#enjolras fanfiction

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Fight and to Love

Part Thirty - Three

Summary: Thoughts of the past and the future come together.

Notes/Warnings: angst, thoughts of one’s life, mention of one’s death.

A few translations:

Are you well, my love? - Tu vas bien, mon amour ?

Yes, my love. I only missed you is all when a nightmare had struck. - Oui mon amour. Tu ne m'as manqué que lorsqu'un cauchemar a frappé.

My love, my angel you and our child is a gift, I never thought would be given to me but they were. - Mon amour, mon ange, toi et notre enfant êtes un cadeau, je n'aurais jamais pensé qu'il me serait offert mais ils l'étaient.

❤️s, comments, feedback & reblogs are always welcome! Thank you for reading. We are beginning to near the end! 🥹

With a start, you awoke turning you looked for Enjolras for solace but he wasn’t there. His side of the bed was cold.

Perhaps, he was in his study. Pulling the blanket aside, you got out of bed. Holding up some of your chemise as to not trip, you kept to the carpet. Despite, the wooden floorboards being well kept they were too cool for your liking at this hour. They were much better than the ones you had grown used to back home with Mama. She had to be alright, she just had to be. However, those floorboards would creak with only a mere at gaze upon them and snagged all of your dresses.

The warmth from the fire that burned was what greeted you first upon opening the door.

“Tu vas bien, mon amour ?”

You glanced towards in the direction of the raspy voice, that reassured and made your heart skip beats. In front of the flickering flames, you spied the silhouette that could only ever belong to Enjolras.

“Oui mon amour. Tu ne m'as manqué que lorsqu'un cauchemar a frappé.”

“I am sorry my love.” He glanced up at you before draininy the liquid in the glass, he held. Moving the glass to his other hand, he patted a place beside him. “Come sit beside me.”

Just being near him once again and you relaxed.

Wrapping an arm around you, he held you close. You could just get a whiff of the spicy liquid he had been sipping at.

“Did sleep elude you?”

“Yes.”

As you glanced at him, he made a face. “Despite all the fretting at getting mother settled in, I still could not get ahold of sleep.”

“It will be nice to have her here.”

He rose an eyebrow as your eyes met.

“Mostly. I still cannot believe that Beatrice and her were familiar with each other. She is certainly a very determined woman.”

“She raised an equally, determined son.”

He chuckled. You loved that sound.

He drained what was left in his glass, before placing the glass on the table beside the two of you.

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, she did do that.”

“Enjolras, what is plaguing you?”

Hmm? He made a questioning sound as he rose his eyebrows.

You sat up the best you could with your growing tummy. At the moment, the baby seemed to be relaxed or at the very least comfortable and wasn’t moving and turning like they liked to do more often than not these days.

He didn’t look at you.

“Enjolras, look at me.”

His dark eyes moved from the flickering flames to you and once more were back fixed on the flames.

“I know that it is something other than the arrival of your mother.”

His mouth formed a line, he swallowed.

“The solider who has been hunting me has arrived. I do believe, he has taken up with one of the barmaids. And he has enjoyed some card games with her and others.”

“Oh? Oh!” Now you were the one who looked away. “What are you going to do?”

“I sent word for Bellamy to join me at the tavern, tomorrow night. And I shall go and meet my destiny.” He exhaled.

“Don’t talk like that.” Your emotions flared.

He took your hand and squeezed it.

“Mon amour, mon ange, toi et notre enfant êtes un cadeau, je n'aurais jamais pensé qu'il me serait offert mais ils l'étaient.” He pressed his lips together. “I should already be dead, I should have died at the barricade.”

“No, no! Don’t talk like that. You were given a chance to be with me, to be a father. You have to hold me a little longer, you have to hold our child.”

A tear escaped and slide down your cheek.

You trembled as his warm hand cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear.

“I, I…”

Any words, any other sentiment you could have shared were silenced as his lips met yours.

@henry-cavs-tudor @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @moondev1l @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @gretavankleep37 @peacefroggg23 @capailluiscedove

[juanjoltaire]

The Three Grantaires

A little illustration I drew for my fic Drink to Forget.

I don't really wanna spoil it in regards to why there are three of them but I will say that the protagonist Grantaire is the one on the right, showing off his lovely little sutures. Hopefully for those who haven't read yet maybe this will entice a little I guess.

[kjack89]

New year, same bullshit. I’m sorry I’ve been so MIA, friends, but I hope you accept this drabble as an explanation of sorts. Love you all ❤️

“Should I be worried?”

Grantaire’s eyes flicker up to Enjolras’s, his cereal spoon halfway to his mouth. “Do you mean, like, in general?” he asks. “Because I mean, like, it’s 2025. And we’re all fucked. So.”

He sticks his spoon in his mouth and shrugs. Enjolras doesn’t smile. “That’s on me for not being more specific, I guess,” he says, scrubbing a hand across his mouth before crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You’re not painting.”

Grantaire swallows. “Well, no,” he allows, “mainly because I’m eating breakfast at the moment.”

