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fandom-imagines-stories · 1 month ago

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Three Not-So-Wise Men

Aramis x Reader

Words: 5268

Summary: Stuck in an inn due to the weather, the musketeers and their two trainees gather around the fire to tell their stories of winter mishaps. Throughout the night, as the others go to sleep, the reader and Aramis are left to face their unspoken feelings for each other.

Notes: Started with the light hearted and then get dramatic. You know me, I always love a good near-death that makes people realize they love each other. I hope you enjoy! I love writing my boys.

More Musketeers: HERE

The inn was empty, all travelers staying away from the roads during the unusually brutal winter storm. Ice mixed with the mud on the paths, creating pools of dangerous ground for horses to step upon. The wind chilled down the bone, assisted by the fat white flakes sinking into cloaks, making them heavier and heavier. The blizzard howled on as five riders emerged from the blinding white.

You clamped your teeth together to keep them from chattering but to no avail. It seemed your whole body trembled with the violence of a broken wagon wheel, every second in the storm more and more unbearable. D’Artagnan, riding beside you, wasn’t fairing much better, his cloak pulled tightly around himself and his dark hair speckled with white.

“If we spend much longer out here, the horses will freeze,” Athos called out over the sound of the wind.

“Horses? What about us?” Porthos whined.

“I see something,” Aramis said. “Over the hill.”

You peered through the ice that coated your eyelashes and could just see the small orange glow lit up amongst the frozen landscape.

“I think it’s an inn,” Athos said.

“Oh thank God.” Porthos urged his horse to go faster, trotting the animal up the road, still careful to avoid the ice spots.

Aramis fell back to ride next to you while the others hurried off.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his voice still somehow soft over the sound of the wind.

“I’ll be better with a fire and some wine to warm me up.” You gave him a small smile and the two of you joined the others.

The innkeeper’s son had fallen asleep at the entrance, his boots dripping melted snow onto the tabletop. A fire crackled beneath the mantle, its warmth spreading through the large, vacant dining area. The boy remained asleep until a fierce wind kicked up, barreling through the door as it burst open.

Athos arranged for the rooms and the meal. D’Artagnan retreated to the fire the moment he stepped foot inside. You had a mind to do the same, but wanted to ask the boy to prepare a bath first. Days of riding had left your skin filthy and dry. While your four companions pulled chairs around the hearth, you went up to your separate room and undressed. Practically peeling your tunic from your skin, it was a relief to lower yourself into the warmth of the water.

You dragged the cloth along the dirt on your arms and legs, watching it streak off. After you were sure your body was clean, you sunk deeper into the water, letting the sloshing water rise over your head. You could feel the tangles in your hair slowly unravel as you cleaned your scalp. You closed your eyes.

The ice froze over top of you, sealing your frigid tomb.

Above, someone screamed. They called out your name. Beyond the frozen barrier, you could just see him. At least he would be the final sight your eyes beheld in this world.

You jerked up, coughing up water and clinging to the side of the tub like a startled animal.

It was like you could still feel that chill of death creeping along your flesh.

You climbed out of the bath and got dressed.

Downstairs, the four men ate in silence, each too focused on their long-awaited meal to speak. When you rejoined them, each exchanged a look with another. Your face was ashen when it should have been revitalized by the warmth of the bath and your hands trembled.

You took the seat beside D’Artagnan. Aramis passed you the stew he’d left by the fire to keep warm.

After a while of more silence, Porthos couldn’t take it anymore.

“We’re a merry group, aren’t we?” He snorted. He set his empty bowl aside and leaned with his elbows on his knees. “This ain’t the worst storm we’ve all seen, eh?”

Athos sipped his wine. “That it is not.”

“Do you remember that awful mess two winters ago?”

Everyone shuddered at the thought, save four D’Artagnan, who looked confused.

“What are you talking about?” He asked.

“A few years ago, Paris saw the worst snow storm it’s ever had,” Athos explained. “The cold killed dozens and people were unable to leave their homes for food for days.”

You swallowed.

Aramis’ eyes flitted to yours, but only for a moment.

“There were some right wild times then, I can tell you that,” Porthos added. A low laugh rumbled through him, easing your nerves with his smile. “Towards the end of it- oh, you’ve got to hear this story.”

The king was desperately bored, all travel from his usual companions of distant relatives and ambassadors halted by the terrible weather. So he settled simply for those at court and ordered a grand winter ball. The ballroom was decorated with large white banners and plenty of candles both to fend off the early darkness and the frigid cold that hung even indoors.

And with an event, of course, required a full musketeer guard. No one wanted the job, so Treville sent those who he was most irritated with at the time- and most times. Athos, Aramis, Porthos, and you. You’d all been caught throwing snow at the Red Guards and this was to be your punishment.

“Look at all of em,” Porthos whispered to you. “No wonder they aren’t cold. Those dresses must weigh twenty pounds.”

“Don’t remind me,” you huffed, adjusting your ridiculous corset. While on the more treacherous missions, you were allowed to wear the same uniform as the men in the regiment, when it came to the palace, you were required to dress like a lady.

“Right,” Porthos snickered.

Aramis leaned over, whispering at your ear. “You look lovely.”

“Shut up,” you said, though your cheeks turned a delicate shade of pink.

The dancing commenced and the four of you did your rounds. It was a fairly normal affair, gaudy and crowded, but that was typical for the king’s tastes. He needed to be adored and the people of Paris were more than happy to get a leg up on the social ladder. And, keeping to the fashions, everything was huge. The dresses, the hair, the accessories. It all reminded you of the colorful birds from distant lands you’d read about. Then you pictured everyone with beaks, which made you giggle to yourself.

“Glad to see you’re enjoying yourself.” Aramis walked towards you, his eyes lit by the hundreds of candles that surrounded you.

“I’d be enjoying it more if I was back at the garrison and out of this contraption,” you whined.

“Yes, I’ve never seen a woman look as good in breeches as you.” Realizing what he’d said, he cleared his throat and added, “I mean, look as good out of a dress, I mean-” Aramis stumbled over his words and gave up, settling beside you to observe the room. But he kept stealing glances at you.

Porthos eventually rejoined you, shaking his head.

“Whoever set this up wasn’t very careful,” he said.

“What do you mean?” You asked, happy for the distraction from the man next to you.

“All these flames, so close to all those banners?” He pointed around the room. “Get a couple of drinks in, someone is sure to run into one, don’t you think?”

Aramis shrugged. “They’ve had candles around like this before. I’m sure it will be-”

“Fire!” Someone cried out across the ballroom.

You all leaped into action.

The stampede of lace and farthingale rushed around you, separating you and Porthos from the others. Aramis sprinted through to find the source of the commotion while Athos went to make sure the king and queen were alright.

With the members of the court fleeing into the gardens, you were able to see the licks of flame at the base of one of the large banners. Aramis swiftly threw a pale of water on the blaze and the matter was put to rest.

“And when everyone ran outside, they were slipping all over the ice in their fancy shoes.” Porthos bellowed with laughter, doubling over at the memory of the sight. “You should have seen 'em all, sliding about. I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing.”

“If it’s so funny, why don’t you tell everyone how the fire started to begin with?” Athos said, smirking. “What was it you were sneaking from the table when you knocked the candle over? Ah yes,” he raised a brow, “a bonbon.”

D’Artagnan snickered.

Aramis pat Porthos on the back. “I hope it was delicious, my friend.”

You all laughed at Porthos’ expense, but soon he was chuckling along as well.

“What’s this about a snow fight with the red guard?” D’Artagnan asked. “You said that was why Treville had you at the event. A kind of punishment?”

“Yes, well,” Athos cleared his throat. “That’s a different story.”

“Oh no, if you’re going to tell them about my blunder, then we definitely must tell them about yours,” Porthos said.

“I still maintain that they started it,” Athos huffed. He poured everyone another glass of wine.

You let the liquid warm you, the memory of the water still lingering in the tremble of your fingers. You kept them tucked in your tunic sleeves, but Aramis was watching. And he knew what haunted you for it ached in him tenfold.

“So what happened was,” Porthos began. “We were gathered in one of the only taverns open during the freeze-”

“No no, if anyone is telling it, I will,” Athos said. “You always get it wrong.”

“By all means then.” Porthos leaned back, giving him the floor with a smirk.

You all waited with expectant gazes. D’Artagnan motioned for Athos to go on, who swiftly finished his drink and poured another.

The tavern was completely full to the brim of musketeers and red guards alike. With all other establishments closed due to the storms, this was the only place they could all go for a decent drink. Well, a drink at least. At this point, none of them cared about the quality. Especially Athos, who was far past the point of caring about anything at the moment.

“I can’t believe we’re forced to this,” he muttered, though his words were hard to understand anymore. “Mingling with the Cardinal's men for something as simple as a glass of wine.”

Aramis leaned over to Porthos. “Or a few.”

You sat amongst them all, staring blankly into the crowd. You clutched your tankard of ale in your still-wrapped hands, fingers discolored and throbbing.

“I’ll fetch us another round, shall I?” Athos stood and started through the crowd.

“I better keep an eye on him.” Porthos pat Aramis on the back and went after their drunk friend.

Without Athos to distract you, a tense quiet fell between you and the remaining musketeer despite the chatty chaos around you.

“How are you?” Aramis asked softly.

“I'm quite fine, Aramis, just as I told you before we arrived.”

“I know but-”

“I don’t wish to discuss it,” you snapped.

He wilted, eyes falling to his cup, and turned away.

Guilt struck you like a cold wind on your face. It filled you, sinking within. Water filling your lungs. The last glimpse of the sunrise breaking through the ice. Aramis crying above you.

You shook it all from your mind as one would shake snow from their hair. Taking a breath to calm yourself, you put a hand on your companion’s shoulder.

“I’m okay,” you said, gentler now, barely above a whisper.

Aramis placed his hand over yours, but did not look up.

Mercifully, a commotion came from deeper within the room. Unmercifully, at the center of it were your two other friends.

“Oh no.” Your hand turned to a fist, tightening around Aramis’ arm and pulling him to his feet. “This cannot be good.”

“And here I thought tonight would be boring.” He winked at you, a bit of his usual self returning.

The two of you pushed into the fray until you saw Porthos and an even drunker Athos arguing with a group of red guards. You weren’t close enough to hear what they were saying, but it didn’t look like it would be de-escalating soon and the owner of the tavern saw that as well.

“I don’t care who you work for, I won’t have any fighting here,” he said. “Take it outside or sit back down.”

“I think that’s a great idea,” you said, trying to urge Athos back to your table. “Why don’t we finish our-”

“We’re leaving,” he growled. Shrugging your hand away, he started for the door.

“Alright, I guess we’re going then,” Aramis said.

“Beats staying here with this lot.” Porthos glared at the red guard on his way out.

You rolled your eyes, taking up the back.

You were so close to leaving. So close.

“Run back to your corner, cowards!” One of the red guards said, the lot of them piling out after you, each even drunker than Athos. “Take your whore and maybe you can share her to keep warm.”

Aramis tensed beside you.

“Don’t,” you warned. It wasn’t the first time you’d been the target of ridicule since joining their ranks and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

“How does that work anyway?” Another snickered. “Do you pass her around like-”

He didn’t finish. It was hard to finish insults with a mouthful of snow.

Athos stood with another icy projectile at the ready. “I don’t think this counts as dueling,” he said to Porthos, “do you?”

Porthos gathered snow into his hands, forming it like a small cannonball.

“I don’t care either way.”

He threw it at the first guard who spoke, hitting him right above the eyes. Aramis turned to you and shrugged but you didn’t see, for you had already joined in the ambush.

“While it did not count as a duel, I can’t say Treville was happy about it either,” Athos concluded. “Which is why we were assigned to guard the king’s dance.”

“It was worth it to see them run off red-faced and frozen,” Porthos chuckled.

D’Artagnan turned to you. “Do the red guard really speak to you that way?”

He knew that it must be difficult, being the only woman in the regiment, but to hear such vile things made his blood boil.

“They used to,” you smiled. “But they stopped after I single-handedly caught their escaped prisoner and brought him back before the Cardinal…” You sipped your wine. “With a few extra broken bones.”

