#Athos x oc

[prismatica-the-strange]

All I Am Belongs to You | As Long As I Know Who I Am

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, attempted sexual assault, mentions of sex but no details

A covert mission in London goes awry when Amélia is recognized by a ghost from her past. The boys fight amongst themselves for who gets to play her husband.

Pairing: Aramis x Amélia with anAthos x Amélia subplot

Word Count: 6.4k

I'm Still Here by Colm R. McGuinness (Amélia) | Follow On by Celtic Woman (Aramis) | Slow by Chris Mann (Athos) | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Reblog banner by @cafekitsune

"Dear Amélia, you look gorgeous."

"Is Her Majesty sure it's not too much?"

She feels ridiculous and refuses to see herself in the mirror. She'd run to Paris to get away from this, but here she is at her final fitting for a dress she surely can't afford.

"The whole point of this little ruse is for you to take the room's attention," Anne explains, " I don't think you'll have any trouble in that area, no matter which Musketeer is on your arm."

She dares a small glance at her reflection and her eyes go soft as she reminisces the life she gave up.

She hadn't exactly volunteered to help with this ploy, but Constance's husband forbade her from taking part, and Amélia is the only other woman the musketeers trust for their mission. She had a choice, but she couldn't bring herself to say no when they sent D'Artagnan to plead their case with those soft brown eyes of his after she'd laughed in Aramis's face.

"Whichever draws the shortest straw, you mean?" The question is meant to be rhetorical, but the queen scoffs, adjusting her skirt.

"I'm sure they're each begging Captain Treville to pick them to play your beloved as we speak."

Athos rolls his eyes at his friends, "This is ridiculous, you are aware of that, yes?"

"Treville told us to work it out amongst ourselves," Porthos grins, "That's all we're doing."

"Unless you'd both like to bow out like dear D'Artagnan, and let me enjoy the lady for a night or two?," Aramis suggests, flourishing his rapier when neither move to do so, "No? Alright then, draw your swords."

"I won't maim you just to play pretend for a night," Athos sighs.

"I will," Porthos pushes past him, sword in hand, "You always whisk Amélia away when she visits, and anyway, I'm sure she'd prefer to be on the arm of a real man."

"Perhaps," D'Artagnan cuts in, gripping the shoulder of each of his friends, "We should wait and let her choose who she prefers. She is the one who will be in the most danger, after all. Shouldn't she be with whoever she's most comfortable with?"

"I agree."

"Well, that just means Aramis gets to be the duke!" Porthos argues, "Where's the fun in that?"

Unfortunately for both Porthos and Aramis, Amélia chooses Athos to be her escort for the mission, and he fails to hide his small, snarky smile when she does.

The ride to England is long and incredibly dull, longer still since the Queen insisted she take a carriage instead of riding.

"Would one of you please ride in here with me? I'm unbelievably bored," She laments through the open window of the coach, "Or let me ride with one of you? Please? Just for a short while at least?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Athos says, but she won't take no for an answer.

"Aramis, my love?" She pouts over at him and Porthos laughs when his friend goes all doe-eyed at her words.

The others chuckle when he stops the group to help her up onto his horse, beaming proudly at the feeling of his arms around her.

"Stop that," She reaches back to swat his cheek, "You puff up your chest much more and I'll fall off the horse."

"I'd never let that happen, my dear."

"Perhaps I should ride with Porthos instead," She teases.

"Perhaps we should continue on?" Athos suggests, cutting off any possible response from Porthos.

"What possible reason could you have to play house with Athos over you dear love Aramis?" He whispers in her ear.

"Is driving you mad with jealousy not enough of a reason?"

"Even you aren't that cruel, my love."

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, admiring her intimate view of him, "I was afraid I'd become distracted on your arm. That didn't seem wise given the high priority of this mission and all."

"Ah, and no risk of that with Athos?" He snickers.

"Of course not," She giggles, "He's too much of a stick in the mud."

Their laughter stifles when Athos rides up beside them with a glare having obviously heard them.

"Sorry," She bites her bottom lip but it does little to hide her smile, and the two of them burst out laughing when he rides ahead in annoyance.

They make camp a few hours later, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

"Come on, love," Porthos urges, tugging at her hand when she stands to stretch, "Sing something for us."

"Mm, it's been quite some time since we've heard your lovely voice," D'Artagnan agrees from across the campfire.

"You boys are insufferable," She rolls her eyes with a smile, "What would you like to hear?"

"Something fun!" Porthos requests.

"Something quiet," Athos hisses, "God knows who could be out there in the dark, and I don't wish to attract their attention."

"Something... romantic," Aramis grins, pulling her down onto his lap, and the others groan.

"Romantic, Monsieur?"

"Please, no," Porthos begs, "Unless you plan on sitting on my lap as you do."

She starts to hum a melody before soft words begin to seemingly float in the air around them, wrapping her companions in the sweet sound of her voice.

Even Athos finds himself momentarily soothed by the sound, eyes closing as he listens.

But no one more so than Aramis. He hums along like a hymn on his lips, his eyes and soul awash with adoration.

He brushes her hair aside and presses his forehead against her shoulder and neck, as though at prayer at her altar of song, mouthing silent 'I love you's against her skin. He slowly kisses his way up her jaw and she's near breathless by the end of the song.

"Stop," She sighs, but she doesn't move to get away, "Aramis..."

"My apologies," He murmurs, pulling away, "I seemed to have been entranced and lost myself."

She finds herself drifting closer, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

"If you two are going to fuck, could you at least not do it in front of us?" Porthos snorts.

"You make it sound so indelicate," Aramis argues, fingers brushing across her now-flushed cheeks.

The next morning she wakes with her head on his chest and his cape around her shoulders.

She's careful not to wake him as she sits slightly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his sleeping lips.

She jumps when his hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her there to kiss her harder.

"You were awake," She laughs.

"And yet you kissed me when you thought otherwise, you truly are a romantic, dear Amélia."

"Get up, both of you," Athos orders, readying his horse, "We're leaving."

The two share a small smile and he quickly pecks the tip of her nose before she rises to her feet.

When Aramis moves to help her on his horse, Athos stops him and reaches his hand out to her, "You're riding with me today."

She looks confused, but pulls herself up with his arm, "Any particular reason, Athos?"

He settles his arms around her and she continues before he can answer, "Or were you just envious of Aramis?"

She can all but hear his eyes roll when he sighs and she smiles back at him.

All things considered, she actually quite enjoys being the center of their attention.

"My thought was that if we are to play married, perhaps we should know more about each other," He explains, "To make it more believable."

"Your logic is sound. What would you like to know?"

Aramis is flaming, his glare burning holes in the back of Aramis's head. The way he's holding her, their shared whispers and soft looks ravage his mind with jealousy.

He grits his teeth when she laughs and a plot to reclaim her affections begins to form.

He quickly averts his gaze when her eyes lock with his and she shakes her head with a chuckle.

"Why is it you find such pleasure in toying with us?"

"I grew up with three brothers," She says, "The lot of you bring out that mischievous nature they instilled in me."

She's quiet for a moment, smiling to herself as she thinks of her siblings, "I'm fortunate to have you all."

He smiles softly and leans forward to kiss her temple.

By the time they arrive at the manor, both she and Athos have changed into nicer clothes and are riding in the coach.

She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and he takes her hand in his, trying to soothe her.

"I won't let anything happen to you," He promises, kissing the back of her hand comfortingly.

They step out and are greeted by their hosts.

"Sir and Madam LeBlanc," Lord Smith smiles at them, "It's so nice that you came all this way to join us."

"It is an honor Lord Smi-"

"Actually!" Aramis interrupts and Athos freezes mid-bow, "I'm Lord LeBlanc."

He ignores Athos's glare as he steps forward with a polite bow.

"You see, I travel dressed as one of my guards so my darling love has a guard right on her arm should anything happen on the road," She watches with wide eyes when he takes her hand with the most devout look in his eye, "I would never forgive myself if something ever happened to her."

She nearly swoons when he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles.

"Thank you, you may join the others," He barely glances at Athos who fights the urge to roll his eyes as he bows and moves to stand with Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"What an inspired idea!" Smith muses, motioning them to follow him, "Come! Once you've settled in your rooms, I'll show you the grounds."

Aramis offers her his arm and she takes it, whispering through her smile as they follow their host, "Athos is going to kill you."

"I'd like to see him try."

"I'm going to kill you!" Athos snaps as soon as they're left to their own in their rooms, slamming his friend against the wall, "Is your ego so important that you would put this whole mission, including Amélia, in jeopardy?"

"Athos-"

"I would never allow her to get hurt!" Aramis hisses back, "She's safer at my side!"

"Boys-"

"You pompous, self-important, ass!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" She shouts, shoving her way between them.

"He was reckless and-"

"We all agree what Aramis did was stupid and ill-conceived," She huffs, glaring at both of them, "But what's done is done. Making a fuss now won't change the situation."

"Amélia's right," Porthos says, "We need to focus on the mission. And besides, we can kick his ass when we get back to Paris."

He and Athos go to change into more appropriate clothes for men of their respective stations and when Athos returns first, he moves to stand by her.

"Please tell me you won't instantly forgive him for this?"

"He's lucky you got to him first."

He can't help but smile to himself at her response.

"There we are," Aramis comes out dressed in finery, spinning to give them a good view, "How do I look?"

Amélia steps up to him and slaps him, "If you ever disrespect my choices again, I'll gut you myself, got that?"

She takes his arm and hooks it with hers, "Now, come on. We have a mission to do."

"I-" He stumbles when she tugs him toward the door, "Absolutely!"

He soon forgets his recent transgression as they walk through the halls with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh look, my love," She pulls away, stepping toward an open window, "What a darling creature!"

"Yes, you're beautiful," She coos, when the white long-haired cat nuzzles into her hand, "I had a cat just like you when I was a girl."

He comes up behind her and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Her smile is genuine when she looks back at him and he falls in love with her all over again.

By the time they part with their hosts and make it back to their room, he's aching to tear her dress off and bring her to ecstasy.

"Dear Amélia," He breathes against her lips as he presses her against the door. He begs, "Let me take you tonight, my love."

"Aramis," She sighs, her chest heaving. She tugs his hair and he starts kissing down her jaw, "Aramis, we can't."

As if on cue, the door jerks behind her, and Porthos bangs on the surface, "You two better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

The next morning is slower than the last and, despite Athos's annoyance, she and Aramis lock the bedroom door and laze in the plush bed together.

He holds himself over her, lavishing her skin with slow, loving kisses.

"Sweet... beautiful... darling, Amélia," He murmurs as she runs her hands through his hair, "What must I do to earn your forgiveness?"

She laughs as though he hasn't won her back her favor ten times over with the passion between them throughout the morning.

She scratches at his beard as she pretends to think and his eyes flutter shut.

"Draw me a bath?"

He kneels beside her on the bed and brings her hands to his lips, "Of course-"

She pulls him back down on top of her, kissing him as if the world had stopped outside their door and was simply waiting for them to finish.

Once the bath is filled and the room smells of rose oil, he rouses her from the bed.

"Heaven awaits," He motions toward the bath with a small bow. He leads her over by the hand, kissing her shoulder when he helps her slip her robe off.

The moan she lets out as she lowers herself into the hot water is absolutely whorish. It's the first truly nice bath she's had in ages. And why not take advantage of the situation? She deserves to be pampered, just a little, right.

"I thought only I could get you to make that sound?" He pouts, crouching beside the tub.

His finger dip just below the surface of the water, making ripples.

"Aramis."

