Y/N a pragmatic and resilient seamstress who fled to Paris to establish her own trade. Working within the Musketeers' garrison, she maintains a facade of quiet efficiency, though her sharp wit and "iron" character quickly draw the attention of the King’s most famous soldiers.
"Ugh," One of the cadets muttered to his friends as he rubbed his sore arm.
"The musketeers are too hard."
"I know," One of the others replied. "Why can't we fight someone easier?" They looked over to where you were sparring with d'Artagnan. It was obvious neither of you were taking it seriously, because he was cracking jokes and you were all smiles.
"What about Y/N?" A third asked. "She'd be easy to take down!" A hand clamped down on his shoulder and the smile slipped off his face.
Athos was standing behind him.
"Five laps around the garrison. All of you." He said softly.
"Sir?"
"Ten."
"It was just a jo—"
"Fifteen."
"FINE!"
"Twenty for talking back. Now get going." The cadets grumbled, but took off nonetheless. You looked over, having heard the commotion.
"You should've let them take me on. They would've learned their lesson." You chastised Athos. Porthos slung an arm around your shoulder.
"Yes, but then they'd gang up on you." He said. "They just want to defeat you, fair fighting regardless."
"You don't know that." You said. 'I could probably take them out together too."
"Well let's not give them a reason to fight," d'Artagnan said." At that moment, Aramis rode up.
"Time to go." He said. The other three mounted their horses, and you went to do the same. "...What are you doing?" Aramis looked at you.
"You said it's time to go." You said, confused. "I'm just getting ready." Aramis looked at you and sighed.
"I meant it's time for us to go." He said softly.
"What do you mean? Why am I not going?"
"Well," Porthos cut in. "We...decided it would be best if you stayed behind." Your put your hands on your hips.
"Really? On what grounds?" You ground out. The musketeers looked between each other awkwardly. Finally d'Artagnan spoke up.
"We think it's too dangerous."
"Too dangerous?" You repeated in astonishment. "I'm a musketeer! My whole job is dangerous!"
"Look, we're leaving now, and Treville knows you're to stay here." Athos said.
"You can't do this!" You protested. "I'm not a child!"
"Goodbye Y/N." They rode out of the garrison, leaving you standing in the centre, seething.
...
It had been a week and a half since they left, and you were still bitter. You were furiously hacking at a training dummy when a cloaked stranger rode in, slumped over his saddle. You wiped the sweat from your forehead as you turned to the commotion.
Aramis fell out of his saddle, dressed as a Spanish guard. You lunged and managed to catch his head just before it hit the ground. He groaned in pain.
"What the hell happened?" He tried to sit up, and you carefully assisted him.
"Went undercover..." He forced out. "Found out...I'm the only one."
"Aramis. Where are the others?" You asked softly.
"Spanish fort. Ten miles south of border." You gently laid his head down on the ground, and Constance and Treville took your place. "Y/N...stop..." Aramis protested weakly, but it was too late.
You were on your horse and riding out of the garrison.
...
After hours of riding in silence, you found the fort. You stopped just before the forest ended. You dismounted, and grabbed your weapons, before inspecting the fort.
Two guards at the door. Two on each tower. One pacing along each wall. And God knows how many more inside. If you went right at it, you'd be shot before you made it to the front door. You sighed as you loaded your gun.
"It's never easy, is it?" You grumbled as you lined up your sights, and fired.
One of the tower guards froze, before toppling over the edge. You quickly reloaded and took out a guard on another tower, so they wouldn't know exactly where you were shooting from. After taking out the guards on the towers, you got on your horse and rode along the tree line. You stopped a fair distance away, and began firing from that angle, disposing of the men who were pacing the fort walls. The men at the doors had ran back inside the fort, and you cautiously approached the fort from behind. Circling at the base of the fort, you found a servant's door. Drawing a dagger and hiding it in your skirts, you knocked, and hid around the corner. Waiting.
The door swung open, and a guard walked out. He looked around, and when his back was to you, you struck. Wrapping your hand over his mouth, you plunged your dagger into his chest. You gently lowered him to the ground as his struggles grew weaker and weaker, before stopping altogether. You wiped your dagger on the guard's vest, before slipping it inside and closing the door behind you. The kitchen was empty, and you found a dirty maid's uniform. You slipped it on over your dress, and cut slashes in the sides for easy access to your weapons. You found a basket of stale bread, and piled it on a dirty tray. You took a breath, and stepped out of the kitchen. The guards paid you no mind, and you wandered around the fort, wondering where they were keeping your friends. You noticed a door off to the side, with four guards stationed in front of it.
That had to be it. You approached the door, but you were stopped. You kept your eyes to the ground.
"Comida para los presos," You said softly, showing them your tray. You noticed a ring of keys hanging on a hook next to the door handle. The guards examined your tray, and after throwing all but one of the pieces of bread on the dirt, waved you through. One of the guards took the keys and unlocked the door letting you go first before following behind you. The door closed, and he led the way down the stairs. You waited until you were far enough from the door before making your move. Dumping the bread on the ground, you swung the metal tray at the guard's head. He crumpled, and you dragged him into an empty cell. You stuffed a glove in his mouth, tied his hands around his back using his belt, took his keys and locked him inside. You slowly crept along the halls, looking in the cells. They were all empty, save for the one at the end of the hall. Athos was standing in the corner, Porthos was spread eagled on the one cot in the cell, and d'Artagnan was sitting against the wall. They didn't notice you, and you unlocked the door. They tensed up as you opened the door.
"Now what do you want?" Athos demanded. You sighed, and walked back out of the cell. You grabbed a torch from the wall and came back in. Their eyes grew to the size of saucers.
Summary: In the late hours, you are finally given time alone with the man who steadies you more than anyone else. Aramis takes care to remind you exactly what you mean to him in the silence evening.
Notes: Could it be another comfort smut? I haven’t written a sweet, slow one of these before and honestly I think Aramis is exactly the right person for it. I haven’t been doing awesome recently and so I thought this would be fun. Plus, it’s been a while since I’ve posted anything, and this seems like a fun comeback.
Warnings: 18+ Mature content, smutty smut smut
More Musketeers: HERE
-
At the end of the day, it always felt like too much. Each breath of the city air filled your lungs with exhaustion and, some days, a hopelessness you couldn’t shake when you climbed into your bed at the garrison. When some ridiculed you for forgetting your place in this world, the Musketeers were the only ones to ever make you feel accepted, and yet it was getting harder and harder each day to remember why you were here.
And then he was there. Somehow, he always knew the moments you needed you most, and it made you love him all the more.
Tonight was no different.
