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live-logs-and-proper · 3 years

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Pieces falling into place.

Pairing: Malcolm Reed x OFC (event tough it's just the name. I'm not big on the y/n thing)

Warnings: fluff, hurt/comfort and some smut.

Words: 2.7K

“Are you coming to movie night tonight?” Hoshi asks while sitting down beside you.

“Nope, missed training the other day with the MACOs, Reed’s having me catch up after my shift.” You explain and she chuckles.

“Just training.” She teases.

“Stop that.” You say.

“What. You’ve been dancing around each other for god knows how long now.” You roll your eyes at her. “And I’m certainly not the only one that’s noticed.” She adds as you look at your food.

“Well, I’m not sure what y’all have noticed cause there’s been nothing to notice.” You say just as the mess hall door opens and Malcolm and Trip walk in. “I have work I need to finish. T’Pol is most likely waiting for me already.” You say before downing the last of your soda and picking your tray while standing.

“Enjoy your training.” She calls out, earning curious looks from some of your crewmates and if looks could kill yours would’ve been enough to end her right then and there.

The day goes by slowly, helping T’Pol analyse some data gathered after passing by a binary system. Your mind keeps going back to what Hoshi said during lunch, and you keep telling yourself that there’s been nothing to notice. Yeah, you and Reed had grown close and became friends since the mission had started. But that’s all you were. Friends.

“Ensign.” T’Pol’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you apologized. “Are you done with the preliminary analysis?” She asks.

“Yeah, I should have the report ready in a few minutes.” You reply.

“Good, when you’re done, the Captain would like to talk to you.” She informs.

“Of course.” You say with a smile that she doesn’t mirror. Not that you expected her to.

As you finish your report you go see Archer. When you get there, you’re greeted by Porthos as soon as the door opens, and you pick him up happily.

“Captain.” You greet letting the dog go and stand before the man, hands behind your back.

“At ease, ensign.” He says with a smile and you relax your stance. “How are you feeling?”

“Quite alright. May I ask why?”

“Lieutenant Reed told me you missed the last MACO-Starfleet joint training due to feeling unwell.” He explains.

Of course he did.

“I’m alright sir, I had just received some rather unhappy news of a personal nature that same evening that affected my capacity to either train or work for the remaining of the day.” You explain, not wanting to elaborate too much since you didn’t really want to discuss it. “But I’m alright now.” You reassure.

“Cassie…” This was not the Captain talking to you anymore, this was just plain worried Jonathan.

“I’m fine, John.” You reassure him, eyes meeting. “I’ll talk to you about it when I feel ready to do so.” You add and he just nods his head in understanding. “Are we finished, sir?” You ask.

“Dismissed.” He says gently and you nod at him before leaving the room.

You checked the time on the way to your quarters, you had half an hour to get ready for your training session with Reed. You changed into your gym clothes, grabbed a towel and a bottle of water, and headed to the cargo bay.

“You’re early.” Reed points out when you walk into the empty cargo bay.

“So are you.” You reply and he chuckles. “You ratted me out to Archer.” You add leaving your stuff on the floor by the wall.

“I just did what any superior would have done. I was worried about you.” He explains as you both start stretching.

“What’s it gonna be today?” You ask, changing the subject and referring to the training session.

“Self-defence.” He replies.

“You should know better than to set up a sparring class with me when I’m cross with you.” You say, half playful, half serious and he chuckles.

“Oh, so now you’re cross with me. For doing my job.” He says before lunging towards you.

You use his momentum to flip him over your shoulder, making him fall to the ground with a thud.

“Still thinking it was a good idea?” You ask as he stands back up.

You keep at it for some time, either of you ending up on the floor several times, each of you squaring a few good hits too, knocking the air out of the other.

“Now, don’t you go soft on me.” He says as you lay on the floor, trying to catch your breath, starting to feel rather frustrated.

“Just because you know my fighting style.” You san sitting and looking up at him. “I just don’t wanna bruise your ego.” You say standing.

“I’m a big boy, I think I could take it.” He urges you on and you take a deep breath as a switch inside you clicks and you let out all the anger and frustration you had been holding in for the past few days.

