#captain treville x you

[bullet-prooflove]

Memories: Captain Jean Treville x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @@princesschyanne @caffeinatedwoman @kmc1989 @lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx

When Athos goes missing it is you that finds your old friend, he's strung up by his wrists about to be whipped by a baron’s son. It triggers something in you, seeing him like that, at the mercy of nobility who want to get their grubby hands on his land. That was you a long time ago, after your father died, when you were nothing but a girl.

Only there was no one to rescue you, to cut the rope that bound your wrists, to prevent a marriage that was forced at gun point as blood ran down your back. When you fight for Pinon alongside Jean and his Musketeers you fight for yourself, for the girl who couldn’t.

“It brings back memories doesn’t it?” Jean murmurs as he sits down alongside of you by the hearth at the inn. You’re staring into the flames, your attention focused entirely on the logs that crackle and burn.

You’ve been quiet since they’ve arrived, reserved. There’s a tone in your voice, a distance. It’s clear there’s been a dispute between yourself and Athos, you think he has a duty to his people and he wants nothing to do with the damn place. He doesn’t understand that his choice is one that everyone else has to live with, he can’t see beyond his own pain.

“Too many to count.” You say despondently, before your gaze shifts to the innkeeper’s daughter.

“She was lucky you were here.” He says quietly as he leans in close, the back of his hand brushing over yours. It’s a tentative display of affection. Sometimes you don’t like to be touched when you go back to that place, you withdraw from him as if he’s one of the men that hurt you all those years ago. “That you were able to get her out.”

Breaking in the filly is what they called the horror of what they were going to do to her, rape is what you call it.

“I could never resign someone else to that fate.” You tell him, your attention turning back to the fire.

When he takes you to bed that night, you sleep curled up against him like a child, his fingers trailing soothingly through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings. Darkness like this brings dreams, dreams of a man who shamed you, ruined you, who fed you to the wolves so that he could own your estate.

You were nothing to Charles DuMire but a tool to be used, a plaything for men who always held more power than you. You were exchanged for favours, for money, for prestige.

“I was their whore.” You had said, when you’d told him your story.

“No.” He’d whispered fiercely, his eyes glittering with rage as his palms came to rest upon the surface of his desk. “You were abused.”

He doesn’t know how you kept your wits during that time, trauma like that would drive anyone to madness. You were nothing but an object to those men, and men, they speak freely in front of things that they own.

When you learn of their plot to assassinate the King, you decide to act. You gather evidence, letters, a ledger of the money exchanges and the ring that each one of the men wear, a symbol of their allegiance to one another, one that can only be worn in the shadows. You take them to Paris with you during one of husband’s excursions to court.

Your father had often spoke of Jean Treville, the young soldier he had trained to become a Musketeer. He spoke of the battles they fought in, his heroism, his honour.

“He is the Captain now.” He had said on his deathbed. “If there is trouble, he is a man you can trust.”

When you first turn up at the garrison, Jean thinks you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. It’s only when he helps you down from your horse that he sees the darkness in your eyes, the way you clench your jaw at his touch. He’s careful after that, he doesn’t want to cause you any further distress.

When he reviews your evidence there is no doubt in his mind you’ve uncovered a conspiracy, one that’s already in motion. He moves into action, making preparations and you stand beside him, showing him the access points on the map, detailing the plans your husband has made. You have a mind for battle, for tactics and subterfuge. He thinks you would have been a general if you had been born a son.

“You are your father’s daughter.” He had told you once the trap was set, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “He would have proud of your strength, your ingenuity.”

“He would be ashamed of what I’ve become.” You say as you pull on your cloak, drawing it up around your shoulders.

“No.” Jean had told you. “He’d be ashamed of the circumstances he left you in, that he trusted his neighbour to care for you the same way he did. None of this is your fault.”

You meet his gaze and you can see the sincerity of his words, the anger that fuels them. None of this should have happened to you, you should be living a happy life, married to a man who loves you, who wants to give you children.

“You can’t go back to him.” He asserts as you tie the fastening of your cloak just underneath your chin.

“If I don’t, he’ll know there is something amiss.” You say before gesturing at the plans upon his desk. “And all of this will be for nothing.”

It kills him to send you back into the viper’s nest, to know that you’ll be sleeping next to a man who gives you to his friends as if you were a trinket. When he helps you onto your horse, he lingers for a moment, his palm lightly caressing the animal’s nose.

“It’ll be over soon.” You say with an air of finality as you pick up the reins. “I’ll take great joy in watching him hang.”

And you do. The next time Jean sees you is inside the prison courtyard as you both watch the men who conspired against the crown hang for their crimes. You smile as your husband takes his final breathes, his body quaking and his legs kicking. Anyone else would look away but you keep your eyes fixed on his the entire time.  

“There were others?” Jean asks quietly as he escorts you from the prison.

He’s surprised when your hand comes to rest on his arm. You tilt your head towards him and he can see that a burden has been released. His palm covers yours in a show of solidarity as you walk together side by side.

“Yes there are others.” You say, slowing your step as you reach into the pocket hidden within your skirts and withdraw a piece of parchment. “Here are their names, if you are patient I will get you your evidence. I have no doubt that I’ll be fair game now that Charles is dead.”

“I would never ask that of you…” You cut him off by shushing him and he sighs as the two of you come to a standstill.

You are a wilful woman, spirited despite the circumstances. Your husband’s death has given you a taste for vengeance and he knows you will not stop until you see every single one of those men dead.

“You wouldn’t would you?” You say softly, squeezing his fingers. “You would never ask anything of me.”

“No.” He says, his lips pursing together into a fond smile. “No I would not.”

It takes two years but you send every single one of those men to the gallows. Their reputations in tatters, their lands claimed by the crown, you leave them with nothing. During every death you stand at the front your eyes locked on theirs because you want them to know it was you, that you are the harbinger of their demise.

It’s a few nights after the last one is hanged that you enter his chambers. He’s sitting on the bed, having just removed his boots and jacket when you stand before him and begin to undress. Your skirts go first and then the bodice, the rest of it follows until your clad in simple white garment that’s almost translucent. He can see the outline of your dark nipples, that special place between your legs and his mouth goes dry. He wants you, he always has but he’s not like those other men, he won’t rut at you like an animal.

You mistake his resolve for rejection. He knows your story, of the men you’ve been with. It makes sense that a man of honour would want a woman of virtue, not someone ruined.

“I understand.” You say quietly, your cheeks colouring as you reach for your clothing.

“Terese.” He says softly as he pats the space alongside him on the bed. “Please sit with me.”

You take up residence beside him and the scent of orange blossoms floods his senses. He prays to God for strength because having you this close, feeling the heat of your body, seeing it through that thin sliver of material it’s enough to drive a man to madness. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, tipping your chin up so that your eyes are fixed in his.

“Have you ever given yourself freely?” He asks you, his nose trailing along yours until your lips are barely apart. “Have you ever known love?”

“No.”  You whisper. “I have never experienced the pleasure.”

“You will with me,” He murmurs, as his lips brush over yours. “If that is what you wish.”

It's you that kisses him, that strips away his shirt, that unfastens his breeches. It is the first time you’ve had a choice in your partner, in your intimacy and you choose him. He takes his time worshipping you, he maps out the contours of your body with calloused hands and an eager mouth.

“You deserve the world.” He whispers against your thigh as he kisses a heated trail to nirvana. “You deserve love, adoration, ecstasy…”

And he gives it to you.

Jean, he gives you everything.

You’ve never known rapture, not like this. His hands anchor you in the moment, his palms caressing you as you climax against his mouth. He moans into your cunt at the taste of your sweet nectar before he devours you all over again. When his name rolls off your lips a second time, he kisses a teasing path up along your body, his lips brushing over your sensitive skin. You look beautiful underneath him, your skin flushed and eyes bright.

He stays your hand when you reach for him, bringing your fingertips to his lips instead, kissing them.

“Not tonight my love.” He whispers. “Tonight is about your pleasure, not mine.”

He’s the first man you give yourself freely and the last.

In the small principality of Pinon, he lies in bed with you, his spy, his lover and his wife and he knows you won’t just be fighting for Athos’s people, you’re fighting for your own, for the innocents that were slaughtered when your first husband took over your lands, the ones that tried to save you, the ones that couldn’t.

This is the reason that Pinon is so important to you.

This is the place you make your stand and this time he makes it with you.

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[the-hinky-panda]

BBC's The Musketeers: The Season's Series

The Fall Series (Porthos x Reader/OFC)

The Winter Series (Aramis x Reader/OFC) - Under Construction!

The Spring Series - (Athos x Reader/OFC) Coming Soon!

The Summer Series - (Treville x Reader/OFC) Coming Soon!

[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.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Trois Surprises

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6719

Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises. 

Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show,  so ignore the timeline haha. 

More Musketeers HERE

-

I 

The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper.  It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities. 

A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble. 

“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?” 

He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit. 

Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.” 

“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased. 

“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.” 

You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.” 

The two exchanged a look. 

“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”

“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.” 

D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though. 

The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer. 

“Y/N?” 

And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face. 

“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek. 

“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.” 

“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?” 

“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned. 

“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.” 

You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger. 

“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.

You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything. 

“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked. 

After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable. 

Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.” 

Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment. 

When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back. 

“What to share what that was all about?” 

Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever. 

He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

-

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table. 

Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”

“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.” 

“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well. 

“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”

“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.” 

You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”

Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.” 

You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress. 

As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face. 

“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.” 

“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.” 

A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.” 

“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day. 

“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore. 

“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle. 

“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”

Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell. 

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well. 

A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire. 

One day, you thought…

A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.

“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes. 

“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it. 

“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow. 

You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled. 

“I think she may disagree with your feeling.” 

“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked. 

He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.” 

-

II

He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms. 

The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began. 

Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off. 

“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?” 

“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded. 

“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.” 

Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side. 

“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.” 

The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.

 He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.

The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you. 

What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying? 

Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house. 

Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him. 

The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him. 

“Would you like to meet your son?” 

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy. 

A son. 

He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched. 

Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace. 

He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying. 

“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!” 

A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell. 

The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white. 

“What’s happening?” He asked. 

Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.” 

A guttural grunt. Another scream. 

Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.

“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic. 

He burst through the door.  

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek. 

“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily. 

“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded. 

Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain. 

“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip. 

“There’s another,” the midwife said. 

Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time. 

“What?!” 

She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room. 

“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…” 

-

For the first time, there was quiet. 

The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter. 

“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.” 

You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek. 

“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.” 

Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him. 

A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.” 

Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead. 

You beamed. “Let them in.” 

Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.

“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”

D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first. 

“Them?”  

As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement. 

“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face. 

Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?” 

It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes. 

“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.” 

