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fandom-imagines-stories · 1 year ago

Text

Phantom

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 3631

Part One of Three

Summary: Aramis’s paramour is proclaimed dead by the man she was set to marry. Having escaped her murder attempt, the reader tries to reach Aramis before a worse fate can befall him at the hands of her betrayer.

Notes: I really wanted to write my own interpretation on what happens to Adele and what Aramis’s reaction would be. I didn’t use the Cardinal though because I wanted a character more expendable for revenge purposes. I also know that Pinon is much farther away, but for the sake of the story, I’m making it closer. Also was only meant to be one part, but we all know I can’t write short things. Sorry!

Warnings: The usual- violence, mentions of death/assault, Aramis steaminess (of course)

More Musketeer imagines: HERE

“She died screaming your name, musketeer scum!” Visage sneered. The horse trampled over fallen leaves, each step thundering in Aramis’s ears. “She pleaded for you to come to her! To save her.” The wretch aimed his pistol, but Aramis continued running after him. “You failed.”

He fired. The shot rang past the musketeer’s ear. He kept running but his speed was no match for Visage’s horse.

“Come back and fight me you coward!” Aramis screamed. “Visage!”

Athos broke through the trees, followed closely by the other two.

Visage fired again. Again, it failed to find its mark. Porthos called out to Aramis. He didn’t hear him.

“I’ll be back for you, filth! The embarrassment you’ve forced upon me will be nothing compared to the pain I have planned for your death!” Visage shouted. He took something from his bag. “Have this token as a promise.” A glint of gold fell to the forest floor and Visage disappeared into the morning mist.

“Aramis!” The three chased after him. D’Artagnan stopped to examine the item from Visage.

He ran until his lungs felt that they’d burst. Even after he couldn't see him anymore, he sprinted with fire in his blood and tears in his eyes. It couldn’t be true. He’d catch Visage and force him to confess the lie.

It couldn’t be true.

“Aramis, stop!” Athos called. He caught up to his breathless friend and grabbed him by the shoulder. “Stop. He’s gone.”

“We can’t allow him to escape,” Aramis gasped. His mouth tasted bitter. His lungs heaved for air.

“We won’t.”

Porthos joined the two. In the distance, D’Artagnan hurried after them, examining something in his palm intently.

“What the hell happened?” Porthos asked. “Was that who I thought that was?”

Realization struck Athos first as Aramis hit his knees. His shaking breaths turned to sobs he couldn’t bring himself to suppress.

“Where is she?” Athos froze in place, his words carrying his understanding panic. “Aramis, where is she?”

Aramis looked at the ground.

“What is this?” D’Artagnan held up a lilac-colored ribbon. Aramis reached a hand to take it from him. At the end of the ribbon was a metal locket, spattered with the gore of dried blood. Aramis opened the latch and a small note of his writing fell to the ground before him.

Paradis.

Heaven.

It was the name he’d given Y/N, whispered in intimate moments in the dark.

“He killed her,” Aramis said, words heavy with the guttural pain gnawing at every inch of his being. He glanced up at his companions with tearful eyes. “He killed Y/N.”

The charcoal swooped across the page, creating the line of the sheet draped over his stomach, concealing what lay underneath. You shaded the defined curves and lines of his chest, biting your lip in concentration.

“Are you nearly finished?” Aramis teased, eyes still twinkling in the way you’d drawn them on the paper in your hand. You peeked up over your sketchbook. His gaze grew lustrous and wanting. “I’m not sure I can be still much longer with you looking at me like that.”

You smirked. “I’m nearly there. Be patient.”

“Patience is a virtue I haven’t quite gotten the hang of.” He cocked a brow and lifted his foot to graze against the flesh of your thigh in an attempt to coax you back to him. Though his touch left a tingling spark in your nerves, you persevered in your resistance for a few more strokes of your charcoal.

“Just a few more details…” You mused. You finished the shadow on his arms, crossed comfortably beneath his head, and added a few more strands to his dark, unruly mane. “There. Finished.” You beamed proudly at your work and flicked your eyes up to your bedmate to compare the drawing’s likeness.

“Let me see,” Aramis said, holding out his hand for your book. You clutched it to your chest. He sat up to reach, but you jumped up, scurrying away from his grasp. His mouth fell open with an amused whine. “I’ve just laid here for an hour so you could draw. I think I’ve more than earned a preview.”

“Well, then you’ll have to come and get it.” You stepped back, your back brushed against your curtains.

“Very well.” Aramis tossed the blankets aside and stood before you.

Naked.

You erupted with laughter.

He marched across the room, prompting you to hurry away again, but he gave chase despite his lack of clothing. Your squealing giggles filled the room and his arms locked around you. He plucked the notebook from your hand and examined his portrait with a victorious smile.

“This is actually quite good,” he said.

“Madame de Visage doesn’t fund me for my looks,” you snorted, wriggling to try and escape, but his arm was firmly clamped around your waist.

He set the sketchbook aside and flipped you around. “Now, we have approximately an hour before your patroness returns, correct?”

You nodded, beaming.

“Then may I suggest…” He peppered kisses across your decolletage. “We finish what we started before your artistic endeavor?”

“Aramis-” You sighed breathily, cut off by his lips on yours. His hand slipped under your chamise while he leaned you back onto the bed, muttering what he often did when wrapped in your arms. The same phrase over and over as he hovered over you, continuing his nipping across your shoulder.

“Tu es mon paradis.”

Porthos lifted the water-soaked towel to dab at the cut across Aramis’s brow, but his hand was swatted away. The four men sat in silence, each with his eyes fixed on the table where Y/N’s necklace sat, ribbon frayed and metal tarnished with dried blood. A heaviness filled the room and sunk into their hearts.

“I thought she’d left me,” Aramis spoke quietly, lips pressed against his clenched fist. “When her servant told me she’d gone through with Visage’s proposal and moved with him to the country I did nothing.” His throat burned with a hatred directed inward. “I thought she betrayed me. So I. Did. Nothing.”

He slammed his fist on the table, making the necklace skid across the wooden surface. Aramis lifted his eyes to the others and all they saw was loathing. For Visage. For the world. But, most of all, for himself.

“He strapped her to a tree and beat her like a dog because she loved me,” he said. “And then he shot her through the heart while she begged for my help.” Each word choked him until he felt he couldn’t breathe. His chest heaved as it had in the forest, the guilt and despair overtaking his body like a disease. “I doomed her the moment I laid eyes on her.”

“This is because of that pig, Visage, not you,” Porthos said, fury boiling with every word his friend spoke. “We’ll find him and make him pay, Aramis, I promise you that.”

D’Artagnan nodded in agreement. Athos said nothing. He just examined his companion’s despondence with an understanding eye.

Aramis stood and left them, an air of emptiness in his wake.

“If I find Visage…” Porthos seethed.

“That’s what he wants,” Athos said, finally breaking his silence. “You heard what he said. He wants Aramis dead next.”

“Of course, he wants him dead,” D’Artagnan said. “The woman he sought to control fell in love with another man. And now that he’s killed her…” His words reflected the disheartened feeling deep in his chest. D’Artagnan knew Y/N well. She’d come around the garrison often and befriended each of the musketeers. She was sweet and bright and courageous. It pained him to know that such a light had gone from the world. It pained all of them.

Porthos clenched his fists. “We’ll be ready for him. And when he shows his face again, we’ll show him the same mercy he gave her.”

“We have to be smart about this. Visage has a small army of men to do his bidding. It’s how they were able to overtake Aramis once already,” Athos sighed. “If we hadn’t shown up, Aramis would have joined Y/N in the grave.”

Lord knows how much he wished he had and Athos knew it.

They sat for a moment, contemplating this. D’Artagnan looked toward Aramis’s quarters.

“Should one of us check on him?” He asked.

“No,” Athos said grimly. “No, I think he needs to be alone.”

From behind the closed door, the sounds of items thrown and glass shattering filled their already heavy hearts with woe. When the destruction ceased, there was a silence, and then a deep, desolate scream burdened the air.

Porthos moved toward the horrible sound, but Athos put a hand on his shoulder. He knew, better than either of them, that Aramis needed to feel.

Aramis had the biggest heart of all of them and he’d given it to Y/N completely. Athos worried that, even if they did kill Visage, it would destroy him.

The small room filled with barely conscious, painful groans. Jeanne called for her father to hurry.

You were waking up.

“Where…” You opened your eyes, finding them sore and still recovering from being so swollen. “Where am I?”

“We brought you to Pinon,” the girl hovering over you said. “My name is Jeanne, my father is Bertrand. This is our inn.” She brought a towel to your forehead. The cool drip of water down your jaw was a welcome sensation compared to every nerve in your body screaming at you as you started to remember what happened.

Visage.

Every blow, every cut, and every cruel word resurfaced in your memory. His threat- No. His promise sent a jolt of energy through your aching limbs.

“He’s going to kill him,” you gasped, sitting up. A sharp pain rattled in your ribs. The girl held you down. “I have to find him before he… he…”

“You’ve been in and out of consciousness for nearly a week,” she said. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

The terrible ache in your battered body prevented much resistance on your part and you laid back down. You blinked, taking in the room around you. Where were you? How did you get here? Who were these people? The echo of a gunshot pierced your brain.

How were you alive?

“I don’t know what kind of trouble you’re in,” Jeanne blew out a low breath, “but you definitely angered the wrong person. You’d be dead if it weren’t for that thing under your cloak.” She motioned to the table beside the bed. Your eyes grew wide.

Your sketchbook sat, the leather cover and pages curled around the scorched chasm in the center. Reaching a shaking hand, you opened it and, sure enough- though singed by the hole in the middle, the drawing you’d done of Aramis smirked back at you. Somehow, the pile of papers and sketches saved your life. For a long while, you just laid there, staring into the smudge-drawn eyes of the man you loved. The man you put in danger.

“I can’t stay here,” you sighed, letting your body adjust to every movement as you again tried to get out of the bed. Jeanne moved to stop you, but you held up a hand. “The man who did this to me isn’t finished.” She pursed her lips and moved to the other end of the room where a pile of your clothes and pair of boots sat. You stretched, catching a glimpse of your reflection in the bowl of water beside your sketchbook.

You gasped.

Your cheek was swollen and turned an awful purplish color. A large cut stretched from your temple to the inside of your brow, just missing your eye. Your lip was marked with a bloodied scab. Worst of all were your hands. You hadn’t looked at them until now, but the flesh of your knuckles was badly torn apart and your fingers trembled terribly. You wondered if you’d ever be able to draw again. It seemed such a stupid thing to fret over now, but it brought tears to your eyes.

“W-where did you say we are?” You asked through the shock.

“Pinon.”

You turned back to Jeanne, the name striking something in your mind. “I know a man who speaks of this place. His name is Athos.”

Jeanne stiffened.

“Do you know him?”

“He was the Comte de la Fére,” she spat. “He doesn’t do anything for us now.”

“Do you think you can send word to him?”

“We’ve been trying for ages, but it just won’t work.” Her anger softened with sadness that came from desperation. “He just ignores any letter we send as far as I know.”

“Trust me.” You tore a sheet of charred paper from your scrapbook. Your hands shook as you tried to hold the charcoal steady enough to write. “He won’t ignore this one.”

Perhaps he would spend the rest of his days in that blinding numbness that consumed everything. Perhaps he would drink away any feeling and pretend everything was fine, as Athos had for years. Perhaps he would die by Visage’s hand and find an end to this misery.

But not yet. Not now.

Now, he had his rage.

Aramis sat at the base of the steps, sharpening yet another blade. The sun had not yet risen over the city, but he could feel the approaching daylight signal his need to hurry before the others awoke. Three more, two short swords and one rapier, lay out before him, glistening and prepared for battle. He could see your face in it, like a phantom reflection in the blade.

When that was finished, he moved onto his musket.

“You’ll have to teach me how to handle it one day,” you’d said once.

He remembered chuckling and shaking his head, taking your sweet, soft hands in his. His fingers had traced splotches of paint and charcoal under your nails.

He’d smiled. “Your hands are made for artistry. Not violence.”

It felt as though your hands were upon him now, your touch haunting his every motion. He readied his weapons and gathered them in front of him. It was certainly enough for a one-man army.

He knew the others wouldn’t hear of it. They’d insist on coming with him and taking on Visage’s men together. But Aramis wouldn’t allow them. This was his fight and he intended on going alone.

Of course, the other three had already figured this out and had been plotting for the past hour.

“Visage can’t have gotten far from the city if he’s left at all. Luring Aramis into the forest was merely a ploy to get him alone,” Athos whispered.

“A ploy he’s about to fall for all over again,” Porthos huffed. His fists clenched at his sides. If it’d been up to him, they would have started the hunt hours ago. But Athos said they needed a plan, especially if they were going to convince Aramis not to lose his head.

Athos put a hand on his shoulder. “Not if we can help it.”

“He’s moving,” D’Artagnan said.

Aramis gathered his weapons, hooking his pistols onto his belt and strapping his musket to his back. One rapier hung from his hip while he gripped the other in hand, ready to fight at a moment's notice. He would not be surprised again.

The three stood from their place in the shadow, forming a line before the entrance and blocking Aramis’s exit. He halted, grip on his weapon tightened, along with his jaw, setting his face in a deep frown.

“You didn’t think we’d actually sit by and let you get yourself killed, did you?” Porthos asked.

“Move aside,” he growled. He kept his eyes over their heads, staring down the enemy he knew lay beyond the buildings around them.

“We’re going with you.” D’Artagnan stepped toward him.

Aramis’s sword was at his chest in an instant.

“Get out of my way!”

Two more swords crossed his, forcing the blade away from the youngest member of their group. Aramis’s chin trembled.

“I have to do this,” he whispered.

“But you don’t have to do it alone.” Porthos lowered the sword and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Let us come with you. Visage has a small army, you’ll never reach him.”

“I cannot ask you to join my fight.”

D’Artagnan shook his head, again stepping forward. “Y/N was a friend to all of us. It is our fight as well. I’ll gladly give my sword in the cause to avenge her gentle and kind spirit.”

Aramis still opened his mouth to argue. Athos silenced him with a wave.

“Think about it, Aramis,” he urged sternly. “What do you want? A fruitless death? Or justice?” He looked at him with such intense feeling, that Aramis couldn’t ignore it. “What would Y/N want?”

She would want to live. Aramis wanted to say, but couldn’t find the words on his tongue. He could only nod and let the fire in his chest cool with thoughts of her. Athos was right, of course. The only thing that mattered was making Visage pay.

Porthos gave him a reassuring smile with a determination that matched his own. “Then let’s go find this bastard, eh?”

Aramis allowed himself to be led by the three to saddle their horses. As Porthos and D’Artagnan kept an eye on him, Athos was drawn away by a young man waving him down with a letter in hand.

“A letter for you, monsieur. From Pinon.”

A shot like ice rushed up his spine. He crossed his arms in dismissal. “You may dispose of it. There’s nothing there that concerns me.”

“I’m told it’s urgent.” He held the parchment toward him.

Athos started to deny him again, this time with a tinge of annoyance, but the writing on the front stopped him. In soft, swooping letters read his name- Athos of the King’s Musketeers. He took the letter from the young man, perplexed. Of the letters he received from the home he wished to forget, he’d only ever been addressed by anyone there as the Comte de la Fére- something he’d never call himself again. Perhaps they’d finally accepted his decision.

He could still throw it out. What good could come of it? Anything from Pinon could only bring him heartache. And yet, the letter weighed heavily in his hand.

“Thank you,” he said, paying the man for his efforts.

With his back still to his companions, he tore open the envelope, finding two papers inside. The first, a small note, and the second a sketch, charred in the middle from what appeared to be a gunshot.

I’m sorry to contact you in such a mysterious manner, but my circumstances have given me little choice. I’m sure Visage has revealed the news to you and my dear Aramis that I am dead. I write this letter to tell you he has failed. By the grace of God, I survived Visage’s attack and am now recovering in your former home of Pinon. I provide this drawing I once did of the four of you training on a sunny day several weeks ago. You told me it seemed the swords moved right off of the page. I hope this is enough to convince you that this is no trick.