"Yes, my love-" He laughs when she pulls him by the shirt to fall against her lips and water splashes around them, soaking the fabric, "If you wanted me to join you, you could have just asked."

"How silly of me," She smiles into the kiss.

"Come," He encourages her to sit up. One hand wanders her back while the other motions to her hair, "May I?"

She nods and he helps her wet her hair. Her eyes flutter at the feel of his fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp, washing away the long ride.

She moans his name, head lolling to side, into his touch. She leans her arms on the side of the tub, resting her chin atop them.

"Don't stop," She murmurs, her eyes falling shut.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The moment is cut short when the door slams open but a moment later. He jumps to his feet, dashing for his sword next to the bed, but stops when he realizes it's their companions.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"What do you think this is, a vacation?" Porthos asks.

"How did you... that door was locked!"

"The other guests have begun to arrive," Athos says as D'Artagnan flashes the key they got from one of the housekeepers, "You should start getting ready yourselves."

"Aramis!" She whines, not bothering to move beyond the arm reaching out for him, "Come back, my love."

"Aramis," Athos warns when he steps back toward her.

"Dammit, Athos," She groans. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub when she stands, her body on full display for the four men in front of her, "You're absolutely no fun, you know that?"

She looks at each of them when they stand frozen.

She raises her brows expectantly but they don't move, "Are you all going to just stand there staring, or is someone going to hand me my robe?"

They all move as one, but Aramis gets the robe first, stepping around the tub and holding it up for her.

"Shame on you three," He tuts over his shoulder, "Degenerates, all of you."

"I don't know if I can do this," She says, adjusting her gown. She looks herself over in the mirror, still hiding behind the partition, "I look ridiculous."

She looks beautiful, just like she did before she left home, and that alone terrifies her. The Queen was right, the dress suits her wonderfully, and the jewels adorning her wrists and neck only enhance her image. They're glass, of course, the royals would never let some peasant girl ride off to England with their diamonds and sapphires.

"Surely it can't be that bad," D'Artagnan insists. He steps around the partition and his mouth falls open.

"Well, come on then," Aramis adjusts his cuff as he moves in front of the door, with the other two, "Let's see."

"Fine, just..." She sighs, "No jokes, alright?"

She gathers her skirts and steps past the youngest Musketeer, eyes cast toward the floor as they take her in.

"You look..." Aramis trails off and Athos finishes in his stead.

"Stunning."

"You can say that again," Porthos agrees.

She looks up at her companions with a shy smile.

Aramis moves to stand in front of her, offering his hand with a bow, "My lady."

She takes his arm and looks to her friends, "Is everything in place?"

"Don't you worry about that," Porthos assures her, "Just go out there and steal the show, yeah?"

That fear comes back as they walk toward the ballroom and she hesitates.

What if someone recognizes her?

Aramis pauses when he feels her stop, "What's wrong?"

She can't back down now, she knows that, but her chest tightens with anxiety.

"You have nothing to fear, dear heart," He promises, "There's nothing I couldn't protect you from."

She takes a deep breath and nods before they continue.

They round a corner with their guard in tow, coming to a stop as they enter the ballroom.

Extravagant ballgowns twirl as couples dance together in the center of the room.

"I'll take the left, Porthos the right," Athos says quietly, "You two know your parts, D'Artagnan will keep watch if he tries to run."

With that, the group parts ways and their plan is in motion.

Aramis begins showing her off, boasting her many virtues to whoever will listen as the other two search for the target.

She casts him a wary look when the lady of the house pulls her aside.

"Madam Lablanc, you look- well lovely doesn't seem to cover it," She compliments, "There is someone I wish you to meet!"

She's led to the buffet where various men and women stand and talk amongst themselves.

"This is my niece, Isabel, she's been ever so keen on going to Paris and I was hoping you could tell her what you could?"

"Oh," She glances past the girl to see Athos keeping a close eye on her. He then nods to a tall man by the punch bowl and she sees who they've come to arrest, Monsieur Desiré, "I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know. I try to avoid the city as much as I can."

"Why is that?"

"Personal preference," She says, "I much prefer the serenity of the country to the noise of crowded streets."

They continue on for a few minutes more, but when Desiré begins to leave, she's quick to end the chatter.

She moves to step past him, purposely tripping over his feet and she's caught by a pair of rough hands.

"Watch it!"

"P-pardon me, monsieur," She stammers, "I get so disoriented in these large parties."

His eyes rake down her body, lingering on her cleavage before sneering at her. She has a feeling that each of her protectors is fighting the urge to swoop in and beat him.

"No," He bows, taking her hand, "The fault is mine, Mademoiselle...?"

"LeBlanc," She forces a smile to her face when he echoes her and kisses her hand.

"Would you perhaps honor me with a dance?" He asks.

"Perhaps," She teases, "My first dance of the night is promised to my husband, but perhaps after Monsieur..."

"Desiré. Husband?"

She winks at him, biting her lip with a grin.

She can feel him ogling her as she walks away and she wants to puke.

The whole meeting distracts her so much that she runs right into the back of another guest.

"Pardon me, Monsie-" Her eyes go wide when he turns and she quickly ducks out of sight behind another group of ladies before he can see her.

She carefully weaves her way through the crowd back to Aramis.

Cäraus. Of course. Of all the people in the world to be at this party, it had to be her younger brother.

"Aramis!" She hisses, latching onto his arm.

"There you are," He places his hand atop hers on his arm, "Where did you run off to?"

"I... ran into Desiré," She explains, "He seems to have an interest."

"Good."

"Then something else happened."

She's much more on edge than before, clinging to him and glancing nervously over her shoulder into the crowd. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen her this scared. He squeezes her hand comfortingly, and, while his lax smile doesn't change, his posture does. He seems to stand taller and hold her more protectively, "Tell me."

"Someone- Aramis, I am so sorry, this could ruin everything!" She whimpers, "If I had known there was even a chance, I wouldn't have come."

"It's alright," He cups the back of her neck and gently pulls her close to kiss the top of her head, "Now who is it?"

"My Broth- A friend," She catches herself, "A lover from before I came to Paris."

She doesn't think she's convincing, but it works well enough on Aramis who grits his teeth.

"He's why you came to Paris," It's not a question. He knows she had fled a bad situation and, based on her reaction, this man was the situation she was running from, "Show me him and I'll take care of it."

"What? No, Aramis," She gently touches his cheek, soothing the murder swimming in his eyes, "I came to Paris because of my mother. Dear Cäraus had nothing to do with that."

"Then why-"

"If he identifies me in front of all these people, not only will it ruin the plan, but she'll surely find me again."

And things will never be the same.

He just nods, but that is all confirmation he needs to know for sure, she is nobility. They've all suspected for a while, she never really held herself like a lowborn, as much as she may have tried. Perhaps that suspicion is what made the soldiers feel somewhat responsible for her, at least at the start. There's no question now of their collective fondness for her, and they couldn't imagine a world without her.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," She admits, "He just can't see me."

He signals to their companions and escorts her just outside the ballroom.

"What is it?" Athos asks.

"A complication," Aramis sighs, "There's a man in there, by name of Cäraus, who knows Amélia's face. If he names her."

The three men share a look and Porthos shakes his head, "I'll take care of it. Show me."

He and Amélia peer around the doorway at the guests.

"That one, with the mid-length black hair tied back with the gold cord and the reddish-brown jacket," She whispers.

"Violent?"

"Goodness no! Cäraus has always been a sweetheart."

"Alright, give me four minutes."

"Porthos!" She catches his hand as he steps away, her eyes pleading with him, "Be gentle? I'd hate to see him truly injured."

"I'll do my best," He smiles, kissing the back of her hand.

She finds herself sighing as she drops her head on Aramis's shoulder, "And here I thought the worst danger I would be in was getting stabbed."

"And if he does name you?" Athos asks.

She turns just enough to smile hopelessly at him, forehead still pressed against her lover's shoulder, "I get dragged back to a life I spent the last three years running from."

"I'd never let that happen," Aramis argues, hugging her tightly.

"Neither would I," Athos assures her, placing his hand on her back.

A warm feeling blossoms in her chest at their affection. She loves her musketeers dearly. She knows she could never deny them should they come looking for her help. They're the family she'd always wanted but never thought she could have. She would fight to her last breath for them without hesitation.

"What did Desiré say?" Athos asks and she straightens.

"Not much, but he seems... enticed," She grimaces, "He expects me to dance with him."

"Like hell you are." Aramis scoffs, strengthening his hold.

"Aramis-"

"No, Athos. I won't let that... that monster lay his hands on her!"

"I can handle Desiré," She assures them, "But first you have to dance with me."

"Dance?"

"Well the idea was to entice him with a bored wife at a party full of strangers, but someone," She grips his chin, "Decided to play the overly affectionate, doting husband. I didn't think he would believe it if I didn't dance with my adoring husband at least once."

"Well then," He offers his hand and leads her to the dancefloor when she takes it.

Athos rolls his eyes. He's almost offended she thinks he wouldn't fit the role of affectionate husband, but he knows he wouldn't have held a candle to Aramis's performance.

Porthos quickly finds the man in the crowd.

"Pardon me, Monsieur, but there seems to be-" He freezes for a moment when the man turns to face him. Those eyes, pale and silver as the moon. He would know those eyes anywhere. They're Amélia's eyes.

"Yes?"

Porthos shakes off his surprise, "There seems to be a problem with your horses. If you would come with me."

"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Aramis asks as he takes her waist, "It would be horribly embarrassing if our mission failed because you have two left feet."

She smacks the back of his head, making him laugh, "Sorry, I'm sure you dance beautifully."

And she does. As soon as the music starts she falls into step as though it were second nature. They glide across the floor effortlessly, her skirts elegantly fanning around her with every turn and twirl.

Her fingers twist in the hair at the back of his neck, looking at him with stars in her eyes.

"I've never seen someone more gorgeous," He murmurs, lifting her off her feet, "To hold you is to hold the heavens themselves in my arms."

"Aramis," She giggles at his flattery as he spins them. She pulls him into a kiss when she finds the ground again.

"You're being watched, my love," She feels his hand tighten on her hip. Another turn and she sees Desiré's gaze locked on her form. Aramis can see the disgust in her eyes and lifts her hand to his lips, "I Hate this plan."

"You're not the one who has to play nice with him," She scoffs, "God help me."

He presses his forehead to hers, "Call my name and I'll come running."

"I know you will," She sighs, eyes falling closed for a moment.

They part when the song comes to an end, but when she goes to seek her mark out, he's nowhere to be found.

"Desiré stepped out onto the terrace," She jumps when Athos speaks behind her.

"Aramis laid it on too thick," She huffs.

"You think? No one in this room thinks you'd ever go off alone with another man."

She thinks for a moment and suddenly takes his hand, "I have a plan, come with me."

She brings him over to the windows, ushering him behind the curtains, out of sight to anyone except whoever may be out on the terrace.

She joins him, their chests pressed together and he looks at her confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Can he see us?"

He glances outside and sees Desiré watching them curiously, "Yes?"

She reaches up to touch his cheek, the other holding the leather lapel of his jacket, "Athos, I need you to kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me as though you love me, please."

He searches her face for a moment before he gently takes it in his hands and leans in.

The kiss is soft at first, slow and hesitant, as if he's scared they'd both break from it. But then he presses harder, their lips moving together perfectly. One hand moves to cup the back of her head, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

He's surprised when she lets him in, but he doesn't squander the opportunity. He takes his time exploring her, tasting the sweet wine that was served lingering her tongue, drinking in her little moans like they were all that could sustain him.