He manages to keep up with you for what seems like an eternity and it’s not until you’ve got him pinned to the floor looking up at you with concern and your vision starts to blur that you realize you’re crying.

You let go of him and stand in a hurry, turning your back at him and wiping the tears away.

“Cassie.” He says approaching you.

“I’m okay.” You say picking up your towel and water bottle. “Really.” You reassure, turning to look at him before leaving, letting him know you were done training.

When you get back to your quarters you take a shower, then put on some leggings, a white t-shirt and your favorite cardigan and decide to get ahead on some work for the next day.

It’s about an hour later that you door's chime goes off.

“Come in.” You say. “Hoshi, I’m really not-“ You start turning on your chair, but you stop mid-sentence when you see Reed standing before you.

“You’re not what?” He asks as you turn off your computer.

“Can’t I catch a break?” You say making him chuckle as he sits on your bed.

“What’s going on with you?” He asks, eyes searching yours.

“What do you mean?” You ask toying with the sleeve of your cardigan to avoid his gaze.

“I mean. What’s wrong?” He says. “What happened today in the cargo bay?” He adds as you finally look at him.

“I’ve just got a lot going through my head lately.” You say. “That’s all.”

“Bullshit.” He simply says and you shoot him a questioning look. “I know you well enough by now to know that’s just you trying not to talk about it.” He explains and you look away again.

You both fall silent for a few minutes as he just waits for you to tell him what’s really bothering you.

“I got a letter.” You finally say looking down at your hands, voice almost a whisper as a stray tear finds its way down your cheek, prompting you to wipe it away with the sleeve of your cardigan. “My mother died.” You add and feel your heart drop as you say the words out loud.

When you finally look up at him, there’s a tenderness in his eyes that makes your heart skip. You follow his movements as he stands and takes one of your hands from your lap, pulling you up towards him and into a hug.

Tears run freely down your cheeks as he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back as you silently shake against him. He holds you as your arms find their way arounds him, holding him close as he buries his face in your hair. And so he waits until you start calming down.

“Does the Captain know?” He asks softly and you shake your head no. “Does anyone know?” You shake your head no again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks, pulling apart slightly so he can look down at you.

“I don’t know. I-“ You let out a deep breath as he brushed some of the hair off your face, his touch gentle and caring as he wipes the tears away from your soaked cheeks. “I didn’t want it to be true. Reading that letter felt like a bad dream.” You explain as he cups your face, his eyes tender looking down at you.

“I’m sorry.” He says, resting his forehead on yours. “I’m so sorry.” He adds.

“Kiss me.” You whisper, one of your hands finding its way to the nape of his head. “Please.” You add, closing your eyes to keep more tears from finding their way down your face.

He complies, kissing you deep and slow and sweet. As if he were trying to kiss the hurt away, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. When you finally pull apart trying to catch your breath, he keeps his forehead on yours, thumb caressing your cheek as your fingers run through the hair at the nape of his head before pulling him in for another kiss. More urgent but which carried the same plea. “Help me not to think about it.”

He pushes the cardigan off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor as your hands find their way under his t-shirt, pushing it up and making him break apart so you can pull it over his head. He starts kissing down your jaw and neck as he does the same with your t-shirt. He walks you back until your calves hit the edge of your bed making you sit. He kisses you making you lean back on your elbows before kissing down your neck and the valley of your breasts, you gasp as his mouth finds your nipple, you hand finding its way to his hair as your head falls back as he sucks and licks and bites gently before moving on to then other and doing the same, then continuing his way down your body, his fingers toying with the waistband of your leggings, kissing your navel as he finally pulls both the leggings and your underwear down your legs.

He kisses up your leg and the inside of your thigh, purposely leaving a bright red mark there and making you bite back a moan as he gets closer to where you really need him.

“Malcolm.” You warn him as he continues teasing, making him chuckle against your skin just before his tongue runs through your folds making you swear.

It doesn’t take him long to make you come, a mix of his name and moans falling from your lips as you ride your first orgasm of the night. He rests his head on your hip, hands caressing your thighs as you catch your breath.

“You good?” He asks when your breathing starts to slow down again.