He did not have to knock, for he always knew he was welcome here, but he did anyway. Aramis waited patiently for you to open the door to him. When you did, he knew something was wrong. Your eyes had lost their shine, and your face was pale and gaunt. You looked as though you’d been traveling without end for days. It was an expression becoming more frequent across your beautiful features and it broke his heart.
“You should be resting,” he said softly, lifting a hand to graze your cheek.
You looked up at him through your lashes. “Will you lay with me? I cannot sleep when you aren’t here.” A part of you was ashamed to admit the weakness, but your heart knew there would be no judgment from him. Only love.
Aramis took your hand and led you to the bed he spent more nights in than his own. As you walked, he removed the heavy belt at his waist and slowly undid the laces of your corset until you were dressed only in your much more comfortable chemise. Even if you were a fighter, Treville often had you appear at court as a lady to help him hear secrets he might not otherwise.
“My love, I can see the tension you are holding here.” Aramis’ fingers traced across your shoulder blades, his breath lightly warming the back of your neck. “Let it go.” He moved his hands down to your waist, following the trail his fingers left with his lips, kissing the back of your neck until you shuddered against him. “That’s it.”
The energy you’d held all day, the persistent tug of ‘I have to keep going’, and every ounce of grief for all you did not do slowly melted from your neck, through your shoulders, down your back, fading more and more with his touch.
Aramis, too, found comfort in the movement. For the first time in days, he could allow himself to shed the facade of the confident soldier and allow the truth of his fears seep through. He could be himself with you, fully and without judgment. Out there, he had to be able to face the darkest shadows. He must steel himself against sword and shot. With you, Aramis softened. He put away his anger and drive and became yours entirely.
“Another child from the orphanage has gone missing,” you said, numbly looking ahead. You thought of their young, scared faces and remembered how little you could do to help them. How many of them simply ran away? How many of them were taken by the monsters of men?
“You’ve done all you can today,” he soothed. He kissed the space between your neck and shoulder. “Let it go, my love, or it will destroy you.”
You didn’t have the energy to think, nor to turn around and kiss him the way you truly wanted to. All you could manage with the breath you dragged through your lips was a single word, one that needed no explanation.
“Please.”
Aramis kissed your shoulder a final time before slipping his arm beneath your knees to scoop you into his embrace. In this position, you didn’t have to do more than lift your head ever so slightly until his lips met yours in the all-encompassing kiss you craved. The kiss that could make you, not forget your day, but make you remember why you did it all to begin with. A kiss that said ‘I love you’ more times than either of you could ever say with words.
Aramis laid you beneath him on the soft quilt that draped over your bed, hovering over you so that his hair fell lazily over his face. You pushed it back with a small smile, twirling the dark strands around your fingers.
He kissed you again, putting more want behind the movement as his hands began their journey across your body. He had mapped each curve so many times before, every scar and imperfection you once hid from him, but he still felt your skin beneath your clothing like a man discovering warmth for the first time after a life in the cold.
“Aramis.” His name fell from your lips as a prayer stronger than any plea with God. You needed him, and each burning second he used to take his time would surely scorch you from the inside out.
Aramis did not abide your begging, at least not at first. He traced along each soft spot of skin, from your ankles to the dips of your hips, hands slipping beneath the thin bit of fabric that separated you.
“I thought we agreed you’d not push yourself so hard,” he murmured, lips trailing across your collarbone and downward.
“Hypocrite.” A breathy laugh escaped your mouth and you bit your lip to keep it from turning to a moan. Your fingers gripped the thick material of his tunic, tugging desperately to feel more of his flesh against yours.
Aramis indulged you at last, pulling his shirt off in the same fluid motion that he climbed back up your body to your lips, guiding your chemise off as well. Naked before him now, you tried not to shiver against the breeching cold of night whispering in from your window. Aramis wasted no time returning his heat to yours, only his mouth found the gentle curve of your breast instead.
Your head fell back, exposing more of your skin to him. Aramis’s lips spent an agonizing amount of time crossing the expanse of your chest before finally resting on your nipple. A soft tug of his teeth made your breathing hitch. A smoothing over of his tongue pulled a moan from your throat. Everything he did was a mix of soft and wanting, slow and yet urging, desperate and still impossibly patient.
Aramis took every taste of you, letting it all flood his senses, from the way your skin was perfectly supple against his tongue to the soft breaths you used to hide louder whimpers. He wanted more. He traced his fingers up to make sure your other nipple was not left neglected, working his teeth against one while his fingers pinched and twisted at the other.
Your back arched to spur him further, but he maintained his pace. He would take his time with you, unraveling you one perfect, agonizing minute at a time. He knew you too well to hurry. He knew you needed to make this last, to let the stress of the day melt away with every kiss, every sigh. And he intended to help you forget all of it at least until the sun rose again in the morning.
“Aramis.” You wanted to cry out, to beg, but you didn’t have the energy, nor did you really want to make him change. Every feather-like pass of his hands over your skin was like fire igniting and you needed the warmth after hours spent in the cold.
“Every. Part. Of. You. Is. Perfect.” He spoke between kisses, his mouth moving away again from your breasts, following the path down your stomach until he settled comfortably between your thighs, gently lifting your legs to rest on his shoulders. “I could look at you forever.”
“The great romancer,” you teased, running a foot along his side. “I bet you say that to all your lovers.”
Aramis frowned playfully and bit your inner thigh.
Without further teasing, he planted his lips over your core, kissing softly at first, before letting his tongue slip into the heat pooling there. Immediately, your legs tightened around him and a soft moan escaped your mouth. The warmth of his tongue drew slow, tantalizing circles up and down your folds, lapping at your pleasure with precision and purposeful laziness. He would take his time, making sure that every part of you could unwind before he brought you to that precipice of tension.
Aramis guided your hips as you tried to grind against his mouth. He kept a gentle, but firm hold on your waist, letting you use him in the way he knew you needed. After spending a significant amount of time simply licking at your core, he brought his lips to your clit, locking around it with quicker, more targeted licks. He pulled the bundle of nerves into his mouth, sucking just enough to elicit another delicious sound from you. When you tried to tangle your hands in his hair, Aramis paused, guiding your fingers up to your nipples instead.
“Feel how I know you like it,” he instructed, giving you a quick kiss in the valley of your breasts, before sinking back down to feast upon you.
You did just as you were told, letting the tips of your fingers glide back and forth over your sensitive nipples, keeping your touch feather-light at first, before pinching them hard. Your back arched, the dual pleasure of your touch and Aramis’ perfect mouth working you through every bit of anxiety and tightness from your day.