“Be serious.”

Grantaire’s lips twitch. “It’s somewhat less funny when you know it’s coming.”

Enjolras arches an eyebrow. “And yet that’s never stopped you before.”

“Fair.” Grantaire twirls his spoon between his fingers before pronouncing, like the well-worn, inside joke it had become, “I am wild.”

Almost certainly despite himself, Enjolras smiles, just slightly. “Yeah, you are,” he agrees. “But you’re also not painting.”

Grantaire’s answering smile fades. “Could be,” he says, a little sullenly. “It’s not like you’re around enough to know.”

It’s a low blow and he knows it, but Enjolras doesn’t flinch. “Maybe not but we live in a late capitalist surveillance state so I have my ways of finding out.”

“Well, well, well, typical white man, complaining about the system except for when it directly benefits you.”

“Yep,” Enjolras says. “Are you going to keep deflecting? Because I can do this all day.”

For a moment, Grantaire’s tempted to take him up on it, to see just how long he’ll actually allow this to drag on. It’d almost certainly be good fun, and it isn’t like Grantaire’s got anything better to do.

But he can also see that Enjolras is genuinely worried, can see it in the tightness of his shoulders and the lines at the corners of his eyes that he tries to claim aren’t crow’s feet because he’s not old enough to have crow’s feet. And considering Grantaire’s previous point about all of the other things that are almost certainly more worth Enjolras’s worry, he supposes he owes him at least a semblance of the truth.

“Yes, I haven’t been painting,” he says, dipping his spoon in his bowl of cereal and stirring it, mostly to give himself something to do with his hands. “No, you shouldn’t be worried.”

Enjolras nods like he didn’t really expect a different answer. “Are you depressed again?”

Enjolras’s bluntness, characteristic though it may be, still startles a laugh from Grantaire. He sighs and looks down at his cereal bowl. “There’s not really a way to say this that won’t worry you.”

When he sneaks a glance at him, Enjolras meets his eyes evenly. “Try me.”

Grantaire jerks a shrug. “I’ve never really not been depressed,” he admits, which isn’t really a dirty secret so he’s not entirely sure why he’s saying it like it is.

Maybe because he really doesn’t want Enjolras to worry. They don’t talk about this, really, other than for Enjolras to reiterate more times than Grantaire can count that he’s always there to listen if ever Grantaire wants or needs to talk.

He knows that Grantaire’s in therapy, and takes meds, and had some very low lows previously, but Grantaire’s never felt the need to fill him in on the specifics.

It was depressing enough living it the first time.

He made that joke, such as it was, to his therapist, who didn’t laugh. “Do you frequently feel like you’re a burden to your loved ones?” she asked in response.

Of course Grantaire does, but again, he won’t tell Enjolras that.

Enjolras taps his fingers on the table, the way he does when he’s deciding on the best plan of attack or how to most effectively dismantle whatever asinine argument Grantaire’s brought up. “I thought you were doing better,” he says hesitantly after a moment.

He doesn’t pitch it as a question but Grantaire still nods. “I was.”

“What happened?” Enjolras asks, before pausing and asking, “Did something happen?”

Grantaire sighs and crosses his arms in front of his chest. “It doesn’t always work that way,” he says. “It’s not always triggered by something happening.”

Enjolras’s brow furrows. “Right,” he says shortly, something like disappointment flitting across his expression.

It took Grantaire a very long time when they got together to realize that this kind of disappointment isn’t aimed at him, but at a problem Enjolras can’t fix, an enemy he can’t fight.

At least, not directly.

He clears his throat. “But in this case, I think probably everything over the past few months played at least a contributory role, shall we say.”

True though it is, he mostly says it for Enjolras’s sake. Enjolras just nods slowly. “Are you not painting because your depression is bad again?”

Grantaire exhales sharply. “I’ve painted a lot while depressed.”

Enjolras’s expression doesn’t shift. “Another excellent deflection.”

Grantaire barks a laugh and scrubs both hands across his face. “You know me too fucking well.”

“Or just well enough.”

Grantaire lowers his hands and sighs again. He doesn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes as he says, “Every time I go try to paint…it’s like I can’t see it anymore, you know?” Enjolras almost certainly doesn’t know, but he’s struggling to put it into words in a way he can understand. “Like I can’t picture it in my mind, how I want it to look, or how to get there. It’s– it’s like trying to paint in fog.”

It’s not an exact metaphor, but it’ll do.

Enjolras nods slowly. “But I don’t need to be worried.”

“No,” Grantaire says, before wrinkling his nose. “Yes? I never know what the correct response is.” Enjolras just gives him a look, and Grantaire tells him, “No, you don’t need to be worried.” He pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before telling Enjolras with an almost tired conviction, “It’ll come back. It always has.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Enjolras asks.

Grantaire cracks a smile. “Then you can worry.”

Enjolras takes a deep breath. “Ok,” he says simply.

Grantaire eyes him resignedly. “You’re going to worry anyway, aren’t you?”

