#bbc enjolras x fem!reader

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Seventeen

Summary: Memories like ghosts visit Enjolras and his girl. Enjolras is about to embark on something that there is no turning back from.

Notes/Warnings: a bit short! Wanted to focus on Enjolras…and his girl before the wave of violence that is coming. Also..tried to add some more of a history to Enjolras. Strictly from my imagination.

Thank you, for reading! Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

Enjolras, managed to sleep a few hours and as dawn broke, with some cool water he splashed his face to wake him further. Lighting a candle gave his small room some warmth.

Rubbing his hands together, he opened his razor. Easily, he sliced away what he did not wish to be on his any longer. Before he’d go to a barber, but these days he didn’t want anyone that close to his throat. In the dim, sad excuse of the mirror he made sure his goatee looked sharp and groomed. Once more he splashed water on his face to rinse of that hair that still wanted to cling to his face.

He eyed, the blue bottle that sat beside the mirror. It was one of the very few connections to his old life. It made him remember his mother and father.

When the first tuffs of growth on his face appeared, his father took him to his personal barber. It was there he learned how to use a razor and was allow to chose a fragrant splash. He had chosen the bottle at first for its brilliant shade of blue, when he removed the stopper the scent that had been hidden floated to his nose and made him smile.

That day, his father had clapped him on the back. He had told him, he was now one step closer to being a man, a proper gentleman. It was then he finally felt his father’s love. Before he had always felt like a nuisance. His father had always complained that his nose buried too much in books and not life.

Enjolras, squeezed his eyes shut at the memory. He could still hear his father’s rage when he had announced he had decided to give his life over to France. That would be his betrothed. That his sister would and could be the one to give them heirs. His mother cried, and his father threw him out, swearing he’d never allow him back onto the estate.

Things had taken time to get settled on his booted feet. His mother far gentler, would give him wrapped foods from the Ines, the family’s beloved cook. She still did on occasion. Or would make sure that the family lawyer would give him money when needed.

He swallowed, in the span of no more then two days, he tried to imagine what would happen, if he brought you home to the estate. The daughter of a merchant of the high seas, what would they have thought. He’d like to think his mother would think it was terribly romantic and exciting. He couldn’t begin to assume what his father would do.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he grabbed his scarlet scarf, he snapped the fabric. He tied and twisted the fabric so that the knot would not easily come undone. He grimaced at his reflection.

Today, he could only hope he cut the image of the man you loved. Especially, if they fates were going to trim his thread short. If that were to be his fate today, and you had to see him when he was already on his way to the heavens. He hoped he died with dignity.

Absentmindedly, his hand was drawn to the red ribbon you had tied on one of the loops of his vest. He pressed his lips together, as he looked down at it. He hoped that he would see you tonight, and not as a ghost. Quickly he looped the buttons and snuffed out the candle.

Dawn, was still a purple, bluish haze as he was leaving his loft. Sticking to the alley, he went to the agreed upon place. Walking into the warehouse, seeing some food, he tore off a piece of bread and took one of the slabs of cheese.

He was grateful that Despiat. Yesterday, he had given them a fantastic array of knives they could use when needed. But he also supplied them a place for him and his comrades for their discussions at his tavern and also brought them food when he could. Glancing around, seeing Courfeyrac he went over to him.

Sleep still clung to his face, and he wasn’t the only one; Enjolras noticed. He patted his friend on the back, “Better wake up comrade in less then two hours the procession will be starting up.”

His friend chuckled, “I’ll be awake by then. I promise.” A half smiled crinkled his eyes. “Though talk about being awake, we better go check on Marius.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Enjolras, finished the last of the bread and cheese. “We can grab Grantaire along the way.”

******

Regardless of what you did today could get your mind away from Enjolras’s words.

But angel, but love I may be facing battle tomorrow and make you widower by days end.

You helped Greta bang out the drapes. Read in the study while Mama, knitted. You even, polished some of the metal pieces mama had thought it best to hold onto after Father’s passing.

Thankfully, you did have the excuse of not being completely well, so you did disappear to your room. At least there, you could actually allow how upset you were on your face. You did not have to plaster on a smile.

Sitting by your window, you wrapped your light blue scarf around your scarf shoulders.

Sighing, you still remembered that rainy night. The warehouse door had been so heavy. He had turned to look at you in the flickering light of torches and candles. A curl fell into his face as he strode over, his black boots making the only sound. You still could remember, the puffy shirt and ebony vest.

He was the first man to ever kneel before you as he retrieved your scarf from the floor. At the time, you could have sworn you saw streaks of gold in his brown eyes as he handed your scarf back to you.

You pulled the scarf tighter around you.

Your heart fluttered at the memory of how he had pulled the scarf free of pooling around your waist as you sat with him in the tavern.

That was the first time he had rendered you breathless. The ale and his charms did a number on you.

Just quickly as he had managed to make you breathless, he was making you shake with laughter. Taking a silly stance, one usually reserved for statues, he had wrapped your blue scarf around his throat. “I will make sure its always safe.” He had pledged to always keep your scarf safe. Your laughter, his laughter mingled and gave quite the feel of happiness at that moment.

Of course, now you knew that when he spoke of your scarf he had meant you. It made your heart beat harder in your chest while it also felt like at any moment, it could be slice in two.

Getting up, you felt like you could not get a breath in your room. Your chest felt unbearably tight. Going to the window, you opened one of the latches. It creaked horribly, you glanced behind you. Mama, Greta did not come.

Bracing yourself on the window sill you took several breaths. Your scarf flapped gently in breeze that passed by you. The breeze was not strong to brush aside the tears that fell from your eyes as the sounds of screams and loud bursts came to greet your ears.

*******

“They will try and trap us at Bastile.” Enjolras, whispered to Courfeyrac and Grantaire. “But they won’t.”

Silently, he walked along side two of his most trusted comrades. Since both of then wore clothes that were no good at concealing much of anything; he had held onto their guns along with his own. He had personally, cleaned and oiled them. He did not do them any better then any of the others, he only wished to know he had personally worked on the ones that would protect his and their lives.

His heart picked up its pace with each Royal Soldier they passed. The streets were lined with them. His stomach churned, distantly he wondered if he walked by the ones who pulled you into the alley. With his jaw tight, those were ones he wished he could rain his wrath upon. They were getting worse, harassing a lone woman on the streets in the morning.

Gritting his teeth, he took a breath. “Lamarque to the Pantheon!” He called out.

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvns @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff @julieteagk @gretavankleep37 @little-wormwood

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvns @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff @julieteagk @gretavankleep37 @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @foreveranexpatsposts

[pedgito]

Modern! Enjolras loves it when you're dressed up to go somewhere to a fancy dinner or if he has to go to a meeting that morning and you both have a shag fest and you leave lipstick all over his dick. He keeps it like that for the rest of the day, not even caring if it stains his underwear just to be reminded of you. He comes home so needy and ready to go again because you've been on his mind all day. (I may need a fic about this if you're up to it...)

author’s note: okay, i’ve seen so much about modern!enjolras all over here and twitter and i’m obsessed. i’ve kinda just integrated him into current society the way that made the most sense but this fic is very much not about that, trust me lol.

cw: 18+ (minors dni), canon divergent, unprotected sex, oral (m receiving, f mentioned) modern!enjolras, married/established relationship, just lots of smut with no plot pls forgive me.

word count: 1.6k

His rhythm of work was inherently stressful.

Long, grueling meetings that sometimes got him nowhere, stunlocked on a single argument that could last for days, if not weeks, a constant state of trying to prove himself—he was younger but that didn’t make him any less wise.

Although, he was in fact, insatiable. It was always more intense during the big company dinners, thousands of pitches to be made, conversation to be had, all kinds of pressure resting on his shoulders.

But there you were, the one thing that kept him above water.

Some days he just needed an ear, someone to listen to him talk and rant for hours at a time, and you were there. Other times he needed a nice meal and quiet time with you, cuddled up on the couch in your spacey loft apartment—he made good money despite the stresses he was under; being such a vivid, passionate politician paid off in those ways.

On occasion, he’d really need that boost of energy, enthusiasm—or confidence, whatever he liked to call it. But really, it was just an excuse to have you bent over the counter in your kitchen, wine glass perched against his lips as his trousers pooled around his ankles, your dress lifted up just far enough that he could gain access, his large hand disappearing under the material as he gripped at your hip, fingers digging into the flesh so tight it makes you grunt in pain, the sharp slap of his hips pressing you against the cold marble.

“Tell me about your day,” He demands, emphasizing his question with a rough thrust that has your palms flattening against the countertop, “did you get much done for the dinner next week?”

Right—the dinner. The dinner Enjolras had so graciously agreed to host, forgetting that all of the planning would fall on you between his busy schedule and complete disorganization. He was a lovely person, a great husband, but he wouldn’t be able to function without you.

You nod weakly, murmuring a soft, “Uh huh.”

“Then tell me.” He urges, swallowing down the last sip of wine before allowing it to clatter amongst the other dirty dishes—the ones you’d been in the middle of washing when he came home, very insistent as he pulled your underwear down, red and dark like the silk ascot that was tied so pristine around his neck.

They were his favorite.

“I was—I was figuring pasta and desserts.” Enjolras nods, moving you upright with his hand over your lower abdomen, head resting over your shoulder as he breathes into your ear, low and gravely as he’s nearing his own end faster than usual.

The pent up frustration and stress was the problem.

“And lots of alcohol,” You stress, a sated smile pulling at your face as his fingers find your clit, rubbing at the small bundle of nerves until you’re gripping the clean white of his dress shirt, rutting your ass even further against him and shoving him as deep as he could go, “get them—get them drunk and make them spill all their secrets, right?”

Enjolras laughs, a confirmation to your question and good sign that he was relaxing a bit, his pace unfaltering as he groaned tightly, gritting his teeth in an attempt to hold off his own orgasm until you reached yours—luckily you weren’t far off.

“Still have that speech tonight?” Another subtle nod, “Good. Make me come and it'll be that much harder for you to forget about me while you’re talking about—laws and taxes and whatever boring stuff you boys go on about.”

Enjolras tsks softly, “We’re trying to get fair and equal opportunity in less fortunate communities, love. It’s a lot more than just taxes and laws—are you sure you’ve been listening to me?”

“I’m teasing.” You pout, his fingers quickening as your warm, tight walls clench around him, body tingling with euphoria as your orgasm hits you, moaning loud and desperate as your toes nearly lift off the floor at how hard he’s fucking you now, free hand turning your face to meet him in a messy kiss, red lipstick smearing over his plush pink lips and pale cheeks.

He comes quietly like this, mouth closed over yours, as any sounds are swallowed up by you, cunt filled to the brim with cum, thick spurts as his hips slowed to a stop, eyebrows furrowed slightly as he glared at you, your face turned up in a devious smirk.

You were up to something, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

“No games, darling.” He practically coos, thumb rubbing over your warm cheeks, “What are you planning?”

He slips out slowly, carefully as you turn to him.

“How long do you need?”

You already knew the answer—only a few minutes.

He was insatiable, as you’d said.

Enjolras tilts his head slightly, a little amused as you crowd him against the island, leaving you nestled in the small space there, bare feet pressed against the hardwood floor.

He’d have to leave again soon, only getting undressed enough to feel comfortable for a brief time.

“A minute or two.” He responds, letting you unbutton his shirt, step by step, delicate fingers working their way down. You kiss his clavicle once, leaving a trail of lipstick stained kisses as you trailed down, careful not to stain his shirt.

“Tell me about your day.” You insist, a deep chuckle in response at your demand.

“So much of the same,” He sighs, sifting gentle fingers through your hair, watching as you sunk to your knees before him, his softening dick slowly rising again, kisses trailing down his thighs, around his groin, leaving all the evidence of you in their wake, “really hoping this dinner proves some effort on my part—they still think I’m naive, some kid who doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“Well, you did come from money, Enjolras.” You remind, “You parents were well-known, you've been spoonfed your whole life with no consequences—but you’ve proven so much.”

There’s a soft head pat of appreciation as you peer up at him.

“No regular man could care about a women’s pleasure that much,” You joke, watching his face split into a grin, “or treat them as sweetly as you do, darling. You’re so unselfish it scares me sometimes.”

You grab him tightly, rubbing your thumb on the vein the runs underneath, pulling back the skin of his uncut cock as your tongue darts out, licking slowly around the thick head.

“Not sure I have anything left.” He says honestly, cradling your head regardless, hand slowly trailing to cup underneath your chin, feeling him stretch out your mouth, nudging his cock a few inches deeper as you part your lips. “But, I’ll try my best.”

And he does, being as obedient as he can as you take your time, having to resist the urge to fuck your face right then, bring you to the edge until you’re drooling around his cock and in tears, still begging for him to give you everything he had.

His moans are soft and low but long, fingers squeezing at your hair when you move too deep too quick, his hips rocking subtly with your mouth as you swallow him.

“Fuckfuck—“ He curses, free hand gripping the island until his knuckles are white, his cock pulsing against your tongue. “You’re fucking mad, you know that?”

You nod slightly, lips pressing to leave a red ring of lipstick around his cock as he feels himself approach his second orgasm—it’s quick and fleeting, high off the heels of his previous one but it’s something, and he really can’t resist the sight of your mouth around his dick.

An hour later he’s back out the door, meeting coworkers for dinner and regretting the choice the moment he kisses you goodbye, your still disheveled figure departing back into the apartment.

And it doesn’t help that he has to think about his body littered in small reminders of you, devouring you the moment he gets home that night, dragging you to the edge of the bed and going down on you until you can’t take it anymore, shoving his face away in blissful agony.

He promises to let it be for a week, a time to focus on the busy things you’d had planned—and it’s torture, specifically for him. He notices your tighter outfits for work, the ones that hug your body just right.

You’re doing it on purpose and he knows it.

So, come the fancy dinner Enjolras had promised to his coworkers and important peers above him, he can’t help but take a moment as everyone is downing the alcohol in troves, the low roar of old, classic music—the kind that he loved so much, and idle conversation—that he shoves you in the small half-bath, forcing the thick material of his ascot into your mouth as he lifts you onto the sink and fucks you like he’s been waiting years for this, leaving light, purple bite marks that will be an absolute pain to explain later.

But it doesn’t matter, because Enjolras could do just about anything and you’d wear it with pride—the confidence he oozed was contagious and ever apparent, a salacious grin on his face as he stared at you, your eyes falling shut from how intense the pleasure was.

“Quiet, darling.” He warns, “I am a man of my word, I’m just giving you what you asked for—as if I didn’t know what you were trying to do all week.”

“You’re all the same,” You patronize playfully, “so weak for women the second they pay you any attention.”

“I’m only weak for you, mon amour.”

He doesn’t leave your side the rest of the night either, always a gentle hand on your thigh under the dinner table during the most dull conversation, reminding you that despite his course of career, everything about him was so much more exhilarating in comparison.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[keeponquinning]

Okay. I kinda fixed it. The AI is weird but! Here's an Enjolras treat. Sort of based on a one shot I have planned to write with Enjolras, so think of it as a sneak peek, idk if I'll keep the dialogue, but for something I wrote spur of the moment, it's not bad. It's not perfect, but, hopefully it'll make ya'll swoon.

Note: This is done in fun, so let's treat it as such.

[bizaar]

enjolras x fem!reader

warnings: 18+ only - piv smut, oral (f receiving) handjob (m receiving) - general talks and mentions of sex/smut, lovemaking, breeding kink if you squint - mentions of concubines and usage of the word "whore" (reader is a sex worker so proceed with caution), general tooth rotting fluffiness, forbidden love is my bread and butter

word count: 8k (I'm so sorry I'm incapable of writing anything short)

a.n.: This is my first smut so go easy on me :D also, apologies if I didn't do Enjolras justice, I watched clips from BBC Les Mis on Youtube for days and got sort of generally stuck on how to write him talking about anything besides the revolution when ALL he talks about is the revolution - PLEASE BEAR IN MIND THAT READER IS A SEX WORKER so don't come for me tumblr prudes I don't want to hear it.

A chorus of high voices calling your name summons you to the top of the stairs, and it’s there you find him, idling in the foyer below — Enjolras.

Just to see him kicks up a storm of giddiness swirling in the pit of your stomach and you have to resist the urge to say something smart about finding himself in a brothel so late in the evening, just to defuse the tension.

He wouldn’t like that.

Be sweet, Mon Cher, he’d implored you recently in the midst of an intimate moment— stroking your face and breathing hard against your mouth, your legs wrapped around his canting hips, holding him to press tight against your core as he slipped in and out of you at an agonizing pace.

That had been six nights ago — Six nights too many, you think as you pinch your thighs together and feel the first stirrings of arousal in your belly.

Now, the other girls stand around him in a throng of giggling fillies, touching and flirting — the teasing only amplifies when they see you standing there, not so subtly gripping the banister.

“Your man is here —” One of them sings, her voice dripping with a condescending edge as she braces her hands on the flare of her hips and leans into him, very pointedly presenting her ample bosom, spilling out from the top of her stays.

To his credit, Enjolras pays her no mind, he is far too busy gazing up at you with all the reverence of a man set to worship.