“I want to taste you, my love,” Aramis said, breathy and near keening himself. The control he exhibited was extraordinary, considering how desperately he wanted to pleasure you on his cock. “Let go for me.”
You rolled your nipples through your fingers. He sucked your clit again, making quick circles around the nerves with his tongue. It was enough to make you come undone completely, body shaking against his, hips held down by his arm stretched across your stomach. Your orgasm worked through you in slow, mesmerizing waves, washing away all of your stresses, but working to build a different kind of tension in you.
Aramis climbed back up the length of the bed to lay beside you, pulling you into his arms.
You began to reach for his trousers, but he held your wrist.
“Ah, darling-” Flashing you that charming, cheeky smirk he was known for, he turned you around so that your back was pressed to his chest. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Aramis held you close enough that you could feel each other’s heartbeat like it was your own. He kissed along your neck, across your shoulder blades, then back to the other side until he reached the soft place behind your ear, running his lips and tongue there until you shuddered in his grasp.
“I love you,” he whispered, hand trailing to the spot between your legs still slick with his wet, open kisses. He teased your clit with the tip of his finger as he continued to mutter sweet, barely coherent sentences against the skin of your neck.
His other arm kept you locked against him, his hand cupping your breast to give you as much pleasure as he could. One set of fingers tugged and twisted your nipple while the other slipped inside of you, curling against the spot that made you moan louder.
“Aramis.”
When your legs threatened to close him out, he spread them wider while his teeth nipped along your neck.
“You have been working so hard,” he said, nuzzling against you. “So hard. And no one shows enough gratitude to you.”
“People have been more than-”
He cut you off with a rather hard bite to your shoulder. “Let me show my gratitude, darling.”
Aramis sped up his movements, fingers delving deeper inside you until he brushed that perfect spot with each fine stroke. You felt his hard length against your backside, the heat of him enveloping you so completely it was impossible to think of anything else. He did not control himself now or even attempt to keep a slower pace. He wanted to feel you clench around his fingers, wanted to feel the wetness seeping out of you, knowing he was the one who made you feel this good. It was what you deserved.
You grinded back against him, which only spurred him on more. He held you so tight against him it was hard to tell where your back ended and his chest began, the two of you becoming one. Only it wasn’t enough. You wanted more, needed more, even as your second orgasm crashed through you in a fury of waves and panting moans.
As soon as your mind cleared enough for coherent thought, you turned to face him, bringing his lips to yours for an intense, pleading kiss.
Aramis shifted out of his trousers, chuckling deeply at your needy whines and wandering hands.
“All in good time, darling.” He tangled his fingers in your hair, tugging gently, but forcefully, pulling your face away from his so he could look at your flushed cheeks and lust-bloated eyes. “I want this to last.”
When he entered you, it was slow, inching into your folds so you could adjust to his perfect thickness that filled you so completely. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him all the way inside you. With the two of you lying beside each other, you were as close as you could possibly be, connected in every way. This allowed you to take control of the movement, rolling against him, dragging your core up and down his length.
Aramis held you tighter, which didn’t seem possible. He buried his face against your skin, kissing, nipping, and licking every expanse he could find.
Every thrust rubbed against your clit as well, taking your overstimulation over the edge again and again.
“Y/N,” Aramis breathed out, boarding a growl.
You were so full of him, of pleasure, that you could no longer form full sentences, muttering instead one word. “Perfect.”
“Perfect,” Aramis repeated, saying it again in every language he knew.
You moved together in sync, you clinging to him with every rise and fall of your body and he keeping you locked in his embrace. Each time you glanced at the place where your bodies joined, you came closer to that precipice he drove you toward for the third time. You knew from the change in his pace he wasn’t far behind.
“Aramis. My love. Love. I-”
“I know.”
Your bodies connected once more and the two of you leapt from that wonderful peak together. You trembled helplessly against him while he breathed heavily into the crook of your neck, still working within you to keep you on that high as long as possible.
“I love you,” he breathed, “for all that you do. For all that you are.”
You laid your head against his arm, pressing a kiss to his wrist. “And I you.”
Aramis fell onto the bed beside you but didn’t wait a single second to pull you back to his body, wanting to feel every inch of where you touched. He grazed his fingers up and down your side in slow, soothing motions.
“Do you have to leave tonight?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper.
He shook his head, sweeping a hair behind your ear to kiss your temple. “Not tonight, darling. Tonight, I’m yours.”
“My hero,” you teased, running your fingers through his hair to push it away from his face.
“Is that a tone you’re taking?” He raised a brow, hand snaking around your middle, teasing just above the spot between your legs. “And I’ve been so nice this evening.”
Leaning into his touch, you sighed against his cheek, trailing your kisses up to his lips. “You’re right. I think I’m ready for quiet.” You kissed him lovingly, deeply, the sounds of your shared breath being the only noise in the room.
It was there you laid together, locked in each other’s embrace beneath the cool night air, hearts beating as one in the silence. While tomorrow would bring another day of toils and trouble, this moment, this night of quiet was yours. And, as you found yourself lowering your warmth onto him, filling you all over again, you reveled in it.
Warnings: 18+ Only! This is just straight up smut, nothing else, oral (f receiving), teasing, implied trip to Paris (if you know what I mean)
Word Count: less than 1k
A/N: I haven’t written anything for Aramis in a long time and I was getting some feels so here is this
“Aramis,” you sigh, your fingers curling into the bedsheet as your hips keen towards his face.
“How I just love it when you say my name like that,” he praises, before his warm mouth begins to suck at your clit again.
No man had ever done this to you before Aramis came along, but now you’d gotten a feel for it, you don’t think you could ever go without again.
He licked a stripe through your folds again, his tongue moving in long sweeping circles that drove you crazy, your skin growing flushed in the balmy late summer air. You hated summer in Paris, longed to head back out into the countryside for the warmer season, but he really did make it worth you staying.
“Aramis,” you sighed again, your breaths catching and hiccuping, making him chuckle, his mouth chuffing air against your most sensitive parts, making you squirm.
“Come on now, I know you can say my name louder than that,” he teased, his hands moving over your thighs and reaching out to tangle your fingers with his, willing you to grip onto him instead of the sheets so he could feel just how tight and desperate for release you were. “Look at me,” he said from between your legs and the vision of him laid out on the bed, feasting from your sex, made you feel almost like a powerful goddess of old. “I want you to scream my name, alright?” he said between lazy laps of your pussy. “Let all of Paris know who makes you feel this good.”
“Aramis, please,” you begged breathlessly, knowing he was dragging this out and toying with you. Keeping you on edge.