A smile twitches at the corners of Enjolras’s mouth. “Newsflash, asshole, I’ve been worried this whole time,” he says dryly, and Grantaire’s smile widens at the quote.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Enjolras’s smile disappears.

“What? Why?”

Grantaire shakes his head, mostly because he knows Enjolras won’t like his explanation. “Because you shouldn’t have to—”

Sure enough, Enjolras cuts him off with a scowl, though his voice is gentle as he tells him, “That ship I’m pretty sure sailed when I fell in love with you. Or, frankly, probably a good deal sooner than that.”

There are so many things that Grantaire wants to say that, but he can’t bring himself to. Instead, he stretches his hand across the table and tells Enjolras, sincerely, “I love you.”

Enjolras takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. “I know,” he says softly. “I love you, too.” He squeezes Grantaire’s hand before adding, “I hope it comes back soon.”

“Yeah,” Grantaire agrees. “So do I.”

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Les Miserables

Sample Size: 25,546 stories

Source: AO3

[sharkemojis]

tell people you're writing a novel and they're impressed. tell them you're writing a 85,000 word fanfiction centred around two male characters from a book written over a hundred years ago because its fun to imagine boys kissing and they'll tell you you're crazy. because of woke

[that-girl-glader]

I'm not normal anymore (I never was to begin with). I NEED WORLD AIN'T READY INJECTED INTO MY BLOOD. I NEED EVERY FOOD EVER MENTIONED IN THE FIC IN MY DIET. I NEED A MOVIE, A SERIES, A WEBTOON, A NOVEL, EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. HECK I NEED A SONG. I NEED HAMBURGERS AND HOLD THE CANTALOUPE AS BANDS. I NEED TO BE ABLE TO LISTEN TO THE POD WHILST READING THE FIC AND WATCHING THE MOVIE AND READING THE COMIC AND BOOK AT THE SAME TIME. I'M NOT OKAY. I NEED WORLD AIN'T READY AS MUCH AS ENJOLRAS/GRANTAIRE NEEDED ENJOLRAS/GRANTAIRE FUCK. I'M SO...IT FEELS LIKE A PART OF MY SOUL NOW GOSH. (been registering to my fav parts and I was like damn I need to know what happens then BOOM there's a fic and I found it and now I'm insane because fuck. Was I even alive before I read it? And it means so much to me I'm CONVINCED I've lived that life. Grantaire is me in another universe actually. Gosh, I'm just so tied/bound to this masterpiece(s)😭)

[enjolraspermettendo]

Les Miserables Fanfic recs✨️

I tried to make a selection, my absolute favourites have a heart next to them ❤️, but my les mis fics bookmarks have 17 pages, so you know, there are still other amazing fics that i didn't include (part 2 maybe?). I also realised while making this list that most of these fics are actually very well known, but still, they're great 🤷‍♀️ I'm an angst enthusiast, be warned.

( I'm trying to also tag the tumblr accounts of the authors: if you are one of the authors and I missed your url and want me to add you or if you want me to remove you dont hesitate to contact me! )

❤️ World Aint Ready by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Enjolras presses his lips together. He already looks pained, and Grantaire hasn't even opened his mouth yet. That's got to be a record, even for them.

"I need a favor," he says at last.

"With what?" says Grantaire. "Ooh, are you forming a cult? Can I join? I'd be awesome at cults, I just know it." He ticks off his qualifications on his fingers. "I love chanting, I look great in robes—"

(High school AU. Grantaire the disaffected stoner is pulled into a cause bigger than himself. Or: in which there are pretend boyfriends for great justice.)

Part 1 of World Aint Ready-verse

To Fold the Sheet by Lyres

“Can you say one good thing about the season?”

Holding out his soap-sud covered hands until Grantaire tosses a towel on top of them, Enjolras hums in thought. “Not really,” he says, once he's dried off. “Just don't have a lot of happy memories of summer, I suppose.”

(In which Grantaire attempts to make Happy Summer Memories, and Enjolras is endlessly patient.)

History of Melancholia by Squash (JeSuisGourde) @meta-squash

Grantaire deals with his depression by documenting it through photography as he and Enjolras try to wade through life with mental illness. It doesn't make it any easier for him or Enjolras, though. It's the blind leading the blind as they try to navigate the waters of depression.

A series of moments in no particular order, showing the paths that Grantaire's depression and addiction has taken him on and the ways he has tried to survive.

Submission (Going Down, Down) by ddeadkennedys

anyway, enjolras hated grantaire at first. enjolras isn't an asshole, he's not a gatekeeper or some sort of shitty elitist, but grantaire was uninspired, hopeless despite all that potential. a waste. but then that whole thing went down, and shit changed, and if grantaire thought he couldn't get enough of enjolras' attention before, now that enj is only mean to him for fun he's a fucking junkie for it.

Part 1 of the revolution is my boyfriend

Keep It Kind, Keep It Good, Keep It Right by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

“You aren’t going to ask me if I’m okay?”