Still, the gesture brings a hot flash of jealousy to your cheeks and you scowl at her as you begin your quick descent of the rickety steps. They creak under your weight, despite the way your stockinged feet make no noise against the brushed wood — your worn dressing gown trails behind you like the train of a fine dress.

Enjolras watches you approach, a gentle smile spread over his handsome features that you pretend not to see as you hit the last step and reach for his hand.

He gives it to you.

“Haven’t you all got better things to do than stand around gawking?” You hiss at the silly creatures, pulling to lead Enjolras back up the flight.

“Better things, for sure,” someone muses, “But no better men.”

They kick up with a chorus of raucous laughter and you tighten your grip on his thick fingers like you’re half afraid they’re going to steal him from your grasp if you aren’t quick to get him up the stairs.

The girls all call their teasing, singsong goodbyes to Enjolras as you mount the steps and disappear into the belly of the brothel.

You quietly thank God that the Madam is not home. She would not stand for such idle foolishness, nor would she stand to see you whisking Enjolras off to your room. The girls are all enamored with his soft eyes, kind speech, and good looks — the Madam only cares whether or not he can pay for your company on his meager salary. More often than not you do not even bother charging him, as his company is payment enough — much to the Madam’s chagrin.

How she does like to tell you that time given away is time wasted, and the Madam does not stand for that kind of frivolity.

Your room is at the far end of a long hall of open doors. To peek through you might have seen the other courtesans busy with their own individual fancies between suitors — playing at cards, drinking wine, gossiping — that is if they had not all gathered down in the foyer to fawn over the handsome guest in their midst.

It is strangely quiet for this time of night, though you expect that is likely to change soon enough.

The hard thumps of Enjolras’s footsteps as he follows wordlessly behind you beat in tandem with your heart, and you silently wish to be anywhere but here, where this didn’t have to feel so mercantile, where intimacy could live and breathe without the ever-present guillotine of payment hanging over your heads. You wish it were enough to be lovers and not just a favored whore.

You know he would reject that thinking, despite how true it is.

How many times has he told you he loves you? How many times have you rejected that affection on principle?

You cannot afford to love him while you are so deeply indebted to the Madam… and yet…

Through the door you go, startling the two young girls who have taken refuge in your room. They sit crowded at the vanity, their faces done up in powder and rouge, one wrapped in your fine silk shawl as if they’d been playing at dress up.

Their wide eyes flit back and forth between you and the man you have in tow with a patent unease, like they have been caught red-handed at something.

“Marie, Clotilde, get out.” You say sharply, addressing the girls by name.

They remain staring at you, at Enjolras. Everyone knows about him, the revolutionary — your little pet — you imagine they have heard as much talk of him as anyone else in this house.

They are younger than the others and thankfully have not been set to working just yet. As such they are comparatively harmless, but you are no less inclined to let them share in what little time you have with Enjolras.

He is yours and you intend to have him before the Madam returns.

You clap your hands sharply, snapping the girls to attention and pointing to the door.

“Alons-y! Go!”

They scramble to collect their things and get to their feet before scurrying past you, heads dipped sheepishly as they go through the door.

“Is that him?” You hear Clotilde whisper before shutting the door.

Somewhere behind you, Enjolras sighs.

“They are much too young for this life.” He says, his voice a low timbre that sends shivers through your body.

“No younger than I was when it found me.” You mumble bitterly. “Paris is a cruel city for girls with no means…”

The stillness that falls over the room is but a calm before the storm — you survey the mess, discarded stays, skirts, boots, and petticoats, your delicate shawl lies pooled at the foot of the bed where it was hastily discarded.

You heave a sigh and cross the room to retrieve your most precious trinket from the floor.

“How was your meeting?” You ask idly, desperate to cut the tension over the bleakness of life in the underbelly of Paris.

Enjolras likes conversation, particularly with you — he likes to pretend this is anything but the transactional exchange it really is, so as not to cheapen his feelings for you — your feelings for him.

“It went well, I think.” He says, “There were more people there tonight than I’ve seen before—"

You hum thoughtfully as you uncork a bottle of wine and pour yourself a glass.

You watch, half mesmerized by the swirling dark liquid, and feel the heat of his gaze on your back as he continues.

“People are coming from all over Paris. It feels as though they’re finally ready to stand up for something.”

“For the revolution you mean?” You ask, sipping the wine.

Your tone is decidedly more condescending than you’d intended and Enjolras doesn’t answer. You half expect him to admonish you for mocking his cause, but he remains quiet.

Behind you, you hear the telltale click of the door lock sliding into place and feel butterflies stir in the pit of your stomach — the Madam does not abide a locked door in her house, but you cannot presently bring yourself to care.

His silence would be enough to unnerve you were you not so entirely certain of his gentle nature, his kindness, his affection for you.

When you turn to look at him, you find that he has crossed the room to stand behind you, his body blocking your view. His hands come up to trail feather-light touches up the length of your arms. You feel his breath fanning the back of your neck.

“I missed you tonight.” He murmurs.

You breathe an easy laughter through your nose and shiver under his touch. He takes the glass from your hand and drains it in one gulp — it clinks softly as he sets it down on the dressing table before you.

His arms come up to snake around you and pull you close, the rumble of his contented sigh vibrating through your body.

“How can you miss me when you have your good lady Madam Révolution to keep you warm?” You tease, leaning back into his touch.

“I always miss you when you’re not there.” He says ever so softly, dipping to press a gentle kiss to the junction between your neck and shoulder. “You could come with me, you know. To the meetings?”

“I’ve been to your meetings.” You remind him, turning your head to rest against his shoulder, tipping back into the crook of his neck as his free hand moves to splay out across your belly.

Thick fingers press you back to lay flush against his body and you smirk as you feel the faintest impression of his cock stirring there.

You rock your hips back tentatively against him.

“They weren’t for me.”

“The meetings…” he insists, brushing his plush lips across the highest point of your cheekbone, your temple, your hairline, “…Are for anyone who yearns for liberation.”

You mean to roll your eyes, but arousal has beat you to the motion as the hand on your stomach slips down to cup you between your legs. Thick, calloused fingers draw a slow line over the clothed seam of your pussy and your eyes roll back in their sockets at the sensation it elicits, lips parting ever so slightly on a breathy moan.

You certainly do yearn, though not presently for liberation.

You had meant what you said, though — you aren't expressly unwelcome at the meetings, but nothing deters the good citizens of Paris from turning their noses up at the presence of a common whore in their midst.

You’d met Enjolras at one of his citizen’s meetings, and spent the duration of it being sneered at by the upstanding proletariat in attendance. You hardly cared. You’d been there to work, not to be inspired, but then you’d caught Enjolras’s gaze and found yourself struck, and like a bolt of lightning, you forgot all other men but the brooding revolutionary with the dark eyes.

He was similarly affected by you.

You don’t believe in such fanciful things as love at first sight, and yet you’d spent the evening circling one another, stealing glances and shy smiles before you’d shocked yourself by sitting and listening to him give speeches about liberty and equality among the people.

You would not consider yourself a patriot by any stretch of the word, and as such you didn’t retain a thing Enjolras said that night, only the way he’d said it, and how he'd spent half as much time undressing you with his eyes as he did rabble-rousing.

You thought he was marvelous, and that was dangerous for someone like you.

In some small hope of retaining what shred of good sense you had left, you quietly took your leave before the cheering and songs were finished, as if somehow you knew you were going to fall in love with him if you gave him the chance.

He, in turn, had stolen away from the budding revolution to follow you nearly halfway across Paris, just to ask your name.

It was a gesture romantic enough to make your knees tremble.

For all his serious talk of liberation and freedoms, you were surprised at his secret romantic inclinations — though, of course, you suppose all revolutionaries are romantics at heart.

It takes a great passion to care enough about the plight of the lesser man to want to change things, after all.

Enjolras had asked to walk along the Seine with you and watch the sunrise, and you’d told him he couldn’t afford to buy that much of your time, hoping that knowledge of your profession might deter his pursuit of your affections.

It did not and, against your better judgment, you’d let him kiss you as the sun rose over the river.

He has held your heart ever since and you have not known a day of peace for it.

Nevermind your profession, there is no room for love in the midst of a revolution — to make one life more precious than the lives of the masses is antithetical to everything Enjolras proselytizes … and yet…

His eyes are dark, satin pools, pupils blown wide with desire, staring through you to the depths of your soul. You could come apart under those eyes, even without the help of his fingers, probing experimentally at the growing slick between your legs.

Enjolras kisses you then, a soft, languid slanting of lips that breathes warmth into you all the way to your core. He holds you tight as you turn over in his hands, twisting until you are facing him, only parting so that he can lift the thin cotton shift you wear over your head and cast it aside, leaving you bare but for your stockings.

He takes your face in his hands and catches your mouth hungrily, coaxing you to open up for him just a little more with a heady swipe of his tongue. You make quick work of unwinding his dark crimson cravat to reveal the hard lines of his neck and fumble with the buttons of his waistcoat, desperate to undress him despite how he has not yet even shed his coat.

You breathe hard into the heat of his mouth as big hands roam the length of your body like Enjolras cannot decide where it is he would like most to touch you — the supple swell of your breasts or the soft dip of your waist.

He settles finally on the gentle curve of your rear, cupping you there and lifting you easily so you might wrap your legs around him. It is only as you settle in his strong arms that you finally feel the full press of his hard length digging into your hip, making his trousers all too tight.

You shudder against him and breathe his name, gripping needily at his neck and shoulders as his mouth moves down to leave searing crescent moon shapes over your jaw and the tender columns of your throat. It’s been no less than a week since you’d last been under his bruising touch, but it may as well have been a lifetime for how you yearn for him.

“Enjolras…” you whine.

“Hmm?”

“Make love to me,”

You feel the curve of his broad smile against your flesh and the rumble of gentle laughter in his chest, and you are nearly undone by the warmth swelling beneath your ribs as you are filled to the brim with emotion.

“As you wish, Mon Cher.”

It is only a few minutes more of fumbling, reverent touches and searing kisses before you’ve discarded the last of his clothing and he has you laid out on the bed.

He relieves you of your stockings one at a time, slowly peeling the thin material down your legs, kissing the soft mailable flesh of your thighs as he comes down to settle between your spread legs. You gasp when you feel the scrape of teeth on your inner thigh and push up on your elbows to watch as he settles there.

Searing breath fans your slick folds, a startling contrast to the chill that sends a shiver through your body as he pushes your legs up and out to spread you that much wider, exposing your dewy core to the air. You fist the bedsheets, watching him lick his lips, eyes bright in anticipation of the meal he is ready to make out of you.

The first tentative swipe of his tongue has you jumping, jerking at the wet heat slipping through your folds and drawing teasing circles around your opening. The little kitten licks that follow have you sinking back into the pillows, soft lilting sighs slipping from your mouth to fill the room and match the pleased, hungry sounds he is making from between your legs, muffled by the mouthful he has of your pussy.

His mouth is a sinful thing, all tongue and lips and the slightest hint of teeth, worshiping at the altar of your body with broad flat strokes up and down the length of your slit and teasing flicks to your tender nub. In no time at all you’re writhing against him, rocking your hips in search of more friction, tiny lilting sounds spilling from your mouth in an unending tide of praise and encouragement.

You tremble as he pulls back from your folds with a vulgar wet smack only to press the tip of his tongue to that little bundle of nerves throbbing with inattention. You moan, a high sound of needy ecstasy as he pulls it into his mouth and, ever so tenderly, suckles at it, sending a sharp spike of pleasure lancing you through your midsection.

You card your fingers through his hair, careful not to tug too hard as you guide him to where you need him most, which, at present, is on his back fucking up into you.

You are all too aware of how empty you are, clenching down pitifully on nothing at all.

What you don’t realize, however, is how you’ve been begging for him until he’s crawled up to meet you. He licks a fat, wet stripe up the length of your torso, over the swell of your breast and the pebbled bud of your nipple as he makes his way up. You jump under the sharp sensation as he nips at you, taking your breast between his teeth before soothing the offended flesh with a balm of his tongue.

A trail of searing wet kisses leads him further to your lips, the heat of his ministrations punctuated by the murmured assurances he showers you with. You can taste the sharp tang of your slick spread over his mouth and tongue as you suck his lower lip in past your own and let yourself be drawn up into Enjolras’s lap as he sits up and rocks back into the sea of pillows at the head of your bed.

You settle there, already flushed and a little lightheaded and having to brace yourself against his chest to stay upright as he lays back.

Once you have your bearings, you push up easily on your knees and take his rigid cock in hand, throbbing beneath your touch as you pump the length of him for good measure — not that you need to, he’s as hard as you imagine he can be, with the way his purpling tip responds to the way you swipe the pad of your thumb over his leaking slit.

When you turn your gaze back to watch him, you see his eyes are half hooded and his mouth has fallen open in a wanton panting, he hisses with pleasure when you squeeze and twist the head of him on the uptake, and suddenly his hand flies out to catch you by the wrist and still your motions.

He forces out a breathless laugh.

“Mon Cher — you’ll wring me out before we’ve even begun.” He warns you, and you click your tongue at such a thought.

“What’s got you so sensitive?” You tease, drawing featherlight touches up and down the thick vein throbbing on the underside of his shaft.

He grits his teeth and breathes out hard through his nose like he’s working hard at putting all his energy into keeping himself from spending over your fist. Enjolras shakes his head and forces himself to open his eyes, chest heaving.

“I told you — I missed you.”

Which is to say he’s more than likely been half-hard all evening in anticipation of this moment.

You find that to be immeasurably pleasing, picturing him sitting stoically amongst his compatriots, discussing revolution and democracy and the makings of history, all the while burning with unbridled lust and shifting awkwardly to conceal its effect on him.

You smirk as you lean forward to press a chase peck to the end of his nose.

“Darling, you don’t have to miss me when I’m right here.”

And then you press him to your core and sink down onto his length in one, swift motion that draws a shared groan of relief from the both of you. He’s sheathed in you to the hilt in a matter of moments, the heat of your walls clenching down and drawing him in like it’s desperate for every inch of him, hungry for more even as you’re filled to brimming with him.

It is all-encompassing, the way he clouds your senses, and anything witty you might have said dies on your tongue as you swallow hard, your nails scraping down the length of his heaving abdomen. The heady burn of how he stretches you is almost too much, and for a moment it is all you can do but sit there, speared on his cock and trembling as it presses bruisingly against your furthest wall.

Enjolras grips your thighs like your flesh is all he has to keep him grounded, throwing his head back into the pillows as he does his best to quell the gentle, unconscious rocking of his hips until you’re ready. For half a moment, you wonder if he is about to cum and if, as he’d prophesied, all of this will end before it’s even started.

You wait for his grip to ease up as he comes back to himself, and you breathe out a shaky sigh, nodding reassuringly when you feel him gently tap his fingers on your leg, silently asking after you.

Always the gentleman, checking on you in spite of his state, you could kiss him, but you’d have to rock forward to do so and you aren’t quite ready to move just yet.

You know he must be desperate to take you by your hips and rut up into you until he finds his release, but you also know he would rather cut off his own hand than do anything without your permission, so he waits, and you watch.

Oh how he suffers, your poor idealist.

You think perhaps you could tease him a little, draw this out for as long as possible, but you’d only be torturing yourself — there is no denying that you are as eager for him as he is for you, and your quick and fevered fingers drawing circles over your bud with thoughts of him are nothing compared to the real thing.

Finally, you push up on your knees again, keening at the thick drag of him against your tender walls, lifting almost to the point of dislodging him before dropping back down. Again. And again, until you’ve found a steady rhythm that has your skin crawling with ecstasy.

His isn’t the largest cock you’ve ever had, but you find that it fits you best, like it was tailor-made for you. It is certainly your favorite, though you are, perhaps, at least a tad biased when it comes to him.

Enjolras’s big hands grip and pull at you as you ride him, like he is caught again in the dilemma of where to touch you, how best to hold you. The filthy wet sounds of lovemaking fill the air, commingling with your soft moaning and the creak of the bed frame beneath you. It is the soundscape of any number of brothels across Paris, but between the two of you, it is like music.

And then, without warning, he braces himself against the mattress and cants his hips up to meet yours as you come down again. You yelp, from alarm as much as sensation, and the momentum of his sudden thrusting nearly dislodges you to send you toppling over.

You brace yourself on one arm to keep from falling, though by then Enjolras has sat up to catch you, holding you in his arms while he fucks up into you, just like you’d wanted. You curl your fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck and swivel your hips in perfect time to each of his thrusts, and you move together like a well-oiled machine.

This is how you like it best, straddling him with his arms wrapped around you, forehead pressed against his, inhaling his exhales — pure bliss — you bite your lower lip and smirk as you try to suppress a burst of joyful, breathy laughter.

“What’s funny?” He asks, his voice thick and strained and tinged with the slightest trace of humor.

You shake your head because it feels silly to tell him it’s nothing, only that this is your favorite thing in the world — bouncing on his cock — and you just wish you could do this forever.

Funny to hear someone who fucks for a living say something like that.

You just smile at him.

“I missed you,” you hum, in a gentle mockery of how he had said it before.