The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations. 

“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked. 

“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?” 

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back. 

“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.” 

D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible. 

“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong. 

Aramis nodded. “Charles.” 

“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes. 

“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”

“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face. 

She started to cry. 

“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.” 

Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics. 

“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.” 

“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.” 

You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears. 

“Would you like to hold him?” 

He gulped. “Can I?” 

You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles. 

A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved. 

III

He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips. 

“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir. 

Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full. 

A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them. 

“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.” 

She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest. 

The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor. 

“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements. 

“What’s happened?” 

You bowed your head. “Nothing.” 

“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away. 

“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears. 

“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.” 

“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.” 

Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned. 

Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.” 

You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued. 

“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.” 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong. 

“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.” 

“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”

“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries. 

“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”

Aramis reached for both of you. 

Christine started to cry as well. 

“Y/N-”

“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.” 

Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem. 

“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out. 

He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.  

-

You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry. 

He asked you to marry him. 

How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard. 

You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache. 

It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off. 

You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.

And the children were gone. 

You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully. 

“Morning,” Porthos greeted. 

You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.” 

“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled. 

“What are you talking about?”

“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.” 

“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform. 

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue. 

“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”

D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.” 

“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?” 

“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned. 

“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better. 

Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance. 

“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.” 

Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work. 

“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said. 

Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek. 

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

-

It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air. 

Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap. 

“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent. 

“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest. 

Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win. 

You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.

The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.” 

You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his. 

“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”

“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand. 

“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”

You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you. 

“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”

His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief. 

When you parted, you both smiled tearfully. 

Aramis continued. 

“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?” 

“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.” 

-

You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance. 

The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop. 

To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered. 

“Welcome back,” Athos said. 

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly. 

“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be. 

You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy. 

With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations. 

“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink. 

“What final part?” You asked. 

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning. 

“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”

“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.” 

“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.” 

You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.” 

“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.” 

“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”

“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”

Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.” 

You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day. 

“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said. 

It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home. 

“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”

You stopped him with a kiss. 

“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.” 

Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by. 

“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…” 

He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.” 

You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you. 

[ghoulsister1]

His Treasure Rochefort x Reader.

Hurt/Comfort. TW: Blood. Physical hurting. Kidnapping. Don't worry there's a happy ending. Reader is Rochefort's love. Rochefort rescues you and kills your abusive captors. Musketeers come to help him. Cardinal is alive in this AU too.

Y/N is Rochefort's lover and she often spends time with him at the Palace or when he comes to visit her at her home. She is good friends with Constance and Captain Treville, along with the Musketeers. Though the Musketeers aren't fond of Rochefort, they care about Y/N very much despite her relationship with the captain of The Red Guard.

One day, Y/N does not show up at her and Rochefort's meeting spot and when Treville finds a letter addressed to Rochefort, the captain of the Red Guard discovers his beloved has been kidnapped and held ransom by Spanish spies who will kill her if Rochefort doesn't give them the money. Livid with rage and desperate to save Y/N, Rochefort rides out to rescue Y/N and punish her captors.

●Prompt: "You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now".●

You and Rochefort have been together since last spring. You met while on a visit to the Palace to bring your friend Constance some baked goods you made. He was handsome but stern and a little cold at first. But over time you saw his soft side, especially when it came to you.

A kiss on the hand, a warm smile, a little bow of the head and a smirk, those little things just made you blush and grow close. For Rochefort, he loved your gentle nature, how well-spoken you were though you were quiet and little shy at times but he found it endearing, along with your smile and personality. Soon you two grew closer until officially you were a couple.

Constance was not happy about it, but for your sake she tried to make the most despite her dislike of Rochefort. It wasn't easy, and it was more difficult since you were good friends with Captain Treville and the Musketeers, friends to you but not to Rochefort. But Captain Treville was a little more accepting, only offering you a word of advice.

"Just be careful with him, you've seen his temper flare before Y/N" Captain Treville advised. He wasn't wrong though, you had seen Rochefort throw a punch and run a sword through someone. You've seen his mood when he was angry at people. You understood. But you knew Rochefort would never harm you, he had said so himself one night as you two lay in bed, spent from your recent coupling.

His head laid upon your chest as you ran your delicate fingers through his long, blonde hair slick with sweat yet still soft.

"I know many people have told you to be wary of me, to watch for my temper and such" Spoke Rochefort, his voice low and soft. You frowned and looked down, still running your hand through his hair as he continued.

"Just know this mon ange, I could never, will never lay a hand upon you in anger. I couldn't, no matter how upset I am or get. You are dear to me, dearer to me than gold itself. I just wanted you to know that, you don't ever have to fear me" Continued Rochefort, pressing a kiss to your bosom. You smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I know Rochefort, I know. I trust you. I know you'll never hurt me. Don't worry my dear, I love you Rochefort" You Replied.

"And I love you more, mon ange" Rochefort Whispered lovingly as you two engaged in a passionate kiss.

And so you two have been together for a quite a while now. Today was going to be a special day since the King and Queen were away for a bit and Rochefort had sent you a letter, telling you to meet him in the garden by the fountain.

"Dearest Y/N,

The king and Queen are away for a bit. Come meet me by the fountain today in the Palace's gardens. I'll be waiting for you.

See you soon, mon ange

Sincerely Yours,

Rochefort".

You smiled, wondering what Rochefort had planned for you two. You excitingly got dressed and went out, making your way through the streets to get to the Palace. Unaware that you were being followed.

It was the last time anyone saw you.

Rochefort stood by the fountain in the Palace gardens, gazing around at the scenery and beautiful flowers that were blooming. He was waiting for Y/N to arrive. He looked at the pocket watch.

"Still early" Rochefort Thought before putting away the pocket watch. He began to pace up and down, his head turning around at the slightest sound thinking it was Y/N. The mins passed but no sign of Y/N. Now an hour passed and Rochefort grew anxious.

"Where is she? She should have arrived by now! Where could she be?" Murmured Rochefort to himself. Thoughts flew around his head, the worst thought thinking she went away with someone else but Rochefort quickly shook that from his mind.

"Y/N loves me. She is faithful and honest. Now I'm just getting ahead of myself" Thought Rochefort shaking his head. Suddenly Captain Treville appeared.

"Waiting for someone?" Asked Captain Treville. Rochefort scowled at the intrusion, but Treville just stood there not bothered by the dirty look Rochefort gave him.

"On the contrary, yes I'm waiting for Y/N. She should have been here a little earlier but she's probably just talking to an old friend or neighbour" Rochefort Explained.

"Or she's done the smart thing and found some other Prince Charming" Treville Remarked.

Rochefort's eyes darkened and his mouth twisted into a snarl as he glared at Treville.

"Never. Y/N's an honest woman, she loves me and she'd never do such a thing! Never speak of Y/N in that way when in my presence again Treville!" Snarled Rochefort stepping closer to Treville.

Treville smirked. "Have your Red Guards seen her?" Asked Treville. Rochefort scoffed at Treville.

"You make it sound like she's incapable of looking after herself. She's clever and is just as fierce Treville. I think your precious Musketeers taught her a few things" Remarked Rochefort.

Suddenly one of the Palace Guards appears, letter in hand. Treville takes the letter but doesn't open it upon seeing it is addressed to Rochefort.

"Appears this letter is for you Rochefort" Said Treville handing him the letter. Rochefort took the letter and opened it. His blood ran cold when he read the letter and it's contents.

"Rochefort,

We have your puta here with us and she's in a frightful state. We plan to kill her but not before destroying her pretty little face. If you want her still warm and breathing, give us a thousand gold francs and your puta lives.

If you do not comply with our demands, we slit her throat. You have until sunset.

From Diego Ramirez".

Rochefort's blood began to boil and he clenched his fists angrily, crumbling the letter. His hands shook.

Treville noticed the change in Rochefort's demeanour and stepped closer.

"Rochefort?" Asked Treville, taking note of his trembling form. Rochefort turned to Treville and shoved the letter into Treville's hands. Treville read the letter before looking at Rochefort with a grim expression.

"This is very serious Rochefort" Admitted Treville grimly. Rochefort shook with rage.

"How dare they! How DARE they lay their hands on her! This won't stand!" Shouted Rochefort as he stormed off.

"Where are you going?" Shouted Treville. Rochefort turned and glared at the Musketeer captain.

"To get Y/N back from those Spanish pigs!" Shouted Rochefort and he stormed off to fetch his horse from the stables.

You sat in the corner, quivering. Your nose was bleeding, your lip cut and there was a bruise on your arm, cheek and stomach. They had kicked you, slapped you and beat you. You did try to fight back and managed to claw one in the eye with your nails, wounding one of your captors. You succeeded but were given a harder beating for it.

Your only hope was The Musketeers or Rochefort were on their way to save you. You closed your eyes and sobbed.

"Please, Rochefort help me" You Whimpered tearfully as you curled yourself up.

Rochefort reached the place where you were held, this Diego Ramirez was a criminal and was well known. The Musketeers along with Treville went along with him despite his insistence that he had this himself but ultimately let them join.

"I'll guard the entrance with Aramis, Athos you guard the exit with D'Artagnan" Instructed Treville.

"Me and Porthos will go inside" Added Rochefort. Treville nodded and the plan was set into motion as Athos and D'Artagnan snuck around to the exit, eliminating anyone in their path. Treville and Aramis secured the entrance and Rochefort and Porthos broke in, guns firing.

There wasn't many men so Rochefort and Porthos made quick work, Rochefort eventually finding the cell Diego kept you in. Unlocking it and freeing you, Rochefort was ambushed by Diego.

"Come to save your puta!" Shouted Diego.

"Spanish pig, I'm more than happy to gut you like one!" Roared Rochefort as he engaged Diego in a sword fight. You watched as Rochefort battled, his need to protect you on full display. Your heart warmed at that.

Soon Diego was disarmed and Rochefort pinned him down. Rochefort loomed over him and he noticed a scratch on Diego's eye, still bleeding. Rochefort looked over to you.

"Did you do that?" Asked Rochefort, smirking proudly at you as you nodded. Rochefort turned to Diego.

"You dare lay your filthy hands upon her? I'm going to enjoy running my sword through you" Hissed Rochefort. Porthos arrived to lead out. You heard Diego scream as Rochefort extracted his revenge.

That night you were returned to your home by the Musketeers and Rochefort. The doctor looked you over and reassured Rochefort, you and the Musketeers you had no broken bones or internal injuries.

Rochefort asked the Musketeers and Treville to stay if they liked and so they did though they were surprised.

"Change of heart?" Asked D'Artagnan.

"Rubbish. He's just worried about Y/N. Same as us" Replied Porthos.

"True" Added Athos yawning.