“Louder,” he moaned again against your cunt.
“Aramis,” you sighed louder.
“Louder,” he said again still, his fingers dipping into your cunt and driving you wild.
“Aramis,” you cried out a little louder still.
“Louder,” he said once more, his fingers pumping into you mercilessly, his tongue lapping at your clit between his spoken command. For a moment you locked eyes with each other and his lips quirked into a smile as a thought began to flicker playfully in his eyes. “I want you to shout my name so loud Porthos can hear it next door,” he grinned and it made you blush.
Even more so when the man in questions voice called back through the wall. “Don’t you dare,” Porthos grunted, but it just spurred Aramis on more, his need to both please you and wind up his best friend, setting him ablaze.
“Come on, mon coeur, cum for me and call out my name,” he continued to encourage, that feeling coiling deep inside you, desperate for that final push over the edge.
“Aramis,” you said his name again, breathlessly.
“Louder,” he said again and tears began to sting the corners of your eyes as your sensitivity grew too much.
“Aramis,” you cried out again louder and he beamed as Porthos’ fist began to bang against the wall in warning.
“Louder,” he grunted, feeling your cunt bare down on his fingers, your breathing stuttering as you teetered on the edge of your release.
His thumb pressed down against your clit and it was the final push you needed, your voice crying out his name as asked as your walls began to flutter around his fingers. You moaned as he removed them from you, replacing them once again with his mouth as he lapped at your juices that flowed just for him.
“I fucking hate you,” Porthos’s voice boomed from next door, carrying in through the open window.
You couldn’t help but grin as your lover hummed with amusement and satisfaction before he lazy removed himself from between your legs and moved to the open window to poke his head out and talk to his friend.
“No you don’t,” Aramis replied, “you’re just jealous because it’s my name Y/N is screaming and not yours.”
You cover yourself in the bedsheet and shuffle back up against the pillows as you watch them converse, equally amused by the situation. “Oh I could make her scream my name if given the chance,” Porthos pressed back.
“Really?” Your lover mused as his expression shifted yet again, and you knew he’d just had another devilish idea. You didn’t even need him to say it out loud, you knew him so well. Just a mere look your way and you knew he was asking if you were willing to put that to the test.
It took you barely 30 seconds to think on it. To have not one but two handsome musketeers in your bed, bending over backwards in their efforts to please you and out do the other one. You gave him a knowing smile.
“Let’s put it to the test then shall we?” Aramis said back out the window to his friend.
“Are you serious right now?” Porthos asked, his tone becoming lower and more tense and you could just picture the way his eyebrows would have lowered.
“I mean, unless you are willing to concede whole heartedly that I am the better lover?” Aramis teased.
“Give me 5 minutes,” you heard Porthos grunt out and you knew, this was going to be the best night of the summer yet.
Requested by @jess2026 (I used a fem reader because I understood that's what you wanted, but you are free to correct me)
Note: As I explained before, I'm not writing for this particular version of Porthos because the awfull shit surrounding his actor makes me quite uncomfortable. He will appear in writings about the others, but I won't do anything him-centric.
Aramis
-You are a streets artist, a dancer that he comes across follwing Porthos around and they ultimately save from some mess. A man trying to grope you, a casual thief or maybe even the younger musketeers giving you trouble charging your art as public disturbance. The single friend alongside you playing music is a victim as well, but neither of the saviors is too occupied on him.
-Porthos tries to charm you first, but you reject him right away. You have meet men like him your whole life, and even if you are thankful, you are not falling for it. That simple display of honor works as a confirmation for Aramis' intuitive guesses: you may be beautiful and your performance can get a bit flirtatious, but you are no easy girl.
-From the start, he likes you way more than the sort of women his friend usually tends to throw at him in hopes of tempting him to join his ways. There is a fire in your eyes that threatens with consuming him whole, and the glimpses of your spirit he got while watching you fight back to defend yourself before he would come in your aid fascinate him.
-And so, he lies to himself pretending that he wants to remain in your life as a friend for this civilizatory mission of saving your soul from the corruption in your environment. He sees that you are pure at heart, but you are new in the city and given that you have already catched the eye of the parisian passersby with your splendid beauty and great charm, it would be so easy for you to end up in a brothel given the rampant misery of the times.
-Behind this savior complex he hides his growing feelings for you. In his typically vulgar way, his friend sees it, and constantly teases him about it.
-"Your holiness is horny! "
" I'm trying to save a good woman from a dreaded fate! The fact that she is beautiful exceeds me."
"YOU ARE HORNY! "
-To some extent, he knows he is right. He remembers to have enjoyed himself a bit too much of the brief instants of subtle interest you dedicated him before finding out he is a priest. He could so vividly sense the dissapointment in you and knew for certain that you would have given him the chance you denied to Porthos.
-Since then, you fake formality in your treatment of him in a hopeless attempt to turn that tension into relieving humor were to masquerade your casual teasing of each other.
-"I'm not saying that you are any bad at it. On the contrary, you are an excellent dancer! I only object that, currently, that carries a lot of danger. The streets of Paris distill violence, this is the third time in a week I'm rescuing you."
" And what do you suggest I do instead, Father? Shall I become someone's wife? I am open to suggestions, if you know of any candidates."
-Once he understands he won't convince you of desisting, he makes Porthos utilize some of his contacts in the local taverns so they can at least find you a stable place to perform. Your show does well, and eventually, your popularity gets you a stable place as a barmaid and performer.
-And so, he can pretend he is cassually going to see you more often than he should because he is mostly there as the watcher of his friend's drunk misbehavior. He has to stop Porthos from causing bar brawls! He is clearly not there to drool at you like all the other men nearby.
-He is longing for you, and he does so more from his tortured heart than his crotch. In all his years of penitence he had never found a challenge like the one you present. He can live away from the carnal pleasures, but he can't be without your love.
-Aramis is too cocky to get jealous, and he watches what you inspire in other men knowing that if he would allow himself to go for it, he could have you in a heartbeat. It's the kind of self-righteous torture he naturally carries within.
-That doesn't stop him from dreaming of making you his, pure and inpure thoughts involved and increasing as he keeps making new findings about you.
-Once you had relatively adjusted to the life in the city from your spot as an entertainer easing the daily life with some distraction, you share and understand the pains of its people. More than once he had catched you paying food of your own pocket for pleading people entering your workplace. Whatever little you make, you share, caring for others who are doing even worse than you once were when he meet you.
-If not conciously, because you don't know he leads an order of rebel priests, you are some sort of a spy helping him measure the humor of the city and all the stuff people cassually reveal at a place that works as a heart for social life. Whatever they are not sharing at the church would later come to your ears at the tavern.
