#enjolras x reader

[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

[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. ♡

[rocknrollbabe14]

I Wanna Be Yours (Joseph x Reader)

@josephs-quinns

Author's Note: I did not heavily proof read this as I am posting this before work. This will be 2-4 parts not sure yet. Very cliche' but super cute. So far, no major warnings except maybe some lust. So I will keep the rating adult because it will change. Also, I am not from England so please forgive me if anything is not accurate.

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Once again, thank you to @josephs-quinns for the header. 🥺

It was a crazy idea when your friends had first mentioned it. A trip to London in the United Kingdom. You had never been outside of the United States. Now, you found yourself in a completely different country going on a morning coffee run. The time change had really kicked your ass, jet lag beginning to take its toll on you. London was six hours ahead of you, really screwing up your sleep schedule. It took your friends forever to get you out of bed and motivated just enough to get coffee. You somehow managed to put some make up on and look halfway presentable. It would take you at least a day to get adjusted.

Nerves took precedent over you as you opened the door to the coffee shop, the aroma of fresh, hot coffee hitting your nose. Just the smell alone was causing you to perk up slightly. Even though the people in the UK spoke English, you were nervous about your accent. You knew you’d stick out like a sore thumb. 

“What can I get you?”, the barista asked, her English accent very apparent.

“Um, just a venti iced coffee please?”

“Of course.”

She turned to help start preparing your order. Your eyes couldn’t help but look around the quiet coffee shop. Maybe you were just late to the party. Perhaps most British people were early risers unlike you. Your friends could be seen outside, sitting on the bench and waiting for you. There were very few people inside the coffee shop except for you, making small chatter. You weren’t paying attention to the counter when your drink was ready, the sound of the barista’s voice getting your attention. You smiled slightly, thanking her before turning to go. You were looking at the floor—not hardly paying attention to what or who was in front of you. 

Thump. You felt your outstretched arm make contact with something—somebody instantly knocking your drink out of your hand. You gasped in horror as your eyes panned up to notice the man dressed in black pants, a black sweater, black leather jacket, and baseball cap begin to wipe your drink off him. 

“Oh my God—I’m so sorry.”

The British were outspoken, or so you heard. At any moment, you expected to be degraded and yelled at. Which you couldn’t blame him. He was wearing your drink,  after all. You quickly glanced around the coffee shop, feeling all eyes on you. The man had sunglasses on the top of his baseball hat. An employee came to his aid quickly, bringing him a towel. He thanked her, voice soft. 

His attention turned to you, brown eyes soft. “It’s okay—really.”

“No—I can’t believe I did this.”

You were horrified. 

“It’s really okay—accidents happen.”, he gave you a small smile. 

How was he managing to be so calm and collected about this? 

“No—I really am so so sorry about this.”

You were handed another towel by the barista, immediately beginning to dab his clothes off. It was in that moment, your heart stopped. Looking up, your eyes made instant contact with his. He chuckled slightly, giving you a smile. His reaction was totally opposite of what you had expected, catching you completely off guard. You secretly hoped your friends hadn’t noticed, sure if they had, they’d never let you live it down.

“It’s really fine, love.”

Love. That made your heart flutter and your stomach turn. The British were very polite, using terms of endearment. That was normal for them. But you couldn’t help that it made your heart soar. Not to mention, he was good-looking. 

“It’s really not.”

“It’s alright, I promise.”, he insisted. 

There was something calming about his voice, his demeanor. The line cleared out and this handsome stranger finally had cleaned himself up enough to suffice for the time being. 

“What did you have to drink?”, he asked, easily.

You eyed him curiously. “Oh, just an iced coffee.”

“What size?”

“You’re not ordering my coffee, are you? Not after I dumped mine all over you?”

There was a hint of disbelief in your voice, causing him to chuckle. “It’ll be alright. I insist.”’

His voice was very calming, very soothing. 

“No—please don’t buy my coffee.”

Your voice sounded pathetic as it came from your throat. Before you could protest any further, the barista asked him what he’d like to order and he quickly squeezed in his order for your iced coffee and his macchiato. Your mouth was agape, shocked that he would do something like this—a kind gesture even after you dumped your coffee all over him. He gave you a small smirk as you both stood in off to the side, waiting on your coffees. 

“I’m sorry—I never caught your name.”, he turned to look at you.

“Y/N.”

“Lovely name.”

“And yours?”

“Joe.”

“Nice to meet you, Joe.”

“So are you visiting? I couldn’t help but notice your accent doesn’t quite match ours.”, he smiled, a small chuckle escaping from his lips.

“That obvious, hm?”, you finally giggled, causing him to smile.

“Slightly.”, he jested back. 

“Well to answer your question, Joe,” you emphasized his name slightly, causing a smile to spread across his lips. “I actually am visiting.”

He nodded, his brown eyes looking into yours. “I could give you a few suggestions of what to see while you’re here.”

“I’d love that.”, you smiled, brightly. 

“Okay, you definitely want to see Big Ben, the Tower Bridge, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey—both of those if you have any interest in the royal family.”

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at you. 

“All of those sound amazing.”

There was a smile so huge spread across your cheeks that it made them ache. 

“Oh—and the London Eye. You’ve got to see it—or ride it unless you’re afraid of heights.”

There was a small chuckle after he spoke the last part. You laughed little nervously, thinking about how high that really was. You were deathly afraid of heights, the thought alone causing a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“I’ll definitely have to look into it.”

His brown eyes looked into yours—warm and inviting. Part of you wanted to get to know him better, he seemed so easy to talk to. It was like it took no effort to talk to him just in this little frame of time. It was refreshing to say the least. 

“Here’s your iced coffee and macchiato.”, the barista caught your all’s attention. 

His eyes instantly broke away from yours as he grabbed your all’s drinks, walking back over to you. You watched him carefully, refraining from biting your bottom lip. He looked good all dressed in black, you had to admit it. He outstretched his hand, handing you your iced coffee. 

“Thank you, again. I am so sorry I spilled my drink on you—I should paid more attention.”

“It’s really okay, love. No big deal.”, he touched your shoulder reassuringly.

Love. There was that word again, the one that made your stomach do somersaults. His touched sent shock waves through your body, chills cascading down your spine. You had been out of your last relationship for over a year. It was a very dark time, your last boyfriend being very emotionally, verbally, and even borderline physically abusive. You hadn’t been with a man since and had no intentions of finding one, even feeling guilty you thought this man you met at the coffee shop was attractive. 

It felt nice to have a man’s touch—even if it was a simple gesture like this. You all began to slowly make your way towards the exit of the coffee shop. 

“Well, it was very nice meeting you—just not under the circumstances of spilling my drink on you.”

He closed his eyes, chuckling lightly before opening them again. “It was lovely to meet you even if you did spill your drink on me.”

You could tell he was slightly nervous, a little but anxious. 

“If you need anything around London while you’re visiting, I can give you my number. I’d be happy to show you around or give more suggestions.”

“Oh that sounds great.”, you reached in your pocket, pulling your cell phone out. 

You handed him your phone, allowing him to put his contact in. He smiled, giving you his phone to do the same. Exchanging phones back, he gave you a soft smile.

“See you later, Y/N.”

“See ya later, Joe.”

He grabbed the coffee shop door for you, allowing you to exit first. You could feel his eyes on you. He was being a true gentleman. You tried to keep your goodbye casual, cursing yourself slightly. He gave you a small smile as he went on his way, your eyes glued as you watched him walk away. You hated already to see him go, but loved to watch him leave. 

“What was that?”, one of your friends, Amanda asked.

“What was what?”, you sipped your iced coffee, somehow this one tasting sweeter than any other ever had. “Other than me making a complete idiot of myself.”

“Do you know who that was?”, another friend of yours, Christine asked.

“What do you mean? He was a random English….what do they called them—bloak named Joe?”

Your friend , Amanda rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re really oblivious?”

Your glared at her. “Oblivious about what? So what? He was a cute British bloak named Joe who actually offered to show me some of London. Even after spilling my coffee on him.”