"Though we aren't on good terms with Rochefort, he seems to really care about Y/N" Spoke Aramis.

Treville nodded at that. "He does. He does" Said Treville thoughtfully.

You laid your head upon Rochefort's chest, his arms wrapped around gently but securely. You trembled a bit as your mind flashed with horrid memories. You felt Rochefort run his hand through your hair, soothing you.

"Rochefort.....I..." You Began but Rochefort shushed you gently.

"You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now" Rochefort Spoke softly.

You trembled a bit and snuggled closer to Rochefort.

"I was so scared" You Whispered. Rochefort's jaw clenched at that, seeing how frightened you were. He knew that fear, especially when he was in the Spanish prison.

"I understand Y/N, but they're dead now. And no one will ever hurt you again Y/N" Rochefort Whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled and kissed his chest.

"I love you Rochefort" You Whispered.

"I love you too, mon ange" Whispered Rochefort softly.

You are his treasure and he'll protect you no matter. And if he has to, he'd kill anyone who dared lay a finger upon you.

[dreamerinthesun]

Honey & Sore throat

A/N: husband!Jean Treville x reader (well you'll get the idea)

for @rose-edith sorry it took me so long😭 i hope you'll like it

if you have any request feel free to send them in! i will try my best to write them!

"Ugh!" From the moment you woke up, you realised this was going to be a tough day, if even not one of the worst. Your head was pouding awfully and it wasn't enough, you could barely feel your throat! Maybe dancing and singing all night yesterday was a bad idea, but in your defense, you had to celebrate the good news of D'Artagnan's earned comission somehow! What didn't helped at all was the open window which was one of your husband's habits after waking up early in the morning. You understood why he did that, fresh air in the morning was always a great idea but this morning you only wanted to scold the Captain of Musketeers for being so inconsiderate of your well-being. Your body was telling you to go make yourself a cup of hot tea from the dried herbs you kept in the kitchen but your mind was refusing to get out of the bed and loose its warmth. "Well, look who's awake. Good morning my dear" You were so caught up in your own thoughts about what your next move would be that you didn't noticed your dear husband standing in the doorway to your shared room. By his facial expression you could read in his face that he was a bit amused at your state which you didn't found happy and cute at all. "Mhm..." The hum of your response made Jean only chuckle under his breath as he joined you on your side of bed, taking in how you looked. Despite your hair being a slight mess and your nose looking a pinker than usual he still thought you were absolutely breathtaking and couldn't believe his eyes. "How are you feeling?" "How do you think I'm feeling? I'm feeling great " 'Ah, that's the sarcasm I'm used to' , thought Jean to himself. Whether he admitted it or not he found you even more feisty and snarky self when you were feeling sick bit adorable. As almost everything about you. "I will bring you some tea, you look a little pale. Please stay in bed or you'll catch something worse", he spoke in a soft yet demanding tone. He really wasn't fan of idea you walking and taking care of everything around when you were obviously sick. "I'm fine. I'll just drink tea and everything will get better" "We both know that's not true..." "Fine, I will stay in bed" It sounded like you didn't even wanted to stay in bed but on the other hand you knew Jean Treville was one stubborn man when it came to taking care of you. "But close the window" "Yeah, I will..." Pressing a single kiss onto your forehead he stood up walking over to the window closing it and making sure no one piece of wind went through he then walked out of the door to make you the tea you were promised.

Once the hot mug filled with water, herbs and some honey was in the man's hand he was slowly walking over to the room you were staying in, careful to not spill any of the tea either on him or on the ground because ending up with burn hand himself wasn't any of the close plans on Jean's mind. Grabbing you also your favorite book on the way to the room he was secretly hoping this was all enough for you to keep you inside the room for the day. "One tea with honey coming!" He called out to you when he walked past the doors smiling at the sight of you. The duvet covered up your whole body while you were under there, enjoying the warmth which was provided by the bed. "Here's your tea with honey, but careful, it's hot so leave it there for a few minutes to cool. And here's book to keep you company. Or would you prefer Aramis's presence instead?" With all honesty, Jean wasn't very much happy with the idea of Aramis spending the day in your room. Not that he was afraid of Aramis hitting on you, he was pretty aware of how close you two were, but he would prefer for his musketeer to focus on his job rather than fooling around and doing nothing. So he was quite satisfied with the shook of head you gave him as he smiled, his moustache lifting up slightly. "The honey should help you with the sore throat and do no tell me you don't have it because I heard you singing previous night!" He remarked with small laugh, memories of the celebration running through his head before he made sure you had everything. "If you would want anything else, call out to me, I will be in my office anyway" He spoke up again, mentally groaning at the idea of much paperwork as he didn't notice you were silent the whole time, watching him. When he finally did and he turned his head to look at you, he took notice of the mischief shining in your eyes as you sneaked your arm around his waist. You didn't even had to say anything and he knew it was your plan to get him spend the day with you. "I have to go darling, the paperwork won't do it itself" Jean remarked quickly jumping up from the bed and almost running to his office. The scene caused you to laugh as you just shook your head, getting comfortable under the duvets again while you continued to come up with plan how to get your husband to cuddle in bed with you for the rest of the day.

[rose-edith]

Masterlist

Updated: 09/08/2022

Previous Masterlist

Tommy Shelby x Crawley!Reader: Crawley to Shelby Series Masterlist

NCIS

Ducky giving you heart eyes

Tobias cuddles

Leroy Jethro Gibbs

Discussing the possibility of kids

Both of you left at the office on Valnetine’s

Leaving him secret love notes

Helping Gibbs through a panic attack

Little things to make him smile

Being in a relationship with him when NOT working at NCIS

Patching him up after a bad case

Finds out you have bad periods due to a condition (blood mention)

Falling asleep in his car on stakeout

Gibbs having to win over your dog

Meeting on a case enemies to lovers

Things the lift sees between you and Gibbs

Gibbs in ‘Daddy mode’ caring for his goddaughter

Things he would do if his lover was in a coma

Serenading him

NSFW- Angry make-up sex

NSFW- Consensual Somnophilia

Helping him through his PTSD

Running away when you’re pregnant

New to team and him comforting you

NSFW- being needy and he ‘deals’ with you

Your camera roll if you were dating Gibbs

Team realising you have a crush on him          PART TWO

His hands...

Him in mother hen mode

NSFW- birthday treat from him

Notices you’re scared of thunderstorms

He’s arranged a surprise party

Gibbs x Writer!Reader Part One    Part Two    Part Three  Part four

The coffeehouse

Comforts you after an attack 

Comforting you after a break up

Making it up to you after an argument

He delivers your baby

He realises he wants to propose

He’s being all protective and snuggly

He finds out you’re a writer

Takes care of you when you have a bad headache

Sitting on his face (short)

Taking care of you while you’re in a coma

NSFW calling him Daddy

Helping him shave

NSFW him on his knees

His chest hair

Oblivious to his flirting

Falling for him drabble

Husband drabble

NSFW collar

NSFW cooking

Leaving after argument

NSFW bite drabble

Proposing to him

Break up angst drabble

LONELINESS 1, PRT2,  PRT 3,  PRT 4,  PRT 5

NSFW sugar daddy drabble

Saving the computer drabble

Team meets gf for first time

NSFW remembering last night

NSFW finds the smut you’ve written

Punches guy drabble

Not bringing him coffee

NSFW face sitting

Waking beside him drabble

Making up drabble

Being a stripper he likes

NSFW thought

Puppy eyes drabble

Reading drabble

NSFW bulge kink

Fluffy confession drabble

Hormonal

NSFW trouser drabble

NSFW guided drabble

NSFW the belt drabble

Angst drabble- reader is dead

NSFW the look

Confessions on medicine

Sees your swimsuit

NSFW camping discoveries

NSFW he takes your virginity

Helps you train for charity run

Naked and hungover

Finds you in his dog tags

Teasing him

NSFW shower

NSFW breaking the bed

NSFW first time as couple

Doing your dress up

NSFW his back

Rebound sex

Daughter hurt, wants him

Supporting your teaching career move

Getting a puppy

You’re claustrophobic

Breaking stuff so he helps

Cute dinner date

You broke your arm

NSFW a little treat

Activity holiday with nephews

NSFW stare part 1,   part two

Breaking his nose

Break up and makeup

Surprise holiday romance

NSFW marine witness

NSFW first time riding

Teaches you to drive

Winning over your kid

His kid dating Ziva

NSFW he’s hurt

Asks you out as you buy wood

BBC FATHER BROWN

INSPECTOR VALENTINE

Going through pregnancy

Cute dates

SUPERNATURAL

Dean

Looks after you when you’re on your period

Crowley

Crowley being your Valentine

Being Winchester sister and finding him hilarious

Dating a sweet, nice human

Slowly falling in love because of your actions

Stealing his coat for attention

He has a special Easter treat for you

Teaching him to Easter egg hunt

Being human and trying to woo him

Putting his coat round you

BBC MUSKETEERS

Being in a poly relationship with Aramis and D’Artagnan

Me as Madam Treville

Being courted by Captain Treville

Being the Mistress of King Louis

Kissing D’Artagnan

Being Queen Anne’s best friend

Kissing Aramis

Treville’s daughter loves red guard

[avanti-fandom]

Pairing: Reader x Aramis Summary: You are the daughter of Captain Treville and have a secret relationship with Aramis, now three years after your mother died your father gets notice of your affection for his Musketeer.