His other hand pulls her closer by the waist and he feels the hand on his chest grip the back of his neck.

"Athos," She sighs, tugging him close again when he pulls back, and he obliges, kissing her as though he'll never get the chance again.

For a moment he forgets everything. The mission, his own broken past, everything. For one blissful moment, all he knows is her lips against his, the smell of her skin, and the heaving of her chest.

"Athos."

He kisses her again and he feels her smile against his lips.

"Athos."

"Mm! Yes?" He hums, pulling away just enough to lean his forehead on hers, their noses bumping as he stares down at her with a loving gaze.

"Is he still looking?"

"Who, darling?" He pets her hair, cupping her cheek and smiling softly at her. It's as though her kiss has turned him drunk.

It's so rare to see him so content, and she wishes she didn't have to break whatever spell has been cast, but she sees no other choice, "Desiré. Is he still watching?"

Her heart breaks when his affectionate smile disappears and he pulls away, glancing over her shoulder again.

"Yes," His eyebrows furrow as he desperately tries to come up with a new plan that doesn't involve her being alone with him.

"Amélia wait!" He catches her arm when she turns to leave and pulls her back against his lips, catching them both by surprise. She looks at him in shock when they break, "Be safe."

She nods and ducks out onto the terrace, face surely flushed as she fans herself with her hand.

"Oh! Pardon me, Monsieur," She curtsies slightly, pretending to be surprised, "I didn't know anyone was out here."

"Needed some air?"

"Indeed."

"Have you ever been to the estate before, Madam LaBlanc?" He asks after a moment.

"I haven't."

"The gardens here are stunning by moonlight," He continues, sidling up to her and offering his arm, "It would be my pleasure to show you."

She smiles coyly as she takes his arm, "That sounds wonderful."

He leads her through the gardens, her stomach twisting with the path, but she reminds herself Athos and Aramis won't be far behind.

"You're quite an attractive woman," His words pull her from her head.

"Monsieur?"

"It's a shame your musketeer friend won't be able to save you now."

"What-" He slaps her before gripping her cheeks.

"You think we wouldn't notice him sneaking around in the dark?" He spits, "My men took care of him just as the party started."

D'Artagnan.

"And the one you sent off with the prince?" He sneers, squeezing her tighter, "He never saw them coming. Just one left. Your little lover back at the party with your idiot husband."

"I don't-"

"Does he know you're fucking your guard?" He asks, "Do you want him to know?"

She struggles against him when he forces his lips on hers, "Be a good thing for me and stay quiet and I'll keep your dirty little secret."

She gasps when he tears at the front of her dress, glass gems scattering across the ground when he yanks her necklace from her neck.

"You're the second one I've spirited away here and fucked, I think I'm developing a taste for it."

"Not if I can help it," A voice says behind them and she sighs in relief.

Desiré spins around to see Aramis pointing his pistol at him and scoffs at the sight.

"Let the lady go, there's a good man."

He shoves her to the ground behind him and grabs at the barrel of the gun, twisting it out of the musketeer's hand before hitting him with the grip, knocking him unconscious.

"Aramis!" She scrambles past her assailant, falling to her knees beside him, "Aramis please- No!"

Desiré grabs her skirt and drags her back toward him, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air.

"Athos!" She screams, struggling to get away, "Atho-"

His large hand grips her throat, tugging her back awkwardly, "Shut your whore mouth!"

He flips her onto her back and pins her down as he starts to push up her skirts.

"No! Ah- Athos!" She cries again, earning another hard slap.

"That's enough!"

She angles her neck back to see him standing just up the path, pistol in hand, "Athos."

Desiré tenses when a blade appears across his throat, held by Porthos, a second held by D'Artagnan pressing into his back, "Get off the lady."

He lifts himself enough for her Athos to take her hand and pull her to her feet. She clings to him, trembling against his chest.

"You're safe now," He whispers, stroking her hair and kissing her head, "I have you."

"Porthos, arrest him. D'Artagnan, check on Aramis," He orders, "We're leaving in the morning."

He holsters his pistol and lifts her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances as he carries her back to their rooms.

She holds tight to his arm when he sets her on the bed and he kneels in front of her, keeping himself close if that's what she wants.

"What happened?" She sniffles.

"Aramis went after you and I went to find Porthos," He explains, running his thumb across her knuckles before holding the back of her hand to his lips, "I shouldn't have left his side, I'm so sorry."

When Aramis wakes he does so with a start and goes straight into fight mode as he jumps to his feet.

"Where is she?!" He snaps, swaying with a sudden head rush.

"Athos brought her inside," D'Artagnan is quick to steady his friend, "I'll bring you."

Aramis lets himself lean D'Artagnan as the make their way toward their quarters, "Is she hurt?"

"Maybe a little scraped up," He admits, "But mostly just scared."

"I should have shot him."

They eventually make it to the bedroom to find Athos knelt at her feet as though in prayer as he clutches her hands.

"Aramis!"

Athos lets her pull away, lost without her touch when she runs to him.

He stumbles from D'Artagnan's hold, collapsing against her. He takes her face in his hands, "Your cheek."

A bruise has begun to darken where she had been hit, but her main concern is him.

"You're bleeding," She says, "Sit down."

"I'll kill him," He growls, turning back toward the door."

"No!" She holds him tighter, "Sit down, Aramis."

He does as she says, pulling her into his lap when he sits on the side of the bed.

"I can't do much, confined to your lap," She retorts, but he isn't listening.

His hand hovers just over her cheek, half scared she'll crumble to nothing at his touch, shoulders relaxing when she leans into it, "Just... let me hold you."

"Here," Athos avoids her eyes as he hands her a bowl of water and cloth.

He abruptly leaves with their younger companion as soon as she takes it, leaving the lovers alone.

The sunrise comes faster than any of them expect.

The star finds Amélia and Aramis wrapped in each others arms, both of them still awake and shaken from the previous night's events.

The group readies and reassembles in near silence, each of them yearning to get back to Paris and put this whole debacle behind them.

Desiré had been handed over to the local authorities and would be transported to Paris under full guard later in the week.

She's too tired to ride and it takes little convincing to get her to ride in the coach. Athos opens the door but just as she moves to get in a voice sounds behind them, "Émila?"

She turns to see her brother who looks overjoyed, "It is you!"

He freezes mid-hug when Athos starts to draw his sword, still on edge.

She places her hand on his with a reassuring smile, "It's alright."

The siblings step away and she throws herself into his arms.

"Dear Cäraus," She kisses his cheek, "I've missed you so much!"

"We thought you were dead."

"Please keep it that way," She begs, pulling away from him, "I'm happy here and we both know what will happen if she knows where I am.:

He nods solemnly and she touches his cheek.

"Know that I am happy and well. But please pretend you haven't seen me."

"I love you, dear sister," He murmurs against her hands, "But if you wish to stay with these men, whoever they are, then I am not the one to stop you."

They part with one last lingering hug, knowing they likely will never see each other again.

"Keep the younger ones safe," She whispers as she pulls away, smiling as she rejoins her companions.

"Happy reunion?" Aramis asks, watching him walk away.

"Nothing to get jealous over," She grins up at him as Athos helps her into the coach, "I doubt we'll ever meet again."

"And besides," She leans out the open window to smirk at him, "I have my eyes on someone else."

He rides up beside the coach, beaming as he leans down to cup her cheek.

Athos grits his teeth at the scene in front of him and grips the reins of his horse, before ordering his men to move out.

[damn-daemon]

Helene d'Poitou in The Splendor of the Vile

Helene is a woman of particular prominence. Her father is the Count of Poitou, but more important is her maternal uncle, Pope Urban VIII. He has favored her over all his nieces and nephews, leaving her rich beyond measure and with a small force of Papal guards to see to her comfort. Yet for all her fame, she is little regarded by the nobility of France, for she is blind.

Her world is not complete darkness, but varying shades of light, yet she has never seen the world as others do, and never will. But this has not left her hopeless. With a mind that forgets nothing, Helene takes advantage of the world's underestimation of her. In public, she is the sweet niece of the pope, pious, caring, and simple. In private, she is an information broker, conspiring with servants and all others that go unseen by their betters. No one knows France's secrets as well as she.

When fate puts her in the path of the Musketeers, Helene finds herself intrigued by the quiet sadness of Athos. But curiosity is no safe thing when it comes to the king's men. It would put her in the sights of Cardinal Richelieu, who has no love for the pope or his precious niece, and of Milady de Winter, whose history with Athos may prove more dangerous than any army or political intrigue.

[arrthurpendragon]

Chapter 2 is now available on Ao3!

[mrshiraethsworld]

Arthur Athos Kenobi kitty is still being a demanding boy and wants a sentence of Heavenly Light! :)

My love, Mr. Arthur Athos Kenobi! You can have a little sneak peek into the next chapter of 'Heavenly Light':

So far, Keana would not trust Qui-Gon Jinn with Catalea’s life.

ask me a question & spread some positivity!

[queenlakiefer]

Can someone send me link to Athos (The three musketeers 1993 with kiefer Sutherland) x reader or oc FanFiction or imagines…anything really. All I can find is the newer version of the musketeers 😩😭 Also would like links to Josiah Doc Scurlock x reader or oc as well because I can’t find any stories or imagines for him either 😢

[the-hinky-panda]

Hinky’s Masterlist

Minors DNI: The content on this blog is intended for adults (18+). By following or engaging with this content, you are agreeing that you are 18 or older. Do not interact if you are not 18 or over.

Ask: I love analyzing character, plot, storytelling methods, so if you ever want to talk about those things, please don’t hesitate to reach out to me! I also love hearing other people’s ideas so please, share those as well!

A03: Here is the link to my AO3 account. I have a lot of stories with OCs there if you like reading those. I’ve just started getting into writing the Reader stories.

Tag List: Sign up for your favorite characters here! 

Fic Fests:

October 2022 Fic Fest

**All stories are Fem!Reader and are explicit 

Dustland Fairytale - Complete

Mariposa - Complete

Pura Vida (An Alternate Ending to Mariposa) - Complete

Los Regalos - Ongoing series

La Chaparrita - Ongoing Series

After We Fall - Ongoing Series

By Land, Sea, and Air - Ongoing Series

How To… - Ongoing Series

The IT Series - Ongoing Series

The Penny Series - Ongoing Series

The Tremont Tempest - Ongoing Series

The Dog - Ongoing Series

The Lens - Ongoing Series

Sacrifice - Complete

Oneshots for Sacrifice:

Otherworldly

Ghastly

La Finca - Ongoing Series

Eldritch - Complete

The Florist - Complete

The Community Universe (in collaboration with @bullet-prooflove​)

The Medic Series (Coco Cruz x OFC! Morgan Fox)

The Preacher’s Wife Series (Hank Loza x OFC! Maggie Fox)

The Gin Blossom Series (Gilly Lopez x Reader)

Stand Alones: 

Vanishing Act (Kevin Jimenez x Fem!Reader)

Dog Days are Over (Chibs Telford x Fem!Reader)

Strings (Les Packer x Fem!Reader)

The Drowning Kind (Sean Renard x Fem!Reader)

The Seasons Series: 

The Fall Series (Porthos x OFC Reader)

The Winter Series (Aramis x OFC Reader)

The Spring Series (Athos x OFC Reader)

The Summer Series (Treville x OFC Reader)

Boss Mare Series (Jamie Dutton x OFC reader)

The Hare (Richard “Ritchie” Jerimovich x OFC reader)

Out of the Woods (Mitch Keller x OFC!Reader)

June Bug (Goodie Carangi x OFC!Reader)

Forged (Bill Bevilaqua x OFC!Reader)

War of the Roses (Bill Bevilaqua xOFC!Reader)

Vice (Armand Truisi x OFC!Reader)

[roleplayfinder]

Heyo! 24 year old female writer here. I’m eighteen plus so please please please ensure you are before writing to me! Now a little about me, I do work, quick fire would be nice but I can’t always be here. So you may see me post more depending on what ideas I’ve got and what cravings I have. But with my time off you can guarantee I’ll be posting more! Just a heads up I’m looking for clean roleplays! I do prefer discord to conduct roleplays purely for the purpose of being able to keep things more organised! My discord is eleanorewinchester

So I’m looking for those of you who can use third person, past tense and lots of detail. I say this not to be mean but because I do consider myself to be advanced literate, I expect potential partners to be the same! I’m looking for oc (me) x male canon characters from the above movies but I will enclose further fandoms and movies with in the post! I use third and past tense and would be grateful if you do too! Please note I do have dyslexia. I’d love to get some aus going as well as some love triangles. Doubles are welcome! But please note ALL my roleplays are doubles. I will be prioritising those of you who don’t want to double and are happy to play canons. I’m just getting to a point where doubles feel transactional, I’d like to do something for myself where I can :).

