - like having the softest, sweetest pudding in the world.

Your heady musk surrounded him. John was drunk. His thoughts had long since been beaten to a pulp, animalistic want driving him now.

Taste, smell, sweet, rich, earthy, soft, warm wet all everywhere all over him, sticky and divine on his face and tongue. He pressed closer, willing his mouth to fuse with your skin and never separate. That was the only way he'd be satisfied: if he could never taste anything else.

The supple thighs caging his head squeezed tighter, making his eyes roll back. Your legs were strong from the stables, in a dizzyingly seductive display of strength. John bucked against the bed, his own need now abundantly clear.

Your sudden rake of your hands through his hair pulled a moan from his mouth, finally tearing his mouth from your core. Saliva strung a wet bridge from his lips, puffy and gasping. You huffed at the rush of cool air against your sensitive skin, wriggling until your legs closed.

John scowled, ready to pounce, until your leg dragged deliciously over his straining hardness. At once he was placid, rutting and moaning into your thighs, face crushed in your lap.

You hissed and began to move away, giving him room to get off. He whined a protest, using your strong hips for leverage.

"N-no," he gritted out, humping faster, "almost, almost, don't move-" Your hand snaked into his trousers and he came with a guttural cry, mouthing into your exposed breasts. His hips kept twitching into your firm grip, whimpering as he stuttered to a stop.

You didn't.

Confused, John tried to back away, length soft and achey. But your eyes had cleared and your hand tightened.

"My turn," you whispered, enveloping his sore cock in your mouth. He collapsed against the bedframe, chest heaving.

All sins came with a price, he supposed, face contorting in desire.

! first one is done! the more time I spent on this, I really should have gone with greed, but oh well. Oberyn's will still be good.

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series masterlist (ongoing)

My Lord

Prince John x F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2023 Masterlist • Day 7: Slow and Soft

Summary: The ex-Prince is condemned to live out his days in exile.

A/N: Look, I know he’s got blue eyes in the film. But I have decided no. 

Warnings: one slap to the face, talks of marriage, oral (f receiving), dry humping, hand jobs, 'my love' as a term of endearment, typos, please let me know if I've missed a warning!

Word Count: 3178

Being exiled wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The weather was certainly better. 

No matter what he’d done, King Richard couldn’t bear to see his younger brother executed or locked up in some dank prison. So he’d stripped John of his titles and sent him overseas under the guardianship of the Marquess and Marquise.

Banished. 

Never allowed to return to England under punishment of death. 

It had taken weeks to get there, more than enough time for John to fester and drive himself to madness on the ship. Haunt himself with the imaginary horrors that were waiting for him. 

Instead, when they landed, he was treated well. Like a far-off, but still regal, cousin of the Marquess. Not that it stopped him from sulking for the first few months. 

However, the worst thing was, undoubtedly, you. 

At least at first. 

You were one of the head servants. Though you were treated more like one of the Marquess and Marquise's children, with the amount of freedom you were given. And the language you were allowed to use. The offhand and familiar way you spoke to them and him. 

It had driven him up the wall. Your snide comments. Your little eye rolls. The way you somehow managed to sidestep him, and challenge him, and completely get under his skin at every single opportunity. 

You had been the one to drag him out of his rooms in those first few months, not taking no for an answer. 

“It’ll do you no good moping around here all day, my lord.” The way you said the title always sounded like an insult. 

You took him on walks and rides, to markets and tailors, making him come with you to choose a horse. Demanding that he helped you prepare vegetables, making him carry his own bow and arrows when you both went hunting. Things that were beneath him. Things that he hated, dreaded. Until one morning, when you were accompanying the Marquise on a trip and had been away for a few days, he had woken up in such a foul mood. Realising only in the evening with a huff that he missed you. That he couldn’t remember a time when he had been happier than being in your presence. 

Not to say you still didn’t annoy the hell out of him. 

Originally, you didn’t even have much to do with the ex-prince. It was only when John’s spitefulness had upset some of the other servants, and in turn, the Marquess, that you had been sent to ‘deal’ with him. 

He had nearly been in exile for a year at the midsummer festival. Had become a little too intoxicated on barley wine and, as you helped him to his chambers, he had kissed you. Soft but demanding. Gentle but unyielding. 

You had pulled back like you had been struck by lightning. And smacked him across the face. Hard. Not some dainty brush of your fingers. Or a sharp sting of your palm, no, you had hit him with the heel of your hand. A bowl that would have nearly sent him sprawling even if he hadn’t been drunk. 