Words: 1047

You looked down over the grave, smiling in a sadly way before crouching down and putting yellow flowers on it. It was two years ago you lost your mother, three years since your father was there all alone to raise you. You became a fine young woman, devoted in everything around you, proud of what you became or rather … what your father made you. It was a simply grave but it didn’t matter, it were the memories that stayed. ‘I miss you.’ You whispered, placing a kiss against your lips before pressing those fingers in the earth. You stood up and walked back to the horse that stood waiting, wiping a tear from your cheek as you pulled yourself in the saddle. You came … your father hardly did. So if he wasn’t coming here on his own to remember his wife, at least you had to try. Your white horses cantered the garrison in. Within seconds every musketeer was looking your way while all you did was looking up to the office captain Treville had, hoping to see him standing there … but he wasn’t. ‘Y/n.’ Athos greeted you respectfully while grabbing the reins. ‘Athos.’ You replied, jumping from the horse he hold on to. This place was kind of a second home for you, having a father as a captain of the musketeers brought you here often, playing around, training. ‘It isn’t a good moment.’ Athos whispered. You looked down to the stones before looking back to him. ‘I know that.’ You stated with a weak smile, walking away from your horse and Athos to look for your father. But it wasn’t him you encountered as first, it was Aramis. ‘What’s going on?’ He asked, noticing the watery eyes. Your father never told his Musketeers much, although he often said they were family. You looked up to Aramis and he grew concerned in an instant. His hand rested under you elbow as he looked for a safe place to talk with you. ‘You cried, what is going on?’ He asked as soon as he pulled you into the weaponry depot. You shook your head, biting your lip before looking back, he laid his hands tenderly around your cheeks. ‘My mother died exact three years ago, I just,’ you felt silence as Aramis pulled you in his arms. You rested your head against his shoulder and smiled for his care and love over you. ‘I didn’t know, you know your father doesn’t tell us much about,’ now it was his time to let his words slip away in the air. ‘It doesn’t matter, I’m here to talk with him.’ You pulled back and looked up to his face. He stroke over the side of your head, resting his hand under your jaw. ‘Can I do something?’ ‘If you are lonely tonight you should know there is always somebody else lonely to.’ You smiled, not inviting him to come over but just as always … loving literary. ‘I love it when you talk like that.’ He praised you with one of his wide smiled. You laid your hand around his wrist that rested against your face as he pulled your face closer. You closed your eyes in the short kiss he gave you. ‘Now go, he needs you, he isn’t himself today.’ Aramis nodded to the door. You smiled and looked up into his bright eyes. ‘Thank you Aramis.’ ‘Thank me later.’ He winked, following you back out. When you looked up Captain Treville hanged over the wooden edge looking down to you … before he slowly looked over to Aramis. He didn’t knew what was going on between you and Aramis. They were kind of your brothers, the one more than the other. When he closed the door you turned around to him. ‘Father why aren’t you,’ ‘You and Aramis?’ He asked, cutting of your words so he wouldn’t have to suffer on the meaning of them. ‘What about me and Aramis?’ You asked, pretending there was nothing. You often spoke him alone, just as you did with Athos or Portos. ‘I know my men Y/n, I know Aramis. He wouldn’t hold back for a beautiful woman.’ ‘Yes and you should know he respects you to greatly to approach me on such a kind of way.’ You reacted right back. You walked over to him. He ignored your and looked out of that tiny little window. ‘So there is nothing?’ ‘Father,’ ‘Y/n.’ He interrupted you. ‘No, there is something. He is kind to me, listens, I love him.’ ‘He is a Musketeer Y/n.’ He insisted. You smiled fast, looking down to the ground. ‘Mother married a musketeer to. If you are worried about my safety then don’t, I’m safe with Aramis, I’m safe with all of you. Mother didn’t die because of who you are, she died because of illness. Is this what it is about?’ You asked. Treville turned around to you and shook his head. ‘I only want you safe.’ He whispered. You walked over to him and embraced him. ‘I am. Aramis is good. Do you rather want me to fall in love with somebody you can’t keep an eye on?’ You joked softly. He laughed, pressing a kiss on your hair. ‘Don’t let his charm foul you.’ He gave you advise … on Aramis. You smiled and pulled back. ‘Can we visit mother later, together?’ You asked softly. He nodded and walked with you back out. You both kept standing there, looking down to Aramis and Portos playfully fighting. ‘He is a good man.’ Treville nodded. Aramis looked up to the both of you and he bowed deeply. You smiled, a big joyful and in love smile that your father studied. ‘Go now, this isn’t a place for a woman.’ He insisted. You kissed his cheek and took the stairs down. Aramis studied your face and you nodded, both of you looking up to Captain Treville again. ‘I kill you when you do my daughter harm Aramis.’ He warned Aramis. ‘I don’t expect something else.’ Aramis answered, leading you back to the stables. ‘I will look for my lonely woman tonight.’ Aramis said as you sat on your horse. You looked down to him and smiled weak. ‘I will wait for you.’ You nodded before leading your horse out.

[molluskwritesfic]

Black Herons - Ch. 3

Masterlist - Ao3 - First Chapter - Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

A/N: We’ll actually get to Caladan in the next chapter I swear. If you’re wondering, this story does use a lot of canon from the Prelude to Dune novels (so spoilers), which is where I get the Paulus Atreides quotes and all the Dune backstory that doesn’t have to do with Rhiannon or Planet Iro. You don’t have to read the books to understand this story but maybe check out the Dune wiki page if you get confused.

Pairing: Duke Leto Atreides I x Fem!OC (slow burn)

Rating: M

Word Count: 4k

Chapter Three: Impressions

The two ornithopters circled the icy ridge, metal hulls glinting in the late afternoon sun. The Black Heron Hall estate sat squarely at the bottom of the valley, surrounded by a maze of walled gardens, well-tended waterways, and a scattering of ancillary buildings designed to blend in with the natural mountain rock.

Rhiannon stood on the walkway leading to the landing pad, her chiffon cape snapping in the wind stirred up by the landing aircraft. Elsbeth stood just off her right elbow, only having just returned from her trip to the nearest town, where she’d placed an order for several new uniform coats and travel dresses for those of Rhiannon’s staff that were moving with her to Caladan.

To Rhiannon’s left loomed Trevil Pennon, the Captain of her Personal Guard. Trevil was in his mid fifties, a dour man of a military disposition, complete with close-cropped gray hair, craggy face, and terminal scowl. Like Mariona, Rhiannon’s lady-in-waiting, Trevil had been a part of Bence Varvara’s staff — a hired mercenary turned soldier — that had chosen to stay with her after the Count’s death.

He glared fixedly at the settling ornithopters, face a mask of poorly-concealed disdain, silently daring the occupants to bring harm to his Lady. It didn’t help that Trevil was already sour about having to share the responsibility of Rhiannon’s safety with Duncan Idaho, who, as one of the Duke’s men, he had deemed untrustworthy.

The three of them were joined on the walkway by the Chief of Staff, several guards, as well as Hawat and Idaho. If the Master of Assassins had been put off by whatever he found in Elsbeth’s private rooms, he gave no outward sign of it. Idaho had yet to say anything, but Rhiannon still hoped for details to laugh over later. Especially when Elsbeth found out.

The crew of the ornithopter disembarked, and Rhiannon was treated to her first sight of her husband-to-be. She’d seen holophotos of him before and had already agreed with Elsbeth’s statement that he was pleasing to the eye. Seeing him in person now, she was able to add that assessment.

Duke Leto Atreides cut a handsome figure, dressed in the same work uniform as the rest of his men — black with the red Atreides emblem on the chest and two gold hawk pins to either side of his collar. He wasn’t particularly tall, only a few inches taller than Rhiannon, with a lean, athletic build. She cataloged his angular, hawklike features quickly: olive skin, heavy eyebrows, sharp gray eyes. His hair was black and curly, but had been slicked back with a holding gel to keep it out of his face. He sported a thick, well-groomed beard that was only just starting to gray at the corners of his jaw.

When Duke Leto and his guards reached the welcoming party, Rhiannon bowed gracefully and said, “My Lord Duke, welcome to Black Heron Hall.”

“Lady Rhiannon.” He took her hand in the half-handshake of the Imperium, then brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across her knuckles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you at last.”

“Likewise, m’Lord.” Temporarily mollified by the gesture, Rhiannon was able to set aside the previous slights enough for her soft smile to be genuine. “I’ve followed your pursuits on Iro with great interest. It’s good to be able to attach a face with the progress.” She indicated Elsbeth, who had a knowing gleam in her eye that Rhiannon chose to ignore. “May I introduce my aunt, Lady Elsbeth Levin. And Trevil Pennon, the Captain of my Personal Guard.”

“Charmed, my Lord,” Elsbeth said in her sweet voice, dipping into a perfect curtsy.

Trevil fixed the Duke with a stony scowl. Looking downright murderous, but under direct orders to be respectful. He dipped his head once, said, “M’Lord.”

The Captain of the Guard was very opposed to the impending wedding, and already hated the Duke on principle. Having served Bence Varvara during his marriage to Rhiannon, Trevil understood just how much power a nobleman had over his wife — how much pain he could inflict. Trevil was uniquely aware of Rhiannon’s past marital experiences, and would gladly give his life to keep her from having to go through it all again.

Hoping the Duke and his men would overlook Trevil’s distemper and write it off as his usual moody nature, Rhiannon allowed herself to be introduced to Gurney Halleck, a muscular, rough looking man that had shadowed the Duke from the ornithopter. He was middle aged, but the scars that littered his face and hands indicated that he had survived many lifetimes worth of violence. The most notable was an ugly red scar curling across his cheek and jaw, most likely from an inkvine, a sort of natural whip with thorns containing a potent — and excruciatingly painful — neurotoxin.

Introductions finished, Rhiannon inclined her head incrementally toward the house. “Now, it’s a long journey from Dering House Hall. I’m sure you and your men would appreciate the opportunity to refresh yourselves. Dinner is to be served in half an hour, but if you’d like something before then, it can be arranged. If you’d accompany me?”

The Duke smiled politely and offered her his arm. She took it gladly, her delicate fingers curling around his bicep. “Dinner would be much appreciated, my Lady. Lead on.”

The banquet hall was just as elegantly rustic as the rest of the estate — smooth marble floors, fresh flowers in ornate vases, and roaring fireplaces. One of the walls was made entirely of glass, filling the room with natural light and tinting everything a cozy shade of orange as the evening sun drifted behind the mountains.

Leto sat at a well-polished oak table, enjoying a meal of roasted sugar-salmon with vegetables and a venison stew. He drank from his mug of pepper-sap ale, listening to the easy conversation flitting about the table. Lady Rhiannon was an excellent hostess, quick to set a relaxed tone for the meal and pulling the threads of conversation like a master marionettist — keeping them away from potentially unpleasant subjects like the recent Ironian House War and traumatic life events, and shepherding them into discussions about planetary ecology and personal anecdotes.

“As I was the smallest, it was my job to climb the trees and set the snares,” Rhiannon explained, deep in a story about the hunting trips when she would go on with her father as a child. “I don’t know what they would’ve done if I had gotten stuck.”

“How high would you have to climb?” Gurney asked, helping himself to another piece of fish as a server refilled his mug of ale.

“Oh… sixty feet or so, generally. Cravenbirds hunt for bark weasels in the treetops, so the bait had to be set as high as it could go.”

Rhiannon was markedly lovely in her portrait, but paintings and holophotos could never hope to truly capture her beauty — the way her dark eyes gleamed with lethal intelligence or the flash of her roguish smile. She commanded the room in an easy, deceptively off-handed sort of way, and yet her movements were intentional. Confident. Like fire in a dark room, she blazed; full of a magnetic intensity that she used to grab her guests’ attention and hold it in a vice grip.

As Rhiannon encouraged Leto to tell stories of his life on Caladan, she smiled at him, and he was startled to hear himself think: I could love her.