You position yourself properly on the bed as he stands to take off his shoes, sweats and boxers before crawling on top of you, knees gently nudging your legs apart.

“You’re beautiful.” He whispers, brushing some hair off your face before leaning in to kiss you.

You moan into his mouth as he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, teasing your entrance. He kisses your neck as he slowly slides into you, both of you groaning at the sensation when he finally bottoms out. He stays still for a few moments, allowing you to get used to him and you relish the sensation of having him inside you.

“Move.” You choke out. “Please, move.” You repeat, fingers running through the hair at the nape of his head.

He slowly pulls out, thrusting back in just as slowly, making you gasp at the sensation. He sets a steady pace as you moan underneath him, your nails leaving crescent marks on his back. You can feel yourself climbing closer to the edge as his mouth leaves bright red marks all over your neck and chest before searching for yours to kiss you, lips claiming yours and drowning your moans as your legs wrap around him pulling him even closer, deeper.

“Malcolm. Please.” You breathe out as he rests his forehead on your shoulder, the sounds falling from his lips making your head spin.

“I’ve got you.” He says.

Understanding what you mean, his thumb finds your clit, giving you that last push you need making you come, your walls clenching around him, his name falling from your lips repeatedly. He fucks you through your orgasm, thighs quivering around his hips as his own pace starts to become erratic. It doesn’t take long until he finally stills and comes too, white ropes of cum painting your walls as he fills you up, the warmth spreading through you.

You wince at the loss of him when he pulls out. He kisses your forehead before getting off the bed and walking into the bathroom, coming back moments later with a warm, wet cloth and gently cleaning you up, sweetly kissing your hip when you wince due to the overstimulation.

After discarding the cloth, he puts back on his boxers then comes back to bed, pulling the sheet from underneath you, laying beside you and pulling you towards him before covering you both with it. You lay your head on his chest, one leg between his as his arm comes around you.

“You alright?” He says softly, hand running through your hair and you hum in reply.

You both fall silent, and you just enjoy his closeness and the warmth he irradiates, breathing him in as he plays with your hair, eventually lulling you to sleep.

When you wake up the room is dark, the only light source is the stars shooting past your window, and the only sounds you can hear are the ship’s engine’s hum and Malcolm’s steady breathing as his chest rises and falls against your back. You turn to face him, and a soft smile pulls at your lips, the frown between his brows gone and replaced by a serene expression.

“Weren’t you taught that it’s rude to stare?” He says softly, a smile pulling at his lips as he opens his eyes to look at you.

“Been holding myself back for too long.” You reply as he dives in, claiming your lips into a sweet, slow kiss. “I think I owe Hoshi an apology.” You say when he breaks apart.

“Me too.” He whispers, chuckling and kissing your neck before getting off them bed and walking into the bathroom.

You stretch, a few bones making cracking sounds, the slight discomfort between your legs making you blush furiously. You watch him as he walks out of the bathroom shortly after, hair damp from the shower and checks the time on your computer.

“I should get going. Get ready for my shift.” He says as you get out of bed a well and pull on your discarded underwear before walking up to him and wrapping your arms around him, head resting on his back. “Have lunch with me today?” He asks, turning in your embrace and tilting your head up to look at him.

You just nod before standing on your tiptoes and giving him a peck on the lips.

You let him get dressed while going into the bathroom yourself and taking a quick shower. When you walk out, wrapped in your robe and drying your hair with a towel he’s sitting on your bed putting his shoes on.

You drop the towel on the bed as he stands, and you follow him to the door before he opens it.

“Thank you.” You say, leaning against your door frame as he looks down at you.

“What for?” He asks, toying with the end of the belt of your robe.

“Everything.” You say before pulling him in for a kiss that he welcomes gladly.

You smile against his lips then chuckle as he playfully starts pushing you back into the room.

“There will be enough time for that later. Now go get changed.” You say, stopping him by putting a hand on his chest.

“I knew it!” Trip’s excited yell makes you both look towards the hall as he had just turned the corner. “Finally.”

“Trip.” Reed calls after him as he just keeps walking to wherever it is he’s headed. “Trip!” He repeats and you bite back a laugh.