I’m also craving the MCU, Shadowhunters, A Court of Thorns and roses, Supernatural, My Life With the Walter Boys, Hunger Games (originals and prequel), GG at the moment as well! I’d honestly kill for someone to play Dean Winchester atm. I think he’s a really well written character and I have some ocs who may work with him.

I’d love our roleplay to be something of comfort to us both. Something to cheer us up and keep us engaged in the story! If you’ve got any wild ideas you’ve been dying to do for the below fandoms send them my way if it’s doubles I’ll do my best to accommodate them! If there’s a character in brackets that’s who I’m looking to ship with, I need you to play them!

Fandoms I seek include:

Saltburn (Felix)

Downton Abbey (Tom,Matthew)

The Musketeers (bbc show, Aramis, Athos)

Schitt’s Creek (Ted)

ACOTAR (Cassian, Rhys)

Bridgerton and Queen Charlotte

Merlin (bbc show)

GG

The Mortal instruments: Shadowhunters (Jace)

Sherlock (Sherlock)

Skins

Pitch Perfect

Supernatural 😍 (Dean)

The Office (us)

Brooklyn Nine Nine 😍

Superstore

My life With the Walter Boys 😍❤️ (Cole, Will)

Ginny and Georgia ❤️(Marcus)

Game of thrones (tv verse)

House of the Dragon (Daemon)

Death in paradise

Riverdale

MCU (Thor, Steve, Loki)

Wuthering Heights

Teen Wolf (Stiles)

TVDU (Klaus, Elijah)

Pirates of The Caribbean (Jack)

Narnia (Caspian, Peter)

Buffy (Spike)

Hunger Games (Finnick)

Ballard of SongBirds and Snakes (Coriolanus, Sejanus)

Divergent 😍 (Four)

The Outsiders (Dallas, SodaPop)

#bxg #longterm #romance #detailed #drama #literate #advanced #dark #sweet

.

[cas-kingdom]

The Musketeers Masterpost

Main Masterpost

one shots

Bells (Musketeers x OC) - The musketeers, with help from their little sister, decorate the Garrison in time for Christmas.

drabbles

D'Artagnan x Aramis x Athos (“Yep, so I’m waiting for the right moment to hit him in the head with this ball.”)

[humanoidtyphoons]

Oh yeah, Dogtanian has a very good of adaptation Rochefort, infact the series got me into the three musketeers. Dogtanian Rochefort is a floppy eared spaniel with a scar, they keep his honorable qualities and even him becoming friends with Dogtanian/D'artagnan!

Allegedly Dogtanian's rochefort is known to turn people into furries. The series is very accurate to the book, even if toned down like Bonaceux is the uncle of Constance(Juliet in the Eng Dub) rather than her older husband.

The Athos (Porthos in the ENG dub due to a mistranslation) seems mostly downplayed though. In the dub at least, "Porthos"(Athos), here a german shepherd, gives out a bunch of info on Milady, a cat here, as everyone stares at him, Athos says he just knows her from her reputation that's all.

Dogtanian still pursues her early on, just like the novel.

I know there's also another Musketeers anime with a more Shonen like plot and Aramis is a woman in disguise. Also they have Rochefort whom is voiced by a comedy actor, Shigeru Chiba, infact it has alot of cast in common with Ranma 1/2 like Ranma and Akane as D'artagnan and Constance respectively!

Infact, Dogtanian got me into the Three Musketeers.

I find it funny that Dogtanian identifies Rochefort by his Black Mustache even in the original Japanese, when Rochefort has a very distinctive x shaped scar and basically everyone has a black mustache due to the setting.

you know what, i totally forgot about Albert the Fifth Musketeer!!! I remember nothing about it (which is why I tend to say Musketeers 1993 is the entry point for me) but that opening remains insanely catchy!

I watched it growing up, and unfortunately I can’t speak about its quality (it could be good or bad, I recall nothing) but the fact that someone was like “he’s MY musketeer OC and he’s so much smarter/braver/smoother than THOSE blundering idiots” and made a cartoon series about it is v. v. funny to me.

ooh I’ll check them out! they seem fun! ty for the musketeer anime recs!

[findroleplay]

Hello everyone! I know this is probably a bit unusual but I'm going to try anyway!

I'm on search for The Musketeers (BBC) double up canon x oc roleplay!

What I'm looking for:

• someone who could play Athos for my female OC (might be self-insert, I'll see)

• 18+ (preferably 19+)

• smut is not necessary but I'm not against it

• 1-2 semi-long paragraphs

What I can offer:

•I can play anyone from the universe but I have the most experience with playing as Jean Treville

• or you can pick some of our other mutual fandoms!

• MxF (preferably) but I can try my best doing also other pairing

I hope I covered everything!

Contact me either here on my Tumblr or my Discord:

dreamerinthesun#9074

_

[prismatica-the-strange]

All I Am Belongs to You | Athos | If One Day The Stars Align

Warnings: 18+, alcohol, mentions of nudity, angst.

Just a collection of Athos and Amélia scenes that came to me.

Word Count: 3.2k (ish)

11:11 by Ben Barnes | Reblog banner by @cafekitsune | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics

It's a beautiful day despite the rain the night before. The roads are muddy but the sun is bright and the smell of spring is light in the air.

"Thank goodness!"

Athos turns at the exclamation just in time to catch her in his arms, "Amélia?"

"Athos you- you have to hide me!" She pants, gripping his forearms, "They're right behind me!"

He doesn't catch her playful smile, not seeing past her labored breathing and muddied skirts.

"Who is?" He looks over her shoulder at the sound of stampeding feet about to round the corner and pushes her behind him protectively.

He freezes with his hand on his sword when a group of eight or so children come running into view, brandishing sticks and shouting.

"Where'd she go?"

"I dunno!"

"There she is!"

He feels her duck behind him again, pressing herself against his back.

"Give us the spy!" One of the boys demands, clumsily pointing his 'sword' at him, "She's under arrest!"

Athos blinks for a moment before scoffing and snatching the stick from his hand.

"Hey!" The boy whines, reaching for it, "Give it back!"

"Am I missing something?" He asks, shoulders tensing when she whacks the back of his head.

"They found out I'm a spy and now my life is in danger!" She explains, "You're a musketeer, you have to protect me!"

"You have got to be kidding me-"

"Athos!"

"Well, you're never going to kill her flailing around your swords like that," He says to the children and her mouth falls open.

"What?"

"You have to keep a firm hold on the grip, like this," The kids watch in awe as he shows them how to properly wield their weapons.

"You're supposed to be keeping me safe, not aiding the enemy!" She argues with a heavy shove to his shoulder.

"As you pointed out, I am a King's Musketeer," The corner of his lips quirks into a small smile, "And you're a spy."

"Athos..." She can't bite back her own smile as she gathers her skirts.

"It's my duty to protect France, even from spies."

"I am betrayed!"

He eyes her with obvious intent and she steps back.

"I'm going to start running now," She grins before taking off the way she'd come.

"After her!" He urges the children and they run after her with newfound vigor.

He follows not far behind at a brisk pace, watching as she leads them to a near-empty courtyard.

"We have you cornered!" Another boy cheers, "Tell us your secrets!"

"You'll have to kill me!" She insists, "I'll never betray my country!"

"What do we do?" One of the others asks, looking back at him, "We need to know what she knows!"

He chuckles to himself at the whole scene. He motions her closer, "Bring her to me, I'll take care of it."

They form a semicircle behind her, forcing her forward by prodding at her legs.

"You'll never break me, Musketeer," She huffs playfully when she stumbles into his chest.

"Is that so?" He raises a brow at her.

"You'd never harm an unarmed woman," She say matter-of-factly.

He barks out a laugh when one of the children forces a stick into her hands, "It seems you are no longer unarmed, Mademoiselle."

Her eyes fall shut as she sighs, trying not to break out laughing. She lays her hand on the girl's head, "Thank you dear one."

She twirls the weapon in her hand and takes a fighting stance.

"Now I have a sporting chance!" She declares, lunging at him.

He easily parries her attack and the courtyard echoes with the clacks of their sticks colliding.

To anyone watching it looks more like they're dancing rather than fighting. Every flourish and step seemingly practiced and perfected until she slips on the mud-slick hem of her skirts.

He's quick to catch her, his arm hooking around her waist. She squeals when he hefts her up onto his shoulder, his other hand holding her steady.

"Tell me your secrets and I might go easy on you!"

"Never!" She giggles.

She shrieks when he spins, once, twice, three times, then the other way, the children laughing around them.

"Athos!" She gasps between fits of laughter, "Athos, please! Mercy!"

"What do you think?" He asks the smallest girl of the group, "Has she had enough?"

"No?" He asks when she shakes her head, "I agree."

He spins them again, her shrill giggle causing his smile to widen.

"Alright!" She exclaims, "Alright! I'll tell you! Mercy, please!"

He carefully lowers her to her feet, holding her steady when she sways, "I knew you'd see reason. Tell me what you know."

"Nothing," She pants, "I know nothing, you see. For I am a terrible spy."

"I don't believe her!" One of the boys shouts.

Athos smiles down at her against his chest, "Neither do I."

She's feeling generous as she makes her way to the garrison, fully planning on treating her four closest friends to drinks with the extra money she'd made at her surprisingly lucrative gig the night before.

When she gets there she's shocked to find all but Athos laid up in bed dizzy and feverish with a terrible cold they'd caught riding back in the rain from their last mission.

Being the only one unaffected by the illness, Athos eagerly jumps at the chance to spend the evening with her. And since it would just be the two of them, she can afford to bring them to a slightly nicer tavern than the one they usually frequent, where she sings most nights.

They spend what feels like hours drinking and talking and drinking. Athos especially drinks more than he knows he should, deciding to put some of his own coin toward the evening.

His face is flush from wine as he watches her lips form each word, reaching to brush a few strands of hair back from her cheek.

"Are you alright?" She asks, taking his hand in hers.

"You're beautiful," He says and she blushes.

"Thank you," She chuckles and he gives her a soft, lovesick smile.

She blinks in surprise when he leans in close, his lips just close enough to brush hers, his eye falling shut when she breathes his name.

His hand finds the side of her neck, stroking the curve of her jaw with his thumb before closing the distance with a gentle kiss.

"Athos," She murmurs when he pulls away. There's a sadness to her voice, "You're drunk."

"'m not!" He argues, but the way his words slur together begs to differ.

