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fandom-imagines-stories · 6 months

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Phantom

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 3631

Part One of Three

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

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

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

More Musketeer imagines: HERE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It couldn’t be true.

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

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

“We won’t.”

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

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

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

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

Aramis looked at the ground.

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

Paradis.

Heaven.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Naked.

You erupted with laughter.

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

“This is actually quite good,” he said.

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

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

You nodded, beaming.

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

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

“Tu es mon paradis.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“If I find Visage…” Porthos seethed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were waking up.

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

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

Visage.

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

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

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

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

How were you alive?

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

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

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

You gasped.

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

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

“Pinon.”

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

Jeanne stiffened.

“Do you know him?”

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

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

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

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

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

But not yet. Not now.

Now, he had his rage.

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

When that was finished, he moved onto his musket.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s moving,” D’Artagnan said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get out of my way!”

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

“I have to do this,” he whispered.

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

“I cannot ask you to join my fight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Y/F/N Y/L/N

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He rode off before they could ask anything else.

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

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

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

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

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bullet-prooflove · 1 month

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Ruin: Aramis x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @kmc1989

You used to be a courtesan, Aramis has always known that about you.

Aramis had always suspected your benefactor was a duke. It was the extravagance of the perfume you wore when he first met you, the jewels that had adorned your throat. He remembers the taste of violets on his lips as he kissed the nape of your neck, the tightening in his chest knowing that it was another man’s preference.

You wear jasmine these days. It’s a lighter fragrance, one that reminds Aramis of the first days of spring as he makes love to you in a room that has only ever known pleasure. His thumb traces over your lips at the height of rapture, his dark eyes locked on yours as he stills his motions, holding himself deep.

“Not yet my love.” He whispers as his lips brush over yours. “I’m not done with you yet.”

His fingertips trail over the scar that mars your cheek, the one your duke carved into your skin the night you dared to leave him. He’d meant to disfigure you but it only added to your beauty, especially in the world you had carved out for yourself.

Eden is what you call the house you own, the one that your girls work out of.

Every night you host a show, a circus of sorts where you showcase the talents of the women under your tutelage. It attracts a niche of benefactors, men and women of a certain persuasion, who enjoy an alternative means of entertainment.

If they’re interested in the more sensual delights, an arrangement is made as long as the girl is willing. You won’t force your women into service, not the way you had once been.

“Oh Evangeline.” Aramis murmurs, his fingers entwining with yours as his hips arch, sinking even deeper into your tight wet heat. “I’m going to ruin you, the same way you ruined me.”

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#aramis #the musketeers #bbc musketeers #musketeers #aramis x reader #aramis x you

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backtothefanfiction · 6 months

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Two Can Play At That Game | Aramis Imagine

Warnings: typical musketeer shinanigans, guns, fighting, jokes and fluff, Aramis trying to be suave, flirty, teasing

Word Count: it’s another quick couple hundred (written in app, not keeping track

A/N: okay, so I’m doing it. Aramis as a character has meant so much to me for years and the three musketeers story as a whole is a very important one for my soul history. anyway, I saw this prompt on Pinterest and it just fit and I had to write it.

You were tired. It had been another long and trying day full of the usual drama and shinanigans that came hand in hand with the King’s favourite Musketeers. And if it wasn’t for the risks and near death experiences that always seemed to follow them, you would have been more than happy to have spent your time with them.

“I promise, I’m not going to let anything happen to you.” Aramis had said as he pulled you down behind a stack of barrels to take cover. “I thank the Lord that they’re a terrible shot.” He sighs, lifting the cross tied around his neck to his lips and placing a kiss on it for luck.

You had flinched as one of the musket balls hit the top of the barrel closest to your head, wood splintering around you as Aramis leaned over to cover you with his body.

“You know next time you four come knocking I’m just going to pretend I’m not at home.” You jested and you felt him let out a breathy chuckle. Your face was dangerously close to his chest, the deep v of his shirt falling open slightly as his body flexed around you. You closed your eyes and forced away your temptations. Now was not the time.

Your eyes scrunched up tightly, your body growing taught again as another round of shots were fired.

“Come on Porthos.” You heard Aramis mutter to himself.

There was a loud thundering of hooves on the ground as Porthos charged in with a cry. There was a loud wail as one of the men who had been shooting, was knocked down by the momentum of Porthos’ horse.

“Hya!!” Porthos shouted, before making clicky noises with his mouth to wrangle not just his but also Aramis’ horse, who’s reigns were clutched tightly in his grasp.

“Come on, quick.” Aramis said, wringing his sword, holding it out in front of him with one hand, his other hand reaching for yours as he pulled you up and began to lead you to Porthos and the horses.

“Get on.” Aramis commanded as he began to cut down one of the men.

Porthos tossed you the reigns and tucking the leather tightly into the curl of your fingers, you slotted your left foot into the stirrup in front of you and hauled yourself up onto the horse. With his hand now free, Porthos pulled out his sword and began slashing at the two other men about to lunge at Aramis.

“Get on,” you held your hand out to him and he swung up onto the back of the horse behind you, his arms wrapping around you as you handed the reigns off to him.

“Yah!” He called out as his ankles kicked at the sides of the horse, encouraging it into a gallop, Porthos made a similar action and followed closely behind.

When you had gotten back to the safety of the garrison you started to breathe easier.

“You okay?” Aramis asked as he helped you down from the horse.

“Yes.” You nodded as he handed the reigns off to Porthos to take the two horses to the stable.

“Still thinking of pretending to not be home next time we call?”

“No.” You smirked. You knew you could never say no to an adventure with him. “I love you.” You said as you leaned into him, breathing heavily, relishing in the feeling of still being alive and with him.

“I love me too,” he grinned.

“I- wait, what?” You said your face falling into mock shock as you processed his words.

“I didn’t want this to be some cliché moment, so I thought I’d just shake things up a bit,” he said as you began to pull away from him, “Just know that I love both me and you- where are you going?” He continued, throwing his hands up in the air as you dramatically walked away from him.

“To rethink my life choices.” You call back to him with a smirk.

“Does that mean not to call on you the next time there’s another daring adventure?”

You smile to yourself as you continue to walk through the gates of the garrison, willing yourself to hold your resolve as he calls out your name in ever increasing volumes of desperation, the further you get away. Aramis may think his tongue is his best weapon, but you know holding your own is yours.

#aramis #aramis imagine #one shot #musketeers #bbc musketeers #Porthos #the three musketeers #aramis musketeers #aramis x reader #musketeers imagine

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itsonlydana · 2 months

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📝 WIP "Aramis"

Aramis leaned into the little bit of space you had in this cramped corner and his intoxicating scent clouded your mind.

"Maybe," he whispered and his hand moved from your knuckles higher up to your wrist, stopping inches before glove became skin, "maybe you should pull these off as well.. they must be uncomfortably warm."

He knew what he was doing and made sure you knew as well. While one of his hands pushed the long airy sleeves of your dress up, the other one grabbed the white glove, and slowly, excruciatingly so, he tugged on it. First a bit on every finger and when it gave way, he pulled it off completly. Aramis repeated the procedere on your other hand, not making any haste as he stripped what had been the last part of restrain and decorum.

He must have realized he was taking away what mothers had their daughters swear to ever take off for anyone but a husband.

That this, was much more intimate than anything else you'd done before.

This was new, this was forbidden and leading you down a path you would never look back from.