Amanda and Christine laughed, causing your facial expression to switch between confused and agitated. You didn’t see what was so funny. He was a very nice, respectful, attractive looking British bloak. Who was very nice and bought you a drink even after you dumped your iced coffee on him. He also offered to give you help touring London.

“That was Joseph Quinn.”

You heard what Christine said, but your brain didn’t process it immediately. “What?”

“Joseph Quinn, the actor who played Eddie Munson in Stranger Things?”

Your eyes widened, finally comprehending what she said. Your friends began giggling, watching your shocked reaction. 

“I spilled my coffee on Joseph Quinn?”, the words fell from your lips, dripping slow like honey as you tried to process your actions. 

They nodded. 

“Don’t worry though, he seemed to not mind. He definitely liked what he saw. We saw you all exchange numbers.”

You rolled your eyes. “No, he probably is laughing to all his mates about how stupid I am.”

You all began slowly walking down the street, opposite from where Joe had went. You were silently cursing yourself, taking another sip of your iced coffee. Somehow, this taste was slightly more bitter. How could you have spilled your iced coffee on Joseph Quinn? What a fool, an idiot you were. Even if you did text him, you were sure he would ignore it. He should ignore it, after everything you put him through. For the rest of the day, he was all you could think about. 

__________________________________________________________________________

Joseph kept walking. His brain told him to keep going, don’t turn around and don’t take a second look. But he couldn’t help it. He stopped up the street a little ways, turning around and taking a sip of his coffee. He silently cursed himself, hoping you wouldn’t notice. He could see you talking with who he assumed to be your friends. Your facial expressions were very animated, he chuckled to himself. It was the cutest thing he’d seen in a while. Before you had a chance to notice him, he reminded himself he needed to keep walking. 

His best friend, Wesley was waiting for him at his apartment. They were going to spend the day, hanging out. Joseph hadn’t been in a serious relationship since before he auditioned for Stranger Things. He had a few hook-ups and casual flings, but nothing worth bringing home to mom. All the people he passed on the street couldn’t take his mind off you. There was something about you that intrigued him. Wesley texted him, bringing him out of his thoughts by asking what was keeping him.

Joe texted and told him, he’d explain to him later. It was too much to explain over text. The wind had a nip to it, causing Joe to pull his jacket tighter. It didn’t help that he was still a little damp. But he didn’t mind. The walk to Wesley’s felt like forever before he knocked on his door, trying anything he could to get you out of his head.

Wesley opened the door, a surprised look on his face. “Finally decided to show up?”

Joe chuckled, coming inside. “Sorry, I went to get coffee.”

“You smell like coffee shop.”, Wesley joked. 

“Well—that’s kinda what kept me awhile. A girl—I met, she had ordered some iced coffee and accidentally bumped into me and spilled her coffee all over me. She felt so bad.”

Wesley’s eyes widened. “Was she at least pretty?”

Joe groaned before throwing his head back and laughing. “More than pretty. Beautiful—funny.”

“Well, did ya get her number?”

“We exchanged numbers.” 

“Has she texted you?”

“No. I told her if she needed more suggestions or wanted me to show her around to text me. Was that stupid?”

“No, not stupid. So she’s American?”

Joe nodded. 

“Did she know who you were?”

Joe shook his head. “If she did, she didn’t let on like she did.”

“Are you gonna text her?”

“I don’t know—is it stupid for me to text someone that probably won’t ever visit again?”, Joe sighed. 

“You never know.”, Wesley began before going to his room, grabbing some clothes for Joe to change into. “She may come back if she likes what she sees.”

Joe rolled his eyes, sighing. 

Wesley came back in, handing him the clothes. “Try not to worry too much, Romeo.”

Joe glared at him playfully. “I’m not worried about it.”

Wesley laughed before going to sit down in his living room. Joe rolled his eyes again before going to the bathroom to change. Joe sighed, closing the door and beginning to take his coffee soaked clothes off. All he could think about while staring at his shirt and pants was how innocently you were trying to help him dab his clothes, eyes finally meeting. Your eyes were soft, but he could see hesitation in them. Your anxiety was through the roof. 

He could tell you were waiting for him to blow at any second. But he wasn’t going to. It was an honest mistake, an accident. After changing clothes, Joe emerged from the bathroom and took a seat on Wesley’s loveseat, opposite of him. He laid his iPhone on the arm of the loveseat, praying you might just text him. He could see if you didn’t want to text him. His response was a little lame, even the way he tried to ask you out in a round about way. There was no way you didn’t have a boyfriend back home. 

Wesley eyed him. “Still thinking about her?”

“Am not.”, Joe looked off to the side, before looking down at his lap. 

“You sure about that? You seem really distracted.”

“I am sure, Wes.”

Wesley finally dropped it, beginning to bring up other subjects to Joe to talk about. They had been best friends for years. Even as they talked, Wesley could tell something was up with his best friend. But he had a feeling he knew what it was. It had been a while since Joe had a serious girlfriend. Joseph needed to find someone who would love him and want him for him—not his fame or money. 

Day soon turned into evening, the sun beginning to set. Throughout the entire evening, Wesley secretly watched Joe pick his phone up at the slightest ding, hoping it would be you. Wesley rolled his eyes playfully, wishing he could just text you. They had decided to eat dinner at Wesley’s apartment, opting to order pizza. Joe was finally about to give up on you texting him, letting out a long sigh. Wesley eyed him, grabbing his cell phone.

“Decided on a kind of pizza?”

“Just whatever you want.”

Wesley was about to dial the number when Joe’s phone dinged, him practically almost falling off the couch to grab it. 

Joe’s face lit up as he read the message. 

-Hey, it’s Y/N. The one who spilled coffee on you this morning. I know it’s late but my friends decided to go drinking tonight instead of sight seeing and I’m just not in the mood to have a terrible hang over. Does your offer still stand? X

Wesley could notice from the kitchen that his best friend’s demeanor changed. “Did she message?” There was no response as Joe texted back.

-Hey, offer still stands. Where are you staying? I can come pick you up, if that’s okay?

He tried his best to keep it casual. Not appearing or seeming like he was waiting in your text. Not like it had drove him crazy all day long. 

“Is it her?”, Wesley asked again, finally gaining Joe’s attention.

Joe nodded. “She’s asking if my offer still stands.”

Wesley smirked. “Told you she liked what she saw. My mate might have him a date.”

Joe glared up at Wesley as his phone dinged again.

-Sounds great. I’m staying at Park Plaza near Westminster Bridge. Just got out of the shower. Should be ready when you get here. 

Joe felt a stabbing, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. His eyes fluttered shut, just imagining you fresh out of the shower wrapped in nothing but a towel. He shook his head, remembering he barely knew you and shouldn’t be having thoughts like that. But he couldn’t help it. You were beautiful. Wesley couldn’t contain himself anymore, bringing himself into the living room and peering over the couch to read Joe’s texts from you. 

“Think you might get lucky?”, Wesley teased.

Joe glared back at him. “No—no, we aren’t having sex on the first—whatever this is, Wes.”

Wesley laughed, raising his eyebrows. “Not even if she initiates it?” 

“NO.”, Joe said, more firmly. “I hate to do this—but I need to go get ready. Maybe pizza later this week?”

A laugh escaped from Wesley. “Yeah, pizza later. Go meet your mystery girl.”

Joe rolled his eyes, laughing before responding to you. 

-Sounds good. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. See you soon.

“Catch me up later?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah, I’ll let you know how things go.”

With that, Joe left Wesley’s apartment with a spring in his step. He was in a rush to get to his house and change before meeting you. A quick shower would be nice, just to freshen up and make sure he no longer smelled like coffee. He threw the door open quickly, throwing his keys and phone down. He wasted no time running for his bathroom, turning on the hot water. Looking in the mirror, he made sure his beard didn’t look too crazy—he had been letting it grow a little. Just thicker. 

He quickly trimmed it a little bit before jumping in the shower. He closed his eyes, feeling the warm water rush over his body. All he could think about was you—what you were wearing, what you smelled like—he tried to remind himself it was too early to be infatuated with you. Running his hands through his curls, he thought of what to do this evening, but decided he would let you lead. If you asked for his suggestions, he would gladly give them. If you wanted him to surprise you, he’d gladly do it. It was all up to you. 