You had left without a word. Or look his way. 

The next morning John had risen late, memories of the previous night coming back in a rush, of him fisting his cock with tears of anger and self-pity on his skin. Quickly, he realised you had not come to wake him at the usual time. 

He had enquired after you, subtly of course. And the young servant boy, Lucas had told him that you had left instructions for the ex-prince to not be awoken, due to his previous intoxication and late night. That you had headed out into the woods early in the morning. 

He didn’t see you until late afternoon, having spent most of the day in his rooms, staring out of the window to the woods, waiting for your return. He bit at his nails until they bled, going back and forth with the idea of readying his horse and riding out into the forest after you. 

He had pretended to be in bed when you knocked and came into his room, bringing him white flower tea. 

You hadn’t looked directly at him, keeping your voice oddly cold as you explained that the tea would help with his hangover, and that the flowers were from the forest. 

His heart had nearly broken when he released you had spent most of your day collecting them for him. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered. Pain running through his heart like needles through fabric. 

You looked at him then, a small kind smile on your face. “For what, my lord?” Your normal tone back. 

John beamed, his eyes shining. 

You swallowed. “I am sorry, my lord.” 

“For what?” 

You tapped your cheek, mirroring the bruise on his face.

His smile widened and he shook his head. 

When during the evening meal the Marquess asked about the bruising, John had simply laughed and told him that he had had a small disagreement with someone at the festival who had a ‘mean right hook’. He made sure he caught your eye as he said it.

You both went back to your normal routines. Dancing around each other, while simultaneously spending most of your waking hours together. 

Nearly a month after the festival you had accidentally walked in on him after his bath, his hair still wet from the rose water as he sat on his bed and fisted his cock. 

Apologies had slipped from his tongue, despite the fact that you’d technically barged in on him. But you had simply walked around and sat down next to him on the bed. He watched you in a trance as you took hold of his length in your hand. 

“Let me help you, my lord.” 

He had tried to kiss you again, but you moved your face away. 

Wordlessly and without looking at him, you coaxed him further onto the bed and sat with him between your thighs, his back against your chest as you wrapped one arm around him and used the other to bring him to his release. 

You had left silently, leaving him to the dark night and slumber. But you spoke to him the following morning as if nothing had transpired between you. 

The next evening, just before bed, you came to his room again and stroked him until he found his release with a sob in your arms. 

You did the same the next night, and the next, and the next. Never allowing him to kiss you or touch you in a way that could cause your own pleasure. Always fully clothed while he was stripped bare. Over the next weeks, you slowly allowed him to hold your hand, arm or calf as you touched him. Let him grasp onto you as his orgasm overtook him. 

It hurt. Though he didn’t want to dwell on why. 

However, no matter how hard he tried, his thoughts kept rotating back to you. Your soft skin, gentle hands and the sound of your heart when he pressed himself close to your chest. 

John leaned against the wall, looking out to the dark night sky. 

You came into his room silently, only looking to him once you’d reached the bed. You’d expected him to be sitting on it ready, unclothed. Instead, he stood, still in his attire from the day. 

You barely manage to raise an eyebrow before he moves towards you, taking hold of your hands in his. His skin is cold, desperate for your heat. 

“My lord?” You frown. 

He takes a step forward, his heart racing, eyes shining in the candlelight. Slowly he raises his right hand and touches your cheek, brushing over your skin with his thumb. 

His touch is soft, gentle. As if you were some precious thing that would break under the smallest pressure. Some skittish animal in the woods. 

You gaze back at him, his slightly parted lips, his dark eyes, unable to focus on any feature for longer than a second.

He leans forward, moving to kiss you and you step back, pulling your hand from his as if he burnt you. 

“My lor-”

“My love,” he looks at you imploringly. The thudding pain in his chest sharpening, beseeching. Like he had been gutted and strung out, his ribs broken and split outwards so that you could view his beating heart. 

“I am not your love.” You whisper, there is no heat in your words.

“You are.” He takes a step forward and drops to his knees when you step back. “You are.” He says brokenly, his voice thick. “Please, please, I do not need to be yours. I do not... I wish I was. But you are mine. My love. You will always be my love.” 

You swallow and stare at him, almost frozen by his words. 

“I... I...” he screws up his eyes, all the words he wanted to say mixing up and fleeing in the moment. “You do not need to return my feelings, but please, know that I will always love you until my dying breath.” 