“You aren’t. Believe me, I know the signs.” Grantaire sighs, and his breath mists in the air like cigarette smoke. “They love you in there.”

“And out here?”

“You know that’s not a fair question.”

Forget Me Not by Opium_du_Peuple @just-french-me-up

Enjolras loses four years worth of memories after a nasty car accident. Though he still remembers who Combeferre and Courfeyrac are, he also finds himself with a herd of friends he doesn't remember meeting. Friends who are exactly what his blank mind needs to recollect his missing memories.

or : the amnesia fic no one asked for.

i'm not the moon (i'm not even a star) by serinesaccade @serinesaccade

“The amnesiac has questions,” says Grantaire. Boyfriend grips the wheel. “Don’t worry, we’ll start with the 200 dollar Jeopardy trivia.” A semi roars past them. “What’s your name?” The perfect sinew and bones of his fingers relax. “Oh,” he murmurs. Just like that, defenses lowered. “Enjolras.” “Cool,” Grantaire says. “I’m Grantaire.” Something happens to Enjolras’ face which, if you zoomed in, might be considered a smile. “I know.” “How long have we been dating, Enjolras?” The almost-smile is gone. The gameshow metaphor has become too apt; someone’s lost it all. “That’s complicated.” Well. Grantaire should’ve known some part of this fairytale was too good to be true. He’s best friends with a streetsmart renegade and someone who wrote him a welcome-back-to-consciousness poem in godawful blue icing on an orange frosted cookie cake. There are nearly ten people who were waiting for him to wake up in a hospital room. Of course his inexplicable relationship with his supernova hot, socially conscientious boyfriend is ‘complicated.’

thirteen days and fourteen hours and a dozen minutes by Potoo

"Enjolras,” Grantaire gasps as delicate fingers brush over his chest, an airy quality to them, “what do you want?” Because Grantaire would serve him the whole world on a silver platter, and it would never be enough.

“You,” Enjolras states, his voice clear and severe, “I want you.”

Enjolras discovers one by one what his friends think about Grantaire. He is rather surprised by their words.

Also: body worship porn.

Metropolitan Art by ryssabeth @avagueambitioninyourerection

Paris is his home.

❤️ Wrap your fingers round my thumb by Ibbyliv

When Éponine leaves in the morning, he’s already feeling much better. No really, he is. He makes a cup of coffee and even showers. The sun is shining brightly –even though it’s mostly late in the afternoon than morning but he has no one to apologize to, no reason to excuse himself for being a lazy ass and not finishing that painting for ages- and he’s humming a catchy tune that has been stuck in his head while he wipes his hair dry with a towel. He opens the door because he feels good enough to take the trash out, and everything’s alright, even the odor coming from the plastic bag, until he hears it.

It’s a cry, a wail, desperate and heartbreaking as if something tiny is trying to cause its lungs to explode and is on its way to success. Grantaire looks around, not willing to accept what he feels coming, before lowering his eyes on the floor. In this moment, Grantaire swears, he's so fucking wasted. * Enjolras leaves to work abroad for a year. When he returns, he finds out that there has been a new addition to their group.

A Series of Progressions by AnnaBolena @annabrolena

Modern AU in Paris in which most of Les Amis are students and all of them are sort of slow on the getting together aspect of relationships, with sociopolitical commentary and medical jabber peppered in between.

how sweet and lovely dost thou make the shame by Tegami @furtherfish

He could have shrugged and that would have been it. Say that he just found it precious. But Grantaire was Grantaire and he never could keep himself from oversharing and he was already dizzy with the way this night was going, so he told the truth. “The first thought I had when I read that poem was ‘If someone would ever call me “sweet boy” and mean it, I would probably pass out.’” OR: E & R are being ""casual"". Grantaire attempts to break some of their habits. Enjolras reads some angsty notes R left in his copy of Shakespeare's sonnets. Then they fuck

❤️ Hotel California by sunflowerbright

'You can check out, but you can never leave' - Reincarnation!AU

❤️ Paris Burning by thecitysmith @thecitysmith

In a world where cities are personified, the City of Paris has been missing for centuries, driven away by the horrors of war and the worst humanity has offered him. Enjolras dreams of meeting Paris, and leading him to a better tomorrow. What he doesn't know is that Paris is now a cynical drunk who calls himself Grantaire.

❤️ Thirty-Two Times by Ark @et-in-arkadia

Marius, looking chastised but sad, says, “Is there nothing then for romance, Enjolras? It seems a strange emotion to be struck with, distracting as a fever, if it means nothing.” It is Grantaire who answers first. “Nothing means anything, Marius,” says the cynic. “Yet who would ever die for his country if he did not love some person who lived within it?”

❤️ Once We're Kings by raeldaza

Their kingdoms have been at odds for centuries, so what will be a greater 'fuck you' than to send hapless knight Grantaire as their representative for Prince Enjolras's queen choosing ceremony before he is crowned King? Grantaire disagrees, but he doesn't seem to get much of a say in the matter. No one is really expecting anything to come of it, but trust Enjolras to defy expectations.