He still his motions ever so slightly as his face splits into a big, broad smile of his own, dimples pulling tight to indent his cheeks as he surges forward to kiss you again.

Your heart thumps solidly in your chest and you think perhaps that he is what all those poets must have been talking about when they wrote their sonnets and songs of love.

You think Enjolras must be the envy of the Gods of old, and somewhere, wherever they are, they stand weeping over his beauty because they will never have him.

Say what you will about his devotion to Madame Révolution, right here and now Enjolras’s heart belongs entirely to you, and you’re half inclined to think he might make a romantic out of you for it.

It takes no effort at all for him to roll you, and suddenly you’re pressed into the mattress below him. There is only the briefest moment’s pause in rhythm as the momentum of changing positions causes his length to slip from your heat. You whimper at the loss of him, and he shushes you, petting your face to soothe you because, of course, he is coming right back.

You gaze up at him, beautifully flushed and disheveled, openly panting but still smiling as he kneels over you, supported on one strong arm and readjusting to compensate for the new angle. You splay your legs open wide to allow for him to slot in as close as possible against your core, letting him spread you a little further past the point of comfort with a gentle hand on your knee before hitching your legs up and around his hips.

You only briefly feel the broad flare of him at your entrance as he lines himself up before seating himself in you once again. He pushes all the way to the root in one quick snap of his hips that has you throwing your head back and arching into his touch with a loud, wanton moan.

He is suddenly so much deeper than he was before, thrusting into you, and you feel ready to come apart at the seams as he sets an agonizingly slow pace— pulling almost all the way out before snapping back again, each hungry thrust of his hips slamming home up against that most tender spot at your furthest wall to make you see stars and colors.

It’s punishment for how you teased him before, you know it must be, but this is how he likes it, painfully slow and hard enough to knock the headboard against the wall.

He likes to take his time while he dismantles you, but you are impatient.

You’re fisting your hands in the sheets and lifting your hips up off of the bed, trying to meet his every thrust despite how he pushes you back down with a strong hand and holds you there firmly. It is only enough to keep you teetering on the torturous edge, never enough to send you over, never too little to draw you back.

You can feel the litany of desperate noises tumbling from your lips more than you can hear them over the vulgar squelching sounds that fill the air with every pass of his cock against your sticky walls, the harsh slap of skin on skin, his soft grunting and moaning filling the room as he moves. The slick mess that drips down your thighs makes for a smooth glide in and out of you — you could almost blush to imagine how it must be pooling in your bedsheets and making a sopping wet mess of him as well as yourself.

It’s enough to make your toes curl and your walls flutter and clench over the length of him, drawing a low rattling moan from deep within his chest.

You’re only vaguely aware of the things Enjolras says to you, the little rhetorical questions and naughty phrases to which you can only nod along in affirmation, too drunk on the delicious sensation of being so perfectly stretched by him to form coherent thoughts or responses.

Yes, it feels good — so, so good. Yes, you like it when he fucks you like this —faster, more. Yes, you’re his good girl, taking him so well — don’t stop — yes, yes yes yes…!

The vice he has on your hips is a bruising thing, and where before there was the painfully slow in and out and in and out, he snaps his hip again, and suddenly he’s hilted in you to the base, pelvis pressed flushed to yours as he begins a slow, rutting grind, just the perfect amount of friction against your swollen, needy bud to have you writhing under his weight.

Your eyes roll back and slide shut as you press your head into the pillows, exposing the tender columns of your throat and mewling at the sensation of being so full.

“Oh— f-f-uh—!” You bite the curse off with a shrill gasp, one hand flying down to grip his wrist as his big palm splays over the lowest point of your belly, applying pressure there like he is in danger of bursting through your abdomen and means to contain himself. “E-Enjolras—please!”

You can feel the vibration of his gentle laughter buzzing into you through his cock and it’s nearly enough to make you seize.

“Yes, my darling?” He teases, “What is it?”

You’re not sure you could have answered him at that moment if your life depended on it, you aren’t even sure what you’re asking of him. You’ve suddenly got your lower lip pulled so tightly between your teeth that you half expect to taste blood as the heat in your abdomen quickly begins to wind itself into a tight, quivering coil.

The unconscious canting of your hips to rock against his ministrations is a desperate thing as you try to chase more friction and bring yourself to climax.

And then you feel his movements growing lax, slower and slower until his hips still entirely. It draws a pitiful whine from deep within you as the orgasm you’d been balancing on the edge of turns gossamer and slips through your fingers.

A calloused hand comes up to settle over your jaw then, and rubs tenderly up over your cheek. You feel his thumb brush away a dewiness you hadn’t been aware of forming on your lashes and suddenly the plush spread of his lips is at your throat.

“Open your eyes, mon amour —” he whispers, kissing the tender spot just beneath your ear, “Look at me.”

It takes some effort, but eventually, you obey, chest heaving and eyes blurry as you gaze up at him, suddenly leaning over you on his elbows. You reach up to brush stray curls from where they stick to his sweat-slicked forehead with a shaking hand and feel your chest swelling with emotion again.

He is so handsome and so kind, and he could so easily be yours — he would whisk you away from all this if only you would let him.

How you wish you would let him.

There are tears in your eyes then, spilling over your lashes and down your cheeks to pool at your jawline.

Enjorlas’s brows come together in tight-knit concern and the thumping of his heart against your own is almost enough to make you forget he’s still got his cock in you.

“What’s the matter?” He asks, so gently you could fall apart beneath him as he brushes the pad of his thumb over the spread of your lower lip, like a key unlocking the chest where you keep your most precious secrets.

The words tumble foolishly from your lips before you can stop them.

“I love you,” you gasp.

The confession is shocking, like the clanging of a bell. Ever so briefly, you watch something closer to hurt than you like to see on him flash across his dark eyes, shifted nearly black with wanting. The pained look is gone in an instant, replaced instead by a crumpled smile, like he can hardly believe he’s heard you correctly.

He’s professed his love to you a dozen times over, in and out of the heady spell of lovemaking, and you’ve dismissed the notion a dozen times again.

You’re both all too painfully aware of the hideous cliche you’ve found yourselves in, a man falling in love with a whore, begging her for her fidelity where she cannot offer it, making a thousand promises of the honest life they could live together if only she’d give herself over to him.

You’ve had countless other men make you similar, needy promises in the heat of the moment, caught in the vice of your pussy and teetering on climax, but those intentions always fade to dust the moment they spill over and come back to their senses.

Enjolras has never once gone back on his word, whether he is in his right mind or drunk on your flesh — you’re half inclined to believe he could deliver on those promises, make an honest woman of you, take you away to live with him in some little cottage where he would marry you and you’d raise a brood of wild children together.

You’re almost foolish enough to believe you could be happy together for more than a few fleeting moments of frenzied fucking. Still, your heart throbs in your chest for the impending consequences of what you have just done — you aren’t allowed to love him.

He searches your face for the answer to a question he has not yet asked as he draws an invisible tear down the side of your face with the line of his smallest finger.

His voice is thick and heady with indiscernible emotion when he speaks.

“Say it again.”

You shouldn’t. You ought to shut up, send him away, implore him to forget he ever learned your name, but you cannot.

You push up on your elbows to slot your mouth against his — kissing him to make him believe you, to somehow pass through him and whisper the closest kept secrets of your heart to his.

You wrap your arms around his neck and press yourself to him, feeling the sticky drag of his chest hair against your peaked, sensitive nipples as he moves to snake an arm around your midsection.

“I love you,” you breathe against his lips. “I lov-”

He surges forward and kisses you again, a bruising press of his lips hard enough that you can barely move your mouth to return the gesture.

Your breath hitches in your throat as he suddenly rolls his hips, drawing back and thrusting in once more as he falls into a punishing pace, spurred into action by the admission — the reciprocation — of your feelings.

You brace a hand against the rattling headboard, clanging against the wall in time with the jostling of the bed frame, your high breathy voice answering the deeper timber of his own as he fucks into you in desperate search of his climax.

The coil in your belly grows tight and white hot again and you can feel the muscles in his abdomen growing tense against you.

In no time, his thrusting grows sloppy and erratic as he nears his finish and you grow eager for your own. He banishes your fingers with an aggressive swipe as they scrabble down to brush tight circles over your swollen nub, electing to get the job done himself. You jolt up needily against the calloused flesh of his thumb, abusing that tender bundle of nerves at a rapid-fire pace.

It boils over all too quickly.

Before you can think to open your mouth, warn him of your impending climax, you’ve come up and over, and the coil in your belly snaps.

Your body goes rigid, and you tremble with the agony of your ecstasy, washing over you like the surf, wave after powerful wave knocking you back again before you’ve had time to take a breath. You gasp out a strangled cry and dig your fingers into his arms, Enjolras’s pace only briefly faltering as your walls clench on him like a vice. He continues to fuck into you through your orgasm, stretching the release as far as it will go until you’ve strayed the line of overstimulation and you’re scrambling to try and get away from his punishing touch.

Thankfully, he is not far behind you.

He rolls his hips one, twice, thrice more before he’s pulling you as tight to him as he can manage, burying his face into the expanse of dewy flesh between your heaving breasts and spilling into you with a low guttural moan.

It’s almost enough to have you climaxing again, and you would have cried out at the bright, warm sensation flooding up against the quivering walls of your heat, if your voice were not trapped in your throat. He rolls his hips with each ropey spurt he leaves in you until finally he is spent and he collapses on top of you with a sigh of relief and the dead weight of his whole body.

Time ceases to matter, stretching infinitely before you as you lay together, breathing in tandem. Your lungs protest as they fight to expand, crushed into the mattress beneath him as you are, but you ignore their haughty complaints.

You consider never getting up, letting him slip beneath your skin and live like this in the bright, hazy moments of afterglow with sweat drying tacky on your bodies, the evidence of your joint efforts oozing from out between your legs around his softening cock. You sigh out your contentment, drawing lazy patterns across his back and relishing in how perfect this moment is, without the world pressing in on you.

Enjolras’s chest expands against you as he breathes deep and exhales, and you imagine the exhaustion tugging at him, threatening to lull him to sleep in your arms. You card your fingers through his hair, petting him and listening to the little pleased hums it draws from the hollow of his throat.

You could let yourself love him like this, almost imagining that you are in the life he’s promised you, tucked safely away in a little home, far removed from Paris and the troubles of your lives. Still, nothing lasts forever, and the gentle nagging of consequences begins to tug at you.

You can suddenly hear hushed, giggling voices outside your door and you grit your teeth against the violent feeling they stir in you.

Nasty little voyeurs.

You drum your fingers gently over Enjolras’s bicep and apply the slightest amount of pressure, prompting him to roll off and away from you so that you might sit up. You shiver at the jarring emptiness of his slipping out of you and you push up from the bed, crossing to the wash basin on shaky legs.

In your perfect life, you wouldn’t have to be so quick to wash him from you. You could relish in the sensation of being filled, the possibility of bearing his children, but this is not your perfect life, so you wet a rag and make quick work of cleaning yourself up.

You fetch your dressing down from where it lays discarded on the floor and shrug into it.

“Do you want me to go?” You hear Enjolras ask then, his voice thick and raw.

He’s sitting up against the headboard, breathing a little easier now though still so beautifully flushed. You watch him reach up and brush his hair back from his face with a boyish nervousness that plunges a dagger into your heart.

Of course, it occurs to you now how it might seem like a rejection, so hastily sloughing him off.

You smile and cross back to the bed, sinking down into the mattress and tucking yourself in against his body to banish the notion.

“No,” you purr, taking his face in your hands, “I want you to stay.”

The relief that passes over him is palpable as a tension you hadn’t been aware of until that moment clears.

“Did you mean what you said?” He asks you, the rawness of the question so painfully sweet it puts a lump in your throat, “…that you love me?”

Your heart seizes in your chest, because how could he ask you such a question?

As easily as you can fool yourself into thinking it was true.

You watch him watching you, waiting for the faintest hint of a response, and you lean forward to press a gentle kiss to his lips. A brief, chaste peck that ends too soon and leaves you wanting to do it again and again.

You could waste the night kissing him like that, like bright notes of honey you are entirely too greedy for.

His hand flies up to shadow yours against his face, keeping you there as he turns into your touch and presses a gentle kiss to your palm.

But now you’ve left the question unanswered too long, and the faintest hint of that hurt look is back in his eyes.

“Do you love me?”

You hate to do it, but you have to address the consequences of your actions. You have to be practical for both your sakes.

“Of course I do, mon Chéri,” you sigh, “And you love me, but what does it matter when you have the revolution? Your citizen meetings and all the people who look to you for guidance?”

“What has one got to do with the other?” He huffs, “I love you independently of my duty to the revolution–”

You furrow your brow, because one has everything to do with the other. You are surprised at how he could be blind to that.

You think that perhaps it is a willful blindness.

“My love, you do nothing independent of your duty to the revolution when you are its leader.”

His jaw tightens and his brows come together as he immediately rejects the notion.

“I’m not–” he snaps, then takes a breath, taking up your hand as he corrects himself and speaks a little more gently, “No, I’m not … there are no leaders among us.”

You do your best to ignore the hurt that flashes across his face when you take your hand back.

“Oh no? And who do you think they’ll come for when the city is burning and the aristocracy cries out for someone to hang? Will you send someone else to the noose?”

He shakes his head in a way that you think is perhaps too petulant for someone in his position, with his resolve.

“It won’t come to that.” He says.

“Won’t it?” You press, and then you add with a biting tone, “Are you so unwilling to be a martyr to your cause?”

Enjolras levels you with an incredulous look, something almost halfway to hurt as he turns those big dark eyes on you. He is looking at you like he can’t believe what you’re saying, like you’re rejecting him.

“Why are we talking about this?” He implores, “What does it matter?”

“It matters if you love me. There is no room for love in revolution — you’re the one who preaches that.” you press, leaning into him when he looks away, defiant of his own words.

“I preach nothing.” He says sullenly.

“Don’t make yourself a hypocrite, Enjolras. Don’t give them that to use against you.”

You know he knows this, and were he not so caught in the vice of his feelings he would agree with you, but you also know he doesn't want to hear it anymore than you want to say it.

The silence that blooms between you is tense. You watch him flex his jaw and listen to him breathe, and you wonder if you’ve gone and ruined a perfectly splendid moment for nothing.

Then again what do you know about martyrs and causes? Perhaps you are wrong and it is not impossible, simply improbable.

Somehow you highly doubt that.

You sigh and bring your knees up to hug against your chest.

“Forgive me…” you begin, “It’s not my place to say it. I shouldn’t—”

He doesn’t let you finish.

“Would you come away with me if I asked?”

It is another shocking, bell-clanging moment, along the same vein of your own confession.

You’re fully aware of how you’re gawping at him, but you can hardly believe he even said it as the question lingers between you. The sudden change has you laughing, for shock rather than unkindness.

He remains steely in his resolve and waits for your answer.

“Come away with you?” You echo, and your heart thumps in anticipation of the answer you cannot give him — yes of course.

It’s all you’ve ever wanted. Still, humor is the soothing balm to the way your heart cries out in protest because you cannot go, no matter how desperately you want to ... and yet...

Not impossible... simply improbably...

“What could you possibly offer me enticing enough to abandon my life here, living in the lap of luxury?” You ask, beaming as you gesture grandly to the modest room, with its peeling wallpaper and holes in the ceiling.

In a strident contrast to the way you poke fun, Enjolras is serious as the plague as he takes up your hands again.

“I would offer you everything I have.” He says earnestly, “My life — my fidelity.”

The heat of his gaze is intense enough to have you turning shy and looking down at your hands, at the way he’s caressing your knuckles with the pad of his thumb.

You're laughing again, suddenly giddy with possibility.

“Your fidelity? You would abandon your true love? All your work for the revolution? For me?”

He nods.

“For you, I would leave tonight.”

You hum thoughtfully, dropping your chin to the sinewy muscle of his shoulder.

“What about life and liberation of the working class?”

His voice is soft when he answers, rattling in his chest with a deeply tired sigh, like he hasn’t slept in months. You have to wonder whether he ever rests outside of your company.

“Let someone else fight for a change.” He says, his eyes growing distant. It is entirely uncharacteristic of him, and enough to make you think he might be serious.

He would leave — with you, no less — leave all that he knows behind for a love that is forbidden. How wonderfully uncharacteristic of him.

What a story yours is. A common whore and a jaded revolutionary.

How terribly cliche.

And then like a proposal, he moves so that he is kneeling in front of you, his soul bare for you to judge and do with what you like.

“Come away with me.” He says, “Be my wife.”

You cannot speak, your tongue has suddenly turned to cotton in your throat. You imagine saying yes, leaving tonight, but your heart is torn.

You could marry him, but with what money? He cannot afford to keep you and without an income, you cannot afford not to work. And what would leaving mean for the lives you left behind?

What would happen to girls like Marie and Clotilde without your guardianship? How many revolutions have died in their infancy because lesser men than Enjolras decided to leave the fight to someone else?

Amidst all these worries and questions, another series springs to the front of your mind and branches out, growing wild with reckless abandon.

Why does it all rest on your shoulders?

Why is it not enough just to be lovers?