It was a strange revelation, given how worried he had been that they wouldn’t like each other at all. When the conversation drifted away from him and down the table to Lady Elsbeth, Leto found himself thinking about his own parents. The Old Duke Paulus Atreides and his wife Lady Helena had despised each other. While they feigned the perfect marriage in public, their thundering arguments were frequent and could last for hours at a time.

“I married for politics in the first place, lad,” the Old Duke had said. “Never should have tried to make it otherwise. At our station, marriage is a tool. Don’t muck everything up by trying to throw love into the mix.”

Lady Helena was stern, inflexible, and a religious zealot — and although the Old Duke had admitted to loving her in the early years of their marriage, his lack of personal investment in the relationship had made him a poor husband. Leto acknowledged the martial failings of his father, and wanted to avoid the Old Duke’s mistakes.

While Leto’s impending marriage to Lady Rhiannon was purely political, he hoped that in time they could grow to care for each other — or at least avoid the enmity that led to his father’s death and his mother’s subsequent banishment.

But of course, whether or not he found Lady Rhiannon likable was only one obstacle. Leto’s life was complicated by a concubine that he loved deeply and the son they’d had together. Adhering to both the promises he had made to them and to his duties as a husband would be a delicate balancing act, one that he was not wholly sure he could maintain. Despite his determination to ensure that his relationship to them did not change, he knew Jessica was deeply hurt; he feared that the engagement had already driven a wedge between them, and that the distance between them would only grow.

Leto’s eight year old son Paul posed a much more tangible issue — one that had the potential to become very serious in the future. As the son of the Duke’s bound concubine, Paul was technically illegitimate. Even though Leto had officially recognized him as his son and named the boy as his heir, another son by his wife would have greater claim to the ducal title.

No matter what, Leto was determined to ensure that Paul would not be displaced. From the beginning of the complex negotiations between House Atreides and House Dering, Leto had been very clear about Paul’s place in the Atreides household. He had expected resistance to the idea; producing an heir from the bloodline of the wife’s family was generally regarded as important.

Surprisingly, the Dering bureaucrats… didn’t seem to care. At all.

Being amenable or accommodating was one thing, but total indifference was another. Viscount Dering just seemed to want whatever would make his sister happy, while his council unanimously dismissed the subject as one of Duke Leto’s ‘private affairs’ and promptly steered on to other matters.

Confused and a tad bit suspicious, Leto had directly put the question to Odon, the Dering Master of Finances who was also acting as facilitator between Atreides and Dering. At first, Odon was elusive, but once Leto was clear that he was not in the mood for word games, he answered honestly.

“The Lady Varvara is… extraordinarily independent,” Odon had explained, taking off his spectacles and polishing them nervously on his sleeve. “She will likely have strong opinions about matters concerning children. The councilmen know, as I do, that a statement on that particular subject reached within the Council Room walls won’t matter if the Countess does not also agree to it.”

He placed his spectacles back on his nose and looked Leto in the eye.

“I give you my word that House Dering will not object to your son maintaining his title as heir apparent,” Odon went on, sounding serious, “but I strongly recommend discussing it with Lady Varvara.”

Leto had walked away from the conversation feeling mildly alarmed. Odon had made it clear that House Dering had little to no control over its wayward sister, but what did that mean for House Atreides? What did that mean for Leto? House Dering hadn’t made any effort to arrange for the Dowager Countess to meet him, and Leto had been struck by the notion that there was something wrong with Lady Varvara — insanity, perhaps — that they were trying to keep hidden until it was too late for House Atreides to back out on the deal.

He had wanted to speak with Jessica to get her insight, but she was still on Caladan and he wouldn’t see her for several more weeks, so he’d gone over the conversation with Hawat, Gurney, and Duncan instead.

Hawat had shared his concern, thinking of Lady Helena and Lady Kailea, as Leto did, and the irreparable damage they had caused.

It was Gurney that pointed out: “We’ve heard from several sources that Lady Varvara was one of the most trusted of House Dering’s advisors. It’s possible that it is a sign of respect for her, not a deception.”

Leto hoped Gurney was right, but decided that he needed to take matters into his own hands. As per Odon’s advice, Leto had sent an emissary to Black Heron Hall to negotiate the so-called ‘private affairs’. Leto wished he could do it himself — especially since many of the topics at hand would be the concerns Jessica had expressed to him — but since the discussion was no longer political, it was of lower priority than the other things that required Leto’s attention.

Still concerned about the implications of what Odon had possibly sugar-coated as ‘independence’, Hawat had suggested using the interaction as an early means of establishing control — just in case the future Lady of Caladan turned out to be as ungovernable as he feared. Thus, Leto was heavy handed in the stances he’d had presented to her, with the assumption that she’d dispute them and then he’d be able to develop a sense of her ‘independence’ and go from there.

Surprisingly, like the Dering bureaucrats, Lady Varvara… didn’t seem to care.

She’d acknowledged her betrothed’s statements with grace and indifference, leaving Leto both confused and hopeful; a lack of desire for children secured Paul’s position as heir, and no expectation of intimacy would allow Leto to prioritize his love for Jessica in a way he wouldn’t have been able to otherwise.

But was Lady Varvara’s indifference genuine, or was she simply agreeing with him to avoid pre-nuptial conflict?

He needed to find out for sure.

After dinner, Leto asked his bride-to-be to accompany him for a walk around the estate’s extensive sprawl of gardens. Night had fallen, but the path was lit by the warm light of glowglobes bobbing unobtrusively between sculpted trees and around alabaster statues. The air was crisp and cold, but Leto’s uniform had been lined with an adaptive thermal layer in preparation for the snowy planet; similarly, Rhiannon had donned a thick whalefur cloak, though she was well-accustomed to the chill.

“I’ve had the pleasure of spending a significant amount of time getting to know Viscount Dering,” Leto remarked as they walked. They were alone, much to the mutual chagrin of Hawat and the surly-looking Captain of Rhiannon’s Guard, but they needed the space to get to know each other, and Rhiannon had assured him that the estate grounds were quite safe. “Your brother speaks highly of you.”

“Ha! He’d better,” Rhiannon laughed, her arm warm in his. “Has he invited you to go hunting yet?”

“Several times,” he admitted. “He is a… very hospitable man.”

Her grin widened. “Driving you mad, is he?”

He gave her a look of mock offense. “I didn’t say that!”

“You don’t need to, m’Lord.” She bumped him lightly with her shoulder. “Larion is a charming host and excellent at delivering speeches, but after the death of our father, most of the House administrative duties fell to me. For good reason.”

“I understand that the population of Iro has you to thank for the structural development that’s happened over the past few years.” They had reached the fish ponds, which were lit from within. Leto stopped to watch the shadowy fish flitting beneath the surface, pretending not to admire the way the light from the water played in patterns across Rhiannon’s lovely face. “The construction of heated roadways across the Great Ranges seems especially generous.”

“A costly, but worthy endeavor.” Leto noted how she seemed to brighten at the mention of her work. “There are many settlements throughout the Ranges that are completely isolated for most of the year due to the heavy snows. It’ll be good for them to be able to continue trading with other villages throughout the winter.”

“It will be,” Leto agreed. “I hope you’ll find ways to benefit the people of Caladan, as you have on Iro.”

Rhiannon’s expression remained mild. “Perhaps. Fortunately, Caladan hasn’t been shaped by centuries of House warfare. Iro is quite primitive, in comparison. It will take several lifetimes to repair the damage — I imagine there is less that needs to be done on Caladan.”

“Less, perhaps,” he reassured, “but there are still plenty of important administrative projects that I’m confident will benefit from your insight.”

“I will gladly give whatever I can offer, my Lord.”

Sensing a window for change in conversation topics, Leto opened his mouth to ask the questions that had been on his mind for weeks, but hesitated. It was harder now to say what he needed to say; she was lovely and brilliant, and it almost pained Leto to try and re-emphasize the lines he had already drawn between them — especially now that he’d realized that she was someone he could grow to love.

“It’s Leto,” he started carefully. “If we are to be married, I’d like you to call me by my name.”

She nodded her assent. “Rhia.”

“Rhia,” he repeated, relishing the permission to use the more intimate form of her name. “Ours isn’t a silly romance. We both know why we are to be married. I know that it… may not be what you expected for your life.”

Rhiannon actually snorted. “A silly romance, he says.” She shook her head in mild amusement. “If you’ll recall, Leto, this isn’t my first political marriage. I won’t go into it under any false pretenses.”

Leto took the gentle tease with a small, wistful smile. “All the same… I know that the conditions I’ve asked of you are even more restrictive than the average arrangement.”

“You want your son and your concubine to be happy,” she said lightly. “I respect that.”

“I do want them to be happy.” Jessica’s hidden pain and young Paul’s confusion haunted him night and day. “But at the same time, you are to be Lady Atreides. I don’t want you to feel neglected either.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “It isn’t my place to challenge the conditions of marriage. An agreement has been made — my duty is to simply abide by it.”

Leto felt a surge of frustration. He recognized a deflection when he heard one, but didn’t know Rhiannon well enough to tell if the deflection was to cover a lie, or if she was truly honest and simply being polite.

“Rhia,” Leto pleaded, “be open with me on this, please. I’d much rather know if you’re bothered now, rather than have you resent me later.”

Rhiannon scoffed, her face morphed into a scowl of aggravated disbelief.

“Oh, it’s honesty you want? That’s interesting.” She unhooked her arm from his and turned to face him. Rhiannon looked him dead in the eye, her pleasant demeanor had melted away, replaced by something much more intense that Leto couldn’t name. “Very well. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck. The thought of having another baby makes me nauseous and I couldn’t care less about who keeps your bed warm. If you decide to never lay with me because it keeps Jessica happy, then that’s between you and her. I’ve been a widow for a long time, and am not at all ashamed about ensuring that my sexual needs are met elsewhere.”

Leto, startled by the sudden brashness, opened his mouth to reply. Rhiannon lifted a finger to silence him.

“Managing the politics that take place between the various Houses of the Landstraad is difficult,” she continued with a dismissive gesture, “but maintaining the politics within a household is both exhausting and a massive waste of time. Do whatever you deem necessary to ensure stability, Leto. It makes little difference to me.”

For a few moments, Leto could only blink at her in baffled admiration. If this was what Odon had meant by ‘independence’, then he found that he liked it. In his mind, he lamented: I could love you.

“Alright,” he said finally. “Thank you for being honest with me.”

Rhiannon snorted. Her expression softened. “The look on your face is stupid,” she said, amused. “I like it. Perhaps you should ask women for honesty more often.”

Leto immediately schooled his expression, covering up whatever emotion her tirade had shocked out of him with a mock scowl. “As my wife, that duty shall fall to you, m’Lady.”

“Hah! Be careful what you wish for, m’Lord. Few men have survived my unwavering honesty with their egos intact.”