I write to you because I know you will grant me this request- do not tell Aramis. Not yet. I fear that Visage will find him too easily if I were to reveal myself to him. I beg of you to ride to Pinon to help me save him before Visage can enact the final part of his terrible, jealous plot. Urge Aramis to stay away from him, to stay safe. I cannot bear the thought of any harm coming to him. Though I know prolonging my return can only cause him more grief, it is for his own protection.

Please, Athos, I need you now more than ever. If this letter has been intercepted by any but you, I fear my hope will be lost.

Y/F/N Y/L/N

Athos’s eyes darted between the note and the drawing. Sure enough, it was the very image Y/N had drawn during a particularly laid-back day in the early days of summer.

But it couldn’t be. Visage was a violent, unforgiving man. He would not have just let the woman who fooled him escape. And the necklace D’Artagnan had found was filthy with Y/N’s blood.

The writing of the letter could be hers. He hadn’t seen enough of her handwriting to be sure. And the drawing… who else would know what he’d said to her that day?

“Athos!” Porthos called. “Aren’t you coming?”

The somber musketeer stuffed the letter and the drawing into the top of his boot and turned back to his friends. As he rejoined them, he could feel Aramis’s suspicious eyes before he even spoke.

“Something has come up,” Athos said. “I’m afraid I’ll have to join you later. When you find Visage, do not attack. Wait and send for me.”

“What could be more important than this?” Aramis spat. His hands tightened his grip on the reins and his horse whinnied.

“I assure you, I would not leave if it wasn’t absolutely essential.” He mounted his own horse, feeling the burning stares of all three of them as he moved. While he wished to tell them, to give Aramis even the slightest bit of hope, he couldn’t in good conscience until he confirmed it was true. “You will understand later.”

He rode off before they could ask anything else.

D’Artagnan watched until he could no longer see him. “What could that be about?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Aramis said. He urged his horse forward. “Come on.”

The three departed shortly after Athos, driven by vengeance, while their separated friend almost dared to hope.

#aramis x reader #aramis bbc #the musketeers imagines #the musketeers bbc #santiago cabrera #athos #d'artagnan #porthos #all for one and one for all

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backtothefanfiction · 1 month ago

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Not Your Average Damsel In Distress | Aramis Musketeers Imagine

Summary- After being kidnapped, your rescuers take too long to come to your aid, so you start to rescue yourself.

Warnings: kidnapping, mild violence, blood, a little list

A/N: Currently trying to have a clear out of my drafts. This has been sat for a while now, might be a few mistakes as this was a late night write but I really can’t be bothered to edit and read through yet again. This might end up with a part 2 as I know there’s some Aramis smut sitting in me waiting to come out and know how I want to continue this, but for now, this can act as a stand alone. Enjoy!

Your limbs were starting to ache. You didn’t know how long you had been sat here waiting; one hour- two- all you knew was the wooden chair they had placed you on was a little too small. The back dug into the underside of your shoulders blades, which were sticking out in the most awkward way, due to the fact your arms were tied around your back. The rope that bind them chafed; and you didn’t even want to get started on the rag they had gagged you with, or the stinking potato sack they had shoved over your head.

You had hoped by now that at the very least your kidnappers would have come to threaten you by now, but alas, you remained locked in this room alone waiting… and waiting…. and waiting.

You had been waiting so long now you were sure one of the boys would have noticed you were missing and began the hunt for you; but as the light began to shift- and things grew darker and darker within your potato sack- you realised you were probably going to have to get yourself out of this one on your own.

The faint sound of heavy footsteps and jangling keys making their way down the hallway gave you hope, and you sat up straighter in an attempt to compose yourself as the door was unlocked and opened, the heavy wooden door dragging loudly across the floorboards. A man cleared his throat and you listened the to the heavy fall of his footsteps and the creek of the floorboards under foot as he trod closer and closer to you.

There was a sudden flood of candlelight as the bag was ripped off of your head, a handful of hairs being pulled out with the motion. You kept your features stern, pushing away the pain, as your eyes adjusted to the light and you began to make out the figure before you. He wasn’t a big hulking man as his gate would suggest, but a man of average height, with a soft belly and thinning hair. However, despite his appearance, his rough unshaven stubble and the sallow bags under his eyes, spoke of the company he was a part of.

“Here- eat this.” He said, thrusting a tray of food in front of your face. It wasn’t much; a stale end of bread, a couple of cuts of moulding cheese and a piece of fruit- but that didn’t matter, because he had brought a small glass bottle containing something to drink into the room.

“H-w, boo, ooo, hepsep, eeh, ooo, eep, iv, iss, iii, eye, ouf.” You mumbled with the gag still in your mouth.

“Sorry, what was that love?” He gruff voice said, as he shifted the tray to balance in one hand, whilst he pulled the gag from your mouth with the other.

“Uhh thank you.” She sighed, as you tried to work the ache out of your jaw, from where it had been clenching around the gag for the better part of the afternoon. “I said,” you continued, still trying to shake off the sensation of the gag, “how do you expect me to eat with this in my mouth, however now that’s taken care of we have a whole other issue to deal with.” You paused, your eyes moving to indicate your hands tied behind your back.

“Ahhh.” He said, realising his second mistake. “Here.” He said, lifting the bit of bread to your mouth and popping it in. Not what you meant, but a perfect opportunity nonetheless. You fought to bite down on the stale bread, ripping a piece of it off, your stomach rumbling as you did so- but it wouldn’t get the chance to savour the food- because just as the man leaned back over you to take the other section of bread away from your mouth so you could easily chew, you leaned forward and head butted the man with all your might. Caught off guard, the man fell to the ground, out cold, the tray in his hand clattering to the floor- the glass bottle smashing.

Knowing you wouldn’t have long- someone would have definitely heard that and would come running- you quickly tipped over your chair and began shuffling around on the floor, trying to get a one of the broke pieces of glass. You could feel it digging into your skin, your fingers becoming slick with blood as you sawed at the rope. You bit your lip to fight off the need to cry from the pain, but the flood of relief that swelled in your chest as the rope gave way, took all of that worry away.

The moment you were free, you pushed yourself to your feet and ran for the door. As you wrenched it open, you became acutely aware of the bloody finger prints you left on the door and made a mental note to avoid touching anything else if you could help it, to avoid leaving a trail that would lead your captors straight back to you before you’d even had a chance to run.

But although you could hear a commotion downstairs, you were surprised to find no one on your tail. That was the other thing you quickly realised, you were on the third floor of a large desolate building. It was too dark outside to see where bouts you were, but given the lack of light, you surmised you had to be on the outskirts of the city at least.

The next problem became how you were going to get back down stairs and out the building without being noticed, especially when it sounded like there were a sizeable amount of men standing guard downstairs. You said standing guard lightly however, because it definitely sounded like they were fighting. But who? Each other? Or had your boys finally come to rescue you.

Sudden fear once again rocked you to your core the heavy set of footsteps and cries of “you heard what he said- get the girl” could be heard making their way up stairs.

You quickly began to back track down the hall, desperate to find a place to hide. You wanted to check doors but feared leaving bloody marks behind- however you realised, if you touched as many doors as possible before you ducked into one, maybe it would confuse them for a bit before- A pair of hands grabbed you. You were about to scream in protest when one of the hands clamped firmly over your mouth as the pulled you back into the shadows with the other. You felt a body press firmly against your own, crowding you back into the dark corner. When you looked to the face of your assailant, you were relived when your eyes met the warmth of Aramis’s.

Your chest heaved a sigh of relief, though your eyes still looked wildly at his. He silent raised a finger to his lips, begging you to remain quiet, however with the handsome musketeers body pressed firmly against your own and his hand still pressed to your lips, you couldn’t deny the sudden need and want that flooded your body under his heroic gaze. You found your thighs silently squeezing together to relieve the ache between your leg as you fought against the wanton sigh that wanted to escape your chest.

“Shit! She’s gone!” Cried out one of the men as they ran into the room you had not long left.

“What did you do?!” One of them shouted at the man she had left on the floor. “You had one job and you couldn’t even do that.”

“She can’t have gotten far.” The first man said again.

Aramis grew tense as the two of you listened from the shadows down the other end of the hallway.

“She’s injured!” Cried the second man. There was a pause and you knew they were looking at the smeared blood on the door. “Look out for blood.”

“There’s only one way out. She would have had to have gone down the stairs.” Cried the man’s voice she recognised as the man shed briefly knocked unconscious.

“We would have noticed her when we were coming up.” Said one of the other men.

“Not if she was hiding on the second floor.” Said the gravely voice of the man who had tried to feed you.

As if by a miracle, a door on the floor below slammed and they all went running down the steps after it. Both Aramis and yourself let out a sigh of relief. Slowly he lowered his hand from your mouth.

“What time do you call this?” You hissed at him.

“I’d say this was a timely rescue milady-“ he began chivalrous but was cut off by the glare you fixed him with. “We got hung up. You know, we do actually have a job taking care of the King when we are not saving your ass from whatever trouble you’re getting yourself in-“ his word was cut off by a slap to his face. He grunted slightly and although the light was dim, you could see the way his pupils flared, felt how his body twitched with arousal- before he schooled his features again.

As he rubbed at his cheek and pulled his hand away, he noticed the blood that came away on his fingers. That’s when he remembered what the men had said. “You’re injured.” He said, reaching for your hand with concern.

You attempted to snatch your hand back but he didn’t let go. “How?” He said, as he reached to cut a bit of fabric from the bottom of his shirt, to wrap around your bloodied fingers.

“What can I say. You were late, I had to get creative.” He fixed you with a look, that said ‘you better elaborate’. “Is now really the time?” You asked, but snidely squeezed your fingers. “Ow, okay- by the way, I was doing perfectly fine rescuing myself, thank you very much.” Your fingers smarted as he tied off the bandage. He dropped your hand and placed his hands on his hips, as he waited to hear the details of your hastily thought out plan.

“I think it worked pretty well.” You said with pride as you finished recounting how you had knocked your assailant unconscious and used the glass from the broken bottle to cut yourself free.

“You’re forgetting the part where you cut your hand open ready to leave them a blood trail straight back to you.” Aramis retorted as a new wave of shouts a cries echoed up from the floor below.

“Yeah, well I was working on that.” You retorted as he checked the coast was clear on your floor, before he began to lead you both out of the shadows and towards the stairs.

“And what was your great plan there?” He asked, slightly exasperated, but nevertheless intrigued.

“I was going to touch everything as much as possible to confuse them about my whereabouts, then I was going to hide and either wait for the opportune moment to sneak out or for the cavalry to arrive- which by the way, I’m assuming that’s Porthos on the floor below.” You surmised as you both paused at the top of the stairs to listen to a resounding clatter and grunt as Porthos no doubt launched a heavy piece of furniture towards his assailant.

There was another clatter before he came into view at the bottom of the stairs. “Oh good, you’ve got her.” He panted.

Aramis folded his arms and relaxed back into the wall. “Yeah, but it turns out she doesn’t need us.” He sighed playfully. “Apparently she was doing just fine on her own.”

Porthos frowned as he scanned you over. “Then why is her hand bleeding?” He mused as another set of feet thundered up the stairs to find them.

“Athos says it’s time to go.” D’Artagnan told panted as he came to a stop beside Porthos. The young man presence and statement forced Aramis to straighten and push himself off the wall as he remembered the very near danger of their surroundings.

“Come on let’s go.” Porthos encouraged and Aramis reached back for your fingers and ushered you the rest of the way down the first set of stairs, before moving a hand to your lower back to encourage you to go down the next set of steps before him.

You all hesitated at the base of the second set of stairs, hiding yourself behind Porthos’s large back as you waited for D’Artagnan to give you the all clear to move. You felt Aramis’s fingers reach for yours in the dark, both to reassure you everything would be okay and to ensure you’d both make a swift exit out the door to safety when the moment came.

When it did, you ran. And you ran. You barely noticed the unconscious bodies lying on the floor, or the last couple of men who still grappled sword to sword with Athos over by the fire, you just kept going- out the door and across the courtyard to the awaiting horses.

“Milady.” D’Artagnan said courteously as he helped you climb up onto Aramis’s horse as the man in question turned to fire his pistol at a couple of rouge assailants. Both men went down instantly, their bodies falling into crumpled heaps on the ground before the gun shots had finished echoing off the surrounding buildings.

The horse beneath stepped forward and back as it bristled against the noise but D’Artagnan held the reins steady until he could hand them off to his brother in arms.

“Don’t wait for us.” The younger man commanded, slapping the horse on its rump. Aramis nodded before snapping the reins with a cry and the two of you galloped off into the night, back towards the city.

#musketeers imagine #aramis #aramis x reader #aramis musketeers #aramis bbc #aramis imagine #bbc the musketeers #Athos #Porthos #dartagnan #the musketeers imagine

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 5 months ago

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Pot Plant Sister

A/N: Hello my sweetest people. I have finally gotten myself to writing, hallelujah! This fanfiction is especially dedicated to the most wonderful @cas-kingdom. I really wanted to write for the BBC Musketeers again. Aramis’ sister is 12 years old and her favourite thing in the world is not doing what her brother tells her to do.

You were once again doing what your brother had told you not to do.

Apparently window sills were not meant for people to perch on. They were meant for pots of flowers or for glasses or for drinks you preferred to consume cold. But not for curious musketeer sisters who wanted to hear what Captain Treville was saying to his soldiers.

Whether you brother was worrying you might fall down – Aramis, please, you scoffed in your mind – or whether he simply did not want you to eavesdrop on things he feared you might imitate – it was one time and shooting at things with your hat covering my eyes wasn’t actually the worst I could have imitated, your mind rambled on – you did not know for certain why he didn’t want you to perch on the sill.

Porthos had once kindly suggested they buy you a pot since you were apparently thriving for a career as a pot plant. “Maybe you’ll worry less when we put her in one, cover her up to the neck with earth and check once in a while whether she needs some water.”

You’d sent Porthos a glare, but his big grin never failed to infect you and so you had taken to hit him against the arm to get your point across nevertheless. “Be careful, I might grow thorns!”

“More than you already have?” Athos had asked with a sassy head tilt and a smirk that barely showed on his lips but lit up his blue eyes.

Aramis had grabbed you and pulled you on his lap to prevent you from jumping on Athos for that comment. He’d wrapped his arms tightly around you and had put his head on yours, gently rocking you from left to right. “Can’t you just promise me that you won’t climb on that sill again, (Y/N)?”

You’d worn a disgruntled expression that had made Athos and Porthos laugh. Obviously you hadn’t promised anything that day. And for a good reason, since you were not someone to break your promises… and since you were on the sill again, there was nothing you had to be ashamed of.

You could see your brother and his friends in the first row of all the present musketeers. They looked so different from when they were around you. Less friendly, less relaxed, less careless. They were wearing their professional soldier faces – barren of sympathy and covered by an icy mask. Cooly they listened to the orders of the day, multiple hat feathers ruffling in the wind. Aramis, Athos and Porthos were given a mission to go to the fruit market and search for a suspect. Your fingers were getting cold from holding on the wall next to the window and your nose started running from the cold breeze that was whistling around you. But none of that truly mattered to you – you were raised at a musketeer corps, you were tougher than most girls your age.

When Treville finished his speech, he left to go up the stairs to his bureau opposite of your position – you were lucky he didn’t notice you. When the door closed behind him, you looked back down to the murmuring musketeers who went to prepare their horses. Your brother was twirling his hat in his hand and was smirking at something Athos had said to him. Porthos was getting out one of his muskets, checking if it was loaded. A longing demanded its place in your hurting chest – you really wanted to go with them.

You didn’t want to practice your Latin – Aramis had left some work for you on the desk as he usually did; when he got home for his missions, he put on his glasses – yes, he wore glasses for reading, don’t tell anyone – and verified your work. It was how you had become quite fluent in English and German. But your Greek and Latin still needed pretty much work.

