#treville x you

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Memories: Captain Jean Treville x Reader (NSFW)

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When Athos goes missing it is you that finds your old friend, he's strung up by his wrists about to be whipped by a baron’s son. It triggers something in you, seeing him like that, at the mercy of nobility who want to get their grubby hands on his land. That was you a long time ago, after your father died, when you were nothing but a girl.

Only there was no one to rescue you, to cut the rope that bound your wrists, to prevent a marriage that was forced at gun point as blood ran down your back. When you fight for Pinon alongside Jean and his Musketeers you fight for yourself, for the girl who couldn’t.

“It brings back memories doesn’t it?” Jean murmurs as he sits down alongside of you by the hearth at the inn. You’re staring into the flames, your attention focused entirely on the logs that crackle and burn.

You’ve been quiet since they’ve arrived, reserved. There’s a tone in your voice, a distance. It’s clear there’s been a dispute between yourself and Athos, you think he has a duty to his people and he wants nothing to do with the damn place. He doesn’t understand that his choice is one that everyone else has to live with, he can’t see beyond his own pain.

“Too many to count.” You say despondently, before your gaze shifts to the innkeeper’s daughter.

“She was lucky you were here.” He says quietly as he leans in close, the back of his hand brushing over yours. It’s a tentative display of affection. Sometimes you don’t like to be touched when you go back to that place, you withdraw from him as if he’s one of the men that hurt you all those years ago. “That you were able to get her out.”

Breaking in the filly is what they called the horror of what they were going to do to her, rape is what you call it.

“I could never resign someone else to that fate.” You tell him, your attention turning back to the fire.

When he takes you to bed that night, you sleep curled up against him like a child, his fingers trailing soothingly through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings. Darkness like this brings dreams, dreams of a man who shamed you, ruined you, who fed you to the wolves so that he could own your estate.

You were nothing to Charles DuMire but a tool to be used, a plaything for men who always held more power than you. You were exchanged for favours, for money, for prestige.

“I was their whore.” You had said, when you’d told him your story.

“No.” He’d whispered fiercely, his eyes glittering with rage as his palms came to rest upon the surface of his desk. “You were abused.”

He doesn’t know how you kept your wits during that time, trauma like that would drive anyone to madness. You were nothing but an object to those men, and men, they speak freely in front of things that they own.

When you learn of their plot to assassinate the King, you decide to act. You gather evidence, letters, a ledger of the money exchanges and the ring that each one of the men wear, a symbol of their allegiance to one another, one that can only be worn in the shadows. You take them to Paris with you during one of husband’s excursions to court.

Your father had often spoke of Jean Treville, the young soldier he had trained to become a Musketeer. He spoke of the battles they fought in, his heroism, his honour.

“He is the Captain now.” He had said on his deathbed. “If there is trouble, he is a man you can trust.”

When you first turn up at the garrison, Jean thinks you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. It’s only when he helps you down from your horse that he sees the darkness in your eyes, the way you clench your jaw at his touch. He’s careful after that, he doesn’t want to cause you any further distress.

When he reviews your evidence there is no doubt in his mind you’ve uncovered a conspiracy, one that’s already in motion. He moves into action, making preparations and you stand beside him, showing him the access points on the map, detailing the plans your husband has made. You have a mind for battle, for tactics and subterfuge. He thinks you would have been a general if you had been born a son.

“You are your father’s daughter.” He had told you once the trap was set, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “He would have proud of your strength, your ingenuity.”

“He would be ashamed of what I’ve become.” You say as you pull on your cloak, drawing it up around your shoulders.

“No.” Jean had told you. “He’d be ashamed of the circumstances he left you in, that he trusted his neighbour to care for you the same way he did. None of this is your fault.”

You meet his gaze and you can see the sincerity of his words, the anger that fuels them. None of this should have happened to you, you should be living a happy life, married to a man who loves you, who wants to give you children.

“You can’t go back to him.” He asserts as you tie the fastening of your cloak just underneath your chin.

“If I don’t, he’ll know there is something amiss.” You say before gesturing at the plans upon his desk. “And all of this will be for nothing.”

It kills him to send you back into the viper’s nest, to know that you’ll be sleeping next to a man who gives you to his friends as if you were a trinket. When he helps you onto your horse, he lingers for a moment, his palm lightly caressing the animal’s nose.

“It’ll be over soon.” You say with an air of finality as you pick up the reins. “I’ll take great joy in watching him hang.”

And you do. The next time Jean sees you is inside the prison courtyard as you both watch the men who conspired against the crown hang for their crimes. You smile as your husband takes his final breathes, his body quaking and his legs kicking. Anyone else would look away but you keep your eyes fixed on his the entire time.  

“There were others?” Jean asks quietly as he escorts you from the prison.

He’s surprised when your hand comes to rest on his arm. You tilt your head towards him and he can see that a burden has been released. His palm covers yours in a show of solidarity as you walk together side by side.

“Yes there are others.” You say, slowing your step as you reach into the pocket hidden within your skirts and withdraw a piece of parchment. “Here are their names, if you are patient I will get you your evidence. I have no doubt that I’ll be fair game now that Charles is dead.”

“I would never ask that of you…” You cut him off by shushing him and he sighs as the two of you come to a standstill.

You are a wilful woman, spirited despite the circumstances. Your husband’s death has given you a taste for vengeance and he knows you will not stop until you see every single one of those men dead.

“You wouldn’t would you?” You say softly, squeezing his fingers. “You would never ask anything of me.”

“No.” He says, his lips pursing together into a fond smile. “No I would not.”

It takes two years but you send every single one of those men to the gallows. Their reputations in tatters, their lands claimed by the crown, you leave them with nothing. During every death you stand at the front your eyes locked on theirs because you want them to know it was you, that you are the harbinger of their demise.

It’s a few nights after the last one is hanged that you enter his chambers. He’s sitting on the bed, having just removed his boots and jacket when you stand before him and begin to undress. Your skirts go first and then the bodice, the rest of it follows until your clad in simple white garment that’s almost translucent. He can see the outline of your dark nipples, that special place between your legs and his mouth goes dry. He wants you, he always has but he’s not like those other men, he won’t rut at you like an animal.

You mistake his resolve for rejection. He knows your story, of the men you’ve been with. It makes sense that a man of honour would want a woman of virtue, not someone ruined.

“I understand.” You say quietly, your cheeks colouring as you reach for your clothing.

“Terese.” He says softly as he pats the space alongside him on the bed. “Please sit with me.”

You take up residence beside him and the scent of orange blossoms floods his senses. He prays to God for strength because having you this close, feeling the heat of your body, seeing it through that thin sliver of material it’s enough to drive a man to madness. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, tipping your chin up so that your eyes are fixed in his.

“Have you ever given yourself freely?” He asks you, his nose trailing along yours until your lips are barely apart. “Have you ever known love?”

“No.”  You whisper. “I have never experienced the pleasure.”

“You will with me,” He murmurs, as his lips brush over yours. “If that is what you wish.”

It's you that kisses him, that strips away his shirt, that unfastens his breeches. It is the first time you’ve had a choice in your partner, in your intimacy and you choose him. He takes his time worshipping you, he maps out the contours of your body with calloused hands and an eager mouth.

“You deserve the world.” He whispers against your thigh as he kisses a heated trail to nirvana. “You deserve love, adoration, ecstasy…”

And he gives it to you.

Jean, he gives you everything.

You’ve never known rapture, not like this. His hands anchor you in the moment, his palms caressing you as you climax against his mouth. He moans into your cunt at the taste of your sweet nectar before he devours you all over again. When his name rolls off your lips a second time, he kisses a teasing path up along your body, his lips brushing over your sensitive skin. You look beautiful underneath him, your skin flushed and eyes bright.

He stays your hand when you reach for him, bringing your fingertips to his lips instead, kissing them.

“Not tonight my love.” He whispers. “Tonight is about your pleasure, not mine.”

He’s the first man you give yourself freely and the last.

In the small principality of Pinon, he lies in bed with you, his spy, his lover and his wife and he knows you won’t just be fighting for Athos’s people, you’re fighting for your own, for the innocents that were slaughtered when your first husband took over your lands, the ones that tried to save you, the ones that couldn’t.

This is the reason that Pinon is so important to you.

This is the place you make your stand and this time he makes it with you.

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BBC's The Musketeers: The Season's Series

The Fall Series (Porthos x Reader/OFC)

The Winter Series (Aramis x Reader/OFC) - Under Construction!

The Spring Series - (Athos x Reader/OFC) Coming Soon!

The Summer Series - (Treville x Reader/OFC) Coming Soon!

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These Lips Speak Lies

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 7048

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

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

Find more Musketeers: HERE

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blew out a breath. “Yes and no.”

“Did you work together?”

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

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

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

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

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

The three members of the audience nodded. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

Aramis, certainly, was not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aramis turned on his heel and stopped suddenly. 

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

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

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

-

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

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

All but one. 

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

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

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

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

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

But those eyes…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aramis looked away. 

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

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

“These are your observations then?” He asked. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a brow. 

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

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

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

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

Your fellow musketeer crossed his arms. 

“I’m coming with you.”

“You most certainly are not.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was only cute the first time.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s mademoiselle,” you corrected.

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

You rolled your eyes and went back downstairs. 

-

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

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

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

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

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

Those eyes. 

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

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

Hands grappled you from behind. 

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

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

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

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

“Maybe we should have left her for Claude.”

“Let’s get her in the cart.” 

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

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

Or someone. 

“Great,” you sighed. 

Treville was not going to be happy. 

-

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

Aramis groaned, eyes fluttering open and closed. 

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

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

You put a hand on his back to steady him. 

“Where are we?” He asked. 

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

“Did you see them?”

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

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

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

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

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

“They told me you were a clever one.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gritted your teeth. 

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

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

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

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

“Lady Augustin.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N-”

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

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

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

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

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

“Let me go,” you demanded.

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

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

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

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

“Not in my position, it’s not.” 

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

When Lord Augustin used you to appease his sick appetites. 

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

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

Aramis grimaced. 

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

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

You’d seen it happen before. 

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

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

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

“Ah, but then you’d miss my company.” 

You snorted. 

He closed his eyes. 

And you both waited. 

-

They came for him first. 

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

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

“Stay away,” you spat. 

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

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

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

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

Aramis groaned. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Someone will have heard that,” he said. 

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

Aramis took both from the men on the ground. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You noticed the tension in his back. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aramis leaned forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. 

And you let him. 

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

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

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

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

- 

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

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

“You there!” Someone shouted. 

It was definitely harder to sneak two people around. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shuddered. 

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Lord and Lady Augustine exchanged confused and irritated looks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A great shot rang through the room.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Must be in trouble,” Porthos muttered teasingly. 

Aramis didn’t laugh. 

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

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

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

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

Aramis shook his head. 

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

“I understand.” 

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

You stepped forward. 

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

“Hello Aramis,” you smiled. 

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

Treville cleared his throat. 

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

“Thank you, sir,” you said quietly. 

Aramis bowed slightly as the captain left. 

The two of you turned back to each other. 

And closed the space between you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I believe I rescued you first.” 

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

Aramis chuckled, raising a hand to your cheek. 

You leaned into his touch.

The two of you drew closer. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Aramis shot him a look. 

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

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

You glanced at him. 

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

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

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

“Here here,” Porthos cheered. 

The five of you clinked your cups together. 

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

[errruvande]

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..."

[prismatica-the-strange]

All I Am Belongs to You | As Long As I Know Who I Am

Warnings: 18+, show typical violence, attempted sexual assault, mentions of sex but no details

A covert mission in London goes awry when Amélia is recognized by a ghost from her past. The boys fight amongst themselves for who gets to play her husband.

Pairing: Aramis x Amélia with anAthos x Amélia subplot

Word Count: 6.4k

I'm Still Here by Colm R. McGuinness (Amélia) | Follow On by Celtic Woman (Aramis) | Slow by Chris Mann (Athos) | Dividers by @steddiecameraroll-graphics | Reblog banner by @cafekitsune

"Dear Amélia, you look gorgeous."

"Is Her Majesty sure it's not too much?"

She feels ridiculous and refuses to see herself in the mirror. She'd run to Paris to get away from this, but here she is at her final fitting for a dress she surely can't afford.

"The whole point of this little ruse is for you to take the room's attention," Anne explains, " I don't think you'll have any trouble in that area, no matter which Musketeer is on your arm."

She dares a small glance at her reflection and her eyes go soft as she reminisces the life she gave up.

She hadn't exactly volunteered to help with this ploy, but Constance's husband forbade her from taking part, and Amélia is the only other woman the musketeers trust for their mission. She had a choice, but she couldn't bring herself to say no when they sent D'Artagnan to plead their case with those soft brown eyes of his after she'd laughed in Aramis's face.

"Whichever draws the shortest straw, you mean?" The question is meant to be rhetorical, but the queen scoffs, adjusting her skirt.

"I'm sure they're each begging Captain Treville to pick them to play your beloved as we speak."

Athos rolls his eyes at his friends, "This is ridiculous, you are aware of that, yes?"

"Treville told us to work it out amongst ourselves," Porthos grins, "That's all we're doing."

"Unless you'd both like to bow out like dear D'Artagnan, and let me enjoy the lady for a night or two?," Aramis suggests, flourishing his rapier when neither move to do so, "No? Alright then, draw your swords."

"I won't maim you just to play pretend for a night," Athos sighs.

"I will," Porthos pushes past him, sword in hand, "You always whisk Amélia away when she visits, and anyway, I'm sure she'd prefer to be on the arm of a real man."

"Perhaps," D'Artagnan cuts in, gripping the shoulder of each of his friends, "We should wait and let her choose who she prefers. She is the one who will be in the most danger, after all. Shouldn't she be with whoever she's most comfortable with?"

"I agree."

"Well, that just means Aramis gets to be the duke!" Porthos argues, "Where's the fun in that?"

Unfortunately for both Porthos and Aramis, Amélia chooses Athos to be her escort for the mission, and he fails to hide his small, snarky smile when she does.

The ride to England is long and incredibly dull, longer still since the Queen insisted she take a carriage instead of riding.