D’Artagnan grinned, impressed. The group laughed merrily. All save for Aramis who had fallen into a kind of melancholy, looking into the fire.

“What about you?” D’Artagnan asked. “Do you have any stories from that winter?”

You went still.

The others stopped laughing.

D’Artagnan looked around, confused. “What? What is it?”

“I’m afraid it isn’t as entertaining as the others,” Aramis sighed. He turned from the fire to face you. A question.

Porthos and Athos exchanged a glance. They may not have known the details, but they knew something had happened. Perhaps it was finally time to tell them.

You nodded for Aramis to continue.

He took a deep breath.

You patrolled early, before sunrise, hoping to catch a thief taking advantage of the deserted streets, but even they were discouraged by the frost. Wrapping your cloak tighter around yourself, your shaky breaths came out in clouds. Yet, you weren’t ready to head back to the Garrison, kept warm by your company.

“And the bottle shattered before he even aimed his weapon,” Aramis said proudly. “Of course, the king wasn’t overly gracious, losing to a lowly musketeer, but I dare say he didn’t question my abilities after that.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe you challenged the king to a shooting contest.”

“He challenged me,” he corrected. “And how could I refuse a request from His Majesty?”

You turned down a new street, this one even quieter than the last, nearing the city’s edge. Despite the wide path, the two of you walked so close together that your arms brushed each others with every stop. Perhaps it was to stave off the cold. Or perhaps you had other reasons-even if you refused to acknowledge them.

“We should head back soon,” Aramis said. “Or we’ll both turn into icicles.” He turned to see you smile. How he loved it. Warmer than the rising sun, there was no storm too frigid that could dim the brightness of your smile.

The ground grew slick, forcing you to walk slower. A sound pulled your attention away and you spun quickly towards the source. Your food skidded out from under you, sending you tumbling backward.

Aramis steadied you, his hand on the small of your back. “Careful.” The word puffed from his lips, the heat of his breath turning your cheeks pink.

You tried to ignore it- the jolt his touch shot up your spine- and focused on the noise.

“Do you hear that?”

Aramis listened. You both quieted.

“Help!” A small voice called. “Please, someone help!”

You glanced at each other and hurried into action. The sound had come from a nearby pond where a group of children were gathered. The water had frozen over, solid at the edges but thinner towards the center. It was there that a little boy stood, his blue coat stark against the white ice. He was far enough out, you were amazed the frigid waters hadn’t claimed him already. The children along the bank cried, begging him to come back to the snow-covered grass. He shook his head in terror. An older girl with the same white-blonde hair stepped forward.

“Don’t!” You exclaimed, rushing to stop her. You pulled her back just as her foot touched the ice. A creaking groan echoed across the frozen water.

“It’s my brother,” the girl cried. “Please, you must save him.”

“We dared him to cross,” another boy admitted, “but we never thought he’d really go out that far.”

Aramis gave them all a stern, almost paternal, look. “Go fetch some blankets for him.” He gazed out, frowning. “And a rope.”

They clambered over each other, all except for his sister, who stood tall, calling out reassurances to her frightened sibling.

“We may not have time to wait,” you whispered to Aramis. “If he goes through, it could freeze right back over him.”

Aramis sighed, nodding. “What would you suggest then?”

You took a breath, gauging the distance again, and took a careful step onto the ice. It protested, but held.

“Y/N, don’t,” Aramis said. He tried to snatch you back, but you’d stepped too far.

You ignored him and stepped again.

“What’s your name?” You asked the boy.

“M-Michel,” he whimpered.

“Alright Michel, I’m going to make you a deal.” You kept your voice light, attempting to be playful. “For every step I take, I want you to walk to me very slowly. Can you do that?”

He sniffed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. After a while, he gave you a small nod.

“Ready?” You stepped forward, motioning for him to do the same.

Hesitantly, he shuffled towards you, tears icy on his cheeks.

“Be careful,” Aramis whispered behind you, as if his voice could crack the ice under your feet if he spoke too loudly.

“We’re going to go again, Michel,” you said. “And this time, I want you to step as far as you can, okay?” You tested the ice ahead of you with light pressure before taking a wide step.

Michel did the same.

He was almost in arms reach now.

“Just a little further, Michel. You’re almost there.” You stretched your arms out, keeping your eyes on the thinning ground beneath your feet. You could almost see the water, cold and waiting and dark.

The boy took a deep breath, filling his lungs with as much courage as he could muster, and took the final leap into your waiting hold. A breath of relief escaped your lungs the moment his shaking form hit your chest and you wrapped your arms around him.

“I’ve got you now, it’s alright,” you said.

Underfoot, the ice began to break. With the weight of both of you in one spot, it cracked and shuddered. Webs shattered out from your feet.

You stood completely still.

“Michel.” Slowly, so very slowly, you set him down a few feet ahead of you where the freeze was thicker. “I want you to go to the man at the bank with your sister. It’s very slippery, but I want you to go as quickly as you can. Can you do that?”

“What about you, mademoiselle?” His big, watery eyes met yours.

“I’ll be alright.” You shooed him away with a small smile. “Now go. Your sister is waiting for you.”

His little feet scampered across the snow like a rabbit and he grabbed Aramis’ hand, who pulled him up to safety.

The shift had cost you, the cracks larger, angrier spanning from where you stood.

“Y/N, come on!” Aramis called out.

Michele and his sister were hurrying towards the nearest house where other children were finally emerging. One held a rope and you tried to be relieved. They’d toss it to you and you could use it to pull yourself to the shore. Simple.

Another crack.

“That’s it, I’m coming after you,” Aramis said.

“No, don’t!”

But it was too late. The moment he stepped onto the ice, a rift raced towards you. Aramis realized his mistake due to the horrible sound of what seemed like glass breaking into thousands of pieces. He blinked and you were gone.

His blood ran colder than the water that swallowed you. Aramis ran to the children, grabbed the rope from their hands and went back to the water. There was no movement. You were right. The ice had frozen back over.

Aramis rushed out, not listening to the squealing surface under his feet. Held the rope tight in one hand, should the water claim him as well, and used the other to clear frost from the ice. He tried to search, his eyes frantic, but all was dark.

The moment you hit the water, you thought for sure you were dead. Surely, no one could survive this cold. It was dark, the sun fighting its way through the icescape over you in a losing battle. You could see only shadows where the freeze was thickest, but as you kicked furiously back towards the top, it was clear enough that you reached out, thinking your hand would emerge from the depths. It did not. Instead, your hand pressed against a solid barrier, as though you were trapped beneath a pane of glass.

And then he was there. Even though his form blocked the little sunlight you had, a sigh of relief bubbled from you.

Aramis shouted your name, his fist striking the ice between you. It cracked, but did not shatter.

If you were dead, then surely this was your entrance into the beyond. Aramis, with the sun behind him, calling for you. And for a brief moment, you were content. If this was to be your final sight-the man you loved, though before you could never admit it- then perhaps it wouldn’t all be for naught.

But then, with a second hit of his knuckles on the ice, you came to your senses.

You weren’t dead. Not yet, anyway. But you would be soon.

Your face turned to panic through the glassy ice he now tried to break. Aramis screamed your name again, the rising fear in his voice impossible to mask. He couldn't lose you. Not when there was so much still to say. Things he never told you.

“Y/N!” He cried.

You hit the ice from your side, but your muscles ached from the cold. It scraped your hands, drops of blood spreading around you like snowflakes.

“Aramis!” You tried to call to him, but water filled your mouth. It rushed down your throat. Into your lungs.

Aramis couldn’t think. It was like his mind was trapped beneath, pulled down into the dark with you. But then a clatter caught his attention. It was his musket, clinking against the metal of its strap.

He ripped it from his back and held it over you, the thick wooden stock facing downward.

His eyes told you to move away, so you did.

He struck once. The ice buckled. He struck again, each hit reverberating up his arms. Finally, the barrier broke, the splash of water filling his ears. Tossing his musket aside, Aramis all but dove into the water, careful to keep his balance so as to not fall in.

His hands latched to yours, pulling you out of the frigid tomb and into his arms. Aramis clutched you to him as though you were saving him from the water and not the other way around. Trembling, you held tight to his tunic beneath his coat.

“Aramis-” You breathed, lips turning blue.

He held you close and carried you, mercifully making it back to shore despite the new break he’d caused.

“Get me those blankets,” he ordered the children.

Michel’s sister handed him a pair of wool coverings and he worked to wrap them around you tightly.

“Aramis, I’m alright.”

“You can still freeze to death,” he muttered, hurriedly picking you up once you were swaddled in blankets and his arms again. “We must get you to a fire. Something warm to eat.” Still enveloping you against him, his hand rubbed up and down your arm, trying to cause enough warmth with the friction that you’d stop shaking so.

“Aramis.” You lifted a hand to his cheek. Your skin felt like the ice itself against his. “I’m alright.”

His dark eyes, filled with the tears he’d come so close to crying, looked into yours for a long while. He pressed his lips to your forehead, the burn of his touch spreading through you like a spark, and carried you to the nearest cottage.

“I almost lost her,” Aramis said. He stared into the fire, as though he’d forgotten the others were there, still hanging from every word. “All because I stepped on that ice and condemned her to the water.”

The room fell so quiet you were sure they could all hear the sound of your heart breaking.

He blamed himself? All of this time, this event had lingered between you. You thought it was because of you. Because of the feelings you finally faced that day and had tried to ignore ever since. But Aramis thought it was his fault. That he almost killed you.

Porthos seemed to notice the shift between you. He cleared his throat and pat Aramis on the arm, bringing him back to the group.

“Well, we’re glad you got to her in time, aren’t we?” He chuckled, trying to make the tension lighten. “Where would we all be with Y/N? I’ve owed her my life more than once. Do you remember that time when-”

“Perhaps it’s time we turn in for the night,” Athos interrupted, taking a different tactic to the silence between you and the third musketeer. He eyed Porthos, trying to convey the message without words.

Porthos nodded. “Yes. Right. I’m so tired, I could fall over.” He cleared his throat again, a signal to D’Artagnan, who was still focused on the two of you.

D’Artagnan glanced up, finding Athos and Porthos staring at him, waiting.

“But I wanted to hear-”

Porthos grabbed him by the back of his collar and hauled him out of the seat.

“Alright, alright!” D’Artagnan exclaimed. He tore away to kiss the top of your head. “I’m glad you didn’t drown. Otherwise, we wouldn’t have met, and who else would keep all of us in line.” He flashed you a quick grin, for which you were grateful.

“Goodnight, D’Artagnan.” You returned his smile and looked over his shoulder. “Porthos, Athos.”

They all bid you goodnight and went up the stairs, D’Artagnan lingering back to listen until Porthos dragged him up.

The crackle of the fire filled the dreadful quiet that settled. You wished he would say something, but he merely continued to stare into the flames. So, for a while, you did the same, letting the heat wash over you, imagining it was his arms wrapped around you once more.

Finally, you spoke. “It wasn’t your fault.”

He winced, your words a swift hit to his chest.

“Aramis,” you sighed, leaving your seat to kneel before him. “You cannot have blamed yourself all these years for that day.”

“How could I not?” He said. His voice cracked in his throat, the pain of the memory overwhelming.

You took his hands in yours.

“I went out after that boy, ignoring your warnings. I knew what could happen, but I couldn’t leave him out there.” You held his hands tighter. “Aramis, you saved me.”

“But I almost-” He couldn’t finish. Finally, his eyes met yours and he melted. “The thought of losing you, Y/N, it’s too much. I realized it that horrible day. I never want to feel that again.”

You glanced down, taking a breath to give yourself courage. “Do you know what I realized, under the ice, thinking you’d be the last face I saw?”

He put a finger under your chin, lifting your gaze back to his. “Y/N…”

“I want yours to be the last face I see every night before I dream. I want it to be the first I see before even the sun rises.” You did not waver. For the first time, you were not afraid of the feelings you harbored. “I love you, Aramis. And I think I have from the moment I set foot in the Garrison and you almost shot me.” Your lips lifted in a teasing smirk.