❤️ Your Heart on Your Skin by zade @racetrackthehiggins

Grantaire’s first flower appears when he is two years old. It’s late, for a First Bloom, considering some children are born with their First already etched above their hearts, but Grantaire’s parents are warm and loving and wait to see what sort of child they have born unto the world. His First Bloom, when it comes, is vibrant patch of yellow carnations. He is too young to know what it means, and his parents don’t tell him, just—withdraw, and a much smaller patch of yellow carnations appears on his mother’s ankle. -- Soulmate AU where things in your life appear as flowers on your skin, and people with hard lives have a lot of flowers to show for it

Tetris by chapstickaddict

Cosette is Enjolras' half-sister. His father slept with Fantine and then buggered off to be with his wife. Then Enjolras found out. One day he sees her- and he knows its her- and doesn't know what to do. Enjolras is Cosette's half-brother. Her mother slept with a married man and died of a broken heart and weary soul. Then Cosette found out. One day, she finds him-and she knows its him- and doesn't know what to do. Then Marius happened...

Silence Is the Speech of Love by lady_ragnell @theladyragnell

Grantaire's life has a pattern: he pays his respects to Aphrodite, he goes to work, he loves Enjolras and provokes him because he can't bring himself to do otherwise. That seems unlikely to change, at least until Enjolras speaks out against the gods and ends up cursed. Grantaire does his best to help him, but it turns out it's just as hard to love Enjolras up close as it is from afar.

Part 1 of The Speech of Love

❤️ I Believe In Nothing but the Truth and Who We Are by Whreflections

"Under the wine, Grantaire smelled like smoke and summer nights. His dark hair curled in a chaotic mess around his face, his neck below pale and soft. The first time they met, the first time he drew the scent into his lungs, he ached with the need to mark that stretch of skin, to card his fingers through Grantaire’s hair so very gently before tilting his head back so Enjolras might mark his bared throat and make his claim. He resisted then, telling himself that to act on instinct alone was the arena of an animal; he was a man of intellect, and he could choose." As an alpha, Enjolras has known Grantaire to be his mate since he first came to the Musain, a truth he does his best to bury. With his devotion already promised to France, he tells himself he cannot risk dividing his loyalties, cannot risk a bond that would pull so heavy on his heart. This is what he's told himself a thousand times, but when Grantaire needs him, his careful resolutions may not be able to hold against the strain.

His Love Letter by ShitpostingfromtheBarricade @shitpostingfromthebarricade

Your Wednesday regular appears right on time and orders the same thing as he does every week, but something's different today.

❤️ Here's looking at you by illuminate

“So domestic trouble rather than treason?” Floreal said. “I’m not saying one precludes the other.” Enjolras said, which came out more pained than he had intended. “Are you suggesting Grantaire sold national secrets to a crime lord because you were a bad boyfriend?” Floreal asked. Her tone was bemused, but there was a glint in her eye that turned the comment into mockery. “No.” Enjolras snapped, stung, and then didn’t say more. Spy AU. Grantaire removes his tracker and disappears the same night Lamarque is killed in his office. Enjolras is left behind, trying to figure out what happened and why Grantaire didn't tell him anything.

❤️ Meanwhile, A Glacier by standalone

“I’ll go.” He says it without brashness or deference. Just a statement. “Where?” “You want to climb the Forty,” he says, and Enjolras can’t deny it. “I’ll go with you.”

❤️ It's Not the Same Anymore by ShameDumpster @shamedumpster

Grantaire is a bookstore clerk in his late twenties, and to everyone’s eternal disbelief, a father. It’s been years since he’s seen anyone from his former group of friends, after a falling out cleaved him from the ABC, but everything changes when Enjolras walks into his bookstore. Can they rekindle their friendship, or something more, while they both come to terms with how their lives have changed over the past decade?

Part 1 of INtSA-verse

❤️ Combeferre's Tattoos by standalone

Enjolras clunked down three lowball glasses of whiskey and a bottle of soda water. “We have already established, ‘Ferre, his freedom to leave us. Can you please stop bringing it up and instead give him some incentive to stay?” Combeferre cocked his head to the side, as if amused at Enjolras’s crankiness. “Such as?” “He seemed to like you shirtless.” ‘Ferre nodded. “Then perhaps someone should take my shirt off.” or When the universe gives you Enjolras and Combeferre, who the hell are you to ask questions?

Part 1 of Tattoos AU

❤️ In Defiance of all Geometry by idiopathicsmile @idiopathicsmile

Amis House might not be the biggest student co-op, or the fanciest, but it's got something all its own. Specifically, smoke damage on the kitchen ceiling from that time Courfeyrac lit a political pamphlet on fire. In which there are secrets, pining, pancakes, and revelations, and sometimes the shortest distance between three points is not a triangle but a circle.