"Would one of you please ride in here with me? I'm unbelievably bored," She laments through the open window of the coach, "Or let me ride with one of you? Please? Just for a short while at least?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea," Athos says, but she won't take no for an answer.

"Aramis, my love?" She pouts over at him and Porthos laughs when his friend goes all doe-eyed at her words.

The others chuckle when he stops the group to help her up onto his horse, beaming proudly at the feeling of his arms around her.

"Stop that," She reaches back to swat his cheek, "You puff up your chest much more and I'll fall off the horse."

"I'd never let that happen, my dear."

"Perhaps I should ride with Porthos instead," She teases.

"Perhaps we should continue on?" Athos suggests, cutting off any possible response from Porthos.

"What possible reason could you have to play house with Athos over you dear love Aramis?" He whispers in her ear.

"Is driving you mad with jealousy not enough of a reason?"

"Even you aren't that cruel, my love."

She sighs and rests her head on his shoulder, admiring her intimate view of him, "I was afraid I'd become distracted on your arm. That didn't seem wise given the high priority of this mission and all."

"Ah, and no risk of that with Athos?" He snickers.

"Of course not," She giggles, "He's too much of a stick in the mud."

Their laughter stifles when Athos rides up beside them with a glare having obviously heard them.

"Sorry," She bites her bottom lip but it does little to hide her smile, and the two of them burst out laughing when he rides ahead in annoyance.

They make camp a few hours later, just as the sun begins to dip below the horizon.

"Come on, love," Porthos urges, tugging at her hand when she stands to stretch, "Sing something for us."

"Mm, it's been quite some time since we've heard your lovely voice," D'Artagnan agrees from across the campfire.

"You boys are insufferable," She rolls her eyes with a smile, "What would you like to hear?"

"Something fun!" Porthos requests.

"Something quiet," Athos hisses, "God knows who could be out there in the dark, and I don't wish to attract their attention."

"Something... romantic," Aramis grins, pulling her down onto his lap, and the others groan.

"Romantic, Monsieur?"

"Please, no," Porthos begs, "Unless you plan on sitting on my lap as you do."

She starts to hum a melody before soft words begin to seemingly float in the air around them, wrapping her companions in the sweet sound of her voice.

Even Athos finds himself momentarily soothed by the sound, eyes closing as he listens.

But no one more so than Aramis. He hums along like a hymn on his lips, his eyes and soul awash with adoration.

He brushes her hair aside and presses his forehead against her shoulder and neck, as though at prayer at her altar of song, mouthing silent 'I love you's against her skin. He slowly kisses his way up her jaw and she's near breathless by the end of the song.

"Stop," She sighs, but she doesn't move to get away, "Aramis..."

"My apologies," He murmurs, pulling away, "I seemed to have been entranced and lost myself."

She finds herself drifting closer, capturing his lips in a soft kiss.

"If you two are going to fuck, could you at least not do it in front of us?" Porthos snorts.

"You make it sound so indelicate," Aramis argues, fingers brushing across her now-flushed cheeks.

The next morning she wakes with her head on his chest and his cape around her shoulders.

She's careful not to wake him as she sits slightly, leaning over to press a gentle kiss to his sleeping lips.

She jumps when his hand cups the back of her neck, keeping her there to kiss her harder.

"You were awake," She laughs.

"And yet you kissed me when you thought otherwise, you truly are a romantic, dear Amélia."

"Get up, both of you," Athos orders, readying his horse, "We're leaving."

The two share a small smile and he quickly pecks the tip of her nose before she rises to her feet.

When Aramis moves to help her on his horse, Athos stops him and reaches his hand out to her, "You're riding with me today."

She looks confused, but pulls herself up with his arm, "Any particular reason, Athos?"

He settles his arms around her and she continues before he can answer, "Or were you just envious of Aramis?"

She can all but hear his eyes roll when he sighs and she smiles back at him.

All things considered, she actually quite enjoys being the center of their attention.

"My thought was that if we are to play married, perhaps we should know more about each other," He explains, "To make it more believable."

"Your logic is sound. What would you like to know?"

Aramis is flaming, his glare burning holes in the back of Aramis's head. The way he's holding her, their shared whispers and soft looks ravage his mind with jealousy.

He grits his teeth when she laughs and a plot to reclaim her affections begins to form.

He quickly averts his gaze when her eyes lock with his and she shakes her head with a chuckle.

"Why is it you find such pleasure in toying with us?"

"I grew up with three brothers," She says, "The lot of you bring out that mischievous nature they instilled in me."

She's quiet for a moment, smiling to herself as she thinks of her siblings, "I'm fortunate to have you all."

He smiles softly and leans forward to kiss her temple.

By the time they arrive at the manor, both she and Athos have changed into nicer clothes and are riding in the coach.

She takes a deep breath to calm her nerves and he takes her hand in his, trying to soothe her.

"I won't let anything happen to you," He promises, kissing the back of her hand comfortingly.

They step out and are greeted by their hosts.

"Sir and Madam LeBlanc," Lord Smith smiles at them, "It's so nice that you came all this way to join us."

"It is an honor Lord Smi-"

"Actually!" Aramis interrupts and Athos freezes mid-bow, "I'm Lord LeBlanc."

He ignores Athos's glare as he steps forward with a polite bow.

"You see, I travel dressed as one of my guards so my darling love has a guard right on her arm should anything happen on the road," She watches with wide eyes when he takes her hand with the most devout look in his eye, "I would never forgive myself if something ever happened to her."

She nearly swoons when he lifts her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles.

"Thank you, you may join the others," He barely glances at Athos who fights the urge to roll his eyes as he bows and moves to stand with Porthos and D'Artagnan.

"What an inspired idea!" Smith muses, motioning them to follow him, "Come! Once you've settled in your rooms, I'll show you the grounds."

Aramis offers her his arm and she takes it, whispering through her smile as they follow their host, "Athos is going to kill you."

"I'd like to see him try."

"I'm going to kill you!" Athos snaps as soon as they're left to their own in their rooms, slamming his friend against the wall, "Is your ego so important that you would put this whole mission, including Amélia, in jeopardy?"

"Athos-"

"I would never allow her to get hurt!" Aramis hisses back, "She's safer at my side!"

"Boys-"

"You pompous, self-important, ass!"

"Stop it! Both of you!" She shouts, shoving her way between them.

"He was reckless and-"

"We all agree what Aramis did was stupid and ill-conceived," She huffs, glaring at both of them, "But what's done is done. Making a fuss now won't change the situation."

"Amélia's right," Porthos says, "We need to focus on the mission. And besides, we can kick his ass when we get back to Paris."

He and Athos go to change into more appropriate clothes for men of their respective stations and when Athos returns first, he moves to stand by her.

"Please tell me you won't instantly forgive him for this?"

"He's lucky you got to him first."

He can't help but smile to himself at her response.

"There we are," Aramis comes out dressed in finery, spinning to give them a good view, "How do I look?"

Amélia steps up to him and slaps him, "If you ever disrespect my choices again, I'll gut you myself, got that?"

She takes his arm and hooks it with hers, "Now, come on. We have a mission to do."

"I-" He stumbles when she tugs him toward the door, "Absolutely!"

He soon forgets his recent transgression as they walk through the halls with her head resting on his shoulder.

"Oh look, my love," She pulls away, stepping toward an open window, "What a darling creature!"

"Yes, you're beautiful," She coos, when the white long-haired cat nuzzles into her hand, "I had a cat just like you when I was a girl."

He comes up behind her and reaches out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Her smile is genuine when she looks back at him and he falls in love with her all over again.

By the time they part with their hosts and make it back to their room, he's aching to tear her dress off and bring her to ecstasy.

"Dear Amélia," He breathes against her lips as he presses her against the door. He begs, "Let me take you tonight, my love."

"Aramis," She sighs, her chest heaving. She tugs his hair and he starts kissing down her jaw, "Aramis, we can't."

As if on cue, the door jerks behind her, and Porthos bangs on the surface, "You two better not be doing what I think you're doing in there!"

The next morning is slower than the last and, despite Athos's annoyance, she and Aramis lock the bedroom door and laze in the plush bed together.

He holds himself over her, lavishing her skin with slow, loving kisses.

"Sweet... beautiful... darling, Amélia," He murmurs as she runs her hands through his hair, "What must I do to earn your forgiveness?"

She laughs as though he hasn't won her back her favor ten times over with the passion between them throughout the morning.

She scratches at his beard as she pretends to think and his eyes flutter shut.

"Draw me a bath?"

He kneels beside her on the bed and brings her hands to his lips, "Of course-"

She pulls him back down on top of her, kissing him as if the world had stopped outside their door and was simply waiting for them to finish.

Once the bath is filled and the room smells of rose oil, he rouses her from the bed.

"Heaven awaits," He motions toward the bath with a small bow. He leads her over by the hand, kissing her shoulder when he helps her slip her robe off.

The moan she lets out as she lowers herself into the hot water is absolutely whorish. It's the first truly nice bath she's had in ages. And why not take advantage of the situation? She deserves to be pampered, just a little, right.

"I thought only I could get you to make that sound?" He pouts, crouching beside the tub.

His finger dip just below the surface of the water, making ripples.

"Aramis."

"Yes, my love-" He laughs when she pulls him by the shirt to fall against her lips and water splashes around them, soaking the fabric, "If you wanted me to join you, you could have just asked."

"How silly of me," She smiles into the kiss.

"Come," He encourages her to sit up. One hand wanders her back while the other motions to her hair, "May I?"

She nods and he helps her wet her hair. Her eyes flutter at the feel of his fingers running through her hair and massaging her scalp, washing away the long ride.

She moans his name, head lolling to side, into his touch. She leans her arms on the side of the tub, resting her chin atop them.

"Don't stop," She murmurs, her eyes falling shut.

"I wouldn't dream of it."

The moment is cut short when the door slams open but a moment later. He jumps to his feet, dashing for his sword next to the bed, but stops when he realizes it's their companions.

"Don't you know how to knock?"

"What do you think this is, a vacation?" Porthos asks.

"How did you... that door was locked!"

"The other guests have begun to arrive," Athos says as D'Artagnan flashes the key they got from one of the housekeepers, "You should start getting ready yourselves."

"Aramis!" She whines, not bothering to move beyond the arm reaching out for him, "Come back, my love."

"Aramis," Athos warns when he steps back toward her.

"Dammit, Athos," She groans. Water sloshes over the sides of the tub when she stands, her body on full display for the four men in front of her, "You're absolutely no fun, you know that?"

She looks at each of them when they stand frozen.

She raises her brows expectantly but they don't move, "Are you all going to just stand there staring, or is someone going to hand me my robe?"

They all move as one, but Aramis gets the robe first, stepping around the tub and holding it up for her.

"Shame on you three," He tuts over his shoulder, "Degenerates, all of you."

"I don't know if I can do this," She says, adjusting her gown. She looks herself over in the mirror, still hiding behind the partition, "I look ridiculous."

She looks beautiful, just like she did before she left home, and that alone terrifies her. The Queen was right, the dress suits her wonderfully, and the jewels adorning her wrists and neck only enhance her image. They're glass, of course, the royals would never let some peasant girl ride off to England with their diamonds and sapphires.

"Surely it can't be that bad," D'Artagnan insists. He steps around the partition and his mouth falls open.

"Well, come on then," Aramis adjusts his cuff as he moves in front of the door, with the other two, "Let's see."

"Fine, just..." She sighs, "No jokes, alright?"

She gathers her skirts and steps past the youngest Musketeer, eyes cast toward the floor as they take her in.

"You look..." Aramis trails off and Athos finishes in his stead.

"Stunning."

"You can say that again," Porthos agrees.

She looks up at her companions with a shy smile.

Aramis moves to stand in front of her, offering his hand with a bow, "My lady."

She takes his arm and looks to her friends, "Is everything in place?"

"Don't you worry about that," Porthos assures her, "Just go out there and steal the show, yeah?"

That fear comes back as they walk toward the ballroom and she hesitates.

What if someone recognizes her?

Aramis pauses when he feels her stop, "What's wrong?"

She can't back down now, she knows that, but her chest tightens with anxiety.

"You have nothing to fear, dear heart," He promises, "There's nothing I couldn't protect you from."

She takes a deep breath and nods before they continue.

They round a corner with their guard in tow, coming to a stop as they enter the ballroom.

Extravagant ballgowns twirl as couples dance together in the center of the room.

"I'll take the left, Porthos the right," Athos says quietly, "You two know your parts, D'Artagnan will keep watch if he tries to run."

With that, the group parts ways and their plan is in motion.

Aramis begins showing her off, boasting her many virtues to whoever will listen as the other two search for the target.

She casts him a wary look when the lady of the house pulls her aside.

"Madam Lablanc, you look- well lovely doesn't seem to cover it," She compliments, "There is someone I wish you to meet!"

She's led to the buffet where various men and women stand and talk amongst themselves.

"This is my niece, Isabel, she's been ever so keen on going to Paris and I was hoping you could tell her what you could?"

"Oh," She glances past the girl to see Athos keeping a close eye on her. He then nods to a tall man by the punch bowl and she sees who they've come to arrest, Monsieur Desiré, "I don't know what I could tell you that you don't already know. I try to avoid the city as much as I can."

"Why is that?"

"Personal preference," She says, "I much prefer the serenity of the country to the noise of crowded streets."

They continue on for a few minutes more, but when Desiré begins to leave, she's quick to end the chatter.

She moves to step past him, purposely tripping over his feet and she's caught by a pair of rough hands.

"Watch it!"

"P-pardon me, monsieur," She stammers, "I get so disoriented in these large parties."

His eyes rake down her body, lingering on her cleavage before sneering at her. She has a feeling that each of her protectors is fighting the urge to swoop in and beat him.

"No," He bows, taking her hand, "The fault is mine, Mademoiselle...?"

"LeBlanc," She forces a smile to her face when he echoes her and kisses her hand.

"Would you perhaps honor me with a dance?" He asks.

"Perhaps," She teases, "My first dance of the night is promised to my husband, but perhaps after Monsieur..."

"Desiré. Husband?"

She winks at him, biting her lip with a grin.

She can feel him ogling her as she walks away and she wants to puke.