You shake your head, pain tight in your chest. “I’m not,” you breathe deeply, your voice softer than he has ever heard it. “My lord, I am just your servant, I serve-”

“I love you.” His voice breaks slightly at the end. The weight of the words too much. “I love you,” he slowly takes hold of your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles and palm. “I love you.” He kissed your wrist, staring up at you imploringly and kissing up your arm when you did not move away. “I love you.” Cautiously he stands so that he can kiss your collarbone, your neck, your jaw, your cheek. “I love you.” He whispers. 

You hold your breath, searching his eyes for something he’s not sure you’ll be able to find. Carefully he inches forward, closing the small space between you. 

You don’t move, don’t lean to him, but you don’t back away. Softly he presses his lips against yours, almost sobbing when you finally touch. 

He pulls back a fraction after a second. “I love you,” he whispers against you. “Please, let me love you.” 

You shake your head, agony tight in your throat. You can’t look at him. Not when his voice is so soft, not when your body and heart are crying out for you to give in to him. “There are plenty of others who could warm your bed for you my lor-”

John rushes forward, kissing you again. This time his lips are demanding, pleading as he cups your cheek and slowly opens your mouth with his own. He groans when you part your lips and let him inside. “I do not want someone to warm my bed.” He kisses you desperately, stroking your tongue with his. “I want to give you my heart.” 

You moan softly into his mouth, grabbing hold of his arms and pulling him closer, pressing your body up against him. 

He groans against you, moving you back to press you against the wall and hitching your right leg up over his hip so that he can grind his aching cock against your heat. You gasp as he presses against your clit, focusing all his attention on caressing you where it makes you cry out the loudest, happily swallowing down your mewls and whines. 

He squeezes your breast with his right hand, pinching the pebbled nipple and moaning when you whimper and arch into his touch. 

He ghosts his lips down your neck, sucking a love bite into your skin just below your ear. His beard scraps deliciously at your skin and sets your nerves alight. 

You bite down on your lip, trying to muffle your cries. 

“Let me love you,” he whispers, his voice low and heavy as he ruts desperately against you. “Let me show you, let me make you sing for me.” 

He kisses you roughly, needily, all tongue and teeth as he pulls at your skirts, snaking his hand under the fabric. 

You want to give in, want to let him pull sounds and sensations from you as his heart desires but panic grips you.

“Wait,” you pull back. 

He stops, stops his kisses and his roaming hands but still stays pressed close. 

“My lor-” you bite your lips together when you see the flash of pain on his face. “My...” you touch his cheek softly. You want him, you want him so badly. “I cannot, I haven’t...” You swallow. “I...”

“I wouldn’t cum inside.” He mutters, pressing his palm flat against your stomach. Even as he says the words a slight groan escapes him at the thought of you spread out under him, full of his cock and spend. “Not until we’re married, you have my word.” 

Your thoughts stop for a second. “Married?” 

He nods and smiles. “If you’ll have me.” 

“My lord-” 

He presses his lips to yours again, kissing you languidly before he drops down to one knee. 

Your eyes go wide. Words escaping you. 

“I have asked the Marquess and Marquise. They have given their blessing; I can marry you if you wish it.” 

Your heart hammers in your chest, the way he phrased it. As if he were the servant wishing to marry a lord. 

Slowly he takes off the jewelled ring on his little finger, one of the few things he had been allowed to keep from his time as prince. “Will you take me as your husband?” He looks up at you nervously. “Will you take me as yours?” 

You nod, not trusting your voice for a moment. “Yes.” 

His eyes light up as you speak, a wide smile breaking across his face as he softly takes your hand and slips the ring onto your finger. He kisses each knuckle, and then the back of your hand before standing and pressing his lips back to yours, slow and soft. 

Gently he guides you to the bed, freeing you of your clothes and pressing you back down against the mattress. 

Uncertainty bubbles in your veins as he moves his hands down your body, slowly feeling every inch of you. He pinches your nipples with vigour, dipping his head so that he can take one into his mouth. Lavishing your breast with attention before moving on to the other. 

He groans, deep within his chest, looking up at you through his lashes when you gasp and moan softly. So determined to pull every ounce of pleasure he can from your bones. 

Languidly he kisses down your stomach, pressing your thighs apart. 

You nervously go to cover your sex, heat breaking out on your skin. 