-Even while he dances around the sparkle that you know is there, as time passes you are less and less ashamed to admit it hoping he will take the bait and stop denying it.
-"I've been in Paris long enough to get convinced I will never meet a man better than you. "
Aramis glances at you with amusement, acting as if you would have stated the obvious.
" Indeed, but I am not in the position to stop you from trying."
You join him with determination, standing before him at a dangerously close proximity. So close that he can clearly catch a sniff of your scent and your breath in your whisper.
" If I kiss you now, am I going to Hell? "
Stoic as a rock, he endures your searching for his love knowing there is nothing he would have wanted more than indulging you.
" I did a relentless work hoping to rescue you from a dangerous path, perhaps in denial that it was leading you towards me."
Athos
-As shown in my previous post, I like the idea of him accidentally falling for a friend of his son. Their sweet, girl next door vibe neighbor with a cheerful presence who is always by the corner offering help from her traditionally feminine skillset.
-Raoul is a sweetly awkward lad, and as his friend, you are constantly helping him build up confidence. You are the one girl he is platonically close to, so he frequently consults you about romantic matters as he is trying to win over Christine. You are happy to help, but this creates a few misunderstandings as well.
-At first, Athos thinks you are secretly pinning for his son. When he overhears you talking to Raoul about love with longing in your voice, so evidently drowning in a crush you can't confess. In your little favours, that are almost a skill display full of adoration proving you could be a great wife.
-Whenever you extend that sweetness towards him, he is inclined to expect you are trying to win over the possibly future father in law to your cause. That you want to get his favor so he would advice Raoul to choose you instead of Christine.
-Whenever you pass by unexpectedly and he has to tell you that, unfortunately, Raoul is not around, you don't leave. You stay with him and you talk for hours, encouraging him to tell you anything he would wish to share. Anecdots of his past as a musketeer, the book he had just read, the advances of his music that you later will ask to hear with a lovely excitement he can't say no to. Knowing that you are a welcome presence in the house with enough trust to be reckless, you take domain of his kitchen and offer to make something to wait for Raoul's arrival and he agrees because it's reasonable. He is a lonely man, he can use some company, and yours is always a pleasant one.
-It's a mere excuse to stay, because you have came to see him. You have the biggest crush on him, but you don't dare to be direct because he is your best friend's father. Athos sees Raoul as his biggest achievement, and he himself as a weary old man feeling sorry for himself since his glory days are over. Your admiration flatters him, but he doesn't dare to believe he could be your crush.
-If anything, he feels pathetic for being all smiles to your compliments. For letting your lightful presence cheer his spirits behind his son's back and feeling himself dying a little bit everytime you surprise hug him. Even if he is thankful knowing Raoul has no interest in you, thinking that he would someday have to break your heart telling you that and you would eventually leave crushes him.
-This odd ritual of courtship in denial where he allows you to win him over in romantical misunderstandings pretending nothing is happening meets its end when Raoul almost proposes to Christine. Initially, because it ruined the purpose of that facade, but later for the sake of the tragedy.
- The following events and your shared grief unite you beyond the minor concerns you used to have before. You are the one person who is there for Athos after his son dies, and finding out he stormed into the palace seeking to kill the King worries you enough to follow him everywhere fearing you would lose him too.
-When you discover he is leaving Paris, you insist in leaving with him even if this means escaping your home. He vaguely confesses you he has found a way to avenge Raoul and you refuse to be left behind.
-While the prison break doesn't concern your disposition or habilities, you are a great help in the hardest part of the mission. Dealing with Phillippe requires of a pedagogic tenderness none of his friends posess in the same way you do. You are the sweetest girl he knows! If you rescued him from himself, you can help any other suffering soul out there.
-Concealing your feelings for each other becomes way harder around the two out of the three men that know Athos as if they were his brothers. Aramis is very perceptive, a true genius on the art of reading people, and Porthos is a well meaning fool with no sense of decorum.
-Eventually, a screw up by him leads you to find out of the running principle in your beloved's guessings. With sweet amusement, you deny to have ever been in love with Raoul and simply admit your feelings towards him.
-He is relieved and shocked but hopeful because after losing everything he has at least one good thing to hold on in his life: your love. Giving you warnings about the dangers of following him it's pointless, because you are already there. You were always there, and he can't believe he was such a blind fool this whole time.
-Those three weeks preparing Phillippe turn into a honeymoon period for the two of you. Despite you are way too bussy, he finds time to be a courting gentleman the proper way. You, on the other hand? Very affective, you don't even care to get the side eyes of his priest friend and the cheering tease of the festive one. You hold his hand in public, play with his hair as you sit on his lap before the fire, embrace him from behind at random and sometimes even kiss him. After all the time you spent longing to be with him, who is going to stop you now? Phillippe only, who you adore practically since your meeting and would gladly die for.
-When Aramis and Porthos leave and the finishing of his courtly education rests only in the two of you, the environment allows you more privacy and you sneak inside of Athos' now solitary room at night.
-Exahusted as he is from the relentless work, only the weight of your body leaning against his wakes him up. As he opens his eyes with a smile, he finds you smiling back. Divine, ethereal, with your hair all loosen and in your sleepingwear.
-"Is something troubling your sleep?"
You chuckle to his tease, then quickly charge back.
"My need of you." You confess in a whisper, then lean down to kiss him continuing in between breaks. " ... I want to be your wife, i want to start over ... In the palace, away from trouble. Think of how happy we can be."
He is already dreaming with you, yet as the wiser one he has to wake you up.
" We could die as well, and this is most likely. I was very selfish for bringing you here. "
You understand it perfectly, but the inviting circling caresses on his chest say otherwise.
"Then love me as if we didn't have more time left, to be yours is my last wish."
D'artagnan
-D’Artagnan notices everything,especially in a court full of deception. You stand out not because you’re loud, but observant. He’s intrigued by how you carry yourself with quiet intelligence instead of vanity, which is rare for a lady in Louis’ court.
-You often meet in corridors, gardens at dusk, or near balconies overlooking the palace grounds. Your talks aren’t flirtatious at first, they’re thoughtful. Even philosophical.
-You challenge him. Not aggressively, but by asking questions he doesn’t want to answer about loyalty, justice, and the king.
-D’Artagnan isn’t overbearing, but he is deeply protective. If he senses you’re getting yourself in danger he becomes sharper, more alert. He would never openly claim you, but others start noticing he’s always nearby when tensions rise.