The whole meeting distracts her so much that she runs right into the back of another guest.

"Pardon me, Monsie-" Her eyes go wide when he turns and she quickly ducks out of sight behind another group of ladies before he can see her.

She carefully weaves her way through the crowd back to Aramis.

Cäraus. Of course. Of all the people in the world to be at this party, it had to be her younger brother.

"Aramis!" She hisses, latching onto his arm.

"There you are," He places his hand atop hers on his arm, "Where did you run off to?"

"I... ran into Desiré," She explains, "He seems to have an interest."

"Good."

"Then something else happened."

She's much more on edge than before, clinging to him and glancing nervously over her shoulder into the crowd. In fact, he doesn't think he's ever seen her this scared. He squeezes her hand comfortingly, and, while his lax smile doesn't change, his posture does. He seems to stand taller and hold her more protectively, "Tell me."

"Someone- Aramis, I am so sorry, this could ruin everything!" She whimpers, "If I had known there was even a chance, I wouldn't have come."

"It's alright," He cups the back of her neck and gently pulls her close to kiss the top of her head, "Now who is it?"

"My Broth- A friend," She catches herself, "A lover from before I came to Paris."

She doesn't think she's convincing, but it works well enough on Aramis who grits his teeth.

"He's why you came to Paris," It's not a question. He knows she had fled a bad situation and, based on her reaction, this man was the situation she was running from, "Show me him and I'll take care of it."

"What? No, Aramis," She gently touches his cheek, soothing the murder swimming in his eyes, "I came to Paris because of my mother. Dear Cäraus had nothing to do with that."

"Then why-"

"If he identifies me in front of all these people, not only will it ruin the plan, but she'll surely find me again."

And things will never be the same.

He just nods, but that is all confirmation he needs to know for sure, she is nobility. They've all suspected for a while, she never really held herself like a lowborn, as much as she may have tried. Perhaps that suspicion is what made the soldiers feel somewhat responsible for her, at least at the start. There's no question now of their collective fondness for her, and they couldn't imagine a world without her.

"What do you want me to do?"

"I don't know," She admits, "He just can't see me."

He signals to their companions and escorts her just outside the ballroom.

"What is it?" Athos asks.

"A complication," Aramis sighs, "There's a man in there, by name of Cäraus, who knows Amélia's face. If he names her."

The three men share a look and Porthos shakes his head, "I'll take care of it. Show me."

He and Amélia peer around the doorway at the guests.

"That one, with the mid-length black hair tied back with the gold cord and the reddish-brown jacket," She whispers.

"Violent?"

"Goodness no! Cäraus has always been a sweetheart."

"Alright, give me four minutes."

"Porthos!" She catches his hand as he steps away, her eyes pleading with him, "Be gentle? I'd hate to see him truly injured."

"I'll do my best," He smiles, kissing the back of her hand.

She finds herself sighing as she drops her head on Aramis's shoulder, "And here I thought the worst danger I would be in was getting stabbed."

"And if he does name you?" Athos asks.

She turns just enough to smile hopelessly at him, forehead still pressed against her lover's shoulder, "I get dragged back to a life I spent the last three years running from."

"I'd never let that happen," Aramis argues, hugging her tightly.

"Neither would I," Athos assures her, placing his hand on her back.

A warm feeling blossoms in her chest at their affection. She loves her musketeers dearly. She knows she could never deny them should they come looking for her help. They're the family she'd always wanted but never thought she could have. She would fight to her last breath for them without hesitation.

"What did Desiré say?" Athos asks and she straightens.

"Not much, but he seems... enticed," She grimaces, "He expects me to dance with him."

"Like hell you are." Aramis scoffs, strengthening his hold.

"Aramis-"

"No, Athos. I won't let that... that monster lay his hands on her!"

"I can handle Desiré," She assures them, "But first you have to dance with me."

"Dance?"

"Well the idea was to entice him with a bored wife at a party full of strangers, but someone," She grips his chin, "Decided to play the overly affectionate, doting husband. I didn't think he would believe it if I didn't dance with my adoring husband at least once."

"Well then," He offers his hand and leads her to the dancefloor when she takes it.

Athos rolls his eyes. He's almost offended she thinks he wouldn't fit the role of affectionate husband, but he knows he wouldn't have held a candle to Aramis's performance.

Porthos quickly finds the man in the crowd.

"Pardon me, Monsieur, but there seems to be-" He freezes for a moment when the man turns to face him. Those eyes, pale and silver as the moon. He would know those eyes anywhere. They're Amélia's eyes.

"Yes?"

Porthos shakes off his surprise, "There seems to be a problem with your horses. If you would come with me."

"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Aramis asks as he takes her waist, "It would be horribly embarrassing if our mission failed because you have two left feet."

She smacks the back of his head, making him laugh, "Sorry, I'm sure you dance beautifully."

And she does. As soon as the music starts she falls into step as though it were second nature. They glide across the floor effortlessly, her skirts elegantly fanning around her with every turn and twirl.

Her fingers twist in the hair at the back of his neck, looking at him with stars in her eyes.

"I've never seen someone more gorgeous," He murmurs, lifting her off her feet, "To hold you is to hold the heavens themselves in my arms."

"Aramis," She giggles at his flattery as he spins them. She pulls him into a kiss when she finds the ground again.

"You're being watched, my love," She feels his hand tighten on her hip. Another turn and she sees Desiré's gaze locked on her form. Aramis can see the disgust in her eyes and lifts her hand to his lips, "I Hate this plan."

"You're not the one who has to play nice with him," She scoffs, "God help me."

He presses his forehead to hers, "Call my name and I'll come running."

"I know you will," She sighs, eyes falling closed for a moment.

They part when the song comes to an end, but when she goes to seek her mark out, he's nowhere to be found.

"Desiré stepped out onto the terrace," She jumps when Athos speaks behind her.

"Aramis laid it on too thick," She huffs.

"You think? No one in this room thinks you'd ever go off alone with another man."

She thinks for a moment and suddenly takes his hand, "I have a plan, come with me."

She brings him over to the windows, ushering him behind the curtains, out of sight to anyone except whoever may be out on the terrace.

She joins him, their chests pressed together and he looks at her confused.

"What are you doing?"

"Can he see us?"

He glances outside and sees Desiré watching them curiously, "Yes?"

She reaches up to touch his cheek, the other holding the leather lapel of his jacket, "Athos, I need you to kiss me."

"What?"

"Kiss me as though you love me, please."

He searches her face for a moment before he gently takes it in his hands and leans in.

The kiss is soft at first, slow and hesitant, as if he's scared they'd both break from it. But then he presses harder, their lips moving together perfectly. One hand moves to cup the back of her head, his tongue sweeping across her bottom lip.

He's surprised when she lets him in, but he doesn't squander the opportunity. He takes his time exploring her, tasting the sweet wine that was served lingering her tongue, drinking in her little moans like they were all that could sustain him.

His other hand pulls her closer by the waist and he feels the hand on his chest grip the back of his neck.

"Athos," She sighs, tugging him close again when he pulls back, and he obliges, kissing her as though he'll never get the chance again.

For a moment he forgets everything. The mission, his own broken past, everything. For one blissful moment, all he knows is her lips against his, the smell of her skin, and the heaving of her chest.

"Athos."

He kisses her again and he feels her smile against his lips.

"Athos."

"Mm! Yes?" He hums, pulling away just enough to lean his forehead on hers, their noses bumping as he stares down at her with a loving gaze.

"Is he still looking?"

"Who, darling?" He pets her hair, cupping her cheek and smiling softly at her. It's as though her kiss has turned him drunk.

It's so rare to see him so content, and she wishes she didn't have to break whatever spell has been cast, but she sees no other choice, "Desiré. Is he still watching?"

Her heart breaks when his affectionate smile disappears and he pulls away, glancing over her shoulder again.

"Yes," His eyebrows furrow as he desperately tries to come up with a new plan that doesn't involve her being alone with him.

"Amélia wait!" He catches her arm when she turns to leave and pulls her back against his lips, catching them both by surprise. She looks at him in shock when they break, "Be safe."

She nods and ducks out onto the terrace, face surely flushed as she fans herself with her hand.

"Oh! Pardon me, Monsieur," She curtsies slightly, pretending to be surprised, "I didn't know anyone was out here."

"Needed some air?"

"Indeed."

"Have you ever been to the estate before, Madam LaBlanc?" He asks after a moment.

"I haven't."

"The gardens here are stunning by moonlight," He continues, sidling up to her and offering his arm, "It would be my pleasure to show you."

She smiles coyly as she takes his arm, "That sounds wonderful."

He leads her through the gardens, her stomach twisting with the path, but she reminds herself Athos and Aramis won't be far behind.

"You're quite an attractive woman," His words pull her from her head.

"Monsieur?"

"It's a shame your musketeer friend won't be able to save you now."

"What-" He slaps her before gripping her cheeks.

"You think we wouldn't notice him sneaking around in the dark?" He spits, "My men took care of him just as the party started."

D'Artagnan.

"And the one you sent off with the prince?" He sneers, squeezing her tighter, "He never saw them coming. Just one left. Your little lover back at the party with your idiot husband."

"I don't-"

"Does he know you're fucking your guard?" He asks, "Do you want him to know?"

She struggles against him when he forces his lips on hers, "Be a good thing for me and stay quiet and I'll keep your dirty little secret."

She gasps when he tears at the front of her dress, glass gems scattering across the ground when he yanks her necklace from her neck.

"You're the second one I've spirited away here and fucked, I think I'm developing a taste for it."

"Not if I can help it," A voice says behind them and she sighs in relief.

Desiré spins around to see Aramis pointing his pistol at him and scoffs at the sight.

"Let the lady go, there's a good man."

He shoves her to the ground behind him and grabs at the barrel of the gun, twisting it out of the musketeer's hand before hitting him with the grip, knocking him unconscious.

"Aramis!" She scrambles past her assailant, falling to her knees beside him, "Aramis please- No!"

Desiré grabs her skirt and drags her back toward him, the sound of ripping fabric filling the air.

"Athos!" She screams, struggling to get away, "Atho-"

His large hand grips her throat, tugging her back awkwardly, "Shut your whore mouth!"

He flips her onto her back and pins her down as he starts to push up her skirts.

"No! Ah- Athos!" She cries again, earning another hard slap.

"That's enough!"

She angles her neck back to see him standing just up the path, pistol in hand, "Athos."

Desiré tenses when a blade appears across his throat, held by Porthos, a second held by D'Artagnan pressing into his back, "Get off the lady."

He lifts himself enough for her Athos to take her hand and pull her to her feet. She clings to him, trembling against his chest.

"You're safe now," He whispers, stroking her hair and kissing her head, "I have you."

"Porthos, arrest him. D'Artagnan, check on Aramis," He orders, "We're leaving in the morning."

He holsters his pistol and lifts her in his arms, murmuring soft reassurances as he carries her back to their rooms.

She holds tight to his arm when he sets her on the bed and he kneels in front of her, keeping himself close if that's what she wants.

"What happened?" She sniffles.

"Aramis went after you and I went to find Porthos," He explains, running his thumb across her knuckles before holding the back of her hand to his lips, "I shouldn't have left his side, I'm so sorry."

When Aramis wakes he does so with a start and goes straight into fight mode as he jumps to his feet.

"Where is she?!" He snaps, swaying with a sudden head rush.

"Athos brought her inside," D'Artagnan is quick to steady his friend, "I'll bring you."

Aramis lets himself lean D'Artagnan as the make their way toward their quarters, "Is she hurt?"

"Maybe a little scraped up," He admits, "But mostly just scared."

"I should have shot him."

They eventually make it to the bedroom to find Athos knelt at her feet as though in prayer as he clutches her hands.

"Aramis!"

Athos lets her pull away, lost without her touch when she runs to him.

He stumbles from D'Artagnan's hold, collapsing against her. He takes her face in his hands, "Your cheek."

A bruise has begun to darken where she had been hit, but her main concern is him.

"You're bleeding," She says, "Sit down."

"I'll kill him," He growls, turning back toward the door."

"No!" She holds him tighter, "Sit down, Aramis."

He does as she says, pulling her into his lap when he sits on the side of the bed.

"I can't do much, confined to your lap," She retorts, but he isn't listening.

His hand hovers just over her cheek, half scared she'll crumble to nothing at his touch, shoulders relaxing when she leans into it, "Just... let me hold you."

"Here," Athos avoids her eyes as he hands her a bowl of water and cloth.

He abruptly leaves with their younger companion as soon as she takes it, leaving the lovers alone.

The sunrise comes faster than any of them expect.

The star finds Amélia and Aramis wrapped in each others arms, both of them still awake and shaken from the previous night's events.

The group readies and reassembles in near silence, each of them yearning to get back to Paris and put this whole debacle behind them.

Desiré had been handed over to the local authorities and would be transported to Paris under full guard later in the week.

She's too tired to ride and it takes little convincing to get her to ride in the coach. Athos opens the door but just as she moves to get in a voice sounds behind them, "Émila?"

She turns to see her brother who looks overjoyed, "It is you!"

He freezes mid-hug when Athos starts to draw his sword, still on edge.

She places her hand on his with a reassuring smile, "It's alright."

The siblings step away and she throws herself into his arms.

"Dear Cäraus," She kisses his cheek, "I've missed you so much!"

"We thought you were dead."

"Please keep it that way," She begs, pulling away from him, "I'm happy here and we both know what will happen if she knows where I am.:

He nods solemnly and she touches his cheek.

"Know that I am happy and well. But please pretend you haven't seen me."

"I love you, dear sister," He murmurs against her hands, "But if you wish to stay with these men, whoever they are, then I am not the one to stop you."

They part with one last lingering hug, knowing they likely will never see each other again.

"Keep the younger ones safe," She whispers as she pulls away, smiling as she rejoins her companions.

"Happy reunion?" Aramis asks, watching him walk away.

"Nothing to get jealous over," She grins up at him as Athos helps her into the coach, "I doubt we'll ever meet again."

"And besides," She leans out the open window to smirk at him, "I have my eyes on someone else."

He rides up beside the coach, beaming as he leans down to cup her cheek.