Turning off the water, he heard his phone ding from the living room. He cursed himself slightly, remembering he had left it in there. He was careful to step out of the shower, afraid if he mis-stepped he’d up in the ER instead of being able to take you sight-seeing. He quickly dried his hair, leaving it in a curly, wild mess before using gel to smooth it down, still leaving the curls.  Blowing air, he was trying to decide what to wear to make a good impression. As the sun went down, it became colder this time of year in London. 

After spraying cologne, he left the bathroom and went to grab his phone. 

-Hey. Just checking in and making sure you’re alright.

Joe quickly began typing a response. 

-Hey, yes. Sorry had to run back to my place. I’ll be there ASAP. Want me to meet you at your room so you don’t have to walk down alone? Or do you want to meet me in the lobby?

He instantly cursed himself as he hit sent. He took his phone with him to the bedroom, laying it on his bed as he raked through his closet trying to find something that would satisfy him. Another ding, causing him to stop his search for the perfect outfit. 

-My room is fine. I’m in 221. See you soon. Be safe. X

Another smile curved across his lips, typing away.

-Sounds good. Getting dressed. See you soon. :)

Instantly, he began questioning himself. Was the smiley face too much? Groaning, he went back to searching his closet for clothes. He finally decided on black slacks, a white button up, and his peacoat seeing as it was pretty chilly this evening. Grabbing his phone and keys, he was out the door. The wind had a harsh nip to it, instantly hitting his warm face in contrast. Exhaling, he watched his breath in the cool, night air. There was a spring in his step, for the first time in a long time he felt eager. There was hope rising in his chest, the closer he got to the hotel. 

-Awesome, see you soon. :)

His brain quickly reminded him that this was only casual, he was just showing you around. The only reason you wanted to see him was for him to show you around his hometown. It was obvious, considering he knew the ends and outs. There was nothing more to this, was there? He turned the corner, reaching for the door of the hotel. The warm air hit his chilled face, him inhaling a deep breath. A small smile spread across his lips as he breezed by the desk. Pressing the button on the elevator, he began trying to talk himself up. 

The elevator dinged, reaching the second floor. This was the moment he had been waiting for. He was a bundle of nerves as he approached room 221. Reaching his hand up towards the door, he could see it shaking as he prepared to knock on your door.  A few broken knocks agains the door was all he could muster. 

He wasn’t prepared for you to open the door so quickly. The moment almost happened in slow motion. The first thing he noticed was how bright your eyes were shining. A smile spread across your lips, his eyes panning down to see you in a white sweater dress, hugging your curves perfectly. His mouth went dry, trying to find the words to say. You smiled at him, waiting for anything to come out of his mouth.

“Wow, you look—amazing.”, he breathed, trying to keep his cool.

Deep down inside, he felt like a little school boy. His nerves were getting the best of him, not quite used to feeling this way. He had been used to women throwing themselves at him lately, but it was different with you. 

“Thank you so much—so do you.”

Those words sounded so stupid coming from your mouth. 

He smiled, laughing nervously as he brushed through his curls. “So, did you have any idea where you wanted to go first? Have you had dinner?”

He was shooting his shot, hoping that it would work. There was a small glimmer of hope. 

You smirked, holding your small jacket folded over on your arm. “No, honestly. Have you?”

“No, actually. I know a really good place if you’re up for it.”

Your face lit up. “That would be amazing, I’m starving—if I’m being honest. And some of this stuff on the menus are—”

“Different?”, Joe finished for you.

“Different.”, you confirmed. 

He chuckled, immediately lightening the mood. “For sure. Let’s go. It’s in Soho, is that too far?”

“Oh no—it would be fun. We can always come back to London. I love a good dinner.”

He smiled, before he quickly frowned and furrowed his eyebrows. “Okay. Um, this is a hard topic—”

“Okay….”

What would he tell you? Was this the part where he shared with you a dark secret like having a secret girlfriend? Even if he was famous, you had to remind yourself you didn’t know him. You only knew what your friends had shared with you—causing you to beat yourself up all evening on how you spilled coffee on THE Joseph Quinn. You were surprised when he immediately texted back, offering to show you around London. You thought he would never want to see you again. 

“But um—there is something I do need to tell you….”

A sinking feeling entered the pit of your stomach. 

“Alright….”

“I don’t know if you know, but—”, he laughed nervously, closing his eyes before continuing. “I’m actually a little famous—not trying to brag—definitely not trying to brag, but there may be people who see us together.”

Your eyes lit up, feeling slight relief. “Okay.”

“It won’t bother you?”

“I don’t think so—I just hope it doesn’t cause trouble for you.”

He smiled. “I’m used to it. At least they’ll say I was with a beautiful woman.”

You felt your cheeks becoming red, a nervous laugh rising from your chest. “I’m sure you’ve brushed shoulders with women much more beautiful than me.”

Joe rolled his eyes playfully. “Aw, come on.”

“It’s true.”

You both stopped laughing, looking deep into each other’s eyes. Your smile softened as you made direct eye contact. It was like the entire world stopped spinning in that second—the second your eyes met. You swallowed hard, feeling the connection between you both. He held his out hand, motioning for you to go ahead in front of him. You smirked, immediately thinking about how much of a gentleman he was. The only time he got in front of you was to open the doors, feeling the cool air immediately hit you both.

“Do you want to take a cab or walk?”

“Doesn’t matter to me, what do you think?”

“We could walk to the restaurant, see the sights if you wanted?”

You smiled softly. “Yeah, sounds good.”

He nodded, leading you to through the streets. You all made small talk, beginning to talk about how your all’s lives. He told you about his mom and dad, that he always wanted to be involved in acting. You told him a little about your life in the States, telling him you worked for a doctor’s office. He didn’t poke or prod information out of you, allowing you to tell him what you felt comfortable telling him. There would be breaks in your conversations regarding your personal lives, him explaining some sights. It was so cold you both could see your breath in the air. 

Finally reaching the restaurant, you all entered and felt the warm air hit your pale, chilled faces. It looked very ritzy, nothing like you were used to. You all sat down, sitting across from one another. It gave you an opportunity to take him in, but you tried not to stare long—immediately grabbing the menu and trying to submerse yourself in it. 

“The steak tartare is amazing.”, Joe began. “I think you’d like it.”

  Your eyes panned down to the mains portion of the menu. You were a little surprised by the description. 

“Served with egg yolk?”, you asked, sliding your menu down to view him.

He chuckled. “Yeah, it’s pretty popular over here…kinda like baked beans with our breakfast.

You nodded easily, but he could tell you were slightly shocked. It made a smile curve across his lips. It was a breath of fresh air to talk to someone who had a different outlook on things. 

“Do you want a shot?”, he asked.

You widened your eyes easily. “Sure.”

The waiter came around, taking your order. He ordered oysters, immediately causing your nose to crinkle up slightly. He ordered you both a shot, your main dinner, and said you’d debate dessert. 

“Don’t knock it until you try it.”, Joe smirked as the waiter took your all’s menus. 

“I’m not sure about oysters.”, you chuckled nervously. 

“Just try one. If you hate it, you can blame me.”

You all continued to make small talk, waiting on your food. The waiter was quick to bring the shots, you immediately noticing they were smaller than the ones in the States. On a count of three, you both turned up your shots, you having no trouble downing it. He smirked at you as you both sat your glasses down on the table with a clink. It wasn’t long before you felt a small buzz, just enough to make you unwind and not feel so uptight. Even though Joe was easy to talk to you, you still felt a little unsure of yourself. You’d never been overly confident when it came to dating. 

“So you graduated LAMDA in 2015?”, you asked, taking a drink of your water.

He nodded. “Yes, had a few acting roles afterwards…nothing to brag about.”

“No, that’s really wonderful—I mean sounds like you were popular over here.”

“I guess you could say so…..I didn’t really gain a lot of traction though until I played Eddie on Stranger Things”, he smirked.

You could tell he wasn’t telling you this to brag about his filmography. 

“That was you?”, you asked, surprised. 

He nodded. 

“Wow….you were amazing….”