#current wip #aramis #aramis x reader #the three musketeers #three musketeers fanfiction #aramis fanfiction #luke evans fanfiction #danas wips 📝

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rose-edith · 2 years

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We already know what is like to kiss D'Artagnan but how about kissing Aramis?😍

Ooh! Hope you like it!

Kissing Aramis would include:

•the minute he decides he’s going to kiss you everything changes- the whole world just sinks to the two of you. It’s like no one else exists. He’s so confident, Aramis knows how to kiss, he’s assured and confident- it rolls off him in waves, and that excites you! Excitement underpins every kiss with Aramis, even if the kiss itself may be given in sometimes sad or worrying situations.

•and his eyes, they’re intense, they’re dark and warm and full of a whole promise that you absolutely cannot resist!

•his hands slip round your waist, they’re large and strong as they tug your body close and slip up your back- one hand slips into your hair and scratches your scalp softly.

•and then slowly, oh impossibly slowly, for all of time has trickled back to a snail pace, his lips, those soft, plump cushions come into contact with yours.

•it’s hot, right from the get go he’s in charge, he’s setting the pace and speed, he’s the one that’s leading the kiss. And it’s breathtaking. Aramis is a phenomenal kisser!

•it’s a conversation of lust and passion, and you melt into it every single time he kisses you! Your hands slip onto his chest and feel the pounding of his heart under your palms, the heat from his body rolls into yours. He’s solid and real and insistent! His facial hair, that well groomed, beautiful hair, tickles your face…just as it will go on to tickle your neck when he eventually starts to kiss down your neck, as he invariably does.

•there is no such thing as a short kiss with Aramis. Even the shortest of pecks lasts a little while. A kiss means more than simply lust or a desire to put your lips together, oh yes, a kiss is a message, it has a special meaning! Whether it’s a good morning kiss, a I missed you kiss, a please don’t leave me kiss, a forgive me kiss, a you look so beautiful kiss, every kiss conveys a message, and you get that message loud and clear every time!

•and every kiss is like the first. Everytime his lips meet yours, setting off an explosion of fireworks in your body, you’re swept away in the intensity of the passion!

#bbc musketeers #the muskeeters headcanons #the three musketeers #musketeers #musketeers x reader #musketeers headcanons #musketeers imagine #aramis #aramis x reader #aramis headcanons #aramis imagine #tw kissing

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dreamerinthesun · 1 year

Text

Aramis finally realising:

#bbc musketeers #aramis #aramis x reader

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chiaraanatra · 2 years

Text

Tend to Your Wounds (Aramis)

Summary: You tend to Aramis’s wounds

Warnings: Injury, mentions of blood, kissing

Word Count: 1540

AN: we’re not going to question where the other boys are. Also, I have a firm belief that Aramis would always ask for consent! Feedback is always appreciated!

《 m.list || ao3 》

You sat at the window of your godfather’s hotel overlooking the Garrison. It had been a quiet day; the recruits were tending to the stables and other work that kept the Garrison running as smoothly as possible. The musketeers were escorting the queen’s cousin to the Louver, and your godfather was at the Louver discussing some matters with the king. You on the other hand were left to your own devices.

You had moved into the Garrison shortly before your 13th birthday, almost ten years ago. Your parents had passed and requested that Tréville looked after you. Being a good friend of your parents, he took on the job of raising you, even though he questioned his qualifications. Sure, he was a great captain but that did not necessarily translate into being a good parent to a 13-year-old.

You helped out around the garrison, keeping the barracks in check when the musketeers and recruits were out on missions. As you grew you were taught useful things that every teenager should know, how to load and shoot a pistol, how to defend yourself using a sword, how to stitch up wounds left by swords and bullets, and how to adjust dislocated joints. By the time you were 17, you were the closest thing the garrison had to a doctor.

You let out a soft sigh, letting your mind wander. It couldn’t help but wander to a certain tall, handsome brunette… You were quickly brought out of your daydreaming by a knock on the hotel door. Who the hell would be knocking? You opened the door to find a bloodied Aramis standing in front of you with a weak smile. When your mind had wandered to the Musketeer Aramis this was not exactly what you had in mind.

“Hello. I might need some help…” Aramis walked past you to the chair that you had previously been sitting on. He glanced back over to you and noticed the concerned look on your face, “don’t worry, not all of this is mine.”

Of course, he would be making light of the situation at a time like this. “Yes, that is quite a comfort…” You walked over to grab your bag of medical supplies and a bottle of clear grain alcohol. You pulled up a chair in front of him. “What the hell happened?” You help him out of his leather pauldron before kneeling in front of him to carefully unbutton his shirt which looked like it had been torn to shreds.

“You know…” he let out a soft groan as he shifted in his chair. “When I picture you on your knees in front of me there is significantly less blood… and clothing” he chuckles softly before groaning once more. You rolled your eyes as blood rushed to your cheeks. You tugged at his shirt, lacking the delicacy you held prior; Aramis gritted his teeth as pain radiated throughout his body.

Aramis had known you since he had first been recruited years ago. You two had grown close, much to Tréville’s chagrin. To be fair, Tréville didn’t trust anyone near you, taking on a somewhat fatherly role. However, this statement reigned particularly relevant to the musketeer Aramis, who was known to be a flirt with a way of obtaining what he wanted from others.

As you removed the shreds that remained of the musketeer’s shirt you surveyed the damage. Slashes and bruises covered his tan skin and blood was continuing to pool from a bullet hole in his shoulder. You placed his arm on the table, “I see the bullet… I’m going to have to take it out in order to stitch you up properly.” You handed him the bottle of booze before setting out your instruments. When he handed you back the bottle, you gave him an apologetic look, “I won’t lie to you… this is going to hurt.” He gave you a nod acknowledging what you were about to do. You poured some of the bottle’s contents into the wound to disinfect it. Aramis bit back the noise that he wanted to let out. You got to work quickly removing the bullet from his shoulder. You held a rag up to slow some of the bleeding and prepared to close it along with some of his deeper cuts.

As you worked on closing the deeper cuts, Aramis’s deep brown eyes were fixed on you. He watched as your tongue would wet your lips and the light crease that your brow created as you focused. He had always thought you were one of the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen, a beauty he wish God had created just for him.

His memory brings him back to the first time he had met you; he was a young recruit of 19 and you were the godchild to the Capitan, only a year or two younger than him. During his recruit training, he was slashed on his leg and Tréville had ordered him to go up to the hotel for medical attention. When he made his way in, you were waiting to stitch him up. He remembered your gentle touch, how you described everything you were going to do in an attempt to minimize any fear he may have had. In truth, the only thing he was focused on was you, your bright E/C colored eyes, the lightness of your touch… Ever since that moment the thought of you never left his mind. If he were, to tell the truth, he wouldn’t want it any other way.

Truth be told, Aramis loved you. He couldn’t tell if it was the adrenaline, his injuries, the alcohol, or how you were only a few inches from his face, however, he needed to get his feelings across to you.

After finishing the last stitches, you grabbed a bowl of warm water and a clean rag. You sat on the chair opposite Aramis and began to clean some of the now-dried blood that was scattered across his chest. You leaned in closer, not yet realizing just how close to the brunette you were.

If you were to be truthful, you had fallen for Aramis shortly after he had joined the Musketeers. He never looked down on you or treated you any differently because of your relation to the captain. Rather you two became quick friends, friends that carried a veil of tension between them. However, neither one of you had ever confessed your feelings to the other.