Athos grits his teeth at the scene in front of him and grips the reins of his horse, before ordering his men to move out.

[thorin-is-a-cuddler]

A little convincing

A/N: I made it. Despite uni actually forbidding such things. I had to write this. It made me feel happy and I hope it will make you feel happy as well. Imagine whichever Aramis you like best. Romain Duris has my heart. Aramis x littke sister reader.

You were quietly sitting on the windowsill, overlooking the busy, dusty, loud street of Paris that led alongside the musketeer‘s corps. It was a fresh, lovely morning, the sun peeking out behind an array of clouds and the smell of spring whispering promises about the upcoming summer. The sun light reflected in the tin rain gutters on the Parisian roofs blinded you, so you looked behind you, eyes fixing on your brother putting on his jewelry in front of his mirror. Yes, it was HIS mirror. Neither Athos, nor Porthos ever spent any time in front of it. He did that sufficiently for the three of them. He was humming softly, fixing his moustache the way he liked best and trying not to make a tangled mess of his twelve different necklaces. No one in Paris walked about as extravagantly as he did. It made you feel proud of your brother. He was carrying about a security of self that was charming and good-natured, never rude and rarely arrogant. When someone mocked him, he just smiled. When someone tried to outdo him, he just laughed. Aramis‘ face only ever darkened when you or his brothers were in trouble. He could be terrifying then, even to you. His dark side was just as dark as his bright sight was shiny.

While tending to his appearance that very morning, he seemed particularly shiny. You couldn‘t help but smile, when he noticed your attention and moved his head around in a swift motion, granting you a waggle of his eyebrows. You tried not to show it, but a sadness was wearing you down. He would be gone for an entire week and despite the fact that Treville and Constance never allowed you a quiet moment in the reoccurring absence of your brother and his friends to keep you from worrying, you were always on the brink of dropping into the terrible imagination of losing him. He must have noticed a weakness in your smile - he always did - because he suddenly altered his voice, talking in the most comedic American/English accent and getting to his feet dramatically.

„MISSUS!!“ He exclaimed and you felt your lips twitch. „Is that a saaad little twaankle I see in your moonyshiny eyeess?“

With a huff, you started shaking your head at him. „You‘re such an idiot!“

He gasped, so overdramatically offended, he almost threw himself off his feet. „MADAMMME, do you have the faintliest idea who ya talkin to??“

You tried to glare at him to keep from laughing or grinning, but he merely mimicked your expression and hunched over in a most concerningly predatory way.

„Oh, I see,“ he growled, back to his normal voice, sending a feeling of fearful anticipation through your stomach.

„Aramis!“ You warned, tenseley sitting up straight on the sill.

„That laughter needs a little more convincing, huh?“ He continued to growl, slowly advancing in your direction. You were getting really bouncy there, extending your hands defensively in front of you and slowly backing away from the window. A nervous smile slipped on your features.

„No, thank you, I think it‘s not available today!“

He laughed softly at that, his eyes glittering. There was a silent consent shared between you: in the way you didn‘t really try to get away, in the way he blinked slowly and knowingly, reassuringly. It was your game and you would play it the way you wanted to.

„I think I can coax it out of you!“ He grinned fondly and suddenly the backs of your knees hit his bed. Your eyes widened and he was too freaking fast. With a squeal you tried to avoid his arms coming for your middle by throwing yourself on the sheets. You quickly robbed backwards on your back, hysterical sounds leaving your throat in a melody of your own design. He was right there with you, trying to get a hold of your arms and cackling at the way you kicked him in the ribs.

„Ooooh, feisty!!“

You shrieked in panic, when his hand managed to hold on to your leg and quickly tried to pull yourself away from him, but he pulled you right back into the middle of the bed and caged your body with his arms.

„Well, well, looks like you‘re in trouble,“ he huffed with his deep voice, smirking as his eyes locked with yours. You were already smiling wider and brighter than the tin roof gutters of Paris, feeling the love for your brother flush out all the anxiety for the moment. In an attempt at self-defense, you shoved your hands under his arms and tickled the mostly unprotected armpits, making him recoil and break out into a short flow of laughter, before he got a hold of your wrists and pinned them above your head.

„You little snake,“ he mused, humming happily when you started to shout out breathless, giggly „No“s, all pinned down and delivered.

„No, no, no?“ He teased, delighted at the way you already tried to protect your neck by shaking your head quickly from left to right. „You still think I cannot convince that laughter to come out?“

You cursed yourself for the breathless giggles that were already shaking you, despite him not having even come near to tickling you. With a deep breath you put your head back and looked at your brother smiling softly at you. In a last attempt at defying him, you stuck out your tongue and said: „Actually it‘s harder NOT to laugh at you in general, but somehow the boys and I manage i- NOOO!!!“

You squealed with laughter when he dipped his head down and blew a raspberry under your ear, his beard bristeling against your skin ticklishly.

„Dohohohohon‘t,“ you got out half-suffocated, before a second and third raspberry sent you into more delirious waves of laughter.

„Are you laughing at me right now??“ He asked fake incredulously when he moved his head back up to look at you shaking with mirth. You could barely breathe as you shook your head from left to right, pulling at your pinned wrists.

„Nohohoho, I swear!!“

He chuckled and dipped his head down anew, meeting a particularly mean spot on your neck. You bucked your body up and tried to throw him over, but he simply repeated to blow on the same spot several times, succeeding in making your laughter explode too much to still have any strength for that manoeuver.

„Plehehehease stop,“ you giggled when he‘d moved his head up again, smirking triumphantly.

„Oh, come on, I have to make up for an entire week here.“ He chuckled, but the mentioning of his absence quickly changed the mood.

Your smile vanished and your eyes grew less bright than before.

„Hmmm,“ he made, letting go of your wrists as a sadness tinged his carefree expression a shade less happy. „Little sister doesn‘t like me going.“

„No, she hates that really.“ You answered, pulling your arms down and starting to play with one of his necklaces hanging a little lower than the rest.

He put his head up on one of his palms, the other arm still keeping you from getting away. The kindness in his eyes never vanished, a huge amount of sympathy weighing you down like a warm blanket.

„I would take you with us, if I could.“

„Would you?“ You asked, using the crucifix pendant of his necklace to draw the lines of his chin.

„Mhmmm,“ he answered, brushing a strand of hair out of your face. „I would keep you in a saddle bag the entire time to make sure you don‘t get lost, but yes I would!“ He chuckled when you gently punched him in the chest for that, but quickly turned more serious again when he saw how worried you really were.

„You know, (Y/N), when I‘m gone, I know exactly what and who I come back for and that creates a power you can hardly imagine. I would slice, slash, burn and kick my way back to you, always. Even if I‘m hurt, even if I‘m dying, I will always come back here to you. The last time you see me will never be when I leave.“

Your eyes started to burn as you looked into the honey brown eyes of your brother during his little speech. His words made you sad, but all the more they reassured you and made you want to cling to him for as long as you could.

Your arms were thrown around his neck in one swift motion and he caught and held you against him with one arm, nuzzling your hair and breathing you in.

„I love you so much,“ you whispered, allowing one single tear to drop onto his shirt.

„Oh, if you knew how much I love you, if you only knew how powerful that makes me.“ He answered gently, smiling against your ear and holding you even tighter than before.

„Powerful enough to crush me apparently,“ you wheezed, laughing when he dropped you back on the sheets all of a sudden. The mischievous sparkle was back in his eyes.

„Right, where were we actually? Wasn‘t I very busy doing something funny right there?“

„Oh no no no,“ you protested, giggling with a new wave of nervous laughter, your hands quickly coming up to push against his face, to keep that beard away from your neck.

He chuckled softly, not even seeming bothered when he used one hand to brush your own away and pin them on your side now, using his body to keep them stuck between you two. You were already wiggling around hysterically, twisting and turning but never escaping. And soon his ticklish beard on your neck and his skilled fingers raking over your ribs had you shaking with laughter again. Until Athos and Porthos entered the room and Aramis was off of you in milliseconds. They were always on your side. And he was painfully aware of that.

A similar cornering situation like the one between you and your brother took place and Athos and Porthos had your brother down in seconds, making him burst with adorable giggles in the most practiced manner, cutting off his access to his sides and tickling him there until they could have made him promise anything in the entire world.

You loved watching them play, feeling good about yourself and the morning spent with your brother. Seeing the fondness in the eyes of his friends reassurred you further that Aramis was well protected by the eagle eyes of the two of them. They would never let anything happen to each other if they had a say in it.

You couldn‘t wait to hear him laugh like that again.

[ghoulsister1]

His Treasure Rochefort x Reader.

Hurt/Comfort. TW: Blood. Physical hurting. Kidnapping. Don't worry there's a happy ending. Reader is Rochefort's love. Rochefort rescues you and kills your abusive captors. Musketeers come to help him. Cardinal is alive in this AU too.

Y/N is Rochefort's lover and she often spends time with him at the Palace or when he comes to visit her at her home. She is good friends with Constance and Captain Treville, along with the Musketeers. Though the Musketeers aren't fond of Rochefort, they care about Y/N very much despite her relationship with the captain of The Red Guard.

One day, Y/N does not show up at her and Rochefort's meeting spot and when Treville finds a letter addressed to Rochefort, the captain of the Red Guard discovers his beloved has been kidnapped and held ransom by Spanish spies who will kill her if Rochefort doesn't give them the money. Livid with rage and desperate to save Y/N, Rochefort rides out to rescue Y/N and punish her captors.

●Prompt: "You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now".●

You and Rochefort have been together since last spring. You met while on a visit to the Palace to bring your friend Constance some baked goods you made. He was handsome but stern and a little cold at first. But over time you saw his soft side, especially when it came to you.

A kiss on the hand, a warm smile, a little bow of the head and a smirk, those little things just made you blush and grow close. For Rochefort, he loved your gentle nature, how well-spoken you were though you were quiet and little shy at times but he found it endearing, along with your smile and personality. Soon you two grew closer until officially you were a couple.

Constance was not happy about it, but for your sake she tried to make the most despite her dislike of Rochefort. It wasn't easy, and it was more difficult since you were good friends with Captain Treville and the Musketeers, friends to you but not to Rochefort. But Captain Treville was a little more accepting, only offering you a word of advice.

"Just be careful with him, you've seen his temper flare before Y/N" Captain Treville advised. He wasn't wrong though, you had seen Rochefort throw a punch and run a sword through someone. You've seen his mood when he was angry at people. You understood. But you knew Rochefort would never harm you, he had said so himself one night as you two lay in bed, spent from your recent coupling.

His head laid upon your chest as you ran your delicate fingers through his long, blonde hair slick with sweat yet still soft.

"I know many people have told you to be wary of me, to watch for my temper and such" Spoke Rochefort, his voice low and soft. You frowned and looked down, still running your hand through his hair as he continued.

"Just know this mon ange, I could never, will never lay a hand upon you in anger. I couldn't, no matter how upset I am or get. You are dear to me, dearer to me than gold itself. I just wanted you to know that, you don't ever have to fear me" Continued Rochefort, pressing a kiss to your bosom. You smiled and leaned down to kiss his forehead.

"I know Rochefort, I know. I trust you. I know you'll never hurt me. Don't worry my dear, I love you Rochefort" You Replied.

"And I love you more, mon ange" Rochefort Whispered lovingly as you two engaged in a passionate kiss.

And so you two have been together for a quite a while now. Today was going to be a special day since the King and Queen were away for a bit and Rochefort had sent you a letter, telling you to meet him in the garden by the fountain.

"Dearest Y/N,

The king and Queen are away for a bit. Come meet me by the fountain today in the Palace's gardens. I'll be waiting for you.

See you soon, mon ange

Sincerely Yours,

Rochefort".

You smiled, wondering what Rochefort had planned for you two. You excitingly got dressed and went out, making your way through the streets to get to the Palace. Unaware that you were being followed.

It was the last time anyone saw you.

Rochefort stood by the fountain in the Palace gardens, gazing around at the scenery and beautiful flowers that were blooming. He was waiting for Y/N to arrive. He looked at the pocket watch.

"Still early" Rochefort Thought before putting away the pocket watch. He began to pace up and down, his head turning around at the slightest sound thinking it was Y/N. The mins passed but no sign of Y/N. Now an hour passed and Rochefort grew anxious.

"Where is she? She should have arrived by now! Where could she be?" Murmured Rochefort to himself. Thoughts flew around his head, the worst thought thinking she went away with someone else but Rochefort quickly shook that from his mind.

"Y/N loves me. She is faithful and honest. Now I'm just getting ahead of myself" Thought Rochefort shaking his head. Suddenly Captain Treville appeared.

"Waiting for someone?" Asked Captain Treville. Rochefort scowled at the intrusion, but Treville just stood there not bothered by the dirty look Rochefort gave him.

"On the contrary, yes I'm waiting for Y/N. She should have been here a little earlier but she's probably just talking to an old friend or neighbour" Rochefort Explained.

"Or she's done the smart thing and found some other Prince Charming" Treville Remarked.

Rochefort's eyes darkened and his mouth twisted into a snarl as he glared at Treville.

"Never. Y/N's an honest woman, she loves me and she'd never do such a thing! Never speak of Y/N in that way when in my presence again Treville!" Snarled Rochefort stepping closer to Treville.

Treville smirked. "Have your Red Guards seen her?" Asked Treville. Rochefort scoffed at Treville.

"You make it sound like she's incapable of looking after herself. She's clever and is just as fierce Treville. I think your precious Musketeers taught her a few things" Remarked Rochefort.

Suddenly one of the Palace Guards appears, letter in hand. Treville takes the letter but doesn't open it upon seeing it is addressed to Rochefort.

"Appears this letter is for you Rochefort" Said Treville handing him the letter. Rochefort took the letter and opened it. His blood ran cold when he read the letter and it's contents.

"Rochefort,

We have your puta here with us and she's in a frightful state. We plan to kill her but not before destroying her pretty little face. If you want her still warm and breathing, give us a thousand gold francs and your puta lives.

If you do not comply with our demands, we slit her throat. You have until sunset.

From Diego Ramirez".

Rochefort's blood began to boil and he clenched his fists angrily, crumbling the letter. His hands shook.