“Aw, come on.”, he laughed nervously, raking through his curls.

All he could focus on was how beautiful you looked—even in the lowlight of the restaurant. 

“No, I mean it. I cried over the season finale.”, you laughed as the waiter brought the oysters. 

Joe smiled widely, looking up from you with his deep brown eyes. “You did?”

You nodded, looking up between him and the oysters. He thanked you, genuinely surprised by your reaction.  You can’t believe that you had completely glazed over the fact he played in something you watched with your friends. You felt like such a fool—an idiot, You could only imagine what he was secretly thinking about you. You wouldn’t be surprised if he never called you again or texted—which you couldn’t blame him. 

He somehow talked you into trying oysters. While they weren’t your favorite, you didn’t hate them. Your reaction caused him to laugh, ending with both of you all laughing. There was chemistry between you both, but you tried not to get your hopes up, realizing you had to return home in a few days. Most of the time, nothing long distance worked out. At best, you all could be friends. 

After finishing dessert, you left the restaurant, immediately entering the cold air. The temperature had dropped since you all had came. You instantly cursed yourself for not bringing a thick coat. As you all continued to walk and talk, you did your best not to let him know you were practically freezing.  It wasn’t a long walk back to see Big Ben. Your teeth were so close to chattering, it wasn’t funny. You felt them chatter silently in your mouth, not knowing whether it was from the cold or your nerves—or a mix of both.

“Are you cold?”, he asked, turning to eye you.

“A little.”, you admitted, seeing your breath in the cold air.

Big Ben came into view, illuminated in the dark of the night. You both looked up at it, the clock hands nearing ten. 

“Wow.”, you breathed, eyeing up at Big Ben.

A landmark so simple as Big Ben had you in awe, amazed by the sight. It was nothing like you’d ever seen before. 

“Nice, isn’t?”, Joe smiled over at you, 

“Amazing.”, you looked back at him.

Turning your attention back to Big Ben, you didn’t notice him sliding off his navy blue peacoat. Your body was shocked when you felt the warm fabric around your shoulders. It smelled like his cologne and aftershave, the scent encasing your nose. You felt yourself swallow hard, looking up at him in the pale moonlight, your faces illuminated. 

He chuckled through a smile.

You instinctively put your arms in his coat, the chill melting away.  “You didn’t have to do that Joe.”

“You were cold, it’s what a gentleman does, you know.”, he chuckled, leaning in closer. 

“Yeah, but—why are you being so nice to me? Even after I poured my coffee on you?”, you looked at him.

Your eyes were locked, your stomach twisting and turning at the obvious chemistry between you both.

“I—it was an accident.”, he began. “Plus, it’s easy to forgive such a beautiful girl.”

A smile spread across your lips. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Of course. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

Man, he was really turning on the charm now.

You giggled easily. “That can’t be true.”

“It is, what do I have to do to prove it to you?”

There was something about this romantic rendezvous that made your heart beat a little faster, made you excited. It made your blood pump a little faster through your veins. It was like a wild romance novel where you met this handsome stranger who immediately knocked you off your feet. 

“I don’t know….”

He chuckled again before his smile faded slightly. There was a gleam in his brown eyes, unlike you’d seen before. Maybe it was the moonlight. Maybe something was shifting. Was it the alcohol in your systems? His fingers brushed your cheek, causing a soft sigh to escape your lips. Your eyes fluttered shut, before opening to view his face right in front of you. Was this some kind of dream?

His face inched in closer to yours, feeling his breath hit your soft skin. In this moment, it was like your brain went into auto-pilot mode. You both inched in closer, his fingers trailing up your cheek to finally meet some of your hair. It felt like time stood still—his lips finally meeting yours. They were soft, sensual and everything you would have dreamed them to be. 

It started off as a peck—soft and small. His eyes fluttered open just as yours did. Another soft, approving sigh escaped your lips. Your mouth gaped open, words wanting to come out but you were unable to form any. He heard the slight stutter but quickly crashed his lips into yours again, this time deepening the kiss. You held back the moan that begged to escape your throat as his other hand rested on your waist.  It had been so long since you’d felt this way, it was uncharted territory.

You both finally pulled away, his hands still resting on your hips as your eyes fluttered open to view him.

“Wow—that was—”, your mouth was dry like cotton.

“Amazing?”, he finished for you, chuckling softly before brushing your hair back.

You nodded, a small giggle escaping from your lips. This felt like a fever dream, like it shouldn’t have happened. Your mind was still reeling from sharing a kiss with him. You couldn’t help but to look deep into his brown eyes, mesmerized and completely enamored with him in this moment. You didn’t want this night to end, knowing you were one step closer to having to return home. Your brain quickly tried to rationalize the situation, reminding you that once you went home you would just be a memory to him. 

He’d probably never even text you, much less call you. He’d forget he even met you, blinded by all the pretty women he met in the industry. There were women much more beautiful than you—models, actresses, artists. The list went on and on. You, on the other hand, was just a normal American girl. What did you possibly have to offer him? There was one of two ways this night could possibly go—allow him to take you back to your hotel or see if he offered to take you back to his place. 

Your thoughts were derailed as he leaned in for another kiss, making this one consist of a few soft and slow kisses. You weren’t complaining—it was probably the best kiss you had ever had in your entire life. It felt like your brain was overloaded, the circuits malfunctioning as he pulled away and took another look at you. Your cheeks felt red and flushed as he smiled at you. 

“When do you go home?”, he asked, out of the blue. 

“Sunday. I fly home Sunday.”

He nodded easily, looking back up at you. “We could do something everyday until then—if you friends wouldn’t mind, that is….”, he stammered nervously. 

You giggled, his arms still around you. “That would be amazing, Joe.”

Without much more thought, you all shared another kiss. It was like one wasn’t enough. Maybe it was the fact you knew you’d never see him again. Maybe it was the fact he was British—you didn’t know. 

“It’s getting late and I’m sure you’re jet lagged. Anything else you want to do?”, he asked softly. 

“This has been an amazing night. I think I need some sleep.”, you laughed, your laugh fading into a yawn. 

Your body shivered as he fixed his peacoat around you. You shivered just looking at him, how was he surviving the cold?

“How are you not cold?”, you asked easily.

“Oh, I’m cold. I’m just used to London weather.”, he smirked. 

“I’m freezing.”, you admitted. 

He pulled you into him, completely shocking you. He smirked down at you, sending shivers down your spine. You dreaded the walk back to the hotel, realizing your amazing night was almost coming to a close. London was beautiful, but at night, it was magical and breath taking. As you all continued to walk, you rummaged through your wallet attempting to find your hotel key card.

“Shit—sorry shoot.”, you corrected as you stopped, Joe halting his steps with you. 

“What’s wrong, love?”, he asked easily. 

“I forgot my key card. It’s locked up in the room.”

His eyes widened easily as he continued to watch you comb over your wallet, checking every nook and cranny. 

“Can’t find—it—could have sworn I put it in here.”

“Maybe try calling your friends?”, he suggested.

He felt guilty as he secretly hoped your friends wouldn’t answer. He didn’t want this amazing night to end with you. He wasn’t sure how long this dilemma would prolong it, but he was willing to take anything else he could get. You awakened something inside of him.

You nodded, pulling out your phone and dialing their numbers. No answer from either. 

“They didn’t answer.”, you groaned, eyeing your phone. 

He felt hope rise in his chest, decided to shoot his shot. 

“Um, my flat is close by…if you want to go back there…you don’t have to stay—just until they answer, maybe?”

He immediately wanted to kick himself for babbling on like an idiot. So much for being smooth about it. 

“That sounds great, Joe. It’s so cold. I’m so sorry to put you in this position.”, you sighed, looking up at him. 

“No-no, I insist. If they don’t answer, you could stay. I can give you the bed and I could take the couch?”

He closed his eyes, immediately cursing himself again. What were you doing to him? He was usually cool, calm, and collected when it came to trying to romance someone—but that went out the window with you. 

“You’d do that?”

“Of course.”, he smiled.