As you were finishing your work, you had taken notice of just how close you were to Aramis. You could feel his gentle breath against your cheek. You swallowed not daring to look in his eyes, “I know there is no point in telling you this, but you should rest for a day or two and allow yourself to heal.” You wanted your voice to come out stern but instead, it sounded like a mixture of concern and nervousness that you prayed Aramis couldn’t detect.

You closed your eyes for a moment, letting your head dip down while waiting for a sarcastic response. However, no words were spoken. Instead, you felt warm and calloused hands rest on your chin, gently tipping it up so you were forced to meet his gaze. Just as you were about to speak to break the tension, Aramis interrupted. “Can I kiss you?” The words fell from his lips before he had time to contemplate what he was saying.

Before you could think about what he had said, let alone your reaction, your lips were on his. The damp rag in your hand fell to the floor as you placed one of your hands on his cheek as the other made its way into his hair. His good arm found its way to your waist bringing you closer to him. The kiss was slow and gentle and filled with more passion than either of you had ever experienced. with its intensity growing the longer your lips stayed connected.

You were the first to pull away. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, “Aramis… I-I love you… and I know that we are good friends and I don’t want to mess things up and I understand if you don’t feel the same and-” before you could spiral any further you felt his lips on yours once more. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch

“Y/N I have loved you since the day you stitched my leg when I was just a recruit.” He held your face in his hand to ensure you could see his sincerity as he spoke. “You are one of the most amazing people I know. Yes, we are good friends, but I have wanted to be more than that for quite some time.” Pink dusted his cheeks as he confessed to you, “I want to be yours if you will have me, and I would love nothing more than for you to be mine.”

A smile graced your lips, and you wrapped your arms around Aramis’ neck and kissed him once more. As you parted, a giggle fell from you that left Aramis with a confused look, “what’s so funny?”

“Which one of us is telling the captain?”

As always, feedback, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

𝑊𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑎 𝑏𝑒 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑? 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 💜

#aramis x reader #three musketeers #the musketeers #aramis imagines #reader insert #gender neutral reader #gender neutral insert #no beta we die like men

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writesick-lover · 5 months

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Please don't leave

D'Artagnan x fem!reader

⤞ My masterlist ⤝

A/N: Hiii, so yeah, this is basically my first post of a one-shot I wrote like a year ago but I am still proud of it to this day. At first it was written based on D'Artagnan from the movie The Three Musketeers but later on I realised that it works perfectly with the one from the series as well so you got both of them here haha. I also decided to leave this in a 3rd pov despite reader's involvement in this story. Anyway, please enjoy and let me know how you like it ;D

Warning: none it's just fluff

Summary: D'Artagnan and his wife wake up to another morning in their bed until they realise the daunting truth of what is to come.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

Another cold morning had hit the residents of Paris. The early busy streets were haunted by a mysterious fog and the warm breaths of people talking with each other in hopes of buying something for what little they had. Amongst the civilians, a bunch of feathered hats moved around. The musketeers, the pride and joy of the King's army, were up early and ready to protect their country and their King. All of them but one.

She pulled her bedsheets up, trying to hide from the merciless cold that had crept into her usually warm bedroom. She could use the feeling of his body to fight the cold but found no strength to search for his touch as her place in the bed was partially warmed up by her. As if her thoughts called him, his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to his chest. It felt just like the usual morning they were to spend together. Except it wasn't.

The reality hit her like a wild horse and broke all of her dreams of a lovely morning into pieces. "Charles," she croaked. There was no response but she knew he was up, he was a light sleeper, his profession made him to be one. "Charles," she tried again. A sound returned to her voice and finally hit his ears as he snuggled closer to the crook of her neck.

"Oui, mon ange?" he mumbled against her skin, placing a small kiss. It was prickling like a needle as she slowly realized it might have been one of the last kisses she was to receive from him.

"You have to go," her voice shook and she gulped, to swallow the lump in her throat caused by the urge to cry.

He groaned, realizing the truth as well, but choosing to ignore it in favor of more cuddles. "No, we still have time."

She sighed as she glanced at the clock, "No, we don't, the musketeers will be here any minute." She started wiggling, trying to break free from his grip that only tightened, making her break a smile whilst she kept on trying. "I have to prepare you a bath. And get your clothes,"

"No, you don't, I can do it later," he muttered sleepily, pulling her as close as physically possible.

"I do, or you'll have to go through the embarrassment of being dragged out of the bed naked by one of your brothers in arms," she giggled, hitting his hand which had proven to be the right method to make him let go.

"Please don't leave," he begged, setting off a tear down her cheek. However, it quickly dried as she gasped when the freezing air hit her skin, biting into every inch of her naked body.

She quickly dressed herself, and he, unbeknownst to her, was watching her with adoration. All of her motions, the way she tied her hair into a ponytail with a black tie, creating a small bowtie at the top. How she quickly put on her underwear to fight of the spreading goosebumps on her skin, small almost inaudible gasps escaping her lips with each movement. The way she perfectly slipped into the black dress he gave her last winter, the one she wore every time he had to leave her. And after all those times, he learned to despise the dress, wishing he never had given it to her. Wishing she never had to put it on, on another of those mornings.

As she left the room, it was as if a symphony he didn't even realise was enveloping his entire world came to a halt. But then her voice rang across the house and he found himself fighting the cold outside their bed just to get to her. As he washed, she made sure everything was ready for him. She always did. She didn't even forget the small package of food for the way, no matter how many times he had told her that Porthos would bring something. And every time, he made sure to eat everything she packed for him instead of what Porthos had brought.

He was drying himself up when he noticed the unusual silence coming from his significant other. "Why so silent, amour?"

"Just a lot of thoughts," she shrugged, forcing a smile onto her lips, even though her eyes glistened with tears.

His posture softened under her teary gaze, but it didn't stop him from his usual habits. "You don't have to mourn, you know I will be back," he grinned arrogantly, letting out his boyish attitude to reduce her worries. But it was very like him to laugh in the face of Death and then escape, no matter how carelessly he threads the line between life and death. She smiled honestly this time, a small giggle escaping her lips and he wished he could trap it in a jar and take it with him. She opened her mouth to retort back but was interrupted by a sharp knock on the door.

"D'Artagnan, you better not be sleeping or I will break this door down and drag your ass out whether it's naked or not! Athos is already waiting for us on the academy grounds." Aramis' voice roared from the outside. Her eyebrow lifted, glancing at D'Artagnan who was half naked with a towel in his hands. "I suppose you are at the risk of a major embarrassment."

"I'm not if my love makes sure to hold them up for me," he smirked devilishly as she rolled her eyes, already heading for the door. "Sometimes I wish to not do as you say and witness the actual threat getting fulfilled, I think I'd find it more than hilarious," she yelled at him in the middle of her tracks, a mischievous smile, he could see in his mind, painting her lips. "You wouldn't do me that dirty, you love me too much for something like that," he managed to answer while frantically trying to put on his pants.

"Do I really?" she teased, grabbing the door knob and twisting it.

"Hello, gentlemen," she smiled brightly at the two musketeers in front of her. They bowed their heads while holding their hats in an elegant matter, both smiling at her, Aramis appearing to be more joyful than any other time. "My lady."

"Definitely not yours!" D'Artagnan's voice thundered from the other room.