Aramis laughed, still on the verge of crying, though now for a different reason.

“It was you who walked in front of the target.”

“How was I to know you were shooting at rotten fruit?”

“It was positioned on a barrel,” he defended. “I wasn’t just shooting at a crate in the street.”

“We may agree to disagree.”

The two of you laughed and the tension dimmed, along with the fire’s embers. Aramis sank down from his seat to kneel in front of you, taking your face in his hands, a different heat warming the room.

“Y/N, you must know…” He breathed. You were so close, it felt as though he breathed in only you. “You must know how I’ve loved you every day, every moment. That day on the ice-”

“Let’s not speak of it anymore,” you said and crashed your lips into his.

The kiss sent a fire through both of you stronger than any hearth. Aramis wrapped his arms around you, holding you closer, needing you closer still. Your soft lips moved against his, a breath of a sigh escaping from your chest.

Above you, the three others watched from the small landing leading to their rooms.

“I knew it,” D’Artagnan said.

Porthos nodded. “Took 'em long enough.”

“Come,” Athos said. “I imagine they’ll be turning in soon. So should we.” He motioned to the thin walls. “It’s going to be a long night.”

Unaware of your companions, you lost yourself in Aramis’ embrace and he in yours. Burning brighter than the fire before you, it seemed he was the only heat you’d ever need, and you his light.

#the musketeers #bbc the musketeers #aramis x reader #aramis #d'artagnan #athos #porthos #santiago cabrera #luke pasqualino #howard charles #bbc musketeers #tom burke

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backtothefanfiction · 4 months 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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bullet-prooflove · 6 months ago

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Three things: Fire, blanket, Ill

Tagging: @kmc1989@pansexualhailstorm@missyhoneybee @sweetpeaswife@keyweegirlie

You’re very ill. Your skin is flushed with fever, your body trembling with cold. Your dreams are frightful fitful things that Athos tries to sooth away with a tender caress and reassuring words.

It’s the third day of the sickness and Athos worries, he worries that you may succumb to it, that today might be your last. He can’t stand the thought of it, so he tries everything he can to restore your health. He urges you to drink the tonics the doctor gives him, he sets up a bed in front of the fire so that the flames heat your bones.

You mumble again in your sleep and he tucks the blanket even tighter around you, before he holds you close, his face buried into the curve of your throat.

“Come back to me.” He pleads, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “Please my love, don’t leave me here alone.”

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

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#athos #athos x reader #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #bbc the musketeers #the musketeers bbc

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errruvande · 3 months ago

Text

Love bites

Pairing: Porthos x Fem!Reader

Summery: you're sharing a very intimate morning with Porthos after he returns back from the front

Warning: smut, oral sex (f receiving), p n v, really nothing else, just a morning sex with your man ✨

Word count: 2 337

A/n: a special thanks to @whitedarkmoonflower for cheering me up this whole time lmao now you can actually read it, can you believe that???

It was that very type of mornings you've been longing for for a very long time.

The musketeers have returned home from the front just yesterday, bringing Aramis, the prodigal son, back when he belongs.

No one knew that they returned, not even Treville, so when you saw them walking through the halls of Louvre you needed a whole solid minute of staring and blinking at them with the blank face to realize that they were indeed them. Athos, Aramis and Porthos. You saw them smirking at your round eyes and dropped jaw, your hands curled around your chest as surprising shortage of air befall you. You rashed to them, sharing gentle caressing of hands with Athos as you passed him by to wrap your hands around Porthos' waist and kiss him greedily.

It took you a nice few minutes of hanging on Porthos to remember there were three of them.

"Aramis!" You wouldn't lie to anyone you missed the joyful, restless man. "You're back!"

"And she finally noticed me!" He teased, as he always did, straightening his hands and pulling you into a hug, being curious for how long will Porthos allow him to linger. When Aramis saw his friend's adorable smile fading into one unpleasant grimace he let go off you and laughed. "I missed you too!"

You've been working at Louvre as one of the Queen's favorite ladies, and that day you have asked Anne for a night out of the palace to celebrate your man's homecoming.

So here you were, lying on a big bed of your big man, stretching the muscles that you've exhausted during the night, as the shining sunlight warmed your face.

You groaned softly when you didn't find Porthos lying next to you as you turned to kiss him a good morning: the empty chair signalled you that he has already gone and that you should have started to ready yourself as well. You worked though the thin sheet, light material tickled your bare skin.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, the marks of Porthos' passionate love embellished your body from your ribcage down to your calves. The urge to relive the ravenous moments from that night forced your hand to track each and every mark on your belly, touching them lightly with your fingertips and watching your own chest raising up on a touch in the mirror, your body recalling Porthos' heavy kisses, the contrast of his tickling beard to the softness of his full lips on your delicate skin.

"I can give you more..." You jerked on the sound of Porthos' voice and the warmth of his breath on your skin as he planted a kiss in the crook of your neck.

"You scared me, Porthos..." You craned your neck to other side, giving him more comfortable space to kiss you, as he let his hands slide down your sides and embrace your waist. "I thought you were gone already."

You tried to caressed his neck as he kept kissing you, now moving to the back of your neck, sliding your hair to your shoulder. You turned your face and tried to kiss his cheek as you spun around and pressed your body to his. The leather armor catching on your skin.

"I have a little time to spare." Porthos grinned and bit his lip slowly, before he pressed his lips to your neck once more, nippling on the soft, thin skin.

"Not the neck..." Breathing out, you pushed his face gently, tearing his soft lips from your skin.

He growled. Porthos loved your neck, he adored your collarbones, your breasts. He wanted to kiss it and bite it and to hear you moan into his ear as he does so.

"Please, just one?.."

You felt your limbs softened on the sound of his low pleading voice, but as soon as Porthos pressed his lips to your breast, sucking on fragile skin, coaxing a tiny whimper from your mouth, you cupped his cheeks in both of your hands and lifted his face up.

"It's gonna be seen, Porthos."

"I know." His eyes glinted and he chuckled softly, lowering his heavy lusting gaze from your eyes to the little love bite he just left on your breast. "This one is gonna look good when you put on your corset."

Porthos cupped your breasts in his hands, kneading them with his fingers, while he was lowering his face to kiss the same reddish spot again, his eyes glued to yours. It's never failed to work on you, his bottomless eyes. Perhaps it was your favorite feature of his: dark as the night, and shimmering like a stardust when Porthos was with you. He truly could lure you into hell itself with this devouring gaze.

The soft moan escaped your lips on the warmth of Porthos' breath and on the light pleasurable pain of his teeth digging into your skin. You buried you palm in his think hair, the curles tugging in between your fingers as you massaged his scalp.

Porthos already moved to the cleavage, leaving the trail of wet kisses on your breast. The way he whimpered into you every time he nipped your skin was turning you on at extreme speed. You didn't really care about the hickeys at this point and wether anyone would be able to see them or not, you only wanted for Porthos to complete the map of love he called your body.

He was gaining speed and appetite, but the softness of his kisses haven't changed. Porthos moaned, the muffled sound melted into your skin, as you lunged your lower abdomen into his groin when he nipped the side of your breast. The feeling of his hardening cock against your naked pubis coaxed a sweet moan from your mouth and unconscious pull of Porthos' main hard enough for him to tear his face off your breast and hiss.

He looked at you, gaze so enveloping in desire, his eyebrows cocked up and a soft cackle left his mouth as he slithered his tongue through his teeth on the feeling of your fingers working through the laces of his leather pants. "Oh, I like the way you think, love."

Porthos finally let go off your breast, cupping your face with his hands and pulling you into devouring kiss, breathing in your scent and hissing on the feeling of your touches all the way down. You were so ready to take him again, your core throbbing with desire, warmth spreading across your belly. Porthos deepened the kiss, lowering his hands until he reached your bum, grabbing it and pulling you up. You wrapped your legs around Porthos' waist, your already wet core rubbing against the rigid leather of his jacket as he was carrying you to the bed, borrowing another soft moan from you.

He slowly lowered you down on the bed, rearranging his hands to your back first, gently sliding your back on the bed, and then to the futon right above your shoulders, towering above you. Porthos looked you over, biting his lip in a wide smile before bending his arms and kissing your jaw, you moaned on the tension, squirming under his tights.

"Porthos..." Moaning, you clinged into the collar of his jacket and pulled him closer, untill you were able to put your lips on his neck, kissing and biting him just as Porthos did with your whole body this very night.

"How much spare time do you have?" A wave of confusion belled in your voice as you tried to unbutton Porthos' jacket and slide your hands under his shirt.

He chuckled, nodding. "I got you..."

Porthos slid from the bed, wrapping his palms around your ankles and tugging you closer to the edge of the bed along with your light laughter. He kneeled in front of you, parting your legs slowly with his hands. He bent your legs in the knees, planting kisses to your knee and the inner side of your thigh, the gentle caressing had quicken your breathing. Your eagerness was agonizing, heading to its peak when you thrusted your core forward on the feeling of Porthos' warm breath over your wet folds. He hadn't even touched you yet, but you already squirmed and whimpered from the titillating anticipation of his full soft lips on your bud. You knew the pleasure all too well.

Porthos placed his hand on your cunt, parting your wet folds just a bit he brushed his lips over your clit, making you groan and take a hold of his mighty shoulder with your fingers.

"I've missed you so much..." He moaned into you, the ministration vibrated throughout your core and left you mewling.

"I know it from all the letters you've sent..." Every word you said started with the drawing of air, as your clit was covered with Porthos' lips still, devoured in his ever lasting craving.

Those letters Porthos had been sending you from the front consisted only of his longing for the lust-clouded morning exactly like this one. You knew them by heart, never realizing how good Porthos could be with words.

"Porthos, please..." It was unusual for you to plead for his touch. Porthos knew exactly what you wanted and needed and never let you waiting, always putting your pleasure first and his own second. He brushed his finger through your soaked folds, finger sliding into your cunt without any pressure.

He sucked in air, giggling softly while looking you in the eyes. "I forgot how fast you're getting so messy, eh." He deepened his finger, coaxing another whimper from you, your fingernails digging into the leathered shoulder of his jacket.

He curled his finger inside of you, rubbing the wall of your cunt very lightly, looking how muscles of your abdomen were playing under his touch. He was very smug about it, you thought if he looked at how much pleasure he gives you longer he would start drooling.

"Please..."

Porthos stood up and came closer to the bed, placing one of his knees on the edge of the futon, he wrapped his fingers around your calve and lifted your leg, placing it on his shoulder, showering the soft skin of your calve with nippling kisses. You spread your thighs wider, sliding closer to his rock hard cock, as the feeling of your own lube sliding down your folds sent shivers down your whole body.

Finally, you felt his hot head slid through your slippery folds and you bucked your hips up against the feeling. Your thoughts became hazy in a moment, everything blurry and incoherent except Porthos. He slid inside you with ease, stretching you well and this feeling alone rendered you speechless, only your lips parted in soundless gasps.

You were ready to take him fully and Porthos knew it, and your dripping wet, throbbing core gave your desire away, clenching around Porthos' thick cock as he was slowly moving inside you, placing one of his palms flat on your belly and feeling your insides rearranging with each and every stroke he made.

Porthos always loved you slowly, with trepidation and a hint of teasing, pulling his cock out and brushing it against your clit every now and then, awarding himself with your pathetic sweet weiling and wiggling. He slid his cock back into your core and kissed your belly, softly moving from one spot to another, filling in the blank unmarked space on your skin, as he growled low on the feeling of your clenching walls. You slid your hands down your belly to cup his face and tug it up to your face, kissing Porthos' face greedily, arching your back under the pinching pleasure of his thrusts, feeling your breast pressing to his muscular chest, as you devour yourself in the kiss.

At once, Porthos felt your body started tensing, his sides squeezed hard in between your legs as every muscles of your body were twitching as if you were pinched with needles. The kiss was over with your rapid breathing, everything became hazy again, you swear you could feel the blood flowing through your veins making every limb of yours heavy and warm. You whined on a sudden absence of movement inside you when Porthos tear himself off your body, spreading your clenched around his waist legs apart.