Treville noticed the change in Rochefort's demeanour and stepped closer.

"Rochefort?" Asked Treville, taking note of his trembling form. Rochefort turned to Treville and shoved the letter into Treville's hands. Treville read the letter before looking at Rochefort with a grim expression.

"This is very serious Rochefort" Admitted Treville grimly. Rochefort shook with rage.

"How dare they! How DARE they lay their hands on her! This won't stand!" Shouted Rochefort as he stormed off.

"Where are you going?" Shouted Treville. Rochefort turned and glared at the Musketeer captain.

"To get Y/N back from those Spanish pigs!" Shouted Rochefort and he stormed off to fetch his horse from the stables.

You sat in the corner, quivering. Your nose was bleeding, your lip cut and there was a bruise on your arm, cheek and stomach. They had kicked you, slapped you and beat you. You did try to fight back and managed to claw one in the eye with your nails, wounding one of your captors. You succeeded but were given a harder beating for it.

Your only hope was The Musketeers or Rochefort were on their way to save you. You closed your eyes and sobbed.

"Please, Rochefort help me" You Whimpered tearfully as you curled yourself up.

Rochefort reached the place where you were held, this Diego Ramirez was a criminal and was well known. The Musketeers along with Treville went along with him despite his insistence that he had this himself but ultimately let them join.

"I'll guard the entrance with Aramis, Athos you guard the exit with D'Artagnan" Instructed Treville.

"Me and Porthos will go inside" Added Rochefort. Treville nodded and the plan was set into motion as Athos and D'Artagnan snuck around to the exit, eliminating anyone in their path. Treville and Aramis secured the entrance and Rochefort and Porthos broke in, guns firing.

There wasn't many men so Rochefort and Porthos made quick work, Rochefort eventually finding the cell Diego kept you in. Unlocking it and freeing you, Rochefort was ambushed by Diego.

"Come to save your puta!" Shouted Diego.

"Spanish pig, I'm more than happy to gut you like one!" Roared Rochefort as he engaged Diego in a sword fight. You watched as Rochefort battled, his need to protect you on full display. Your heart warmed at that.

Soon Diego was disarmed and Rochefort pinned him down. Rochefort loomed over him and he noticed a scratch on Diego's eye, still bleeding. Rochefort looked over to you.

"Did you do that?" Asked Rochefort, smirking proudly at you as you nodded. Rochefort turned to Diego.

"You dare lay your filthy hands upon her? I'm going to enjoy running my sword through you" Hissed Rochefort. Porthos arrived to lead out. You heard Diego scream as Rochefort extracted his revenge.

That night you were returned to your home by the Musketeers and Rochefort. The doctor looked you over and reassured Rochefort, you and the Musketeers you had no broken bones or internal injuries.

Rochefort asked the Musketeers and Treville to stay if they liked and so they did though they were surprised.

"Change of heart?" Asked D'Artagnan.

"Rubbish. He's just worried about Y/N. Same as us" Replied Porthos.

"True" Added Athos yawning.

"Though we aren't on good terms with Rochefort, he seems to really care about Y/N" Spoke Aramis.

Treville nodded at that. "He does. He does" Said Treville thoughtfully.

You laid your head upon Rochefort's chest, his arms wrapped around gently but securely. You trembled a bit as your mind flashed with horrid memories. You felt Rochefort run his hand through your hair, soothing you.

"Rochefort.....I..." You Began but Rochefort shushed you gently.

"You'll be alright, no one can hurt you now" Rochefort Spoke softly.

You trembled a bit and snuggled closer to Rochefort.

"I was so scared" You Whispered. Rochefort's jaw clenched at that, seeing how frightened you were. He knew that fear, especially when he was in the Spanish prison.

"I understand Y/N, but they're dead now. And no one will ever hurt you again Y/N" Rochefort Whispered, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You smiled and kissed his chest.

"I love you Rochefort" You Whispered.

"I love you too, mon ange" Whispered Rochefort softly.

You are his treasure and he'll protect you no matter. And if he has to, he'd kill anyone who dared lay a finger upon you.

[dreamerinthesun]

Honey & Sore throat

A/N: husband!Jean Treville x reader (well you'll get the idea)

for @rose-edith sorry it took me so long😭 i hope you'll like it

if you have any request feel free to send them in! i will try my best to write them!

"Ugh!" From the moment you woke up, you realised this was going to be a tough day, if even not one of the worst. Your head was pouding awfully and it wasn't enough, you could barely feel your throat! Maybe dancing and singing all night yesterday was a bad idea, but in your defense, you had to celebrate the good news of D'Artagnan's earned comission somehow! What didn't helped at all was the open window which was one of your husband's habits after waking up early in the morning. You understood why he did that, fresh air in the morning was always a great idea but this morning you only wanted to scold the Captain of Musketeers for being so inconsiderate of your well-being. Your body was telling you to go make yourself a cup of hot tea from the dried herbs you kept in the kitchen but your mind was refusing to get out of the bed and loose its warmth. "Well, look who's awake. Good morning my dear" You were so caught up in your own thoughts about what your next move would be that you didn't noticed your dear husband standing in the doorway to your shared room. By his facial expression you could read in his face that he was a bit amused at your state which you didn't found happy and cute at all. "Mhm..." The hum of your response made Jean only chuckle under his breath as he joined you on your side of bed, taking in how you looked. Despite your hair being a slight mess and your nose looking a pinker than usual he still thought you were absolutely breathtaking and couldn't believe his eyes. "How are you feeling?" "How do you think I'm feeling? I'm feeling great " 'Ah, that's the sarcasm I'm used to' , thought Jean to himself. Whether he admitted it or not he found you even more feisty and snarky self when you were feeling sick bit adorable. As almost everything about you. "I will bring you some tea, you look a little pale. Please stay in bed or you'll catch something worse", he spoke in a soft yet demanding tone. He really wasn't fan of idea you walking and taking care of everything around when you were obviously sick. "I'm fine. I'll just drink tea and everything will get better" "We both know that's not true..." "Fine, I will stay in bed" It sounded like you didn't even wanted to stay in bed but on the other hand you knew Jean Treville was one stubborn man when it came to taking care of you. "But close the window" "Yeah, I will..." Pressing a single kiss onto your forehead he stood up walking over to the window closing it and making sure no one piece of wind went through he then walked out of the door to make you the tea you were promised.

Once the hot mug filled with water, herbs and some honey was in the man's hand he was slowly walking over to the room you were staying in, careful to not spill any of the tea either on him or on the ground because ending up with burn hand himself wasn't any of the close plans on Jean's mind. Grabbing you also your favorite book on the way to the room he was secretly hoping this was all enough for you to keep you inside the room for the day. "One tea with honey coming!" He called out to you when he walked past the doors smiling at the sight of you. The duvet covered up your whole body while you were under there, enjoying the warmth which was provided by the bed. "Here's your tea with honey, but careful, it's hot so leave it there for a few minutes to cool. And here's book to keep you company. Or would you prefer Aramis's presence instead?" With all honesty, Jean wasn't very much happy with the idea of Aramis spending the day in your room. Not that he was afraid of Aramis hitting on you, he was pretty aware of how close you two were, but he would prefer for his musketeer to focus on his job rather than fooling around and doing nothing. So he was quite satisfied with the shook of head you gave him as he smiled, his moustache lifting up slightly. "The honey should help you with the sore throat and do no tell me you don't have it because I heard you singing previous night!" He remarked with small laugh, memories of the celebration running through his head before he made sure you had everything. "If you would want anything else, call out to me, I will be in my office anyway" He spoke up again, mentally groaning at the idea of much paperwork as he didn't notice you were silent the whole time, watching him. When he finally did and he turned his head to look at you, he took notice of the mischief shining in your eyes as you sneaked your arm around his waist. You didn't even had to say anything and he knew it was your plan to get him spend the day with you. "I have to go darling, the paperwork won't do it itself" Jean remarked quickly jumping up from the bed and almost running to his office. The scene caused you to laugh as you just shook your head, getting comfortable under the duvets again while you continued to come up with plan how to get your husband to cuddle in bed with you for the rest of the day.

[timeguardians]

Perilous Flight

@hearkenedsouls continued from X

Deftly, Constance picks her way through mire-ladened back allies. The familiarity of which had not been lost with her appointment to the Queen's care. Adrenaline SPIKES through her form, her heart beratting, battering against her ribcages. Then, like a BOLT of white hot lightning, Anne's question draws her to a momentary pause.

"Rochefort," the name brings a SHIVER of dread washing over Constance. "He must have sent the musketeers on an errant mission as far from here as possible and then told the SPANISH just where to find you." Of course, Rochefort likely wanted Constance removed from his path of destruction as well, but she was fiercer than the egotistical man likely wished to give her credit for. Taking lessons from her brothers and then the musketeers had turned her into something of a dark-horse. She would NEVER allow harm to come to her friend.

The answer sits upon her bended tongue- acrid and full of disgust. Her heart churned with turmoil as she eyes her dearest friend. "I think he intends to have you SOLD to our enemies." She grits out in distaste. Once more, the haste returns, as she pulls Anne through a secreted passageway. "Come this way," she instructs. "If we can get to the garrison before Rochefort thinks to check there, we can change you into civilian clothes and --hide out right under his nose. Perhaps, Treville will be there to give us some --- shelter." Right now, Constance doubted he would still be there if his men were sent out. Still, she'd take just about any juvenile soldier-- anyone with a scrape of allegiance to thier King and country. It would be far better to have help defending Anne.

[justanoasisimagines]

Dear Beautiful

Hey Lovelies back with another love letter! Requests are open and my guidelines are pinned at the top of the page! Credit to cafekitsune for the banner and the divider!

I never realized how long the nights were until recently I looked up at the stars and wondered if you were looking at Aramis tells me that being apart from your love is one of the hardest aspects of being in love. Don't tell him but I'd have to agree.

Perhaps once you've read this letter could you look up at the sky, so I know we're looking at the stars together. Perhaps it brings us both some comfort.

I hope this letter finds you well. Please look after yourself. I cannot bare anything happening to you while I'm away. In return, I promise I will do everything in my power to return to you in one piece. Remember if you need anything whether that be supplies of someone to talk to you can always go see Treville or Constance You're one of us now.

Before I forget you might wish to see Constance so you can hae a new dress made. When I return home, the first thing I intend to do is make you my wife, so we can be together until our last breathes and our love will be for all enternity

All my love

Forever Your Porthos x

[findroleplay]

Hello everyone! I know this is probably a bit unusual but I'm going to try anyway!

I'm on search for The Musketeers (BBC) double up canon x oc roleplay!

What I'm looking for:

• someone who could play Athos for my female OC (might be self-insert, I'll see)

• 18+ (preferably 19+)

• smut is not necessary but I'm not against it

• 1-2 semi-long paragraphs

What I can offer:

•I can play anyone from the universe but I have the most experience with playing as Jean Treville

• or you can pick some of our other mutual fandoms!

• MxF (preferably) but I can try my best doing also other pairing

I hope I covered everything!

Contact me either here on my Tumblr or my Discord:

dreamerinthesun#9074

_

[bullet-prooflove]

Vigil: Captain Jean Treville x Reader

Tagging: @kmc1989@@lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx @princesschyanne @caffeinatedwomann @@missyhoneybee

When you receive the news that Jean has been shot your entire universe is thrown into turmoil. You feel the air leave your lungs as the world shifts underneath your feet because you can’t imagine a world without Jean. You don’t want to exist in a place you where you don’t see his smile, or feel his calloused hands on your skin.

Porthos reaches out a hand to steady you and you flinch at his touch because everything is too raw, too bright, too sensitive. It feels like you’re being flayed alive.

You ride the two hour journey back to Paris without stopping. Poppy, your mare is panting by the time you reach the garrison, her poor legs almost run out from underneath her. You don’t wait for Porthos to help you down from your steed, you’re already slipping from the saddle and half way up the stairs by the time Athos steps in front of you blocking your path.

“Treville is alive.” He tells you, his tempestuous blue eyes meeting yours. “Aramis and Juliette have managed to remove the ball and the fluid from his lung. He’s currently resting but they say he’ll make a speedy recovery.”

The relief is palpable. For the first time since Porthos delivered the news it feels like you can take a breath. With it comes the rage, it ignites inside of you like a powder keg because someone gunned down your husband in the street, they shot him in the back like a fucking dog.

The anguish you’re feeling, Athos feels it too with every single fibre of his being. The only reason he’s even here right now is to ensure he doesn’t end up with another tragedy on his hands, that his Captain still has a wife at the end of it all.

The three of you have been friends for a long time. You’ve fought together, bled together, endured together, he has come to know you almost as well as he knows himself. He recognises the wildness in you, the impulse to go out there hunt down the animal that hurt the man you love.

“Terese.” He says quietly, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders.  “He needs his wife right now, your love, your comfort...”

His words strike a cord deep within you because you cannot imagine the agony that Jean must be in, the terror he must have felt in those moments thinking each single one was his last.

“Swear to me.” You say fiercely, your palm coming to rest upon the patch embroidered onto his chest, the one that resides just over his heart. “Swear to me that you will find the person that did this, that you will bring them to justice.”

“You have my word.” He promises you before he inclines his head towards the door to your husband’s chambers. “Take care of our Captain, leave your vengeance to me.”

***

Jean’s chambers are well illuminated when you enter, candles light every available space like a vigil. You realise it’s because his Musketeers don’t want him to wake up panicked in the dark. The period after such a trauma is tempestuous with nightmares and half dreams, the mind can take a while to adjust. The gesture touches you because he means so much to the men that he commands, you can feel their love emanating through the room.

Jean is sleep on his bed in the corner, his back propped up against the wall with pillows because of the nature of his wound. His complexion is ashen, his breathing heavy. It tears at something inside you to see him like this, to know how close he came to death.

 It isn’t until you sit down in the chair alongside his bed that you realise he’s clasping a piece of parchment to his chest. You recognise the awful drawing of a wild flower, the one you had sketched out when you were trying to describe something you had seen  in Spain. You had no idea that he’d kept it, that he spends the nights he misses you tracing his fingers over it because he remembers your self-depreciating laugh when you’d showed it to him.