She stands, steadying him when he tries to follow, "Let's get you back to the garrison."

"'M not drunk," He insists as they walk down the darkened streets of Paris.

"No, of course not!" She huffs, his weight heavy on her shoulders when he stumbles, "All musketeers are this uncoordinated when they walk."

"Funny..." He mumbles, to himself mostly, "Always so... funny."

"Nice to know I'm always good for a laugh," She grits her teeth as she tries to shift his weight back to his own legs, just inside the gates of the garrison, "I assume you can make it the rest of the way on your own?"

He grunts in response, but nearly topples over on the first step barely catching himself on the wall.

"Mother Mary, give me strength," She rolls her eyes and moves to help him again.

Athos has other plans and pushes her up against the wall.

His lips are desperate and wet against hers in a kiss that is more spit and teeth than anything.

"Athos," She giggles. He groans in protest when she pulls away and she sighs, "I know."

"No," He growls. His hands fist the shawl around her, shoulders haunched, "No, you don't know."

He looks up at her, blue eyes burning into the grey of hers.

"I..." His expression is devastated as he fails to get the words out, "You are so... so precious to me."

He slumps forward, his forehead pressing against her clavicle, his shoulders heaving with emotion he can't seem to put into words.

I love you.

She wraps her arms around him, her hands running soothingly across his back

I love you.

"Let's get you to bed so you can sleep this off, yeah?"

I love you.

But he just can't seem to say it, so he lets her drag him to his quarters, helping as best he can to stumble along beside her.

It's clumsy but he manages to kick off his boots and undo his jacket with minimum help before collapsing into bed.

He rolls onto his back when she sits beside him on the edge, looking up at her with the most adoring eyes.

"Do you need anything?" She asks, brushing his hair from his eyes.

"I..." Dammit. Why can't she understand what he's desperately trying to convey? "Stay?"

"Athos..."

"Please?" She's stayed the night with Aramis more times than he can count, "I just... I wish to hold you."

It's rare she ever gets to see him so vulnerable and she doesn't have the heart to deny him, "Alright."

She takes off her shoes and reaches back to loosen her stay. He watches her undress, entranced by every little movement.

She's not shy as she climbs into bed beside him in just her underthings and he pulls her close to rest her head on his chest.

His arms are warm and she sighs, relaxing against him.

"Amélia..." He curls around her, burying his nose in her hair, unspoken words lingering just out of reach, hanging in the night air.

Winter in Paris sounds like something that should be magical and full of beauty, but in truth the streets are a slush mix of snow, mud, and horse shit that splatters on walls and freezes on your clothes.

Still, she doesn't let her dirty surroundings diminish her mood as she slogs her way toward the garrison, snow fluttering softly around her, in hopes one of her musketeers would be willing to warm her chilled bones for a time.

"We've not had so much trouble waltz it's way through those gates before you came to Paris, Clarkòne!" Treville shouts down at her as he looks over the yard.

"I'd say I'm more of... an inconvenience, than true trouble, monsieur," She grins up at him with a small bow and he laughs, leaving her to her business.

"You should be a home and warm," Porthos scolds her as he and Athos cross the courtyard to see her.

"But the house is so dull when I have no one to help warm my bed," She pouts, "Where is Aramis?"

Athos rolls his eyes.

"The king sent he and D'Artagnan on a mission," He pulls his gloves off to take her hands in his, "You're freezing, where are your gloves?"

"I forgot them," She blushes when he lifts their hands to blow against her skin, rubbing his palms against her to warm her.

"You'll lose a finger like that," Porthos warns.

"Come inside," Athos urges, "You'll catch your death out here."

They usher her into the commissary, pulling a chair right near the fire for her.

"You don't need to dote on me," She laughs when Athos wraps his cape around her shoulders, "I'm not going to break from a few moments in the cold."

He gives her a warning look as he secures it in the front and she lets the matter drop.

Minutes easily slip into hours when she's with them, the snow falls harder, and night soon begins to fall.

"I should get home before it gets too dark."

Athos helps her to her feet and walks her to the door.

His cape still hangs off her shoulders the front long having been undone, but she's kept it close, letting it flood her senses with the smell of him.

He stops her when she moves to give it back, pulling it snug around her, "It's only gotten colder, I don't want you to get sick."

Treville pushes in past them, snow matting his clothes.

"She's not going anywhere in that blizzard," He says, brushing the snow from his hat, "She can stay in Aramis's rooms."

"With him gone, no one has lit a fire, she'll freeze before the room warms," Athos argues.

"Then she can bunk with you. Just as long as she doesn't go out."

With the matter of her lodging settled, they return to their table by the fire and spend a few more hours talking over dinner before retiring.

He does his best to guard her from the wind as he guides her to his rooms.

The fire has nearly gone to embers after hours of neglect, but the little warmth it provides is far greater than the cold outside.

The tension between them is palpable, even as he tends to the hearth, neither completely sure how to proceed from here.

"I'll sleep on the floor if that makes you more comfortable," He offers, but she shakes her head.

"Absolutely not, it's your bed after all," She says, "And besides, it's not as though we haven't shared before."

Yes, but he was drunk.

Laying beside her sober would be a different experience entirely, "Alright."

She hands him back his cape, her warmth still lingering in the wool, and he lays it on the chair beside the bed.

She's quiet as she undoes her stay and removes her shoes, hissing when her toes touch the cold floor.

He chuckles when she quickly scrambles back onto the bed and tucks her feet beneath her, reaching back to take down her hair.

"Would you prefer I leave my shirt on?"

"However you feel most comfortable, I'm fine either way."

He nods, eyes trained on the floor as he undresses himself before rounding the bed, hesitating at the far side.

"Oh, this is ridiculous!" She scoffs, shuffling back against the headboard, "We're adults, yes?"

He nods again.

"Then let's act like it, shall we?" She suggests, patting the spot next to her, "It's not like we're getting married."

He slides into bed next to her, pulling the blanket over them.

He watches her with wide eyes when she leans over him, her lips soft against his cheek, "Goodnight, Athos."

Before he can return the sentiment she turns on her side, her back to him.

She feels him shift behind her, his hand hovering just above her face, as if waiting for her to slap it away. But she doesn't, so he carefully sweeps her hair aside and brushes his lips against her temple, whispering reverently, "Goodnight, Amélia."

They lay in silence for near an hour before she speaks again in hushed tones, "Athos?"

He grunts in response and she cranes her neck to look back at him, "Are you asleep?"

"Not yet," He mutters, eyes still closed. The sound of shuffling fabric fills the room as she turns over to face him, "What is it?"

Her fingertips graze his arm for a brief moment before disappearing, her voice is barely audible, "I'm still cold..."

His eyes open and he looks over at her, her silver eyes practically glowing in the firelight. He sighs and lifts the blanket with one arm, a silent invitation to come closer.

She doesn't hesitate to worm closer, drinking in the warmth of his embrace.

He gasps when she tangles her legs with his, and her feet, like ice, run up his calves.

He wraps his arms tightly around her and she nestles her face in the crook of his neck.

"Thank you," She murmurs, "This is much better."

He hums in agreement and buries his nose in her hair, both of them finally relaxing.

Morning comes far too soon and he wakes to the feel of her curled into his side, sun shining off her almost platinum hair splayed around them.

Her arm lays across his chest, her leg thrown across his thighs, as her head rests on the bicep of his outstretched arm.

As gently as he can he sweeps away the hair covering her face. She looks like an angel, so peaceful as she sleeps.

She's all but stolen the blanket, wrapping herself up snugly some time in the night, leaving just a corner of it spread out, barely covering the leg she's hooked around him. He doesn't seem to mind though, the sight of her beside him warms him from the inside.

"I love you," He breathes.

He expects a weight to lift as he finally speaks it into being, finally lets the words past his lips. But they fall on deaf ears, she's asleep, she still doesn't know.

He wraps his arm around the back of her head, gripping a fistful of hair, the other almost bruising on her arm. He pushes his lips against the top of her head, eyes squeezing shut and teeth clenched.

"I love you," He growls. It's a desperate, guttural sound from the darkest depths of his soul, "I. Love. You."

He freezes when she groans. She nuzzles closer to his neck, still asleep, and still yearning for his warmth.

His grip loosens and he pulls her closer, stroking her cheek with his thumb. He presses his forehead to hers, his breath fanning across her face, voice barely a whisper, "My heart belongs to you and you alone."

She makes another noise, quieter but distinct as she pulls away.

"Athos?" Her voice is scratchy from sleep as she looks up at him with tired eyes, squinting in the morning sun, "Did you say something?"

He hesitates for a moment before smiling softly and petting her hair.

"Not a thing."

"Aramis!"

She stirs when someone bangs on the door, reaching out only to find the spot beside her cold.

"Aramis!" Athos shouts again, fist pounding against the wood of the door before he slams it open, "Get your ass out of bed you- you're not!"

He quickly turns his back, shutting the door when he finds Amélia laying bare in his friend's bed.

"Oh come now, Athos," She teases. He hears her stand and his face goes flush when he feels her lean against his arm, "It's not like it's anything you haven't seen before."

He clears his throat, refusing to look, "Where's Aramis?"

She sighs and tugs the sheet from the bed, wrapping it around her chest, "Not here. He left sometime in the night."

"He left you alone?" That's not like Aramis to do, "Are you decent?"

"I've never been decent a day in my life. But I'm covered, if that's what you mean."

He can't help but chuckle as he turns to face her again, "Do you know where he went?"

"Where does he ever go anymore?" She says dejectedly, "To see the royal governess."

He nods and turns to leave, pausing when she speaks.

"Has he grown bored of me, Athos?" Her voice cracks, "Have I done something to lose his affections?"

"No," He takes a deep breath and moves to kneel in front of her, gathering her hands in his. It breaks his heart to see her so unsure of herself, "Aramis is trying to juggle the accumulation of he mistakes and that doing so is leading him to neglect you is his greatest mistake of all."

"I know..." She whispers, tears in her eyes, and the meaning behind her words is strikingly clear. She knows the Dauphin is Aramis's, "He's been so absent since he was born and I... Athos, I don't know what to do!"

He sits on the bed beside her and holds her against his chest as she cries.

"I've lost him," She sobs. He holds her tighter, rocking them and kissing the top of her head.

He's going to beat Aramis to a bloodied pulp the next he sees him for hurting the woman they both love like this.

She suddenly inhales sharply and stands.

"I- I should go," She mutters. She wipes her eyes and starts gathering her clothes from the floor.

"Amélia..."

"I'm sure you have more important things to worry about than the trivial afflictions of my heart."

"Amélia," He catches her shoulders and brushes her hair from her face, "I assure you, the afflictions of your heart are far from trivial to me."

[special-agent-fiction]

White Knuckles and Deep Breaths

Pairing: I mean, it started off as a Modern AU for Athos and my OC (the fics are shit but I love them) but seeing as no names are actually mentioned I guess it could be anyone. Even a reader insert.

Summary: Two people meet, fall in love and then life happens.

Warnings: Death, Suicide, Drugs (I know these are biggies so I’ll put them in first), allusions to sex, smoking, drinking (mild alcoholism - remember I said this was supposed to be an Athos fic), swearing, etc

The flat was silent; totally and completely silent.

He found it ironic that this was the moment his body acclimatised to this damn city and he was finally able to block out the never-ending noise of cars shuttling forward on their 24-hour commute through the street their windows overlooked. He hated this city; hated the noise and the smells and how confined he felt despite every tourist brochure promising that the ancient streets with modern architecture would make you feel alive.