“Go, we both know how talkative he gets when he’s excited.” You say turning him towards the hall by the shoulders.

He stops after a few steps, turning and coming back to hurriedly give you one last peck on the lips, making you laugh before rushing after Trip.

Today was gonna be an interesting day, you thought while closing the door with a chuckle.

#star trek #star trek enterprise #star trek fanfic #star trek fanfiction #Malcolm reed #Malcolm reed x reader #Malcolm reed x ofc #Malcolm reed fanfiction #Malcolm reed fanfic

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the-hinky-panda · 23 days

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The Fall Series: Part II

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

It’s in the middle of the night when Porthos kisses you in the forge.

The day had been long. You had shown the four men around the forge, pointed out where you had found your grandfather, the blood that had seeped between the stones of the floor still there. You walked the perimeter of the property, showed them the rabbit trails, garden area, and small stream. You walked them into the village proper, introduced them to some of the men who were clients and the women who were war widows, hopeful to catch a distinguished retired Musketeer’s eye.

Their reaction to your presence was different than all previous ones. They were still standoffish, uncomfortable in their conversation, but it was softened with pity now. There was an acknowledgement that you had lost your only friend. You were given baskets with bread, fresh vegetables, and eggs. They were heartfelt tokens of grief, well intentioned to bring you a small amount of peace, and you accepted them with a humble heart. Perhaps you could stay here after all. Perhaps they could learn to accept you.

You put the vegetables to good use when you return to the house, making a stew with them with some salted beef. It’s the best way you can think of to feed four soldiers. It’s different cooking for more than just two people but they seemed appreciative of your efforts. They were good houseguests as well. They helped both with setting up for the evening meal and cleaning it up afterwards. They were courteous, and surprisingly good company. For the first time since the murder, you didn’t feel so alone. The house felt more alive now too, not empty. It was like being part of a family.

Athos and Aramis took your grandfather’s room for the evening, while D’Artagnan slept in the living room on the settee that has seen better days. Porthos offered to stand guard just in case the killer returned to finish the job by killing you. Despite all the protection you could wish for, you’re still restless, still unable to sleep. You climb out of your bed, tie your skirts around your waist and grab a wool shawl before heading outside towards the forge.

Porthos is stationed outside the barn, sitting on a bale of straw, staring into the darkness. You’re two steps out of the house when his eyes zero in on you. His degree of vigilance is impressive and you understand why he’s part of the team that Treville sent to investigate your grandfather’s death. You give him a small wave as you make your way to the forge and aren’t surprised when he stands up and meets you there at the entrance.

“Everything alright?”

You nod. “Just restless, couldn’t sleep.”

“I get that.”

You pick up a couple pieces of firewood and place them in the forge itself. You pull some kindling out of a basket and place it under the logs, before using a fire striker to start the fire. You’ve been in charge of starting the fire in the forge since you were a child, still playing with dolls. There’s some comfort in continuing the practice, even if the smithy isn’t going to show.

“My grandfather used to say that if your mind is restless, it’s best to get up and do something with your hands. Wear out your mind, wear out your hands, sleep will come.”

“Wise words.” Porthos leans against the beam at the front of the forge. It still gives him a view of the front of the property but allows him to carry on a conversation with you. “We will find out who’s behind this.”

“I know.” You pick up a steel rod, one you had crafted as a poker for your grandfather. “Captain Treville and my grandfather have been close friends for many years. If anyone can help sort out this terrible mess, it’s him. He obviously has high regard for you all.”

“So you know the Captain well?”

“You could say that.” You give him a small smile. “The Captain is my godfather.”

“Really?” Porthos gives a quiet chuckle. “Just when you think you can’t be surprised by someone anymore.”

You stoke the fire, adding another piece of wood. There’s still a few more orders of horseshoes and some gardening tools that need mending. You feel most at peace here, like your grandfather is still here and will suddenly appear, asking why you’re chatting instead of working. It loosens your tongue and drops your guard when speaking to Porthos.