It is a pretty dream, your other life in a little house, married happily and rearing curly-haired children with their father’s dark eyes — why should you be doomed to live your life resigned to dreaming?

Why? Why why why? ...Why not?

For half a moment, you watch Enjorlas crumple before you, like he is anticipating the rejection.

Your heart breaks for him.

How conflicting it must be to balance his two selves, the stalwart revolutionary with the desperate romantic.

If only his compatriots knew how he suffered for the revolution, you fear they would tear him to pieces.

You would shield him from that if you could.

You bring your hand up to cup his jaw on one side, and then the other, and you draw him to you.

"Your fidelity won't put bread on my table," you say softly, "But I would take it if you let me, if only because you offered it to me."

His eyes widen ever so briefly, and his face splits into that big, shining grin again. He laughs, too struck to speak like he had already resigned himself to the slow death of your impending rejection, and to hear the opposite has wiped clean the slate of his mind.

You love it when he's speechless.

You can’t stop your lips from quirking up into a shy smile. “Unless you didn’t mean it–?” You tease, but he doesn't let you finish, crashing forward to press a bruising kiss to your lips.

“I meant it.” He says quickly, breathlessly between kisses – his hands come up to grasp your shoulders and hold you to the spot, like he’s afraid if he doesn’t have a hand on you, you’ll slip away.

You smile against his lips.

“Then I will come away with you.”

You let him kiss you and bask in the unbridled warmth blooming in your chest because now you never have to stop.

There is nothing more to keep you apart. He is yours to have as you please forever, and you are his.

Somewhere, in the belly of the house, you think you hear the slamming of the front door, the telltale commotion of the Madam's return, but you can't make yourself care. This is the last night you'll spend in this wretched place, the last time you'll have to steal for a moment of intimacy with the man you love. You think on what Enjolras said before, about letting someone else fight for a change, and while you know he won't stop his fighting, you resign yourself to letting go of your own battles with a strange lightness.

You know he won't give up on the revolution. She is the other woman in his life, after all, but you are pleasantly surprised to find that you don't mind sharing him.

You’d been so worried he would make a romantic out of you, you’d never once considered he might make a revolutionary out of you.

A courtesan turned revolutionary’s wife — how perfectly wonderful.

[babybluebex]

𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 (𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

༻ ralph penbury (timewasters, 2017)

wizard: at ralph’s birthday party, you feel the need to apologize for what you’ve done. ralph, meanwhile, has a question to ask you. (fluff)

making waves: before a party, you do ralph's hair. (fluff)

marking ralph's cheeks with lipstick (fluff)

punishing ralphie for misbehaving (smut)

coked up ralphie fucks your ass (smut)

༻ jamie sampson (kin, 2017)

jamie tells you about harry (angst)

༻ koner (game of thrones, 2017)

only you series masterlist (koner x fem!reader): your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father marries you off to another man, and you do everything you can to stay with him and keep your love strong. (retired)

༻ peter grunauer (overlord, 2018)

reuniting after peter goes to war (angst)

sweet awkward reunion sex (smut)

༻ enjolras (bbc les miserables, 2018)

don't call it love: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed.(angst)

༻ prince paul (catherine the great, 2019)

out of the dark: marrying the prince of russia would be dream if he wasn’t such a dick, but a late night conversation leads to a mutual understanding. (smut)

paul yells at you (angst)

paul punishes you for flirting with someone else (smut)

༻ tom grant (make up, 2019)

5 minutes in heaven: your boyfriend finds an empty closet at work, and he convinces you to play a game of 7 (or 5) minutes in heaven. (smut)

stupid for you: you and tom get into a fight and, after he says something especially nasty to you, he makes it up to you in the best way. (smut)

boyfriend!tom headcanons (fluff)

teaching tom how to go down on you (smut)

tom convinces you to try anal (smut)

tom takes care of you when you're sick (fluff)

making you smile after a hard day (fluff)

cuddling with tom (fluff)

༻ pub!charlie (best move along, 2019)

pub!charlie headcanons(fluff)

nsfw pub!charlie headcanons(smut)

༻ billy knight (cb strike, 2020)

breeding kink (smut)

handjobs (smut)

camilla (fluff)

༻ eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024)

a medium place: your husband, eric, spends too much time at the office, and he assures you that you’re a priority in his life. (smut)

needs and wants: in the direct aftermath of the apocalypse, you meet a man who's worse for wear in just about every regard. even though you can't do too much to heal his injuries, it's possible that you can heal his heart. (smut)

[little-orphan-ant]

getting fukcing bbc!enjolras x fem reader post recommended to me by tumblr im sobbing

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 18

Summary: Clashes with the Royal Army finally take place. Other sides of Enjolras revealed…and new developments take place for Enjolras and his gal.

Notes/Warnings: 18 & above please. There are two collages…enjoy! Wound/Blood, War violence…briefly mentioned…

“My sweet angel. So brave coming to see me.” Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir. My angel. Mon ange.

It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably. - Quote from philosopher Immanual Kant

Thank you, for reading! Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

Glancing skyward, Enjolras saw scarlet flags flapping brilliantly against the clear morning sky. With the right push all of these men, women could all raise up their anger fueling them. Perhaps, their voices could would finally be heard. A smiled curled his lips. His heart lifted in hope. The gods, were on their side. Reaching up, absently he gave your ribbon a gentle tug.

Moving among the throngs mourners and his comrades, he gave the nod. In a breath, they reacted. Easily six of them took over pulling the carriage that carried the casket of General Lamarque. There was practically no resistance. Elation began to fill him. Perhaps, all of this would be easier then any of them thought.

His breath caught in his throat when he saw the sheer number of those that turned out. There were several men and women, old and young alike crowding into the city center. This was exactly what they needed.

The further and deeper they moved into the city, Royal Guards rode high above on their white horses. The numbers of them grew. He knew they would there but his stomach began churn at saw how large their presence was.

A crack of thunder, made him look around. There was no storm clouds. His his grew when he realized that what he had heard was a bullet cracking out of his barrel. He watched as a lieutenant of Royal Army slid from his saddle, a scarlet spot over where the man’s heart should be grew as he fell. Panic hit the crowd moments later, screams fill the sky.

As he began to back up, he watched the small groups of the Royal army. It did not take them long before they came together and formed bigger, tighter bunches. One a fair distance away drew his sword, calling out a command and they began riding at anyone in their path. Guns were pulled from their holsters, swords are drawn and people are running different directions.

Despite his heart thudding hard in his chest a steadiness comes over him. He grew focused. He urged the men and woman around him to run.

“We have to get out of here. Run!” He commanded.

They listened and he ran with them. Looking back when he could, many anguished, terrified faces filled his line of vision. Though none of them were the faces, he hoped to see. The faces he wished to see belonged to Courfeyrac and Grantaire; he knew Gavroche was as sneaky and small. He knew how to get himself out of a scrap. Yet, he did not spot them anywhere.

As he neared the end of the city center, hoping for the best he chose one of the narrow streets closest to him and began to run down that one. Deep down, he knew the army would struggle there, they just had to.

Hearing his name he glanced up ahead of him. He saw far off, very far off his two friends. It brought little comfort, they needed to survive today to fight another day. He kept on running. Around him, men and women continued to run.

The screams around him rose, glancing over his shoulder he saw the Royal army were riding hard towards him. A man close to him stood fear obviously consumed him.

He had to do something, he pulled the man aside, the Royal solider drew his sword and he drew his gun. The galloping of the horse filled his ears. He aimed, he he shot and the sword came down.

Before he even knew what had happened, he found himself on the ground. He barely was aware that the old man managed to scramble up and he ran off.

Pain ripped at him. That’s when he saw his hand, the solider’s sword contacted with the back of his hand. There was a deep slice across it.

Glancing back, the warmth of triumph filled him as he saw people throwing rocks and other stuff down upon the Royal Soldiers from their windows. The people were fighting back. Reaching for his pistol, not entirely sure how but he did manage to holster it the best he could.

Sitting back he pulled his scarf free. He glanced behind him once again before he quickly wrapped his scarf around his hand. Biting one end, he made a tight knot. That would have to do.

******

Certain the soldiers and their horses had run off, he took a deep breath. Grantaire, came up to him almost gave him a fright as his arm wrapped around his shouldlers. “Enjolras, we did it. We survived.”

He nodded. He tried to gather his words

He felt his friend step back. “Your hand.” His voice cracked. “What happened to your hand?”

He shrugged. “I’ll be alright.”

He ran off ahead. His heart picked up with his new idea of what the should do.

“Citizens! Citizens!” The words were sharp and stronger then he had hoped for. “Now is the time to make our stand!” He continued, the people cheered and rose their fists skyward.

******

The moon was full and bright in the inky sky. He had survived another day. Chewing the inside of his cheek, he was grateful not more were killed in this scuffle. Yet, his core group of comrades had made it out alive and for that he was grateful.

Lingering in the doorway, he eyed the barricade they had built. It was solid. He wished there was a way to spy on the royal army. But it was much too dangerous , the risk was too high. They would just have to remain at the ready.

“Enjolras, you scoundrel get over here.”

Raising his eyebrows, he turned in the direction of the voice. It came from the doctor who was in their ranks and believed in their cause.

Pushing, himself off the doorframe he went over to the older man. He noticed he had gathered a few of their supplies. They shouldn’t be waste it on him.

“I’m sure its nothing.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He settled on the desk besides the supplies. The worn wood was scratched and creaked under his weight. Many a night had they poured under candle light, looking at maps. Tracing the the lines of streets and roads; with a steady finger as they would discuss away around the royal arm.

“You’ll see nothing to worry about.” He gat gotten you used to the soft throb of pain. It would pass. There were greater things to be worried about.

The man had a natural gentle touch as he took his hand. He smiled at him. “You tied this good.”

Ejolras shrugged. He had to keep fighting. He had not had the time to stop and think if it had been a good knot. He gritted his teeth as the man tugged and finally loosened the knot.

“Enjolras.” The man shook his head. “That is quite the gash.”

But his eyes to grew seeing the wound. It was far worse then he expected, that was proudly why it had still hurt.

The man handed his scarf to Gavroche who had wandered up. “Go and soak rinse that in the water barrel.”

“We shouldn’t, we may need that.” Enjolras spoke up.

The man waved him off. “I can get more from the Seine. When we do.”

He shook his head. That was a risk that may not be worth taking but Enjolras remained silent at the moment. One did not argue with a doctor.

“Well, alright. Let’s get this done with.”

Enjolras, would not look away. He watched as the man pulled the stopper from small glass jar. The scent of the alcohol is strong and stung his nose.

“It’s going to sting.” The man warned.

He shrugged.

The man poured and then rubbed the wound clean, along with what blood had dried.

“That’s a rather clean blow.”

“You read my thoughts, just grateful he didn’t take off my hand when he slashed down.” He gave the man a half smile.

“Yes. Those swords can be either completely dull or as sharp as a razor, all depends on the man who wields them.”

“This one must not have cared too much.” The man gave a short, choked off chuckle. “Alright.” He made quick work of threading a needle. “You may not want to watch this bit.”

“I need my hand.”

The man rose an eyebrow. “I did this on the battlefield, my boy.”

“I know.” Enjolras grimaced.

******

He opened and closed his hand once the man was done. He smiled. “You are a miracle worker.”

Just as the pain of the stitching began to lessen it strengthened as they wrapped and tied his scarf around it again.

“I know where my talents lay.”

“Glad you are on our side.” He clapped the man on the back.”

******

Going to one of the side rooms in the warehouse, Enjolras went to think. He snatched up scrap of bread and cheese. Barely, chewing them before swallowing. His stomach finally reminding him, he had forgotten to eat.

He needed a moment, away from the others. The quietness of the room gave him a chance clear his head. Eyeing his wrapped hand and simultaneously was grateful for the doctor but also relieved he had not inquired about the ribbon tied to his jacket.

Thoughts of you finally bloomed in his mind. You had taken root a while back but now, he knew body and spirit. These thoughts, these memories of you were different. He welcomed them.

Because of you he remembered the quote, General Lamarque had taught him from the works of Kant, “It is not necessary that whilst I live I live happily; but it is necessary that so long as I live I should live honourably.” With you, he easily could envision both. Which he was very aware was a rare occurrence in one’s life.

Yet, he struggled. Not with how he felt for you but with if was right to establish himself and make himself your…gritting his teeth he turned to Gavroche’s voice interrupted him. He was truly like a younger brother at times. He would only allow this from him. If Grantaire or Courfeyrac did this, he’d brush them off.

As he turned, his boots echoed in the small room.

“What is it?”

“The girl. Y/N is here.”

“What?” He stormed past Gavroche, just barely missing him.

There you were, talking with Grantaire. The man always talked to people. You were clad in a fresh dress, your hair soft and scarf around your shoulders just like the first night, he saw you here. His heart lurched painfully.

“What are you doing here?”

He watched as you turned to him. Your eyes moistened. He sighed at his tone.

“I…I…” Your words did not come.

He easily closed the distance. He grabbed your arm, careful as he did. “Excuse us Grantaire.”

“Come with me.” He gently pulled and you easily came.

He went back to that side room with you, only this time he closed the door.

“Enjolras.” Your voice was soft as his name poured from your lips.

“Answer me.” He realized he had not let go of you. He didn’t necessarily want to. Gently he grazed your arm with his thumb. Your softness was electrifying.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.”

He drew his wrapped hand to your other arm without thinking. He could watch as surprise and concern washed over your face.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

His heart squeezed as you leaned into his hand. Your lashes laying gently on your cheeks. He stepped closer, his body brushing yours.

Enjolras was very strong. He could resist lot in this life but you, you tested that. Right now, he wanted to kiss you. Closing the distance, he chose to do so. He sighed into the kiss as he felt your fingers nestle in his hair.

He needed this, this quiet softness. It ended the struggle he was tearing himself apart with mere moments ago.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” One of the comrades announced and ran back out. His heart stilled.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

He turned and ran away then, grateful he had cleaned and oiled his gun after this morning. Spotting a rifle, he grabbed it along with the bullets that sat beside it.

Quickly he ran to the barricade, climbing it easily his eyes grew seeing the Royal arm walking through the shadowy fog that had rolled in.

“Ready your positions.”

The barricade creaked as people took their positions. He glanced around and saw people in windows and rooftops. They had a strong advantage.

A street away, they formed their positions, some stood others knelt. They raised their rifles.

“Get done!” His shout came from the pit lf his stomach.

Soon bullets burst into the night, the slammed into the wood and stone alike.

The air was tense. “Wait for my signal!”

One of the guns went off behind him. “Hold onto your powder!”

They had to wait till they grew closer or they would have no chance.

“Wait for them to advance!” He glanced through some openings before him. His stomach churned.

He could hear as one of the leaders, card out. “Charge!“

“Hold!” He waited a breath. “Hold.” They needed to get just a touch closer.

“Fire!” He finally shouted and jumping up, he took aim. Not breath later, others join him.

Smoke filled the air. The smell was bitter and sharp. Bullets whizzed by, were random screams coming from both sides. He was caught up in aiming and pulling the trigger. He managed to nab a few.

Soon a smile spread across his face. The Royal army began to group together but withdraw.

“They’re falling back. Keep it up!” He scream. Their advantage had won them this round. They didn’t stop the offense till only the fallen is what remained.

Cheers erupted! Shouts of victory filled the small alley.

*****

Your heart pounded as you managed to reach the warehouse door. Your heart skipped at the memory. This was where you had first met Enjolras. He had to be there. The bar had been shuttered. If he were not here, you would make way to his loft. Though the idea of going there without him made you uneasy.

Taking a breath when you were outside the warehouse; you made a small wish. It was just as heavy as it had been that first night. You were grateful that tonight, rain was not falling from the sky.

Slipping it the warehouse was bright with all the torches and candles that flickered. Men you didn’t recognize were busy with various tasks.

“My dear, Y/N what do we owe this pleasure?” You knew the voice and noted as you turned to it, that his words did not have a slur pulling on them.

“Grantaire.” You smiled. He must be sober, you reasoned. “I am here to see Enjplras.”

He took your hand and gave it a soft squeeze.

“Oh our fearless Enjolras. He is here, I assure you.” He said with a grand air, that almost made you chuckle of you were not so concerned.

Gavoche came up, his youthful exuberance coming off of him in waves. “Y/N, you’re here! Why? Enjolras?” A huge, bright smile was splashed across his face.

You nodded and brought your scarf tighter around your shoulders. “Yes, I am.”

“I know where he is, I’ll go and fetch him.”He ran off.

Grantaire, smiled. “He’s a good kid. Very quick, very stealthy.”

You nodded. “Strong too, he helped me home from the market one day.”

“What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp, as it reached your ears.

As you turned to him, heart picked up speed as tears filled your eyes. You knew you should have stayed home but you couldn’t.

“I…I…” You words twisted in your mouth.

He easily closing the distance, the sound of his boots caused a soft hush to fall over the warehouse. His hand was warm as it just slipped under your scarf to grab your arm.

“Excuse us Grantaire.” You did not resist as he pulled you. “Come with me.”