Part 1 of IDOAG-verse

❤️ We still got time (Raise your hopeful voice) by RavenXavier

“Excuse-you!” came Grantaire’s offended voice from the other side of the room. “I would make an excellent wife, Monsieur Lesgle, should I choose to! I have all the qualities of one!" (In which Enjolras slowly falls in love, and Grantaire takes the time to explore what feels right.)

Musagetes by defractum @defractum

"You've had sex," says Grantaire, just to clarify. He gives Enjolras an obvious look up and down, as if he's trying to imagine it right now: Enjolras having sex, Enjolras in the act of having sex. The curve of his mouth gives away his smirk; it's Grantaire though, so his smirk is two-thirds mocking and one-third self-deprecating. In which Enjolras has sex, has casual sex, and doesn't talk about it; in which Grantaire speaks better through art.

❤️ Through the Narrow Place by revolutionbarbie

“What brought you to Paris?” Montparnasse asked. “A train, ostensibly. And a bus.” Grantaire leaves Poland for Paris, content to remain alone forever if it means that he'll be safe. He goes to work and he comes home and he doesn't think about how few people there would be to miss him should he disappear. When he meets the Friends who gather and plot at the Cafe Musain, he realises how much he has been missing and though their leader is reckless and arrogant, Grantaire can't help but be drawn to him.

❤️ A Thousand Miles by kjack89 @kjack89

Some couples had a morning breakfast routine. For Enjolras and Grantaire, it was coffee. Come rain, shine, or hectic schedules, they still made time every morning to have a cup of coffee together. Sometimes that time saw Grantaire perching on the counter in the bathroom while Enjolras gulped his cup in the shower; other times, it was the two of them in bed long past when they were supposed to get up, wrapped in blankets and each other. Some days those precious few minutes were the only time they saw each other, and they treasured it. Even when Enjolras was out of town on business, they called or Facetimed each other to share their morning cup of coffee. It was the one consistency in their lives that Grantaire could count on.

❤️ Hēbē by illuminate

“You cannot feed on a citizen without their consent, because that would be an attack on their person - and their Rights, I am sure. But you cannot risk revealing your nature and so you cannot ask for permission. Luckily, you have me, who am already aware and quite willing.” The chair screeches loudly as Enjolras pushes himself away from the table. ”Come now, Apollo, let me be your cupbearer.” Grantaire implores; his tone somewhere between teasing and honest. “No, we are not doing that.” Enjolras growls. (In short: Enjolras has trouble feeding himself, because he is too busy planning the revolution. Grantaire finds out and is more than willing to help.)

Part 1 of cupbearer

Enjolras looks down at where Grantaire’s hand holds the pack against him and doesn’t bother to take hold. “If you were Combeferre,” he says, “this would be the part where you tell me these things will kill me.” “If I were Combeferre, I’d be inside and you’d be bothering someone else,” Grantaire snaps. He snatches the pack of cigarettes back and extracts one, leaving just two inside. It is with sharp, savage movements that he jabs it into his mouth, lights it with the silver Zippo, and then offers it to Enjolras.

love is in the air, i just gotta figure out a window to break out by tamquams

[martyr0l0gy]

Okay, I have this thing where I forget fanfiction even exists for months on end until I have a Craving for a very specific trope or plotline that I can't find a book to fill. Then I begin slowly chasing my tail around bookstores, bookblr, booktubers, and bookish blogs, until suddenly I find myself frothing at the mouth, 5 Hannigram or Enjoltaire fics deep at 2 am, full but never satisfied... Anyone relate?

[shamedumpster]

[Sprints up and drops a fic for the first time in 8 months and then sprints away]

Summary:

Enjolras is trapped in a hyper-realistic dream. 17 again, he's forced to relive the last few days before Grantaire left the ABC. He must figure out how to wake up, and get back to his life and his family, or risk being stuck in this literal nightmare for good.

(An INtSA-Verse spinoff fic, this time from Enjolras' POV)

[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.”

@henry-cavs-tudor @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @moondev1l @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @gretavankleep37 @peacefroggg23 @capailluiscedove @poisonedeuphoria

[juanjoltaire]

Just a doodle of Lawyer Enjolras and head wound Grantaire from my fic Drink to Forget. Maybe I'll manage something better later but for now I just wanted to draw and make something simple.

I wish I was capable of creating faster my brain wants me to write and draw faster.

[kjack89]

Just going to try to write my way through it, I guess.

Pre-slash/friendship, modern AU. Cw: suicide ideation, depression.

“Hey,” Grantaire said, a little awkwardly, and Enjolras glanced up at him. “Can I, uh, talk to you?”

For a brief moment, Enjolras was tempted to either point out that they were already talking, or the grammatically correct way of asking was ‘May I’, or any other of their usual way of mostly mocking the other, but something about the way Grantaire was toying with the hem of his t-shirt made Enjolras think this was something serious.

“Yeah, of course,” he said instead, tucking his phone in his back pocket. “Do you, uh, want to go outside?”