"I think I know just what you need, baby..." With these words, Porthos continued moving inside you slowly and teasingly, but you let a muffled cry when you felt his finger on your clit again. The thrusting of his cock inside you and the rubbing of his finger on your clit were giving you too much pleasure. You felt your belly becoming hard and numb, your nipples were burning in pain and your fingertips curling under Porthos' touch. The painful bliss of his thrusting felt as the whole world's weight suddenly crushed on your ribcage, beating the fathomless gasp out of you as you broke loose, your body soft and weak on the futon, still twitching slightly.

Just a moment later you felt the viscous warmth spilled inside you, when Porthos did last thrust and froze, gasping silently as he finished right after you, letting himself fall next to your body.

Porthos laid his head on your belly, brushing your hip with his wrist lightly. "Hey, dove?"

"Hey..." You mumbled lowly, caressing the back of his neck slowly, curling the long curles of his hair on your finger.

"You know I'll never live you, right"

"I know."

Smiling, Porthos pressed a kiss to your solar plexus, not being able not to nipple on the soft skin.

You heard the noise from the garrison, people coming closer to the window of your shared room.

"Porthos!"

"We know you here"

The way Porthos growled into your skin when you both heard Aramis' voice from outside calling for him.

"Never in my life I was that disappointed at hearing him speak..." Porthos sighted heavily, laying his head on your breasts.

You chuckled softly. "I think your spare time has ended."

"Don't make us come inside and drag you out!"

Porthos smirked at the words. "You wish you could, Aramis!"

"Treville has asked for us, it's a bad form, making a minister wait for you! Kiss her and let's be on our way!"

You laughed at Porthos' soft sob. His hands were pressed to your waist, not wanting to let go off you, your skin stack to the leather of his jacket that was still on him.

You kissed him, biting his lower lip as you pulled from the kiss, awarding yourself with his soft low moan. "Go, or he will come here." You chuckled, and slightly pushed Porthos to the door.

"Y/n, come here quickly!.."

You saw the amazed exclamation in Anne's eyes as she saw you in the palace. She called for you, asking you to follow her into her private quarters.

"Your majesty." As the maidens closed the door behind you, you bowed your head slightly, seeing how Anne was trying to find something in one of the huge chests.

"I'm glad at least your night was nice, Y/N." Anne smiled a bit childishly, giving you a scarf in color of your dress. She giggled. "Cover yourself please, or you'll make someone jealous."

You glanced in the mirror and saw a love bite shining on the top of your breast. You chuckled sheepishly while trying to hide the bite under the fabric of the scarf, muttering silently "I told him..."

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

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la-principessa-della-squadra · 9 months ago

Text

Musketeers AU-

Bucci gang x fem/reader-part 1

Tw: HISTORICAL INACCURANCE.

Summary: Princess Y/n is running away from an arranged marriage with a man named Doppio.

The King Diavolo orders his faithful Musketeers Bruno and Abbacchio to find your secret refuge. Helped by their team-mates ( Fugo, Narancia, Mista, Giorno), they will do anything in their power to catch you.

"L’abbiamo trovata, signore!L’abbiamo trovata!!"

(We found her, captain! We found her!!)

“Quant’è vvera a Maronna! Fermati Ghirga!!"

(Stop running Ghirga! You’ll kill us both!)

The voice of a boy echoed into the rocca, excited as his approaching footsteps

“Fermati, Cap ‘e cazz.”

(Stop, you fool.)

A young lad with a cascade of messy blonde hair caught the frantic boy by the scruff before he could erupt into the royal guard office.

“UE PANNACOTTA!MA IO T’ACCID-”

(HEY PANNACOTTA!I’M GONNA CUT Y-)

Pannacotta, that was his name, quickly confiscated the crumpled document from the sticky fingers of his team mate, urgently knocking with his free hand so he could both hide the verbal assault and inform the captain of their arrival.

“Avanti.”

“Come in.”

Fortunately, the commotion was covered by the sound of two fencers' blades colliding with each other. Once they opened the door to Bucciarti's office, the two found him sitting at a very long table in the back of the room, carefully observing two young men practicing the art of the sword.

To be more precise, that wasn’t just Bucciarati’s office, the place was used as an armory and, consequently, a sala d’arme. To further confirm this theory, there was a huge tapestry hanging behind the captain’s back, depicting a knight killing a huge serpent with a sidesword.

Golden but faded letters embroidered in the whool recited “Sala D’Arme Achille Marozzo”.

The room also did have long wooden tables at each side, which meant people were more than willing to grab a quick bite between a sword match and another.

In fact, tenente (lieutenant)

Abbacchio was eating a small and yellowish polenta with both feet crossed over an empty chair.

He was visibly resting while also never giving his back to the captain, which made him look a little bit crooked in his position and also not totally comfortable.

Well, has this man ever felt comfortable in his life?

Pannacotta was not sure.

Meanwhile, the two fencing lads, Giovanna and Mista, were putting on a real show and since they were both newbies, they attacked and never defended themselves.

This made Abbacchio frown in annoyance and reluctantly turn his sight to the meal.

Contrary to Bucciarati, Abbacchio was wearing only half of his musketeer uniform, his soubreveste and hat were abandoned on a near chair a long time ago. However, his authority kept speaking volumes even when half dressed.

“Nzerra chella port.”

“Close the door.”

He gritted between his teeth, his voice deep enough to be heard between the clashing of the striscia.

Ghirga obeyed and swiftly followed his teammate, his eyes glued to the two schermidori as they carefully passed their presence.

Pannacotta solemnly handed the paper to captain Bucciarati.

“Si tratta di una testimonianza, signore. Ghirga l’ha udita e io ho avuto il piacere di trascriverla nei minimi dettagli.”

(it is a witness statement, captain. Ghirga heard it, and I had the pleasure of transcribing it in great detail.)

Bucciarati inspected the document. Raised his eyes and then frowned.

Eyes back on the paper.

This time, He raised his eyebrows and frowned again.

“O’ casino.”

(A brothel.)

The fencing stopped.

Bucciarati's tone was inquisitive while raising his head one last time. Abbacchio intervened, putting his boots down abruptly.

“Cu cazz stat’ riciend?Pigliat ca bott. Il re n’ sta ceccando a zoccol’. ”

(Who you think you’re kidding? The king’s not looking for a whore.)

“Pe tte e femmene so tutte zoccol’ tranne mammà e soreta, ma nu vaie mai n’coppo o casino pe paura de truva.’”

(Women are all whores to you except your mother and sister, but you never enter a brothel in fear of meeting them.)

Interjected Mista, a slim but toned boy in his 20s.

Approaching the table with his striscia holstered, Mista addressed his superior with a wry smile, eliciting a stifled laugh from Ghirga.

He looked kind of ridiculous. Mista was wearing a pair of patched pants and no shirt. However he clearly thought it was a good idea hiding his thick sweaty curls under an uncomfortable as well as ancient aventail…without wearing a gambeson underneath.

His companion, Giorno Giovanna, noticed Abbacchio slowly clenching the spoon he was using for the polenta.

“chiavt a lengua ncùl. Se tu fossi la metà bravo a parare con la spada quanto lo sei a sparare cazzate, non ti saresti ritrovato in un vicolo buio con un buco in più nello stomaco.”

(Shut your fucking mouth, if you were half as good at parrying with a sword as you are at shooting shit, you wouldn't have found yourself in a dark alley with an extra hole in your stomach.)

Quickly, Bucciarati silenced the conversation by elegantly lifting his left hand from Manciolino's“Opera Nova”.

Mista looked at his concealed wound on his abdomen, while Giovanna put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder.

“Ne sei assolutamente sicuro, Narancia?”

(Are you absolutely sure about this, Narancia?)

Bruno’s calming and reassuring tone ,resembling the one of a father’s, gave Narancia Ghirga the courage to speak with his heart.

“M’Adda murì mammà.”

(I swear on my own mother.)

Said Ghirga who never spent a single word from the beginning.

“Si addà murì mammà n’altra volta...”

(Well, she can’t die twice…)

Interrupted Abbacchio scattering the plate on the table. The polenta was so stiff it didn’t even flinch a bit, remaining in its position as one of the most drunk front line soldiers.

“Me l’ha detto Una.”

(Una told me.)

many "ooohs" raised softly, followed by heads nodding and looking at each other, which made Narancia Ghirga genuinely smile. By contrast, Pannacotta put a hand over his eyes; royal guards should never reveal the nature of their witnesses.

Trish Una was the love child of King Diavolo, and for years he had kept her at court as a mere courtesan. One day, the maiden in question made a deal with a wealthy merchant named Pericolo and left her father's palace as quickly as possible, just like y/n did.

In exchange for certain secrets coming from the royal court, the royal guards had agreed to keep Trish hidden from her stepfather.

“Quella fimmina ne sa UNA più del diavolo.”

(That maiden is more cunning than a devil.)

commented Mista with a smirk and a dreamy expression.

“E suo padre ci farà il…Diavolo a quattro!HAHAHAHAHAHHA!”

(And what's better than a devil you don't know? A devil, you do!HAHAHAHAHAHAHA)

He added, bursting into a huge laugh with tears in his eyes.

"Ci andremo io e il tenente Abbacchio. Voi altri pensate a rendere confortevole l'ala ovest"

(The lieutenant and I will take care of that. The rest of you will stay here. Take this as an opportunity to prepare the West Wing's rooms for our soon to be host.)

Everyone got silent after Bucciarati's order. Pannacotta was brave enough to respectfully interject:

"Con tutto il rispetto capitano, ma un bordello non è di certo un posto privo di canaglie. Non sarebbe meglio attivare tutta la squadra?"

( Not to be disrespectful…A brothel is not a safe space in the slightest. Wouldn't be better if we all went?)

"Fermate nu mument'. Se agiamo in gruppo, potrebbero prenderla come una minaccia. Quanta probabilità c'è che un'intera unità abbia deciso di entrare in un bordello tutti insieme e appassionatamente?"

(Wait. If we went there as a group, we could be perceived as a threat. All one big happy family?How likely is it that an entire unit has decided to enter a brothel like one big happy family?)

Added Giorno while receiving a Death stare from Abbacchio. He hated when the newbie was right.

"Non so gli altri ma io come regalo di compleanno un po' me lo aspetto…"

(I don't know about the rest of this "Family", but soon is going to be my birthday and I wouldn't mind if this were my present…)

Nudge nudge, wink wink.

"Il punto è che se gli diamo modo di capire che siamo venuti lì per lei, ci inchioderebbero subito e cercherebbero di nasconderla o farla fuggire".

(The point is that if we appear too menacing, they would immediately try to hide her or make her escape.)

"Giusto! Quei posti hanno un sacco di stanze strane piene di trucchi e trappole."

("Right! Those places have a lot of weird rooms full of secret holes and traps!)

"Si vede che non sei mai stato in un bordello."

(you-You've never been to a brothel, don't you.)

Whispered Fugo while all the looks turned to Bruno.

"Um..giocare sulla casualità, potrebbe funzionare. Dovremo essere affabili…ottimo lavoro Giovanna. Ogni giorno dimostri di avere nuovi assi nella manica."

(Um…it would be easier to pretend this visit is casual and not planned. That could work. Great Job, Giovanna. You find new ways to amaze me everyday.)

Abbacchio's teeth were grinding but whst was on his face looked like anything but a smile.

"Jamme, jà"

To be continued...

-La Principessa della Squadra

#jjba #vento aureo #bruno buccelati #bruno bucciarati #bruno bucciarati x reader #bruno bucellati x reader #abbacchio #leone abbacchio #abbaccio x reader #leone abbacchio x reader #guido mista #mista #narancia ghirga #panacotta fugo #pannacotta fugo #giorno giovanna #musketeers au #LA SQUADRA IS ALSO GOING TO APPEAR.

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the-hinky-panda · 8 months ago

Text

The Winter Series: Part I

Title: The Winter Series

Pairing: Aramis x OFC (written as a reader)

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Aramis is making good on his promise to God to become a monk. At least he's trying to make good on that promise. But you burst on the scene, a French spy from across the border of Spain with all sorts of temptations to lead him astray.