You did not falter or stumbled as he tugged you to a room a part from vast openness around you. He managed to close the door as the two of you went in. Finally he stopped, his eyes moved over you. As the silence sliced through you.

“Enjolras.” Your finally having the strength to utter his name.

“Answer me.” His grip lessened but he did not let go of you. As you felt his thumb gently graze your skin, it stole your breath. It had felt like it had been an age since he touched you.

“I heard explosions and screams. I grew worried.” Your voice cracked.

You felt as his other hand drifted up your arm but when you saw how it was wrapped, you felt as if someone had hit you, like some had hit you hard. Blinking, you met his eyes. You didn’t even know what you could possibly say.

“I’m alright.” He immediately said. “I told you, I’d come tonight. I would meet you by our willow.”

“My worry consumed my heart.”

Letting your arm go, he cupped your cheek. Sighing, you leaned into his touch. His gentleness, was almost too much. Your worries had caused you so much pain.

You closed your eyes eyes. You did not want him to see how your anguish still battled within you despite him being in front of you.

“Mon doux ange. Tellement courageux de venir me voir.”

You felt as his body against yours. A soft sound came from you, as you felt him kiss you. You wilted against him. Reaching for him, you nestled your fingers into his soft curls. You melted further as you felt the warmth of him sighing. You could have sworn that through his shirt, his vest and your dress, your chemise that you could feel as his heart hard in his chest.

The door swung open. “Enjolras, they’re coming!” A comrade of his announced and ran back out.

Your body stiffened, your worries once again filling you. Your eyes met his they were darker than you had ever seen them.

He nodded, “Stay here. Do not leave this room, no matter what.”

“But, but..”

“Listen, stay here. I can not bare the thought of anything happened.”

********

As you paced back and forth, his kiss lingered on your lips. You could heard so shouting, you were sure it was Enjolras. But you could not be sure.

Once again, your stomach churned. Part of you had wished now that you had stayed home. But seeing him, that kiss had helped but what if he gets killed out there and that would be your last kiss.

You couldn’t take this. You would were going to be ill. Grabbing a chair, you sat down. You wrapped your arms around yourself.

When the shouting and loud bursts filled the air, you tried to ignore them. Desperation filling you, making it hard to breathe you ran to the door that you had used to enter the warehouse. It was far heavier then ever before. It would not budge for you. You could not take it. It was too much. There were so many anguished cries and screams. What if one of them was his?

These all at once all grew silent. Swallowing, you crept back into warehouse. Your heart pounded in your ears.

Exuberant cheers, cries of delight finally traveled to your ears. With your heart leading you, you found yourself at the doorway that ushered in all those good sounds.

Careful, you peered around and seeing that it looked safe; you took a hesitant step out. Surprise over took you and you placed a hand over your heart.

Gun smoke swirled in the night air, you saw many bright and large smiles. You watched as joy washed over Enjolras’s face as shouted in what appeared to be a victory. Slowly you began to draw closer.

You stopped as something else came over his face. “Marius, watch out!” He screamed.

You covered your mouth when suddenly you could have someone shoot their gun. Blinking, distantly you wondered if that really happened. Either way you began backing up.

Your heart stilled watching Enjolras. There was such a difference in him. Silently you watched as he walked down from where he had stood victorious on the top of the barricade.

What was he doing? What if the guy tries to shoot again? You clamped your hands over your mouth as you kept backing up.

He stopped, and with not even a flinch you watched as he aimed and shot. A scream came up from the pit of your stomach but it was muffled by your hands. You turned and ran back into the warehouse.

******

He slipped the gun back into his coat. As he saw, Marius kneel beside Epione, he realized he had better return to you. He easily, moved between those that lingered. Shock still fresh in their hearts with this attack so close their base. He made his way to you and slowly opened the door to the small room. You were pacing.

“Mon ange?” He managed. Inwardly, he was trembling. He longed for a drink.

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvns @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @lluviamg06 @samunson83 @craftyhufflepuff @julieteagk @gretavankleep37 @little-wormwood

[pedgito]

Enjolras grabbing you and holding you up against a wall for a quick fuck super dirty just shoving clothes aside panting into your neck

author’s note: i realize writing for enjolras can be a tricky but to anyone seeing this and not agreeing with the way i wrote it, don’t bother me, because frankly i don’t care lol. anyways, that being said, to those of you that do read this, i hope you enjoy!

cw: 18+ (minors dni), bbc!enjolras, fem!reader, canon divergence, unprotected sex, semi-public but clothed, mentions of drinking, this was literally just a reason to write for enjolras to see how people liked it/how i would enjoy writing him, so if it flops, this didn’t happen. if i missed anything lmk!

word count: 2.6k

You’d wasted nearly a month of your time infiltrating their rebellion under your father’s order—and it had been going well, not a single hendrence in your plans until a very unfortunate night, on the precipice of courageous attack being led by Enjolras himself, speaking out in a boastful manner to his people at these sacred meetings—it gave many hope that things could change, that they had a fighting chance. In your eyes, it was all lies. You came from the other side, experienced how they lived, the power they had—it was a battle he was going to lose regardless of how passionate he was for it. He was outnumbered, easy to outsmart, and despite his passion for the cause, he was blinded by it.

You felt sympathy, it was why you were able to fit yourself in so easily, so well—he never questioned your intentions for a second, swearing by the look of determination in your eye, your willingness to throw out ideas, boost the morale—but if there was one thing about him, it was that he knew just the right things to say, even to the people who didn’t believe it. He was great at convincing people to believe lies, acting like he had the answer to everything and everyone’s problems.

It would be easier if there wasn’t a war at all, but it seemed like the only way to solve issues now, fight first and solve things later.

The first night you end up alone with him isn’t intentional. It’s a late night at the bar, your tired figure nestled up in a chair in a dark corner of the room, Enjolras nursing his drink from the other end, watching as his friends parted ways. You had a bed to sleep in, a lavish home to keep you safe, but you wanted nothing more than to be away from that, if even for just a moment.

Enjolras tells you of his background, how he grew up, why he cared about the things that he did—and it made you realize that under all his anger and crazed acts, he was a lot like you. If not, he was more sure of himself than you. You were lost, fighting between right and wrong and only doing what your father had ordered, but you could feel it in your bones—this wasn’t right.

They had every reason to fight against the more fortunate; the richer, arrogant, mindless people running the show—they were all just as horrible as everyone assumed and you’d seen it firsthand.

Your backstory is simple—you came from nothing, were nothing, and you were tired of living that way. You’ve practiced it for weeks, making it all seem as believable as possible. He believes it, at least, he acts like he does.

From that point on, and the weeks follow, Enjolras turns to you every night, both of you staying later than necessary to talk about the day and complain about nonsense, sometimes sitting in the silence, listening to the other conversations in the establishment, watching as Enjolras separated the food on his plate, sharing with you.

You never went hungry, not when you were being served several course meals most nights, but you played along anyways.

Enjolras is dedicated to the cause with an obscured ambition and it feels like maybe you won’t be able to break-through to him, relying on the fact that maybe you could seduce him enough to have him slip-up, even the smallest tidbit of information.

Your father was growing angry, more and more upset that you were coming home empty-handed.

Until another night leads to several drinks, Enjolras leaning over you as he grabbed for the liquor, a sated smile pasted over his face. He didn’t smile often, not genuinely, but it was mesmerizing nonetheless.

“Darling, you’re going to clean this place out, you know?” He comments, voice thick as he swallowed the bitter alcohol.

“Must you insult me like that?” You tease, “I am a lady, after all.”

Enjolras gives you a look, one that’s calling your bluff outright.

“I am,” You squeak, shoving him away playfully, “Shall I prove it?”

Enjolras tilts his head slightly, considering it.

“I’m not being serious.” You tell him before he can answer.

“Yes, darling. I’m aware.” He tells you, “It does not make the idea any less intriguing though, I must admit.”

You snort softly, grabbing at your peacoat and shrugging it over your shoulders, “I think you’re at your limits, Enjolras.”

He peers at the bottle, holding it up to shine under the light, only enough for a small sip left in the bottle. He still seemed as sturdy as a rock, just more relaxed, less worrisome.

“I think you are right.” He agrees with a giddy laugh, pressing the bottle back against the table, the uneven weight of it causing the glass to rock, rattling to a stop. “Leaving already?”

“Yes, unfortunately.” You tell him, rising from your seat. It doesn’t take him more than a second to grab your hand, fingers pressed gently against your ring and middle, an unthought attempt to stop you. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Tomorrow.” He tells you simply, eyes unnerving as he glances toward the floor, around the room, before landing back on you.

“Where?” You inquire, knowing full well what he meant.

“Outside the wine shop, if things go south.”

It was the piece of information you so desperately needed, giving the other side even more of a fighting chance—your face fell slightly, nodding in response as you shrugged your hand away.

“Sleep well, Enjolras.” You tell him before fleeing without another word, disregarding the few goodbyes you receive, feet carrying you faster than you can manage yourself, stumbling over your feet as you round the corner outside the bar, disappearing down a dark alley.

You take a long breath, body relaxed as you feel the weight drift from your chest, removing the coat you had shrugged on as you felt hot, overheated, throwing it to the ground angrily.

“Running home to daddy, I assume?” His voice travels like an echo down the long, dark alley.

Your hand clutches over your chest, heart feeling like it’s going to burst. You muffle the scream with your other hand, staring at the dark figure as it approaches—his face was cold, eerily void of emotion.

“Enjolras, please.” You beg, knowing there was no using in lying. If he knew, he’d known for a while.

He huffs a vindicte laugh, pulling uncomfortably at the right ascot around his neck. “Is that where you go every night?”

“Enjolras, you do not understand.” You ignore his question, trying to level with him.

“I believe I do, darling.” He responds tensely, “How would he feel knowing you’ve been fraternizing so closely with the enemy? I thought it was all business with you monarchy people.”

“Wouldn’t you know?” You retort, “You are no different—only because you’re fighting against them you think that makes you better? You come from the same life that I do, do not try and belittle me.”

“So that, back there, that was only an act?”

The flirting, he means. You’d never considered he cared, giving his unwavering attention to his own cause, you didn’t think he cared that much. But clearly, you were wrong.

“Isn’t all of it?” You retort.

“You tell me, darling.” Enjolras challenges, taking a brave step forward, forcing you to stumble back against the wall. “Are you really going to allow all of these lives to be lost? Are you going to run back home and tell him everything?”

You shove him away weakly, eyes glaring harshly.

“It is no business of yours, Enjolras.” You tell him firmly, “Give this up, come fight with us—you’re on the side that has no chance, you do realize?”

“Are you trying to convince me?” He asks, “My love, you must try harder.”

“You’re infuriating.” You complain, “Your voice, your attitude—I'd rather hinder my hearing if that meant not having to listen to your voice again.”

It’s not the route he’s expecting you to take, but two can play at that game. The frustration was building, boiling over, and he could see it in the way your body canted toward him inconspicuously, despite your vile words.

His touch ghosts over your hip, pulling at the shirt tucked loosely in your britches, squeezing at the soft skin.

“Likewise.” He agrees, watching as you rested your hand against the him of his trousers, traveling up his dirtied shirt, over his vest, pulling at the ascot until it came loose. “Now, let us see if I can change your mind, yes?”

Enjolras gently yanks the red material of his ascot from your hands, taking his time as he wraps it around your head, knot settling between your teeth as you bite down, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“Not a word,” He warns, “Understood?”

You roll your eyes in annoyance, letting him shift you until your front is pressed against the brick wall, his hands sifting through the layers of clothing shared between you both until he’s free enough that he can fist his cock, the hard ridge of it pressed against the curve of your ass, his hands squeezing soft at the flesh of your thigh, traveling up enough to tap against the innermost flesh, motioning for you to spread your legs slightly.

His calloused fingers drag over your folds, finding their way to the center and covering his fingers in your slick, moan muffled around the soft fabric shoved into your mouth.

“They’re probably worried sick,” Enjolras comments, “wondering where you are, if you’re hurt—if they only knew.”

You make a noise of defiance, pressing back against his fingers, the pad of his middle nudging against your clit, eyes squeezed shut in response.

You’ve been deprived of touch for so long that this felt needed, wanted—and even the smallest touch had your eyes rolling back, keening against him. He gives no warning when he slips inside, though his movements are slow. He’s responding to your noises, the soft clenches of your walls around the tip of his cock as he moves in small thrusts, groans muffled behind his clenched teeth.

“Women like you don’t deserve to be bed properly,” He comments harshly, “are they attempting to marry you off already?”

You shake your head furiously, allowing him to grasp your hands behind your back, shoving your body gingerly against the harsh texture of the wall—it’s a stark contrast to the way he’s consuming you, but you don’t question it.

“I figured as much,” He comments lowly, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, panting harshly as he increases his speed, the ferocity of it, a startling gasp slipping from your lips, failing to be muffled by the fabric. Enjolras’s hand cups over your mouth, “Quiet,” He orders harshly, “do you not listen?”

Again, you shake your head. If you did, you would’ve never ended up in this situation. Enjolras leans back slightly, loose grip on your hands as he pulls out slowly, thrusting into you harshly, watching as his cock disappeared inside of you, squeezing at the soft globes of your ass.

“You drive me mad in the worst ways,” Enjolras admits, “but you are divine, you know?”

You make a noise, drawing his attention up. He sighs, pulling the fabric from your mouth, pressing a single finger against your lips to warn you of your volume.

“How so?” You ask quietly, teasingly, hoping it gets under his skin.

“You fit me perfectly,” He acknowledges, “such a shame you were ready to betray me so easily.”

“I had you fooled,” You chide, confidence seeping through, “for a while, at least.”

Enjolras releases your hands, his own palms spreading over the expanse of your back, forcing the shirt up higher as he grips your hips, pulling you tight against him. Your palms slapped against the wall, held there for support.

“I could teach you things,” He tells you softly, “things you haven’t even come to understand—I’d make you realize which side you should be fighting for, you’d never want to leave.”

“So, you’re not hoping for your—your cock to do the job?” You stammer out, whining softly with each movement of his hips. “I thought that was the point of all this?”

“Partly.”

“I’m not dull, Enjolras. I have higher education, I know—why do you think I agreed with my father so—so easily,” It’s redundant, he doesn’t answer, “I hate their stance just as much as you, but they are my family. I cannot abandon them.”

“A shame,” He seethes, reaching around your front to palm roughly at your breasts, pulling you back against him, other hand slipping over your cunt, circling your clit furiously, “—at least I have this to remember you by.”

You’ve never been with anyone like this—it’s usually slow, sensual, sweet. This was nothing but anger and frustration, hatred for the same cause, but fighting on two different sides. It was a battle, deep rooted in confusion.

“Knowing you may die tomorrow?” You ask tensely, stalling his movements slightly. “This is how you wanted to spend your final night? If it must be?”

“I liked you better quiet.” He spits at you.

You laugh brokenly, the harsh pass over your clit sending you over the edge, cunt clenching around him as buries himself deep inside, coming with little warning as he attempts to pull out, but held still by the hand forcing him there, buried into his shirt as you both ride out the high of your orgasms, moaning into the silence of the night, both of you barely visible at this hour from the lack of a full moon. His mouth rests against the back of your neck, nose buried into the back of your hair, most of it piled up messily atop your head.

“You’re at risk of dying, too—if not more than me. These people, they’re passionate. If they find out—“

“Will they?” You ask quietly, hearing the faint rustle of his pants as he pulls out of you.

You turn, connecting eyes with him. He seems hesitant to answer.

“Oh, darling—don’t be coy now. You come inside of me, threatening me with the burdance of bearing your child if fate has it that way, and now you can’t even look my way?”

“That’s not—“ He begins, shaking his head.

“You men are all the same.” You tell him harshly, “Just because what you think you’re doing is right, it doesn’t make you a good person.”

“My love—“ He begins.

“Calling me that doesn’t make it so,” You retort, “you hated me just a few moments ago, am I wrong?”

“I’ve never met anyone like you.” He admits, “Not before, not during the rebellion.”

You smile tightly, adjusting your clothes back to their original place, reaching down to fetch your coat.

“How sweet,” You tell him, patting his chest, “I guess we shall see how tomorrow goes, that should determine where this takes us.”

But unfortunately, you had a sneaking suspicion that none of this would end well, for either of you.

“Stay,” He tells you, “for a few more hours, that’s all I ask.”

You’re hesitant, every morsel of your being telling you otherwise. You ignore it, allowing yourself to enjoy what may be your last night.

“Another bottle and you have a deal, Enjolras.” You barter, watching the grin grow on his face—because despite how much he wanted to hate you, he wasn’t sure he could. Given the time he had gotten to know you, learn about you, he had to believe there was a part of you that would do the right thing,

Although, it was much too late for that.

“After you, darling.”

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty - Six

Summary: Reader and Enjolras, allowing their moods lead them.

Notes/Warning: 18+ only. Consensual P in V intercourse, Dated views of intercourse

Thank you for reading! ❤️s & reblogs are always welcome. Feedback is also very…very welcome!

Translations: Then I am yours, heart and body. - Alors je suis à toi, corps et cœur. My love - Mon amour, Beautiful- Beau, My beauty - Mon Beaute.