She still hadn’t said anything; hadn’t moved from her place at the sink where her knuckles were now slowly turning white as she gripped the counter-top and stared ahead at the tiled wall above their tap.

He wondered if she’d known it was coming; known what was going to leave his mouth before he’d had chance to say it. It was probably true. She was the only one who’d ever been able to read him clearly; everyone else had seen his family name first and made up their minds instantly but she’d powered on and actually gotten to know him and in return he’d been honoured to get to know her; her smile, her frown, her laugh and her sobs. They’d shared everything long before this tiny one-bed flat had been their home; they’d gotten to know each other in a place where he could actually breathe; a place where for the first time in his life he’d felt free.

Oxford was a lifetime ago now, even though the period of time since graduation could still probably be referred to in terms of months. Two years in this grey city had him suffocating again and the tense air between them in this moment was doing nothing to stop that itching sensation that crept over him whenever the silence became too deathly. He’d itched for years whenever he’d been rolling around that offensively big house all by himself and he thought that he’d never feel it again after the day he’d pulled the double doors of that place shut behind him, climbed into a car and set off to uni.

But the deathly silence was back, and he needed to leave again. He hoped she’d understand but judging by the fact that she was still yet to move, she was having a hard time processing it; processing what they’d become.

The days were quiet without her here and all he could hear was that damned traffic with engines growling impatiently at the traffic lights at the end of the street. Nothing could drown it out; not jazz, not football, not even the haze that so often clouded his mind after a few swigs of his favourite whiskey. He spent every day counting the hours until she’d step through the door whether it be with a smile or a frown as she blew a strand of rain-soaked hair from her face and collapsed onto the sofa beside him.

That probably was where the problems had started if he was honest; he was jealous that she got to leave here every morning and come back with stories to share and a love for the place that never died because she spent such little time here.

He’d realised too late that the booze wasn’t the problem he’d have to face if he was ever going to breathe again; it was her. He was irrevocably addicted to her and now it was poisoning him.

It hadn’t always been like this though, he reminded himself.

Once, not that long ago actually, things had been so different it was like they’d lived in a different world altogether. They had though, he supposed; that was the effect Oxford had on so many – it was everything and the world consisted of only those on campus. It was in that microcosm of society that they’d come together, and it was here; 90 minutes away from that heaven that it had all fallen apart.

Five Years Earlier

No one believed him when he said that it had nothing to do with honouring his family name; nothing to do with building the right connections for the future and nothing to do with his upper-class accent and ability to distinguish wine by a sniff.

He chose Oxford because it was the only place that simultaneously was the past and the future. Here, he could sit in the Bodleian Library surrounded by books dating back to the 17th century and still send an email to his professor. As stupid as it sounded; the place blew his mind.

And while he had chosen Oxford (truthfully his education could have taken him anywhere if simply getting away from home was the goal), it also felt like Oxford had chosen him. The corridors and rooms of his family estate were cavernous and provided more space than anyone could ever wish for, but here, with winding cobbled streets and small-ish rooms; he could finally breathe.

Here, no one knew that he was the last living member of his immediate family and was carrying the future of their good name on his shoulders. Or at least if they knew, they didn’t really care.

He’d heard all about the not-so-secret secret club made up of the elitist bloodlines only and had actively avoided the group of bawdy men in the dining hall. He had no intention of sitting at a long table in formal dress poking fun at people who took out loans to meet their tuition fees.

People like the girl sat right next to him.

He’d seen her a few times in the weeks since the term had started but this was the first time he’d actually had the opportunity to speak with her and it was all because his friend was trying to sleep with hers.

So far they’d been silent, both hesitantly sipping at their drinks while the pair opposite had a conversation of their own; their laughter pulling small smiles from him and her.

He blew out a light breath as the couple inched closer together; now fully lost in their own world, and decided to push every ounce of upper-class confidence into himself. “So, what are you studying?”

“Oh uhh, languages.” She told him, sliding her wine glass onto the table in front of them after a brief sip. “And history.”

“Sounds…fun?” He offered her a half-smile which she returned.

“Incredibly.” She agreed, playing with the glass’ stem. “But it sounds good, doesn’t it? Sounds impressive.”

“Very.”

“What about you?” She asked, angling herself in her chair to face him more. “What pretentious degree are you undertaking here?”

“Classics.”

“Now that is impressive.” She laughed. “So, what brings you to these hallowed halls?”

He’d let his hair grow out and was sporting not just a beard but a slight moustache too. He thought it made him look distinguished, despite the days old t-shirt he wore with an unidentifiable stain on it, and was a big fan of his ‘charming rouge of a pirate’ look – not his description, obviously.

His parents would throw a fit if they could see him now; not a trace of his Etonian schooling present as he fully embraced the lack of rules regarding how polished one had to be to venture out into the street, and tip-toed onto the sodden pavement barefoot with a bin bag between his fingers. God, he loved it here; the acceptance, the culture, Hell, he even enjoyed taking the bins out.

“Have you seen the notes I made yesterday?” She called out as her footsteps pounded across the ceiling above him.

“Not since last night.” Scooping up his abandoned glasses he slid them back onto his face and collected a steaming mug from the worktop as he made his way back to his half-written essay.

Living together had been a natural decision after a year of friendship spent avoiding their on-again off-again friends. Of course he was aware of the betting pool his mates had on them; was even tempted to put a few notes down himself, but honestly, just being her friend was enough for him. Because the thought of becoming more only for it end in a blaze of fire, was terrifying.

“You’re so helpful.” She sighed as she stomped down the stairs and appeared in the doorway of their kitchen.

“Have you checked your file?” He asked, not even glancing up from his own writing. “You know how obsessive you are about putting notes away in it.”

“I’ve already checked.” She told him, and he knew she was running a frustrated hand through her hair without even looking up. “Are you sure it’s not in here?”

“I just emptied the bin.” He nodded to the receptacle. “All that was on top was an empty wine bottle and a few teabags.”

“God we’re pathetic students.” She sighed, padding across the room to claim the seat opposite him at their small table. “A bottle of wine and some cups of tea; woohoo.”

He smirked at her comment, letting her pout a little longer over the whereabouts of her notes as he scratched away on the pad.

“Are you sure-”

He dropped the pen and took both of her hands in his, forcing her to look into his eyes. “I didn’t steal your notes.” He promised. “They aren’t in here.” He told her. “Go look in the living room.” He dropped her hands and retrieved his pen as she slid from the chair and left the room.

He wondered what she’d say if she ever found out about the betting pool. Wondered if she’d throw a fit and lock him out for not telling her or whether she’d laugh it off? Either way it would be the end of their friendship and he’d die if that happened.

He laughed softly as a victorious cheer sounded from the living room and glanced up from his sheet to catch a glimpse of her pressing a kiss to a handful of white sheets.

Besides, this whole living together thing would only get complicated if feelings suddenly got involved and he had no desire to start looking for a new roommate this far into their second year…despite how much he’d already fallen in love with her.

“Are we a cliché?” Her voice was soft in the small bedroom. “I mean…” She rolled onto her side; the raindrops sliding down the window behind her framing her face perfectly as he watched her. “…you’re my best friend and we live together and now…” She trailed off, falling off her elbow and back onto the pillow.

“It’s only a cliché if you regret it.” He told her, his eyes drifting from the window to her. “Do you?”

“Regret it?” She asked, meeting his eyes. “Of course not.” She blinked once. “Do you?”

“Well…” He sighed dramatically, turning his head on his own pillow to look away from her. “…I mean, there’s a part of me that feels a little taken advantage of but-” He cut himself off with a laugh as she half-heartedly slapped his chest. “But no…I don’t regret it.”

“Good.”

“Good?” He raised an eyebrow at her as she grinned up at him.

“Good.” She confirmed, laughing lightly as they laid side-by-side. “I wonder who collects the money?”

“Hmm?”

“The money.” She repeated. “From the betting pool. Don’t tell me you didn’t know about it?”

“Wait, you knew?” He asked with a frown.

“Of course I knew.” She laughed. “I’m me.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I know everything.”

He watched as she sat up on the bed and let the flimsy sheet that was only half-covering them fall into her lap as she turned to the window, her blonde hair falling in soft but slightly matted waves down her bare back. He lifted a finger and let it trace the harsh outline of her spine, smiling to himself when she shivered as he strayed to a sensitive spot he’d found months earlier during an impromptu wrestle over the remote.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

She turned her head, tendrils of her hair falling from her shoulder as she looked at him. “About what?” She asked. “The pool? I thought you’d be upset.” She told him. “I know how protective you can get, especially after everything that happened with your brother…so I figured we were just not going to talk about it; pretend it didn’t exist.”

He pushed himself up to sit beside her. “You’re a good person.” He told her, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“A good person? I’m a great person.” He chuckled softly before leaning forward slightly and capturing her lips in a soft kiss. “Why last night?” She asked, their lips brushing against each other’s. “After so long; why last night?”

“That fucking dress.” He told her, watching as her eyes flitted to the scrap of material lying on the floor. “I had to do something or I’d regret it forever.”

Her eyes returned to his as they both pictured the moment that had led them here: her swaying in her too-high heels and using his shoulder to pry them from her feet before simultaneously sighing in bliss at the relief and frowning at the realisation she was barefoot on a dirty cobbled street. He’d thought nothing of sweeping her into his arms and bidding their friends at the bar a goodbye with her arms around his neck and her shoes dangling from her fingers as she lay in his arms, laughing.

It had been a chore to fish their keys from his pocket whilst holding her but they’d managed and just as a light downpour began to fall from the sky above, he’d deposited her onto their soft hall carpet. And then time had seemed to stop; she was staring at him and he was staring at her and then her fingers were splayed against his scalp as he held her as close as possible and they tumbled inside; the door kicked shut behind them.

“Do you want to know a secret?” She asked, leaning back slightly to look at him properly. “I only wore it because the girl you partnered with on that presentation was going to be there.”

There was a beat of silence between them as she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth before he burst out into laughter. “Ninon?” He asked, his laugh intensifying as she scrunched her nose up at the pretentious name. “You’re jealous of Ninon?”

“Well if you’re going to be like that…” She huffed, pushing off him to place her feet on the floor. “I-”

He pulled her back to him, her legs moving to straddle his lap as their lips crushed together. “Don’t be jealous of her.” He murmured as she settled in his lap; their chests squashed together as he supported himself with one hand pressing behind him into the mattress and the other on the small of her back.

“Why not?” She asked, fingers playing with his hair as it brushed against his jaw. “She’s gorgeous.”

“She’s passable.” He corrected. “And boring and always critiquing things.” He said. “In short…” He let the arm holding them up buckle and they fell backwards with her squealing and him laughing. “…she’s not you.”

She smiled softly before letting her head rest atop his chest; her ear perfectly covering the spot where his heart thudded loudest as he toyed with the ends of her hair. “We’re such a cliché.” She sighed.

“I don’t care.”

He’s pretty sure that she’s never really understood where he comes from. When they met he thought she was being cute by not responding to his full name and it had made him open up to her more but now, all these years down the line, he’s realised that she didn’t react because she didn’t know the significance. At all.

So far, she’d simply laughed away any mention of his boarding school and family estate and he’d thought nothing of it; thought that she wasn’t talking about it because he so rarely mentioned it, but tonight had been when the penny dropped: she had no idea who the hell he was.

A charity mixer in honour of the work his deceased parents had done for orphaned children was not how he’d pictured his Friday night and when the invitation had dropped through their letterbox and onto the cheesy welcome mat he adored he’d had absolutely no intention of going to the party. The heavy cream envelope had been the first warning sign that this was something to be avoided and one glance at the loopy handwriting marking out his name and address had him tossing the entire thing onto the work surface without a second look. He was done with that life.