“I used to pretend he was my father. Whenever the Captain would come out to visit with my grandfather, I would always pretend he was my actual father returning from the battlefield, ready to take me home finally.” You feel tears prick the back of your eyes. “Then he would leave, and I would create this new adventure in my mind. Some new mission the King is sending him on and home will have to wait until next time. Pretty silly, huh?”

You chance a glance over at Porthos to find him completely focused on you and your story. His eyes once again hold that understanding, that acceptance, of what you’ve experienced, he has too.

“I don’t think that’s silly at all.” It’s his turn to give an uneasy smile, the one that always precedes the exposure of a personal piece of information. “I used to make up all kinds of stories about who my father really was, why he wasn’t with my mother and me. He was an explorer, captured by the Spanish. I even thought that maybe he had been robbed on his way home, hit over the head, and forgot where we lived. And one day, he would eventually find us again.”

“Did you ever find out who he was? What happened?”

He shakes his head. “Nah. Not yet. My mother died when I was about five. Grew up in the Court of Miracles, taken in by anyone who needed an extra hand. Anyone who knew anything about my father wasn’t going to say anything.”

“There’s still time, Porthos. You may get that answer yet. And who knows? You may even get to meet him.”

“Perhaps.” He clears his throat, a signal of wanting to change the subject. “What about you? Did you ever find out who your father was?”

“No, not yet. I have bits and pieces of information, but nothing substantial.” You lay out the tools you’ll need to fix some of the gardening tools. It’s a quieter job than hammering out horseshoes. “My mother kept a journal and saved some letters. All I have is an initial and I’m not sure if it’s a first name or last name, but my mother addressed the letters to ‘A.’”

“That’s more information than I have.”

“But then I wonder,” you lean back against the table where your tools are. “Is it worth finding out? I have a good life. My grandfather loved me, poured his life into me…” You can’t keep talking, tears overwhelming your throat and eyes. You may have had a good life but that’s all gone now, dead and buried with your grandfather. You’re alone now, alone to fend for yourself in a world built for men.

“Hey.”

You feel a light touch on your shoulder and you see Porthos has moved from his position at the front of the forge. It doesn’t take much, just the slightest invitation of open arms and you bury your face against the collar of his shirt. He makes soothing noises as he holds you loosely, rubbing circles against your back. It’s the first genuine comfort someone has offered you since the murder.

“When my mother died,” he says softly, “I felt so alone, like I was the only person left alive in Paris. I was so scared, wondering how I was going to make it without her.”

“That’s understandable,” you say into the cotton of his shirt that’s soaking up your tears. “You were five, still a small child. I’m…much more than five.”

You hear him laugh, and feel it too. It’s a deep, booming sound that comes from his chest. “Much more than five, indeed.” He quiets again. “But the feelings are still the same when you lose a parent. You’ve lost that protection, that safety.”

“Yeah, I suppose you’re right. It feels like working around the forge without gloves or an apron. Or going into battle without a shield.”

“But listen to me,” he pulls away slightly, his hands coming up to hold your face between them so you’re looking directly into his eyes. “You’re not without protection. It’s just going to look different now. Different battle, different armor.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

He wipes away your tears with his thumbs and you give him a shaky smile, but you can tell he doesn’t want to let go just yet. And if you’re being honest with yourself, you don’t want him to either. You realize with a start that this is the first time a man has touched you in such an intimate way and you’re not sure if you want him to stop. Your fingers curl tighter into the soft material of his shirt and he takes that as a permission to lean forward and press his lips to yours.

It’s a slight brush at first, a test. But then you stretch up to your full height and give him no reason to doubt that you want this. Then it is like being devoured. His hands are in your hair and on your waist, strong but not overbearing. You keep hold of his shirt and match his movements. It’s exhilarating, intoxicating. You don’t want to let go, to stop.

“Elise!”

The two of you break apart, startled by Athos’ shout. At first you think it’s because he caught you and Porthos but you realize there’s another reason as he’s scanning the area for you. You smooth down your hair and straighten your shawl. Porthos is doing the same, tugging the wrinkles out of his shirt, but he gives you a small smile.

“I hate it when he interrupts.”

You laugh slightly. “So this happens often?”

A more serious look crosses his face. “Not that often, no.”