He chuckled, “So tell me what has made my wife so bubbly?”

Your eyes twinkled. “The ladies gave me some wine.” You leaned in close. “Its stronger then whatever we drank at the tavern.”

“So are you feeling nice and warm?”

You nodded, a giggle came from you.

He shook his head smiling. “Those women befuddled my dear wife.”

“Enjolras?” You hold onto your bravery. You would finally tell him.

“Yes, love.”

“There is something I have been wanting to tell you.” You say in a lower tone.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Oh? This sounds like it will be very interesting.” He smiled and pulled back.

“You remind me of all those dashing rogues I used to read about.”

He sat a little straighter getting a hold of warm fuzziness the ale he had drank earlier did to him. He rested his hands on your hips.

He wiggled his brows. “Oh? Do I now.”

“Yes, you are dashing like them and are very close to how they came out of a writer’s pen.” You placed a hand over your heart.

He truly loved and enjoyed this sweet your nature.

“I am completely besotted.”

His lips were curled in an easy smirk but it easily shifted to a soft smile. Around you smiles felt natural were not a tool to gain something he wanted or needed.

“Are you sure this is not the wine those ladies gave you?”

You shook your head. “No. Ever since I stumbled into the warehouse and you retrieved my fallen scarf.”

He chuckled. “That feels so long ago now.”

You nod.

Reaching up he cupped your cheek. “You were a sweet distraction that night.” His thumb caressed your cheek.”

As you leaned into his hand and sighed, his heart picked up speed. He drew close to you, meet your eyes he bit his bottom lip before he kissed you.

Your lips were so and hesitant at first; easily it allowed him to easily deepen it. As you pressed against him answering his kiss his passion grew.

“I need you mon ange.”

“Alors je suis à toi, corps et cœur.” You breathed

Your words made his stomach tighten in his desire for you. Moving, he lifted you and so you were now the one sitting on the bed. He standing above you he bent down to kiss you. Your lips were hungry as they touched.

“Shuffle back a little, love and lift your skirt.” He managed to breathlessly say.

You nodded, easily you lifted your skirt and soon your petticoat. Watching you, he trembled as his excitement pressed hard against his trousers.

Kneeling on the bed, he took a breath and reaching up and pulled you free of your undergarment. He tucked them into one of his pockets.

“My beautiful girl.” He murmured catching your eye. When he did he saw the pink darken in your cheeks.

Easing one of legs around his hip he gently brushed your soft entrance. The soft moan that poured from your lips, shook him to his core. He easily then entered you. Loving how he snuggly felt using his unscarred hand he braced himself on the bed beside you.

“Mon amour.” He moaned aloud.

He smiled as he discovered that you had loosened laces near your décolletage.

“Beau.” He pressed his lips against yours. “Mon beaute.”

He began to easily move within you. As he did he relished the feel of your fingers in his curls. You moans fueled him. You were so soft, so lovely. You were his sweet little trésor.

You trembled under him. “Amour, my pleasure is about to wash over me.”

“Good. Mine will not be long after you.”

His lips met yours once more and he could hear as your muffled cry, his his mouth as you shared a sweet kiss. Your sweet tightening pulled on him and the knots that had been tightening inside of him snapped and he barely could muffle himself as his own pleasure washed over him. He gripped the blankets tightly as he felt himself fill you with his essence.

******

In your chemise, you sighed and laud your head on his chest. You smiled as you felt his lips press against the top of your head.

“Love, I couldn’t wait, nor stall my pleasure for you. Laying as we normally do when we become one, would have been too long for me.” He whispered against his your ruffled strands.

“It was exciting and different. I had no idea we could move like that but it felt so good.”

You buried your face into his chest. “Oh, the wine has continued to make my ability to speak of all things.

You felt as he squeezed your shoulder. “It is alright my love. The idea came to me, that you are becoming an inspiration in many parts in my life. This make our life in England, quite an adventure.”

“Truly?” You asked softly.

You glanced at him in shadowy cabin towards him.

“Yes. And I enjoy your thoughts, never stifle them.”

“I will have to remember that.”

“Yes. After all that we have already gone through, I do not want to change how we are.”

“Thank you.” You yawned softly.

A soft chuckle came from him. “I do say it is a good idea we shared about retiring early. I believe our passions has brought a cloak of slumber that wishes to be wrapped around you and I.”

You were barely awake, hearing his soothing voice just lulled you more into the world of dreams that were eager to visit. Keeping that solitary candle burning, shadows were cast in all directions and the flame flickered in draft that blew around as the boat continued to cut through the dark, ocean.

******

How much later, you were not certain. As you rose onto your elbow in dim cabin. You were grateful Enjolras had lit a candle. He had burned to half of its stature. You eyed his sleeping form, his features were smooth and soft. Underneath was a warrior that had fought and protected you.

Inhaling you saw his scared hand. You let your finger tips just graze what remained of the wound. For a moment, you were haunted by the night you and him fled into the night. The acrid smell of the guns, how the wood door burst open as the soldiers stormed through.

“Love? Are you alright?”

You stilled not realizing you had been trembling. That night shook you. His voice raspy as sleep still held onto part of him brought a calmness to you.

You glanced down at him and nodded. He took the past that had lingered around you.

“Yes.”

“Night terror?”

“Not necessarily.”

He rubbed an eye. “Your father?”

“Not tonight. I was remembering that night.”

“Come lay back down. It will be dawn soon. Let me hold you.”

“Yes.”

You nestled close with a sigh. His hand gently caressed your arm. You felt as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

“I am so grateful that we made it, yet it still haunts me.” You finally spoke glimpsing up at him.

“Me as well. While I was playing cards, memories of times with Courfeyrac and Grantaire came to mind.”

His arm around you tightened.

“Once we reach land, I will send messages.”

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[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part: Thirty One

Summary: The truth comes to life.

Notes/Warnings: Angst, flashbacks to the barricade, mortality questions. 🍋Lemonade🍋 came to London in the 1800’s they made it with Honey, before it became chic…men on ships used to drink it to prevent scurvy.

❤️s, feedback, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

He slipped free of his coat, untied and pulled his scarlet scarf from his throat. Laying them on his desk, he turned and kelt in front of his cupboard. When the door creaked open, he glanced around. He hated hiding this from you. It wasn’t in his nature.

Though he did not want to risk upsetting you or his unborn child. Uncovering, the sabers, he took the one had grown more comfortable toward. Inhaling, he began slicing through the room.

At first it was only his room that was a blur as he moved around. His heart began to beat harder, his breathing shallowed as his room began to fade it shifted in his mind to when he had first began to art of the sword. It had been at an early age when he learned on how easy it was for him move about. He was good at dodging and deflecting.

As a child, he never found it hard to find a place for his foot when climbing a tree or running across rocks that made it easier to cross a brook on his family’s estate. His heart lurched as his mind brought back the moments in the alley. The space easily had grown tight and the air had soured with plumes of smoke from the pistols and canons. The barricade fell broken in mere moments. A vision of his friend, Courfeyrac; he had long since laid rest his memory. He had been brave stood tall and made it possible for him and you run away from the soldiers that burst through the doors.

Stopping, lifting his arm clad in a start white sleeve he brushed aside the sweat that blossomed on his forehead. Thank you dear friend, he whispered in his mind.

“Mon amour.” There was a knock and creek of his door opening as your voice fluttered over to his ears.

Turned on his heal.

“There you are.” Your voice was so light, like the sunlight that shone into his room.

He coughed, holding the sword close to him. He glanced back at you over his shoulder. “Yes?”

He saw your brow furrow and your smile wavered but remained.

“A message came. I thought we’d read it together.”

“Ah, yes…yes. Bring it and yourself to the sitting room. I will shall join you shortly.”

“Oh, yes that shall be pleasant.” And his door snapped shut.

He relaxed, though annoyance prickled him. He hated that his words to you were as sharp as the sword in his hands. His heart rode his emotions, his actions. He crossed the short distance to his cupboard. He had to compose himself before joining you.

******

“My lady?” The soft voice of Beatrice broke the world of the book in your lap.

“Oh? Yes?” You were still getting addressed as such. Greta had always been respectful but lady, that was an entirely different class then you ever expected to be addressed in. And in these last couple of months. You realized not to argue with Beatrice over it. In the end, it only helped you and Enjolras in your new life.

“Sorry to disturb you but a message came for Sir Julien.”

You put the book down and with a quick breath, you stood and went over to her. “I would love to bring it to him.”

“I am sure, he will enjoy that all the more.”

Beatrice then handed it to you before turning and returning back to whatever task she busied herself with beforehand.

You can tell it had been replaced on the smooth and more elegant paper for the destination it was to reach. The paper felt very nice nice in your hands.

******

You were confused as to why he had not turned to even face you. His words, his tone were like an icy shadow compared to the days you had heard him speak warmly and passionately.

“Oh, yes that shall be pleasant.”

You felt a churning inside of you, not wanting anything further from this shadow of the man you loved, you closed the door at his last word.

******

On the small table besides the chaise, you tossed away the fine paper. The exchange between the two of you didn’t make you inclined to hold it any longer.

Eyeing the pitcher you wondered of its contents. You smiled seeing the sweet lemon and honey mixture. Beatrice, knowing you didn’t always want to ring by bell or other means would leave you pitchers ready for your thirst would fall over you. Though it was best kept inside because if you were to go to the garden, she would bring it out. Because if not it attracted more beings then the flowers did.

You poured yourself a glass, then holding your day dress just so you said down on the chaise. The cushions were very comforting and the dye chosen in it always pleased you. It reminded you on the sun shining down water by a forest or the ocean when it was not angry.

******

“There is my ange.” You noticed that his words had soften.

You barely glanced his way, and u took a sip from your cup.

He closed the door and soon his shadow fell over you, as he stopped on the other side of the table.

“Is this the message?”

You looked up, you immediately noticed the top buttons on his billowy shirt were undone and a flush dusted his cheeks. It made you pause. “Yes.”

You noticed that he also poured himself a cup. “I am glad you are fond of this.” He held up the cup and soon he snatched the envelope in his other hand and came and sat beside you. He took sip.

“It is very pleasant. It lays close to my heart like a deep rose tea.”

He smiled. “You do enjoy your tea.”

You nodded.

He put the cup down. He held up the envelope. “From home, I do wonder what they coiled possibly want.”

You put down your cup, reaching up you drew his hand down. “What is the matter?”

His brows knit together. “What are you questioning?“

You swallowed. “You.”

The flush returned to his cheeks.

“I see you infrequently unless it is time to slumber or eat.” You shrugged. “Yes, on the occasion I see you in the garden and we take in its beauty like we did in the park so long ago. But now, you act as if I have grown to be a nuisance or I am no longer bare any importance in your life.”

You finally spoke of all that had been lingering in your heart. A tear escaped and ran down your cheek.

He pressed his lips together, he placed the letter back on the table and finished what was in his cup. You didn’t dare move, you felt as if he was gonna spring off the chaise like a kitten would if it was hoping to catch a butterfly or a mouse. And right now you couldn’t bear the thought of him leaving your side.

Then he did the unexpected. He shifted and moved till he was sitting like he had under the willow in garden of your home. His back now more comfortably supported by the curve of the chaise.

The sight of him before you as such made your heart yearn.

“Do not break my heart.”

“Oh, my sweet amour.” Easily, having forgotten the strength he has you found yourself nestled close to him.

You laid like this. Silence had fallen over the two of you like a blanket would have. You felt the beat of his hear, the warmth of his breath and his arms draped loosely around you. That you knew was for fear of disturbing the baby that still grew with you.

“Oh my amour.” He spoke again lifting his chin from where it had nestled in the strands of your hair.

“Our life, our destiny more mine that yours may cause your heart to break, not I. In my wild, undignified ways I will always love you.”

His words, the feel of his heart beating harder, made you move so you could look at him.

“Not long after we arrived and wonderful news of the blessing of a child filled our new home. A storm, a shadow drifted and reached our shores from our past.”

You watched as he swallowed. Despite the warmth of him around you, coolness prickled you.

“A man, a solider is seeking revenge for my action. I struck down his son at the barricade. Now he is searching and wishes to do the same to me.”

“That was during a fight, skirmish I dare say. Deaths, men get slain.”

He nodded.

“Did I grow angry at the boat that went down or the ocean that swallowed my father? No. I was made that it was my father. Does be not see this?”

“No. He does not see that it was an act or war. There was no personal thoughts. It was a question of survival.”

You nestled close. “What are you to do?”

“I watch my shadow and I have been practicing with the sabers, my father sent me.”

“Enjolras, why…but why?” You were at a loss as why did not fair this horrific news with you.

One of his gently reached and held what he could of your growing stomach.

“What if he found you while you would be at the tavern? Were I then to find out when you would not return to us?”

He stilled under you. “To be honest, the thought had never came to me.”

******

You had not been able to sleep, reading by candlelight finally you felt as sleepiness clawed at you.

You felt the bed give after what felt like moments after you had pulled the blanket more tightly around you.

“Enjolras?” Your voice scratchy from sleep.

“Yes, mon amour.”

The bed gave only this time, only beside you. You blinked at the now glow of the candle on the table beside the bed.

Looking up you smiled seeing, Enjolras in and out of the shadows. It made him all the more handsome at that moment. You watched as could see etched on his face.

“Are you alright?”

“I just could have sworn I had just crawler back into bed when you awoke. I was worried I disturbed you.”

“I don’t think so. I had just used the water closet and seeing the dawn, I knew I had best travel to the harbor. The package mentioned in the letter should be arriving today.”

“Would you have awoken me?”

He smiled and ran his fingers through his curls. “Once the carriage was ready.”

“Let me come with you.”

You put your hand over his.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

“I will stay in the carriage. I need to do something outside of our estate.”

He pressed his lips together. He knew there was no stopping you.

“You are my husband.” You admitted. You were not that rebellious.

He inhaled and absently rubbed his goatee. “Maybe we can eat at the tavern or perhaps even do a little shopping.”

“Really?”

“Yes, but make me a promise my amour.”

“Please, if I grow concerned you will listen to me. I don’t quite trust these English men.”

“I promise.”

*******

The carriage rolled and bumped through the countryside. The world world turned but a murky dark blue, to purple to violet and finally to a clear light blue.

You say absently, after stirring.

“Looks like it will be a good day.” You yawn softly, waling more from your unexpected nap.

With the shaking, the creaks and cracks of the carriage the two of you actually had drifted off for more that half of the portion of the trip to the city proper.

He gave you a side long glance. “You look like a proper English lady with the hat and the gloves.” He rolled his shoulders, before stretching out his legs with a sigh.

You squeezed his arm before glancing down at yourself. “You think so?”

“Only far lovelier.”

Your cheeks flushed. “Enjolras. How is it you still make me blush.”

“Because my words speak the truth.”

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[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Thirty - Two

Summary: While enjoying the city they live near, Reader is visited by the past. Enjolras is confronted by his past and his future.

Warning/Notes - No real warnings. Just building dread.

eau de Cologne - how cologne was referred to

reticule - a type of purse for a woman in the past.

Sorry about the time between chapters. I wrote and rewrote this alot!!! It’s a long chapter with a flashback.

❤️s, comments, reblogs & feedback is always welcome!

You delighted on watching Enjolras. He spoke easily with the harbor master. His air and command of the situation made you happy. He was firm but pleasant and never belittling.

As they pointed into the bay, you followed their fingers pleased that you could also spot the ship. You gave a moment of pause in gratitude that your time of traveling on the water was over.

Oddly, you were reminded of the stories those women shared of their husbands still gave you shivers. You could never be wed to such beasts. Just as you were pleased with him, the baby shifted within you, made you believe they were pleased to too. You laid a gentle on your stomach.

Turning, he smiled and walked towards you.

“The ship is on an easy and straight course for its arrival. The master spoke of how I should bring you to shops and buy you something nice.” A smile played on his lips.

You gave him a sweet smile. “You don’t have to.”

“I don’t know, I may want to.”

You rose your eyebrows. “We have bought so much for our home. Are you sure?”

He nodded. “My dear wife, I do believe I should have given you something a long time ago.”

Taking his arm you followed him as he led you away from the docks.

You looked around making sure you stepped carefully. “Us, here and safe is enough.”

He squeezed your your hand. “As much as I do not enjoy extreme excess, you need some possession especially since you are the lady of our household.”

“Thank you, my love.”

*******

“Good day, Sir Julien.” Greeted a kind looking older man, he was wiping his hands on a cloth. He stopped upon seeing you. “Oh? Is this the lady of the house?”

You nodded and glanced up at Enjolras. He smiled down at you.

“Dear, this Mr Jameson. He has supplied our home with many treasures.”

“You have parted with many different items.”

He nodded. “I am sure your house is much grander for it.”

“It is.” You nod. “Thank you.” Slipping your arm free, you wandered away as the two began to speak of other items he may or may not be receiving soon.

The house, that you and Enjolras were now were residing were becoming quite grand. It reminded you of your home before the disappearance of your father. It had held several treasures before having sell them so that your mama and you could keep the home.

You sighed and continued to look at all the great items that remained. Some of which shifted your mood and made you relieved that Enjolras had such good eye. You would have been aghast to have them.