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

It’s been two months since Aramis has arrived at the monastery and he’s beginning to think that this is a monumental mistake. The first month he threw himself into this new life. First one to prayers, helping in the kitchens, studying scriptures outside and enjoying the birdsong, tending the small garden. He felt at peace, confident in his decision to be here.

That feeling doesn’t last as he enters into the second month. The birds are grating on his nerves. The fresh air is irritating to his nose. The prayers are repetitive and his mind wanders more and more. To the war, to his friends…to the Queen, to his son. He longs for the feel of his sword in his hand, the smooth grip of his pistol, the excitement of the fight. At least he had felt useful as a Musketeer, actively righting the world’s wrongs instead of just praying for things to change.

That is why when the Abbot asked for someone to pick up supplies from the town below the monastery, Aramis was the first one to volunteer. It wasn’t exciting at all, just a collection of vegetables, eggs, and grain but it gave him an opportunity to see the bustling life of the common man. The village wasn’t far from a port town close to the Spanish border. The marketplace was better supplied than most given that proximity to a port, so it was always fascinating to see the handmade trinkets or foods that would never make it up to Paris.

“Stop her!”

Every instinct as a trained soldier flares to life at the shout that echoes across the marketplace. Aramis sees the culprit fleeing, ducking around vendors, before making a sprint to an old stone church. Three men follow close at your heels and Aramis joins in the chase before he remembers this isn’t his business any more. But that hesitation only lasts a moment before he makes his way to the back door of the church. Where else is he going to find a bit of excitement? Certainly not back at the monastery delivering food. Besides, you could be in need of help and what kind of monk would that make him if he didn’t offer help to those in need?

When he comes through the back door, he sees four men now, armed with pistols and swords. They’re dressed in plain clothes, Spanish clothes, but their movements are most certainly that of soldiers. He stays hidden behind the table of candles, half of which are lit when he sees the confessional box on the other side of the sanctuary. A confessional that has a tip of a cloak peeking out from under the curtain.

The door opens and two more men come in and start conversing in Spanish at the back. He catches phrases, I saw her come in here, Not too many places to hide, Confessional…

Aramis goes around the back of the dias and is able to reach the priest’s side of the confessional. So far, he can’t see any priest on that side of the box and there’s no whispered conversations happening. He takes the opportunity and slips into the confessional, quietly closing the door behind him. He hears a sharp intake of breath from the other side but there are no other sounds. You must be sitting as still as death to warrant not so much as a creak from the old wood bench. With a deep breath, he pulls back the slider that reveals the latticed window into your side of the box.

“Your cloak is peeking out from under the curtain.”

He hears the soft rustle of fabric as you pull it into the confessional. “Thank you. Uh, forgive me Father for I have sinned-”

“I’m sure you have but that’s not why I’m here.” He can’t see much of your features but he can see your eyes, wide with surprise and a color caught between blue and gray.

“You’re not a priest?”

How to answer that question. “I’m afraid that’s a bit complicated at the moment but I can assure you that I’m not the one to give you absolution for your sins. There are six men, Spanish from the looks of it, out in the vestibule. Why are they here?”

“You’re a soldier.”

“In another lifetime. But I can still help you.”

You take half a heartbeat to answer. “Do you know the innkeeper here, Jean Luc Moreau?”

“I’m fairly new, I don’t know anyone yet.”

“I was supposed to meet him but when I went by the inn, it was filled with Spanish,” you pause, “visitors.”

“Soldiers.” You don’t say anything and that silence tells Aramis everything he needs to know. “You’re a French spy.”

“I just need to wait for them to leave so I can deliver the letters to Moreau. He has someone who’s going to take them back to Paris but they’re not arriving until tomorrow afternoon.”

“So we have some time to hide you.” Aramis starts planning an escape route but the sound of the Spanish soldiers outside the confessional interrupt him. “Stay in here, no matter what.”

He steps out of the confessional and greets the soldiers that are circling the confessional. “Greetings, gentlemen. I’m afraid I’m the only Priest available at the moment, so if you would please just take a seat, we will be done momentarily.”

“We’re not here for forgiveness,” the largest of the group says in heavily accented French. “We’re looking for a runaway.”

“Ah, I’m afraid we haven’t had any children arrive-”

“Not a child,” another man says, tall and blade thin. “A woman. Her father is in high standing, she was betrothed to a nobleman. We fear she may have gotten nervous about the marriage.”

Aramis lays a hand over his heart. “I shouldn’t reveal anything about a parishioner’s confession, but I can assure you the lady currently in there is already married. And not much of a lady.”

“We would like to wait to make sure it is not our master’s daughter, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” Aramis bows respectfully. There’s little he can do facing down six Spanish soldiers with no weapons other than his hands. He’ll have to rely on his brain then and hopefully some luck. As he goes back around to the priest’s entrance of the confessional, he runs into one of the priests. He immediately puts a finger to his mouth and the priest’s surprise turns quickly to understanding. Aramis tells him quickly about your plight and the need to get you to safety. He nods, telling Aramis to stay there safely out of sight of the six men who are now sitting in the pews. When he returns, he has a set of nun’s robes and he unlatches a false door that opens the confessor’s side of the box.

It’s the first clear sight Aramis has had of you. You’re dressed in simple clothing, no jewelry. Your dark hair is braided and coiled at the base of your neck and your eyes, still that odd coloration, are even larger without the lattice barrier between you two. You’re scared, but your mouth is pressed in a firm line. It’s not your first tight spot, Aramis bets, but it’s definitely an alarming one nonetheless. The priest hands you the nun’s clothes.

“Dress in these and leave your clothes in the confessional,” he whispers to you. “I’ll have one of the sisters wear your clothes out of here.”

“You have a way for us to exit?” Aramis asks.

“Yes,” the priest answers. “Take her up to the monastery with you. Dressed as one of our sisters, no one will say anything.”

“Thank you, Father,” you say as you take the robes.

Aramis touches the Priest’s arm. “Yes, thank you.”

He closes the door so you can change privately. “Mademoiselle Sartre is a friend to our parish and this town. See that she remains safe.”

“I will.”

The hidden door opens again and you appear now in the simple nun robes. The priest points to the side hallway and Aramis pulls his hood up over his head. The two of you hurry through the side hallway and open the back door to the church, bringing you directly into the graveyard. Aramis lightly touches your elbow.

“Keep your head down, leave the watchfulness to me.”

“Alright.”

Thankfully the food order had already been acquired so making their way back to the horse and wagon is a quick and efficient process. He helps you up into the front seat before climbing up himself.

“Take a pass by the inn on the way out of town.”

He nods and turns the horse in that direction. The innkeeper, Moreau, is standing outside the door feigning interest in the shoppers passing by. When his eyes land on the cart, you lay a hand on your heart. He responds similarly.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No, keep going.” You turn your eyes forward again and Moreau goes back inside the tavern. “He knows I’ll return tomorrow. Besides, I don’t want to put him in danger of having the documents with the Spanish soldiers still around.”

“Understandable. I’ll return with you tomorrow just in case our Spanish friends are still in town.”

“That’s not necessary. I don’t want to put you in any more danger than I already have.”

“I do have to say,” Aramis gives the town one last glance over his shoulder to make sure no one is following them, “today was a nice jolt of excitement.”

You give him a smile, albeit a slight one. “You are the strangest monk I’ve ever come across.”

“You will find no argument from me.”

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

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prismatica-the-strange · 3 months ago

Text

All I Am Belongs to You | All for the Love of a Dear Little Girl

Warnings: Mentions of pregnancy.

Aramis and Athos return to Paris to find they had not left Amélia as alone as they thought

Each ship is a separate timeline with the same s/i

Aramis x Amélia | Athos x Amélia

Athos's story focuses more on what Amélia went through right after season 2, her experience with Aramis is similar but without the correspondences.

These were supposed to be short, but Athos's kind of got away from me... really got away from me

All for the Love of a Girl by Johnny Horton (Aramis) | Wanderer's Lullaby by Adriana Figueroa (Athos) | Banner by @cafekitsune | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Picrew

Aramis

Aramis thinks of Amélia often at the monastery, praying for her health, her happiness, and that she finally find a man who might actually deserve her.

He never expected to see her again, let alone see her hanging laundry in the courtyard of the garrison as soon as he came back to Paris.

She seems just as surprised to see them, quickly setting aside the sheet in her hands and hurrying over to them.

Athos gladly accepts her hug and kiss on his cheek, holding her back for a moment and kissing he temple, "It's good to see you."

"Do I get as warm a welcome?" Porthos teases, arms open and awaiting his own embrace. And he does, squeezing her back and lifting her off the ground when she hugs him.

"Where is D'Artagnan?" She asks. Athos points behind her toward his and Constance's shared quarters and she nods, "So that's where she ran off to."

"And what of me?" Aramis says, anxiously twisting the rim of his hat in his hands, finally bringing her attention to him.

Porthos watches her smile falter at the sound of his voice and both he and Athos narrowly avoid being hit when she spins around to slap him.

"You're lucky you get that much after what you did to me!" She spits at him and he refuses to meet her eyes. He deserves this. He broke her heart again and again, he knows he'll never be able to regain her trust.

He bows to her, knowing now isn't the time, and walks away, only to be stopped by a small girl, no older that three, at his feet.

"Hello, darling," His smile soft yet confused, "What are you doing here?"

She doesn't say anything, squinting up at him as though studying his face.

"Marina!" Amélia swoops in to pick her up and settle her on her hip, "You're supposed to be inside napping, where I left you."

"'M not sweepy," She huffs.

"You were twenty minutes ago."

"Is he my papa?"

He freezes when she points at him.

Amélia squeezes her eyes shut, sighing in defeat before shaking her head.

"Yes, dear one," Aramis's eyes go wide at her casual admittance, "This is Aramis, your father."

"Aramis, this is- Aramis?"

His whole body is rigid, his mind not processing the information given to him.

He looks at the girl, studying her in a similar fashion to how she had him. Soft brown hair, big dark eyes...

"How... old is she?" He asks.

"Dis many!" She proudly announces, holding out three fingers.

"Are you?" He doesn't notice how Amelia's face softens when tears begin to rim his eyes, "Yes, you would be, wouldn't you? May I?"

Amélia nods, letting him take her from her arms.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" He asks, holding her with practiced ease.

"Mawina."

"Marina?" He smiles when she nods, "Now that's a beautiful name, isn't it?"

Amélia scoffs at how suddenly her resolve to hate him crumbles seeing him hold their daughter.

"Oh, you're precious," He sniffs, cupping her little cheek.

Four years of seeing his face in hers displaces her anger, diminishes her hurt. She finds her chest flooding old love for him.

He laughs when she puts her tiny hands on the sides of his face, pushing his cheeks and gently touching his hair, "Curious thing, aren't you?"

"Bold is more like it," Amélia scoffs, "Like her father."

"You never seemed to mind," He grins at her, his attention going back to Marina she turns his chin back toward her, "Amélia, she's beautiful."

"To think I left so close to knowing you," He mutters, wiping his eyes on his sleeve.

Damn it. Damn her and her stupid weak heart because that's all it takes.

"Aramis."

He looks back at her, only to be surprised by her lips pressing against his.

He looks at her in awe when the kiss breaks. He strokes her cheek, unable to tear his eyes away, "I thought..."

"You're infuriatingly difficult to hate," She sighs and he can't stop himself from smiling.

"Am I?"

"I have no idea what she's talking about," Porthos mutters and Athos chuckles. He claps Aramis on the back, "You fell in love with a Saint, you lucky bastard."

"And I truly don't deserve her," He murmurs, "Ah- careful dear."

He carefully untangles Marina fingers from his hair, kissing them softly.

She keeps staring at him, completely enthralled with him.

"So much like you're mother, aren't you," He teases, then in a hushed tone, "She likes to look at me too- Hey!"

He jumps back when she slaps his chest, catching her hand and pulling her close.

"How did I ever let you go?"0

Athos

Amélia realized not long after Athos and the others were sent to the front line to defend France, that she was with child.

She knew, even then, it was Athos's, that fate had tied them together forever through their drunken dalliance. She knew she loved him then, even if her heart wasn't ready to admit it so soon after the pain she had gone through with Aramis.

