saw furiosa this week and fell completely in love with praetorian jack which is just making me fall head-first back into my bbc the musketeers mindset goddddd tom burke the man that you are
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now that you people are finally waking up to tom burke may i present you this behind the scenes picture from the bbc musketeers show where he’s in full athos costume watching a football match on a laptop with his horse
you’re welcome
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@thesunwillshineclearer my man porthos. my beautiful best friend porthos. thank u for request ! (ids in alt)
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😌 - Someone gently brushing their hair
Tagging: @kmc1989 @pansexualhailstorm @missyhoneybee
@sweetpeaswife @keyweegirlie
Athos’s hair is a litany of snarls and tangles after his latest assignment outside of Paris. There’s mud caked in it, a few leaves, a couple of twigs. He looks at you sheepishly as he removes the hair tie, the straggly brown locks falling across his features.
“Let me wash it for you.” You say softly, your fingertips tucking a stray strand back behind your ear.
“If you wish.” He says quietly, disappearing into the bedroom so that he can undress. He closes the door quietly behind him.
He’s guarded at the moment, unable to connect. It happens sometimes when he’s seen too much, done too much. It can take him a while to come back to you.
He doesn’t speak as he sinks into the bathwater, he hisses instead. There’s fresh bruises in his body, impact marks. You spent a long time at war before you met Athos, you know what it looks like when someone takes a beating.
He closes his eyes as you use a jug to rinse through his hair, the debris it slips into the water, staining with muddy plumes. It’s when you pick up the white soap to wash his hair, he stops you.
“The lavender.” He requests, his voice a little rough.
“Alright my love.” You murmur picking up the one you’ve made specifically for your own purposes. He can never express just how much the scent brings him comfort, it reminds him of nights wrapped up in your arms, his face buried in the curve of your throat.
His hands grip the edges of the tub as your hands thread through his hair, massaging his scalp. He tips his head back at the sensation, a low moan escaping his throat.
“There you are.” You whisper, your lips brushing over his forehead tenderly as his eyes flicker open meeting yours. “Welcome back my love.”
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