You were drawn to an array of some powder boxes. They made you smile. Looking at a few, you were reminded of one night when mama was preparing for one of the parties her and father would be hosting. She had opened one of her elegant boxes and gave her bosom a dusting. You had been watching, peering actually in from the bedroom doorway.

“I see you my sweet little cabbage. Would you like to be like mama and have some perfumed powder tonight?”

You nodded. You hurried over. Stopping, you stood tall while also attempting to be as elegant as you could.

A warm giggle came from her. “Ok. Close your eyes.”

You squeezed them shut. Next you felt a soft brush on your nose. The sweet scent of honeysuckle filled your nose.

“Perfect.” She said with a gentle air. “Now you are all ready for the party.”

******

He was pleased to hear that the cradles had come in. You being here was timely. He could not and would not have wanted to decide on one or even two without your guidance.

“I will go and find her. I am sure she is enjoying the sight of your treasures.”

“Treasures.” He made a dismissive gesture. “They are what makes a household, a home.”

He nodded. “They are that.”

The floor boards creaked under his boots as he walked down another aisle where he spotted you. As he drew closer, he saw a faraway look eyes.

“Ange?” He whispered, wrapping an arm around you.

You glanced up. “I…I…”

He smiled. “You looked terribly faraway my love, where were you?”

“I was.”

You replied with a soft smile that had a trace of sadness to it. You pointed to the powder boxes in front of you.

“They remind me of mama.”

You pointed to the porcelain boxes in front of you.

“Oh? Look at those.”

He drew from you and looked down at them and back at you. He knew how he treasured the glass bottle that held the sharp aftershave that his father gave him.

“Choose among them what you wish to have and they will be yours.”

You brought a gloved hand to your lips, in the muted light he could see happiness brighten them.

“Yes.” He nodded. “They will have a wonderful place on your vanity.”

*****

You held onto two of small boxes and were wrapped tightly in cloth. You could not wait to place them on your vanity. They were perfect.

******

Now, a new happiness filled you at the sight of them sitting there. Berceaux, cribs bassinets all for you and Enjolras to choose from for your baby. You brought a hand to your growing belly as you considered them.

It took some time, testing the ease of the rocking and evaluating the size. Also, you had to make sure none made too much noise when it moved. In the end, Enjolras and you settled on three of the five that stood in front of you. One for you Enjolras’s private chambers, one for the child’s respective nursery and another that they could easily move around if they wished to sit in the gardens or the library and wanted to have the baby with them.

“I will wrap these up in haste.” The man older man patted one of them. “I will fetch Edmund. Together, we will bring these down the docks.”

Enjolras nodded. “Good. Thank you.”

******

The ship surely has arrived by now, if he had learned anything these last few months the timing of ships in clear weather was becoming familiar to him.

Turning to you. with a gentle ease of his hand on your lower back. He made his way with you out to the cobbled street.

“Angel, I will walk you to the perfumery. That is where I found the ones that have already brought the most pleasant scents to the airs of our chambers and for you to feel even lovelier.”

“Is it close?”

“Yes.” He nodded. “And then I will return to the docks and check on the arrival of the boat.”

******

You watched as he spoke warmly with the gentleman in the worn brown coat whose collar looked especially stiff. But had a soft demeanor.

Turning, Enjolras closed the distance between the two of you once more. “Love, this is Mr. Barlowe. He can assist you while I go and check on things with the harbor master.”

“Thank you.” You turned and smiled at the man.

********

Enjolras enjoyed having you along. Though a cloud, a shadow of worry did chase his ankles. Though keeping you tucked away at the estate disliked more.

With it being such a lovely day, he was relieved you were having a good day. The baby was being good to their mama by not giving her any light headedness. That pleased him.

“Oh! Excuse me good sir.” He quickly said as he collided with someone stumbling out of the bar.

Turning in the direction in which the man fell, the man had sprawled.

“I am terribly sorry, sir. Thoughts had clouded my vision.”

He offered his hand. The man took it. He had a very firm grip.

“And drink had made my feet unsure of themselves.”

Their eyes met and chuckle had blossomed and was shared.

“Well, I must be on my way.” He gave the man a quick smile.

******

He had been right. His pleasure on being correct, gave him a flush of confidence. He needed it.

The boat after its journey groaned and creaked as it anchored at the dock.

He’d never breath the words into existence but fleeing had give him a thorn of discontent in his side. Logic, his heart told him he had made the correct decision. There was no doubt or second thoughts lingering in his heart.

Though there was a sliver of pain that sometimes cut deep as the thoughts, the memories of Courfeyrac or Grantaire or even small Gavroche or the elder Mabeuf paid him a visit. He glanced down at his scared hand that he used to lean against the wooden posts at the dock while he waited.

******

“Sir, I mean Officer Gerard, are you alright? I knew I shouldn’t have allowed you free of my arms this early.” The bar maid fluttered around him.

He dusted himself off, eyes narrowing as he watched the younger man walk away. He gave the barmaid who had been warming his bed a half smile.

“Do you know who that is my sweet cabbage?”

The woman glanced and smiled back at him. “Of course, I do my love.”

The woman dragged out that last word, love. He wasn’t quite sure how it made him feel. In the past, he’d backhand some for using it so casually. Yet, now It had been an age since anyone spoke of him in such a manner.

“That is Sir Julien. Newly arrived on our ground with a wife who is blossoming with life while he has the flair of a gentleman.”

With a tilt of her head he could see a tide of worry was over her.

“Is there something the matter? You would surely like him. He drinks and plays cards as well.”

He shook his head. “No but our paths did just crash and it left me curious. He seemed almost too polite for this region.”

“He sounds like you.” A giggle came from her. “Am I too polite too since you took a liking to my company?”

“Perhaps.”

********

“Sir, sir is that steady enough?”

A sharp voice took his attention away from the water that slapped against the wooden haul.

It was his mother. His heart leapt as his stomach churned. His feet ushered him over to where she would step foot.

“Mother?” All that he could possibly remained in his mouth.

Despite a tiredness having blanketed her usual refined and elegant appearance she smiled. “It took some arguing but I convinced your father to allow me passage to go and see you.”

“I did get my stubbornness from the two of you. What made him finally allow you?”

“Reason. Someone needs to keep an eye on the estate.”

“And despite him always being quite cold, you always brought some warmth from him however small.”

“It is my charm and wit that I feel blessed to have passed onto you, my son.”

******

With the occasional sniff from a handkerchief you finally were able to settle on eau de Cologne for Enjolras. You were not sure what he would think of it. But it did remind you of him. Memories, of how he had looked striding over to you with that white billowy shirt, those trousers and black shiny boots still stirred your heart.

“I will wrap this so it is ready when he returns.”

“Thank you.” You replied softly.

*****

The door jangled as you went to stand just outside the shop. The air with all of its scents had grown too heavy for you. Gently wrapped and tucked away in your reticule, the cologne was safe. You held the strings that

Shops, streets were different in England, you mused looking at your new surroundings, the urge to explore was strong.

Though a fluttering came from the baby as they shifted within you.

“Are you awake?” You whispered, gently patting your stomach.

The warmth of your love for them came over you. You were learning that you had to keep not only yourself safe but them as well. Waiting, for Enjolras’s return you took in the small street and other shops. Distantly, you could hear hushed voices with the occasional peel of laughter from opening and closing of a pub’s door.

You watched as Enjolras rounded the corner. As you watched he paused heavily against a wall. He looked as if something happened. Your heart squeezed hard. Not uttering a word you began to make your way over to him.

His eyes met yours as you neared. A few of his curls fell into his brow but didn’t hide the look you saw in them. It stole your breath.

******

The arrival of his mother excited him and worried him. He knew how she was rather particular with how she liked things. He knew the two of you had seemed complimentary of each other during those short moments at Oliver’s.

However, after the package from his father he would not expected this. It was not something, he particularly wanted to worry about. It was enough that he was keeping an ear open for the possible arrival of the French solider who was looking for revenge. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he made his way back to you.

“Sir Julien, sir Julien.”

He resisted the urge to ignore the barmaid, calling to him. This was not the time to close himself off from all the new people he was meeting. He swallowed, stopping and turned towards her.

“Yes?”

She was breathless and red faced as she caught up with him. Her hands fluttered around her like birds as she found her breath.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered swallowing some breathes.

“It is ok. There was something you wanted?” The urge to get back to you grew.

“A man, like you. Sounding like you has been staying with me.”

A chill came over him, he tried not to shiver. “Like me?”

A broad, lopsided smile that only she could muster spread across her fleshy face as the flush of running over to him finally faded.

“Yes, sounds like you and also likes to play card games. You should come one night. I told him, you did too.”

He blinked. “You did.”

With the excited nod of her head, the bun that held her hair in place loosened some.

“I did. You two would get along. Both very charming.”

He had to get away and now, he needed air desperately.

“I will consider it.

“You will?”

“Yes! But now I must be off. Fare thee well.”

He heard her call the same and he nodded and made it around the corner just out of eye sight and slumped against a stone wall. He felt like what little bile was in his stomach could leave at any moment. He took several breaths to calm his racing heart and churning stomach.

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[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 30

Summary: Interesting moments for Enjolras and his girl…

Notes/Warnings: No warnings…except some angst but lots of fluff!!!

⭐️Wow…part 30!! Omg!!! ⭐️ We have come so long with Enjolras….not over yet!

❤️s, reblogs, comments & feedback is always welcome!

You giggled at your reflection, you eyed it up and down. You were going to be a mommy. Reaching, you grabbed one of the fresh tarts. You could eat them forever.

“Do you like these too?” You laid a hand on your stomach. “Let us take the air.”

Going to your table beside the bed you grabbed a book. Then holding your dress you went out to where the doors led to the garden.

It still needed a lot of work. And honestly the idea of paying someone to design and then up keep it was rather excessive. This was your first season, perhaps next year.

You smiled seeing that Angela had made your bench, your little nook more comfy for you and the baby. The pillows and blankets were a welcome sight.

*******

Your heard the ground crunching and looked up from your book. You smiled.

“Yes, Angela?”

The house keeper smiled. “Sir Julien is still in town, however a letter and a package arrived for him.”

“Oh! How nice he will be happy to receive mail.”

“Yes? Shall I put them in his study then?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

********

Enjolras, walked through the market. Memories danced in his head, as he reminded walking through that one market with you. You had been as fresh and as lovely as the white blossoms that swept through the garden.

“Oh!” He replied and grimaced as yet another person bumped into him. It made him remember, he bit his cheek. He had Gavroche walk you home. His broken, bloodied body took shape and then faded fast.

It made his anxiousness of you wanting to go to the market with him tug harder onto him. People had already stepped on his feet and even bumped harder into him contacting with the table. That could hurt the baby and you. He would not let that happen.

As he shifted the satchel that slung on shoulder from one to the other. It was already filled with some rather nice vegetables and fruits. His nose twitched as he grew closer to where the the meats salted and other wise were on display for the choosing.

*******

He brought the satchel and the meats directly to the kitchen. Those that tended to his house were getting used to him not also helping with some of these tasks.

When he had been a youth, the servants his parents had would serve him and his mother. But now as a grown man, and after doing much on his own he could not go back to the ways of his youth. He compromised and let them cook, bake and help you but moments like this, he insisted upon.

He was just wiping his hands from the meats when Angela came into the kitchen from the root cellar.

“How nice I do enjoy when you bring things that I shall change into something you and the lady shall enjoy.” She smiled.

He nodded. “Tell me where is she?”

The older woman chuckled. “Oh sorry.”

He made a dismissive gesture as she apologized for the informal response to his question. He knew, there was no keeping you in the bedroom or even one of the parlors with the weather as nice as it was.

She smiled. “She is in the gardens, comfortable among the pillows and blankets we brought her. And she has a book for her mind.”

“Good.”

Turning, he made his way to you.

*******

He stopped just shy of where he knew your bench was and peered around a shrub to gaze upon you. His heart lifted and smile graced his lips. The sight, pushed away the gray cloud of the past away.

Your lips were as elegant as artist’s brush stroke. He felt blessed to know how they feel. He longer for another kiss. He would have one now here in the gardens.

His boots made the ground crunch and the tall grass, parted a he closed the distance.

“My love!” You called out sweetly.

His heart warmed as he watched you hold out your arms to him. How you looked up and your eyes twinkled.

Soon, he was beside you and easily he held you close. Sighing, he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Have you had a good morning?”

“I have.” You gently pulled back. “I enjoyed some tarts and came out to read.”

He rubbed your arm. “I am happy to hear it. I would have woken you before departing but you were such a sweet sight, so soundly asleep and gentle hand on your stomach.”

You drew a little closer, “You could have woken me.”

He tucked a stray strand behind your ear. “Perhaps, next time.”

You took his hand and he drew it to your lips, he smiled lightly as he felt you press a kiss to his palm.

“Oh! I almost forgot some mail did arrive for you. Angela has brought it to your study.”

Inwardly he stilled. “Did you see if it was from mother or Oliver?”

You shook your head. “It is not my place.”

He pressed his lips together. “We’re in this together.”

You shrugged. “Yes, but you deserve some privacy.”

“Thank you.” He looked you over. “Shall we go in and perhaps, have some sandwiches made. I can tell you all about the market and the e butcher.”

“And maybe we can discuss what do with the nursery?”

He chuckled. “Yes, we can do that too.”

*******

Stopping outside, his office he decided he had better see what the mail brought.

“Ange, have you left me any tarts?”

You stopped and giggled. “There are a few that remain.”

He cupped your cheek. “It is nice to discover how my ange, is sweet and how she enjoys sweet treats.”

“You have given me a chance to enjoy them once again.”

“I am glad.” He eyed the doorknob and then looked back at you. “Please, tell Angela then that I would like one with tea.”

You giggled. “I will enjoy one with you before we have our sandwiches.”

“Good. All of these tarts will make our baby just as sweet as their mother.”

His hand drifted from your cheek and it ghosted the side of your stomach.

You smiled brightly. “I hope so. But I want them to be brave and strong like you.”

He gave you a half smile. “We’ll see.”

*******

When he saw how large the package was, he strode back to the door and locked it. A pit of nervousness blossomed and began to grow.

He opened the envelop first. He swallowed, seeing his father’s scrawling across the paper.

Son,

Knew it was your heart that would bring you back to us. Grateful, you got that from your mother.

A solider, came by looking for you. Apparently, you have an edge. It has balanced your heart.

He is looking for you. He is on a ship. Headed for the new word. Anger has consumed him. His ship docks in London. He found us. I believe he will find you.

I sent my dueling sabers. You were always good behind a sword, if he finds you choose your battle. Ask for a duel.

In conclusion, be firm and a few tears never hurt you. Your mother approves of your wife so for once I will blindly approve of her as well. Keep her in your heart and keep your head clear, if that man finds you and accepts the duel.

Your mother sends her love.

Father

He chewed on his thumb. Enjolras, never ever fretted. He always knew the right course of action. He was always victorious. He always could look ahead and see the possible outcomes. All of which usually would be end his favor.

He was certain that sometimes he heard the whistle of Death’s scythe as it sliced through the air barely missing him. Or he’d feel as Death’s boney fingers graze his sleeve as he would attempt to yank him from this world.

Pulling back the heavy velvet material, two swords were nestled there. As he looked at the polished metal before him; he couldn’t see the future. It blurred, became hazy. He had to keep his eyes open. Could he write adequate letters. Could he make peace with you, and his unborn child that still grew in your belly. He did not know.

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[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 29

Summary: New developments for Enjolras and his girl.

Notes/Warning: 18 & Over! Male receiving consensual handjob. The death of some rats. Mentions of violence.

My sweet angel - mon doux ange, Angel - Ange

���️, reblogs, comments…feedback…messages are always welcome! And thank you!

You inhaled deeply, the fresh flowers brought a sweetness to the air that reminded you of walking or sitting in the park. It made you miss such days. You sat up against the plush pillows and gave Enjolras a look, eyebrow raises.

“This is a lovely room, truly it is.”

The shades of pink and cream were like something out of a dream. Enjolras, wanted you to have that. The bed gave as he came to sit beside you. “It really came together.”

It had been hard for him to acquire so many things. He had never been one to enjoy excessive spending. Though he knew it was expected of him to appear a man of means. However, making a home with you, and knowing you were with child; it grew easier. You missed being with him and picking out treasures.

“But, but I miss coming out with you. I miss doing things.”

He placed a hand over yours. “But look what has been happening.”

“I only fainted once.”

“Once is too many.”

You could see his jaw tighten.

“And now you are carrying our child.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He glanced around. He spoke just above a whisper. You knew he didn’t necessarily trust the staff.

“England doesn’t sit well with me, my love.”

“I’ll be with you. We, we could go to a market or perhaps a dress maker.” Your gave him a soft look. “They can’t be dangerous.”

“I’ll think about.”

He reached over to the nightstand, he grabbed the book you both loved. He handed it to you.

“Read and travel among the stars with this.”

He paused, a smile appeared on his lips.

“I have secured more candles. You do not have to only read by the light of the sun.”