"She will be if you don't come out ready this instant!" Aramis snapped back, throwing a bold wink at the lady of the house. She could only roll her eyes at the cheesy gesture as she leaned on the door frame, preventing the two men from entering any further. She smiled politely. "You will have to forgive me, but I oppose to that idea, unfortunately,"

Aramis grabbed her hand and placed his lips on top of it. "Oh, what a shame, my gorgeous lady," he sighed after holding it for longer than appropriate, only making her chuckle.

"Fortunately!" Charles yelled out again.

"Mon amour, I cannot hold them much longer. Aramis is gonna be all over me if you don't get here soon," a smirk on her face met Aramis' similair one in front of her as Charles D'Artagnan appeared from behind her, accompanied by a loud crash.

He puffed out his chest after his 'graceful' entrance. "Weren't you the one who taught me not to profane the lady?" he send daggers Aramis' way, towering over the two of his friends, "And here you are, dragging my wife into whatever is going on in that head of yours. I think this matter cannot be resolved any other way than a proper fight upon our return," her eyes widened upon the words of her husband as she noticed the challenging sparks in the musketeers' eyes.

"In no way are you fighting after your return. I will be more than thankful to have you come in one piece after those few weeks so don't you even think about getting yourself killed the very next day," she turned around to fix his shirt and coat that was visibly put on in a hurry. However, she did not fail to handle his clothes with rough tugs, a heat rising in his chest from the warning fire in her eyes. "And you better not let him do anything stupid, I know he will try anyways," she turned around again, eyeing the other musketeers who bowed again under the urging flames.

"At your service, my lady," they smirked in Charles' face and set off running when he gave chase and chased them all the way to the front yard and to where the horses were already prepared to set off. She followed them, walking to the front yard slowly with a soft laugh but quieted the second she saw them by the horses. D'Artagnan was still with his feet on the ground and waiting for her with a glint in his eyes. Oh, how she was going to miss his dark loving eyes only ever laid on her and the warmth of his body on all of those winter mornings. Oh, how he was going to miss the sweet, sweet smile of hers and the way her voice sounded between the walls of their house. How he was never looking forward to the deafening silence around him without her presence, despite Porthos' mouth never shutting up during the missions. It was a list of unspoken vows they never told to each other out loud but they could always feel it, the way the world stopped at that very moment.

And without any wait, when she was within his reach, he pulled her into a bittersweet kiss, sending thousands of painful but sweet needles down their lips as both of them knew this may be their last. It was long, full of longing and pain, but mesmerising enough to deafen Aramis' scoff in the back. "Please don't leave," she begged after their lips finally parted, her forehead resting on his. She begged again after he hopped on his horse and she again right before they departed. "You know I will come back," he reassured her. And yet, she kept on begging in silence, hoping that he would keep true to his word again just as he did up until now.

♦️ ♦️ ♦️ ♦️

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fandom-imagines-stories · 5 months

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Heaven

Aramis x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 6968

Part One; Part Two

Summary: The final hunt begins and Athos and the reader rush to find the others before Aramis’s recklessness leads him into Visage’s clutches.

Notes: Finally! This trilogy has taken me a while to write, so I hope you guys have enjoyed it! Since this part switches around the reader and Aramis a lot, it jumps quite a bit, so I hope it isn’t too confusing. (Also, I can't believe how long this is compared to the others. oops)

Warnings: Violence, assault, death (some intense stuff, so just be aware. I tried to keep the opening scene impactful without being super descriptive)

More Musketeers imagines: HERE

“I demand to know where you are taking me.” You kept your tone as calm as possible as the carriage jerked and jostled over the unknown road.

The man who’d dragged you from your rooms made no reply, keeping his indifferent gaze toward the window. Trees loomed like soldiers in the twilight, the sun sinking ever further into the horizon. Abandoning you.

You wanted to argue more, but your voice had gone hoarse from shouting. Surely your fists had bruised form banging on the window. But he couldn’t hear you. Whatever your treacherous stable boy had told him had forced him away. Still, you held onto the hope that Aramis would come for you. A rat like Visage may have power, but even his brigade of idiotic followers lacked the skill to take on the musketeers.

“I know that Visage put you up to this,” you scoffed, eyeing your riding companion. “But whatever ‘claims’ he believes he has are nothing more than delusions. He has spouted nothing but lies ever since the death of his mother.”

While you weren’t sure where you had been taken, you knew it was further than you liked. You’d been traveling since early afternoon and you hadn’t the faintest idea where you were or why you were here. What could Visage possibly be planning?

You were trying to discern which direction you’d traveled when the carriage abruptly halted. The man with you grabbed onto your hands and tied them with a rope. He knotted it so tightly you were sure it cut into your flesh.

“Enough of this,” you exclaimed as you were shoved out of the carriage. “What crimes have I committed? What right do you have to imprison me and cart me off like a common thief? I am a personal friend of the queen and I order you to-”

‘Oh enough with your screaming.” The cold voice sent shivers down your spine. “No one can hear you out here.”

You turned slowly, lifting your chin and blinking back any fear in your eyes. The man you’d suspected scowled back at you.

You smirked. “Ah yes, I thought I smelled vermin.”

Any smugness in your expression was instantly slapped away, the sting of Visage's hand radiation from your cheek. Fuming, you opened your mouth to speak, but he roughly took hold of your chin.

“You have humiliated me for the last time,” he snarled. Visage shoved you back and you hit the forest floor hard, knocking the breath out of your lungs so that when he kicked you, you couldn’t even scream.

Three of his men stood by and watched as he switched between his foot and his riding crop. You tried not to give him the satisfaction of watching you cry, but tears flowed with your permission. You were too delirious from the pain to care after a while.

When you thought you’d surely faint, Visage took you by the hair and lifted you off the ground.

You spat in his face with the strength you still had.

He threw you back down and took the riding crop to your hands, bound in front of you still with a rope that had turned red from bleeding wrists. Every hit sent an unimaginable pain up your arms, shaking your whole body and shattering your heart. Your hands that were once kissed and praised for their delicate beauty by Aramis. The hands of an artist. By the time he dragged you to your feet, you couldn’t feel anything but the throbbing in your fingers and bloodied knuckles.

Visage nodded to his men and they pulled you up to a large cedar, pinning you back and tying you around the middle. Your cloak felt suffocating, pressing the sketchbook in your bodice into your chest.

“It is lucky your mother is not alive to see you now,” you said through the blood on your lips.

“Do not speak of her,” Visage snapped. “You preyed upon my mother’s generosity, all the while spitting on her family name.”

“You fail to remember that I have never been betrothed to you. Your mother knew this. She knew my heart belonged elsewhere.” The thought of him made your voice crack. “She knew my heart belonged to Aramis.”

The men finished tying the rope.

“It will always belong to Aramis.”

Visage slapped you again.

You took a deep breath and stared him in the eye. “I love Aramis.”

Again.

“I love Aramis!”

His hand gripped your throat, pushing your head back against the bark.

“This I swear to you, you ungrateful bitch,” he sneered, leaning so his lips were by your ear. “I will tear him limb from limb for the embarrassment the two of your sordid relationship has caused me. And I will revel in every second.”

He stood back, taking his pistol from his belt.

You knew then that you didn’t want to die.

“Aramis!” You cried, hoping that the heavens would hear you.

“It seems like such a waste.” Visage loaded his weapon. “There was a time when all I could think about was your touch. The way the dresses my mother bought you fit your body.”

“You will never get away with this,” you exclaimed. “I am friends with the queen and the best fighters of Captain Treville’s regiment. They will see justice is done.”