[i-am-a-lazy-mess]

Enjolras x reader smut

Tags: HE LEAVES YOU FOR A FUCKING MAN??? HES GAY??? OR AROACE???? PEOPLE ARE INSANE???

everyone who thirsts over joseph quinn like puppies need to back the fuck off les mis. I get you think he's hot the massacre of a character is the scariest thing i've seen since the jeffery dahmer horn fest. GET AWAY?? Its destruction of a fandom its filthy like what the FUKCKCCKKCKCKCKCKCK. I don’t care if you write smut but I am passionate about enjolras so leave my boy ALONE.

@golemthegolem

[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.

[iiseult]

⚜️ 𝕹𝖆𝖛𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓 ⚜️

❥ 𝑅𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓈 - 𝒪𝒫𝐸𝒩

❥ 𝑀𝒶𝓈𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

❥ 𝑀𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓀

𝕬𝖇𝖔𝖚𝖙 𝕸𝖊

❥ 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝓊𝓎𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝑒 𝐼𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒. 𝐼’𝓂 𝟣𝟫, 𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝑒/𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓂 𝒸𝓊𝓇𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒸𝒽𝑜𝑜𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝑜𝓁𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓉!

𝕴𝖓𝖇𝖔𝖝/𝕬𝖘𝖐 𝕽𝖚𝖑𝖊𝖘

❥ 𝟣𝟪+ 𝑜𝓃𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓈𝓂𝓊𝓉!

❥ 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒷𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈, 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈, 𝑜𝓃𝑒𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁 𝒻𝒾𝒸𝓈, 𝑜𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓉𝓉𝓎 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝓎𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑒𝓁𝓈𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝑜𝒻.

❥ 𝒩𝒮𝐹𝒲 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒮𝐹𝒲 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓉𝒽 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒.

❥ 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓁𝒾𝒸𝒾𝓉𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝒜𝓈 𝒶 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑜𝓃 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝑒𝓆𝓊𝒾𝓅𝓅𝑒𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝓅𝓇𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓇𝓁𝓎 𝓅𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓎 𝓅𝑜𝒸 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝒶𝓁 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓁𝑒𝓉 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎𝑜𝓃𝑒 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓂𝓈𝑒𝓁𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓇𝓎 𝓃𝑜 𝓂𝒶𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝓌𝒽𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝑒!

❥ 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔: 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓉, 𝒮𝒜, 𝓈𝑜𝓂𝓃𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶, 𝓃𝑒𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓅𝒽𝒾𝓁𝒾𝒶.

𝕱𝖆𝖓𝖉𝖔𝖒𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕱𝖆𝖛𝖔𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖊 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘

• 𝒜𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓊𝓈 (𝟣𝟫𝟪𝟦) - 𝒲. 𝒜. 𝑀𝑜𝓏𝒶𝓇𝓉

• 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑀.𝒟. - 𝒥𝒶𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒲𝒾𝓁𝓈𝑜𝓃, 𝒢𝓇𝑒𝑔 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓈𝑒

• 𝐼𝓂𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓉𝒶𝓁 𝐵𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 (𝟣𝟫𝟫𝟦) - 𝐿𝓊𝒹𝓌𝒾𝑔 𝓋𝒶𝓃 𝐵𝑒𝑒𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓃

• 𝒦𝒾𝓃𝑔𝒹𝑜𝓂 𝑜𝒻 𝐻𝑒𝒶𝓋𝑒𝓃 - 𝐵𝒶𝓁𝒹𝓌𝒾𝓃 𝐼𝒱

• 𝒦𝒩𝒴/𝒟𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓃 𝒮𝓁𝒶𝓎𝑒𝓇 - 𝐻𝒶𝑔𝒶𝓃𝑒𝓏𝓊𝓀𝒶, 𝒢𝓎𝓊𝓉𝒶𝓇𝑜

• 𝐿𝒪𝒯𝑅/𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝒷𝒷𝒾𝓉 - 𝒦𝒾𝓁𝒾, 𝒯𝒽𝓇𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓊𝒾𝓁

• 𝐿𝑒𝓈 𝑀𝒾𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒𝓈 - 𝒢𝓇𝒶𝓃𝓉𝒶𝒾𝓇𝑒, 𝐸𝓃𝒿𝑜𝓁𝓇𝒶𝓈, 𝑀𝑜𝓃𝓉𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓈𝓈𝑒 (𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔)

• 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐻𝑜𝓊𝓇 (𝒜𝓃𝓃𝑒 𝑅𝒾𝒸𝑒) - 𝒥𝓊𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇, 𝑀𝒶𝓇𝓎 𝐵𝑒𝓉𝒽 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇, 𝒮𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝒶 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇, 𝑀𝒾𝒸𝒽𝒶𝑒𝓁 𝒞𝓊𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝐿𝒶𝓈𝒽𝑒𝓇, 𝑀𝑜𝓃𝒶 𝑀𝒶𝓎𝒻𝒶𝒾𝓇

• 𝒯𝒶𝓁𝑒𝓈 𝒻𝓇𝑜𝓂 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒢𝒶𝓈 𝒮𝓉𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 - 𝒥𝑒𝓇𝓇𝓎, 𝒥𝒶𝒸𝓀

[of-apollo]

People of various fandoms…

I am cutely asking for any requests! I’d love to get back into the swing of writing, but am not sure what to write so would love some ideas from you lovely people!

I write ship requests, but also x reader imagines and headcanons! I’ve tagged some of the fandoms and characters I write for, but please do check my navigation for my fandom list and request rules! 🫶🏻

[bookloover35]

Enjolras X fem reader - The girl in the bookshop.

Enjolras Pov:

Why is it that when I really need a book, it's either sold out from every bookstore or borrowed from every library.

I need a special book for preparation before a meeting.

But like I said can't find it anywhere at all.

I felt my luck start to slowly fade, but then just five paces ahead I saw a sign hanging over a store that looked very new.

I could clearly see on the sign that it said.

" Yns Bookshop"

This store must be very new.

So maybe the book is in here?

As one entered through the small door to the half-sized door, first a small bell rang, then an angelic voice called out.

??: Welcome in, I'll be right back to help you.

I turned to the person the voice was coming from and saw a beautiful girl with long wavy hair that was (Y,H,C) and eyes that sparkled the color of (Y,E,C).

She was wearing a cherry red dress, she really looked like an angel.

Yn: Hey my name is Yn, what can I help you with?

Enjolras: Um Hey my name is Enjolras and Um I was just wondering if you have this book?

Why did I get so nervous all of a sudden?

She is just an ordinary girl, a very beautiful girl, but still.

I gave her the note with the name of the book and she read it thoroughly.

Yn: Yes.

I actually have this book, wait right there and I'll run and get it for you.

She said to me and ran up the stairs of the small shop and stood in front of the third bookshelf and began to read the title of book after book.

Two minutes later she came with a smile and book in hand.

Yn: Here you go love.

Enjolras: You found it.

Yn: It was a little hard to find, but I finally found it.

This is a good book by the way.

I wish more people would read it so it understands how poor people really are.

The rich have a roof over their heads while the poor sleep outside.

The rich have food so they can survive for several years, while the poor have barely enough food for the evening.

As she talks about the fate of France, I could feel myself drawn to her even more.

She is as passionate as me and my peers.

She wants to change everything and she wants to save the people of France.

After a while she stopped and looked up at me and said.

Yn: Forgive me.

I talk a lot about things I'm passionate about.

And I really wish more people would understand.

I then took her other hand in mine and kissed her soft hand and answered her back.

Enjolras: I also wish more people were as passionate about the poor people of France as much as you Miss Yn.

The end.

[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.

@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

[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.

[rocknrollbabe14]

No Place For The Likes of You (Enjolras x Reader)

Rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SEXUAL THEMES HEAVILY DISCUSSED.

WARNINGS: Sexual themes, sexual language, one night stand, drinking, premarital sex, oral sex (female receiving), missionary (unprotected sex), slight bondage?, creampie?, ANGST, death? If I left anything out, let me know.

Also, let me know if this warrants a second part?

Thank you to @josephs-quinns for my amazing header ❤️

One day your mother had tasked you with taking some food to your father and the others who were fighting for more rights for the French. There had been an uprising and your father took part in it, much to your mother’s dismay. Your father reminded you this was not a woman’s place. A revolution of this caliber was not a woman’s place. Her place was in the home: cooking, cleaning and having children. You were young but had yet to find a man to sweep you off your feet. Your father, of course, would have to approve. You’d been asked by a few men to be courted, however, they were not up to your father’s high standards. He only wanted the best for you. 