“Nevertheless, I expect you to accomplish it with unwavering dedication.” Leto drew himself up and squared his shoulders. “I am the Duke of House Atreides, and am perfectly capable of managing my own ego.”

Rhiannon flourished and bowed gallantly. “As my Lord Duke commands.”

He gave a curt nod, then broke out into a grin as he offered her his arm again, greatly pleased to discover that she had a sense of humor. “Now that we’ve reached an understanding, we should probably go back to the house before Hawat sends a search party.”

“I get the sense that your Hawat and my Pennon are just as overprotective as the other.” Rhiannon commented as she linked her arm with his, walking closer to him than she had earlier; Leto could feel her warmth pressing all the way up his side. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that they had us followed.”

“Nor would I. Pennon is coming with you to Caladan, isn’t he? Perhaps they will find friendship in their mutual paranoia.”

“Or perhaps they will compete.” Rhiannon shuddered. “Or even join forces.”

Leto barked a laugh. “You and I will never have been safer, m’Lady.”

Rhiannon made a noise like a dying animal, which made Leto laugh again. He made a point of walking slowly, stopping to ask about every statue and ornamentation they came across, just drawing out their time together as long as he could.

The stars shone brightly over Black Heron Hall, and the snow on the mountain peaks was luminous in the moonlight. Leto tried to soak in the peaceful atmosphere, listening to Rhiannon talk about various figureheads and why each memorial had been erected in their honor, but he couldn’t ignore the guilt. He had told Jessica that he did not love Rhiannon, and while he still did not, he now knew that he could.

Yes, I could love her, he thought to himself. But I’ve already given my heart to someone else. I will not break my promises to Jessica or Paul.

It was unlikely that Rhiannon would care anyway.

Rhiannon stood with Elsbeth on the walkway leading to the landing pad, waving off the three ornithopters as they unfolded their wings and lifted into the starry sky, bearing Duke Leto, Thufir Hawat, Gurney Halleck, and a number of Atreides soldiers back south.

After their walk, Rhiannon and Leto had returned inside for a cup of spice coffee and sweetcakes. For all his intimidating looks, Gurney Halleck turned out to be quite the troubadour — entertaining the occupants of Black Heron Hall by playing his nine-stringed baliset and singing songs that he had written himself.

Rhiannon had offered them rooms to stay the night, but House Atreides still had a lot to do in the next few days before the Duke left for Caladan, and there wasn’t a moment to waste. Leto had thanked her for the pleasant evening and kissed her hand before they parted. They wouldn’t see each other again until Rhiannon arrived on Caladan with the wedding party in several weeks.

Having met her husband-to-be, Rhiannon wasn’t sure how to feel. She felt the echoes of her past self stirring; Rhiannon Dering: the bright young woman she had been before she married Bence Varvara — when she had been whole enough to love unconditionally. Back then, she would have instantly fallen head-over-heels in love with the charming Duke Leto. She would’ve made him a gentle and loving wife, and he would’ve made her a kind husband.

Except Rhiannon Dering had been dead for well over a decade now, and there was no bringing her back — but for the first time in all those years, Rhiannon found that she missed her. Why couldn’t this be her first marriage? It wasn’t fair — but life rarely was.

When the sound of the thrumming ornithopter wings faded, Elsbeth remarked, “That’s a relief.”

Rhiannon drew herself out of her own thoughts. “What is?”

“To see that Bence didn’t completely crush that romantic heart of yours.”

Rhiannon didn’t dignify the comment with an answer. Elsbeth didn’t need one. She gave her niece a gentle smile that was both knowing and sad before turning and leaving Rhiannon alone to wrestle with her emotions.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

You've got SO MANY intriguing WIPs that I couldn't just choose one x) Can I get to know about "Vandermeer returns", "Aramis reveal" and/or "Musketeer puppies" pwetty pwease?

Mwahahah. So, you know about the Vandermeer returns. Essentially, weird space stuff sends Vandermeer on La Sirena, and feels ensue - namely, Picard and Alonzo are forced to confront the fact that they are kinda terrible dads. Hugs all around. Q may or may not have been involved.

Musketeers puppies... Well, Tréville finds a big dog, a little puppy and two cats in the Inseparables’ rooms. It’s just pure fluff for them a big headache for him.

The Aramis reveal is my favorite. So, in Anime Sanjushi, a cutesy Japanese adaptation from the 90′s, Aramis is... a woman. As in, a very beautiful, very feminine woman named Renée, who’s pretending to be a dude so she can avenge her dead fiancé. Treville knows, but Porthos and Athos *never find out* even though we know from like... episode 4 out of 52. That fandom is ridiculously tiny, but dammit, I want mah angsty reveal! So there, basically it’s a post series AU where she takes a knife to the ribs and isn’t well enough to patch herself up, as she usually does, and Athos is with her. 

Here, have a snippet of each (except I’m terrible at snippets so they’re actually a bit too long, oops). 

Vandermeer comeback:

Q, who had lived billions of years and had the IQ and memory that went along with quasi-omnipotence and immortality, had also forgotten Jean-Luc. It sounded unbelievable even to him. Q loved humans. They were the most fun he’d had in forever (quite literally), especially their puny, righteous, headstrong starship captains. And Jean-Luc Picard had always been his favorite. But to a Q, an absence of several dozens of Standard Federation years was little more than slip of the mind, the blinking of the eyes that preceded a snap of the fingers in sudden remembrance.  

 It was a question of scale. Proportionally, Picard’s neglect was the greatest, and it thus vexed Q to no end to realize that Jean-Luc had banished him from his mind. It was fortunate for him that he remembered their friendship in that particular century, and not a thousand years hence.

 Musketeer-puppies:

"… Aramis?" Treville wondered aloud. 

Had somebody trained those creatures as well? The small feline tilted its head and meowed again, proudly. Treville dragged a hand across his face. There was no way. 

"D'Artagnan?" He called. 

The puppy barked enthusiastically.

Good God, what in the devil. 

"Porthos?" Treville tried, feeling terribly stupid.

The huge bear of a dog gave a friendly woof, perking up. That only left… 

"… Athos?" 

The grey cat's head snapped in his direction and its eyes narrowed. Its tail flicked stiffly, claws peeking from beneath the fluffy fur of its front paws. 

Good Lord.

Treville closed his eyes for a second, for fear that they would pop out of his skull. Sacré putain de bordel de merde. Either this was the work of an absolute madman who had studied the mannerisms of Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan for months and managed to drill them into savant beasts, or he had a huge, gigantic, monumental problem to deal with. 

Only one way to find out. 

"Do you understand me?" Treville asked, the voice in the back of his head wondering how the hell his three best men always managed to bring him to unheard of levels of stupidity and ridiculousness.

Aramis reveal:

Aramis huffed a small laugh – still impaled by the knife, mind you – wincing when it pulled on the muscles of his abdomen. 

"And a feather bed and a hot bath too, and maybe even some music? I do not need to be coddled," he said as Athos was retrieving his water skin and untying his sash, preparing for the gruesome task of removing the offending weapon. 

"You love hot baths," Athos pointed out, arching an eyebrow. 

Aramis was certainly the cleanest soldier in all the regiment, his hair never matted or uncombed and his clothes smelling like lemon and lavender, from the Parisian laundresses' favored scented soaps. Aramis smiled good humoredly, watching Athos without only faint  – and quite warranted – apprehension.

"I'm still a soldier. Just pull that out and bring me back to the garrison, I'll be fine." 

What? 

"What?" Athos blinked. "Aramis, you have a knife sticking out of your stomach. Paris is still half a day's ride away. Stop speaking nonsense."

[oohlook-thevoid]

Oh boy I've just finished s3 of The Musketeers and hmmm many thoughts.

-3x01 I adored the monastery children, monk Aramis was surprisingly valid purely because they utilised his dad vibes. Solid episode, I liked it.

-3x04 I can't belive fucking Bonnaire was back, just like srsly? This bitch again? The best parts of this episode were him getting hurt because he deserved it.

- actually other good bits of 3x04 were Porthos yeeting one of the diamonds into a field, D'artagnan finding out that Penelope is a horse not a girl and Louis' reaction to Bonnaire and his wife sobbing in the throne room

- on the subject of Louis, this season was like bringing out his siblings left, right a centre like here's his bastard brother, his younger brother and his sister

- on the subject of Gaston, I have to just out it on record that this man's vibes were disgusting

- one thing I appreciated about the season overall was the multiple antagonists in Gaston, Grimaud (who've I've only just found out is called Grimaud, legit heard it as Greebo the entire time), that Lorraine dude, the red guard guy and Phillipe. It felt like an upgrade to the more singular villains of the last 2 seasons. I also liked how they all got dealt with kinda differently.

- another specific episode point, fuck 3x09, I think you know why

- but regarding the other 3x09 death, I liked Louis dying. As in, I like how he became serious and that was all going on, it was nice to see a different side to him.

- Also though, Louis was all like I know the truth, I'll kill you Aramis, OK fun I won't but you'll never see Anne and Louis jr will always think of me as his father not you and you'll never see him after my death either and then like,,,, Aramis is now first minister and seeing the two of them a lot so rip to that plan Louis

- I didn't get Athos x Sylvie. Like, I like Sylvie but a) to me she seems way younger than Athos and like eh and b) she was like coming across very pro-rebellion and obviously Athos serves the king and is not but then that sort of tension just got resolved really easily imo, idk

- the only thing I like about Athos x Sylvie is that it seemed to let a lighter, happier side of Athos show, he was less like broody and oh woe is me cause of Milady

- AND ON THE SUBJECT OF MILADY, the underused her so much this season. Like omg when Louis was all delirous and like Milady and then Treville found the handkerchief with the forget me not on I was like oh shit my girl is back and Treville was like I need to kill for France and I was like oh shit she's gonna have a big roal dealing with the antagonists and then she only showed up again for like 2 fucking minutes in the finale and like fuck that shit.

- Also Milady watching Athos rescue Sylvie from being like whipped or whatever, he face, I just eurgh I love Milady and her and Athos' relationship is like complex but I think she still loves him in a way and I think that hurt with him saving another woman when he condemned her all those years ago and like y'know

- Also the scene in the finale, when Anne was like Milady you report only to me now. Like to me that set up a dynamic and a future to be explored which irks me so much because literally everyone else on the show got these super like cliche happy endings and Milady just gets shoved into the assassin box and no.

- ok onto the cliche happy endings, I've already said I don't really get Athos x Sylvie. Like it's cute, I guess I'm happy for them. But like the whole Sylvie's pregnant and they're leaving Paris and just idk, I don't think I liked it.

- I don't mind Aramis' ending, I think that's ok. I think it works more than others.

- also D'artagnan's ending. I like how he's captain now, I think that's fair enough since Athos just bailed. Like him and Constance at the garrison I think that makes sense.