It wasn’t how you wanted to spend your days though. You longed to get out there. You longed to get in the saddle in front of your brother, feel his strong arms hold the reigns around you and go with him on his missions. You wanted to make adventures, meet new people, fight, win glory and fortune and most of all, share the experiences of the three people you loved most in this world. You knew you were young – and a girl – and that there was little chance they would take you with them, even if you were an adult. But reason could not take over the passion that was rising in your chest.

When Athos, Porthos and Aramis turned towards the stables, you couldn’t help yourself; you put your fingers against your lips and whistled as loud as you could.

All three of them turned around in an instant, muskets holstered up on their shoulders.

Gif by: https://www.tumblr.com/useyourtelescope (I couldn't resist, it fits my story so well :,))

You were fully aware of the fact that you were getting their attention while perched where you were not supposed to perch – but instead of looking sorry or feeling in the least ashamed, you just ran your hand over your nose and called to them: “Can I come with?”

Aramis’ shoulders sagged – so hard that you could see it from the other side of the garrison – and he bowed his head, shaking it while a cloud of his breath appeared in front of his face – a sigh the cold presented to the world like an exclamation mark.

Athos was blinking up at you, his tired eyes narrowed against the brightness of daylight that fell into the courtyard. His features were soft and you were sure that he was quite fond of the way you never did what anybody told you. Porthos simply broke out laughing when he saw you.

“Aramis, your plant is speaking again,” he chuckled, shaking your brother’s shoulder.

Aramis rarely got mad at you, the really, really, super angry kind of mad. And this moment was no exception. He shook his head with yet another sigh, but his lips were already forming a little smile. He knew, deep down in his heart, that you were not the type to conform to norms and that you would never change in that regard. And he was so proud of it, of you, of the way you were capable to hold a musket like he did and the way you could ride a horse while facing its back.

You were a wild child; and more importantly you were his wild child.

Still. There were boundaries. He was your brother, but he had responsibilities that went far beyond the jobs of an older brother.

“What do you think?” Aramis simply fired back at you, the amusement audible in his voice. He squinted his eyes at you and you squinted right back at him.

“I think … I would be a real support for you guys!”

Athos tilted his head with an honest to God chuckle, before looking at your brother expectantly. He always enjoyed these little exchanges between the two of you. It amused him to no end, when Aramis who was cooler than winter in combat, almost lost the entirety of his nerves in any dispute with you, his younger sister.

Athos was a calm and reassuring presence in your life. While Porthos was playful and never got tired of chasing you through the stables, Athos was taking his time to talk to you often, about all different kinds of things. He took your hand when you were close to getting lost in crowds. He only had to send you one look to make you stop when you were being stubborn. And he always encouraged you to get on Aramis’ nerves, simply by not intervening.

It was a recurring situation Aramis found himself in: all three of you against him. He knew the other two were mostly doing it, because it made you laugh – like some babies started giggling when someone got hit over the head. But he sometimes did wonder, if they were not enjoying themselves a bit too much at his expense.

“You know what would be very supportive of you?” Aramis asked, his brows raised high.

“What?”

“Getting down from that silly window sill.”

“It’s not silly! It’s made of wood which in Latin means … ”

“(Y/N)!”

Porthos crossed his arms in front of his wide chest, his mouth opened in a laugh. “I’m sure, we could actually use her to prick someone with her thorns. Especially if we need to part the crowd on the market!”

“You’re not helping!” Aramis groaned, running one hand down his face.

Athos smirked, looking at him with amusement. “He’s not wrong though.”

Aramis looked at him with bewilderment. “I am not taking her with us!”

“We could throw her after people who try to escape!” Porthos added, imitating the movement of someone throwing a ball. “She will cling to them like a cat!”

“No throwing!” You felt compelled to exclaim, making Porthos laugh some more.

Aramis sighed, looking up at you and speaking in a softer tone. “(Y/N), I can’t, okay? I’m scared I’d lose you in the crowd if we actually had to seize someone out there. What if I lose sight of you? What if bullets are fired and you are in the line of-“

“Ughh, alright!” You gave in, putting your chin on your knees, a pout pulling your lips down. “I get it. I’ll do my stupid Latin homework…”

“It’s not stupid,” Aramis responded, imitating your remark from earlier by altering his voice, “it’s made from paper which in Latin means-“

“Oh, stop it, you!” You barked at him, a laugh mixing into your voice.

He grinned up at you. “I promise I’ll take you to the city, tomorrow, okay? But now, please come down from there, will you?”

“From my silly window sill?”

“(Y/N)…”

“Alright, alright! But someone will have to catch me!”

Three pairs of eyebrows shot up.

“No, (Y/N), don’t even think about jumping!” Aramis said in a much sterner voice than before.

“Come on, it’s not that high!” You argued, your pout intensifying. “I have to say good-bye to you guys!”

“Well, climb back inside the room and use the bloody stairs!”

“That’s boring!! I’m a musketeer’s sister! I jump if I want to jump!!”

“Dear Lord, whatever did I do to-“

“On three, okay?” You yelled with an angelic smile on your lips.

“NO, no no no no no no!!” Aramis shouted up at you, raising one hand to underline his words. “You will NOT!!”

“’Mis, I know that you will catch me.” You said in a tone so confident, it made Aramis move his head back in surprise.

Athos and Porthos wore slightly concerned expressions on their faces, but they did not seem to believe it useful to argue with you on this. And you were sure that they as well knew, Aramis would never fail to catch you.

“Are you ready?” You asked with an excited light in your eyes.

Aramis shook his head at you and sighed for the thrillionth time that day. “Are you sure you want to jump straight into my arms right now, in this very moment, where you have already tested my patience for quite a while?”

You closed your mouth and narrowed your eyes. “What are you saying?”

“Are you sure you can take the consequences of your actions?” The expression on your brother’s face lightened up again; there was something smug in his eyes now and you were pretty sure you knew what was in store for you, were you to land in his arms.

You hesitated long enough for Athos to start grinning and for Porthos to start laughing.

“I wouldn’t underestimate the thorns of your brother.” Athos said meaningfully, a knowing expression in his eyes.

“I’m not scared,” you reminded them vehemently, preparing for a jump, despite the revenge that your brother most certainly had in stock for you.

“Sometimes, it’s wise to be afraid,” Aramis growled, cracking his fingers. “But by all means, do what you think best, I’m ready.”

“You better be!” You called, your stubbornness getting the better of you. “On three!”

“Alright!” Aramis smiled.

“One,” you started, your hands searching for a good spot on the walls to hold on to.

“Two,” Aramis continued, close enough to break your fall.

“… Three!” You screamed as your feet left the wooden sill. The fall was shorter than you’d expected, but the impact upon hitting your brother’s arms much harder than you’d hoped for. He groaned from the force and stumbled backwards, while you were squealing in his ears, from excitement, from adrenaline, from anticipation and from the smallest amount of fear.

He chuckled as you tried to push yourself out of his arms, tightened his grip around your middle and threw you over his shoulder. “Now where do you think you’re going so quickly?”

“Aramis, let me down!!”

“I’ll never let you down!” He answered, using the double meaning of the word to keep you pinned to his shoulder. “We have to say good-bye first!”

You threw punches against his back, but recoiled within seconds, when fingers started digging into the ticklish parts of your sides. “NOO!” You screeched, your elbows pushing down to cover up the spots your brother’s hands were already covering. “NO TICKLING!!”

“No tickling?” Aramis gasped, as if it shook him deep within his soul. “Should have thought of that before provoking me the way you did.”

You started laughing uncontrollably, your forehead colliding with his shoulder as you twisted and struggled within his grip to get away, away, awayyy. But your brother was a master at this game. He swayed your body from left to right until you were almost hanging upside down, with his fingers crawling over your belly. You barely managed to get a breath in amidst your helpless squealing.

“STOP IT!!” You giggled, trying to hold on to his fingers that somehow escaped and started poking all over your sides.

“Just one more good-bye kiss, yes?” He teased, lifting your upper body towards him as you continued to wiggle and twitch with laughter.

“NO NO NO, not THAT!” You screeched, but your brother was merciless and already a long and ticklish raspberry found its way underneath your chin. Laughing silently, you tried to protect your neck, but Aramis put one hand on the side of your face to hold your head against his chest and have full excess at the other side of your neck. It tickled terribly, what with his beard adding to the sensation and his nose teasing another spot on your sensitive skin at the same time.

“PLEASE NO MORE!!”

Your brother lifted his head with a smirk and looked down at you, his eyes lit up by the glimmer of mischief. He was holding you like a sleeping child, both arms around your body and your head on the height of his shoulder. Gasping for air, you held on to his shirt unconsciously – he noticed it and was quite endeared by it. After a few seconds, you had calmed down enough to focus and send a half-hearted glare at his fond face.

“That was mean.”

“You’ll live.”

“Barely!”

“Drama queen!”

“Hey!” You used your free hands to attack his neck with tickles of your own, making him snort and chuckle softly before he carefully let go off you, making your feet land back on the floor. You tried to continue your little attack, but he caught your wrists and lowered them decidedly.

“You best not provoke me again straight away!” Aramis chuckled, covering his sides, when you tried to tickle him more. “I don’t have time for you to get revenge now. We have to go, (Y/N)!”

“This is not fair! Why is there time to tickle me, but none to tickle you?”

He was too amused by your attempts to get your hands on his ribs that despite not succeeding, you made him laugh which was definitely better than nothing.

Eventually he did manage to get you to stop, grabbing your shoulders and looking you deep in the eyes. He was slightly out of breath from laughing which made you grin. “No more of that now, pot plant! Go up and plot your revenge there, okay? And do your homework!!” He gave you a kiss on the cheek and turned around to get to his horse.

“Damn it, I must have pulled a muscle when you did your little stunt.” He made a grimace and started massaging his shoulder while walking.

Porthos and Athos were wearing equally endeared expressions on their faces, standing next to their horses and waiting patiently for Aramis’ and your good-bye ceremony to be over.

“Don’t worry,” Porthos winked at you, “We’ll help you get your revenge later!”

“I heard that,” Aramis said, raising a reprimanding brow at his friend.

“Good,” Athos smirked at him, rearranging his hat to protect it from the wind that would weigh against them while riding.

“You three will be the death of me,” Aramis sighed while getting on horseback. He looked back at you and winked, a smile on his face. “Do your homework!”

“Yes, I heard you the three first times you said that,” you wailed, but ended up sending him a good-bye grin, before he rode out of the courtyard.

“No more window sill jumping, pot plant!” Porthos demanded, raising a finger at you half-seriously.

Athos tilted his hat at you, ever the courteous musketeer. “I second that!”

You watched them leave and started doing maths instead of Latin: Aramis had told you, you could accompany them – if at all – when you were at least 16 years old. You sighed when you realized that you had to do four more years of Greek, Latin and window sill perching before that. Hopefully you wouldn’t turn into an actual pot plant until then.

Plotting your revenge, you started climbing the stairs to your and Aramis’ apartment. If Athos and Porthos were to help you, Aramis would wish he’d never tickled you in the first place.

#the musketeers #bbc musketeers #tickling #aramis sister #aramis x sister #you are aramis sister #sister imagine #bbc musketeers imagine #y/n #aramis x y/n #athos #porthos #the musketeers imagine #pot plant sister #tickle imagine #tickle fanfiction #musketeers fanfiction #bbc musketeers fanfiction #the musketeers fanfiction

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roennq · 1 year ago

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Aramis: What's wrong?

D'Artagnan: I just got a look from Athos. Sometimes, I wish I knew...

Aramis: *interrupts* Here...

The Many Faces of Athos: A Beginner's Guide

D'Artagnan: ...

D'Artagnan: *eyes light up*

Aramis: *smugly* You're welcome!

Part 2/3 | 3/3

#bbc musketeers #the musketeers #athos #aramis #d’artagnan #the many faces of athos #a beginner's guide #imagining d’artagnan holding it up each time athos makes a face #actually i think we can all use that guide #image prompt #humour #incorrect quotes #lol #tom burke #santiago cabrera #luke pasqualino

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wingsofhcpe · 11 months ago

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thinking of Athos, Porthos, Aramis and d'Artagnan celebrating new year's together... drinking to each other, to their brotherhood, laughing and knocking onto each other drunkenly, Aramis falling asleep on Porthos' shoulder, d'Artagnan counting the fireworks, Athos smiling fondly as he realises that all he's ever wanted in life is right there in front of him.

#bbc musketeers #the musketeers #athos #porthos #aramis #d'artagnan #comte de la fere #porthos du vallon #rene d'herblay #idk what the french do for new years. esp what they did back in the 1600s lol #but in greece we cut the vasilopita which is a special cake or tsoureki with a little coin hidden at the bottom #we cut a slice for each family member/friend/ etc #and whoever gets the coin in their slice 'wins'#(symbolises wealth and prosperity and is based on the legend of saint vasilios of eastern orthodo #*orthodoxy #so now i imagine the boys doing that #(treville is like my grandma and he secretly hid 4 coins in the vasilopita and strategically cut the slices so all 4 of his sons would win.)

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widevibratobitch · 9 months ago

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in terror, four lieutenants; in t3m, four musketeers. Conclusion?

conclusion - same as always: destiny.

but wait oh christ okay. they even kinda fit...

you've got the og trio of

Wet Pathetic Loser

Deeply Religious Guy

Fancy Lad

which ig would make dundy... d'artagnan?? no. no oh god ok. listen. d'artagnan is jopson im afraid:

1. has a deeply homoerotic father/son relationship with a suicidal alcoholic

2. is actually kinda obsessed with him tbh

3. doesn't really start out as One Of Them, has to wait quite some time to get promoted

4. big part of the fandom actually ships him with little aka our athos

it makes sense you gotta believe me it does it does

#it absolutely doesn't #idk who dundy could be tbh...#ig if you squinted reeeeeally hard you could make him into a quasi mordaunt #since little is our athos equivalent #(that should honestly be crozier but for the sake of making our three musketeers/three lieutenants parallel lets go with little)#and the way little and dundy end up... look dundy is the only surviving officer of erebus.#gore and fitzjames die because life sucks but fairholme's death is arguably crozier's fault #and since in this strange parallel world athos is apparently split into crozier and little...#and since a very popular fandom headcanon is that little is the one to ultimately kill dundy....#i have no idea where im going with this and with all my love to irving #imagining him as an aramis equivalent made me throw up in my mouth a little.#i guess aramis would have to be an insane combination of irving and hickey?? so ig he should kill uhh himself? shit omg wait #he does have a SA in the books.....#oh yeah it's all coming together #(<-lies. this makes no fucking sense)#pizza you've sent my mind into a spiral of eternal damnation im grasping at straws to make some ✨parallels✨#unfortunately im like a vampire in this case.#if you throw at me a bunch of potential parallels i cannot move a muscle until ive found counted and picked them all up #i hate it here #im not even tagging it this post is fucking shameful pathetic and desperate #and yeah hodgson is porthos im afraid deal with that #ask

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cattatoir · 11 months ago

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I almost choked up my water bc tumblr would have made that salt line UNBEARABLE in the superwhlock era

#I saw a phantom gif chain of calling all whoever and almost died #cmo's log #dw #doctor who #doctor who spoilers #atho imagine figuring out that spoiler

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prismatica-the-strange · 29 days ago

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I love listening to ABBA and hallucinating my next story

#i just have a vivid imagination its okay #and Athos running through the busy streets to Paris to save Amélia to Winner Takes it all is everything #prisma rambles

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fandom-imagines-stories · 4 months ago

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These Lips Speak Lies

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 7048

Summary: A prequel to Honor and Espionage, Aramis tells the story of how he and the reader met, almost killed each other, and fell in love.

Notes: Wow, okay I know this is crazy long but I just couldn’t help myself. I loved the Spy Reader and Aramis dynamic so much that I just had to continue. What better way to tell the story than to start at the beginning? If you guys love this saga as much as I do, be sure to let me know!