“I’m either dreaming or dead.” He grumbles, his eyes barely open as he surveys you from his position.

“You are very much alive, my love.” You say with a fond smile, your fingertips trailing over his grizzled cheek. “I’m to stay here a while, make sure you behave yourself.”

He smiles at that because you both know which one of you is the mischief maker of the relationship.

“Will you read to me?” He requests, his voice a rasp as he gestures to the book on the windowsill. “I long to hear the sound of your voice but I fear I won’t be able to hold much a conversation.”

You pick up the book before lowering yourself gently onto the bed alongside of him. He nestles against you, his head coming to rest upon your shoulder. Your lips brush over his temple before you open the book at the folded page and begin to study the words.

“Jean.” You chide affectionately as you review the title ‘Military Tactics Between 1550-1650’. “Surely you could have chosen some better reading material.”

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

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[the-hinky-panda]

The Fall Series: Part I

Title: The Fall Series: Part I

Pairing: Porthos x Reader (reader has a name), Porthos x OFC

Rating: Explicit

Summary: Your grandfather, the Musketeers head armorer, raised you as a child when your father abandoned your mother and she died of a broken heart. Now you're grown, a pariah in your small village outside of Paris when someone murders your grandfather. There's only one person you can go to that will help, Captain Treville.

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

The moment you walk into the garrison and request to see Captain Treville, Porthos falls in love. It is that instant. He knows your name, Elise DuBois, and nothing else. But he can arrive at a significant amount of conjecture. Your horse is standard fare, solid, well groomed, but a small draft horse that can serve multiple purposes around a farm. Your clothes are similar, practical with no adornments. The only jewelry he can spot are a set of gold combs with pearls that are holding together a riot of curls and a small gold crucifix around your slender neck. You’re taller than most women, thin but strong. Your posture and movements remind him of a sword blade, bendable but unbreakable. Overall, you’re a picture of elegant practicality. 

And you’re the most beautiful thing he’s seen in a very long time.

“And who is this new, lovely face in our garrison?” 

Porthos gives a passing glance over his shoulder to see Aramis leaning on one of the pillars. “Don’t.” 

“Don’t what?” 

It’s a good question, one for which Porthos has an answer but doesn’t want to speak it. Don’t charm this one. Don’t compete with me for her affections because I wouldn’t be able to take it if she chose you. The answer he comes up with is much less elegant. “Just…don’t.” 

The Captain appears in the courtyard and he greets the woman with a warm smile and embrace. But the expression on the captain’s face clouds over as whatever news she brought is delivered. 

“A beautiful face bearing bad news,” Aramis sighs. “Isn’t that the way of it?” 

Treville passes by them, makes the hasty request to find Athos and D'Artagnan and meet in his office. Porthos determines then and there that whatever it is, whatever mission Treville sends them on to assist her, he’s going to succeed.  He’s tired of being just France’s champion. 

***

You peel your gloves off your hands and twist them in your lap. “I appreciate you meeting with me on such short notice. I wish it were for a happier reason.” 

Treville sets a cup of water down in front of you. “Me too. Claude was a good friend, a mentor. He’ll be greatly missed. Who’s taking over his forge?” 

You just give him a shrewd look and he nods in understanding. 

“Promise not to tell though,” you request. “As soon as the village finds out I’m the one making their horseshoe quota, I may be out of business. But he taught me everything he knew. Iron, steel, even a little metalworking for charms. That’s how I started. He would let me melt down the scraps and play with them.” You grow quiet as those memories of time spent in the forge fill your mind, next to your grandfather as he showed you how to roll soft metal into the desired shape, the heat of the fire, the hiss of hot steel and iron being plunged into a cold bucket of water. 

The door opens and four men walk into the room. Two you recognize from the courtyard, two you haven’t seen before. Treville introduces you to the two unfamiliar ones, the serious Athos and young D'Artagnan. The two from the courtyard are Aramis, a debonair flirt, and Porthos, a sturdy soldier. He had been the one staring at you while you waited for Treville. 

You were used to people staring at you. You were too tall, too strong for a woman. And if that wasn’t enough to keep you unapproachable, your reputation as an illegitimate child of a nun usually finished off any interest. The villagers certainly didn’t pay you any mind. And despite your grandfather’s efforts, no suitors ever darkened your door either. But Porthos seemed different, his gaze towards you was different than most. Almost as if he already knew everything about you and accepted it, accepted you. It left you unnerved but curious. 

“Gentlemen, this is Elise DuBois,” Treville introduces. “Her grandfather was Claude DuBois, the head armorer for the Musketeers when I was a cadet. I had only just been commissioned for a couple years when he went into retirement. He moved out to a small village on the outskirts of Paris, worked as a blacksmith, and raised Elise when her mother passed away. Now, she’s come to us for help. She believes Claude was murdered and wants our help in finding the culprit.” 

“With all due respect, what makes you think he was murdered?” Athos asks. 

You try to blink back the images that immediately spring to your mind’s eye of finding your grandfather laying in a pool of blood on the stone floor of the forge. “His throat was cut.” 

Athos nods. “Anyone you would suspect? Unhappy clients, transients moving through your village, possible suitors?” 

“No,” you shake your head. “Our village is small, everyone knows each other and transients don’t tend to stop there. My grandfather was well-loved by the people around us. I, not so much. I’m a pariah to them. If they were going to harm anyone, it would have been me, not him.” 

“Which means,” Treville breaks in, “whoever did this may point suspicion towards Elise to keep it from themselves.” 

“And I can assure you all, I had nothing to do with my grandfather’s death.” 

There’s a polite silence that follows your statement. You realize they have no reason to believe you but if they were the ones that Treville trusted enough to investigate, you figured that suspicion should be immediately laid to rest. 

Treville stands up from behind his desk. “I’ve known Elise since she was a child, her grandfather even longer. They are two of the most honest and upright people to walk the earth, let alone France. If she says he was murdered and she had no hand in it, I believe her. Justice needs to be served, proper justice.”  Porthos, who has remained steadfastly quiet during this entire meeting, immediately answers with intense sincerity. “Then we’ll deliver it. You have my word.” He pauses for a moment before amending his statement.  “Our word.”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Trois Surprises

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6719

Summary: Aramis and the reader are changed forever by three joyous surprises. 

Notes: I write a lot of angst for him, but dammit, this man deserves to be happy. And I wanted to write him actually being able to spend time with his kids. Also, the title is ‘Three Surprises’ in French, I just didn’t know ‘surprises’ is spelled the same way. At least that’s what translate said. Please don’t come for me. This also doesn’t follow any plots from the show,  so ignore the timeline haha. 

More Musketeers HERE

-

I 

The garrison greeted you with metal clashing and the smell of sweat. Men shouted at each other across the way with language that was far from proper.  It didn’t bother you, of course. In your time frequenting the training area, you’d grown used to its oddities and eccentricities. 

A few of the men cheered to greet you and asked how you were or what brought you to the garrison, though they already had an idea. You were here for Aramis. You were always here for Aramis. Or for shooting lessons, which the captain had approved since you lived alone and association with the musketeers often led to trouble. 

“Y/N!” A boisterous voice called. Porthos hopped up from the table he sat at and crossed the courtyard. Not one for propriety, he pulled you into a hug without a second thought. You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “What brings you here?” 

He led you back to the table and brushed off the bench for you to sit. 

Athos tilted his hat. Unlike his companion, he enjoyed upholding some of the rules of society. “Mademoiselle Y/L/N.” 

“How many times must I tell you to call me Y/N?” You teased. 

“If I did, you wouldn’t have to tell me any more,” he smirked. “I assume you’re looking for Aramis.” 

You nodded. “I have important matters to discuss with him and Captain Treville.” 

The two exchanged a look. 

“Sounds serious,” Porthos said. “Anything we should know about?”

“All in good time, boys,” you beamed. “I promise I won’t leave you in the dark for too long.” 

D'Artagnan eyed you curiously. Perhaps your closest friend among Aramis’ companions, it was unusual for you not to share something with him. You gave him a reassuring nod and he trusted he’d find out what all this was about in due time. It didn’t stop his mind from searching the possibilities, though. 

The imploring silence only lasted a moment longer. 

“Y/N?” 

And just like that, at the sound of his voice, your knees turned soft and your heart stopped beating. Every nerve in your body seemed to bunch and twist in your belly. You turned, Aramis’s eyes sparkling at you in the morning light as a smile crept onto his face. 

“I had no idea you’d be here,” he grinned, kissing your cheek. 

“I had something I wanted to share with you before you galavanted off into danger somewhere.” The tremble in your voice made his face darken with worry. His gaze flicked to his companions and they took the hint, hurrying off to the side to give the two of you some privacy. You began to fidget with your cloak. “I hope my coming on short notice isn’t a nuisance.” 

“No, please.” He took your hands in his and brought them to his lips. “You are my favorite kind of surprise, darling.” His dark eyes looked deeply into yours. “Is something the matter?” 

“Not exactly…” You’d rehearsed the words numerous times and it was completely in vain. You might as well have been mute, standing before him with a blank, panicked expression, which of course only made him look more concerned. 

“My love, you’re starting to frighten me,” he laughed nervously and tucked a hair behind your ear. “You can tell me anything.” 

You took a deep breath, placing a hand on his chest. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Porthos whispered. The three, having been observing from afar, watched on as you stared down at the dirt and Aramis lifted your chin with his finger. 

“That’s between the two of them,” Athos said. “It’s none of our business.” However, he did not, nor did the other two, turn away.

You said something none of them could hear. Aramis’s arms fell to his sides, face turned white as a sheet. His mouth floundered open and closed, unable to say anything. 

“You don’t think she’s broken things off, do you?” D’Artagnan asked. 

After a moment of this awkward, anxious tension that even they could feel from across the courtyard, Aramis seemed to snap to his senses. He lifted you off the ground and spun around, a smile as wide as the Seine spread across his face. Your laugh rang throughout the space and when he set you down, your arms hooked around his neck, lips locking together for longer than what was probably publicly acceptable. 

Athos turned to the youngest member of their group. “I take that as a no.” 

Aramis kissed you one… two… three… more times before you said something about going to the market and left, holding his hand until the last possible moment. 

When the marksman returned, his friends stood with brows raised and curious smiles. Porthos patted him on the back. 

“What to share what that was all about?” 

Still, with a starstruck grin, Aramis gazed around in a daze. Like before, his mouth fell open and nothing came out. He was sure his heart had stopped beating. Or perhaps it wasn’t there anymore. It was with you, as it always had been. Now more than ever. 

He looked up at his companions- his friends- the men he trusted with his life and the words simply fell from his lips. 

“Y/N’s pregnant.” 

-

“I don’t know if I can wait much longer,” you whined, breathing slowly and deeply as you took a seat at the table. 

Constance smiled. “You only have, what, a month or so to go?”

“Yes, and I feel like I’m the size of Notre Dame.” You laid a hand on your bulbous belly and laughed. “I look the size of Notre Dame.” 

“Nonsense,” she chuckled along with you, setting a plate of bread and bowl of stew in front of you. Constance peeked out the door and shook her head. “They’re late. Again.” Despite the playful annoyance in her voice, there was a sparkle in her eye. One you recognized well. 

“You know… D’Artagnan has been speaking of you more and more since I became pregnant. I dare say he even sounds hopeful.”

“Don’t start,” she swallowed. She took a rag and started to wipe down the table in order to avoid your gaze. “I, in case you’ve forgotten, am married to the man who supplies your fabrics. D’Artagnan and I are merely friends.” The younger woman glanced up at you with a kind of admiration. “It isn’t like what you and Aramis have.” 

You scoffed. “I’m his mistress.”

Her eyes softened with sincerity. She put a hand on your arm. “You’re a great deal more than that.” 

You averted your eyes, feeling the hint of tears begin in them and focused on the meal before you. Despite his adoration and his devotion, you knew not to hope for more than what you were given. And you had no complaints, of course, Aramis was the light of your life and to have his child was more than you ever imagined. But he was a hero. You were a seamstress. 

As if summoned by your brief sorrow, the door to the cottage opened and you heard two pairs of thundering steps coming down the hall. While not banished completely, your doubts were pushed to the back of your mind upon the sight of Aramis’s grinning face. 

“Sorry we’re late, ladies,” he said, removing his hat with a smug flare. “Paris needed saving.” 

“When doesn’t it?” You laughed. He leaned to place a kiss on your forehead, hand falling lovingly to your belly. 

“You look beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. Aramis basked at the sight of you in the setting sun, golden rays streaming through the window. “Like an angel in heaven’s light.” 

A lovely pink color crept onto your cheeks. “You flatter me too much.” 

“My love, my words will never be enough.” Aramis brought your lips to his with passion and sweetness, despite the other two in the room. He set his weapons aside, his coat along with them, and sat next to you. Seeing the billowing sleeves of his shirt reminded you of your work earlier in the day. 

“I almost forgot, I repaired the tear in your shirt. I’ll have to go fetch it.” You started to stand- with more than a little effort- and he laid a hand on your shoulder to set you back down. 

“Please, don’t trouble yourself, darling.” He kissed you again. “I’ll get it.” As he sauntered into the other room, Constance gave you a knowing look you did your best to ignore. 

“Any news on the Red Guard?” D’Artagnan asked. You were glad of the change in subject, though Constance rolled her eyes at his abruptness. 

“Unfortunately, I don’t seem to be the favorite to stitch their uniforms ever since-” You motioned to the rather obvious reason at your middle. 

“Ah,” D’Artagnan nodded. “Right.”

Having made a reputation as having the most reliable repairs of any affordable seamstress in Paris, you’d often had members of the Red Guard come to you, as they were ‘too above’ mending anything themselves. It did, however, allow you to overhear things here and there, which you took to the musketeers. But keeping your relationship with Aramis a secret was hard enough. Now, with such a drastic change in your appearance, they’d kept their distance, though whether it was because you were unmarried or if they suspected you to be somewhat of a spy for your child’s father, you couldn’t tell. 

The two of you looked at each other for a moment before you couldn’t contain your laughter. D’Artagnan sat beside you and asked you questions of a lighter variety while you pleaded to hear of the day’s adventures. Aramis always worried he’d distress you, so you received all the juicy details from the youngest musketeer. Through your friendship with Constance, D’Artagnan had become one of your closest friends as well. 