“That’s where you're wrong, Y/N.” He took aim. “Nobody will miss a musketeer’s whore.”

You tried to yell one last time, but with the final shot, Aramis’s name died on your lips.

With no rain and with this part of the forest being relatively remote from Pinon, there was nothing to wash away the blood. The dark, dried stains coated the leaves on the ground and left horrible marks on the tree where you’d been bound. Looking at it felt as though you were being brutalized all over again. But when you thought of Visage’s sneer or the sting of his hand, you only imagined them directed toward your beloved Aramis.

Any harm that should come to him would be put squarely on your shoulders.

“This is where it happened,” you said quietly.

Athos was stopping to give the horses water. He looked over at you with a grim expression.

“It’s a miracle they found you.”

You shook your head. “It’ll be a miracle if we stop him. If Aramis and the others go after him tonight…”

“You underestimate us,” Athos tried to give you a smile to reassure you, but he was never known for his ability to comfort. “We are musketeers after all. They won’t charge in without a plan. Besides, they don’t know where Visage and his men are.”

“I do.” You turned your back to the tree of your torture, holding your head high with new determination. “Madam de Visage owned an orchard just east of the city. I’d bet my life that’s where Visage is hiding while he plots Aramis’s death.”

Though you tried, you still couldn’t hide the growing fear in your voice.

Athos walked across the clearing and put a hand on your shoulder. “Luckily we will be there to take him off guard and put an end to his schemes.”

“I hope you’re right,” you sighed, shaking your head. “Oh, Athos. This is all my fault. If I hadn’t defied him, humiliated him, then-”

“Then you would have married a foul man you hate and abandoned the one you love, living out whatever days Visage allowed you to live in utter loneliness and misery,” he reasoned. “The only one to blame here is Visage. And we will see to it that justice is dealt and that you may reunite with Aramis.”

His blue eyes bore into yours until you couldn’t take it. You lowered your gaze to the forest floor.

Athos sighed. He knew that you were still warring with yourself over your return and he was fairly certain as to why. You didn’t see yourself as the same woman Aramis loved and you were afraid, when he saw you now, changed and broken, that he wouldn’t not love you. But after the past week of his friend’s utter despair, Athos knew that there was nothing that could take Aramis’s heart from you. Not even death.

He clutched the bloodstained locket like a rosary. Aramis stood a ways from the other two while they gave their horses time to rest and their lungs a moment to breathe. The trio had been searching all afternoon for Visage’s camp and, though the place the stableboy had indicated showed signs of a brief settlement, Visage and his men were long gone now.

“Tell me where to go,” Aramis muttered, holding the necklace to his lips as if in prayer. “Help me find him, my love.”

D’Artagnan nudged Porthos in the arm. “He’s doing it again,” he whispered.

“What?”

“I’m worried about him.”

“We all are.”

“I know, but look at him.” The youngest of the group motioned to their friend’s tense shoulders, trembling frame, and perpetual fighting stance. “Even if we find Visage, will it matter?”

“Y/N deserves justice,” Porthos growled.

“And I want to get it as much as any of us,” D’Artagnan sighed, “but what is the pursuit of it going to do to him? What will be left?”

Aramis stiffened, having pretended not to hear their conversation. He turned around.

“Let’s go. We still have a few hours of daylight. If we don’t find anything, we’ll return to the boy and force him to tell us the truth,” he said, mounting his horse.

“He told us all he knows,” D’Artagnan reasoned. “Scaring him more won’t do us any good.”

Aramis took off his hat to run a hand through his hair. “You’re right. It would just be a waste of time. We’ll just have to search through the night.”

D’Artagnan’s worried expression deepened, casting a glance to Porthos, who took a deep breath and nodded.

“Let’s find this bastard,” he muttered, though the concern he shared with D’Artagnan was becoming clearer in his voice.

Aramis urged his tired horse on with the two others trailing behind him.

They traveled for several more hours until their horses simply refused to go any further, much to Aramis’s annoyance, who was usually very gentle with the animals. Porthos plucked a couple of apples from one of the trees and tossed one at his friend. Aramis stared at the ripe red fruit.

“Wait,” he gasped. “How far east have we traveled?”

D’Artagnan shrugged. “Ten, eleven miles. Why?”

Aramis thought of a map you had once shown him of the Visage’s property. The orchard.

“He’s here,” Aramis said. “He must be.”

His companions exchanged the same worried look from before.

“How can you be sure?” Porthos asked.

“This is his mother’s land. The land he inherited. He’s a coward, he would have gone somewhere familiar. He must be here.” He drew his sword.

“We should think about this,” D’Artagnan interjected. “He practically has a small army working for him. We can’t just barge into their camp.”

“I know that,” Aramis snapped. “I had a plan before you three insisted on coming with me.” He paused, remembering the absence of their fourth friend. The others seemed to notice as well.

“Right,” Porthos mused, “where is Athos?”

You tried to urge your horse forward, the forest growing darker and darker by the minute.

“We should stop,” Athos said, slowing his horse from its trot. “We won’t arrive back to Paris before morning anyway, we might as well get a few hours of rest.”

“At best, Visage and Aramis are still hunting each other in circles,” you said. “At worst…” You shook your head and pulled on the reins. “We cannot stand to lose any more time.”

“I told you. Aramis will have a plan. Even if he didn’t, D’Artagnan and Porthos can reason with him to make one. He is not alone.” His eyes softened. “And neither are you.”

“Honestly, Athos,” you scoffed, reluctantly dismounting from your horse and sitting at the base of a tree. “You can stop looking at me like I’m going to break.” Your statement was not supported by the trembling of your hands or the way you avoided his gaze, but your tone was laced with determination. “I have to find Visage.”

Athos sat beside you with a light chuckle and a shake of his head.

“He’s been saying the same thing.” He plucked a blade of grass and held it to the light. “Both of you, so willing to throw yourself into harm's way to save each other, even if he believes he’s doing it for your memory alone.” Athos dropped the grass, watching it flit back down to the ground. “Love.”

“You say it as if you know it yourself.”

He shook his head. “Not anymore.”

You laid your head on his shoulder. Staring at your hands, you removed your leather gloves, wincing as the fabric grazed your scabbing wounds and bruises. No matter how hard you tried, you could not make them still, for they twitched painfully with every breath.

“You were right, Athos,” you whispered. “I am afraid that when I see him again… I won’t be the woman he wants anymore.”

Athos leaned his head back against the bark, drawing his arm around you a little tighter. And though he didn’t say anything, you took comfort in his reassuring silence. He knew there was nothing he could do to dissuade your troubled thoughts any more than you could banish his painful memories.

So instead, you both slept while, somewhere on the other side of Paris, gunshots echoed through the trees.

They found them in the dark of night. A few seemed under the heavy sleep of drink, but there were still some more alert standing guard. Visage was nowhere in sight. Any exhaustion plaguing the three men dissipated with a new wave of fury-fueled adrenaline.

A figure appeared from the largest tent, bottle in one hand and sword in the other. Even in the pitch black, the man’s arrogant swagger and barking voice gave him away.

Visage.

Aramis stepped forward.

D’Artagnan grabbed his arm, raising a brow.

“Surprise is everything,” he said, recalling his companion’s words from years past.

Aramis took a breath and nodded, though every nerve burned. Just one shot was all he needed. All of this could be over. He remembered his friends’ concerns. Once this was over, what would become of him?

Did it even matter anymore?”