You take his hand, kissing the ridges of his knuckles. “That’s good to hear.”

Athos starts towards the barn. “Porthos!”

“Must be something serious,” Porthos says before stepping out of the forge. You follow a step behind. “Athos.”

The other Musketeer stops and turns on his heel when his eyes lock with yours. As he comes closer to you, he holds up a small sprig of flowers. “What is this?”

You look closer at it, wondering why he is so alarmed by some dried forget-me-nots.

#porthos x reader #porthos x you #porthos x ofc #porthos fic #porthos bbc musketeers #bbc musketeers #the musketeers

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the-hinky-panda · 15 days

Text

The Fall Series: Part III

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

Porthos watches the line of your shoulders, the straightness of your spine as you sit on your horse. It’s a quiet ride back to the garrison and he notices that there’s a slight bend to the normally straight and elegant lines of your posture. You were confused by the severe reaction to the dried forget-me-nots, the demands that you accompany them back to the garrison until the culprit had been caught. So far, no one’s given you a reasonable explanation for the return to Paris.

But you did it. You packed bags, locked up the only place you had called home, and mounted your horse with the resignation of a soldier going to war. They all expected tears, protests, weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, but you didn’t deliver in any of those reactions. It was impressive to say the least. And if that impressed Porthos, your arrival at the garrison was even more spectacular. You follow them all to Treville’s office but when Athos tells you it’s best for you to wait downstairs, you make your stand.

“I will not wait while evidence concerning my grandfather’s murder is being discussed.”

Athos shows Treville the dried flowers and the Captain nods solemnly. “This is not going to be a pleasant conversation and is going to take a lot of explanation.”

Your response is to close the office door and fold your hands in front of you. “Then I guess you better start explaining.”

The suspect is a female assassin, Milady DeWinter. She has a tangled past with Athos but that was all the information that was delivered in your presence. Porthos makes a note that you’re not interested in the details which is surprising. Most women, in his experience, loved gossip but not you. You just continue to be an enigma, one he wants to figure out eventually.

“So my understanding is we have the culprit,” you summarize, “but not the reason.”

“We believe Milady is an agent for the Cardinal,” Treville says. “Did Claude have any dealings with the Cardinal? The Red Guard? Anyone from the King’s court?”

You shake your head. “None that I knew about. When he left Paris, he cut all ties with the palace. He didn’t want that kind of attention out at the village. The only Musketeers that continued to visit were you and General DeFoe a couple times. The Red Guard wouldn’t have dared to step foot on our property.”

Both you and Treville duck your heads to hide a small smile. There was a story behind that statement and Porthos makes a mental note to ask you about it later on tonight. But the shared moment of levity only lasts for just that before seriousness returns to the group. You take your leather gloves off your hands and fiddle with them, a sign that you’re lost in thought and slightly nervous, Porthos is realizing.

“Captain,” you hesitate briefly before barrelling ahead with your question. “Did my grandfather ever tell you who my father was?”

Treville sighs and shakes his head. “No, he never told me. The only thing I knew about the matter was that he was someone Claude wanted your mother to stay far, far away from. You as well.”

“But he never gave any hints as to whom it could have been? A Musketeer? A Red Guard? A farmer? Anything?”

“He was hellbent on keeping it a secret and told no one as far as I know.” Treville leans forward on his desk. “What are you thinking?”

“If this woman is an agent for the Cardinal, then the directive would have come from the Cardinal himself. What could he have possibly wanted with my grandfather’s death if they had no interactions with each other?”

“You’re thinking the Cardinal knows who your father is?” Athos asks.

You shrug and D’Artagnan speaks up. “Or he is her father.”

Aramis tuts. “Oh come now, the poor girl’s been through enough. Let’s not put that thought out there.”

You’re still twisting the broken-in leather of your gloves. “I, uh, I have letters that my mother wrote before she died. I also have her journals. When she talks about the love of her life, she refers to him as ‘A.’”

It’s as if all the air has been sucked out of the room. You pick up on the change in the atmosphere but don’t understand why. Porthos realizes everyone else is too shellshocked by the possibility so he’s the one that connects the dots for you.