She planned to tell him everything as soon as the baby was born. She couldn't live with herself if she had lost the baby after declaring such a thing to him through a simple letter.

But then the thought he may not even wish to have a child with her crossed her mind. She'd always thought she understood his unspoken feelings for her, but he truly never told her he loved her, not once in the many letters they'd exchanged.

She couldn't bear to put the thought of an unwanted child on his mind when he had much larger things to concentrate on.

Constance insisted she move to the garrison with her to help and keep each other safe, so she made her home there with her daughter, trying desperately to summon the courage to tell him.

It's nearly three years later that she is finally able to when she receives a letter from the front. Athos worries a lack of supplies to his regiment will make the coming battles impossible. He fears for his life, but he simply can not die without telling her once and for all that he loves her. He goes on to say that if she doesn't return his feelings to not tell him, for he would rather die imagining she accepts his love than with a broken heart.

That letter is precious to her and she keeps it close to her heart her every waking moment, even after she replies, fervently returning his affections, assuring him he'll see her again, and that he will meet his daughter.

Unfortunately, her message never makes it to the front.

So when he returns to the garrison months later, he's surprised when she throws herself in his arms.

She's shaking out a blanket over the rail of the upper floor, sighing when she feels little hands grab the back of her skirt.

"How many times do I have to tell you," She sets the blanket on the rail and bends down to poke her stomach, "No muddy boots on the bed!"

The little girl shrieks with laughter and squirms away.

"Go get your boots and wipe as much of that mud off as you can, yeah?"

"Okay mama!"

She smiles as she runs off and stands to gather the blanket again, but then she sees him, "... Athos?"

He, Pothos, and Aramis have just ridden into the courtyard and her feet move before she even knows what she's doing.

He's barely dismounted when he sees her stumble down the last few stairs, lifting her skirts past her knees as she runs to them, "Athos!"

She nearly knocks him over barreling into him, her arms wrapping around his neck. He does his best to return the hug, his surprise obvious to his companions.

"I missed you," His eyes go wide when she kisses him, her hands holding his face, "I was so worried when you didn't write back."

"I..." He's worried for a brief moment that he died. She didn't reply, but here she is, looking at him adoringly, this must be the final images of his dying mind. "What do you mean? You never..."

His eyes flutter shut when she brushes his bangs asides and presses her forehead to his, her voice a whisper, "But I did! Did you.... did you not get my letter?"

"Your letter?" He shudders, cupping her jaw, thumb stroking her cheek, "You wrote back? You..."

"I love you, Athos," She grins at him, "Of course, I love you."

"I love you," He murmurs as though he can't believe he's finally saying it. He pulls her back against his lips, kissing her adoringly, "For so long I-"

"Mama?"

His eyebrows furrow and the three men look over at the small voice coming from the foot of the stairs.

"And who is this?" Aramis asks, he takes off his hat as he kneel down to her level.

She hesitates, looking to Amélia when he motions her over.

"It's alright," She holds out her hand and she runs to her side, hiding behind her skirts, "This is Aramis, Porthos, and Athos."

She steps into view, no more than three, sleeves of the dark brown leather coat, big on her still, rolled up to her elbows, as she timidly waves at them.

"This is Celine, my daughter, " She looks to Athos, disbelief staining his features, "Our daughter."

He steps back, shock washing over him like ice water, "O-our...?"

She watches him turn and run a hand through his hair, her eyes going wide when he collapses.

"Athos?!" She rushes to his side and rolls him onto his back, wiping mud from his cheek as she settles his head on her lap, "Athos?"

He finds himself suddenly looking up her, not entirely sure how he'd gotten in her lap.

"Mine?" He croaks after a moment and she sighs in relief.

"There's no question," He looks over when Aramis speaks. He's holding the girl with a smile, "She looks just like you."

"Poor girl," Porthos snickers and Athos glares at him as he gets up, Amélia on his arm.

"May I?" He looks to Amélia for permission when he reaches to take her from Aramis.

"She is yours," She reminds him watching him gently hold her to his chest.

"Mine, yes," He parrots as though he doesn't quite believe it, smiling down at her, "Hello."

"Mama?" She looks to Amélia, unsure, then back to him.

He laughs breathlessly seeing her face up close, "She has my eyes. She's beautiful..."

"M-mama!" She cries, not really understanding who any of these men are.

"It's alright," He tries to soothe her, but she squirms in his arms, reaching for her mother until she takes her.

"She doesn't know you yet," She says apologetically, settling her in her arms, and petting her hair, "But she will. She just needs a little time... I mean, as long as you wish to-"

"You're joking?" Athos grins, cupping her cheek, "It would take an act of God to tear me away from her now."

"From both of you," He corrects, his hand holds the back of her head as he leans in to kiss her temple.

Celine continues to fuss, having exhausted herself running around with Constance all morning, 'protecting' her favorite aunt.

"Alright, little musketeer, you need a nap," Amélia chuckles, nuzzling her cheek before leaning over to peck Athos's lips, "I'll be right back."

His face falls as he watches them walk away.

"You alright?" Porthos asks. He and Aramis laugh when he sighs, both of them patting on the back, "You look like you need a drink."

The fire burns low in the hearth, just warm enough to stave off the cool night air.

Athos leans over her, his kiss is slow and heavy against her lips, with Celine alseep just in the next room and wary if the man in her mother's bed, they'd dare not be more intimate than this.

He sighs contentedly, forehead pressed against hers.

She smiles as she kisses him again, reaching up to cup his cheek.

They stay like that a while more, soft touches and lingering kisses leaving them lightheaded.

His fingers trace the features of her face as he lays beside her, still in awe of all of it.

"You never told me," He breathes, his tone more curious than accusatory.

"I was scared," She admits and his brow furrows, "We were drunk, Athos, then you left and I no idea if you still wanted me let a lone a child."

She turns to face him, her hand on his chest, "I wanted to tell you, I did. I tried, many times, but I never had the courage. Not until you sent me this."

She lays back for a moment, reaching to pull a letter from a small box on the bedside table. She holds it to her lips for a moment, a routine motion to her now when she needs strength.

"This. Knowing you love me, for certain, gave me the strength and courage I needed to tell you," She holds it to her chest, "I've carried your love with me every moment since I received it. Keeping you near my heart."

"If only I had your words to guard mine," He laments, kissing her hand roughly.

"You have them now."

His breath shudders, pushing forward to nestle his face in the crook of her neck. Her hand strokes his hair before catching in it, holding him there.

"My heart is yours, Athos."

He wakes the next morning with his head on her chest, her fingers still caught in his unruly hair.

He's worried for a moment that he's still dreaming, but as he slowly moves to pull away, she shifts in her sleep, tugging his hair harshly, making him chuckle.

He quickly dresses himself, leaning down to kiss her forehead, before quietly walking through the next room to find the door left ajar.

Panic washes over him when he looks over to the cot in the corner only to find it empty.

He hurriedly opens the door, sighing in relief when he sees her sitting on the top step.

"You're not supposed to be out here," He says gently.

She scoots closer to the right hand rail when he moves to sit beside her, staring wistfully over at the horses.

"Do you like the horses?" He asks, leaning forward to see her face.

She nods but doesn't meet his gaze.

"Would you like a closer look?"

"Mama said I can't wit'out her cause 'm too small."

"I could go with you, if you like?"

That catches her attention and she looks over at him with bright eyes, "Really?"

He smiles softly at her, offering her his hand.

He still can't believe she's real, even with her hand, so small in his, holds tight to two of his fingers as he helps her down the stairs.

Just a few days ago he had nothing besides his friends and position as captain, fighting a seemingly endless war in the name of France. But now... the woman he has adored for years has returned his affections emphatically, and she's given him the most precious little girl. His heart could not be more full than it is at this moment.

"It's alright," He assures her when she hesitates. He lifts her easily and brushes her hair from her eyes, "I've got you."

Amélia wakes alone, her lover's heat lingering in the sheets beside her.

"Athos?" She calls, but she's met with silence, "Celine?"

Silence still and she wonders if she's still asleep. She rises to her feet and pulls on a linen robe, wrapping it around her to ward off the morning chill.

The other room is empty, neither Athos nor their daughter is anywhere to be found and she worries for a moment before looking out the window. She steps outside and leans on the rail, her shoulders relaxing as she watches him let her pet the horses.

Aramis comes out to greet the morning not long after, smiling at the sight of his friend taking to the role of father like a duck to water. Then he sees Amélia watching over them and carefully climbs the stairs to join her.

"They seem to be getting along well," He comments, his voice quiet as he leans on his arms next to her.

"I was worried," She admits.

"Athos has always been an honorable man, he would never reject either of you," He insist and she shakes her head.

"It's not just that," She sighs, "Or that he would be angry I lied to him... Celine doesn't take to new people well. I was scared he would be hurt if she rejected him, even if it was due to shyness."

"It seems you were worried for nothing."

She beams when they hear Celine giggle.

"I must apologize to you."

"It's in the past Aramis-"

"Please?" He begs, "I must say my piece."

She nods and looks to him with warm eyes. He'd expected her to be mad, to curse and spit his name as soon as she saw him, and he's grateful for her patience.

"I hurt you, Amélia, in ways no one should ever be hurt and I am genuinely sorry for that. I spent every day of the last four years praying for your forgiveness knowing there's I could ever do to earn it."

"Aramis..."

"I prayed for your happiness and prayed that you may find someone who truly deserves your love," He places his hand on her back, looking back over at the two by the stables, "I couldn't think of a man more deserving than Athos."

"Thank you, Aramis, that means a great deal to me."

He bows his head and they watch for a minute more until Celine sees them and points, "Mama!"

"There's just one thing I don't understand," Aramis says as they cross the courtyard and she looks up at him expectantly, "Where does the black hair come from."

"My mother," She says walking over to the top of the stairs to meet them, "I'm the only one of my siblings to take after my father."

"Hello dear one," She coos, taking Celine in her arms when she reaches for her, "Did Papa bring you to see the horses?"

Papa.

She doesn't even realize she's said it until she feels his hand brush against her arm and she looks over at him, "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine," He sweeps Celine's long hair aside to see her face again before Amélia turns to go inside.

"Let's get you dressed and fed, shall we?"

He watches them longingly as they disappear into their apartments and Aramis chuckles.

"I have never seen a man so smitten, my friend," He teases.

"I still can't believe they're real."

"You two are up early," Constance calls from below and they turn to see her, "You mind giving me a hand?"

"She's quite the wild thing, your little one," She comments as they help her hitch the horses to the wagon.

"Is she?"

"Oh yes," She nods, "It won't be long before she's giving these cadets a run for their money."

"She's fierce then?" Aramis asks, "Like her mother."

"And then some. Especially with how Treville encourages her," She leans back against the wagon, "That coat she never takes off? Treville had it made special and gave her a matching wooden sword a week later. That man spoils her like she's his granddaughter."

"I wana go wit Con'tence!" Speaking of whom, Celine comes stumbling down the stairs, toy sword in her hand.

"Not without breakfast you aren't!" Amélia scolds half a flight behind.

Athos doesn't hesitate to scoop her up, more than happy to hold her again while her mother catches up.

"Not this time, darling," Constance tells her, pinching her cheek.

"But Con'tance!"

"No buts! Mum's orders."

Amélia rests her forehead on his shoulder, breathless from chasing their daughter.

He can see the gears turning in Celine's head before she wiggles and twists her body just right to slip out of his hold, but he's quick to catch her again, "Where do you think you're going?"

She huffs in defiance, continuing to struggle, and he shakes his head, "So much like your mother."

"Excuse me?"

Constance laughs at the scene, wondering how it's possible he only met her yesterday.

Celine accidentally elbows him in the jaw in her attempt to escape and Amélia's eyes go wide, reaching to take her, "Here, let me. She'll settle once she eats."

"It's fine," He insists, content to hold her for the rest of time if she asked him, "Lead the way."

#aramis #athos #all i am belongs to you #prisma self ships #prisma writes #the musketeers #aramis x reader #Athos x reader #fankid #fankid intro

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persephones-journey · 5 months ago

Text

Inspired by this post, I give you a smutty Porthos/You/Aramis fic. All spelling mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

You didn't mean to follow them.