-The turning point is when you confide in him about your fears of the king, or the moral decay of the court. That’s when he realizes you feel trapped within the constrictions of the situation, like him. From then on, there’s an unspoken bond: we understand each other, even if we stand on different sides.
-" When heads will start rolling, they will not stop with Louis. "
"You have nothing to worry about! I would never let ... " *looks down, realizing he has no convincing counter argument.* " I will guard you with my life. "
-Court life is ruthless, and you’ve learned to navigate it without losing yourself. D’Artagnan respects that deeply. To his eyes you are not delicate, but resilient. When he does compliment you, it’s never empty: he notices your courage, your wit, the way you hold your ground among wolves. Even if he does find you beautiful, that's not what he choses to highlight. It's what what most of the men in your surroundings would chose to say first, shallow men who don't care to see beneath.
-In many ways, you share most of the traits that he once found in Anne and so easily fascinated him. It's possible that he may start rationalizing his feelings through this comparison. The last time his heart beat like this was while he would meet in secret with the mother of his son. Even if theirs is an impossible love, he feels conflicted because no other woman before had ever came any close to dispute her domains over him. And unlike others before, you haven't even do a concious try to win him over.
-Luckly for him, Louis is not trying to get you in his bed. He mistakes your wiseness with dryness and fears you would be a frigid. Because you often officiate as a respectful voice of reason, he himself compares you to his mother in jokes.
-That's precisely why, when you gather the courage to act carefreely, the gestures never go unnoticed. He can't continue his impassive watching of the dancing at a ball when you are approaching with tempting ways not towards him, but D'artagnan. The Captain of the Musketeers, always sober and proper while merely surveiling his safety, is shaken out of his role by his encounter with you. Louis can barely restrain his amusement.
-"Madmoiselle, for as charming as your offer is I find myself at duty." D'artagnan politely declined while concealing the surprise. " The King's safety is my priority and I trully can't abandon my position in moments as torrid as the ones we are living. There are threats at every corner ... "
He knows what you think about that, and your cheeky glance adquires a shade of complicity through the flirtatious attempt.
"Of course! My apologies, Captain. I would never forgive myself if the king's safety ends threatened as a reckless consequence of my indulgence. I'll let you think of a retribution, if that suits you. "
The whimsical lad you had for a King is hoarding his laughter in a smile and he won't let the opportunity for jest pass.
" Seeing this is worth the risk: dance with her, D'artagnan. It's an order."
The Captain does a short, dry reverence before taking your hand, daring to speak only when the loud mess of the ballroom would conceal your whispers to others.
"If you wanted my attention, this is a severely riskful move."
You admit your guilt with archness.
"Remember me, ... why do we serve that brat still? Can you believe he thinks the sight of us together is a joke. "
As he always does, D'artagnan defends Louis of your playful accusations.
"I can't blame him, your challenge of my ways is not something he is used to see. It adds a parodic taste to the authority he acknowledges in me."
You chuckle in amused skepticism, then conclude with unusual carefreeness.
" I'm going to keep chasing you, let amusement be my one loyal service towards him."
All I Am Belongs to You | All for the Love of a Dear Little Girl
Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy.
Aramis and Athos return to Paris to find they had not left Amélia as alone as they thought
Each ship is a separate timeline with the same s/i
Aramis x Amélia | Athos x Amélia
Athos's story focuses more on what Amélia went through right after season 2, her experience with Aramis is similar but without the correspondences.
These were supposed to be short, but Athos's kind of got away from me... really got away from me
All for the Love of a Girl by Johnny Horton (Aramis) | Wanderer's Lullaby by Adriana Figueroa (Athos) | Banner by @cafekitsune | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Picrew
Aramis
Aramis thinks of Amélia often at the monastery, praying for her health, her happiness, and that she finally find a man who might actually deserve her.
He never expected to see her again, let alone see her hanging laundry in the courtyard of the garrison as soon as he came back to Paris.
She seems just as surprised to see them, quickly setting aside the sheet in her hands and hurrying over to them.
Athos gladly accepts her hug and kiss on his cheek, holding her back for a moment and kissing he temple, "It's good to see you."
"Do I get as warm a welcome?" Porthos teases, arms open and awaiting his own embrace. And he does, squeezing her back and lifting her off the ground when she hugs him.
"Where is D'Artagnan?" She asks. Athos points behind her toward his and Constance's shared quarters and she nods, "So that's where she ran off to."
"And what of me?" Aramis says, anxiously twisting the rim of his hat in his hands, finally bringing her attention to him.
Porthos watches her smile falter at the sound of his voice and both he and Athos narrowly avoid being hit when she spins around to slap him.
"You're lucky you get that much after what you did to me!" She spits at him and he refuses to meet her eyes. He deserves this. He broke her heart again and again, he knows he'll never be able to regain her trust.
He bows to her, knowing now isn't the time, and walks away, only to be stopped by a small girl, no older that three, at his feet.
"Hello, darling," His smile soft yet confused, "What are you doing here?"
She doesn't say anything, squinting up at him as though studying his face.
"Marina!" Amélia swoops in to pick her up and settle her on her hip, "You're supposed to be inside napping, where I left you."
"'M not sweepy," She huffs.
"You were twenty minutes ago."
"Is he my papa?"
He freezes when she points at him.
Amélia squeezes her eyes shut, sighing in defeat before shaking her head.
"Yes, dear one," Aramis's eyes go wide at her casual admittance, "This is Aramis, your father."
"Aramis, this is- Aramis?"
His whole body is rigid, his mind not processing the information given to him.
He looks at the girl, studying her in a similar fashion to how she had him. Soft brown hair, big dark eyes...
"How... old is she?" He asks.
"Dis many!" She proudly announces, holding out three fingers.
"Are you?" He doesn't notice how Amelia's face softens when tears begin to rim his eyes, "Yes, you would be, wouldn't you? May I?"
Amélia nods, letting him take her from her arms.
"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, holding her with practiced ease.
"Mawina."
"Marina?" He smiles when she nods, "Now that's a beautiful name, isn't it?"
Amélia scoffs at how suddenly her resolve to hate him crumbles seeing him hold their daughter.
"Oh, you're precious," He sniffs, cupping her little cheek.
Four years of seeing his face in hers displaces her anger, diminishes her hurt. She finds her chest flooding old love for him.
He laughs when she puts her tiny hands on the sides of his face, pushing his cheeks and gently touching his hair, "Curious thing, aren't you?"
"Bold is more like it," Amélia scoffs, "Like her father."
"You never seemed to mind," He grins at her, his attention going back to Marina she turns his chin back toward her, "Amélia, she's beautiful."
"To think I left so close to knowing you," He mutters, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.