“The Cardinal’s first name is Armand.”

It takes you a moment to register the significance but when you do, your hands still. “Oh my god. I didn’t really think there would be any credibility to that hypothesis. But, if I am his…daughter, why kill my grandfather?”

Treville sits back in his chair. “To bring you to Paris. He would know that would be the only logical path for you to take. The village would freeze you out, forcing the forge to close. No marriage prospects. He would know from church records that I was listed as your godfather and would find a place for you in Paris.”

“Why now though?”

Athos sighs. “The poisoning at the Countessa’s trial.”

“So what,” Porthos asks, “he’s trying to make amends? Isn’t it a bit late for that?”

Aramis rubs the back of his neck. “Near death experiences tend to alter how you view certain…life choices. He could be trying to find some absolution before death arrives with certainty.”

“This is only conjecture,” you say. “How do we find any confirmation of this?”

Athos chuckles. “We have to present her at court. Watch his response to her appearance.”

“She needs a position or a title to be presented,” D’Artagnan says. “What’s going to be the reason?”

Treville smiles. “Whenever I appoint someone at the garrison, I need to present them at court for the King’s approval. It’s all for show, just an old piece of tradition. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve presented the new armorer’s apprentice.”

“Would be the first time the apprentice was a woman though,” Porthos counters.

You nod with a firm sense of resolve. “Either way, it’ll get me in there. He doesn’t have to accept the appointment.”

“Meanwhile,” Treville turns to Athos, “try to find out if Milady DeWinter knows anything about why Claude was the target.” He turns back to you. “Now, what can you make in three days to present as a gift to the King and Queen for your presentation?”

You smile with more ease than you’ve had these last two days. “I have a few ideas. I’ll be ready.”

#porthos x you #porthos x reader #porthos x ofc #porthos bbc musketeers #porthos #porthos du vallon #bbc musketeers

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the-hinky-panda · 27 days

Text

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.”

#porthos x reader #porthos x you #porthos x ofc #porthos #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #porthos bbc musketeers

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the-hinky-panda · 23 days

Text

The Fall Series (Porthos x Reader/OFC)

Title: The Falls Series

Pairing: Porthos x Reader (OFC)

Rating: Explicit

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

#porthos x you #porthos x reader #porthos x ofc #porthos fic #porthos bbc musketeers #bbc musketeers

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the-hinky-panda · 14 days

Text

The Fall Series: Part IV

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

“Stop fidgeting,” Treville scolds.

“I can’t help it,” you respond. “The boning in this corset is torturous. And my feet hurt. How do women wear these things everyday?”

Despite the stiff fabric, razor sharp corset boning, and pinching from the shoes, you had to admit, the look Porthos gave you this morning was very exciting. It was the first time you had ever allowed a man to help you in and out of a carriage. You liked Porthos, you liked being in his presence. The more you learn about him, his background, you see yourself in him. You both stand on the fringe of society for reasons outside of your control. But now, neither one of you need to stand alone. You stand together and you can’t imagine anything different now.

You glance over your shoulder to see him standing a couple steps behind you in the large, high ceilinged room in the Palace as you await the arrival of the King and Queen. He looks so handsome with the feathered hat and blue cape hanging over his shoulder. He gives you a brief smile and quick wink before you turn back and watch the closed doors to the room.

“Remember,” Treville reminds you, “don’t stare at the Cardinal or else he’ll become suspicious. I’ll be watching him; he’s used to that. Stay focused on the King and Queen.”

You don’t have a chance to respond before the doors open and the entire court pours into the room. You understand why Treville told you to focus on the King and Queen. It’s difficult to focus on anything in the swirl of fabric and jewels. It’s more wealth than you have ever seen in your entire life. Then there’s the Cardinal. A tall, imposing figure in black, standing out in great contrast to the lighter colored fabrics of the rest of the court. Treville taps your elbow and you drop into a curtsey.

“Who is this, Treville?” the King questions. “I thought you were going to present the new armorer's apprentice.”

“I am, Your Majesty.”

Once again, he taps your elbow and you straighten up. The King looks mildly amused at this diversion from tradition but the Queen looks very interested in this development. You give her a nervous smile which she returns with a minute nod.