Find more Musketeers: HERE

The group gathered around the small fireplace, at home in the space they’d all spent many evenings since the incidents at Ambassador Laurent’s estate. With the country escape having bored you both, you and Aramis returned to Paris before Treville’s orders and hosted many dinners. The others concocted exciting tales to keep you amused and to distract you from your painful idleness.

It was a similar affair, though in a few days, you’d be cleared to return to your work. Due to his pleading and lack of injury, Aramis had been allowed to go on a few missions, given that he still kept an eye on your recovery.

You stood to pour another round of wine into everyone’s glasses, but Aramis tugged you back down, kissing your cheek.

“Allow me, darling,” he said. He picked up the bottle and refilled your glass.

“I am capable of lifting a simple bottle, Aramis,” you scoffed. “You said so yourself, my arm is entirely healed.”

“That does not mean I cannot still be a dutiful husband, hm?” He raised a brow and kissed you again, this time meeting your soft lips with his.

“If all it took was me getting shot for you to act like this, I would have tried it ages ago,” you teased.

He scowled, gave your lips another quick peck, and stood. Aramis tended to his companion’s cups before returning to his place beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

For a while, the five of you drank together, merrily telling stories of past adventures and other close calls. The fire was dying down by the time D’Artagnan leaned over to you.

“I have to know,” he said with a smirk, “how did the two of you meet?”

Porthos’ brow furrowed and he leaned back in his chair. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story myself.”

“Nor I,” Athos said, pouring himself another glass.

“I could have sworn we told the tale at our wedding.” You thought back to that day, but, quite honestly, you only remembered that night. The images in your mind made you blush and you snuggled a little closer to your husband.

“They were both probably too drunk to remember,” Aramis snickered.

“Well I haven’t heard it at all,” D’Artagnan said, turning to you with a pout. “Was it on an assignment?”

You blew out a breath. “Yes and no.”

“Did you work together?”

This time, your husband answered. “Yes and no.”

“Cut to it, will ya?” Porthos bellowed. “We want to hear the story.”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed. You turned, smirking at the man beside you. “Aramis, darling, would you like to do the honors? I’ll correct you if you get anything wrong, of course.”

He brought your lips to his one more time, earning a semi-annoyed huff from Porthos.

“My pleasure.” He stood, pacing in front of the fire. “Now, I’m sure you all remember the mysterious stranglings that plagued the city five years ago?”

The three members of the audience nodded.

Aramis’ smile grew. “This is the story of how we solved the case-”

“Nearly died on several occasions,” you interjected with a giggle.

He reached for your hand and kissed it. “And fell in love.”

By morning, they were dead. Nobody knew how it was possible, but there was no denying it. Paris was being hunted. Specifically, the women of Paris. Two noblewomen had turned up, both strangled and found in the streets, blocks away from their homes.

What worried Aramis was the bodies before them. Women from the lower class had been dying for weeks now. And worse, nothing was being done. It made his blood boil knowing a killer was stalking the streets and he was guarding the king’s dinners.

But when he brought the murders up to Treville, the captain told him that he already had a man on the job, though Aramis had heard nothing of such an assignment from any of the other musketeers. He told Aramis to let it be as if it were little more than a pest problem being handled. Aramis didn’t understand it. How could the captain be content forgoing the proper resources to bring these women’s killer to justice?

Aramis, certainly, was not.

So, despite Treville’s explicit instructions, Aramis decided to conduct his own investigation into the murders. And, with his two usual companions away on a mission of their own, he would have to solve this problem alone.

Luckily, he had plenty of connections with the women of the nobility. And, with the growing terror amongst them, they were more than willing to cooperate.

“At first,” Lady Brizman whispered, though there was no one else in the courtyard to hear them, “we thought, maybe, Juliet- Lady de Fontane- was, well…” she trailed off, lowering her voice even more as if to conceal a scandal, “seeing someone. We thought maybe things went badly and her lover killed her.”

Aramis nodded. “But then Madame Wilton was killed in the same manner.”

“Exactly,” she exclaimed. “Now I have my servants triple-check anyone who comes to the house.” She smiled, leaning against the garden gate. “Except for you, of course.” Her hand trailed up his arm.

“Well, if you hear anything more, or feel at all frightened and in need of assistance,” he flashed her a charming smile and tipped his hat. “I’m at your service, madame.”

He waited until he was out of sight to hit his hand against the wall with a frustrated growl. It was the same thing he’d heard from the last four women. Suspected affairs turned serial killer. But, according to every woman he’d spoken to, the victims’ whereabouts on the days they were killed provided very little opportunity for them to have encountered the killer.

There had to be some kind of connection, a place where they met, or a person they knew. But where- or who- could connect women of different classes?

Aramis turned on his heel and stopped suddenly.

“Of course,” he muttered to himself. He gazed across the street at the seamstress’s shop before him.

All of the women killed before worked as either suppliers, delivery girls, or seamstresses themselves. And surely Lady de Fontane and Madame Wilton frequented such establishments. The killer must have used these shops as hunting grounds, watching from the side until he found his perfect victim. Perhaps he even stood where Aramis stood. The thought made the musketeer shudder.

Aramis scoped out the area. Another shop down the road gave him a pretty good idea that this must be where the women were being taken from. He determined that he would come back in the evening- when the women were taken- and see if he could catch the beast.

He’d sat there for hours, hidden from the common passersby, keeping an eye on every person who walked down the street. The sun had set, leaving the road in darkness, but the windows of the shop still held a light. Someone was working late. He just hoped it was only the dressmakers.

Several figures passed by him, none appearing the most trustworthy, but all vacating the street too swiftly to be scoping out the shop for their next victim.

All but one.

A figure in a dark, scarlet cloak crossed the street, tucking themselves into the darkness of the alley beside the shop. Aramis eyed the villain darkly and navigated the alleys and corners in order to catch them by surprise. As he crept toward them, dagger drawn at his side, he noticed their stance. Like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey.

He lunged first, grabbing their arm and pinning them to the wall, arm stretched across their chest.

Her chest, he observed as the scarlet cloak fell open slightly. He tried not to let it distract him. A woman was just as capable of murder, as his years had taught him.

“It’s dangerous here at night, mademoiselle,” he hissed. “I might ask what you’re doing, skulking about the shadows.”

“I might ask you the same thing.” You aimed your pistol at his abdomen and cocked it, raising a brow with the click. You stared defiantly in his dark eyes. He was handsome, you observed, but that could very well be used to lure women into his trap. This could be the very killer you’d spent weeks searching for.

But those eyes…

“I am a King’s Musketeer, patrolling the streets for the safety of those such as yourself,” he said, failing to keep the suspicious bite from his tone.

You took a moment to look over him, indeed finding the crest on his shoulder, and sighed.

“Then we have much to discuss, monsieur,” you huffed, lowering your weapon and hooking it back to the belt around your waist.

Aramis did not let his guard down, instead standing straighter, poised for a possible attack. Who knew what a killer like this could be capable of… even if she did have the loveliest voice.

You rolled your eyes. “I do not have time for this, come with me.” You grabbed his arm and pulled him to a door that led to the upper quarters of the shop itself.

In his surprise, Aramis didn’t fight you, following blindly up the stairs to a small room with a cot, a candle, and a small desk scattered with piles of notes and maps. He jerked his arm away from your grip, frustration melding with his misunderstanding.

You ignored him and walked over to the papers and grabbed something from atop them.

“Would you explain to me what’s going on?” He demanded.

“What is going on is that you have absolutely no idea what you are doing,” you snapped, whirling around to face him with the ring you kept on your desk. Upon it, was the crest of the Musketeers. You held it before him and watched his face contort from irritation to utter confusion.

“You’re a…” He gazed upon your face again, as if trying to read something there.

“It appears we work for the same regiment, monsieur,” you said coolly. “Captain Treville believed that I would have a better chance of catching the killer because I am better able to blend into this area of town, whereas a soldier such as yourself would be immediately spotted, as tonight has clearly displayed.”

“I was doing fine before I made the mistake of following you into that alley- which I may add, you looked just as suspicious as I may or may not have,” he argued. “The fact that I am here shows that I am just as capable of following this case as you are, if not more so given that I have the authority of a musketeer.” He stepped toward you. “Tell me, what exactly does Treville have you for?”

“I’m afraid that is privileged information,” you glared. “Tell me, were you or were you not told to leave this case alone?” Now, you stepped towards him. “Because I know for a fact that Captain Treville wanted me alone searching for the killer in fear of scaring them into hiding.”

Aramis looked away.

You scoffed. “Exactly what I thought. Another ‘hero’ dying to make a name for himself.” Turning back to your notes, you dismissed him with a wave of your hand. “You can run back to the garrison. I have women to protect.”

Aramis remained, though whether it was shock or stubbornness that prevented his feet from moving, he wasn’t entirely sure. Instead, he moved to look over your shoulder.

“These are your observations then?” He asked.

You didn’t bother turning to look at him. “I’ve been staying in this apartment for the past three weeks. It has given me the opportunity to study the pattern of workers and regular buyers, but it has yet to yield any clue as to who is targeting them.” You couldn’t help the irritated sigh that fell from your lips. “I have followed up on every man that has been to the shop since I’ve been here and all of them have been checked out. The killer must be keeping to the shadows, hunting like a wolf at night.”

“What makes you so sure the killer is a man?”

You scoffed. “Because I saw the bodies. The bruises around the neck were far too large for them to have been strangled by a woman.” Setting your pages down again, you faced him with your arms crossed impatiently. “Now if you don’t mind, monsieur…?”

He removed his hat. “Aramis. My name is Aramis.” He made no motion to leave. In fact, he stood his ground firmly, which only made you more annoyed. “And how exactly do you plan to catch this man, madame…?” He mimicked your questioning tone.

“Y/N.” You saw no point in giving him a false name, though you were half tempted to leave him guessing. “And I shall catch him in the act.”

Aramis chuckled, running his fingers over his facial hair. “And how do you plan to do that?”

You raised a brow.

His smarminess fell. “You can’t be serious.”

“I assure you, Monsieur Aramis, that I am perfectly capable of handling myself.”

“You’re going to give yourself as bait?”

“I’m going to lure him out of the shadows by giving him a target that isn’t defenseless.” You held up your pistol. “If he agrees to come in quietly, then he’ll be hanged in the morning. If not… well, I’ll have the pleasure of making Paris a safer place tonight.”

Your fellow musketeer crossed his arms.

“I’m coming with you.”

“You most certainly are not.”

“I only wish to assist you in catching the killer,” he said.

“You think because I’m a woman I cannot do it on my own?” You challenged.

“I’ve learned never to underestimate a woman, darling.” He leaned in. “I just don’t trust you.”

The sound of your hand against his cheek rang through the small room.

Aramis put a hand to his face, already reddening where you’d hit, but his smug smile never faltered.

“Do you let your emotions get in the way of every mission or am I special?”

You raised your hand again, but this time he caught it, his face darkening.

“It was only cute the first time.”

You jerked your arm out of his grip, eyes defiant and tone threatening.

“If you get in my way for so much as a second-”

“I assure you, we want the same thing,” Aramis said. “Think of me as your backup plan, if being bait doesn’t go quite the way you expect.”

“I don’t need backup plans,” you said. “I’m always right the first time. It’s why Treville sends me instead of any of you.”

You slipped by him, tucking your pistol into the belt beneath your cloak as you walked to the stairs. You stopped at the exit and sighed, turning back to face the other musketeer.

“Well?” You gave him a smirk. “Are you coming or not, Monsieur Aramis?”

He motioned with his arm, returning your smug expression. “After you, Madam Y/N.”

“It’s mademoiselle,” you corrected.

“So you haven’t found a man who can put up with your arrogance, how surprising.”

You rolled your eyes and went back downstairs.

Aramis returned to his spot in the alleyway across the street from the shop, keeping a close eye on the swift-moving cloaked figure across from him. Heat still lingered in his skin, his frustration showing in the red of his cheeks. He’d known you for a few short minutes and already, you’d burrowed your way into his mind. He convinced himself it was anger and nothing more, but the familiar ache in his chest suggested otherwise.

“A woman spying for Treville,” he muttered. “I’ve never heard anything so… brilliant.” He could tell, just from the confidence in your gaze and the way you pointed that pistol at him that you were just as capable as any musketeer in his regiment. And a woman could go far more unnoticed than any man in uniform.

As much as he hated to admit it, his anger was overridden by his admiration.

You kept an eye on his shadowed figure, your irritation mixing with intrigue.

Why should a musketeer care so much about what was happening to these women? But care he did. You could see it in his eyes.

Those eyes.

“Focus, Y/N,” you hissed at yourself. “The killer must be here somewhere.”

A figure stepped out of the shadows. “Yes, well, unfortunately, you won’t be around to catch him.”

Hands grappled you from behind.

“Let go of me!” Your cry carried across the street.

Aramis leapt into action swiftly, but not as quick as the man waiting behind him. The blow to the back of his head prevented any plans of rescue.

You fought against your captors even as the fabric covered your eyes.

“Feisty one, isn’t she?” A voice sneered.

“Maybe we should have left her for Claude.”

“Let’s get her in the cart.”

“I will ensure you all hang!” You exclaimed, trying not to choke on the bag over your head.

They dragged you to what must have been a cart that they promptly threw you into the back of, along with something else.

Or someone.

“Great,” you sighed.

Treville was not going to be happy.

“Aramis, wake up.” You shook the man’s shoulder with bound hands, examining the wound on his head. It had stopped bleeding at least. “Great help you are. Wake up.”

Aramis groaned, eyes fluttering open and closed.

“We have a problem,” you said, sitting back against the wall of the stables you were taken to.

He tried to sit up, holding his head where dried blood now stained.

You put a hand on his back to steady him.

“Where are we?” He asked.

“From the length of the ride, I would say it’s an estate at the edge of the city.” They had been careful to keep you from seeing anything on the way here and they’d taken the cart directly to the make-shift prison they were keeping you in.

“Did you see them?”

You shook your head. “Bastards put a bag over me. Felt their disgusting hands though.”

Aramis tensed, jaw clenched as his eyes looked you over for injuries. “They didn’t hurt you did they?”

“No. No, I’m alright.” You couldn’t help but be touched by his clear concern. “Just angry at myself for letting them catch me to begin with.”

“We were expecting a single madman, not an ambush. You couldn't have known.”

“That’s the thing.” You pushed yourself to your feet, pacing around the small space while he leaned himself up in the corner, standing shakily. “The murders were carried about by a single person. Of that I’m certain. What could someone possibly gain by stopping us from catching him?”

“They told me you were a clever one.”

Both of you jumped at the voice. You moved instinctively in front of your injured companion.

A woman stepped into the moonlight that streamed through the stable windows. You could just see her through the barred opening in the door. She wore a dark dress and gloves and a stern frown. She couldn’t have been much older than you.

“All of this could have been a forgotten tragedy, but the musketeers had to stick their noses into it, didn’t they?” She adjusted her gloves.

“You aren’t the killer,” you said. “Your hands have hardly seen the sunlight, let alone crushed the life out of another woman’s throat.” The venom in your voice was clear, not your usual feigned charm. This was not a situation that required being personable.

“I can’t imagine what it’s like.” She wrinkled her nose. “A woman shouldn’t know such things. The details of a death.”

“If you let us go, I’d be happy to give you a demonstration,” you hissed.

She laughed. “Such spirit for a musketeer’s slut.”

You gritted your teeth.

Aramis put a hand on your shoulder. He shook his head, giving you a warning glance.

“Who are you?” He asked. “Why are we here?”

“Aramis, I’m offended you don’t remember me.” She smirked. “You are very familiar with a dear friend of mine, Lady Brizman.”

His mind reeled, still pounding from being hit. Then, he placed why she looked familiar.

“Lady Augustin.”

“I was never pretty enough for you to chase, hm?”

“It had far more to do with your husband than your looks, I can assure you.”

Between her jealous words and the way she grimaced at the mention of her husband, the pieces came together.

You stared her down, smiling as you understood. “It’s him, isn’t it? Your husband is the one killing those women.”

