I've had this saved on my laptop for a ridiculously long amount of time & felt i should share it. it's nothing special, just a quick fic
What do you think of when you hear the name Robin Hood?
The Prince of Thieves. Stealing from the rich to give to the poor. An honorable man with a set of morals and values. Maybe even a fox.
Do you want to know what I think of?
I see eyes, the color of the sky on a clear day, with the depth of a thousand oceans combined. I hear an accented voice, laced with witty sarcasm. I think of a little boy with deep dimples trailing by his side, never out of eyesight. I think of the jokes flying off a clever tongue, the deep, rich laughter that resonates from the pit of his stomach, the little lines he gets around the corners of his eyes when a smile paints his features with a cheerful glow, a lion tattoo etched on his right wrist. I think of a woman with chocolate locks and a guarded heart; simply a Queen, because the evil moniker has always seemed somewhat of an overstatement.
When I think of that man, I think of the persistent thief who stole something not one person had ever dared to come within distance of: my heart. I feel his stubble scratching me as he brings his lips to my cheek, his hand lacing with mine. I smell forest, because I might have bought him pine scented body wash even though I claimed to detest that scent. I hear a little rumble resonating from deep in his throat when I whisper particularly dirty promises in his ear. I taste him on my tongue when he begs for entry and I am more than happy to comply. I see my future when I look into those startling blue eyes.
I have experienced this man with every one of my senses, I have read him like an intricately written novel, and then read it once more, picking up on details that I missed the first time. One would think that I know him like the back of my hand, and maybe that's true. Maybe Robin isn't as much of an enigma as he was when I first met him, when he offered me his hand that day in the forest, his assistance, and I curtly refused, because I did not ask for his help. Because that woman in the land with magic had walls stacked high around her broken heart, and the last thing she needed was for a damn outlaw to knock her down even lower.
And that is why I am afraid, terrified even. Those walls that I had… well, my thief has plowed right through them. As well as I know him, I am afraid he knows me ten times better. He knows my secrets and my dreams, my fears and the details of the nightmares that keep me awake at night. I have told him more than I have told everyone else combined. And yet, he still loves me, whether due to his ignorance or perseverance, I am not certain. I am undeniably grateful that this is true, that I have him to call mine.