- I don't like Porthos' ending. Like him being general, ok cool fair enough. But him marrying Elodie? I mean I can get him wanting to help her, but like they interacted in one episode prior to this, I won't deny that tbh they have chemistry but there's no development or build up to it and it just felt like they wanted everyone to get a perfect picket fence family ending, or as close to that as possible.

- Also in that episode where D'artagnan and Porthos were in that building under attack and they had that conversation and D'artagnan was like you'll get a wife and kid one day. Like idk if I was maybe projecting because Porthos is the one main character w/o a regularly appearing love interest, but his face in that scene reminded me of me when ppl talk to me about getting a husband because like lads, it ain't happening. This bitch is gay and idk man I kinda feel like Porthos might have some gay too.

- Also they split everyone up?!?! I don't want to see them divided at the end. It's all for one and one for all, a good ending is them all still together being musketeers but with a promise of fewer bigass problems for them to deal with in the future.

- another thing, completely unrelated to the past few points but Athos and Grimaud's dynamic was just. I know obviously they were going to hat each other but the way immediately after Athos saw Grimaud on the battlefield something seemed to click and it was just hate-filled and personal before anything happened to make it personal.

- I'm gonna go back to D'artagnan now, specifically in 3x10. First up that beginning was stressful but him calling Constance a musketeer? Love it, yes. Also him killing that red guard dude was just a very god fight, very enjoyable seeing that bitch get impaled on a bunch of spiky things.

- final point wholly unrelated to the plot everyone's hair looked so good this season, idk why but their hair just looked so like nice and soft and I just had to say it.

[bullet-prooflove]

Vigil: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@@lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx @princesschyanne @caffeinatedwomann @@missyhoneybee

When you receive the news that Jean has been shot your entire universe is thrown into turmoil. You feel the air leave your lungs as the world shifts underneath your feet because you can’t imagine a world without Jean. You don’t want to exist in a place you where you don’t see his smile, or feel his calloused hands on your skin.

Porthos reaches out a hand to steady you and you flinch at his touch because everything is too raw, too bright, too sensitive. It feels like you’re being flayed alive.

You ride the two hour journey back to Paris without stopping. Poppy, your mare is panting by the time you reach the garrison, her poor legs almost run out from underneath her. You don’t wait for Porthos to help you down from your steed, you’re already slipping from the saddle and half way up the stairs by the time Athos steps in front of you blocking your path.

“Treville is alive.” He tells you, his tempestuous blue eyes meeting yours. “Aramis and Juliette have managed to remove the ball and the fluid from his lung. He’s currently resting but they say he’ll make a speedy recovery.”

The relief is palpable. For the first time since Porthos delivered the news it feels like you can take a breath. With it comes the rage, it ignites inside of you like a powder keg because someone gunned down your husband in the street, they shot him in the back like a fucking dog.

The anguish you’re feeling, Athos feels it too with every single fibre of his being. The only reason he’s even here right now is to ensure he doesn’t end up with another tragedy on his hands, that his Captain still has a wife at the end of it all.

The three of you have been friends for a long time. You’ve fought together, bled together, endured together, he has come to know you almost as well as he knows himself. He recognises the wildness in you, the impulse to go out there hunt down the animal that hurt the man you love.

“Terese.” He says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.  “He needs his wife right now, your love, your comfort...”

His words strike a cord deep within you because you cannot imagine the agony that Jean must be in, the terror he must have felt in those moments thinking each single one was his last.

“Swear to me.” You say fiercely, your palm coming to rest upon the patch embroidered onto his chest, the one that resides just over his heart. “Swear to me that you will find the person that did this, that you will bring them to justice.”

“You have my word.” He promises you before he inclines his head towards the door to your husband’s chambers. “Take care of our Captain, leave your vengeance to me.”

***

Jean’s chambers are well illuminated when you enter, candles light every available space like a vigil. You realise it’s because his Musketeers don’t want him to wake up panicked in the dark. The period after such a trauma is tempestuous with nightmares and half dreams, the mind can take a while to adjust. The gesture touches you because he means so much to the men that he commands, you can feel their love emanating through the room.

Jean is sleep on his bed in the corner, his back propped up against the wall with pillows because of the nature of his wound. His complexion is ashen, his breathing heavy. It tears at something inside you to see him like this, to know how close he came to death.

 It isn’t until you sit down in the chair alongside his bed that you realise he’s clasping a piece of parchment to his chest. You recognise the awful drawing of a wild flower, the one you had sketched out when you were trying to describe something you had seen  in Spain. You had no idea that he’d kept it, that he spends the nights he misses you tracing his fingers over it because he remembers your self-depreciating laugh when you’d showed it to him.

“I’m either dreaming or dead.” He grumbles, his eyes barely open as he surveys you from his position.

“You are very much alive, my love.” You say with a fond smile, your fingertips trailing over his grizzled cheek. “I’m to stay here a while, make sure you behave yourself.”

He smiles at that because you both know which one of you is the mischief maker of the relationship.

“Will you read to me?” He requests, his voice a rasp as he gestures to the book on the windowsill. “I long to hear the sound of your voice but I fear I won’t be able to hold much a conversation.”

You pick up the book before lowering yourself gently onto the bed alongside of him. He nestles against you, his head coming to rest upon your shoulder. Your lips brush over his temple before you open the book at the folded page and begin to study the words.

“Jean.” You chide affectionately as you review the title ‘Military Tactics Between 1550-1650’. “Surely you could have chosen some better reading material.”

Love Treville? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-hinky-panda]

The Fall Series: Part I

Title: The Fall Series: Part I

Pairing: Porthos x Reader (reader has a name), Porthos x OFC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Your grandfather, the Musketeers head armorer, raised you as a child when your father abandoned your mother and she died of a broken heart. Now you're grown, a pariah in your small village outside of Paris when someone murders your grandfather. There's only one person you can go to that will help, Captain Treville.

Taglist: @bullet-prooflove, @kmc1989, @trublu2u, @nsr-15

The moment you walk into the garrison and request to see Captain Treville, Porthos falls in love. It is that instant. He knows your name, Elise DuBois, and nothing else. But he can arrive at a significant amount of conjecture. Your horse is standard fare, solid, well groomed, but a small draft horse that can serve multiple purposes around a farm. Your clothes are similar, practical with no adornments. The only jewelry he can spot are a set of gold combs with pearls that are holding together a riot of curls and a small gold crucifix around your slender neck. You’re taller than most women, thin but strong. Your posture and movements remind him of a sword blade, bendable but unbreakable. Overall, you’re a picture of elegant practicality. 

And you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time.

“And who is this new, lovely face in our garrison?” 

Porthos gives a passing glance over his shoulder to see Aramis leaning on one of the pillars. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

It’s a good question, one for which Porthos has an answer but doesn’t want to speak it. Don’t charm this one. Don’t compete with me for her affections because I wouldn’t be able to take it if she chose you. The answer he comes up with is much less elegant. “Just…don’t.” 

The Captain appears in the courtyard and he greets the woman with a warm smile and embrace. But the expression on the captain’s face clouds over as whatever news she brought is delivered. 

“A beautiful face bearing bad news,” Aramis sighs. “Isn’t that the way of it?” 

Treville passes by them, makes the hasty request to find Athos and D'Artagnan and meet in his office. Porthos determines then and there that whatever it is, whatever mission Treville sends them on to assist her, he’s going to succeed.  He’s tired of being just France’s champion. 

***

You peel your gloves off your hands and twist them in your lap. “I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice. I wish it were for a happier reason.” 

Treville sets a cup of water down in front of you. “Me too. Claude was a good friend, a mentor. He’ll be greatly missed. Who’s taking over his forge?” 

You just give him a shrewd look and he nods in understanding. 

“Promise not to tell though,” you request. “As soon as the village finds out I’m the one making their horseshoe quota, I may be out of business. But he taught me everything he knew. Iron, steel, even a little metalworking for charms. That’s how I started. He would let me melt down the scraps and play with them.” You grow quiet as those memories of time spent in the forge fill your mind, next to your grandfather as he showed you how to roll soft metal into the desired shape, the heat of the fire, the hiss of hot steel and iron being plunged into a cold bucket of water. 

The door opens and four men walk into the room. Two you recognize from the courtyard, two you haven’t seen before. Treville introduces you to the two unfamiliar ones, the serious Athos and young D'Artagnan. The two from the courtyard are Aramis, a debonair flirt, and Porthos, a sturdy soldier. He had been the one staring at you while you waited for Treville. 

You were used to people staring at you. You were too tall, too strong for a woman. And if that wasn’t enough to keep you unapproachable, your reputation as an illegitimate child of a nun usually finished off any interest. The villagers certainly didn’t pay you any mind. And despite your grandfather’s efforts, no suitors ever darkened your door either. But Porthos seemed different, his gaze towards you was different than most. Almost as if he already knew everything about you and accepted it, accepted you. It left you unnerved but curious. 

“Gentlemen, this is Elise DuBois,” Treville introduces. “Her grandfather was Claude DuBois, the head armorer for the Musketeers when I was a cadet. I had only just been commissioned for a couple years when he went into retirement. He moved out to a small village on the outskirts of Paris, worked as a blacksmith, and raised Elise when her mother passed away. Now, she’s come to us for help. She believes Claude was murdered and wants our help in finding the culprit.” 

“With all due respect, what makes you think he was murdered?” Athos asks. 

You try to blink back the images that immediately spring to your mind’s eye of finding your grandfather laying in a pool of blood on the stone floor of the forge. “His throat was cut.” 

Athos nods. “Anyone you would suspect? Unhappy clients, transients moving through your village, possible suitors?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “Our village is small, everyone knows each other and transients don’t tend to stop there. My grandfather was well-loved by the people around us. I, not so much. I’m a pariah to them. If they were going to harm anyone, it would have been me, not him.” 

“Which means,” Treville breaks in, “whoever did this may point suspicion towards Elise to keep it from themselves.” 

“And I can assure you all, I had nothing to do with my grandfather’s death.” 

There’s a polite silence that follows your statement. You realize they have no reason to believe you but if they were the ones that Treville trusted enough to investigate, you figured that suspicion should be immediately laid to rest. 

Treville stands up from behind his desk. “I’ve known Elise since she was a child, her grandfather even longer. They are two of the most honest and upright people to walk the earth, let alone France. If she says he was murdered and she had no hand in it, I believe her. Justice needs to be served, proper justice.”  Porthos, who has remained steadfastly quiet during this entire meeting, immediately answers with intense sincerity. “Then we’ll deliver it. You have my word.” He pauses for a moment before amending his statement.  “Our word.”