Tensions had significantly risen since then, especially since Enjolras had taken his place as the unspoken, charismatic leader of the Friends of the ABC, the revolutionaries your father had joined. Enjolras appeared to be very standoffish when you first met him. Sometimes you thought back to your first meeting with him. He looked you up and down, perhaps curious as to why you were in the local pub bringing your father and his fellow republicans food. Some of the men were talking about their love interests or wives back home, Enjolras immediately reminding them they did not have time for romance, no time to be lovesick schoolboys before explaining to them this wasn’t the place for the likes of them if they were going to worry more about women than the revolution.

His solution for romance was to replace it with a revolution. He was ignited with passion, something that drew you to him. He was willing to fight for his country, even vowing to fight to the death if that meant freedom. It was noble of him, but you couldn’t help to fear your father may meet that fate. Some nights, you’d lay in bed and think about him. You didn’t know anything about him other than his passion for freedom. There was something about him that made your heart skip a beat. It was clear he wasn’t looking for a lover or something serious. 

You both had shared some passing glances, his eyes following you as you left the room. There was no way you’d ever be able to tell him how he made you feel—he’d never be receptive to it. His mind was clear on what he wanted and a woman didn’t quite fit into that equation. It was the night before the planned attack, the day they said would go down in history. A lot of the men were asleep, Enjolras telling them to rest and that they had a big day ahead of them. You had come to tell your father you loved him. You feared it would be the last night you would see him alive.

Enjolras was outside, drinking. He looked as if he had a lot on his mind. You were sure he did. The shine in his brown eyes made it seem like he knew what tomorrow was going to bring. 

“Going home so soon?”, Enjolras asked, his speech slightly slurred from the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

His question caught you off guard, causing you to jump slightly before turning to meet his glance.

“Um, well, my mom is probably wondering where I am. It’s late.”, you rubbed your arm nervously. 

“Your father is a hell of a man.”

He edged closer to you, putting his cup up in the air before taking another sip, giving you a chance to admire his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

You smiled easily. “Thank you, he’s always been very strong-willed.”

“I can see you take after him.”, Enjolras took another smaller sip from his wine.

A small smile spread across your lips, but all you could think about was the possibility your father wouldn’t return home. Your mother would be crushed, but she understood this was an important cause to your father. 

“Can I ask you something?”, Enjolras brought you out of your thoughts. 

“Of course.”

“Have you ever been with a man?”

His question took you aback. “I’m sorry?”

Enjolras inched closer to you, so close the aroma of alcohol tickled your nose. His brown eyes stared deeply into yours, seeing if you would falter the least little amount. You could almost feel his breath on you, it made your insides twist and turn. 

“Have you ever had a man ravish you? I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

You felt your cheeks growing hot. The air was cool, but your cheeks were warm. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Enjolras.” 

He smirked easily. “I’ve seen the way your eyes meet mine when you come to see your father. Like you want something…desire something.”, he hummed. 

“Perhaps I’m just curious about you.”, you match his tone. 

He smirked easily. “Why not let your curiosity get the best of you tonight?”

“Elaborate, Enjolras.”

He came closer to you, the sound of his inhale reaching your ear. “I may not be promised another day. Tomorrow may be my very last day, tomorrow I may die for freedom. Would you let me ravish you? Share this one last night together? Feeding both of our devilish desires?”

You had never been with a man before. His offer was bold, however, you admitted to yourself you had fantasized about him. You felt his free hand find your waist, fingertips touching the soft fabric of your dress. You felt his breath on your neck, an indication of just how close he was to you. But you also knew if you slept with him, you’d be committing an act of sin. You were supposed to wait until marriage. But how could you when the opportunity was right in front of you? Especially with a man who was the caliber of Enjolras.

“If my parents find out—”, your mouth was dry.

“They won’t find out, we can go up to my room. You just have to be quiet until we get there.”, he breathed.

You were quiet, pondering his offer. Enjolras was the epitome of what you wanted in a man, but you knew in the long run he wasn’t concerned with finding someone to settle down with. Not right now, not when there was a revolution. If he did live after tonight, what would become of you two? 

“What do you say, amour?”

He could tell there was some hesitation about his proposal. But you were ready to give in.

“I will, Enjolras.”, you breathed. 

A smile spread across his lips. He brought the cup of his wine up to your lips, the aroma instantly filling your nose. You had never drank. It wasn’t very becoming for a woman to drink alcohol. 

“Take a drink. It’ll help relax you......”

Your eyes looked to the side, just catching a glimpse of his arm. How Enjolras was causing you to come undone morally in just a matter of moments showed just how much of a hold, how much power he had over you.

“Okay.”, you breathed.

He tipped the cup, your mouth opened ever so slightly. You felt the liquid hit your tongue. It was sour but not the worst you had ever tasted. It tasted like grapes that had gone sour. You felt Enjolras watching you, seeing how much you could take. You were able to withstand more than you thought you would, Enjolras moving the cup away from your mouth. You swallowed your last drink, taking a deep breath. 

“It’ll hit you in a little bit. Impressive for someone who’s never drank before.”

You nodded feverishly, just wishing he’d take you already. But if you knew anything about Enjolras, he took his time to execute his plan. He finished off the wine, tossing the cup to side. You felt his other hand soon meet your waist. 

“You never answered my question earlier…..”

“Which one?”, you asked softly.

“Have you ever been with a man?”, he repeated.

“N-no, I’m a virgin—if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You mean I’m gonna be the first one to have you?”, he hummed. 

“Y-yes….”

He hummed again before his lips met your neck. “So nice and sweet that….you’re willing to give me….my dying wish…..”, he placed kisses down your neck, meeting your chest.

“You don’t know that you’re going to die….”

He stopped in his tracks. “I think I will, I quite literally have had a target on my back for months now.”

To be honest, you didn’t want to think about him dying. You didn’t want to think about anyone dying. No one needed to die. But you had heard Enjolras speak. According to him, someone must die. 

“You may come out of this.”, you said, trying to keep on the bright side of things. 

You heard his breathing hitch. There was mostly silence in the streets tonight, most everyone resting up for tomorrow. You heard the distant sound of music, an ominous hum. Enjolras didn’t speak for a few moments, going back to placing kisses on your neck, causing you to release soft sighs and borderline moans. You could feel him smirk against your skin. 

“Have you had women before?”, you choked out, voice hoarse.

Enjolras chuckled softly against your skin. “Do you really want to know?”

You nodded. “Mhmmm….”

“I have……..a few…….but none as pretty and innocent as you…..”

You felt a blush coming down your cheeks. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is……”, he groaned softly. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”

You nodded. 

You felt his lips leave your neck, causing you to whimper at the loss of contact. Another smirk spread across your lips as he realized how delicate and innocent you were. He grabbed your hand, leading you to the door of the pub. There was an apartment above the pub, you assumed this was where Enjolras had been staying for a few months now. He put his pointer finger over his lips, reminding you to stay quiet as he opened the door to the pub. All the men were asleep in different places. You all tip-toed past them, Enjolras leading you to the staircase. 

“Miss the third step, it creaks terribly.”, he whispered.

You nodded, making sure to miss and avoid the third step on the series of steps. You all reached the top, Enjolras opening the door to his apartment. You saw a bed, some of his clothes, books, maps, and his weapons. There was nothing super personable to him. For a man, it was fairly organized. It caught you off guard, surprised. He closed the door easily behind you, the room only illuminated by candlelight. The window was cracked slightly, a cool summer night. The day had been so warm, almost sweltering. 

“Where do you want me to start?”, he asked, softly. 

“However you wish.”

“This isn’t all about me.”, he began. “Contrary to popular belief.”

You reached for your hair, letting it down easily out of its tight constricted low bun. Enjolras watched as you shook your head easily, blowing it out. His brown eyes widened at the sight, a smile spreading across his lips. 

“I don’t know.”, you responded breathlessly. 

“I have an idea but we have to get you out of this dress.”, he breathed as used your shoulders to turn you around easily. 