“Those four on the left, they’re the drunkest,” Porthos pointed out. “They’ll be easy to deal with.”

“That still leaves twenty against three. Inebriated or not,” D’Artagnan sighed.

“All that matters is taking down Visage,” Aramis said.

“And,” Porthos started, “not getting killed in the process.” He shrugged, “At least until Athos gets here.”

Aramis tensed with a new surge of frustration. “Where is he? What could possibly have kept him from something as important as this?”

The other two couldn’t answer, for they had the same questions.

A branch cracked behind them and all three bolted upward, turning to face a wall of Visage’s men. Pistols clicked, ready to fire.

Aramis went one way, D’Artagnan the other, and Porthos down the middle. Ten men attacked from the trees, followed by the others from the camp. The musketeers fought valiantly and impressively, killing several of their opponents before Porthos was struck with the back of a musket.

“Porthos!” D’Artagnan exclaimed.

Five men surrounded him, forcing him to drop his weapon. One slashed a sword at his side.

Another group grabbed Aramis from behind and pulled his arms behind his back until he screamed.

“I’ve heard of the recklessness of the musketeers, but I must say I expected better,” Visage called over the commotion as the three were overtaken.

D’Artagnan glanced over at his captive friend grimly as the men pinned them both to the ground. “Surprise would have been everything.”

With his arms still behind him, they shoved Aramis’ face into the dirt while his anger swelled in his chest, and tried to jerk free.

“Don’t worry,” Visage sneered, now standing over him, “you’ll be with your whore soon enough.”

He looked the man in the eye, brought up his heel, and kicked Aramis in the back of the head.

The world and his hopes of revenge went black.

Visage let out a hearty, despicable laugh, pushing Aramis’ face further into the mud with his foot.

“Get him up,” he ordered. “We’ll take him to the tree where that sniveling girl died. Let them hang there together.” He flourished a hand and smiled. “I’m feeling poetic.”

“You bastard!” D’Artagnan growled.

The men stood him up as they lifted Porthos and Aramis into a cart nearby. He watched his friends go with a sinking heart. He had to do something. But he couldn’t fight this many men on his own, no matter how much more skilled with a sword he may be. Then, it struck him.

Athos.

Athos would know what to do.

But how could he find him?

Visage slapped him across the cheek. The sting in his face added to the growing ache in his side, but if he could just get his arms free…

“I can see why she left you,” D’Artagnan chuckled. “What woman would choose a man who lets others do his work for him? What woman could ever want to hide behind this army of mindless brutes?” He leaned forward and spat in Visage’s face. “If you want to fight, then fight me. One on one. Like men.”

The other man’s face reddened with fury. He snapped his fingers. The men holding D’Artagnan released him.

His stomach churned as he glanced at his unconscious companions one more time. How could he just run? How could he leave them here and flee like a coward after accusing Visage of being the very same? D’Artagnan closed his eyes and remembered Aramis’ words.

“All that matters is taking down Visage.”

If he could get help, they could defeat Visage and still, maybe, live to honor the woman they were doing this all for.

So he ran.

As D’Artagnan dashed into the trees, a group of men started to follow him, but Visage stopped them, his laughter booming in the youngest musketeer’s ears.

“Let the coward go,” Visage said. “He’s not the one I want.” He looked to the cart and smirked. “Now move! All of you!” The darkness in his eyes returned. Hungry and wrathful. “We can get to the spot by morning and make it a musketeer’s grave.”

“Hold still,” you whispered. The needle shook in your hand and you tried to force it still.

“I’m not the one I’m worried about,” Aramis smirked. He took your arm in one hand and put the other under your chin. “You’ll do fine. I’m right here to guide you.” He tried to keep the nerves out of his voice. Frankly, he was used to being on the other side of this situation and he didn’t care to have it the other way.

The wound on his chest continued to slowly seep with the deep scarlet liquid overtaking your vision.

“Just take a breath and steady your hands,” he instructed, releasing your arm but keeping a hand on your cheek. He nodded.

You began.

Aramis breathed through a hiss as the needle pierced his flesh and you muttered a string of apologies.

“It’s alright. Just keep going.”

“This is ridiculous,” you almost laughed. “I’m not the one with a slash in my chest. I should be comforting you, my love.” You leaned down and kissed his forehead. Aramis directed your lips down to his, letting his kiss reassure you.

You continued stitching until the wound was closed and the blood more or less stopped. Aramis craned his neck to examine your work.

“I don’t believe I could have done it better,” he grinned.

You were glad to see the color return to his face. When he’d come to you, he was pale and shaking from adrenaline. Whatever fight he’d won, was won with a cost.

You kissed him again, this time with all of your fear and concern and startlement. Aramis’ hand cupped the back of your head, pulling you closer.

It settled then, in both of your minds, that this was more than a mere flirtation. What began as little more than a series of private rendezvous in your bedroom had turned into something else entirely. Neither of you had intended it. In fact, it frightened both of you so much that you had to break apart to hide the panic from the other person.

You moved to the other side of your bedroom and stood before your vanity, where a bowl of water turned pink as you scrubbed your lover’s blood from your fingers.

Aramis watched you in the reflection and conquered his own cowardice.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words barely making it past his lips.

You froze.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. But, lying there in your bed, with a wound over his heart, he realized that perhaps this was exactly what was meant to be.

He spoke louder. “I love you.”

“Aramis…” It took only seconds, but to you, your mind seemed to reel for hours. How could you put it into words, for those simple three didn’t seem like enough? There wasn’t a way to describe what he’d become for you. He was a wild, untamable, excitement that still somehow grounded you. Both the shelter and the storm in every wonderful way.

You crossed the room and sat beside him. And, as you watched his dark, adoring eyes, you answered his unspoken question.

“I love you,” you said. “Of course, I love you.”

Your hands were steady now as you took his face in your palms and pulled his lips to yours.

Against your skin, he whispered the same, sweet phrase you’d heard time and again, and yet, no matter how often you’d heard it, it still lit a soft flame in your heart.

“Tu es mon paradis.”

D’Artagnan did not know where he was running, but somehow, he knew it was the right direction. He could feel it. The image of Porthos and Aramis in that cart fueled his sprint, even after his lungs felt as though they’d burst from exhaustion and his legs wanted to give out. Even when the wound in his side continued to throb and bleed to the point of concern.

He would find Athos. They would get help. They would bring the wrath of the entire regiment down on the scum Visage.

He wasn’t sure how long it had been when he heard the distinct thumps of hooves riding over fallen leaves.

He ducked behind a tree and braced himself. Luckily, Visage’s men hadn’t had the opportunity to take all of his weapons, leaving him with a single pistol and a dueling dagger. D’Artagnan again saw his friends overtaken and despairing. He would at least take out a few of Visage’s mindless soldiers on his way to Athos.

D’Artagnan took a deep breath, loaded his pistol, and leaped out into the path with a furious cry.

The horses alerted and reared back.

D’Artagnan aimed.

“Wait!” A familiar voice shouted.

The youngest musketeer met eyes with the clear blue eyes of his noble friend and a sigh of relief left his lips.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” he grinned.

Athos met him with a grim stare.

“D’Artagnan?”

The other figure dismounted from their horse, still hidden by the animal’s body. But D’Artagnan knew that voice.

You stepped out into the moonlight and D’Artagnan looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Of course, for him, he had.

“You’re alive?” He gasped.