[tatzelwyrm]

The Musketeers + family, home & love (insp. x)

requested by @becumsh

[soldativre]

{ ⚜ x @memorystxrs x}

Continued from here

“Of course we are both caught. But it is your fault, is it not? If you had waited - like I told you to - we wouldn’t be in this mess. You and your carelessness will get us killed someday, you know. Let’s just hope that day isn’t today,” Athos sighed, obviously exasperated. “Captain Treville sure looked like he was ready to kill the both of us.” It wasn’t that their Captain didn’t despise the Red Guard as much as the rest of the Musketeers did, he had just better self-control and sense than the rest of them. Or, perhaps, it was just that he didn’t have to deal with them on a daily basis. Even to Athos, they were incredibly irritating and made him want to slap some sense and respect into them. And he had just devised the perfect plan to get some subtle revenge, when d’Artagnan decided to rush in and start a fight then and there. “You don’t have a plan at all, do you?” he muttered, studying the other’s face and knowing him well enough by now to see that he was lying. “Maybe I will have faith on you one day, but today is not that day, my dear friend.”

[ghoulsister1]

🎃SpookTober 31 Days Prompts🎃:

Day 16: Potions🧪

Rochefort x GN!Reader. AU: Musketeers. Reader is an expert in potion making. Rochefort wants reader to make a love potion for him. A mishap leads to a shocking confession. Fluff. Love potions. SpookTober Prompt: Potions🧪

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☆●~Just A Spoonful Of Love~●☆

Y/N is the royal alchemist for the King and Queen of France. Rochefort is confident you can make him a love potion to give to the Queen to make her fall in love with him. Of course you make it, unaware of it's purpose but after a mishap, Rochefort takes the potion himself accidentally. And who he really loves leaves you speechless.....

You have worked for the King and Queen of France for a while now as their royal alchemist, brewing up potions of all sorts to aid the family and their allies. When the Queen fell ill, you brewed a special broth that made her better within two days. When Treville suffered an injury, you procured a special ointment that could clean up any infection and heal up in the skin, making the skin look unmarked. You were such a dab hand that you gained respect and notoriety in the Royal inner circle and beyond, even helping the people in the slums and Court of Miracles.

So it was no surprise the Comte De Rochefort, Captain of the Red Guard had heard of your many deeds and was intrigued. If you could make all these wonderful potions to help heal and cure, surely you could make a love potion.

Rochefort had an infatuation with the Queen and having returned to France and working closely with the King only fueled it more. But confessing would only end in trouble, so what if she confessed? Yes there would be trouble but Rochefort would sweep her away long before the King could do something. He wouldn't let anything harm his precious Anne.

So with a sly grin, he sauntered into your workplace, startling you and making you nearly drop a new but highly volatile liquid that you were currently hoping to use in a new bomb.

"Good day oh Royal Alchemist!" Announced Rochefort spreading his arms wide. He looked around at the various bubbling concoctions around the room, the smell of herbs and floral scents wafting around the room. You removed your plague doctor mask and looked at Rochefort.

"Captain Rochefort, I welcome you to my workshop but please be more delicate in your approach as I'm handling very volatile liquids here" You Warned, gesturing to the box of vials filled with the stuff. You gently sat the box down on a nearby table. Rochefort had to admit, you were a hard worker, he admired that.

"What can I do for you?" You Asked. Rochefort smiled.

"Well, I've come with a simple request. Your skills are exceptional and many people as far as the slums of Paris have heard of your great deeds. So I have confidence that you'll have no trouble making me a potion" Explained Rochefort, smiling.

You raised your eyebrow at him and smirked proudly.

"You flatter me Rochefort. But what kind of potion do you require?" You Asked.

"What kind can you do?" Asked Rochefort.

"Any" You Replied smirking. Rochefort smiled.

"Even a love potion?" Asked Rochefort, raising his eyebrows at you. You pursed your lips at that suggestion.

"Yes. I can make a simple love potion. I have not had requests like that for a while but yes, it can be done" You Replied smiling.

Rochefort's blue eyes sparkled at your answer and he looked so happy. You haven't seen him this happy before.

"But, I must ask what is the occasion. I shall not make it if there's something malicious behind it" You Warned.

"Oh no, you see there's......a girl in the town my friend admires. I'm doing it for him really. There's a man that has caught her eye and well, my friend really wants her to be his. She adores him in return rest assured but" You Stopped Rochefort with a soft smile.

"I handled a request like that once. Rest assured, I shall make the potion and your friend will be happy with the results" You Smilied.

Rochefort smiled at you.

"Oh thank you Royal Alchemist, you will be rewarded handsomely for this. I promise you!" Thanked Rochefort. You smiled and blushed a little.

"You are most welcome, Comte De Rochefort" You Smilied. With a bow, Rochefort turned and left as you set about making the potion.

"Soon my dear Anne, you'll be mine at last!" Rochefort Thought with a dark smile as he returned to his quarters.

Since it was the season of harvest, the ingredients needed was abundant and luckily you saved ingredients from last summer and spring. You worked tirelessly on the potion, perfecting it so it will be a powerful potion.

After 5 days, the love potion was created. You sent a letter, requesting Comte De Rochefort to come to workshop. Rochefort arrived and he walked inside.

"So, it is done?" Asked Rochefort.

"It is. I apologise for the wait, but I wanted to perfect fully. This is the bottle of the strongest love potion. One drop of this and it will make you realise who you truly love with your heart and soul" You Explained. Rochefort grinned.

"Does it wear off?" Asked Rochefort curiously.

"Oh no, it isn't one of those potions. No, this potion merely helps you. In this case, it will help you realise who you love truly. Great in situations where one person loves two people but must ultimately choose one" You Explained.

Rochefort smirked at that.

"Perfect. I thank you very much Royal Alchemist. I will send your reward today" Smiled Rochefort and he took the potion.

"You are most welcome" You Said with a smile. You both bowed and Rochefort left for the Palace. You smiled and returned to your work, your heart feeling melancholic strangely.

Tea was being served in the Palace and so it was then Rochefort made his move. He was invited for tea with the Queen and Constance. When no one was looking, he poured a drop into the teacup that belonged to the Queen. He smirked as he watched the tea be taken to the room where the Queen and Constance awaited. Rochefort followed, smirking all the way.

"My Queen, my precious Anne. Today we will finally be together" Thought Rochefort with a dark smirk as he entered the room and sat down for tea.

Conversation was bland at best, nothing new to be honest. The Queen was laughing at some joke Constance made and she reached out to grab a teacup.

"Here you are your Majesty" Constance Smiled and offered the Queen a teacup. Rochefort reached out and took his, drank the sweet tea. It was fresh, aromatic and oh so sweet!

Rochefort then began to feel a change wash over him. His heart was so warm and light, it made him try to suppress a chuckle that came from nowhere. His head was spinning from it all.

"What's happening? I feel so....strange! Wait....no....did I take something?" Thought Rochefort and he looked at the Queen's teacup before looking at his own. He drank from the Queen's teacup! He drank the love potion!

He looked at the Queen but strangely, his heart didn't feel like butterflies were inside upon seeing her. In fact, he felt nothing of true love towards the Queen.

"But....I love her! I love the Queen!" Rochefort Thought panicking because no matter how long he gazed at her, thought of her, he felt nothing of passion nor love. Only loving her as any subject loves their Queen. Not true love that he had previously thought.

Rochefort felt almost sick and he despaired.

"You do not truly love her Rochefort, for that was a mere illusion your broken mind had thought up. And she does not love you truly, she only sees you merely as a good friend. You must accept that" Came a sweet voice from within his mind. Was it the love potion making him hear such a voice?

"Who do I truly love then?" Thought Rochefort sadly. He looked upon Constance, but felt nothing either. Who was his heart's true love then if not the Queen?

Suddenly he thought of Y/N, the royal alchemist. He never once called them by their real name, only their title. He thought of their bright and pretty (y/e/c) eyes, their silky (y/h/c) hair and their beautiful smile, all warmth and sunshine. Rochefort's heart raced at the thought of Y/N and felt like butterflies were fluttering about inside.

"Y/N......the royal alchemist?.......it is them I......truly love?" Thought Rochefort. He'd admit that he did admire them very much but he thought his admiration was just that and nothing more. But he could see now, that he was wrong.

Rochefort stood up abruptly, startling Constance and Queen Anne.

"Rochefort! What ever is the matter?!" Asked Queen Anne, holding a hand over her chest to steady her heart.

"What's your problem?" Asked Constance sternly.

"Forgive me for startling you ladies, but I must take my leave now" Answered Rochefort and turned to walk away.

"But....our tea!" Cried Queen Anne.

"I'm sorry your Majesty. Perhaps some other time" Replied Rochefort shortly and he turned away to walk out the door. He needed to see Y/N.

You were finishing up putting the last dried out bits of lavender and herbs when there was a knock upon your door.

"Come in!" You Cried. The door opened to reveal Comte De Rochefort, standing there. You raised your eyebrow at Rochefort, surprised to see him back.

"Good day Rochefort, what brings you here?" You Asked suspiciously. Rochefort stepped forward towards you.

"It's about the love potion you gave me" Stated Rochefort matter-of-factly. You felt nervous. Did the potion not work?

"Did something happen? Did it work?" You Asked nervously. Rochefort stood in front of you, staring down at you intensely.

"Yes. I did work" Rochefort Admitted and you sighed in relief.

"Oh good, I thought you were here because it didn't work" You Confessed nervously.

"It made me realise I was in love with the wrong person" Confessed Rochefort. Your head shot up at him.

"Wait....you? The love potion was for you?!" You Cried.

"No! The love potion was for a woman! A woman I loved! Or at least I thought I loved truly up until now. But something happened and I.....consumed the love potion instead" Admitted Rochefort blushing slightly.

"And now?" You Asked sternly.

"Now i see I love another person. A person I admire very much. A person so hardworking and so brilliantly talented with a sharp mind! And that person.......is you" Added Rochefort sincerely.

Your eyes widened at him and yet you felt your heart race. Rochefort stepped closer to you.

"I know I lied about who the potion was really for and I apologise. But I must know, you must tell me the honest truth Y/N!" Pleaded Rochefort.

"What is it that you want to know?" You Asked softly. Rochefort gazed into your eyes deeply.

"Do you, Y/N truly love me?" Asked Rochefort, his eyes bright and wide as he gazed at you intensely.

"Do you love me truly?" You Asked, voice low and soft. Rochefort held your hand in his.

"I do. I truly do! I love you so much!" Answered Rochefort truthfully. You smiled warmly and cupped his cheek.

"Yes Rochefort. I love you truly. So very much" You Replied truthfully.

Rochefort smiled and you both leaned in, kissing with such passion that you both gripped on to one another and held each other as the kiss deepened.

Rochefort found who his heart truly loved and you found your own true love in the end as well. All thanks to a little mishap and a love potion.

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