But then she’d picked it up and queried the ‘fanciness’ of it and he’d felt obliged to open it up and show her. She’d oohed and ahhed as he read out the pompous description of a charity gala for his parents’ favourite foundation and one look at the awe in her eyes at this peek into his world had found him caving and RSVP-ing yes.

And so there he was last night; watching her gaze around the room with wide-eyes as they occupied a small bar-height table in the opulent ballroom of Heythorp Park Resort.

“This is amazing.” She laughed again, her eyes returning to him as her fingers played with her champagne glass. “And they do this every year?”

“Every damn year.”

She laughed softly at his deepening frown before glancing back around the room. “I can’t believe you never told me about this I-”

“It’s so good to see you, My Lord.” The woman looked familiar to him, but he was struggling to place her as she suddenly appeared at their table. “After declining the invitation for so many years it was a pleasant surprise to receive your response.”

He recognised her now; recognised the way she held herself and the insincerity dripping from her words. Yes; she was one of his mother’s cronies. “I’ve been unforgivably busy.” He told her, hand tightening around his whiskey tumbler.

“And even more surprised to see your decision to invite a ‘plus one’.” She slid her glass onto the table and leaned closer – he remembered now why he hated these things so much; if they weren’t tripping over themselves to squeeze money out of you, they wanted to know if there was a chance their daughter could be married off. “Where is the lucky girl?”

He flashed her a tight smile despite the fact that she had knowingly ignored the woman he’d walked into this dammed place with an hour ago; the same woman who’d gained more than a few looks as she stepped in with his hand on her back.

“My girlfriend…” He told the woman as he gestured across the table and introduced the snobbish woman to the slightly uncomfortable one opposite him who was shooting him confused glances as she answered every question about her upbringing with unflinching honesty despite how much she was being judged for it.

A state comprehensive school to Oxford because of highly supportive parents who’d spent her entire childhood saving to ensure she had no limitations on her dreams, was not the average story told when a new girlfriend was introduced to this crowd. But she didn’t seem to care, didn’t care if they judged her, didn’t care that the gaggle of women now surrounding them frowned at the mention of them living together and merely smiled when an over-eager daughter was practically shoved into his face before introducing herself pleasantly.

In fact, the whole thing didn’t faze her at all, it was only when they got home that the night turned sour.

“Your tea, My Lord.” She teased as a steaming mug was pushed into his hands before she moved to sit beside him on their well-worn, bought on a student budget, sofa. “Can I get you a biscuit, my Lord?” He watched as she laughed to herself; tucking her legs under herself as her cocktail dress rose up her thighs.

“Why is that tickling you so much?” He asked.

“They were all so pretentious.” She laughed again before mimicking them: “It’s so good to see you, my Lord.’, ‘Your parents would be so proud, my Lord.’, ‘Have you been home lately, my Lord?’” She snorted taking a sip of her tea. “And the worst part was the look the waiter gave me when I said it to him.”

“You called the waiter ‘my Lord’?”

She frowned at his laugh. “I thought that was the theme?” She placed her mug on the floor and turned to face him. “Was it not like a 1920’s theme? I just figured because of all the jewels and the ballroom…” She trailed off. “Wait…if there wasn’t a theme…”

He too placed his mug on the carpet before holding out a hand to her. “The Right Honourable Earl of Beauchamp at your service.” The room was silent as he continued to hold his hand out to her, waiting for the penny to drop.

“The Right Honourable Earl of Beauchamp.” She repeated, her eyes on his outstretched hand. “Earl.” She lifted her gaze to his eyes. “You’re an Earl.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up in a half-smile. “You can call me ‘my Lord’ if it makes things easier.”

“You’re an Earl.” She breathed, one hand running through her hair. “I’m dating an Earl…a fucking Earl.” Her eyes flicked back to him as they began to harden. “You told me your parents were rich…you failed to mention they were nobility.”

“I assumed-”

“You assumed I knew who you were.” She finished for him with a humourless laugh. “Of course you did: you’re a fucking Earl, who wouldn’t know that from the off? Oh wait…” She pushed up from the sofa and stood glaring at him. “…I didn’t because I’m some poor comprehensive school girl who is only being kept around until you have to marry some princess to preserve the royal bloodline.”

“I-”

“How could I not have known?” She muttered to herself as she began to pace the room. “Everybody knew who you were but I just…God I don’t even know why I didn’t question it.” She stopped and focused on him again. “You’re an Earl.” Her arms fell to her sides. “And you didn’t tell me.”

He too pushed off from the sofa and moved to stand in front of her, taking her hands into his own. “I genuinely thought you knew.”

“How would I know? My family don’t subscribe to the newsletter alerting the nation to new title inheritances.” He laughed softly as she tore her hands from his with a huff. “God, what are you even doing here?”

He frowned. “Oxford? I’m getting a degree in-”

She sighed, cutting across him. “Not here as in Oxford; here as in this house…with me.”

“Where else would I be?”

“With one of those girls I was half-heartedly introduced to tonight?” Eyes downcast, she crossed her arms over her chest. “God, they were all titled and all gorgeous; no wonder the mothers kept giving me the evil eye. They must think I’m such a gold digger and-”

He’d never really thought of himself as the cheesy type; the romantic hero who finds himself in the middle of a situation where he just has to grab the girl eh loves and kiss her senseless. But he guessed he was. Chalk it up to his noble ancestry or his tidal wave of feelings crashing down around this woman but there was nothing in this world that would have seen him allowing her to continue to doubt her worth.

One hand on her jaw and the other on the small of her back, fist curled in the black material he found there, he tried to tell her everything; how sorry he was for apparently deceiving her, how gorgeous she was – not just tonight in her cocktail dress and heels but always, even in his old shirt with bed-head, how happy he was to have found her that night and how distraught he was at the thought of losing her.

Their lips parted softly and he rested his forehead against hers as her own fists continued to cling to his open shirt and loose bow-tie. “Stop doubting yourself.” He murmured, her eyes flicking to glance up at him. “They’re the gold-diggers…not you.”

“Is that even possible if they’re rich?”

His lips curled into a small smile. “Shut up.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and stepped back, turning to head upstairs to shed his tuxedo. “God, it’s like you don’t know how much I love you.”

Accentuating every vowel that left her lips, she softly let out a breath of; “Holy shit.” Her eyes remained fixed on what was being revealed as the Land Rover rolled further and further towards the approaching spectacle. “Is that a fucking moat?”

“It is.” He sighed, hands tightening on the wheel as he regretted ever mentioning Christmas at his family estate.

“Please tell me this bridge is really a drawbridge?”

Her enthusiasm managed to pull a small smile from him as she stuck her head out of the passenger window to glance down into the dark waters either side of the stone bridge. “Afraid not.” She pulled her head back in as the main entrance to the house approached. “If my father were at the wheel he’d be giving you a history lesson right now.”

He saw her turn to him as the car reached the stone archway. “Well, considering I know absolutely nothing about this place; feel free.”

He took a breath and met her eyes, feeling totally out of place as he tried to remember the way his father started this story every time someone new arrived. “It’s a house of many eras.” He said as they passed through the arch and into the main courtyard of the place. “Started as a hall in the 12th century and continued to grow until about the end of the 19th century.” He slowed the car to a stop. “Hence the contrast in styles.” He gestured out to the buildings around them and watched as her own eyes flittered from him to them.

Her seatbelt was unfastened and she was out of the car in a heartbeat. “Wow.” It was a simple sentiment and one that had been echoed a thousand times before as people laid eyes on Madresfield Court for the first time.

Sighing softly at the wonder in her eyes as she spun to take it all in, he too climbed from the car and stood on the ancient stone of the courtyard.

“It’s…” She trailed off, unable to find the right word for it all.

“Ostentatious? Exhausting? Headache inducing?”

She spun back to him, a small frown between her brows. “Beautiful.” She corrected. “Look at all of this.” She gestured around her. “This is literally history. These bricks have been here since when?”

“Mid-16th century.”

She laughed at his nonchalance. “And that’s not impressive to you?”

“You get used to it.”

“Impossible.”

He let her have her moment here; let her get as much of the awe out of her system before he took her inside because if a few red bricks and timber gabled windows impressed her, she’d never take a breath again inside.

“This place is stunning.”

It was the third time she’d said it since breakfast and that was a mere hour ago. But he understood; between the galleried courtyard where he’d found her tentatively touching the chocolate timbers and delicate tiles and the library where she’d insisted on not touching any of the pages of the tomes he brought out for her - this place could be a little overwhelming.

“Don’t you think so?” Her question shook him from his thoughts as he burrowed his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Look at it.” She nodded to the house. “It’s magnificent.”

“Not if you grew up here.”

There was a beat of silence as they stood side-by-side at the edge of the moat. “Yeah.” She breathed softly. “I get that; it’s a museum.”

“And a mausoleum.” He felt her had on his arm as he continued to stare at the Court from their spot in the gardens. “This place holds very few happy memories for me.”

“Tell me.” She urged. “Talk to me about them; you’ve only ever said that you’re the last one left.”

He turned to her. “It’s a miserable story: hardly appropriate for the run-up to Christmas.”

“I don’t care.”

He nodded once and extended his elbow to her. “I don’t know where to start.” He told her as they turned to face the expanse of green belonging to the estate.

“Well…how big is this garden?”

“Sixty-nine acres.”

She barked a laugh at the stupidly high number before tightening her hold on his arm and forcing him a step forward. “Then we should have plenty of time; start at the beginning.”

He scoffed. “The beginning.” He let his breath mingle with the icy air around them for a moment before starting at what wasn’t the beginning of him but the beginning of how he became who he was now. “I went to prep school when I was three years old.” It seemed like a decent start. “It was twenty minutes down that road and I loved it there. My brother joined me a year later and continued to follow me until we left The Elms and boarded at Eton.” He flicked his eyes to her; watching as she nodded along slowly to his brief description of his schooling years. “My parents died when I was seventeen in a car crash on a bend ten miles that way.” He nodded to one of the rolling Malvern hills that surrounded them. “And I inherited everything…at seventeen I was suddenly in charge.”

“I’m so sor-”

“Don’t be.” He cut across her. “It’s hard to grieve for people you hardly knew; that’s the curse of boarding school.” They continued to wander through the perfectly manicured grass. “But grieving for my brother nearly killed me. I can still see him sometimes, when I close my eyes at night he’s there: eyes glassy and arm limp with a needle dangling from his fingertips.” He took a shuddering breath, realising that this was the first time he’d ever talked about it; ever felt safe enough to soften that stiff supper lip. “I still don’t know how he met the girl who introduced that poison into his life, or how long it had been rotting him before we were forced home for their funeral.”

“He died here?” She asked, voice almost lost in the December chill.

He nodded once. “In his bedroom: accidental overdose apparently.” Her hand once again tightened around his arm in a comforting squeeze. “The worst part of it all though?” He laughed sourly. “She turned up here on the morning of the funeral; the morning that had been pushed back a week so they could all be buried together. Said her name was Helen and she loved him.”

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing. I didn’t even know she was here.” He told her. “Andrew sent her away.”

“Andrew the butler?” She asked. “Wow.”

“He practically raised us; was more of a father than my own.” He smiled lightly at the mention of the aging man who had welcomed them yesterday. “Apparently he shut the door in her face.”

She laughed. “What a guy. I knew I liked him; anyone who greets me with a roaring fire and a hot chocolate is bound to be a good guy.” She nudged him lightly. “What happened after that?”