“This is Mademoiselle Elise DuBois. Her grandfather was the Musketeer’s Head Armorer for many years. He has unfortunately been taken from us prematurely but has passed along his extensive knowledge and skill to his granddaughter.”

You had practiced your speech so many times last night but now your mouth runs dry with the eyes of the King and Queen fixed on you. The temptation to look to the left at the Cardinal is also a great distraction. But you must focus. You must get through this and allow Treville and the Musketeers to gather what information they can through observation. You take in a deep breath, as much as the corset allows you, and hold up the wooden box towards the dais.

“I bring a gift to his and her Majesties.”

The King motions for you to move closer and as you do, you open the box, presenting the items to them.

“A letter opener for His Majesty and a set of hair pins for Her Majesty.”

You had designed them yourself, using scrap metal from the garrison. The letter opener was designed to look like a miniature Musketeer’s sword, complete with elaborate handguard. You had a few small rubies that your grandfather had stashed for special creations and you added three into the handle of the King’s piece. The others went into the long, fine hair pins for the Queen.

The King stands and picks up the letter opener, turning it over in his hand. “This is quite clever. Look at this, Cardinal. Absolutely charming in its detail.”

You do chance a look at the Cardinal and are stunned to see your eyes staring back at you. His eyes are the same shape and color as your own. You forget how to breathe for a moment. His response is clipped and coldly polite.

“A lovely gift, your Majesty.”

“And look my dear,” the King reaches for the hair pins, “there are matching jewels in your pins.”

“Careful, your Majesty,” you speak up, “those are quite sharp.”

The hairpins were truly the most special of the two gifts. You had a set of your own, crafted by your grandfather. He knew the world was not kind to women, especially those who were unconventional. A Spanish Queen in the French court would certainly classify her as unconventional. The pins were actually daggers, a decorative weapon that would give her an upper hand in case her life were ever threatened. You wanted to explain that to her, the meaning behind the gift, but you hoped your warning would be enough. The look she gives you when she holds them in her hand tells you she understands perfectly what you have given her.

“Thank you for your thoughtful and lovely gift.”

You move back to Treville and fold your hands in front of you, forcing yourself to not look back over at the Cardinal.

“Well, Treville,” the King twirls his letter opener, “you’ve brought us a conundrum today. The skill and attention to detail is more than impressive but…a woman armorer? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“I agree, Your Majesty,” the Cardinal says. “A forge is no place for a woman.”

“With all due respect, Sire,” the Queen says, “she is being presented as an apprentice to the armorer. Surely there wouldn’t be much harm in allowing her this opportunity?”

The shocking realization that you may actually have a royal commission to be an armorer’s apprentice settles over you like a bucket of ice water. You hadn’t even thought about being awarded the position but now that it’s suddenly a possibility, it seems too good to be true. A job, a place to live…you wouldn’t be alone. You shift your eyes over to Treville, who is completely stone faced. What if he hadn’t expected you to gain the commission? What if he really didn’t want you in the garrison?

The King is very clearly waffling between granting or denying. “I don’t know, it seems like such a risk. What’s it going to say to other women who wish to join a trade?”

“Hopefully it will encourage them,” the Queen responds. “Think of the advantage France could have in their market if women were allowed to bring their talents.”

“Sire, please. A woman creating weapons?” The Cardinal responds. “It’s immoral.”

Treville scoffs. “I wasn’t aware of the scriptures forbidding women from taking part in trade work.”

“Name one woman in the Holy Book who was a tradesman,” the Cardinal challenges.

It’s Aramis that speaks up from behind you. “Lydia, your Majesty. Lydia was named in the New Testament as a leader of her household and a seller of purple.”

The King turns towards the Cardinal. “Well?”

“I,” he stammers slightly, “had forgotten about her, Sire.”

“Then I supposed that settles it,” the King says, returning to his seat on the dias. “The Musketeers will have their first woman armorer’s apprentice.”

#porthos x reader #porthos x you #porthos x ofc #porthos bbc musketeers #porthos du vallon #bbc the musketeers #porthos

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