“My lo-”

“Let me make you feel good.” He murmurs, his voice laced and heavy with lust. His eyes hungry and wild. 

You barely manage a nod before he dives to your core, licking a long, flat stripe through your folds with his warm tongue. 

You gasp loudly, quickly covering your mouth with your hands as he does it again, flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. 

He’s a demon, possessed and ravenous as he devours you. Slowly sinking his tongue into you and then inching up painstakingly slowly. Ending each movement with a swirl around your clit that has your thighs shaking and stars building at the corners of your eyes. 

You moan against your hands, the sensation all-consuming as he erases any other possible thought. You can’t stop squirming, simultaneously trying to get closer, nearer, desperate for more pleasure, and trying to back away from the heady onslaught of your senses. 

He doesn’t let you escape, pressing firmly against your thigh and keeping you spread wide for him, his hand on your stomach keeping your back flat to the bed. 

“You taste so sweet, my love.” He looks up at you, his eyes dark, blown wide and drunk. 

You open your mouth, moving your hands away to speak when he leans forward, sucking your clit into his mouth and revelling in your cry of pleasure. In how your muscles tense beneath him. 

He gently presses two fingers inside of you and curls them upwards to stroke your walls. 

You shake under him, your hips bucking up against him unthinkingly as you gasp and sink into pleasure. 

John watches you intently through hazy eyes, sucking constantly on your bundle of nerves, watching your every movement keenly. Desperate to lift you higher and higher before you come crashing down. 

He strokes against a spot that makes you sob and focuses all his attention on it, your slick coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. 

The pressure begins to build uncontrollably, pushing you right to the edge. You grope around for his hand on your stomach, grabbing it firmly. He squeezes back and groans against you as fresh wetness hits his tongue. 

You moan loudly against your fingers, trying your best to dampen the sound as lightning runs along your nerves, your orgasm rippling through every limb. You gasp, contorting in your pleasure as John doesn’t stop, keeps stroking, keeps sucking, prolonging your bliss for as long as he can. 

Finally, your legs stop shaking and he pulls his mouth away, slowly pulling his fingers from your dripping folds. 

You mewl as he licks them clean and pulls off his clothes. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve seen him naked, but it feels different. Personal. A sight all for you. 

He leans down, kissing you hungrily and settling between your legs. 

The weight of his thick cock, hot against your core makes you gasp. You sink your hand into his hair, pulling lightly at his curls as he rubs his length against you, spreading your slick all over his aching cock and grinding perfectly on your clit. 

You sob against him, holding him close as he keeps moving, building up a deep and overpowering friction. That bottomless weight starts to settle in your belly again, the coil growing tighter and tighter as he rubs and ruts against you. 

You grab hold of his arms tightly and rock with him, trying to gasp out and warn him of your impending orgasm. “I... my lor-my love!” You gasp as he hits perfectly, his thick length massaging wonderfully over your bundle of nerves and through your folds and you gasp as you cum again. Pleasure blossoms along your spine, kissing every nerve as you cry out and are overtaken by ecstasy. 

John groans, moaning loudly as you call him ‘your love’. The look of bliss on your face, the fact that you are falling apart for him drives him to the edge and pushes him over. He kisses you sloppy, whining into your mouth as he spills against both of your stomachs. 

He doesn’t stop kissing you as you come back to yourself, breathing hard. Your skin is sweaty, hot, but you keep him in your arms as he presses close and whispers sweet words in your ear. 

____________________________________

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Olivia de Havilland as Maid Marian in The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938).

Sophie Marceau as Princess Isabella of France in Braveheart (1995).

Eileen Atkins as  Eleanor of Aquitaine in Robin Hood (2010).

Historical Fashion: Wimples with veils

This headdress was worn for a long period of time during the Middle Ages and was no passing fad. The wimple is a piece of fabric that covers the neck and encircles the head (not to be confused by the Gorget which only covers the neck and does not encircle the head). The look was completed with a veil that covered the head, sometimes unadorned, sometimes with a fillet to hold it in place. According to Encyclopedia Britannica this fashion was brought back to Western Europe from the Middle East due to the Crusades. 

The main functions of this headdress were of course to retain a married woman’s (and a widow’s) modesty and to protect their skin and hair from the elements. The proper way to wear a wimple was on (or over) the chin (see top and middle right for examples). 

Women in the laity would continue to wear this style and its variations up to the 16th century, thereafter it was mostly worn by women in religious orders.