“Lord Augustin is sick,” she snapped. She took a deep breath. “He just needs time. I’m going to help him.”

“Then you’re just as despicable as he is,” you spat. “Maybe worse.”

“Y/N,” Aramis warned, seeing the terrible look in the woman’s eyes.

Lady Augustin stepped closer to the locked door, her face inches from the barred opening. “Oh, he’ll have fun with you,” she said.

You reached your arm out of the opening, but she backed away laughing.

“I’ll send my men down to fetch you when my husband returns home.” Her voice echoed cruelly down the corridor of the stables. “Think of it this way, dear Musketeer- with you to keep him occupied, how many women will your sacrifice be worth?”

“You won’t get away with this!” You called after her, clawing the outside of the door like a trapped animal. “You will face justice! You and your vile husband!”

You brought your arm in to pound both of your fists against the wood, trying to force the door open. You hit it again and again, splinters digging into the flesh of your hands.

“Y/N,” Aramis said again, this time softer.

“We have to get out. You heard her. I won’t let him have me.”

“Y/N-”

“They’ll kill you too,” you said, your panic clouding your judgment. “They’ll kill you and he’ll strangle me like all of those women and then he will never stop. We have to get out.” You felt tears hot on your cheeks more than you felt the blood now dripping from the scrapes on your hands.

“Y/N, stop.” Aramis grabbed you around the middle, pulling you away from the door.

“No!” You cried. “We have to stop them. We have to-” You choked on a frightened sob.

You couldn't remember the last time you were this scared.

Aramis wrapped his arms around you, holding you close to him so you couldn’t go back to the door.

“Let me go,” you demanded.

“Not until I know you aren’t going to tear your hands apart on a door that isn’t going to open,” he said softly, tucking you against his chest. “We’ll get out. We’ll find a way. I promise.”

You took a couple of deep breaths, laying your forehead against his chest to calm yourself down. You pushed away, hastily wiping away your tears.

“You’re right. Now isn’t the time to let them get to us.” You squared your shoulders and tensed your jaw, turning your face away so he couldn’t see your embarrassment at losing control.

“Wait.” Aramis put a hand on your shoulder, turning you so you had to look at him. “It’s okay to be afraid.”

“Not in my position, it’s not.”

Pushing away from him, you moved to the other side of your straw-covered cell. While your legs ached to move, you knew you needed to conserve your energy for when they returned.

When Lord Augustin used you to appease his sick appetites.

“I’m going to just…” Aramis leaned against the wall, sliding down to ease the horrible pounding in his injured head.

He forced himself to stay awake, trying to think of a plan of escape. Treville would realize the two of you were gone. Perhaps he would send Porthos or one of the others to search.

Aramis grimaced.

That would take too long. By the time anyone found the two of you, Lord Augustin would have put a bullet in Aramis’s skull, and… he didn’t want to think what would happen to you.

You’d have to work together to find a way out, to tell Treville and the King that the killer was a nobleman and you’d have to find decent evidence in order to convince the court that a member of ‘higher society’ was capable of such crimes, otherwise, they could simply frame some poor stable boy.

You’d seen it happen before.

“I’m sorry you were dragged into this,” you said softly.

Aramis laid his head back, shrugging. “It was my own fault. Not my mission, remember?” He gave you a smirk.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “That’s right. You should have minded your own businesses and then you wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Ah, but then you’d miss my company.”

You snorted.

He closed his eyes.

And you both waited.

They came for him first.

Men in dark clothes- hired thugs, most likely- unlocked the stable cell door and slid it open.

You leapt to your feet, eyes on the pistols in their hands.

“Stay away,” you spat.

One of them sneered, taking a step toward you with his weapon aimed at your stomach. He ran a hand down your cheek.

“Oh, we’re not here for you, beautiful.” He pressed his gun against your soft skin. “Too bad though. I would have loved to have a chance to soften you up for the madman.”

“Leave her alone,” Aramis said, getting to his feet.

One of the other men kicked him back down, landing a blow to his leg and then his stomach once he was back on the ground.

Aramis groaned.

“Stop it,” you cried, jumping forward to try and intervene.

The blonde man with you caught you around the waist, holding you there while the other two continued to beat on the poor musketeer until blood dripped from his mouth and his breathing turned ragged.

The whimper fell from your lips before you really even understood why. “Aramis.” It almost felt like a prayer.

Whatever feeling had overtaken you in that moment gave you enough strength to break away from your captor, snatching his weapon in the process. You forced him back with a powerful shove.

“What in the-” He started, but the loud shot from his own weapon- and the bullet through his chest- silenced him.

Aramis took the moment of shock on his comrade's faces to cease his painful performance and swing his legs into theirs, knocking them both off their feet before they could turn their attentions and their weapons to you.

“Someone will have heard that,” he said.

“Then we better act quickly.” You grabbed the sword off the belt of the man you shot.

Aramis took both from the men on the ground.

You exchanged a look and ran out of the cell, taking the first turn you found and cutting down two more guards as you went.

“You know,” Aramis said, catching his breath, “we make a decent pair, you and I.”

You snorted. “They hit you too hard, soldier.”

He chuckled and continued down the corridor, leading the two of you into some kind of cellar, but not one for wine.

“My God,” you gasped, hand lifting to your lips in shock.

Before you laid the remains of at least half a dozen more women. The smell alone made your stomach turn.

“Monster,” Aramis muttered, eyes widening with every bloody sight.

The strangled women were just the beginning. Butchery was his real interest.

You swallowed back bile. “We need to get to Treville.”

Aramis simply nodded. Something inside of him snapped. He clenched his fists.

You noticed the tension in his back.

“We need to go.” When he didn’t move, you took his hand. “We’ll send someone to give them a proper burial,” you said. “But we can’t do that if we’re dead, Aramis.”

He nodded again. Aramis let you lead him out of that horrible room.

With his hand in yours, you felt as though the darkness in this house couldn’t reach you. This man who had infuriated you just hours earlier now filled you with the courage you needed to keep walking after seeing those poor women lying there.

You ducked into a smaller corridor to let a group of servants go by and to let Aramis rest. You could tell that his head injury still troubled him and you couldn’t have him fainting on you in the middle of a fight.

“We have our evidence now,” he said darkly. He shifted, his body brushing against yours with every move, every breath.

Having him pressed so close to you, you held your breath, afraid that if his skin brushed yours, you’d break completely.

“That could have been me,” you whispered, some of your panic from before seeping into your tone.

Aramis lifted a hand to your cheek. “We’re going to stop him.”

Perhaps it was the intensity of the moment or the terror of facing such a violent death that drew you to him. Or maybe it was just his eyes.

Aramis leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead.

And you let him.

You couldn’t remember you’d felt a man’s lips when you weren’t trying to draw information from them.

“We could find the exit,” he suggested. “Find Treville and bring him here to arrest the lord and lady.”

You looked at each other, knowing both of your answers without having to say anything.

The two of you took off down the hallway to arrest the Augustins yourselves.

The manor house felt more like a small castle the more you made your way down twisting corridors and endless stairs. With every careful step, Aramis was right behind you, stolen guns at the ready in case you ran into the villains.

Having always worked alone, you expected to feel more uncomfortable with him there. It was far more difficult to sneak two people around, but his presence provided more assistance than irritation. The idea of being in this place alone made your skin crawl.

“You there!” Someone shouted.

It was definitely harder to sneak two people around.

“It’s that musketeer!” Another guard shouted. “Get him!”

“You seem to be quite popular,” you muttered, whittling around and firing a shot into the chest of one of the incoming thugs.

“What can I say?” Aramis shot another. “I have that effect.”

You laughed, surprised by the light sound that came from you. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d truly laughed. Either his arrogance was growing on you or you were more rattled than you thought. Perhaps a mix of both.

The two of you stood back to back, fighting off more guards as they ran towards you from both sides of the hall.

“He has more guards than the king,” you exasperated.

“But not better ones.” He expertly disarmed his opponent, using the man’s sword to run him through.

“We’ll have to hurry. Lord and Lady Augustine will try to escape.” You took down another, clearing a path for the two of you to reach the upper chambers of the house. Grabbing Aramis by the arm you pulled him into a room with a heavy wooden door.

“We won’t be able to hold them off for long,” he said, pushing a heavy-looking table in front of the entrance.

You stared out in front of you. “We won’t have to.”

Aramis whipped around, finding the two owners of the house standing before you in front of a large dining room table.

“How nice of you to join us,” Lord Augustine said. He pulled out a chair. “I’ve heard so much about you mademoiselle.” His cold eyes shifted to the man beside you. “And you, musketeer.”

Aramis held out his sword. “Don’t come any closer.”

“You’re in my house. I don’t think it’s polite to give me any orders.” Augustine stepped towards you. “Such a fine neck…”

You shuddered.

Aramis put his arm in front of you. “I’m arresting you in the name of the king for the murder of at least a dozen French women.”

“We won’t be going anywhere,” Lady Augustine said. She pointed a pistol at your head over his shoulder. “Now drop your sword, musketeer, or I’ll be forced to cut this evening short.

Aramis lowered his voice. “I need you to reach into my trousers.”

“What?”

“There is a pistol tucked in my waistband that they failed to take away.”

“Why didn’t you use it before?” You hissed.

Lord and Lady Augustine exchanged confused and irritated looks.

“I’ve been saving it for something like this.” Honestly, in the chaos of the evening, he’d half forgotten it was there. He shifted closer to you to make it easier. “Just grab it.”

“You are a strange man,” you muttered. Keeping an eye on the woman aiming a weapon at you, your hand traveled across and down Aramis’ back.

He did his best not to shiver at your touch, liking it far too much given the situation.

“Make one more move and I’ll blow your head off,” Lady Augustine threatened.

“Now, now, there’s no need for that.” The Lord gave you a wide smile. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement. I’d hate for someone so fine to go to waste.”

“I’m going to enjoy this,” you growled.

Aramis’ shoulders tensed. “Do you have it?”

In answer, you raised the hidden weapon and fired it under his arm. The bullet struck Lady Augustine in the chest, propelling her backward and making her pistol clatter to the table.

Lord Augustine launched himself at Aramis, swinging a knife wildly, his cool exterior replaced by a rapid monster. His ferocity took Aramis by surprise, almost failing to deflect his first attack.

The two of them locked in battle and even in his weakened state, Aramis kept him at bay. But Lord Augustine’s fury was hard to combat. He knocked Aramis’ sword out of his hand and raised his own blade for a final strike.

A great shot rang through the room.

Aramis turned to find you clutching Lady Augustine’s pistol in your hands.

“For the women of Paris,” you muttered, letting the weapon fall from your exhausted grip.

Everything moved fairly quickly from there. Augustine’s guards were arrested for aiding him, the bodies from the basement were removed to be properly buried, and Treville was furious that Aramis went against him but could hardly say anything about the results.

But for all of the good that came out of it, Aramis hated every second for he was being hailed as the singular hero who solved the case and brought the killers to justice. You were left to the shadows of isolation and secrecy.

He hadn’t even been allowed to see you since the soldiers had arrived at the manor. It pained him more than he could explain. Being apart from you felt like being kicked as he had in the cell- over and over until all he could feel was the ache.

“What’s gotten into you?” Porthos asked, snapping his friend out of his trance. “Is that Augustine still bothering you?” He took the seat across from Aramis, shaking his head. “I’m just glad you shot the bastard. Men like that always have a way of escaping justice at a trial.”

Aramis opened his mouth to object, to announce that he hadn’t defeated the monster, that he’d almost been killed himself had it not been for the woman he couldn't get off his mind. But he felt Treville watching him from his office balcony and kept quiet.

“Aramis!” The Captain called down to him. He motioned for him to come with him and vanished behind his door.

“Must be in trouble,” Porthos muttered teasingly.

Aramis didn’t laugh.

He trudged up the steps with the memory of Augustine’s threats toward you playing on his mind. Aramis pushed through the door feeling weighed down by all of the events and emotions plaguing him for the last several days.

“You look like hell,” Treville sighed, leaning over his desk with a look of concern. “Come in. Sit.”

Aramis did as he was told without any of his usual banter or clever remarks.

Treville ran a hand down his face. “Have you mentioned the woman you worked with to anyone?”

Aramis shook his head.

“Good.” Treville took a seat. “As I’m sure you’ve guessed, Y/N’s anonymity is imperative to her position with us. If anyone were to find out who she was or that she worked for me, it could put her in grave danger.”

“I understand.”

“However,” Treville blew out a breath, “since neither of you seem to be able to stop moping about it.” He waved to someone in the corner of the room.

You stepped forward.

Aramis jumped up out of his seat, eyes widening. “Y/N.”

“Hello Aramis,” you smiled.

For a man you’d wanted to shoot the first time you met him, the urge to run into his arms nearly overtook you.

Treville cleared his throat.

“I will give you two a moment to speak.” He eyed Aramis on the last word. “I can’t stand watching both of you sulk about anymore.”

“Thank you, sir,” you said quietly.

Aramis bowed slightly as the captain left.

The two of you turned back to each other.

And closed the space between you.

Aramis wrapped his arms around you, holding you as tight as he had when he held you in that horrible cell. You buried your face in his chest, breathing in his presence even as it broke down the wall you’d spent years building around yourself.

“I wasn’t sure what happened to you,” he said. “I knew that you were alright, but I haven’t been able to stop worrying.”

You pulled away to look into those eyes that had been in your dreams every night since you saw them first.

“I was concerned that perhaps your injuries were worse than you let on,” you laughed lightly. “But I’m sure you’ve encountered worse.”

“I can handle a bump on the head, I assure you,” Aramis smiled.

“I’m glad that the king’s finest can handle themselves.” You playfully poked his chest. “Even if they occasionally require a woman to rescue them.”

“I believe I rescued you first.”

You raised a brow. “Whatever helps your precious musketeer ego.”

Aramis chuckled, raising a hand to your cheek.

You leaned into his touch.

The two of you drew closer.

Abruptly, you pushed away. Your feet paced in front of the captain’s desk, trying to put distance between you and the man before you.

“What are we doing?” You exclaimed, running your fingers through your hair. “A week ago, I never would have thought twice about an assignment, but you have changed everything for me.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Aramis wondered, taking a slow step toward you.

“You don’t understand, Aramis. I’m not like you.” Your heart, usually cold and guarded, was breaking as you spoke. “I don’t live in the day and the battles and the light. I live in the secrets of this city. I am a shadow. I’m not real.”

“You are.” He closed the space again, putting his hands on your arms. “You are real.”

“I am a lie,” you cried, shaking your head. “The things that I have to do… the depths to which I have had to sink in order to accomplish a mission… I could never ask you to live with that.”

“I don’t care about any of it.” He lifted his hand to your face again, running a thumb along your bottom lip. “Even if these lips speak lies, I know that there is truth in your heart.” He looked into your eyes. “And I know that you feel what I feel, otherwise you wouldn’t have come back to me.”

“Aramis-” You blinked back desperate tears. He was right, of course. You couldn't remember the last time you’d felt like this. You couldn’t remember the last time you felt.

Now it was you who closed the air between you, catching his lips with yours, finally letting yourself be true.

“And the rest is history,” Aramis beamed, kissing you as if it was for the first time.

The three men before you sat in awed silence. Porthos even looked to be on the verge of tears.

“That’s a beautiful story,” he said, clearing his throat to keep his emotions in check.

“Well, it was until the captain found out.” You winced at the memory.

Needless to say, Treville was far from thrilled that his top spy was seeing one of his more ostentatious soldiers. Things especially got messy when Porthos found out, followed by Athos. And now D’Artagnan.

“So what happened after that?” D’Artagnan wondered. “The two of you don’t exactly have a lot of time in between assignments, I imagine.”

Aramis shrugged. “I spent every minute I could with her. And with every minute, I fell more and more in love.”

“And what of the, um,” D’Artagnan cleared his throat, “more delicate parts of her work?”

Aramis shot him a look.