You answered by taking him in your arms, the darkness in your chest lifting enough for laughter. His arms enveloped you, still stiff with shock. He pulled away to look at your face.

“But how is this possible? How could…” He trailed off, dark eyes wide and glistening.

You laid a gloved hand on his cheek. “I will have to explain later. I’m afraid we don’t have time.” Your eyes scanned the trees behind him. Athos did the same, realizing at the same moment as you. You looked into D’Artagnan’s eyes. “Where is Aramis?”

His gaze fell to the ground.

Your heart sank.

“Where is he?”

The youngest musketeer gulped. “He and Porthos were taken by Visage. I barely escaped.” Guilt washed over his features. “I only ran so I could find help. So I could find Athos. I didn’t want to leave them. I swear. I didn’t…” He trailed off with shame in his voice.

You put your hands on his shoulders. “If you hadn’t escaped, you wouldn’t have found us and all three of you would be dead by now,” you reasoned, though panic was rising in your throat. “The best thing now is for you to help us find them before Visage-” You stopped, unable to even think the words.

“Did Visage say where he was taking them?” Athos asked.

D’Artagnan tried to gather his thoughts, mind still reeling from your survival. He closed his eyes and heard that awful man’s instructions.

“He wants to kill him at the spot that he killed-” He opened his eyes, finding yours. “Well, where he thought he killed you.”

“That means they’re coming this way,” you exclaimed. “We can stop them on the road.”

“Wait.” Athos held up a hand. His eyes darted between the two of you. A thoughtful smirk played on his features. “I may have a better idea.”

Athos gathered the two of you and noted every detail, every possible variation. D’Artagnan’s face lit up with a confident smile. He patted his friend on the back. Despite Visage’s numbers, it could actually work.

You only prayed it wouldn’t be too late.

Aramis awoke, tied back to back with Porthos, in a wagon surrounded by at least a dozen men on foot and at least half that on horseback. He pulled at his restraints.

“Tried that,” Porthos huffed. “No use. They know their knots.”

“Where’s D’Artagnan?” Aramis asked.

His friend did not answer.

A hopeful man may have believed their young companion had escaped. But Aramis was no longer a hopeful man.

Aramis hung his head, the claws of defeat sinking into his chest.

“I shouldn’t have brought you into this,” he sighed. “Visage is my fight and now D’Artagnan is-”

“We don’t know that,” Porthos interrupted. He nudged Aramis’s shoulder. “And don’t start on that again. Your fight is my fight. Always has been, always will be.” Porthos leaned back as best he could, trying to give his friend a reassuring glance. “All for one, remember?”

Aramis couldn’t bring himself to respond.

Porthos just nodded, having enough hope for both of them. “We’ll figure it out.” His tone darkened. “And then we’ll get Visage.” Porthos’s shoulders tensed, searching the riders around them for their villainous leader. While he let his anger keep his head clear, the same couldn’t be said for his fellow captive.

Aramis stared out at the trees behind them.

Did Visage tie D’Artagnan up, shoot him, and beat him the way he had to Y/N? Another life gone… because of him.

Hours must have passed, for the sun had begun to peak over the horizon. He watched it with a heavy heart and a numb mind. Perhaps it would be his last sunrise. Worse, perhaps he wanted it to be.

“This is it,” Visage announced.

He sneered at the empty clearing. Animals must have picked the body apart and dragged it off. Too bad. He would have liked to see the musketeer’s face when he looked upon the broken form of the woman he’d stolen.

The wagon halted. Men roughly grabbed the two musketeers and pulled them to the ground. It took four to subdue Porthos as they cut them apart.

Visage grabbed Aramis by the hair and forced his face toward a tree with splintered, rust-colored bark.

“This is where she cried for you,” he sneered, pulling his head back until Aramis winced. “Where she bled and begged. Where the heart you stole stopped beating.” He threw Aramis down hard enough that when he hit the ground, he saw spots.

He almost thought he saw movement in the trees behind Visage, but it must have been the impact of the tree trunk against his temple.

“And now,” Visage pulled out his pistol. “It’s where I will put an end to your miserable, dishonorable, foul life.” He looked at the man before him with hate in his eyes and aimed at Aramis’ heart.

“No!” Porthos cried, almost breaking free. Another man had to help hold him.

Your hand shook more than it ever had before.

“It has to be you.” Athos had said. “D’Artagnan and I must take on the other men. You will have to kill Visage.”

But your hands wouldn’t allow you. You could hardly keep the pistol in your grip. It was as if Visage was crushing them all over again. Then you heard Aramis speak.

“I love Y/N. I love her with every breath I’ve ever had. I love her with every beat of my heart. And I will love her after my soul has left this body because I know she loved me all the same.” Aramis took your necklace from his pocket and brought it to his lips. He stared up at Visage, whose hand quivered with rage. Aramis accepted his fate. “And not even death can take that from us.”

Visage cocked his weapon.

You took a breath, steadied your hands, and fired.

A shot rang through the air and a mass pushed Aramis against the tree, slamming his already pounding head against the bark. Blurred chaos broke out around him. All he could see was light.

The pressure on his chest lifted and another figure appeared above him, enveloped by the rising sun.

“Please wake up, my love,” said the angel. “Please, Aramis.”

A smile spread across his lips. “I never believed I deserved heaven.” He lifted a hand to your face. “But I must be there.”

You took his hand in yours and, forgetting the battle around you, crashed your lips into his. All sound dropped away. Everything seemed still. All vanished except for you, Aramis, and the rays of the sun.

“You’re alive, Aramis,” you breathed against his lips. You pulled back, running your still-gloved fingers through his hair. “I’m alive.”

Aramis stared up at you, his fingers still grazing your cheek, not believing that it was truly your flesh that he felt. Then, the shock passed, and joyous tears took its place.

But your reunion was short-lived, for the body beside you stirred and you felt the sharpness of a blade slide across your arm. You held up a hand to defend yourself and another latched onto it with crushing strength. You cried out, feeling your bones whine in his iron grasp.

“Impossible!” Visage shrieked, eyes blazing. He lunged at you, but Aramis rolled on top of you, shielding you with his body and dodging Visage’s strike.

The battle around you continued. Porthos, now freed, tried to keep his focus on his opponent, though his gaze kept slipping over to you. After a moment of surprise, a victorious smile spread across his face and he fought with new vigor, a strong battle cry roaring through the trees. Athos and D’Artagnan were keeping Visage’s men at bay while their leader stumbled to his feet.

“You have crawled up from Hell,” he spat. Blood dripped down his chin and seeped from the wound in his chest. “I killed you. I watched you die on this very spot. Demon. That’s what you are.”

“If I am anything, it is a phantom of your own making, Visage.” You stepped towards him. Aramis tried to keep you behind him, but you gave him a reassuring nod.

Visage couldn’t hurt you now.

“It isn’t possible.” He stumbled. He held Aramis’s confiscated sword in his hand and raised it. “You are mine. Your life belonged to me. Your death is my right.”

He moved, hands trembling weakly.

You were faster. Your sword plunged into his heart, eliciting a final gasp from his lips. He leaned forward, sinking further onto your blade. You glared at the instigator of all of your pain, the master behind your nightmares, and knew that you had one.

“I belong to no one.”

You drew your weapon out of his chest swiftly and watched his body fall to the ground where he believed he had killed you.

How’s that for poetic?