The back room of the Musain had thinned after the meeting had wrapped up, but there were enough stragglers that someone would probably overhear if they stayed. Grantaire jerked a shrug and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. He rolled his eyes but did, heading out to the alley with Grantaire on his heels.

“So,” Enjolras said, crossing his arms in front of his chest and resting his back against the brick wall. “What’s up?”

Grantaire mirrored his pose, his shoulder just brushing against Enjolras’s. “So you know I had surgery recently.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him. “Yeah,” he said, a little cautiously. “Gallbladder, right?” Grantaire nodded. “How, uh, how’s the recovery been?”

“Fine,” Grantaire said. “As expected.”

Enjolras nodded. “Ok,” he said, still cautious about where this was headed. “I mean, I’m glad to hear it, but—”

Grantaire turned to face him, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I need you to do me a favor.”

That was not entirely what Enjolras had expected. “Sure?”

Grantaire took a deep breath before withdrawing one hand from his pocket, extending it to Enjolras. “I need you to hold onto these.”

Enjolras reached out automatically. “What—” he started, breaking off when he saw that Grantaire had just handed him a pill bottle. “You’re allowed to take painkillers.”

He didn’t mean to blurt it like that, didn’t even know that they were painkillers, though given Grantaire’s history, it probably made the most sense, and besides—

“I know that,” Grantaire said, breaking Enjolras’s thought spiral.

At least temporarily.

“I mean,” he said, scrambling for something to say that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot, “even with your– your problem.”

Grantaire raised both eyebrows. “My addiction,” he said. “You can say it, it’s not a dirty word.”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “Right, of course. I just mean—”

“I can take prescription painkillers as prescribed by a doctor without violating my sobriety, I know,” Grantaire said. He gave Enjolras a sideways look. “Little curious why you know that.”

Enjolras shrugged, feeling a flush cross his face. “I did some research,” he muttered.

Grantaire blinked. “Did you?” he asked, sounding surprised.

Enjolras cleared his throat. “So then why—”

Grantaire looked away. “I just. I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to hold onto them right now.” He shrugged. “But I am still in some pain so if I need one, I’ll come to you.”

Enjolras glanced down at the pill bottle. “Don’t you think Joly, or Combeferre—”

“You’re the only one whose schedule is as fucked as mine is.”

Enjolras half smiled. “Fair enough.” His smile faded as he turned the pill bottle over in his hand. “I still don’t understand,” he admitted. “If you think you might relapse…” Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression, and Enjolras felt his stomach plummet with realization. “You’re not worried about relapsing, are you.”

He didn’t pitch it as a question, and Grantaire shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “No I’m not.”

Enjolras’s mouth went dry. “R—”

Grantaire scrubbed a hand across his mouth before forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. “Look, it’s not– things just aren’t great right now, you know?” he said, something dismissive in his tone, as if this wasn’t a big deal, or as if he was trying to convince himself of that. “And I don’t need to have any, uh, means on hand to do something stupid.”

Enjolras’s grip on the pill bottle was so tight that his knuckles were white. “Are you—”

Grantaire’s eyes darted to his and away again. “I don’t have any plans, I promise.” He shrugged again, twisting the hem of his shirt between his fingers. “But it’s also getting harder and harder to see a way through it, you know?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said quietly. “I know.”

Grantaire took a deep breath. “Anyway. Like I said, I’ll, um, I’ll let you know if I need one.”

He turned as if to leave, as if he thought there was any world in which Enjolras would let him just walk away. There wasn’t, of course, and Enjolras reached out automatically to grab his arm. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire asked, something wary in his expression as he glanced back at him.

“You’re not allowed to do anything stupid.”

Something tightened in Grantaire’s expression before he barked a dry, humorless laugh. “To listen to you, I do something stupid every day.”

But Enjolras refused to let him brush this off. “You know what I mean.”

Grantaire sighed. “I promise, I have no plans—”

“But you have thought about it,” Enjolras said sharply, daring Grantaire to contradict him. “And like I said, you’re not allowed to.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I never was very good at following orders, Apollo.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Like my order for you to never call me that again?”

A ghost of a smile twitched across Grantaire’s lips. “Exactly.”

Enjolras didn’t dignify that with a response. “I don’t care,” he said stubbornly, finally letting go of Grantaire’s arm. “I’m giving you an order anyway. If the thought of disobeying an order or, I don’t know, disappointing me or whatever gives you even a second’s hesitation, then it’s worth it.”

Grantaire sighed, his expression tightening again. “The disappointment angle is a nice touch, but I disappoint you in everything I do, so.”

He jerked another shrug but Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “You don’t.” Grantaire didn’t look convinced and Enjolras frowned, searching his expression. “If the thought of disappointing me won’t help, what will?”

“Intensive in-patient therapy that my insurance won’t cover, an updated drug regimen that I can’t get approved because the next appointments to see a psychiatrist are 6 months out at the earliest, and a society that’s not on the precipice of fascism, mostly.”

Enjolras nodded. “Well. Good thing I’m already doing what I can on that last front.”