“We deal with it,” you said, pouring everyone more wine. “I do what I have to to protect this city and its people, just like the rest of you.”

“And she’s damn fine at her job.” Aramis kissed her cheek. “I can’t count all of the plots that have been defeated because of her courage and cunning.”

You glanced at him.

He cleared his throat. “Not that I know about any of the ones I’m definitely not supposed to know about.”

You rolled your eyes, rustled his hair, and pulled him in for another kiss.

“I’m glad she’s on our side,” Athos said, giving you a smirk.

“Here here,” Porthos cheered.

The five of you clinked your cups together.

It was a long and winding path that brought you here and an even longer one laid before you. But with these men to walk it beside you, with your loving husband to hold your hand along the way, it was a path you were more than happy to walk.

#the musketeers #aramis x reader #bbc musketeers #aramis #porthos #athos #d'artagnan #the musketeers imagines #santiago cabrera

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longagoitwastuesday · 1 year ago

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I've also been reading the three musketeers and the thesis chapter had me Cackling. the clowning on learning latin in particular and aramis as a character constantly emphasizing that being part of the higher sought after and hard-to-get-into regiment of the king's musketeers is just kind of a temp job for him is so funny. character of all time. (also bazin wanting aramis to be a abbe so bad is so good)

Disclaimer that I was actually not reading the book, just giving a look and toying with the idea of reading it soon. In fact I was reading something else, but the chapter was so funny I've abandoned it and will probably start The three musketeers instead xD

Yes! Bazin was so funny. While reading him I couldn't help but be reminded of Smee wanting to leave Neverland and done with Hook's obsession for Peter Pan. Aramis dismissing being a musketeer is hilarious, but it becomes particularly funny after reading Cyrano de Bergerac, where Cyrano mentions being a musketeer wistfully a couple of times. While I was reading the play I kept thinking that Cyrano's aspirations were basically to be Aramis haha

The use of Latin each character (the curate, the Jesuit, D'Artagnan and Aramis) does was indeed very funny, as well as insightful. I ended up reading a paper on the command each of the four protagonists has of Latin, and I loved the comparison it established between Athos and Aramis. I don't have an opinion on this formed because I have yet to read the book, which is a good thing (it will hopefully keep me from rambling), but I found what I read super interesting.

The chapter was very funny, and I felt Dumas managed everything very well? I loved the writing itself. Every part of the chapter worked wonderfully as a whole to enhance every aspect, making the funny parts more fun and drawing a more clear lively depiction of the characters.

By that I mean, basically, that even from the initial interaction between D'Artagnan and the hostess in which he asks for Aramis and she goes "the charming hot guy?" we can see Aramis' hypocrisy and unsteadiness by a mile. It's hilarious to read the chapter and see how Aramis ends up contradicting everything he does or says, at times not even that long after saying it xD

Which takes me to the thesis itself. Honestly, I loved the topics. I know they're supposed to sound a bit ridiculous and funny, but I thought Dumas conveyed very well the air of some of those intricate questions of theology that seem trifle but have a lot of implications, and end up being of a very poetic nature (such as the question about how many angels can dance on the head of a pin, one of my all time favourite questions). I wasn't very interested on the topic of the hands until the Jesuit commented that sprinklers "simulate an infinite number of blessing fingers"; that's beautiful.

Now, the topic Aramis himself proposes is just gorgeous. The way he defends it with a syllogism is so clever of Dumas considering the link between theology and the development of Logic. Besides that, despite how unorthodox the topic may appear at first, as Aramis himself puts it, there is a lot of truth in what he says about the world being full of temptations and it being very much a sacrifice to leave it, and how there lies the devotional act. I ended up being very intrigued by the potential development of this thesis in a mix of appreciation of the world as God's creature, and thus the leaving of the world as an act of true love for God, of more importance; how instead of an easy surrender, the struggle and doubts are as much reflection of the condition of humanity's frailty as it is a more steady and full surrender to God.

The topic of Aramis' thesis is somewhat paradoxical yet sound, and reflects doubts, as well as an appreciation for the world, aesthetics and beauty; I think it reflects so much of what makes Aramis himself.

And then, again, there's the whole hypocrisy through the entire chapter (which is what makes it for me haha). The way he says he isn't defending a regret at renouncing the world while proposing the thesis, that the mere idea is sacrilegious, how he insists he won't miss it, that friends are but shadows and the world a grave, and still how his resolution wavers almost instantly with his "And yet, while I still hold to the earth, I would have liked to talk with you, about you, about our friends" (and what a tender shaking), only to end up asking D'Artagnan to tell him about the world in the last line? Hilarious. What an hypocrite xD

But how extremely charming and adorable, I must admit! I love how when D'Artagnan tells him "But how are you going to live while you wait for me? No more thesis, no more commentaries on fingers and blessings, eh?", Aramis smiles and replies "I shall compose verses". Truly one of the characters of all time xD

#Aramis #The three musketeers #Les trois mousquetaires #I want to keep this to find later on. I'm truly sorry for the tags #And I'm sorry for talking a lot. I honestly tried to keep it short but there's so much I wanted to talk about‚ the chapter is so good #In fact there are a lot of things I haven't mentioned or developed that I loved #such as the fact that Dumas waves the chapters in such a way that that of Aramis starts with Porthos‚ while the chapter of Athos #starts with Aramis‚ linking the three friends together metatextually as they are linked together narratively by D'Artagnan visiting them #I also wanted to ask whether Aramis was the anon's favorite character and whether they had opinions on his position vs. Athos' for example #But the anon being an anon makes it hard to ask #I wanted to talk a bit about the developing of theology through paradoxes and Logic at times and how fitting that seemed for Aramis' thesis #He reminded me a bit of theologians such as Dionysius the Areopagite and Scotus Eriugena among others‚ and even Kierkegaard #But I must admit I always think too much about Neoplatonism and it's been long since I read these authors thoroughly so it may be a stretch #I had a lot of fun imagining the potential development of the thesis Aramis proposes though. Now I want the thesis now haha #And truly‚ the writing of the entire chapter was a thing of genius in how every little thing has later significance #to enhance something else. Such as the joke with Aramis moralising about the food‚ the conversation with the hostess‚#D'Artagnan's overall discomfort as if mad fanatics‚the world as something to renounce but the instant temptation of asking for his friends‚#the way D'Artagnan reads Aramis like a book and how he blushes and responds in poetic yet theological terms with too much fierceness #The way he blushes and exposes himself #And the entire thesis Aramis proposes being a good reflection on his character (no wonder he is adamant on pursuing that one #and only that one‚ like a calling). How the chapter and the thesis are a good summary on his character #But also how those lines I quoted‚ D'Artagnan asking what hell do and Aramis smiling and replying he'll write verses‚ are as well #Truly‚ the writing was so good. And yes‚ I agree with the anon completely #Character of all time #I suspect I'd love him immensely #Even in this chapter alone he was everything I wanted and more of what I didn't dare to expect. Now I just want to see him plotting #I loved these fragments so much that now I fear reading the entire book and being let down xD #Oh but I'm rambling again...#Anyway! Thank you for the ask and sorry it took me so long to reply. I had a lot of fun with it #Too much‚ that's why I took so long to reply. I read and reread and then I wasn't able to summarise. Thanks for indulging me in my fun xD

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 10 months ago

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Seperation

A/N: When Athos leaves for a dangerous mission to protect Aramis and you, his sister, Aramis worries a lot about his friend. You feel guilty for his suffering, being the main reason Athos went away in the first place. I've been meaning to include Athos in these stories for a while now. I hope you enjoy. :)

Your brother had fallen asleep on a chair.

His hat was half-covering his face, his arms crossed over his chest. It couldn't be very comfortable, the way the back of the chair was digging into his spine. But he couldn't help it - he was exhausted.

From time to time, you were looking up from the tissue you were embroidering, sending him a long look to make sure he wasn't about to slip off the wood and slam on the ground. You'd told him multiple times, you'd stay awake in his place and wait for Athos to return, you'd even promised to go wake him up and tell him, when he'd arrived. But Aramis wouldn't hear a word of it. With a tired smile he'd insisted that he would stay up and wait and after a while he'd stopped responding altogether, simply guarding that tired smile and looking out of the window into the cold night.

Three weeks before, Athos had left for a dangerous mission, Treville had originally intended to give to your brother. You'd been present, when a fight had arisen between the different parties. After Treville had ordered Aramis to travel to Spain to escort a French nobelman, Athos had gone pale and demanded the mission for himself. You'd given him a funny look, quickly followed by your brother who was not at all amused by this turn of events. Treville had established that it was a one-man-job and that Athos, being the senior to Aramis, had the right to take over the mission if he so wished. Athos had insisted to do exactly that and Aramis had responded with an expression of hurt, confusion and concern that had made Treville fumble around uncomfortably.

You knew that France and Spain were at war, but you did not immediately understand what had driven both, your brother and Athos, to act the way they had. Until you'd overheard a conversation, the night before Athos' departure.

"Do you really believe, I will allow you to go into a war zone all alone, while (Y/N) worries herself sick here?" You'd come to a halt in the courtyard of the garison, the hairs on your neck standing up. Looking up, you'd seen your brother watch Athos pack his travel bag from the dark corner of his friend's room, his face in shadows.

"That is not fair. Do you believe that I will worry less?" Your brother had lowered his head as if in pain, his voice rough and quiet.

"Aramis," Athos had taken him firmly by the shoulders and your brother had never looked smaller nor younger in your eyes, "you are my sworn brother, you know that, but more importantly you are the brother of (Y/N), you have a responsibility towards her, she needs you! And as long as I can provide you stay alive for her, I will do my best to keep it that way."

Athos had gently squeezed your brother's shoulders, before returning to his backpack to finish packing. Your brother had remained silent for a while, gazing at the floor with empty eyes. Then he'd quietly left the room. He'd closed the door so gently behind himself, that it had broken your heart.

Athos and Porthos were the brothers Aramis had never had. Upon meeting them, he'd learned what it meant to be protected and supported by someone like himself - while also getting to know the stubbornness of that protection and the frustration that could come with it. Athos had decided to protect him (and you) and there was nothing your brother could do about it.

Throughout the three weeks of Athos' absence, Aramis hadn't really been himself. He'd been quiet and distant, working hard and sleeping little to not at all. You and Porthos had tried everything to get him out of this haze, but not even the idea of a night out in the tavern had lured him out into the bright side of day.

You'd started to feel incredibly guilty for the state he was in. In the end, you had been the reason for Athos' decision to leave in the place of your brother. You'd heard them talk about it after all. And while you couldn't be more grateful to him for having spared you weeks of worry and fear, you were feeling terrible due to your brother now having to go through these exact emotions. You watched your brother suffer and died of shame.

------------------

One night during the three weeks of Athos' absence, you got up to get a glass of water, only to find Aramis sitting by the window, the moon in his face. The guilt immediately surged in you, like a wave washing over you on the shore. You sat down beside him and looked at his sleep-deprived face. He tried to smile at you, but that only made your heart hurt more. You took his hand and asked a serious question. "Do you want me to go?"

He quirked an eyebrow, allowing a hint of the normal Aramis to trace his features. "Go where?"

You swallowed and looked at his hand in yours, turning it around in your own to tickle his palm. "Go away. Go back home or something. Just away from here."

He closed his hand firmly, halting your fingers, and pulled rather harshly, making you gasp. The quirked-brow Aramis made room for another Aramis that you knew very well: the angry one. Furious brown eyes bore into your own. Slightly penched forward, he looked for an answer in your expression.

"Why would you say something like that?" Before the two of you had whispered, feeling it appropriate for night time. Now, he spoke with a voice loud enough to cut through the darkness.

You tried to pull your hand back, but he only closed his own tighter around yours, informing you without a trace of doubt that he did not like your suggestion in the slightest. Tears sprang to your eyes.

"I'm sorry, but look at you!!" You had not expected to grow angry yourself - neither had he, judging by the way his eyes grew in size. "This is my fault!! If I weren't here, if you didn't have to take care of me, your friends wouldn't opt in to take on missions you could easily manage yourself. You wouldn't have to worry about Athos, you'd be free to do whatever you like, but I am... holding you back."

Speechless, Aramis stared at you, too disbelieving to really understand the reality of your words. A tear started its journey down your cheek and you violently ripped your hand out of Aramis' grasp to brush it off. His features softened, sadness dripping from his every pore. He reached for your arm again, but you pulled it out of his reach, sniffing against your will.

When he spoke again, you could hear a small smile tainting his words, your antics quite getting to him. "You silly little goose, what are you talking about? You're not holding me back in the least. You keep me sane."

Surprised, you turned your head to look at him again, tears blurring your view.

Despite the rings under his eyes, he lifted his eyebrows, nodding with a meaningful smile on his features. "Duh. Does that really surprise you? Imagine me having to deal with things on my own! Yes, you need me, but the feeling is mutual! Who would I be without you, (Y/N)? We're a full package. A package of two!" His shoulder pushed against yours and you couldn't help but let out a huff.

"And Athos?" You asked, looking up at your brother's tired face.

Aramis hummed slightly and lowered his chin. "Don't worry about that. It's my problem. I am always concerned about him. Sometimes I get the feeling that he puts himself in dangerous situations on purpose, as if he wished... but that has nothing to do with you being here, (Y/N). I'm sorry if I made you feel that way, I just..."

He sighed and you looked on, nodding. "I get it. This is exactly how I feel, when you are gone."

Soft eyes landed on you again and when he reached for your hand this time, you took it and put your head on his shoulder. You stayed like this for a while, before he got up, pulling you with him and not hesitating for a second, before grabbing you and throwing you over his shoulder. You squeaked, before reprimanding him for disturbing the peace of night which he did not take very seriously - possibly your giggles weren't very convincing.

He threw you on your bed and wished you a good night, apparently believing he could just go back to his seat on the window sill to keep staring at the moon. As if he would ever let you get away with something like that!

When he leaned down to kiss your forehead, you threw your arms around him and wrestled him down on the bed, clinging to him and wrapping your legs around him to give him no means to shake you off, before tickling him wherever you could reach.

At first he tried to stay all stoic - as he often did - hurrumping and twitching, but allowing no other reaction to escape him. When you managed to weasle your hand under his arm, though, he collapsed and for the first time since Athos had left for Spain you'd heard him let out real, deep, whole-hearted laughter that did both of you some good.

---------------------------

So now he was asleep and Athos was supposed to arrive at the garison soon.

You thought back to all the times, you had been in a similar situation, walking up and down in your apartment to pass the time until your brother would come home. And when he'd finally entered, all the times your brother had tried to remain standing upright when you had thrown yourself at him, almost suffocating him with your hugs.

You startled when a feather tickled behind your ear. Turning around in lightspeed, you were met with a very tired but relieved looking Athos, the feathered hat in his hand. He opened his arms as if to say: here I am.

A great joy took over you and you quickly threw your arms around his neck and buried your face at his shoulder, the smell of leather, alcohol and earth crawling into your nose. He cradled and weighed you gently, sweet as ever he was to you.

If you had to describe the way you felt about Athos, you would never say that he was like a brother to you - Aramis would grow terribly jealous. Aside from that, he simply didn't feel like a brother. Athos was more like a godfather. He was wise and calm and sometimes you felt like his apprentice, someone he could guide and influence a little in life.

He gently removed himself from your hug and put a hand on your shoulder, moving his chin in the direction of your brother. "How is he doing?"

You winced, putting on an unhappy expression. "He's barely been sleeping."

Athos huffed softly at that and put down his backpack. "I see. He's always been a little dramatic."

You watched with a smile as Athos approached the sleeping Aramis carefully. He crouched down next to him and looked at his half-hidden face, before looking back at you and nodding as if he understood better now what you'd meant with 'he's barely been sleeping'.

In order to wake him, Athos started squeezing one of his knees. It didn't take a full minute, before your brother startled awake and moved to hold onto Athos' hand with both of his. Athos raised one brow in greeting, while Aramis, judging by the way he was looking at Athos, was torn between amusement, relief and anger.