A lull fell upon your conversation and you couldn't help but note how his eyes drifted back to your mutual companion by the fire. 

One day, you thought…

A sudden movement within you forced a gasp from your lips. Aramis returned to the room in seconds.

“Love, what is it? Did something happen?” He knelt by your side with loving, concerned eyes. 

“Yes,” you beamed, placing a hand where the movement was. You looked into his beautiful gaze and felt yourself overtaken by the excitement. “I believe he just kicked.” Gently, you took his hand and guided it to where you’d felt it. 

“He?” Aramis awed, raising a brow. 

You shrugged. “Just a feeling.”

Another motion fluttered against Aramis’s hand, this one stronger and almost more aggressive than the last. Aramis chuckled. 

“I think she may disagree with your feeling.” 

“Oh, a girl then, is it?” You smirked. 

He shrugged, mocking you affectionately. “Just a feeling.” 

-

II

He’d come as soon as he heard. All of them had. The four musketeers stood in the lobby of your shop, none of them able to sit down. Athos leaned against the wall, he and Porthos watching the windows as if for some dastardly foe. D’Artagnan tried to distract himself by sharpening his sword. Aramis paced at the foot of the stairs leading up to your rooms. 

The midwife wouldn’t allow him to be with you, despite his protests. Only Constance was permitted to accompany her in tending to you. It took all three men to hold him back when your screaming began. 

Hours of this hell passed. He paced until he was sure the soles of his boots would scuff clean off. 

“Can I ask you something?” Porthos asked. He hoped to distract his friend from his pain but, in truth, it was something they’d all been wondering for months. Aramis stopped his hurried steps and turned with a nod. Porthos swallowed. “Why haven’t you married her?” 

“Porthos now is hardly the occasion,” Athos scolded. 

“We have to talk about something, else we’ll all go mad with her up there.” 

Aramis held up a hand to silence them both. The three waited with bated breath as he looked up, wishing to float through the ceiling and be by your side. 

“Because she doubts me,” he said with an unexpected sadness in his voice. He looked back at them. “She doesn’t believe that my love for her is genuine. I can feel it when her smile falters or when her hand falls from mine.” He turned away. “To ask her for her hand because of the child… it would only prove what she believes.” Aramis clenched his fist at his side, then relaxed it again. This idleness would destroy him if this was not soon over. “I could not force her to marry a man that she doubts.” 

The others nodded in understanding, though none of them truly understood, especially D’Artagnan.

 He’d never seen two people who loved each other more than you and Aramis. He wanted to scream at both of them until his throat was sore if he thought it would help. Seeing the two of you so clouded with your own doubts hurt him more than he could say. The younger man just couldn’t fathom it. He’d give anything to have the opportunity to marry the woman he loved.

The matter of your reputation, of course, had already been discussed. You told anyone who discovered your condition that you’d married while away in Gascony and that your husband was a merchant who traveled often and you always met with him back in Gascony. Most people didn’t care enough to gossip about an orphaned woman with little prospects to begin with. It’d been your idea to lie and Aramis accepted it as you being as unsure of him as you thought he was of you. 

What killed him the most, despite his charming demeanor and always knowing the right words for the right people, was that he had no idea how to convey to you how he truly felt. He reminded you of his love every moment he had with you, and yet he knew you didn’t fully believe it. What else could he do but keep trying? 

Another aching shriek echoed through the chamber, followed by a silence, and then… cries. An infant’s wailing filled the house. 

Aramis raced up the stairs before the others could stop him. 

The door to your bedroom opened and Constance stepped out, quickly closing it behind her. She had a bundle in her arms. The auburn-haired woman beamed at him. 

“Would you like to meet your son?” 

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. He just stared at Constance, stunned, as the baby continued to cry. It was as if he’d forgotten how to use his limbs, everything numb with a strange mix of disbelief and utter joy. 

A son. 

He stepped forward and spoke with a shaking voice. “Y-yes.” He felt like a child himself, standing before her with arms outstretched. 

Constance, still grinning, gently placed the wriggling bundle into his awaiting embrace. 

He couldn’t believe how small he was. His son. A tiny fist reached out. Aramis gave him his pinky to grasp onto, his little fingers not even able to wrap all the way around the digit. He rocked the baby in his arms, cooing slightly. The boy stopped crying. 

“I have a son,” he gasped. He turned to the stairs, where his three friends had gathered at the bottom. His tone raised to a cheer. “I have a son!” 

A chorus of joyous hollers and applause filled the stairwell. 

The celebration, however, was cut short as another round of your screaming cries The boy in his arms began wailing again. He held him a little closer to soothe him, but Aramis had gone white. 

“What’s happening?” He asked. 

Constance shook her head. “I-I don’t know. I thought everything was fine.” 

A guttural grunt. Another scream. 

Aramis passed his son back to Constance and started toward your door. The three men had already climbed the stairs with worried expressions.

“You aren’t supposed to-” Constance started, but she stopped as soon as she saw Aramis’s look of absolute panic. 

He burst through the door.  

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?” Aramis rushed to your side, brushing a sweat-soaked strand of hair away from your cheek. 

“Aramis?” You muttered, almost dreamily. 

“You shouldn’t be in here monsieur,” the midwife scolded. 

Your knees were pulled up before her. He tried not to look, for the bed sheets were slick with blood and it only made him panic even more. He, instead, looked into your eyes and you looked into his, the comfort of those dark brown irises grounding you through the pain. 

“Something’s… happening…” You took heaving breaths in between your words. His hand found yours and you held onto it with a near-crushing grip. 

“There’s another,” the midwife said. 

Both of your heads snapped up to look at her and you spoke at the same time. 

“What?!” 

She peered up at you, cast a disapproving look at the father, but decided it was too late to force him out of the room. 

“Just as we did before,” she instructed. “Ready? Three… two…” 

-

For the first time, there was quiet. 

The midwife had gone, having gathered the soiled blankets and bowls of water. Aramis sat beside you, one arm around your shoulders, your son blinking up at both of you from your embrace. With the other arm, he held your daughter. 

“I doubt I’ll ever understand what I’ve done in my life,” he whispered, kissing your forehead, “to deserve all of this.” 

You turned your head to kiss his lips lightly, reaching a hand to caress your daughter’s soft cheek. 

“It seems impossible for two things so perfect to come into my life at once,” you mused, bringing your hand up to his face. “And you… to have you for as long as I have. I can’t imagine what I’ve done to be so blessed.” 

Aramis leaned into your touch, the hair of his beard tickling your palm as he nuzzled your skin. Those near-ebony eyes looked into yours with a love more powerful than he’d ever felt before. He wanted, right there, to ask you to marry him. 

A knock at the door was followed by Constance peeking her head into the room with an excited, but exasperated expression. 

“I don’t know how much longer I can hold them off,” she laughed. “I haven’t told them anything, like you asked, other than that everything is alright, but I don’t think they’ll believe me until they see you.” 

Aramis chuckled, the vibration rumbling against you. Your daughter stirred against his chest, stretching her tiny arms toward him. He leaned to kiss her forehead. 

You beamed. “Let them in.” 

Constance nodded, smile growing, and turned back to the door.

“Be quiet, all of you,” she ordered. “I don’t want you scaring them.”

D’Artagnan’s brows drew together as he stepped in first. 

“Them?”  

As the two others piled in behind him, all halted abruptly, their eyes darting between you and Aramis and the not one, but two infants in your arms. Confusion turned to shock and finally to unbridled excitement. 

“Twins!” Athos exclaimed with one of the first real smiles you’d ever seen on his face. 

Porthos was still glancing between the two. “Twins?” 

It was D’Artagnan who stepped forward first and placed a hand gently on your shoulder, his joy for you clear in his dark eyes. 

“It’s incredible,” he said. He glanced up at Aramis with the same warm kinship. “I can’t begin to say how happy I am. For both of you.” 

The other two gathered on Aramis’s side of the bed and shared similar congratulations. 

“Have you thought of names?” Porthos asked. 

“Actually, we thought we’d get your thoughts,” Aramis said, glancing over at you with a smirk. He touched a finger to your daughter’s nose. “For her, we were thinking of Christine.” She swatted at his finger lightly, making her father laugh again. “She’s quite the fighter already, hm?” 

“I wonder where she gets that from,” Porthos smiled and patted him on the back. 

“For our son,” you took a deep breath and looked up at your friend beside you. “We thought Charles would be fitting.” 

D’Artagnan’s mouth fell open and his eyes filled with even more admiration and feeling than before, which didn’t seem possible. 

“C-Charles?” He asked, as if he’d heard you wrong. 

Aramis nodded. “Charles.” 

“But only if you’ll allow it,” you said, reaching for his hand. “You’ve just been such a good friend to me- to us- and I hoped you would be his godfather as well, but if-”

He took your hand and brought it to his lips. “I would be honored.” His voice was heavy with emotion, tears of joy welling in his eyes. 

“We’ve already asked Constance to be godmother to them both,” Aramis said. He turned to his best friend. “I was hoping, Porthos, that-”

“Do you even have to ask?” Porthos chuckled. He leaned over your daughter and made a face. 

She started to cry. 

“Congratulations,” Aramis sighed. “You’ve already frightened off your goddaughter.” 

Porthos made another face and she stopped. He raised a brow at Aramis, beaming. You snickered at their antics. 

“They are beautiful children,” Athos said, leaning against the dresser. “I can’t say enough how happy I am for the two of you.” 

“Oh don’t feel left out, Athos,” Porthos teased. “I’m sure you can be godfather to the next one.” 

You snorted. “I think he may have to wait a while for that.” Everyone in the room laughed. D’Artagnan gazed down at your son, still trying to hold back tears. 

“Would you like to hold him?” 

He gulped. “Can I?” 

You smiled and carefully handed your son to his namesake. Aramis did the same with your daughter, slowly putting her in Porthos’s arms. And just like that, you watched the two grown men turn to puppies, all wide eyes and cooing smiles. 

A happy tear rolled down your cheek. Aramis pulled you closed and kissed it away. You knew, more than anything in the world, that your children would be safe. And they would be loved. 

III

He rocked the child in his arms with the whispers of a lullaby on his lips. 

“Lullay, thou little tiny child,” he sang softly, “bye, bye, lully, lullay. Thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay…” Aramis smiled and kissed his sleeping son’s forehead before laying him gently in his crib. Charles’s nose twitched and he stretched his tiny arms but didn’t stir. 

Aramis watched him in wonder. Ten months and he still couldn’t quite believe all of this was real. His heart ached from being so full. 

A small clattering sound drew his attention away and he felt his heart stop in a panic. Aramis rushed across the nursery and plucked his daughter from the floor before she could pull another one of his swords off of the table where he’d placed them. 

“Christine d’Herblay, how many times must I tell you to leave Papa’s things alone?” He scolded, nuzzling her cheek. “I don’t know what I’d do if you hurt yourself, darling.” 

She leaned into his embrace, looking up at him with those big eyes with a perfectly innocent expression. Quite cunning, he thought, for a toddler. Of course, he melted instantly and began bouncing her up and down. Her bell-like laughter filled the room, as well as his chest. 

The door to the nursery opened and you stepped in with messy hair stuck down by sweat from your exhaustive day and a harrowed expression. Your eyes fell upon the sheathed weapon on the floor. 

“I tell her to leave them,” Aramis said. “But she doesn’t listen to me.” He tickled her side, earning more laughter. “Just like your mother, aren’t you?” 

You didn’t laugh. Instead, you sighed and stooped to pick up his sword from the ground. From there, you began picking up everything you could find, tidying up the room in a flustered hurry. Aramis placed Christine in her crib beside Charles’s and took your hands in his to stop your anxious movements. 

“What’s happened?” 

You bowed your head. “Nothing.” 

“Y/N…” He sighed, laying a hand on your cheek. You pulled away. 

“It’s this Rocheforte.” You ran your fingers through your hair, more aware than ever of their lack of ring. “He isn’t like the cardinal- which I thought would be a good thing- but he’s somehow worse. He’s suspicious and- and cunning, and his men are asking more and more questions when I’m called there to repair uniforms.” Your rambling caught in your throat, paired with tired tears. 

“What can I do?” Aramis asked. “You know it pains me to see you in distress. Just say the word, and I’ll have the heads of half of the Red Guard by sundown.” 

“It isn’t just them.” You shook your head. “I’m just… so tired of lying, Aramis.” 

Christine made a cooing sound. Charles yawned. 

Aramis stepped toward you. “Then let us make it the truth.” 

You paused, making sure you’d heard him correctly. Aramis continued. 

“Marry me and none of this will matter. You can stop spying for Treville and the Red Guards will have the whole of the musketeers to face if they bother you again.” 

Tears stung the corners of your eyes, but you wiped them hastily away. At first, he thought they were tears of joy, but the closer Aramis looked, he knew he was wrong. 

“I will handle Rochefortes prying myself. He’s likely figured out you are the true father and is just trying to frighten me into admitting it.” 

“Y/N, I don’t understand. The solution for this is simple-”

“I will not doom you to a life you don’t want simply because it is the simplest answer!” you said, louder than you’d meant to. Charles awoke with shrieking cries. 

“A life I don’t want?” Aramis scoffed, trying to hide his hurt. “What are you talking about?”

“My answer is no, Aramis.” You moved to pick up your screaming son. “Marrying is clearly something you’ve never wanted and I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice anything for me when the children and I have done just fine in the current situation.”

Aramis reached for both of you. 

Christine started to cry as well. 

“Y/N-”

“I think you should leave.” You didn’t turn to look at him. Instead, you focused on your children in order to hide your sorrow from their father. “I’ll watch them now.” 

Aramis didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to kick himself for his insensitivity. He’d known of your doubts for so long and yet he sprung marriage on you as if it were nothing more than a way to fix a problem. 

“If that is what you wish,” he sighed and left, closing the door behind him while the children’s crying followed him out. 

He knew how he felt. He just needed to prove it to you.  

-

You saw no one else for the remainder of the evening. Only your children kept you company, and even they seemed more interested in empty spools rolling around on the floor. Not that you minded. With them so distracted, you found it easier to let yourself cry. 