Damn it. Damn her and her stupid weak heart because that's all it takes.
"Aramis."
He looks back at her, only to be surprised by her lips pressing against his.
He looks at her in awe when the kiss breaks. He strokes her cheek, unable to tear his eyes away, "I thought..."
"You're infuriatingly difficult to hate," She sighs and he can't stop himself from smiling.
"Am I?"
"I have no idea what she's talking about," Porthos mutters and Athos chuckles. He claps Aramis on the back, "You fell in love with a Saint, you lucky bastard."
"And I truly don't deserve her," He murmurs, "Ah- careful dear."
He carefully untangles Marina fingers from his hair, kissing them softly.
She keeps staring at him, completely enthralled with him.
"So much like you're mother, aren't you," He teases, then in a hushed tone, "She likes to look at me too- Hey!"
He jumps back when she slaps his chest, catching her hand and pulling her close.
"How did I ever let you go?"0
Athos
Amélia realized not long after Athos and the others were sent to the front line to defend France, that she was with child.
She knew, even then, it was Athos's, that fate had tied them together forever through their drunken dalliance. She knew she loved him then, even if her heart wasn't ready to admit it so soon after the pain she had gone through with Aramis.
She planned to tell him everything as soon as the baby was born. She couldn't live with herself if she had lost the baby after declaring such a thing to him through a simple letter.
But then the thought he may not even wish to have a child with her crossed her mind. She'd always thought she understood his unspoken feelings for her, but he truly never told her he loved her, not once in the many letters they'd exchanged.
She couldn't bear to put the thought of an unwanted child on his mind when he had much larger things to concentrate on.
Constance insisted she move to the garrison with her to help and keep each other safe, so she made her home there with her daughter, trying desperately to summon the courage to tell him.
It's nearly three years later that she is finally able to when she receives a letter from the front. Athos worries a lack of supplies to his regiment will make the coming battles impossible. He fears for his life, but he simply can not die without telling her once and for all that he loves her. He goes on to say that if she doesn't return his feelings to not tell him, for he would rather die imagining she accepts his love than with a broken heart.
That letter is precious to her and she keeps it close to her heart her every waking moment, even after she replies, fervently returning his affections, assuring him he'll see her again, and that he will meet his daughter.
Unfortunately, her message never makes it to the front.
So when he returns to the garrison months later, he's surprised when she throws herself in his arms.
She's shaking out a blanket over the rail of the upper floor, sighing when she feels little hands grab the back of her skirt.
"How many times do I have to tell you," She sets the blanket on the rail and bends down to poke her stomach, "No muddy boots on the bed!"
The little girl shrieks with laughter and squirms away.
"Go get your boots and wipe as much of that mud off as you can, yeah?"
"Okay mama!"
She smiles as she runs off and stands to gather the blanket again, but then she sees him, "... Athos?"
He, Pothos, and Aramis have just ridden into the courtyard and her feet move before she even knows what she's doing.
He's barely dismounted when he sees her stumble down the last few stairs, lifting her skirts past her knees as she runs to them, "Athos!"
She nearly knocks him over barreling into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. He does his best to return the hug, his surprise obvious to his companions.
"I missed you," His eyes go wide when she kisses him, her hands holding his face, "I was so worried when you didn't write back."
"I..." He's worried for a brief moment that he died. She didn't reply, but here she is, looking at him adoringly, this must be the final images of his dying mind. "What do you mean? You never..."
His eyes flutter shut when she brushes his bangs asides and presses her forehead to his, her voice a whisper, "But I did! Did you.... did you not get my letter?"
"Your letter?" He shudders, cupping her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, "You wrote back? You..."
"I love you, Athos," She grins at him, "Of course, I love you."
"I love you," He murmurs as though he can't believe he's finally saying it. He pulls her back against his lips, kissing her adoringly, "For so long I-"
"Mama?"
His eyebrows furrow and the three men look over at the small voice coming from the foot of the stairs.
"And who is this?" Aramis asks, he takes off his hat as he kneel down to her level.
She hesitates, looking to Amélia when he motions her over.
"It's alright," She holds out her hand and she runs to her side, hiding behind her skirts, "This is Aramis, Porthos, and Athos."
She steps into view, no more than three, sleeves of the dark brown leather coat, big on her still, rolled up to her elbows, as she timidly waves at them.
"This is Celine, my daughter, " She looks to Athos, disbelief staining his features, "Our daughter."
He steps back, shock washing over him like ice water, "O-our...?"
She watches him turn and run a hand through his hair, her eyes going wide when he collapses.
"Athos?!" She rushes to his side and rolls him onto his back, wiping mud from his cheek as she settles his head on her lap, "Athos?"
He finds himself suddenly looking up her, not entirely sure how he'd gotten in her lap.
"Mine?" He croaks after a moment and she sighs in relief.
"There's no question," He looks over when Aramis speaks. He's holding the girl with a smile, "She looks just like you."
"Poor girl," Porthos snickers and Athos glares at him as he gets up, Amélia on his arm.
"May I?" He looks to Amélia for permission when he reaches to take her from Aramis.
"She is yours," She reminds him watching him gently hold her to his chest.
"Mine, yes," He parrots as though he doesn't quite believe it, smiling down at her, "Hello."
"Mama?" She looks to Amélia, unsure, then back to him.
He laughs breathlessly seeing her face up close, "She has my eyes. She's beautiful..."
"M-mama!" She cries, not really understanding who any of these men are.
"It's alright," He tries to soothe her, but she squirms in his arms, reaching for her mother until she takes her.
"She doesn't know you yet," She says apologetically, settling her in her arms, and petting her hair, "But she will. She just needs a little time... I mean, as long as you wish to-"
"You're joking?" Athos grins, cupping her cheek, "It would take an act of God to tear me away from her now."
"From both of you," He corrects, his hand holds the back of her head as he leans in to kiss her temple.
Celine continues to fuss, having exhausted herself running around with Constance all morning, 'protecting' her favorite aunt.
"Alright, little musketeer, you need a nap," Amélia chuckles, nuzzling her cheek before leaning over to peck Athos's lips, "I'll be right back."
His face falls as he watches them walk away.
"You alright?" Porthos asks. He and Aramis laugh when he sighs, both of them patting on the back, "You look like you need a drink."
The fire burns low in the hearth, just warm enough to stave off the cool night air.
Athos leans over her, his kiss is slow and heavy against her lips, with Celine alseep just in the next room and wary if the man in her mother's bed, they'd dare not be more intimate than this.
He sighs contentedly, forehead pressed against hers.
She smiles as she kisses him again, reaching up to cup his cheek.