You let your sword fall to your feet, blood-spattered metal glistening amongst the leaves. Something inside you burst and the emotion behind it drowned you. Relief and fear, anger and shame, love and hatred, all combined to fuel the tears that flowed freely down your face. More than ever, looking at the body of the man who made you into a killer, you knew that you were broken.

The rest of the battle subsided- the head of the snake was severed. Visage’s men surrendered to the musketeers and Porthos and D’Artagnan gathered them into the cart to take them back to be tried for the attempted murder of several of the king’s men, as well as a close friend of Queen Anne. Visage would pay for his crimes, even after death.

You collected yourself and removed your gloves. The bruised and scabbed state of your hands still appalled you, a symbol of everything that had been shattered inside you. You threw your gloves onto Visage’s chest, now forever still.

“It’s real,” Aramis said, voice soft and breaking. “You’re here.”

You crossed your arms, hiding your hands as best you could. Fear kept you from turning around. The joy of seeing him had once again been replaced by the terror that kept you from revealing yourself sooner. You lifted your eyes and met the cool blue of your traveling companion the past few days. Porthos and D’Artagnan stood beside him.

Athos saw your fear and opened his mouth to speak only to close it again. Instead, he just nodded. It gave you enough strength to face what you were truly afraid of.

But you didn’t even have the chance to turn all the way before you were taken up into Aramis’s arms, strong and yet shaking with emotion.

“I had wanted him to kill me,” Aramis breathed against your hair. “I did not want to walk in a world that you had been taken from. I thought I’d lost you. I thought…” He pulled away, smiling brightly through his tears.

“I may not be the woman you loved anymore,” you cried, broken hands gripping the leather of his coat. “I’m afraid he has damaged me beyond repair. He has taken everything from me and he almost took you.”

In the clarity after the chaos, he could see the welts and bruises, the forming scars and cruelly made marks on your skin. Aramis gently ran his finger over the bruise on your cheek, wiping away your tears.

“Tu seras toujours mon paradis,” he whispered. Aramis kissed the bruise, then the cut on your lip, then the gash across your brow. “Not even God can change that.” He pulled you closer. “I have been granted the miracle of holding you again, my love.” He kissed your lips, a reaffirming action that filled you both with warmth. “And I don’t intend to take it for granted."

“Aramis,” you sighed, letting yourself melt into him.

The three others joined you. As soon as you left Aramis’s embrace, you were pulled into Porthos’s.

“I knew it’d take more than a bullet to stop ya,” he cheered, nearly lifting you off the ground.

Aramis put a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, but she’s still injured, so be careful.”

“It’s alright.” You hugged the strong musketeer back. “I missed you too, Porthos.”

Utter happiness and relief surrounded you, lightening your spirits and lifting your heart. Aramis kept an arm around your waist, your closeness helping him convince himself this was real.

“We should go,” Athos said. “Captain Treville will want to hear a report and I’m sure the queen will be relieved to know her favorite artist is alive and well.”

The musketeers nodded. It was decided that another team of men would come out and dig proper graves for Visage and his fallen soldiers. D’Artagnan gathered the horses while Porthos manned the cart.

“Alright, you lot!” He boomed. “Anyone tries anything and you’ll be joining your master in Hell!”

Needless to say, the men obeyed.

You remained behind doubt and worry returning. Aramis stayed with you, brows furrowed with concern.

“What is it, darling?” He asked.

You stared down at your hands. They were shaking again. “My hands. I don’t know if I’ll ever paint again.” Your eyes fell to Visage once more. “Another thing he took from me.”

Aramis stepped around you, blocking your view of the body and bringing your hands to his lips, kissing them gently as he had your other wounds.

“These hands saved my life,” he said. “I’m sure they will endure, just as you have.”

Keeping your hands in his, the two of you walked together, leading you back home.

One Year Later

“Would all of you just please hold still!” You giggled, peeking up over your canvas.

“Aren’t you nearly finished?” D’Artagnan whined. “It’s been hours.”

“Yeah, my limbs are all seizing up,” Porthos added.

Aramis rolled his eyes. “Great art takes time, my friends. Let her work.” He met your gaze and winked.

The four of them stood together, noble and daring in their uniforms, but lacking the stiff detachment that many soldier’s portraits often had. They loved each other and you tried to capture that with every stroke. D’Artagnan was right. The painting had actually been done for the past ten minutes, but you enjoyed teasing them.

All four pairs of eyes snapped to the door and they fell into a bow.

Your brush fell to your side with a huff. “Boys, I told you not to-”

“How is it coming?” The queen’s voice sounded from behind you.

You whirled around and curtseyed, face reddening. “It’s just about complete, Your Majesty.”

Anne appeared beside you, admiring your work over your shoulder. Her smile brightened with awe.

“It’s beautiful,” she praised, laying an affectionate hand on your arm. “It’ll make a wonderful wedding present.”

Aramis beamed from across the room.

Porthos held up a hand. “Speaking of which.” An excited grin spread across his and D’Artagnan’s faces. The two broke away from the others and hurried to the large table in the corner.

“I told you not to move,” you said.

“This’ll only take a second.” Athos followed them and Aramis walked to you.

“They wouldn’t tell me either,” your fiance smirked. He stood on his toes, trying to peek over the top to see the painting. You swatted at his nose with your brush.

“You will see it when it’s finished.”

“It is finished,” the queen laughed. “It is perfect.” She motioned for Aramis to come around the easel.

“Well, now you’ve ruined my fun.” You gave Anne a mock pout.

Aramis wrapped an arm around your waist and gazed at your work with loving admiration.

The painting depicted the four musketeers grouped together like brothers. In front of them, you had painted a rendition of yourself working at the canvas, painting the same image. That, of course, had been his plan. While you had just wanted a normal portrait of him and his companions, he had insisted that you include yourself, somehow.

“You’re facing away.” He noted.

“Well, I can’t very well paint my own face while I’m looking at all of yours, hm?”

He nuzzled your cheek. “I suppose I’ll just have to commission an artist’s self-portrait so you can see how lovely you are, hm?”

“We’ll see.”

It had taken a long time for you to allow yourself to look in the mirror. The idea of painting a reflection of your face was not something you had in mind quite yet.

The three others returned, holding a box and a scroll.

“You’ll have plenty of time to work on it here,” Anne smiled.

Athos held out the box while the other two unrolled the scroll. It was a blueprint. A blueprint for an artist’s studio and a home to match.

Aramis’s jaw fell and you turned to the queen.

“What is this?”

“Consider it a wedding present of my own to the both of you.”

Porthos cleared his throat.

“Our present,” Anne corrected. “It was these noble gentlemen’s idea. I merely funded it.”

“Which was greatly appreciated, Your Majesty,” Athos said. He bowed again, the others following suit.

“I don’t know how to ever repay you,” Aramis said. “Any of you.” He pulled you fully into his arms. His miracle. His world. “Thank you.”

“After everything the two of you went through, it is the least I can do to contribute to your future happiness.” Anne retrieved a quill from your station and handed it to you. “It shall be a great house and a great house needs a name.”

Aramis chuckled. “I am no nobleman, Your Majesty.”

“You are all more deserving than any nobleman I’ve ever met,” she argued. “Believe me, this is more than deserved.” She leaned to you. “Besides, it’s fun.”

You looked to your fiance and to his friends- your friends- and beamed. You took the quill in your hand, now bearing a simple and perfect ring promising you to the man you loved. Aramis smiled and kissed your cheek, standing behind you as you signed your future home’s title.

Heaven.

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

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