He asked you to marry him. 

How many times had you dreamt of Aramis saying those words and yet now they felt like musket shots to your heart. He saw you as a burden. A duty to fulfill. You could never live like that, even if it meant being free of the jeers of the Red Guard. 

You only wished you could regret ever involving yourself with the musketeer, but your heart forbade it. Whether or not he felt the same, your love for Aramis had given you the world. The proof sat before you with their carefree laughter. Your son and daughter with their smiles just like their father’s. The time you’d gotten with them, with him, was worth all of the heartache. 

It was late when you finally got them both to go to sleep. One was always waking the other, but eventually, Charles and Christine laid in their cribs and soundly drifted off. 

You tried to finish up some work on a dress order at the table in the nursery,, but found your eyes unable to stay open. You must have fallen asleep as well, for the next time you opened them, the morning sun greeted you.

And the children were gone. 

You were awake in an instant, tearing through your small apartment, but finding nothing. It wasn’t until you could hear Charles’ laughter that you hurried down the stairs, finding your son in the lap of his namesake and Christine grasping at a flower that Athos held over her playfully. 

“Morning,” Porthos greeted. 

You smacked the back of his head. “Don’t do that,” you exasperated, “I thought they’d been taken by miscreants or something.” 

“We just didn’t want to ruin the surprise,” D’Artagnan smiled. 

“What are you talking about?”

“It seems we are replacing you, for the day,” Athos explained, picking up Christine to give her to you. “The three of us are to deliver your finished orders.” 

“While the four of us spend this beautiful day out, as a family,” Aramis said, having appeared in the doorway with a basket in hand and dressed in a casual tunic rather than his uniform. 

Your heart fluttered at the thought, but your mind refused to give in so easily. After all, it was only the night before that you’d nearly cried yourself to sleep over the discussion you’d had with the man before you. But the charming smile on his face and the look in his eye made it awfully difficult to argue. 

“I don’t know.” You made a point not to look at him. “I have so much still to do and-”

D’Artagnan stood, picking up your son and raising his brow at you. “Take the day, Y/N,” he said. “You deserve to rest.” 

“Plus, he’s been going mad all night, which has driven all of us mad, as well,” Porthos muttered, motioning to his nervous friend in the doorway. “Go on,” he encouraged. “What trouble could we get into delivering a bunch of dresses and coats?” 

“I don’t really like to think about it,” you frowned. 

“I will make sure that everything gets to its proper place,” Athos assured you, making you feel a little bit better. 

Aramis stepped inside, taking Charles from D’Artagnan and giving you a pleading glance. 

“It’s a beautiful day, my love,” he said. “Let us spend it as a family.” 

Any lingering frustration you’d felt from the night before was no match for his soft, wanting tone. And beneath his charisma, you knew that there was something else. Something far more serious. Whatever it was, you knew it was better to talk now than dance around it while the two of you buried yourselves in your work. 

“I suppose I can spare one day,” you said. 

Porthos and D’Artagnan cheered but were silenced by a look of annoyance from Athos. Aramis just lit up, kissing your cheek. 

“You won’t regret it,” he whispered against your skin. But when he turned back to the door, son in his arms and his two girls behind him, he muttered to himself, “I hope.”

-

It was the first moment of peace you’d experienced in months. The only sound- other than the occasional cheer or coo from one of the children- was the slight breeze through the meadow flowers. The morning passed like dandelion seeds floating through the air. 

Charles and Christine crawled around and explored the small plot of grass you’d found for them. Christine chased a butterfly and Charles plucked a light blue flower from its stem and brought it back to your lap. 

“I see he’s inherited your charm,” you said, taking in the blossom’s sweet scent. 

“And she your spirit,” Aramis pointed out, gesturing to the feisty toddler who was nearing the edge of the grass. He rolled onto his side and caught her in his arms before she could get too far. She whined, but only for a moment, before settling against his chest. 

Despite the wonder of the morning, there was the crawling under your skin, whispers of your doubts reminding you of the hopes you’d felt had been dashed by your own fear. The fear that all of this would be gone in an instant. That he would finally tire of you and the life you’ve built and he would galavant off into the arms of another woman, into another battle, another fight he could not win. 

You understood, then, looking at him under the swaying shadows of the willow tree above you, perhaps that was why you allowed your doubts to persist. Though you cared so deeply for him, you kept him at arm's length because the idea of him leaving of his own will was easier to take than a musket ball piercing his heart or a dagger across his throat.

The realization brought tears to your eyes. You bit your lip to hide the trembling, but Aramis knew in a heartbeat. 

“Oh, my love,” he sighed. He set Christine beside her brother, both of whom had fallen asleep on the blanket. Aramis laid a hand on your cheek. “I fear I’ve made a grave mistake in the years we’ve spent together.” 

You sucked in a breath and bowed your head, preparing for his regrets, his change of heart, and his announcement he was going to leave. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your face back to his. 

“I have known you believe me to be with you out of a sense of duty. I have allowed you to believe that you are little more than a distraction grown into an obligation.” Taking your hands in his, his voice softened due to the overwhelming emotion in his tone. Now it was him trying to hide his tears. “I have wished my words of devotion were enough to convince you, but my actions last night have done just the opposite and for that, I deeply apologize.”

“Aramis-” You started, but he stopped you with a squeeze of your hand. 

“I love you,” he said. He kissed the inside of your wrist, dark eyes watching you, so full of adoration and care that you held back a sob. Aramis held your palm to his cheek. “Every breath of every day belongs to you. Every beat of my heart is devoted to our family. Not out of any sense of duty. In fact, you’ve tangled my senses all together.” He chuckled, the lovely sound vibrating up your arm. “I can’t tell sunset from sunrise because you are my new sun. I don’t know which way is south because you are my north star.”

You found yourself leaning into him until you were but a few shallow breaths apart. Aramis turned his gaze to the sleeping children beside you. 

“You have made me a father,” he beamed. “A dream I’d forgotten I had. You have made me a better man. Better than I thought I was capable of being. You are not an obligation, Y/N.” His eyes returned to yours and he drew even closer to you. “You are everything.”

His fingers laced into your hair and pulled your lips to his, silencing any of your cries. You kissed him with a passion like no other, but mostly you kissed him with belief. 

When you parted, you both smiled tearfully. 

Aramis continued. 

“Which is why-” He took a deep breath, trying to compose himself, but it was no use. You left him completely breathless. “I ask you once more, to do me the honor of making me your husband.” He kissed the trail of tears on your cheek. “Y/N, will you marry me?” 

“Aramis, I-” Your mind searched your heart for a reason to say no. It warned of loss and heartbreak. But you found that, no matter what, your guarded feelings would only be in vain. Your heart could not be protected by you alone because it did not belong to you. You pressed your lips to Aramis’s and whispered against them. “Yes. My answer is yes.” 

-

You spent the rest of the day taking Christine and Charles around the city, proudly walking side by side. A few people whispered as you went by and several Red Guards glared, but quickly looked away with one deadly glance from your fiance. 

The sun began to dip in the sky by the time you returned to the shop. 

To your surprise- and much to your relief- the other men managed to get through a day without destroying anything, which was a fair accomplishment for them. Any conversation between them ceased when the four of you entered. 

“Welcome back,” Athos said. 

Three pairs of eyes stared expectantly. 

“So…” D’Artagnan needn’t voice his question. He could tell from the light in your eyes what the answer would be. 

You merely gave them all a simple nod and they practically leapt with joy. 

With the children placed in their chairs, Porthos pulled Aramis into a crushing hug, D’Artagnan kissed your cheek, and Athos smiled brightly at you both, all voicing their congratulations. 

“I take it the final part of the plan is still in motion?” Porthos asked with a wink. 

“What final part?” You asked. 

Aramis ran a hand through his hair, nerves returning. 

“Well, now that everything is settled and you haven’t decided that you’ve had enough of me,” he said. “These fine gentlemen have agreed to watch Christine and Charles while you and I partake in a romantic evening together.”

“The picnic in the meadow wasn’t romantic enough for you?” You snickered. “I don’t want to take any more of their time.” 

“It’s no trouble, at all,” D’Artagnan said. “Constance will be joining us as well.” 

You gave him a suggestive smile. “I see.”

He rolled his eyes. “I think you’d better just find out what your last surprise is for today and let us take care of everything else.” 

“We’ll take very good care of them,” Athos promised. “And I’ll make sure these two don’t get into any trouble while you’re gone.” 

“As if you’re one to talk.” Porthos slapped him on the back. He quirked a brow at the couple before him. “Go enjoy your evening. We’ll drop them off in the morning.”

“But I still don’t understand.” You looked in between the four of them. “You all speak as if we have somewhere else to go. Unless you’re suggesting the garrison…”

Aramis reached for your hand with a smirk. “Just follow me.” 

You kissed the children goodnight and thanked the men one more time before allowing Armis to lead you back down the street in the direction of the garrison. He stopped, however, at a building he’d made a point to admire earlier in the day. 

“As much as I find the apartment above your shop charming, I thought this may be better suited to fit a family,” he said. 

It was a small structure, but there was a cozy feeling to its appearance as well. The potential to become a home. 

“It’s the perfect distance between the shop and the garrison, so neither of us would have to travel very far. I know it isn’t much, but Treville gave me an advance on my commission and the others chipped in as well. And I figured I could spend time fixing it up for us in between missions. I think, given some time and effort, it could be-”

You stopped him with a kiss. 

“I love it,” you smiled. “And I love you.” 

Aramis’s face split with a grin and he scooped you into his arms, kissing you deeply, despite the people passing you by. 

“Wait,” you said, putting a hand on his chest. You raised a brow in amusement. “You bought this before you asked me to marry you. What if…” 

He chuckled. “I was just really hoping you’d say yes.” 

You pulled him into another kiss, tangling your fingers in his hair. With your hearts full and the first evening you’d had to yourselves since the children were born, he wasted little time carrying you inside and kicking the door shut behind you. 

[automaticdreamlandkid]

“Give yourselves to each other in marriage. Love, honour as man and wife for the rest of your lives.”                                                                               

[rose-edith]

Masterlist

Updated: 09/08/2022

Previous Masterlist

Tommy Shelby x Crawley!Reader: Crawley to Shelby Series Masterlist

NCIS

Ducky giving you heart eyes

Tobias cuddles

Leroy Jethro Gibbs

Discussing the possibility of kids

Both of you left at the office on Valnetine’s

Leaving him secret love notes

Helping Gibbs through a panic attack

Little things to make him smile

Being in a relationship with him when NOT working at NCIS

Patching him up after a bad case

Finds out you have bad periods due to a condition (blood mention)

Falling asleep in his car on stakeout

Gibbs having to win over your dog

Meeting on a case enemies to lovers

Things the lift sees between you and Gibbs

Gibbs in ‘Daddy mode’ caring for his goddaughter

Things he would do if his lover was in a coma

Serenading him

NSFW- Angry make-up sex

NSFW- Consensual Somnophilia

Helping him through his PTSD

Running away when you’re pregnant

New to team and him comforting you

NSFW- being needy and he ‘deals’ with you

Your camera roll if you were dating Gibbs

Team realising you have a crush on him          PART TWO

His hands...

Him in mother hen mode

NSFW- birthday treat from him

Notices you’re scared of thunderstorms

He’s arranged a surprise party

Gibbs x Writer!Reader Part One    Part Two    Part Three  Part four

The coffeehouse

Comforts you after an attack 

Comforting you after a break up

Making it up to you after an argument

He delivers your baby

He realises he wants to propose

He’s being all protective and snuggly

He finds out you’re a writer

Takes care of you when you have a bad headache

Sitting on his face (short)

Taking care of you while you’re in a coma

NSFW calling him Daddy

Helping him shave

NSFW him on his knees

His chest hair

Oblivious to his flirting

Falling for him drabble

Husband drabble

NSFW collar

NSFW cooking

Leaving after argument

NSFW bite drabble

Proposing to him

Break up angst drabble

LONELINESS 1, PRT2,  PRT 3,  PRT 4,  PRT 5

NSFW sugar daddy drabble

Saving the computer drabble

Team meets gf for first time

NSFW remembering last night

NSFW finds the smut you’ve written

Punches guy drabble

Not bringing him coffee

NSFW face sitting

Waking beside him drabble

Making up drabble

Being a stripper he likes

NSFW thought

Puppy eyes drabble

Reading drabble

NSFW bulge kink

Fluffy confession drabble

Hormonal

NSFW trouser drabble

NSFW guided drabble

NSFW the belt drabble

Angst drabble- reader is dead

NSFW the look

Confessions on medicine

Sees your swimsuit

NSFW camping discoveries

NSFW he takes your virginity

Helps you train for charity run

Naked and hungover

Finds you in his dog tags

Teasing him

NSFW shower

NSFW breaking the bed

NSFW first time as couple

Doing your dress up

NSFW his back

Rebound sex

Daughter hurt, wants him

Supporting your teaching career move

Getting a puppy

You’re claustrophobic

Breaking stuff so he helps

Cute dinner date

You broke your arm

NSFW a little treat

Activity holiday with nephews

NSFW stare part 1,   part two

Breaking his nose

Break up and makeup

Surprise holiday romance

NSFW marine witness

NSFW first time riding

Teaches you to drive

Winning over your kid

His kid dating Ziva

NSFW he’s hurt

Asks you out as you buy wood

BBC FATHER BROWN

INSPECTOR VALENTINE

Going through pregnancy

Cute dates

SUPERNATURAL

Dean

Looks after you when you’re on your period

Crowley

Crowley being your Valentine

Being Winchester sister and finding him hilarious

Dating a sweet, nice human

Slowly falling in love because of your actions

Stealing his coat for attention

He has a special Easter treat for you

Teaching him to Easter egg hunt

Being human and trying to woo him

Putting his coat round you

BBC MUSKETEERS

Being in a poly relationship with Aramis and D’Artagnan

Me as Madam Treville

Being courted by Captain Treville

Being the Mistress of King Louis

Kissing D’Artagnan

Being Queen Anne’s best friend

Kissing Aramis

Treville’s daughter loves red guard