"Stop that." He said between gritted teeth.

"Hello to you, too." Athos replied with a calm smile on his lips.

"I'm serious."

"Sometimes a bit too much, even."

"Athos!"

Smiling to himself, Athos did remove his hand from Aramis' knee and, barely having stood up again, was met with a full on hug from his part. Aramis was clinging to him just the littlest bit, with his eyes closed and his nose buried at Athos' shoulder.

It always moved you to see your brother get emotional and a little vulnerable and Athos was no different from you. He held him close and weighed him just the way he had done with you. They didn't say a word and you had to swallow, trying to keep your cool as much as possible. After a while though, Athos lifted his brow again.

"If you are falling asleep on me, I will not hesitate to drop you."

"I'm not."

Athos sent you a meaningful look.

"Let's get you to bed, shall we?"

Aramis agreed slurredly and let go off his friend, only to almost stumble over the chair he'd been sitting on. You had to stifle a laugh. Athos shrugged. "I suppose, we need a hand here, (Y/N)."

Somehow you both managed to get one of Aramis' sleep-heavy arms over your shoulders and to drag him to your apartment and to tug him in, without dropping him more than once.

Proudly, you put your hands on your hips. "Finally, he will get some sleep again."

Athos looked at you in the half-dark room and remained silent before quietly saying: "I think Spain would have been hard on him without you."

You tried to meet Athos' gaze in the darkness, but he only squeezed your shoulder one last time, before turning to leave the room.

And Aramis was the dramatic one? You shook your head slightly, before pulling Aramis' blanket up some more and placing a kiss on his forehead.

When you went to bed, you started to ponder the ever same idea again. To prevent further painful seperations and sleepless nights, there was only one thing you had to do: become a musketeer.

#aramis sister #sister imagine #the three musketeers #the three musketeers sister imagine #you are aramis sister #athos #athos and aramis #aramis and athos #sister reader #vincent cassel #athos 2023 #ticklish!aramis

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unforeseen-idiot · 10 months ago

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Three Musketeers

So I’m Cardinal Richelieu in Three Musketeers right now, and the script has this detail of Athos, Porthos, and Aramis living in the same house together. Idk I thought it was funny.

#Like imagine them making breakfast #Playing games together #Three Musketeers #Athos #Porthos #Aramis

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cy-lindric · 2 months ago

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bonjour cy-lindric, j'ai une petite question. when I was a young person, I read The Three Musketeers and then eagerly started to read Twenty Years After and was so upset at what had happened to my beloved young heroes that I put the book down and never picked it up. what do you think, should I try again?

Bonjour !

After reading The Three Musketeers, I also wasn't sure I wanted to read Twenty Years After, and I took a break inbetween both to read something entirely different (The Locked Tomb, iirc). I think my reason for that was kind of the opposite of yours ; I enjoyed T3M a lot and loved the characters, flaws and all, but by the end they had somewhat crossed over the line into being Too Awful and the lack of retribution left me a bit frustrated. I didn't see it as a failing of the story - on the contrary, their strong character flaws and downfall in the conflict with Milady is one of the most emotionally intense and compelling parts imo - but I wasn't sure I felt like hanging out with these guys for a few hundred more pages at that point.

If your vision of the characters as a young reader was a very positive and perhaps idealized one, I can imagine why you might not have enjoyed entering into Twenty Years after. The illusion of glory has worn off ; the characters have separated, they live unremarkable lives, and their personalities have evolved drastically with the passing of time. It's almost a brutal return to reality.

For me though, it added layers of characterization to the point where now it's clear to me that this version of the Inseparables is by far the one I prefer.

I hope it's ok if I take the opportunity to talk at length about what I like about TYA below the cut. TL;DR : I love that Twenty Years After is a more realistic look at the big four's personalities and how they evolved while still keeping them thematically coherent, and that TYA makes them confront the reckless and cruel shit they did in their youth.

Spoilers ahead obviously.

We've often talked about how T3M is at its core a story about the end of knighthood. It's a tongue-in-cheek approach at chivalrous initiation, set at edge of the modern world, inbetween the time of ballads about knights in armor and that of adventures about journeying gunmen and soldiers. I think TYA embodies that particularly ; the story of people who have carried the last of these intense, dangerous chivalric ideals in their youths, and who have now grown into middle aged adults who need to find their place in the world.

For a good chunk of the book, the big four are separated into two teams ; that in of itself might discourage some, but imo it's genius. Instead of the natural two-by-pairings, Dumas goes for a d'Artagnan+ Porthos and Athos + Aramis split on opposite sides, which makes for good drama and develops lesser explored dynamics. D'Artagnan and Porthos form a scrappy team of opportunists with money on their minds, and Athos and Aramis a more idealistic duo fighting for a noble lost cause. I think it's a bold choice but also premium sequel writing.

I also love the way the young and wild characters we knew evolve into middle aged men ; at their core, they're still the same, but they've all changed and struggled against the sunset of the golden age in their own ways.

D'Artagnan, after knowing such adventures and subsequent rapid social ascension in his teenage years, has been met in his adult life with the harsh reality that he is, in fact, not a noble knight but a soldier on payroll. His modest origins give him little hope for any further career advancement, and he takes on a new mission in his early 40s for a man he has no devotion for and a cause he doesn't care about, simply because he is bored and broke. D'Artagnan still has his quick wits, his strategic talent, his fencing skills, but he has grown out of the excesses of pride of his teenage years. I loved meeting him again in TYA, and it made so much sense to me that his bouts of anger and aggressivity would be a youthful trait that he'd ended up taming. He also realizes now a lot of what seemed like funny adventures and necessary violence was actually kind of fucked up ; that was a shock to me, as their shenanigans are treated so lightly in T3M, and tbh it healed me a little. Grown up d'Artagnan is cunning, calculating, down to earth and realistic. My foxy little man. I love him.

Porthos, likewise, has been struck by the weight of reality. He has made the sensible choice and got married to the rich widow who sugar mommied him in the first book. Now she's passed, he is rich, but he still fails to earn the respect of the high society he evolves in because he's not high born enough. Like d'Artagnan, he's stagnating and bored and now that he goes back adventuring it has nothing to do with the queen or the kingdom or honour ; it's about getting his damn nobility title.

Athos, on the other hand, is the eternal knight : the only truly high born of the four, and still hopelessly holding on to a time gone by. It's no surprise imo that his storyline brings him into the english civil war, doomed to fail at saving a king who'll end up executed right in front of him. TYA acknowledges more clearly than ever that at 28 yo, Athos was a depressed alcoholic, and an embodiment of what an excess of aristocratic righteousness can do. In TYA, he is sober and moisturized and a DILF, and now he's running around frantically looking for absolution for his numerous crimes. It's delicious.

Aramis is maybe the hardest pill to swallow. TYA confirms the T3M hints that he isn't really the prim and proper romantic boy he acts like he is, and that he's possibly the most hypocritical and ruthless of the four. It might be a harsh one for Aramis fans who like him better as a cute bean, but I love the early onset of remorseless conniving bloodthirsty ambitious Aramis. Another harsh bit might be the evolution of Aramis and d'Artagnan not really liking each other ; they were always the least close combination, and imo it makes sense that their personalities would clash. I think it's clever and compelling conflict.

Now, obviously, if you've cared enough to read all this and if you know me a little, you know that a huge highlight of the book for me was its late-appearing antagonist, Mordaunt. Mordaunt is the son Milady had with her english husband. Because of the Musketeers' intervention, he's grown up in poverty and has been denied his father's inheritance. He's now a Roundhead working for Cromwell, and set on avenging his mother at all costs. Mordaunt, unlike his mother who was this beautiful and dangerous force of nature, is very uncool and pathetic. She was the primordial snake, he's the gutter rat. Obviously, I love that in and of itself, but it's also kind of striking image of the wretchedness of what they've done to her, a fucked up little goblin ghost come back to haunt them as they're trying to make their life worth living again. This time, their enemy is not a cunning political rival with a flamboyance of body and mind akin to their own ; it's a shitty little guy with bad skin who wants to kill the king and punish the murderers. Watch out babes, it's the modern world coming for you.

Of course, they're the Four Musketeers, and they did what they had to do, so they get together again and swear friendship and keep going their way. But they're also old guys with difficult personalities in a world that's never going to be the same. I think it's a cool book.

#twenty years after #vingt ans après #invizigothx #replies

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fandom-imagines-stories · 1 year ago

Text

Resurrection

Aramis x Reader

Words: 2968

Part One

Summary: With the shocking reveal made only to Athos, the musketeer struggles to keep the reader's survival a secret from his grieving companions. Her motivations for keeping Aramis away become more complicated than Athos initially thought. Aramis and the others hunt Visage.

Notes: Surprise surprise another one of my imagines had to be split up because I cannot write short form to save my life. I hope you guys enjoy!

More Musketeers imagines: HERE

The fine lines of the weapons matched only the motions of the swords themselves. You squinted against the warm, summer sun beaming down on the courtyard while the flurry of men before you laughed and clattered away with their practice.

Porthos lunged with his sword and Aramis expertly ducked out of the way. Your lover caught your eye and winked at you, flourishing his hand with victory. You set down your charcoal to applaud, but Porthos was quicker, landing a punch to his stomach when he wasn’t looking. Only half-strength, of course, but you could hear Aramis’s surprised grunt nonetheless.

“You’re proving to be quite the distraction you know,” a voice playfully scolded. Athos sat beside you with a brow raised in a teasing arch as he examined your work.

“All the better then,” you replied, finishing a sweep of motion on the page. “He should learn to not allow his mind to be taken from the fight, correct?”

Athos chuckled. “Right you are. In fact, Aramis should be thanking you. It’s an excellent learning opportunity.”

“You just enjoy seeing him lose.”

“Well,” he smirked, “only every once in a while.”

A giggle escaped your lips, making him laugh as well. “You’re terrible.”

“You’re the one sitting here with your sketches and your pretty smile, batting your eyelashes at him while he’s trying to focus,” Athos laughed.

“What are you two talking about?” Aramis called, holding his hand on his newly sore middle.

“Nothing, darling!” You waved.

He shrugged and resumed the practice, taking on D’Artagnan now.

“That’s very good,” Athos said, looking over your parchment. “The swords almost swing right off the page.”

“Well thank you, monsieur. That’s very kind.” You grimaced, watching Aramis take yet another blow from the youngest of them. “Are you sure this is all just for fun?”

“Oh yes. You have nothing to worry about, mademoiselle. He just needs help… concentrating.” His eyes followed yours, trying to hide his amusement. “I assure you, we shall return your paramore in one piece.”

“Perhaps I should go.”

“No no.” He held back a laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Athos arrived at Pinon with a swimming mind and a cautious heart. He dismounted and handed his horse to the stablemen of the inn Y/N had written on the back of her letter. Allegedly. He’d already thought of the multitude of punishments for whoever plotted this if it all turned out to be a ploy.

The musketeer surveyed his surroundings and swallowed his discomfort. Memories flooded his thoughts, but he pushed them back. This wasn’t about him. This was for Y/N.

He pushed open the door. The small group inside all turned their heads. Athos scowled and didn’t say a word.

“Can I help you, monsieur?” A woman wiping her hands on a rag asked.

“I was sent a letter from a young woman,” he spoke slowly, his suspicion clear in his voice. “She told me to come here.”

The woman’s eyes grew wide, realizing who he was, and a dark glare overtook her features.

“This way, Comte,” she seethed.

He opened his mouth to object to the title, but she was already leading him up a set of stairs. Athos took a deep breath and reminded himself why he was there. A level head was required, especially with the three reckless mourners he left in Paris. He feared the only way to save Aramis from himself was a miracle.

If this was all a ruse…

“She asked for you, sir, because she trusted you to have done what she asked,” the young woman said. Her tone still held nothing but contempt for him. While he did not blame her, he knew no amount of frustration could make him even think of returning. She put a hand on the door and stayed there. “I have not been so hopeful,” she snapped. “This woman is in no condition to be caught up in any more musketeer problems. If you’ve done anything to upset her-”

“If you are stalling because of a lie, I promise, you will pay dearly for it,” he growled. His patience- and his hope- were waning thin.

Just then, the door swung open, pushed by a gloved hand, and every doubt was banished from his mind. Athos beheld you with a sigh of relief that was cut off by a sharp inhale of shock. The marks on your face had started to heal but were still very prominent. You crossed your arms so that your hands were hidden from him. To him, the worst of it was in your eyes. The brightness he’d once known, the fire and passion he’d always admired about you, had gone, replaced by a darkness he wouldn't wish upon his worst enemy.

He said a silent prayer that Aramis and the others found Visage soon, despite the dangers.

And made it hurt.

Aramis moved like a predator on the hunt, with a fury in his step that the other two almost struggled to keep up with. While they hadn’t the faintest idea where to start, Aramis led them toward Y/N’s old apartments, paid for by Madame de Visage before she died. Both had seen the humble, but comfortable establishment before. Now, it loomed over them like the shadow of death.

Whatever darkness they felt, however, didn’t seem to deter Aramis in the slightest. Instead of going to the door, he went to the side of the apartments where a younger man tended the small stable where Y/N’s horse awaited an owner who would never return.

Before the other two could stop him, Aramis took the young man by the scruff of his neck and threw him against the wall.

“You!” He boomed, arm at the other’s throat.

The young man gulped and a wave of terrified realization washed across his features. Porthos and D’Artagnan exchanged a glance but did not move to stop the interaction.

Aramis leaned, lowering his voice to a low, threatening hiss. “You lied to me. You told me that the woman you worked for- a woman who’d been nothing but kind and generous to you- had left to marry a man she hated. Why?”

“I-I don’t know anything-” The man stammered.

Aramis shoved away from him, took out his pistol, and fired. The brick beside the stableboy’s head burst in a cloud of stone dust. The young man screamed, ducking away from the blast. Aramis rushed him again, pinning him back.

“Tell me!” He demanded.

“Please, I-I don’t…”

Aramis fired again, this time at the ground by the man’s foot, close enough to graze the side of his boot. Tears flowed down the man’s face in terror.

“Aramis,” D’Artagnan said, stepping forward. “Maybe he doesn’t know anything.”

“He told me she left me,” Aramis growled. “He told me that Y/N had married Visage and wanted nothing more to do with Paris. He failed to mention that Visage killed her, but he knew. He’s working with the bastard and I want to know. Where. Is. Visage!”

The young man stared at him, wide-eyed and sniveling. He wiped his dripping nose on the back of his hand.

“I didn’t know he was going to kill her. I swear. He told me just to make sure she didn’t leave the room and to not let anyone in until he got there, and if you came looking to tell you she was gone. I didn’t know. I swear! I’ll help you, I promise. Just please. Please don’t kill me,” he sobbed.

Aramis froze and felt as if the man had stabbed him through the heart.

“She was alive?” He gasped. “She was there?”

“Y-yes, but Master Visage told me you were the one going to kill her. I thought I was protecting her, I swear, I would never do anything to hurt Mademoiselle Y/L/N.”

Aramis couldn’t hear him. He just stumbled back, clutching a wound to his chest that didn’t exist.

“If I hadn’t been so quick to believe…” He muttered. “If I had only looked and persisted and tried…”

Porthos reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Aramis-”

Aramis’s eyes snapped up, full of tears. “I could have saved her?”

These words sunk into the group like fangs into flesh. Aramis’s broken stare settled on the ground while Porthos and D’Artagnan paced behind him, keeping careful watch in case he reached for his weapon again.

“I-I might know where you can look for him,” the man whispered, drawing all of their attention. He gulped. “I may not know where he is, but I know where he talked of going with…”

“Spit it out then,” Porthos barked.

“He said something about finding the man Mademoiselle Y/L/N was, um, seeing-” His eyes flashed fearfully to Aramis. “And camping outside of the city for a few days while they searched for him to keep a low profile.”

“He could still be anywhere.” D’Artagnan kicked at the dirt.

“I’m sorry, that’s all I know. He said he would not rest until the musketeer died a slow and shameful death.” The man trembled as Aramis stepped toward him again. He loomed over the younger man, planting a fist against the wall.