You didn’t care you, you hugged him then. He shifted in your embrace to put the book down beside the two of you. His arms wrapped around you. You sighed laying your head on his shoulder.

*********

He drank a little more and played cards with a riskier flair.

Before arriving at the pub that night, he finally sent off a letter to his mother. He had pressed the envelop to his lips and then heart before bidding it a safe journey to his mother’s hands. With a twirl of the feather he wrote reams of how the house was coming along and how she was to be a grandmother in the coming months. He did not dare telling her of your lightheadedness or even the fainting spell. No darkness would be out on paper, only happiness and joy.

Now that you were tucked away in the house, in that beautiful room. He felt like he could relax. Now, you be comfortable and grow into your role as mother.

Coins jangled on the wooden table, paper notes of value were shuffled about and ale on occasion spilled along the side of the tankards. Some tightened while others loosened their hold on the cards would deliver a victory or a loss.

Once the moon was high enough in the sky, and his head was filled with the pleasant fuzzy warmth his ale gave him, he returned home. He’d shed his boots and coat and pull you close. He’d be lying if he didn’t miss your quick with or a peal of your laughter while sitting in that pub. The few moments, he had shared you with the company of Courfeyrac or Grantaire he missed it.

Pressing his lips together, he made it back rather easily to where he now resided with you. Not sure if he should be pleased or not, he was able to remain in cloaked darkness of the shadows and managed to make it very easily back up to the lovely bedroom, he made for the two of you.

The door creaked ever so as he opened it, it made him wince and he slipped in and soon moved fast so he could close it as soon as he opened it. Not going far, he soon let his heavy coat fall from him. He loosened some of the buttons on his shirt before leaning against the wall and gritting his teeth he pulled one and the other boot free of his person.

A soft sound floated over to him, where the candles burned low. Glancing in its direction he could just make out as he saw you moving.

“Love? You’ve returned.”

He smiled, making quick strides over to you. “It is I my ange, I have arrived.”

You rubbed in eye and smiled, pulled the blanket aside. “Then I welcome you home my love. I have missed you.”

His heart picked up speed, he knew the curves and beauty that was barely cover by the chemise you wore. Easily, he crawled in, then sitting up and he urged you to curl up to his side.

You looked up at him, your nose gently wrinkled. “Oh? I can smell the ale.”

“In my excitement of winning some hands, I did spill some.” He rose his eyebrows. “Do you forgive me?”

You smiled. “I do.”

His lips curled into a broad smile as he felt your lips just barley grazing a spot on his face where he tamed the growth there.

He cupped your cheek, his thumb caressed you. “You are so lovely.” He whispered. His heart warmed a she could actually feel as you flushed.

“I am glad you still think so.”

He paused, the fuzzy warmth still there but your words stuck him. “I always will.”

“Even when my belly grows with our child?”

“Yes, especially.”

He pulled you closer and finding your mouth, he kissed you then. It had felt like a lifetime. At first, you were hesitant but then he felt as your responded. He held you closer. Your warmth and softness was exactly what he had needed.

As he held you closer, and your hand drifted over him as you moved closer, a groan of deep rooted pleasure bubbled from him breaking the kiss. His stomach had tightened. His pleasure of having you so close had quickened his heartbeat.

“Oh? My love are you well? I have not injured you. Have I ?”

“No.” He chewed on his cheek. “But I have not eyed, your chemise as closely. It has quickened my heart for you.”

“Oh? Is that so bad? I am your wife. I miss being one with you.”

The dip in your voice stung.

“Angel, don’t despair.” He bent his head, pressing some soft kisses where you allowed. “Since you are with child we have to be careful.”

You sighed. Your breath warm and soft, distantly he smiled. It was obvious you had some tarts while he was out. Its sweetness lingered on you. “You would be.”

“I could only hope. But what if I hurt you or them, I would never forgive myself. “ He paused, in the muted light he relished the sight of your beauty. “Though I have an idea. And we can still be intimate.” He assured you.

“Oh tell me.”

“Nestle, closer my love.” He urged you. He had remembered how you had enjoyed touching him that one day. “Do you remember, the day you touched me?”

“Yes.”

“I would like you to do that again.”

“Oh can I?”

“Yes, mon doux ange you can. I will help you.”

Shuffling, he managed to open the buttons of his trousers and then move his shirt. He glanced down at you. “Love, I will take myself out and I will let you touch me. I can guide you.”

“Please. You will have to, I will not want to hurt you.”

He smiled, relief filling him as he heard how breathless you had become. He knew this was making your heart beat harder just like his own heart. Easing himself out of his trousers, he sighed and soft moan broke his lips.

“Oh, you are still magnificent.” You whispered.

Your words making his heart squeeze.

“Thank you, love. May I take your hand now?“

“Yes.”

Gently, he took your hand. He help you wrap your fingers around him. His entire being tightened. It felt unbelievable.

“Are you ok?” Your hand twisting on him as you looked back at him.

He coughed. “Yes. That, your hand feels amazing.”

“Oh, good.”

The gently he began guiding your hand. It almost made him come undone right then there.

“Your hand feels so good.” He whispered.

Trembles coursed through him and he bit the inside of his cheek. He would no let go just yet. This was entirely new way of you making him feeling so good.

“Just like that angel.” He encouraged.

He wrapped his hand around yours once again. We will do this a little firmer. He felt like this was a pleasurable torture. Also however in the shadows, watching your hand as it up and down. Was almost too much. His sweet angel.

“Oh, my angel that feels so good.”

He was so close to coming undone. His stomach continued to twist into pleasurable knots. He shook.

“I’m…I’m….oooh angel!” He called out. And soon, he expelled his seed.

“Ooh!” You rubbed a little harder, and he reached out and stopped you.

“That’s it my love. You have made me undone.”

He panted and melted back into the pillows. He licked his lips.

You hand held him gently. “Did I help you to feel good?”

He blinked. “Yes, love that was amazing.”

That’s when it dawned on him, he reached into his pocket and took out a cloth. “I wasn’t thinking. I am sorry.” He gently took your hand and cleaned off his essence.

Gently, he tucked himself away. “Angel, thank you for making me feel so good.” He was still breathless. He ran his fingers along your cheek. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

“Can you?”

His stomach once again tightened with pleasure.

“Yes, I can.”

*******

He crouched in the shadows. He longed for a real meal. Once in London, he would. There he grab some salted and dry meats for the journey to the new world.

He was tired of the sorry excuse for the stew the cook had been making the last few days. He ignored the burning or the cramping of staying there in the shadows, waiting on another rat. He had already managed to catch four of the seven that came into the corridor.

******

He banged on the kitchen door. The chef looked him up and down. “What?”

He held up six dead rats. “Add their meat to the stew.”

The man grumbled. “If you grow ill, it is your fault.”

The man shrugged and walked away. This would hunt more tomorrow. Now he’d have strength again. He had to keep it up, he was going to find the man who killed his son.

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[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty Eight

Summary: Enjolras’s parents receive information…and Enjolras and his wife settling in.

Warning/Notes: Shows the pov of Enjolras’s mother. Shows an interaction between his parents. Wanted to show a new development that will be happen for Enjolras.

Warning: Dated views on the United States..dated views between a married man and woman. Dated views of how a man of “higher status” should be. Mentions unaliving and events that lead up to it…and additionally threats of it possibly happening again.

❤️ s, reblogs and feedback is always welcome.

Loop and tug then pull. Loop and tug the pull. Loop and tug then pull.

“Will you please slow down?”

You made a face pausing, to look over at your husband. “Since when do you care?”

A scuffing sound came from him. “You know I do.” He sighed.

“What do you suppose I do?”

“Stroll in our garden. Write a letter to Julien.” He shrugged. “We don’t need you getting bad humors in your blood.” He absently chewed on his bottom lip.

“I could catch my death in the garden, it is quite frigid. And as you know, I don’t know where Olivier settled him and his wife.”

“Oh? I would have thought the boat would have reached its destination by now.” He remarked dryly.

A sharp knock sliced through the air. You met your husband’s eyes. His eyebrows rose, his mustache twitched.

“Yes?”

One of the elder servants, Xavier walked in.

“What is the reason for the disruption?” Your husband was not pleased.

Xavier, gave a small bow. “There is a solider here that wishes to speak with you.” He looked towards you.

You brought a hand over your heart. “Me?”

“Yes.”

You placed your crocheting beside you. Your husband, came to stand behind you. He met your eyes. You nodded.

“Allow him in.”

He looked like quite the brute before he even spoke. A chill fell over you. He was as big as an armoire. You bit the inside of your cheek, as he drew closer.

“You are the parents of the man known as Enjolras. Leader of a band of rebels.”

His tone was brisk, it was a statement. There was no question in his tone.

You shared a look with your husband. He let out a chuckle. It was the most cynical sound to ever reach your ears. It gave you a chill.

“Our son, is a student at the university.”

You swallowed.

“Him and his friends have been drinking their way through my money.” He paused. “A leader of rebels? No that is not my son.”

The man gaze fell onto you. Your heart stilled. “Perhaps, you naive of the facts mousier but your wife knows the truth.”

Your husband rose his brows. You swallowed.

“I, I…” You trembled. “All I know is he said he had to go to the colonies, that university bored him and he needed adventure.”

As you watched the man’s hand tighten and loosen in a fist, you felt is almost difficult to breath.

“He killed a young man, a Lieutenant in cold bold in a skirmish and you know nothing.” He rose his voice.

Your husband came out from behind you. “Excuse my tone, but how dare you enter my home and accuse my son of murder.”

“Your son came down from his perch, withdrew his pistol and shot him in cold blood.”

Your husband, stepped forward. “I barely could get his nose away from books. I had to practically bribe him to take up fencing. What is your basis for this accusation?”

“I watched him from where we stood our ground. It was my son’s life he took.”

You felt your heart wrench. You knew what he had told you. It had been the solider who had shot first; if that girl had not stepped forward it would have been in the cold, unforgiving ground. The shroud of mourning would be with you in every breath you took. You could understand the man’s anguish. But you could not help this man. You placed a hand over your heart.

“Mousier, I am terribly sorry all I know is I gave him some money for passage to begin his adventures over the great oceans.” You swallowed.

The man’s eyes narrow. You could practically feel his gaze.

“I find it unlikely but I do not wish to call a woman a lier in her home. His friend spoke of how he was as lethal and as deadly as an avenging angel.” His gave with relief went to your husband before it returned once again to you. “But know this, I will find him and I will kill him.”

Sharply he turned then and stormed out. Xavier was close on his heels who managed to close the door on the way out.

You barely took a barely took a breath before crumbling back into sofa. Your husband turned to you just as the two of you heard the front doors slam shut.

“Tell me what you know.” His words cut deeper then the solider’s.

The door opened. Xavier bowed.

“I am terribly sorry. I promise no further interruptions.”

“Good now leave us.” Your husband made. A dismissive gesture with his hand.

Xavier nodded and once again closed the door.

“Talk.”

“Can I have a brandy?” You needed to calm your heart.

“After.”

You felt ill but you nodded.

“After the conflict after the funeral of General Lamarque Julien and his men set up barricades. They knew the royal army would strike back and hard. Mind you it was during that conflict, that solider like that brute almost took his hand with his sword.”

“Is that so?”

You nodded.

“Continue.”

“The army attacked and they held them off. That was night he wed.”

You husband nodded. “I knew someone would pull on his heart, country and revolution could not steal his romantic heart completely.”

Your heart thudded a little harder. It was the kindest he ever spoke of him.

“He’s alot like you in that respect.”

“Oh dear husband,” You began.

“It’s an observation.”

He made a face, you couldn’t read under his mustache.

“Apparently, it wasn’t enough to keep him from actually fighting.” He absently moved his hand. “Continue.”

“Late, close to the midnight hour there was yet another attack. They held that off too. However, that is when that lieutenant mist have snuck behind their barricade. He was addressing his comrades when from below he took a shot at him. A young girl, someone who helped from time to time stepped just at the right moment. She took the bullet.”

You swallowed, you trembled. You could still see how he looked as he had spoke to you.

“And yes, he stepped down then and shot the man.”

“So it wasn’t exactly and execution?”

“Far from it.”

With a clink of glasses, your husband poured you both a brandy.

“So he fled with his wife?”

You nodded, the warmth of the brandy filling you.

“And you like her?”

“Yes.”

“Our son is now a man.”

He drank the entirety of what he had poured himself.

You didn’t know what to say.

“Is he going to the colonies?”

“No, just London.”

“Not many are lost traveling there. Good. I wouldn’t want to lose him to that ocean or even country.”

You blinked. Any response, any possible word became ensnared with another. You had no idea how to grasp onto any of it.

“Once it is safe for letters, tell me. I wish to write him.”

“Yes.”

“I am going to take some air.”

All you could do was take finish the last of your brandy.

********

“But sir, where is your servant shouldn’t he be here?” Asked the shopkeeper.

“One is by the carriage storing way the carpets.” He shrugged. “These are gifts to my wife, our house. I wanted to handle these other items myself.”

“You’re a romantic sir. Don’t let that side carry you away.”

“Thank you for the advice.”

Easily he picked up the trunk that held the lovely treasures, he wished to breathe life into the home the two of you now shared. There some clanging and shifting. It made him smile, he knew all of this would please you.

******

The wheels had groaned as they rolled over uneven streets that led to his destination.

Happily, he climbed out of the carriage and nodded to Beatrice the house keeper as she opened the door for him.

“Keep the door open. I have brought home one of first of many carpets.” He smiled.”tell me, where is my wife ?”

“In the library, sir.”

He nodded. Pausing, he shifting the trunk of treasures to his hip.

“Want me to take it sir?”

He shook his head as he tugged then loosened his scarlet scarf. “I got it. Has any letters arrived?”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head no. She glanced down.

“There will be.” He said brightly and shifting again he continued on his path to you. He hoped you were not poorly with your energy.

******

The chair creaked under you as you adjusted the curtains. Frederick had done good, but you knew that you could do better.

“Ange! Qu'est-ce que tu fais là haut?”

You clung a little harder to the curtains at the suddenness of Enjolras’s voice. You had been lost in your thoughts. You were grateful to no have fallen off the chair.

“Just fixing the curtains.”

Giving the curtains a final shake, you grabbed your skirt and jumped the short distance down. Easily you made your way over to him.

Seeing the trunk in his hands and your eyes grew.“More treasures?”

He nodded and the smile that filled his face filled you with warmth.

“Yes. I am certain you will love what is in here.”

*******

You giggled. “Angela, would be furious.”

He slid you a look. “Good thing she is at the market.” A half smile curled his lips.

You were grateful that the connections that Enjolras’s solicitor gave you servants actually were pretty decent people. Greta would have approved of each of them.

You honestly not used to having such activity around the household. For so long it had been only you and Greta. It all reminded you of your childhood. When father was alive, there had been a handful more then just Greta. Enolras was kind to them. He didn’t particularly like the idea of having them. Though, he was also very aware of why they were needed.

If you were honest with yourself, as of late you had grown to be quite breathless when on your feet for too long, so were grateful for their help. During this last month, he had urged you to rest more. Since the two of you had not found a doctor to look at. you reasoned that the long journey had mostly like taken its toll on you.

The treasures; books and a few vases and even a statue or two covered the large table. Happily you looped your arm with his. It steadied the unease you felt from shaking out and straightening the curtains. You hoped he didn’t notice.

“What shall we grab first?”

******

Later, with the moon high in the sky. He brushed some hair from your face to place a kiss on your temple. It had been a few days but he was eager for a tankard and a card game or two. Perhaps, been some pleasantries exchanged someone who know of a doctor.

*****

He pushed the heavy wooden door was was greeted by the smell of the ale, straw that littered the floor and a rip of laughter from a lady who sat with a few men in the corner. He was certain she owned the place. But didn’t ask too many questions.

“Arthur! Maurice!”

He smiled and gave a wave. Soon he sat with the two men he had taken a liking too. They would have fit in nicely with Courfeyrac and Grantaire. A slice went through his heart at their memory.

Cards fluttered across the worn table, some ale even sloshed a few tomes free of the tankard before reaching his lips.

“James!” Arthur stood and called out. Not much longer, he couldn’t tell though he dod notice that the a few candles were lower then when he had first arrived.

He turned to look at the man who approached. He looked him up and down. His clothes appeared clean, not too worn. His hair despite being lank was inky black and he appeared to look out from under his green eyes were sharp as he looked out from under his bushy eyebrows. Though as he neared a warm smile cracked his angled face.

Arthur returned the smile with a broader one. “James, welcome back from the country.” He clapped the man on the back.

“Good to be back. And happy to report no serious ailments, only the boredom of wives kept in the country and the gentlemen eager for conflict with news of clashes in France.”

He saw Arthur nod.

He stiffened at hearing his home country. A blur of the conflicts he went through raced in his mind like a stallion that longed to be free. It made a shadow of bittersweetness fall over him.

“James,” Arthur turned to him. “Allow me to introduce you to a few friend. Julien, new to the area with his sweet wife.”

James nodded at him, he lifted his tankard. Soon the man took a chair near him.

“You were in the country?” He asked him while glancing away from his cards.

“I am the local physician of sorts.”

His mood lifted hearing the man.

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