You were wearing a thinner dress, thankfully. It was a dress specifically for summer. It was white with some lace, a sign of purity. Something you were about to tarnish. You stepped out of your shoes easily, leaving yourself in your stockings. Enjolras bent down and grabbed the bottom of your dress, beginning to lift it over your head. He laid it on the back of the chair that he used at his desk. You felt overly exposed in just your stockings and undergarments, your corset sucking in your waistline. 

“God, just look at you.”, he breathed.

You looked back at him, gaining just a glimpse of him as he came around the front of you. 

“Enjolras.”, you breathed.

“What? Simply stating the obvious. God.”, he breathed, beginning to palm the bulge in his pants.

You swallowed hard, your eyes immediately going to where his hands were. His brown eyes were fixed on you as he began to unbutton his pants, allowing them to fall to the floor. Your eyes widened as you saw the more prominent bulge of his rock, hard cock. You weren’t oblivious when it came to sex, but there were things you didn’t exactly know. You knew where children came from and how they were made. The act you were about to commit was how children came about. 

You opened your mouth, ready to speak when Enjolras spoke first.

“Finish undressing.”, he breathed. “Wanna….wanna watch you.”, he groaned as he undid his undergarments, allowing them to meet the same fate as his pants. 

Your eyes widened as you saw his cock spring free, hard, and erect just for you. It had to be for you, didn’t it? You gulped, bending down to slide your stockings off. 

“Um Enjolras….”, your voice breathed meekly.

“Yes?”

“I need help with my corset….”

He abandoned stroking himself for a moment, coming behind you, moving your hair to the side before he began undoing each string, feeling relief as you could breathe easier. 

“You know you don’t need this.”, he breathed.

“Why not? Men like little waists and bigger breasts, do they not? That’s what mother has always said.”

He sighed. “Most men….there’s nothing wrong with you as you are. You’re beautiful. Besides, do you want other men to look at you?”

Your face crinkled in confusion. You weren’t used to hearing compliments from men. Out in town, you were used to being asked for a quick lay or having men say indecorous things about you. Even though this was supposed to be strictly about sex, Enjolras managed to make you feel butterflies in your stomach with his compliments.

“Why would I not? I’ve yet to meet a man who gets my father’s approval or one who wants more than just sex.”

Enjolras was quiet again. “If it counts for anything, I would love to make you more than a one-night stand….if it wasn’t for this revolution.”

Your heart stopped in its tracks, your breathing instantly hitching. “You surely…surely don’t mean that.”

Enjolras reached the end of your corset, proving this was not his first time undoing one. Your corset fell to the floor before he reached down and picked it up, placing it with your dress. 

“I do….I just don’t feel as though your father would want you with a man who values a revolution and freedom for the French as much as I do.”, he breathed. 

You had watched your father and Enjolras interact, their rapport appeared to be superior to the other men. There was mutual respect between them. Your father respected Enjolras as a leader. He may have been younger, but your father thought he had bright ideas, intuitive for his age. Your father always complimented Enjolras when telling you and your mother about him.

“You’re passionate about it.”, you breathed easily.

“Very much so. People who have spilled their blood for France are living as beggars. Their children starving while a fat king sits on the throne, what’s there not to be passionate about?”, he breathed, you finally seeing the charismatic, caring side of him coming through. 

To be honest, it was very alluring when Enjolras talked about how passionate he was about the revolution. He was a very educated man, clear he had done his reading and research. There was a pause before he began to undo your bra, tossing it to the chair. The cool, summer night air drifted into the room, causing the curtain to move slightly, sending a chill down your spine, and causing your nipples to instantly grow hard. His hands wrapped around your waist, fingertips on your abdomen.

His fingertips drifted down to find the hem of your underwear, beginning to tug them down slightly. 

“Enjolras…..”

“Hmmm?”

You felt him slide your underwear down your legs, and you instinctively stepped out of them.

“Damn, you’re so—alluring.”, he breathed.

“You really think so?”

“I do, I really do……”

His hands moved from your waist, beginning to undo his button-up. You heard him toss his shirt and under shirt to the side. You felt him wrap his hands around your waist, one moving up to find your breast. You felt his cock becoming hard against you as he began playing with your nipple, taking it between his fingers. Your breathing hitched, trying to fight back the loud moan threatening to escape your lips.

“You can let it out.”, he whispered against your neck, placing another kiss on it.

You sighed, finally releasing the small hiccups of moans as he toyed with your nipples, pinching and flicking them between his fingers.

“Your moans are such a sweet sound in my ear.”, he breathed. 

He was met with another string of moans from you, his hard cock rubbing against the back of your thighs. He was very hard, causing you to moan softly. 

“Let’s move to the bed, amour.”

You fumbled trying to walk with weak legs to his bed. It was astounding the amount of power he already had over you. You easily climbed into the bed, feeling his eyes on you as he followed suit. He began kissing you—softly and slowly at first. His kisses were warm and sweet, everything you imagined them to be. There were soft smacks as you deepened the kiss, pulling him towards you. His beard was rough against your delicate skin. He was towering over you, running his hands through your soft hair. 

“Can I taste you?”, he breathed between kisses.

You abruptly interrupted the kisses. “Taste—taste me?”, you stammered.

“Yes….I’m sure you taste as sweet as you seem.”, he kissed you again, looking deep into your eyes. 

He inched his body down the bed, his fingers tracing your body as he reached your core. He looked up at you, again asking for your permission. You nodded easily, beginning to feel a little tingly presumably from the alcohol. His fingers ran up your thighs, tracing your entrance. A moan escaped your lips, your head falling back onto the pillow with a soft thud. Your inhibitions were slipping away and quickly at that. 

“Can I feel you?”

You nodded. “Mhmmm, please Enjolras…..”

He accepted your invitation, slipping two fingers inside you causing a gasp to elicit from your lips. You had never felt anything like this before—you had nothing to compare it to. His eyes were concentrated on you. Your back instantly began arching, allowing him to shove his fingers further inside of you. You gripped the sheets easily.

“Feel good, amour?”, he breathed, working his fingers in and out of your wet folds rhythmically. 

“So good, Enjolras.”, you moaned, your eyes fluttering shut. 

He spent a few more minutes, working his fingers in and out of you. He was making sure you were going to be prepared for him—for his length and width. You were so tight, having never been with a man before. Enjolras placed soft kisses on your thighs, causing soft moans and sighs to escape your lips. 

“Ready for me to taste you?”, he asked, suddenly. 

His own breathing was hitched at this point. You nodded feverishly, sighing once more. Enjolras was ready to hear your soft pleas.

“Please….”, you moaned softly. 

If it was anything like his fingers, you were in for a treat. Your soft ‘please’ was all it took for Enjolras to oblige your request. He parted your legs gently, laying down between your legs. His deep, brown eyes looked up at you a final time before you felt his rough, coarse beard between your legs. You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes again. His tongue traced your entrance, sending shock waves through your body. 

It lasted for a minute before his tongue entered your core, beginning to lick, suckle, and nibble you making you grip the sheets so hard your knuckles turned white. Enjolras seemed to notice, taking a moment to look up at you. Seeing how much you were enjoying it was only fueling him further. Unbeknownst to you, he had thought about you before. He saw the way you innocently walked in front of him, swaying your hips—whether it was intentional or not. There were a few nights he’d be alone in his room, frustrated and needing release. 

He knew exactly what to do. All he had to do was think of you. He would instantly unbuckle his pants, letting his cock spring free. He’d throw his head back and instantly fantasize about you—undressing you, admiring your beautiful body, tasting your sweet juices, taking you, and stripping you of your innocence. Taking your virginity while you moaned his name. He had thought about it a few times if he was being honest. 

But now, he was getting to experience it in reality. It was no longer his fantasy when he needed to come undone, to feel a little less stress. You moaned softly, the sweet sound continuing to fill his ears. His tongue encircled your clit, lapping at it easily. He noticed your grip tighten on the sheets. It was causing his cock to grow harder by the second, watching you come undone just by him tasting you. His cock was pressing hard against the bed, begging to be inside of you. 