“Then let him find me,” he seethed. “Let the coward come crawling and he’ll get what he wants.”

He turned on his heel and, as swiftly as he came, hurried off into the street with his worried companions running after him.

You were frozen, despite the rush of relief in your chest, and found yourself leaning against the bedpost for support. The pair of piercing blue eyes across the room stared into yours in shock. You’d welcomed him into the room with a silent nod and the two of you had stood like this for what felt like an hour. Eventually, you both worked up the courage to speak, words tumbling over the other’s.

“Athos-” You started, cut off by his stunned exhale.

“You’re alive.”

You stood for a moment longer, feeling the nerves in your limbs replaced by elation.

With the tension between you ceased you hurried to close the space between you, throwing your arms around the reserved musketeer. Athos held you cautiously, afraid that if he moved, you’d disappear.

“Oh, Athos, I can’t begin to tell you how nice it is to see a familiar face,” you cried against his chest.

When you pulled back, your face, though bruised, brought joy to his heart. You may have been a broken image compared to how he once knew you, but you were alive. You were here. Putting his own relief aside, he thought of Aramis. His friend’s suffering did not have to continue. Athos knew that, once Aramis saw you and held you in his arms, he would be whole again.

As if reading his mind, you stiffened in his embrace. “You came alone, didn’t you? The others, they don’t… he doesn’t know?”

“Though I can’t understand your insistence on keeping Aramis away,” Athos sighed, “I didn’t tell anyone of your letter. He, Porthos, and D’Artagnan are likely still hunting down Visage as we speak.”

“You didn’t try to stop him?” You gasped. “Visage has countless men at his disposal and all of his mother’s fortune, not to mention he’s the foulest creature I’ve ever met.”

“Which is exactly why it would be pointless trying to talk Aramis out of it. We hardly convinced him to let us go along as it is. Visage has already tried to kill him once- an ambush at the edge of the city- and fled when we arrived. I’m hoping his cowardice will not wear off before we return and we can have the upper hand.”

You stepped away, beginning a restless pace back and forth across the room. Your fingers fiddled with the gloves on your hands, a habit you’d swiftly developed since putting them on.

“Athos, I’m not sure that I can… that I’m ready to…” You trailed off, eyes trained out of the window at the graying sky.

Athos tried to hide his shock. “You don’t want to go back?”

Your head lowered. He observed scratches on the back of your neck from when you’d been pinned against the tree. He also noticed your attention to your hands and how they trembled.

“What about Aramis?” Athos asked. “If you had any idea what this has done to him-”

“And I would do anything in my power to save him from that pain, I would,” you cried.

“But you can!” He stepped toward you, allowing his frustration to get the better of him.

You stepped away, shoulders hunched and face contorted with a flash of fear. It was only for a moment, but it was enough for the guilt to hit him.

Athos sighed, composing himself. “If he could only see that you’re safe…”

“But I’m not safe, am I?” You crossed your arms, more protective than defiant. “I may have survived, but I’m not safe. Not from what he’s done to me.”

He nodded, letting an understanding silence fall between you, and held out his hands to take yours.

You gulped, slowly removing your gloves one finger at a time.

Though more healed now, the flesh of the back of your hands was still scabbed over and a dark, bruised color. Two of your fingers had reset slightly crooked. To anyone else, it wouldn’t have been noticeable, but for you, it felt monstrous. As if Visage had taken your body, the very tools of your heart, and turned them into something ugly and wrong.

Athos placed your hand between his, holding it just tightly enough for you to feel the emphasis of his words.

“He will pay for what he’s done,” he said. “And we will never let anything happen to you. I promise you that.”

He again pulled you into his arms. When you parted this time, you sat on the edge of the bed, pulling your sketchbook into your lap. You gazed down at the image of Aramis, with his dark eyes and loving smile.

“Things used to be so simple,” you sighed.

“I’m afraid it’s never simple,” Athos chuckled. “Especially when it comes to loving a musketeer.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Speaking of Aramis…”

You ran the tip of your finger over the paper and set the book aside with an exhale. “He’s going to do something stupid, isn’t he?”

“I imagine so.”

Putting your gloves back on, you grabbed the pistol you’d gotten from Jeanne. You held it with a fire in your eyes that Athos knew would find its mark.

“Then we’d better go help him.”

“He will be here soon,” you whined, burying your face in the crook of your lover’s neck. You wanted nothing more than to stay tucked in his arms for forever, but your patron had insisted that you meet her only surviving family.

Aramis chuckled, pushing you back to kiss your forehead. The two of you were tucked in a corner of the library in Madam de Visage’s Paris estate. You thought that the lighting here would be perfect for a painting you were working on. Aramis had gladly joined to have a break from training.

“I’m sure it will be fine. You’re fond of Madame de Visage, aren’t you? Surely her child can’t be too dreadful.”

“But he isn’t a child. He’s a rich young man who is looking for a wife.” You raised a brow. “And his mother has made more than enough hints as to whom she’d like to see him marry.”

“Ah, and you think, because she has been such a good patroness to you, she expects you to return the favor?” He moved around the back of you, wrapping his arms around your waist while he watched you paint. “You could just tell her about us.”

“Excellent idea,” you snorted. “Delphine, I’ve put that apartment you rent for me to good use for frequent rendezvouses with a musketeer. I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”

“You make it sound so unromantic,” Aramis pouted, his mustache tickling the skin of your neck as he trailed kisses from the nape of your neck to your shoulder. “Just play nice with the son, make it clear you aren’t interested in marrying him, and I’m sure things will return to normal.”

You set your brush aside, unable to focus on the painting with your growing nerves. “That’s easy for you to say. Your entire existence doesn’t depend on someone else.” You took a seat on the chaise, letting your head fall into your hands. “Every day, I worry that she’ll bore of me, that she’ll find I’m not as talented as she once thought, and that she’ll decide to stop providing me with the life that I have. And then another part of me realizes how ridiculous I sound. I’m a poor painter living like a duchess. What right have I to complain?”

What right have I to deny her son? You thought, but couldn’t bring yourself to say.

“Oh, darling,” Aramis sighed, draping an arm over your shoulders and pulling you to his chest. “Regardless of what Madame de Visage feels, you are without a doubt the most talented artist in Paris. And you will always have a place, even if it means I have to use months of my commission to ensure it.”

You nestled closer to him. “That’s very sweet of you, but I have bought your dinner more times than I can count, my love. I don’t think we would fare well on our own.”

He opened his mouth in mock offense and you laughed, pulling his lips to yours. He had one thing right. You’d always have a place in his heart and he in yours as long as you both lived.

#aramis x reader #aramis #the musketeers bbc #the musketeers imagine #athos #porthos #d'artagnan #santiago cabrera #aramis bbc

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backtothefanfiction · 7 months ago

Text

Rain Grows | Aramis x Reader Imagine

Summary: sometimes we all just need a good cry.

Length: Short

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, depressed feelings

A/N: as usual at the moment, I’m feeling very emotional and angsty and need some hurt comfort from one of my boys. Tonight I chose Aramis.

It was like someone had blown out the candle inside you. The one that kept things running. Your spark. Your hope. Now- there was nothing.

You had always been known for your joy. Your bright smile. That small skip in your step. You had kind words for everyone. But now- now you just wanted to curl up in a ball and cry.

The moment the candle went out, it was like a delay, the smoke making you hazy as you aimlessly wandered around the market in a daze. All the usual faces tried to say “hi” to you, but you couldn’t seem to say it back. You couldn’t even give them your usual toothy grin. Your new polite tight lipped smile became the hushed talk of the market- and it only made you feel worse.

When one of the older ladies finally asked you if you were okay, it made your heart ache. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know how to act. This had never happened to you before. Then suddenly his name was echoing around your hollow skull. Your knight in roughed up leathers. He always made your heart skip a beat and brought a smile to your lips and a blush to your cheeks. You just had to see Aramis and everything would be okay.

When you got to the garrison it was empty, most of the musketeers- the inseparables included- were all up at the palace and not due back for a while yet. So you decided to wait. And wait. And then wait some more.

Feeling hollow and empty, you sat yourself on the steps that lead up to the Captain’s office and you waited. Your fingers fiddled idly with your skirts, the rough fabric rubbing against your fingertips grounding you and giving you something to focus on as you waited for the time to pass. 20 minutes. Half an hour. 1 hour. 2. 3.

When it began to rain, you still didn’t move. The cold drops of early spring rain hit the back of your neck- your arms- droplets running down and soaking into your clothes. But you didn’t care. You barely noticed. You had completely checked out, that empty darkness seeping out and wrapping its tendrils around every fibre of your being. You were vaguely aware of the passing looks of the stable hands and a few passing musketeers, but you never looked, never paid them attention, just kept your focus on your one mission. Waiting for Aramis and not completely falling apart until he got here.

*****

“Ahhh, I do love the rain.” Aramis hummed to himself and smiled as he took his hat off and allowed the water to wash over him.

“He’s mad.” D’Artagnan muttered to Porthos and Athos as the four of them made their way back down the street towards the garrison.

Porthos chuckled, “Is that so?” He said to his friend, clapping him on the shoulder, “because I remember just last week you said you hated it.”

“Ahh yes, but that’s because it was still Winter then my friend.” Aramis said back, “Spring is here now. The birds are returning, the flowers are blooming,” his fingers reached to brush across the petals of a couple of blooming flowers in a window box they passed.

“And it’s not so cold.” Athos finished Aramis’ sentence for him, in his usual droll tone.

“Exactly!” Aramis smiled enthusiastically, sweeping his hat back onto his head.

“Afternoon boys.” A fellow Musketeer said as he made his way in the opposite direction, away from the garrison from where he had just come.

“Benoit.” They each greeted him, none of them intending to stop, until he did.

“Umm, Aramis, you should know, there’s a young woman waiting for you. Been there a while.”

“Does this lady have a name?” Athos asked.

“She didn’t say, was just asking after Aramis, but I think it’s that girl who works down at the tavern on-“

Aramis didn’t need Benoit to say which tavern, he already knew it was you. But you never visited him at work. You’d seek him out in the tavern- sure- but you never sought him out outside of your work. “How long has she been waiting?” He asked.

“I’d say just gone 3 hours.” Benoit replied before he began to start walking in the direction of his next destination again.

“3 hours?” Porthos said.

“In this weather?” D’Artagnan added.

“Shit, it must be really bad.” Porthos continued, a hint of amusement beginning to fill his voice as he prepared to make a joke and mock his closest friend, “Don’t tell me you got her knocked up?” He began to joke, but Aramis’s face had grown serious.

He ignored his friends as he began to pick up speed, his brisk walk turning into a light jog as he left them behind to run on ahead. You had been waiting for him for over three hours. Why? It had to have been important if you were willing to stay there and wait in the rain for him.

His pace slowed as he came through the gate to the garrison, your rain soaked body near frozen on the stairs as you looked down at your fingers. He found himself pulling his hat off of his head in respect. His steps towards you were slow and tentative, as if he were stalking an animal in the woods, not wishing to startle it, just get a better look. He suddenly froze mere feet away from you as Porthos’s booming and defensive voice grew closer to the gate, making you look up at him like a startled deer.

“Hey- hey…” he said in ever softer tones as if to soothe you and make sure you were okay, “it’s okay.” He said. You both looked away from each other to his brothers as they came into view of the gate, their hesitating eyes locking on the two of you and your more somber faces, each giving you both a silent nod of acknowledgment before passing by and making their way inside.

“You should come inside,” Aramis said, taking another gentle step closer to you, “dry off-“ but his words got trapped in his throat when your eyes met his. They were so scared. So worried. “What is it? What’s happened?” He asked, placing his foot up on the bottom step and leaning in to you, his fingers instinctively reaching out for your face. He forced you to keep your eyes on him. Silently reassured you that he saw your pain and had no intention of averting his eye or looking away.

You had no words. You thought the moment you saw him it would magically make things better, but it didn’t. You didn’t know what else to do now. You had waited in the rain all afternoon in the hopes that you would see his face and it would make everything okay. Now you were just wet. Empty and wet. Your chest sagged, heart breaking and suddenly the dam broke too. Tears filled your eyes and big chest wracking sobs burst free. Aramis quickly shucked off his jacket, wrapping it around your shoulders. He then sat himself beside you on the step and wrapped you in his arms.

His embrace was comforting, the smell of his leather familiar. He kissed the top of your head as you just cried. Your tears mingled with the rain on your cheeks and after a few attempts of trying to brush them away for you, Aramis just gave up and held you tighter and continued to let you cry. “There, there,” he cooed softly as he slowly rocked you back and forth on the step, “let it all out.”

“I’m sorry.” Your broken voice said between sobs, but he wouldn’t accept it.

“Now, now, there’s nothing to be sorry about.” He said with another kiss to the top of your wet head.

After another few minutes wrapped up in his embrace, your sobs began to break. “There, there.” He continued to gently say, “it’s okay, I’ve got you,” he repeated, until your breathing was finally under control again and your tears ceased to fall anymore, the rain seaming to also grow lighter too.

As you pushed yourself up away from his chest, wiping at your face as you tried to meet his eyes, his own hands moving to replace your own to do the task for you, you slowly attempted to find your voice once more. “I’m sorry.” You said again. “I just-“ but you couldn’t find the words to explain what happened… because truly you didn’t know what happened, but with his presence, his kindness and warmth, the safety of his arms protecting you as you allowed yourself to shatter into a million pieces, it somehow eased the tension in your chest. You still felt a little bit empty, but now you felt lighter.

“It’s okay.” He said to you again as he smoothed back a sopping wet strand of your hair from your face. Already he could see the light in your eyes returning. He looked hesitantly down to your lips, then back up to your eyes. He’d wanted to kiss them for a while, the way you’d nibble on them and blush when you saw him and give him not your big smiles you gave to everyone else, but your smaller adorable, bashful and intimate ones. But now, knowing he meant so much to you that when you were hurting, he was the only one you’d share your vulnerability with, it made him want to kiss you even more. But now was not the time. Instead he decided to use his mouth instead to distract. “Do you know why I love the rain?” He asks you, his fingers reaching out to intertwine with your cold ones as he looks out towards the gates of the garrison.

“No.” You reply as you carefully watch his face from the side, the corners of his lips turning up as the dark clouds above began to pass and make way for a clearer skies.

“Because it washes away the old and makes everything clean, ready to start a fresh.” He says proudly, his chest puffing up slightly as he turns his head to share his grin with you and it makes the corners of your own mouth twitch, a faint ghost of a smile slowly gracing your features, observing his boy like wonder about the world.

“It also,” he continues, his thumb rubbing gently across the back of your hand, “brings life.” He smiles. “It waters the plants and helps the flowers to bloom and the crops to grow. There’s so much wonder in the rain. Everyone gets so caught up in it, you know. Their clothes get wet and the shoes get muddy. But it’s so much more than that. Plus,” he says, standing and pulling you up with him, “when it eventually passes and the sun begins to shine again, sometimes,” he says, pulling you into the centre of the garrison, his eyes moving in small searching flashes to the sky until they stop and he too stops, turning you in the right direction to see what he does, “you get to see truly rare beauty that no amount of money in the world could buy.”

His hands rest on your shoulders from behind and his finger points up to the sky- and there you see it, faint at first, but slowly growing stronger. A rainbow. It makes you smile. A full one this time too. You feel his body relax behind you at the sight of it and you can’t help but relax back into him again, your smile growing content.

“See, even the sky cries some times.” He says into your ear, and you can feel the smile on his lips with how close his mouth is to it.

“And maybe it sends rainbows to let us know it was a good cry.” You turn your head and smile at him.

He beams, a small breathy chuckle escaping his lips. With a warm twinkle in his eye, he kisses your temple in agreement. “Sometimes we all just need a good cry.” He confirms.

#aramis imagine #aramis x reader #aramis musketeers #aramis bbc #aramis #bbc the musketeers #the musketeers imagine #the musketeers

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