“I can’t remember the funeral.” He confessed. “I was black-out drunk and barely able to stand.”

“That’s understandable.”

“Is it?” He met her eyes and slowed them to a stop. “Because I’ve felt a crushing guilt over it ever since. I came home for two more years of mandatory holidays and then turned my back on this place as soon as I could because every room reminds me of him; of how he lived here and how he died and how I, his big brother, didn’t notice that he’d vanished a long time before that day in his room.”

She reached out to him and forced him to turn to him, her arm slipping from his. “You were a child.” She told him slowly. “And one who had lost everything in one fell swoop. I say you were more than entitled to leave here while your sanity was still intact.”

His hands came to rest on her waist. “You’ve seen me after the nightmares.” He reminded her. “How can you possibly think I’m sane?”

“I’ve also watched you frantically searching for your reading glasses when they were on top of your head the whole time.” She countered with a smile. “I’ve seen you test out at least four supermarket trolleys before finding one without a broken wheel because it irritates you.” She removed his hands from her waist and held them in her own. “And I’ve heard you tell me that you love me even when a million better options are presented.” She pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “If I can believe in your sanity after all of that…I think your childhood grief gets a pass.”

Christmas was a blur after that cold morning where he’d opened up and communicated everything he’d bottled up for six years. They’d walked back to the house in silence; the only sound being the crunching of frosted grass underfoot as he basked in the lightness now adorning his shoulders.

His eyes were never far from her after that; always watching her reaction to some new nook she discovered here or how the firelight cast a sheen over her skin as she reclined with a book between her hands; basking in the stories she’d loved for so long printed on antique pages.

Somehow the house managed to come alive in her presence. When he passed through the library now, he heard her squeal of excitement at finding a rare copy of some long forgotten romance novel that of course she somehow knew about, instead of the image of his father ordering five-year-old him out of they weren’t going to pay the antique collection the respect it deserved.

The garden wasn’t the place where his mother had once stood with tears in her eyes and only a scarf around her neck, it’s ends whipping around in the wind as his father packed for another business trip.

And most importantly, he didn’t feel like every path was one walked by ghosts when he took her by the hand and led her to his favourite places to hide as a child or the window that had the best view.

Somehow, he was reclaiming his home and he loved her for it with every fibre of his being.

“What’s the plan for today?” She asked, her cheek against his chest as they continued to absorb as much heat as possible on the coldest of the December mornings so far. “Are we getting out of bed? I feel like we should get out of bed.”

He hummed softly, his fingers happy playing with her hair.

“That’s not an answer.”

“We can do whatever we want.”

“You don’t have some village obligations to attend to? No church ceremony? No carol competition to judge?” He shook his head, a smile lingering on his lips as she propped herself up to meet his gaze. “Well period dramas have clearly been lying about the life of an Earl on Christmas morning then.”

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “What do you want to do?”

“Me?” She pondered the question once before a slow smile spread over her lips. “I want three things.”

“Only three?”

“One – I want my pyjamas.” He laughed at that one. “I’m being serious; I have no idea where they are and I’m not going anywhere in just your shirt from yesterday.” He mumbled a begrudging ‘fine’ into her forehead as he pressed a kiss there. “Two – I want to turn on the tree lights and let them make me feel warm and all that shit that only happens at Christmas.” He smiled at her. “And three – I want to call my parents.” She pouted. “I miss them.”

“I can’t believe you agreed to come here instead of spending Christmas with them.”

She huffed. “I can’t believe they sent me back to uni with a car full of presents for you.” He smirked as she rolled back onto the mattress and stared at the ceiling. “Apparently you need looking after and my mother is the one to do it.”

“And I’m very grateful for that.”

She laughed. “You won’t be when you see what she’s bought for you.”

“My mother had truckloads shipped up from London with a promise from a personal shopper that they contained everything two boys could ever wish for.” He told her. “I had empty Christmases that looked great in photographs but dismal in real life; my mother was in bed with a headache by three, my father drunk by four and my brother and I bored not soon after.” Her eyes met his. “Trust me when I say that a coat from your parents bought specifically because the Christmas before had seen me wholly unprepared for the temperature of snow, is one of the best things I’ve ever had.”

There was a beat of silence between them before she huffed again. “And that’s why they love you.”

“What?”

“You’re so damn charming.” She sighed. “I should never have brought you home first year; now I’ll never have a Christmas without my parents fawning all over you.”

“They could come here.” He offered. “We could all come here for Christmas so no one has to feel overburdened with work; Andrew lives for Christmas – he plans it all in February and spends the year just getting ready for it.”

She squinted at him as his words hung between them. “You do realise you just offered up this place for a huge family Christmas…every year…right?” She slid a leg over his to straddle his lap. “Because if you’re only just realising that then you are more than welcome to take it all back – I know how hard just being here with me has been for you.”

“I love you.” He told her, brushing back the hair that had fallen forward as she settled in his lap. “I love your parents and most importantly; I don’t think I can ever do Christmas here without you.” He paused. “I mean; Andrew would be devastated - I can’t drum the same level of enthusiasm as you for a string of lights.”

She laughed and pressed a kiss to his jaw as she mumbled. “I can’t believe you just promised to stick with me after graduation.”

“Stick with you?” He frowned at her. “You’d have to pry me away from you with a crowbar.”

Present

Turns out that sometimes time can be just as effective as a steel bar.

Graduation hit them like a freight train and then they were packing all they owned into a second-hand car and heading down the M40 to what they’d hoped would be a glittering future.

And for her, it had been. They’d moved to a tiny apartment on the outskirts of this sprawling city three days before she was scheduled to start her first graduate level job. Turns out that a Classics degree isn’t as applicable as Languages and History. She’d pretty much stepped straight into her translating role after a single interview and despite the bitterness in him now, he truly was proud of her.

They’d moved further into the heart of London fairly quickly with a promotion coming thick and fast to her and soon a two-hour commute on a series of broken down trains had been replaced with a quick cab ride. He was proud of her. achingly so. But he hated himself.

Hated how he spent his days in a window seat with a cigarette between his fingers and a glass in his hand. Hated how the noise was deafening even through their double-glazing. Hated how she was so damn independent and refused to let him pay more than half for anything.

Because when it came down to it, money was all he had; all he was.

So the Christmas presents got more extravagant and the weekend breaks further afield until she sat him down and asked if he was okay. Asked if there was something wrong. And that marked their first blowout row that ended with a slammed door echoing through the room.

It was while he was sat alone on their homely sofa that he realised the truth of it all; he was living through her and it was making them both miserable.

It wasn’t really a shock to him when the advert caught his eye: it was a path many people of his birth took, and he was beginning to understand why. Whether it was the promise of a camaraderie he hadn’t discovered even at uni or the fact that he knew he wouldn’t have time to let the darkness creep into his mind, he wasn’t sure, but he knew that this was the right path for him.

He just needed her to realise that.

He watched as her hands slowly uncurled from the cabinet edge and her head titled back slightly as a puff of a laugh escaped her lips.

“Say something.”

She laughed again, lightly this time as her head lowered. “What is there to say? You’ve clearly made your mind up.” She turned to him, one hand still on the cabinet top. “This is just courtesy right? You’re just letting me know so that I don’t come home one day and find all your stuff gone?”

“I-”

“Don’t.”

“I know-”

“I said; don’t.” She stepped away from the worksurface and ran both hands through her hair, bunching it all into her fists. “I know you hate it here but is this the only option?”

“I don’t hate it here.”

“No.” She agreed. “You hate it here.” She released her hair and walked to the strip of wooden floor that separated their kitchen from the living room rug. “You could have talked to me.”

“You love it here; love the city, love your job, love this place.” He gestured to the apartment around them as he watched her toe the edge of the rug as he continued to lean against his own counter-top in the small kitchen. “I could never ask you to leave.”

“So you’re going to go instead?”

“I have to.” He told her, and he watched as her shoulders slumped under the realisation that this was happening; that there was no stopping him. “Say something.”

“What’s there to say?” She turned her head to him, watching from just over her shoulder as she delivered the final truth of the situation. “You’ve joined the fucking army.”

[arrthurpendragon]

⌨+Bluebird in my Heart

Source

Odette scoffed and rolled her eyes.  She thought the man beside her to be ridiculous.  Of all the men her uncle could have chosen, he had chosen him? Knowing that she’d need something to make the time go by, Odette slowly turned in her seat toward the back of the cart.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Athos hissed as one of his arms wrapped around Odette to keep her from falling off the cart.

Ignoring his words, Odette attempted to tug herself free from his grasp but she pulled herself a little too hard.  And this time she tumbled off the slow-moving cart.

Send me ⌨ + title to one of my fics and I’ll write sentence for that fic! (This is probably the only way I'll get any writing done right now)

[mrshiraethsworld]

Arthur Athos Kenobi kitty requests a sentence of A Traveler's Discovery

Hello Mr. Arthur Athos Kenobi! Here is a sneak peek into the next chapter of 'A Traveler's Discovery':

She opened her mouth, attempting to scream, and watched in horror as bubbles released into the water, floating upwards.

ask me a question & spread some positivity!

[animanightmate]

Chapter: 22/24, in which more than dice are thrown as our heroes each take their chances.

Well, small apologies for a) this being a few days late, b) it being another amoeba chapter. I explain a little more in the end notes, but basically: I’m Having A Time at the moment, which naturally impacts creativity. Anyway, enjoy! Less angst, and more hijinks than previous chapters.

Fandom: The Musketeers (2014), d'Artagnan Romances (Three Musketeers Series) - All Media Types, Les Trois Mousquetaires | The Three Musketeers Series - Alexandre Dumas Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Aramis | René d'Herblay/Athos | Comte de la Fère, Aramis | René d'Herblay & Athos | Comte de la Fère & Porthos du Vallon Characters: Aramis | René d'Herblay, Athos | Comte de la Fère, Porthos du Vallon, Original Characters, de Tréville (Trois Mousquetaires) Additional Tags: Flirting, Classical References, Canon Era, Pre-Canon, Bickering, Card Games, Drinking Games, Gambling, Truth or Dare, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Ancient Greek, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Slow Burn, Canon-Typical Violence, Dreams, Smoking, Swearing, Masturbation, Period-Typical Homophobia, Mood Swings, Mission Fic, Undercover Missions, Biblical Scripture References (Abrahamic Religions), Implied Antisemitism, Period Typical Attitudes, implied whorephobia, Androgyny, Alcohol, Espionage, False Identity, Dom/sub Undertones, debate, Genderqueer Character, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Disguise, Prostitution, Sex Work, Period-Typical Racism, Sign Language, Shooting Guns, Guns, Combat Scene, Mission Reports, Cheese, Eating, Double Entendre, Proverbs and Sayings, Kissing, Seduction, Frottage, Clothed Sex, Intersex, Confessions, Childhood Memories, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Hand Jobs, Explicit Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, Cunnilingus, Fingerfucking, Under-negotiated Kink, Verbal Domination, 69 (Sex Position), Multiple Orgasms, Sex Toys

Summary: Aramis likes to be polite. And friendly. But he always seems to be at odds with Athos, in subtle (or not-so-subtle) ways. In different circumstances he’d have a better chance of knowing what to do, but this is a working relationship between fighting men, one of them notoriously reticent. If only Athos wouldn’t keep making references to Classical Greek literature, leading Aramis’s ever-fertile imagination into places it should not go.

Updates twice a week: midweek and weekends.

[edensrose]

❝ all for 𝓸𝓷𝓮 and one for 𝐀𝐋𝐋 ❞

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