In your defence, your small village in the French countryside, just outside of Avignon did not get to see many strangers.

Let alone musketeers.

They were not dressed as musketeers, but you saw their pistols and their swords. You also saw how one of them; the smaller one of the two, who looked more Spanish with his thick dark curls under his hat and slight accent, had dispatched of Gaston, the local drunk and harasser of women in minutes.

That had told you all you needed to know.

And so, you followed them as they moved around the village.

They disappeared around the corner, in between two old buildings down the only cobblestone street in your village. The nicer part of town, most of the villagers called it.

You moved slowly, waiting a couple of minutes before following them. You looked around before turning down the same street. You barely made it two feet before your arm was grabbed and you were yanked into an open doorway. You yelped and a hand was placed over your mouth. The door slammed shut and you were alone in the room.

Alone with the two musketeers you had been following.

“It's a girl,” the one had his hand over your mouth said.

You kicked him. “Woman,” you answered; or tried too. It came out all muffled from the leather gloved hand against your lips.

The other larger one laughed. “She's a woman, Aramis,” he said. “Can't you see her attributes,” he added as he gestured to your chest and the cut of your bodice.

Aramis, the one who looked Spanish with the large hat hummed and nodded as he stared at the top of your breasts. “Ah, yes, Porthos, I see them now.”

The hand dropped from your mouth and they stood side by side looking at you. Your mouth went dry as you saw how their eyes were undressing you; not that you had much on to begin with. Just a thin cloak over your threadbare skirt and corset. The chemise under your corset was also thin, almost translucent. Aramis stepped closer.

“Why were you following us?” he asked.

You swallowed and licked your lips. “You are musketeers,” you said wishing your voice was stronger and did not tremble.

Porthos stepped closer and loomed over you. “Well, aren't you a smart one,” he said.

Aramis stroked your cheek with his gloved hand. “Pretty too,” he said. He sighed. “A shame that we'll have to kill you,” he said.

“What?!” you exclaimed.

Porthos sighed. “Yes, sadly, since you know we are musketeers. We are meant to be on a secret mission for the King,” he said.

“I will not tell anyone,” you said noticing how Aramis stepped closer to you, his side pressed against yours.

Heat. It filled you at the feel of him against your side. Desire followed quickly as well. Aramis smirked and you felt your cheeks grow warm. You felt more desire for this unknown musketeer than you had when the baker's son had touched you.

Your first and only sexual encounter and you wished to forget it.

“I don't know if we can trust you,” Porthos said as he also stepped closer to you. That desire that had began with Aramis's side pressed against yours, got deeper when Porthos pressed against your other side.

“I,” you stumbled over your words, “I am very trustworthy.”

“She says she is trustworthy,” Aramis said as he looked at Porthos.

Porthos hummed. “I don't know if we can believe her.”

“Please, I will do anything you want,” you said.

Aramis looked back at you. “Anything?” he asked as he leaned in closer.

You took him; his dark eyes, his moustache, his beard. You nodded as you felt your core get wet. Aramis reached out and began to play with the ties on the front of your corset. “Anything,” you said again.

Aramis smiled. He glanced at Porthos, his fingers undoing the ties on your corset. “Anything,” he repeated to Porthos.

Porthos smiled as he stepped closer to you as well. “I heard,” he breathed out. You sighed as he pressed his hand against your ass cheek. You jumped when he pinched it. “It's been a while since we've shared a girl,” he added.

Aramis huffed as he pulled the corset ties open more. You felt the corset loosen. He reached up and bit the finger tip of his glove pulling it off. “Yes, well, the last girl we attempted that with, you kept to yourself,” he said.

Porthos snorted as he rubbed your ass cheek. He gave it a hard slap and you yelped. “Not my fault she liked riding me more than you.”

“I will have you know, she liked riding me just fine. She told me I filled her beautifully,” Aramis said.

Your corset loosened more as Aramis yanked the strings out. You did not stop him; instead you found yourself helping him. You pulled the strings from the bottom and soon your fingers tangled with Aramis' as they met in the middle. He smiled and grabbed your corset, yanking it off of your torso, tossing it aside.

“She only told you that to not hurt your feelings,” Porthos said to Aramis. You find yourself whining as he pulled his hand from your ass cheek. He looked at you and smiled. “Don't worry, pet,” he said as he leaned in closer. “I will touch you some more. I am just going to get more comfortable while Aramis has his fill of tasting you.”

You kissed him back when he pressed his lips to yours. You heard the sounds of a jacket being taken off and tossed aside. Porthos deepened the kiss and you focused on him alone. Even when you felt Aramis' hands on your skirt undoing the hooks and yanking it off. You stepped out of it as Porthos' tongue licked your bottom lip demanding entry.

You gave it.

His tongue stroked yours as his hands grabbed your cheeks, pulling your face towards his. You moaned as you felt Aramis' bare hands on the back of your knees, lifting your legs from your skirt before the sound of it being tossed aside echoed in your ears. You whimpered as Aramis pressed his hands to your bare thighs pulling your legs apart.

“Porthos, she is wet for us already,” he said.

You felt Aramis' breath on your mound and moaned. You pulled away from Porthos' kiss and he smiled. He licked your lips before letting your face go. He stepped back and you couldn't help but watch as he pulled off his sword belt and tossed it aside along with his jacket.

Aramis, apparently not wishing to be forgotten, pulled your attention back to him by his tongue licking your folds.

“Oh god,” you moaned as you reached down and grabbed his head, knocking his hat off his head. Your fingers tangled in his hair as you pressed yourself up against the post.

You closed your eyes as Aramis grabbed your right leg and placed it over his shoulder moving closer to your core. You whimpered as his tongue licked up your wetness. He moved his mouth and you felt him lap at that little nub of pleasure you had touched yourself occasionally. But it felt so much better with Aramis' warm tongue pressed against it.

“So beautiful,” Porthos said as he stepped closer to you. You opened your eyes and looked at him. He had taken off his jacket and his shirt. You saw his muscular chest and could not help yourself. You reached up and pressed your hand to his chest. You felt his warm skin under your palm and it turned you on even more. He smiled and reached up pulling your chemise open. “I need a taste too,” he said.

You watched as Porthos leaned down and wrapped his mouth around your nipple. You held his eyes as you felt his tongue lick your nipple, his tongue swirling around it over and over. You whimpered and moaned as you felt Aramis' tongue do the same thing around your pleasure nub. You got the distinct feeling that they had done this before.

It made you wetter and warmer to think about how many women had been in your very position before.

You raked your nails across Porthos' chest as you tugged Aramis' hair with your other hand. Aramis continued to suck and lick your folds and you felt the pleasure rising and building. Porthos began sucking on your nipple and nipping at it gently. You moaned more and whimpered when you felt Aramis slid two fingers inside of you.

“I can't,” you whined as Aramis crooked his fingers inside of you and pressed them into a soft spot inside of you that had your legs trembling.

“You can,” Porthos whispered. “Just let go,” he added as he licked your nipple again before he pulled his mouth from it completely and kissed you hard.

You moaned into his mouth as you pressed your hips forward, pressing your core into Aramis' mouth. Porthos pulled away from your lips and kissed along your neck. He growled in your ear as his hand grabbed your other breast and kneaded it.

“Let go,” he ordered.

And you did.

You moaned loudly into Porthos' mouth as he pressed it to yours again, feeling his lips curl into a smile as your body trembled. You squeezed your eyes shut as you tugged on Aramis' hair and dug your nails into Porthos' chest. It felt like you were floating. You whimpered as you felt Aramis' tongue gently lap at your folds over and over. You felt his fingers dig into your thighs after he slid them out of you. You blinked, blinded for a moment before your vision returned to you. You saw Aramis stand, the smug look on his face. Porthos stood beside him and you saw a smug look on his face as well.

“First time?” he asked gruffly.

You nodded your cheek ablaze with heat as you blushed. “Y-yes,” you stammered.

Aramis smirked. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he said softly.

Porthos hummed as his dark eyes never left you. You squealed as he grabbed you and carried you over to the bed against the wall. He tossed you on it. You laid across the bed, your legs dangling down, body still trembling from your climax. Your chest heaved as your eyes watched as he undid the buttons on his trousers and pulled them open. He shoved his pants down to undo the ties on his undergarment. You heard Aramis undressing as well but for the moment, your eyes were focused on Porthos.

You took in his chest and stomach, his muscles and scars. Your eyes raked down from his belly button lower to his cock. Your mouth went dry as you saw how long and thick it was once it was freed from his undergarments. He spit in his hand and stroked his cock. You looked up and met his eyes.

“I promise you, you will enjoy this,” he said as he stepped closer to you and in between your legs.

You looked down, sitting up on your elbows. Aramis walked over to the bed, naked and confident. He climbed on the bed beside you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders holding you up. He leaned in and kissed you. You hummed against his lips and moaned as you felt Porthos' tip press into your entrance. Aramis took one of your hands and placed it on his own cock; it was also hard, long, and thick. You whimpered as he nipped at your lips.

“Let's watch as Porthos takes you,” he whispered as he pulled away. “It's always beautiful to watch his cock claim another woman.”

His accented voice paired with his hand wrapped around yours around his cock, stroking it gently, made you all the wetter. You turned and looked down.

The scene that met you obscenely beautiful.

Porthos' tip was notched inside of you, stretching your folds open. He held your legs up against his chest as his hands held your hips down, pinning you to the bed. Aramis' hand went to your breast and squeezed it as Porthos pressed his cock deeper into you. You whimpered as you felt yourself stretch more the deeper he slid into you.

“Oh god,” you moaned as you let your head fall back.

“He prefers Porthos,” Aramis answered as he leaned down and kissed you again.

You whimpered into his mouth. He let go of his hand around yours that was stroking his cock. You stroked it at the pace he had set, slowly and gently. You hoped you got the chance to feel it buried deep inside of you as well. You moaned as you felt Porthos push deeper and deeper into you. Aramis placed his hand on your stomach and ran it, palm down on your soft skin.

“I love this part,” he breathed against your lips.

You whined missing his kisses. Your whine turned into a deep moan as Porthos jerked his hips and filled you. You cried out and tears came to your eyes.

“It's too much,” you whimpered as your nails grabbed Porthos' arm and dug into his skin.

“Shh, pet,” Porthos said. “It's all right, give it a minute.”

You whimpered and held on to Aramis' cock. You looked down and watched Porthos moved one of his hands and placed it where you were joined. His fingers stroked your nub and you clenched around his cock. You moaned at how full you felt. Aramis ran his hand lower, to your lower abdomen. He pressed down and you cried out as you felt his hand pressing Porthos' cock inside of you.

“He gets so deep and fills you out so well, love,” Aramis whispered as he kissed your nose. “You take him so beautifully,” he added.

You understood the words he was saying but you couldn't focused on them. You were focused on Porthos' cock buried deep inside of you as he gently rubbed your nub. Your legs trembled and you whimpered. You arched your back pressing yourself against him more.

“Better?” Porthos asked as Aramis leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth.

“Yes,” you breathed out as you let go of Porthos' arm and buried your hand in Aramis' hair.

You began stroking Aramis' cock again at the slow gentle pace. You sucked in a breath as Porthos dragged his cock from you, so very slowly. You felt every ridge and vein of his cock as he pulled it from your warmth. You ached and felt empty as he stopped, his tip barely inside of you. Tears rolled down your cheeks as you bit your bottom lip. Aramis continued sucking your nipple, his lips wrapped around it, and every tug of it seemed to go straight down to your core; every tug caused pleasure to rise and your walls to clench.

“Please,” you found yourself begging as Porthos seemed content to just hold his tip right there, not pushing into you again.

“Please what, pet?” Porthos grunted. He pressed forward a bit but pulled back. You cried. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“Both of you to have me. I need you,” you cried out. “Please.”

Aramis pulled his mouth from her nipple. He glanced at Porthos as his hand stroked her skin. “She is being so polite,” he told her.