They stay like that a while more, soft touches and lingering kisses leaving them lightheaded.
His fingers trace the features of her face as he lays beside her, still in awe of all of it.
"You never told me," He breathes, his tone more curious than accusatory.
"I was scared," She admits and his brow furrows, "We were drunk, Athos, then you left and I no idea if you still wanted me let a lone a child."
She turns to face him, her hand on his chest, "I wanted to tell you, I did. I tried, many times, but I never had the courage. Not until you sent me this."
She lays back for a moment, reaching to pull a letter from a small box on the bedside table. She holds it to her lips for a moment, a routine motion to her now when she needs strength.
"This. Knowing you love me, for certain, gave me the strength and courage I needed to tell you," She holds it to her chest, "I've carried your love with me every moment since I received it. Keeping you near my heart."
"If only I had your words to guard mine," He laments, kissing her hand roughly.
"You have them now."
His breath shudders, pushing forward to nestle his face in the crook of her neck. Her hand strokes his hair before catching in it, holding him there.
"My heart is yours, Athos."
He wakes the next morning with his head on her chest, her fingers still caught in his unruly hair.
He's worried for a moment that he's still dreaming, but as he slowly moves to pull away, she shifts in her sleep, tugging his hair harshly, making him chuckle.
He quickly dresses himself, leaning down to kiss her forehead, before quietly walking through the next room to find the door left ajar.
Panic washes over him when he looks over to the cot in the corner only to find it empty.
He hurriedly opens the door, sighing in relief when he sees her sitting on the top step.
"You're not supposed to be out here," He says gently.
She scoots closer to the right hand rail when he moves to sit beside her, staring wistfully over at the horses.
"Do you like the horses?" He asks, leaning forward to see her face.
She nods but doesn't meet his gaze.
"Would you like a closer look?"
"Mama said I can't wit'out her cause 'm too small."
"I could go with you, if you like?"
That catches her attention and she looks over at him with bright eyes, "Really?"
He smiles softly at her, offering her his hand.
He still can't believe she's real, even with her hand, so small in his, holds tight to two of his fingers as he helps her down the stairs.
Just a few days ago he had nothing besides his friends and position as captain, fighting a seemingly endless war in the name of France. But now... the woman he has adored for years has returned his affections emphatically, and she's given him the most precious little girl. His heart could not be more full than it is at this moment.
"It's alright," He assures her when she hesitates. He lifts her easily and brushes her hair from her eyes, "I've got you."
Amélia wakes alone, her lover's heat lingering in the sheets beside her.
"Athos?" She calls, but she's met with silence, "Celine?"
Silence still and she wonders if she's still asleep. She rises to her feet and pulls on a linen robe, wrapping it around her to ward off the morning chill.
The other room is empty, neither Athos nor their daughter is anywhere to be found and she worries for a moment before looking out the window. She steps outside and leans on the rail, her shoulders relaxing as she watches him let her pet the horses.
Aramis comes out to greet the morning not long after, smiling at the sight of his friend taking to the role of father like a duck to water. Then he sees Amélia watching over them and carefully climbs the stairs to join her.
"They seem to be getting along well," He comments, his voice quiet as he leans on his arms next to her.
"I was worried," She admits.
"Athos has always been an honorable man, he would never reject either of you," He insist and she shakes her head.
"It's not just that," She sighs, "Or that he would be angry I lied to him... Celine doesn't take to new people well. I was scared he would be hurt if she rejected him, even if it was due to shyness."
"It seems you were worried for nothing."
She beams when they hear Celine giggle.
"I must apologize to you."
"It's in the past Aramis-"
"Please?" He begs, "I must say my piece."
She nods and looks to him with warm eyes. He'd expected her to be mad, to curse and spit his name as soon as she saw him, and he's grateful for her patience.
"I hurt you, Amélia, in ways no one should ever be hurt and I am genuinely sorry for that. I spent every day of the last four years praying for your forgiveness knowing there's I could ever do to earn it."
"Aramis..."
"I prayed for your happiness and prayed that you may find someone who truly deserves your love," He places his hand on her back, looking back over at the two by the stables, "I couldn't think of a man more deserving than Athos."
"Thank you, Aramis, that means a great deal to me."
He bows his head and they watch for a minute more until Celine sees them and points, "Mama!"
"There's just one thing I don't understand," Aramis says as they cross the courtyard and she looks up at him expectantly, "Where does the black hair come from."
"My mother," She says walking over to the top of the stairs to meet them, "I'm the only one of my siblings to take after my father."
"Hello dear one," She coos, taking Celine in her arms when she reaches for her, "Did Papa bring you to see the horses?"
Papa.
She doesn't even realize she's said it until she feels his hand brush against her arm and she looks over at him, "Are you alright?"
"I'm fine," He sweeps Celine's long hair aside to see her face again before Amélia turns to go inside.
"Let's get you dressed and fed, shall we?"
He watches them longingly as they disappear into their apartments and Aramis chuckles.
"I have never seen a man so smitten, my friend," He teases.
"I still can't believe they're real."
"You two are up early," Constance calls from below and they turn to see her, "You mind giving me a hand?"
"She's quite the wild thing, your little one," She comments as they help her hitch the horses to the wagon.
"Is she?"
"Oh yes," She nods, "It won't be long before she's giving these cadets a run for their money."
"She's fierce then?" Aramis asks, "Like her mother."
"And then some. Especially with how Treville encourages her," She leans back against the wagon, "That coat she never takes off? Treville had it made special and gave her a matching wooden sword a week later. That man spoils her like she's his granddaughter."
"I wana go wit Con'tence!" Speaking of whom, Celine comes stumbling down the stairs, toy sword in her hand.
"Not without breakfast you aren't!" Amélia scolds half a flight behind.
Athos doesn't hesitate to scoop her up, more than happy to hold her again while her mother catches up.
"Not this time, darling," Constance tells her, pinching her cheek.
"But Con'tance!"
"No buts! Mum's orders."
Amélia rests her forehead on his shoulder, breathless from chasing their daughter.
He can see the gears turning in Celine's head before she wiggles and twists her body just right to slip out of his hold, but he's quick to catch her again, "Where do you think you're going?"
She huffs in defiance, continuing to struggle, and he shakes his head, "So much like your mother."
"Excuse me?"
Constance laughs at the scene, wondering how it's possible he only met her yesterday.
Celine accidentally elbows him in the jaw in her attempt to escape and Amélia's eyes go wide, reaching to take her, "Here, let me. She'll settle once she eats."
"It's fine," He insists, content to hold her for the rest of time if she asked him, "Lead the way."