Grantaire managed a small, tired smile. “I know.”

Enjolras hesitated before asking, “Is there anything else?”

“It’s not the kind of problem that has a solution,” Grantaire told him.

“I know that.”

“I mean, I’m sure you’d love to organize a march against my mental illness or whatever—”

“I really would,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire’s lips twitched. “Change.org petition?”

Despite everything, Enjolras snorted a laugh. “Oh, absolutely. Sign here to tell Grantaire’s depression to fuck off.”

Grantaire’s smile widened. “If we get 10,000 signatures, the White House has to respond.”

“Exactly.” Enjolras hesitated before telling him, “If there was anything I could do, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Grantaire’s smile faded. “Yeah, well.” He scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Kind of a moot point. But, uh, thanks. For, you know.”

“Yeah,” Enjolras said, matching his tone. “You’re welcome.”

Grantaire hesitated, glancing up at him. “Enjolras—”

“What?”

“Give me a reason not to.”

Enjolras sucked in a breath. His immediate, initial instinct was to tell Grantaire anything he wanted to hear, to tell him that he knew Grantaire had feelings for him and maybe, with time, Enjolras could develop feelings back. It wasn’t entirely a lie, after all.

But it also wasn’t what Grantaire needed to hear.

He needed to hear the truth.

So instead, he took a deep breath, and he told him, “Because I want to win.”

Grantaire stared at him. “What?”

“Four years from now, ten years from now, however long it takes. I want to be able to tell you, ‘I told you so’.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed. “About what?”

“Any of it,” Enjolras told him. “All of it. That we were right, that we changed things, that things got fucking better because we fought tooth and nail for every scrap of better we could get. I want to be able to tell you that.”

Grantaire cocked his head. “So to be clear, you want me to stay alive so that you can gloat?”

He sounded almost amused, and Enjolras shrugged. “I figure if your spite’s not enough to keep you going, maybe mine will.”

“You’ve got enough spite to share?” Grantaire asked dryly, and at the look Enjolras gave him, barked a laugh. “Ok, stupid question.”

“Very,” Enjolras agreed.

Grantaire’s eyes narrowed. “You’re supposed to say there’s no such thing as a stupid question.”

Enjolras arched an eyebrow. “And yet you’re bound and determined to prove that statement wrong every single day.”

“Maybe that’ll be what keeps me going,” Grantaire said.

But Enjolras didn’t laugh at that. “Whatever it takes.”

Grantaire nodded. “Right. Thanks, I think.”

Again he turned to go, and again Enjolras couldn’t let him. “Grantaire—”

“What?” Grantaire said, and Enjolras reached out to pull him into a hug. “Oof. Um. Hi?”

Enjolras didn’t let go as he told him, as fiercely as he had promised anything in his life, “If you do anything to hurt yourself, I will kill you.”

Grantaire huffed a light laugh, patting Enjolras’s back. “I think that would kind of defeat the purpose—”

“I mean it.”

Grantaire shook his head and tried to pull away. “Enj… I’ve failed at everything you’ve ever asked of me.”

Enjolras nodded. “I know.”

“What makes you think this time will be different?”

“Because it has to be.”

“Well,” Grantaire said, after a long moment. “We’ll see, I guess.”

Enjolras nodded and gave Grantaire a tight smile. “I’m going to be unbearable for a while, just as a fair warning.”

Grantaire made a face. “I would expect nothing less.” He hesitated before adding, “And you can tell people, I guess. It’s not really a secret.”

“You realize I’ll be roping all of our friends into making sure you stay alive.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “It’s not the worst thing you’ve roped them into.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

But Grantaire didn’t smile at that, instead looking away as he told Enjolras, “I really never wanted to be one of your causes.”

Enjolras shook his head. “You’re not,” he said firmly, and when Grantaire gave him a look, he added, “But you are one of my friends.”

Grantaire jerked a nod. “I– thank you,” he said quietly.

“You’re welcome,” Enjolras repeated. “And I’ll, uh, I’ll keep these safe.”

What he wanted to say was, I’ll keep you safe, but judging by the small, lopsided but nonetheless genuine smile Grantaire gave him, he understood anyway.

And hopefully, he might find a way to believe that Enjolras meant it.

[phantomstatistician]

Fandom: Les Miserables

Character: Eponine Thenardier

Sample Size: 2,784 stories

Source: AO3

[sharkemojis]

favourite part about writing fanfiction: seeing my little vision come to life and making my faves be funny and gay

least favourite part about writing fanfiction: i have to write it

[brainrot-academia]

just saw a father-daughter tik tok and thought "oh this is so graintaire & bea from it's not the same anymore" and i have nobody to talk about this with

[quoth-the-goblin-nevermore]

Hey Les Mis fandom!

Would anyone be willing to beta read the first chapter I have written for a ExR fic?

I did a poll on it a while back.

The idea is that Grantaire and Enjolras find themselves in limbo and must work together to “complete their human experience” in order to pass on.