“She really is,” Porthos sighed and thrusted hard into you. The breath was pushed from your lungs as he filled you quickly again. “And polite girls get rewarded,” he grunted.

Aramis pressed down on your stomach again as Porthos filled you. He leaned over your chest and took your other nipple in his mouth. Porthos continued to rub your nub as he dragged his cock from you slowly and slammed it back in. He did it over and over.

And soon your brain stopped processing words, the only sounds you could focus on was Porthos' cock entering your wet core and Aramis' mouth sucking on your nipple. You squeezed Aramis' cock as Porthos' thrust pushed you back on the bed. He wrapped his arm around your legs, moving them so they were over one shoulder as he bent you over. Your knees pressed into Aramis' back and Porthos just began pounding into you.

Drool pooled in the corner of your mouth as your mouth fell open in a voiceless moan. Your body began shaking and your nails dug into Aramis' scalp. You clenched around Porthos' cock as his fingers moved faster on your nub. You let go of Aramis' cock and wrapped your arm around him as he sucked and nippled at your nipple. You whimpered and whined as Aramis pressed down on your abdomen over and over as Porthos filled you.

You felt the pleasure building and building. You shattered as Aramis bit down on your nipple, Porthos' fingers pressed hard on your nub, and he slammed into you hard, pressing deep into you. He held his cock deep inside of you as you clenched around him. A white blinding light burned your eyes as she squeezed them shut. You whimpered Porthos' name. You felt Aramis chuckle as he pulled his mouth from your nipple and pressed soft kisses to your face.

“Love, you aren't finished yet,” he whispered.

You sighed and blinked your eyes as your body felt like it was floating away. You whined and blinked your eyes more as tears rolled down your cheeks. Porthos rubbed your thighs and pressed kisses on your ankles as he slowly slid his still hard cock from you. Aramis pressed a soft kiss to your lips and hummed as he moved off the bed. You blinked as your body continued to tremble as Porthos lowered your legs. You heard them talking but you were focused on your own body; how it suddenly felt so empty. You began to cry.

“Hush, pet, what's wrong?” Porthos asked as he sat on the bed and rubbed your side as he leaned over you.

“I feel so empty,” you cried.

“I can fix that, love,” Aramis said as he moved between your legs. He rubbed your thighs as he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach. “I just need you to roll on your hands and knees. Can you do that for me?” he asked.

You looked at him. He was beautiful. Just like Porthos. His body not too lean, not too muscular. He had scars on his chest as well and chest hair that tapered down his chest and stomach to his cock. You nodded gently and he smiled and moved, pressing soft kisses to your thighs and knees. Porthos stood as your slowly rolled over. Your arms felt weak but you sure that you would hold yourself up long enough to have Aramis have you.

You felt nervous as you placed your knees on the bed. Aramis' hands grabbed your hips and gently moved you over more so you were almost diagonal on the bed. Porthos moved and stood in front of your face as he brushed the hair from your face. You closed your eyes as you felt Aramis kiss down your back, along your spine.

“Have you been taken like this before?” Aramis whispered against your skin. His hands stroked and rubbed your thighs and hips.

“No,” you breathed out.

Porthos chuckled. “Oh, you are in for a good time, pet,” he said as he gathered your hair in his hand and holding it in a fist pulling your head up. “And I am hoping you can help finish me off with your mouth,” he added. He reached out and brushed his thumb along her jaw. “Have you ever done that before?” he asked.

You nodded. You had done that before; more than you would ever admit to anyone. Not even the village priest. You had never taken one man in your mouth though while another filled you core. No, this would be something new.

And something you knew you wouldn't do again with anyone else.

You opened your mouth as you felt Aramiss lips reach your lower back. His tongue licked your skin as his hands grabbed your ass cheeks in his hands. He kneaded them as he had kneaded your breasts earlier. You found yourself moving your knees, opening your legs wider as Porthos stepped closer to your face, his cock in hand. He tapped the tip on your bottom lip as Aramis' lips left your lower back.

“And swallow every last bit of my seed,” Porthos answered.

“Yes,” you breathed out.

You felt Aramis' cock tip press against your folds as he rubbed it up and down. He swirled the tip around your nub and your moaned. Porthos took that moment to press his cock into your mouth. You tasted your own wetness on his cock as your held your mouth open. Your tongue rubbed on the underside of his cock and your felt the vein that ran from the base of his cock to its tip. Aramis took that moment to press his tip into you and fill you with one fast thrust.

You closed your eyes and moaned as you felt how deep Aramis got. He filled you perfectly; not as much as Porthos did but still more than the first boy you had let inside of you did. Aramis did not wait for you to adjust to him being inside of you. He dragged his cock from you and slammed back in. He held your hips tightly and he began moving in and out of you at a hard and fast pace.

You opened your eyes as you grabbed the blankets under your hands. You looked up at Porthos as you held your mouth open. He was using your mouth like Aramis was using your core; fast and hard thrusts. You kept your tongue flat as Porthos moved his cock in and out of your mouth. His tip pressed deep into the back of your throat as Aramis' tip pressed deep inside of you. You could feel Aramis' balls hit your sensitive nub. Tears came to your eyes as you felt the pleasure growing again.

“She feels so good,” Aramis groaned as his fingers dug into her hips. “So warm and tight,” he added.

Porthos hummed as he tugged on your hair. “I know,” you watched as he looked at Aramis. “We might have to bring her back to Paris with us and keep her filled all the time.”

You got wetter at that. You closed your mouth a bit and began sucking on Porthos' cock as he slid it into your mouth. You were drooling, it dripping down your chin. It was the same with the wetness between your thighs as Aramis' cock moved in and out of you. Your body began to tremble and shake as your felt the first splash of seed on your tongue. You clenched around Aramis' cock and he groaned.

“Are you close, love?” he asked. You felt him move his hand along your hip and stomach. He pressed his hand on your lower abdomen over his cock as it pressed into you. He moved his hand lower as you moaned, the sound muffled as Porthos continued to thrust into your mouth. You felt Aramis' thumb rub your nub. “Come for me, love. I want to feel you strangle my cock with your warmth.”

Porthos thrusted into your mouth and held his cock there. You swallowed rope after rope of his seed as your body shook, harder than it had before. Aramis pressed harder on your nub with his thumb and pressed his hand harder on your lower abdomen. You closed your eyes as your slumped forward. Porthos grabbed your shoulder and held you help but your body crashed into it's climax hard.

You went limp, blacked out almost as you clenched around Aramis' cock. He grunted and moaned. You felt Porthos pull his cock from your mouth and he let go of your hair. You slumped down to the bed, face first, as your whole body shook. You whined as Aramis pulled his cock from you. You ached and missed it. You felt his seed splash on your ass and back moments later. You blood pounded in your head as you still shook. You felt Porthos' fingers dance along your shoulder and back.

“Are you all right?” he whispered.

You hummed and huffed. You blinked and looked at him as you felt Aramis lay on the bed beside you on the other side. He leaned in and kissed your shoulder and skin.

“I think so,” you muttered.

“Hmm,” Aramis hummed. “Let's get some food and wine,” he smacked your ass. “And maybe we can go again later.”

Porthos laughed. “Who's room is this anyway?” he asked.

You rolled on your back. You reached behind you and wiped Aramis' seed with your hand. You brought your hand to your mouth and licked your hand. You tasted Aramis seed; it tasted like Porthos', salty. Aramis groaned and leaned forward and bit you on the neck.

“She is perfect, Porthos,” he said as his ran his hand around your stomach. “We need to keep her.”

You looked at Porthos as he moved and laid on the bed beside you on the other side. He leaned in, with his hand on the back of your neck and kissed you deeply. He pulled away and looked in your eyes.

“Yes, I think we do need to keep her,” he growled.

“Please,” you whispered. “Keep me. For both of you.”

“Again, she is so polite,” Aramis sighed. “We must keep her.”

“We must,” Porthos agreed.

You turned your head and kissed Aramis and reached up to rake your fingers through his hair. Porthos leaned in and kissed your neck, leaving love bite behind.

Yes, you needed to be theirs. No one else would ever do again.

#the musketeers #the musketeers fic #porthos/reader/aramis fic #porthos fic #aramis fic

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verstarppen · 1 year ago

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pairing; max verstappen x fem! mercedes admin! reader [ no faceclaim ]

a/n; due to popular demand here's the part 2; i see your comments: you asked and i deliver 🫶 [ series masterlist ]

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mercedesamgf1 have some tits to distract you from that crash

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pic credits: pinterest and instagram

#⚔️ max and the three musketeers #f1 x reader #f1 #f1 imagine #f1 instagram au #f1 smau #f1 social media au #instagram au #social media au #max verstappen au #max verstappen #formula 1 #max verstappen x reader

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dipperscavern · 6 months ago

Note

your cregan thoughts changed my life. They are literally canon idgaf…

how do you feel about the stark men and their possessiveness 🫠🫠🫠 Because i knowww they don’t play about their women, especially cregan ohhhhh myyy goddddd. do you think they’re prone to jealousy… Lots to think about. lots to ponder.

POSSESSIVE STARK MEN!! POSSESSIVE STARK MEN I SAID!! i’m very very glad u enjoy my cregan thoughts, thank u sm for this delicious ask <33

as we’ve established, stark men are gentlemen. not just the starks, but northmen themselves don’t play about their women. and there’s also a difference between possessiveness & jealousy… lord so many thoughts. so many things to ponder.

okay, so, as for cregan, he’s very assured. very confident & unwavering in his loyalty to you, and your loyalty to him. cregan can get possessive, but he mainly thinks people ogling over you is funny, because he’s completely confident in your devotion to each other. you usually make your way over to him yourself, and he’ll pull you in by your hips as he teases about the man hitting on you. unless he sees them making you uncomfortable or overstepping — he doesn’t tolerate that. making his way over to pry you away… but honeslty sometimes someone just gets under his skin & he just wants you all to himself. maybe he can get a little jealous…. he does jest in jealousy sometimes though. i could see him wanting your attention. pulling you toward him & away from whatever had your attention if he was feeling particularly needy, jokingly muttering a-

“Come here, you’ve got me jealous.”

robb is so possessive & jealous nobody speak to me. nobody SPEAK to me right now. it’s just so innate/natural for him, you could be talking to anyone and his hands would twitch with the need to pull you away. he really does try and control himself, but he lets it slip sometimes when bedding you.

“You’re mine, yeah? C’mon, wanna hear you say it.”

it’s especially bad during the war, because he’s so frustrated all the time. his emotions are at an all time high, and he can’t find it in himself to try and mask how close he wants you to him & how far away he wants you from other people. “Will you just-“ & he grabs you by your cloak, pulling you to him. “Come here.” he doesn’t have time to hide his emotions when there’s so much on his plate. just let him have what he wants, honestly. 🙄

jon is quietly possessive. he’s never really had anything of his own before, he wants you alllll to himself. i don’t think he’s really jealous, unless you’re pushing his buttons on purpose. the prospect of you being his turns him on sooooo badly, though. you could be talking about how a man of the nights watch hit on you, just murmuring a small-

“Wasn’t interested. ‘M yours, anyway.”

hearing u say that.. and yep! you’re getting it tongiht! his eyes darken and everything before stalking closer to you to press his lips to yours tee hee. wait do y’all think he would… mmm. deep, slow thrusts while telling you-

“Say it again.”

#game of thrones #house of the dragon #cregan stark #cregan stark x reader #robb stark #robb stark x reader #jon snow #jon snow x reader #dippys asks #i feel bad that jon’s portion is short #BUT LIKE #WHAT ELSE DO I ADD HES A SINPLE MAN #A SINPLE PERFECT PEERFECT MAN #the three musketeers !

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d-targaryenshoe · 6 days ago

Note

Are there any people on here who are fans of the book series version of Bridgerton or prefer the book series to the Netflix adaptation version?

Me personally? I love the books! As it gives me the freedom of imagining 'Kate', 'Sophie' etc in my mind? But then i also love my three male Bridgertons filling up my screen. 🐝

#don't mind me #they are my roman empire #the three musketeers #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader #colin bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader

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fandom-imagines-stories · 6 months ago

Text

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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