His breathing almost immediately hitched when he thought about entering you for the first time. He could hardly wait. You felt the deep, aching feeling in the pit of your stomach growing. You didn’t know what an orgasm exactly entailed. You had heard it mentioned before, but what was the warning signs that it was near? Enjolras eyed you as he came up for a moment, his tongue abruptly leaving your heat. You were breathing hard, whimpering at the sudden loss of contact.

In the small amount of candlelight, you could see the glisten in his beard from how drenched you were.

“So—wet—just for me….”, Enjolras heaved, trying to catch his breath. 

“Wh—why did you stop?”, you asked, your chest heaving. 

Your brain felt overstimulated, trying to catch up with the events that had happened up to this point. Focus was out of the question except if it came to Enjolras. 

“Just to get a little breath, amour. Don’t worry, I can finish……but God, my dick is so hard for you, amour…..begging to enter you…..”

You swallowed hard as you watched him reach down for his hard, erect cock taking the length in his hands, beginning to stroke himself. Small moans fell from his lips, causing that hot, aching feeling to quickly return to your stomach. It was hard to say no to Enjolras when he was in the current state he was in. Your needs other than him inside of you were slipping away, your eyes pleading for him. 

“Please….”, you pleaded softly.

“Please what?”, Enjolras asked, stroking his cock, his eyes closing and head falling back just for a moment, just enough to drive your desire deeper. 

“Enter me…..”, you pleaded, desperation laced in your voice.

A smirk came across his lips, continuing to stroke himself. “But amour, I have no condoms……”

“Don’t—care…..”, you moaned softly. 

“If fate should serve us well, you won’t have to bare the burden of birthing my child.”, he leaned down, beginning to kiss you. Softly and slowly, just like before. 

The thought hit you like a ton of bricks. Your inhibitions may have been faltering, but there was no way you were prepared to bring a child into this world—especially without its father. It would be referred to as a bastard. No man would want you if you bared another man’s child. A dead one at that. It was very taboo for this time period. Your mother and father would be so ashamed. You could imagine what people in town would whisper about you. Enjolras continued to kiss you, quickly making those thoughts and fears melt away. Nothing else mattered at this moment—except for him.

“Ready to take me?”, he breathed, voice slightly raspy. 

All you could muster was a nod, consenting permission for him to ravish you.

He was towering over you, easily parting your thighs. Leaning down, he placed soft kisses on the inside of your thigh. Goosebumps began appearing all over your body as you felt his stubble against your soft, delicate skin. You let out a soft sigh, watching him come back up, positioning himself between your legs. You felt his cock brush your thighs, causing your eyes to widen. You immediately noticed how erect he was. 

“Just gonna get you used to my size first, okay?”

You nodded again, feeling sheepish for not being able to form a simple one-worded response. But Enjolras didn’t give you much time to ponder it before you felt the tip of his cock tracing your entrance. He watched for your reaction. You moaned softly, biting your lip. Your mind began to race, imagining how this would feel. You had no experience. Your heart felt like it was going to thump out of your chest. He continued to brush his tip against your entrance, seeming to intentionally tease you. It was as if he wanted you to beg for him to enter you. 

You bit your lip, fighting the urge to moan his name. He could tell you were holding back. 

“You’re holding back, amour.”, he breathed, adding pressure as he traced your entrance immediately causing your breathing to hitch. 

“Am—Am I?”, you choked out, desperate to moan his name.

He nodded before adding more pressure as he traced your entrance. “All you have to do is moan my name—just one time and I’ll enter you—”

“Enjolras….”, you moaned, cutting him off quickly. 

He smirked, hearing all he needed to before he traced your entrance one more time. It caught you off guard when he finally pushed his tip into you, causing you to gasp and grip the sheets. The sensation was so overwhelming and overstimulating to your body. You had never been with a man like this—you had never had sex with a man. 

“So tight—”, Enjolras groaned, attempting to slip into your pussy further. 

You swallowed hard, feeling him stretching out your tight, virgin pussy. Another moan fell off your lips, Enjolras taking the opportunity to push into you further. There was pleasure in the pain as your moan grew louder, sharper at the end as he was almost completely inside of you. 

“Just a little more.”, Enjolras encouraged, his hand brushing your cheek.

Your chest was heaving—your body trying to catch up with the thoughts racing through your brain. Enjolras noticed, brushing your hair out of your face. You were silently thankful it was a cool summer night. 

“Go ahead.”, your breath was raspy.

“Are you sure, amour?”, he asked.

He was almost completely inside of you but wasn’t moving. You could feel him pulsing inside of you.

You nodded quickly, lessening the grip on the bed sheets. You were slightly beginning to not feel like a fish out of water. You felt embarrassed knowing Enjolras was experienced when it came to sex. You were sure he had women who were better than you.

He steadied himself before pushing further inside, the feeling of him stretching you out turning into a burning sensation, however, it disappeared quickly. It was evident he had bottomed out. It was all over his face. All you could do was moan and pant as he went as far inside you as he could. 

“Shit—feels so good….”, he groaned as he began to slowly work his way in and out of you. 

You nodded, gripping the sheets easily. 

“Tell me how good it feels….”, his breath tickled your bare skin. 

“So—good Enjolras.”, you somehow managed to choke out. 

Another smile spread across his face. You could see the sweat beginning to form on his forehead. For once you were glad the night was cool, giving you all some relief from the steamy activities occurring in his room. He leaned down, beginning to kiss you as he thrust inside of you, tearing you apart at the seams. The burning had turned into pure bliss. The more he worked inside of you, the more the burning, aching feeling in the pit of your stomach grew. 

Your toes began to curl, and a long sigh fell from your lips. You were edging towards a release. Your legs were shaking, unintentionally as he thrust into you. With each thrust, Enjolras grunted, causing your insides to twist into a knot. Enjolras knew that look on your face—he had seen it before from other women but somehow, it was different with you. He wanted to continue to chase this desire he had. Would just one time be enough? It had to be. In the back of his mind, he knew tomorrow could very well be his last day.

His brown eyes fluttered shut as his thrusts grew longer and deeper, pulling you in. He was damned determined to make you orgasm. He wanted to feel you all over him—it was his dying wish, after all. 

“Enjo—Enjolras…”, you choked on your own words.

His brown eyes shot open, waiting for the rest of your words.

“Think I’m—going—to——”

“Going to what?”

“Have—an—oh! Oh—my God.”, your words were drowned out as a rush washed over your body. 

Your toes curled instantly, your hands gripping his shoulders. Your fingernails sinking into his shoulders caused him to moan. You could feel the blood rushing from your toes to your head, it was unlike anything you had ever felt before. You felt yourself contracting around him. Pure euphoria cascaded through your body. For once, all the intrusive, worrisome thoughts had dissipated. Through hazy, groggy eyes you looked up at Enjolras. 

“Oh—feels so good on my dick….can’t wait to make a mess all inside you, amour….”, he grunted, his thrust soon becoming sloppy. 

You nodded lazily, resting your head on his pillow. He gripped your thighs, raising your hips up so he could get better angles and leverage. Just seeing you spent, laying in front of him, and letting him sex you like this was driving him towards his release hard and fast. He could feel himself beginning to lose this uphill battle. His dick was so hard he couldn’t stand it, thankful you at least had released on him. 

“Please—make a mess of me Enjolras.”, you breathed.

He smirked, your words marking your fate. 

“Oh—amour, here it comes.”, he warned through a grunt as his hips stuttered, his grip on your hips tightening.

His cock began pulsing inside of you. Your purity was over. 

Your eyes closed as you felt his seed filling you full, his breathing labored as he tried to catch his breath. How could a man like Enjolras make you forget all your promises and morals in a matter of a few hours? You felt him pulse inside of you a few more times before he felt satisfied enough to pull out. You cried out, missing him inside of you and making you feel full. 

He ran a hand through your hair. “I have one last request, amour.”

“What—is—it, Enjolras?”, you ask in a pitiful, pathetic tone. 

“Can you stand up for me?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Can you stand for me?”, he repeated more firmly. 

Enjolras knew this was going to be a lot to ask of you, especially since he had just made a complete mess of you. Part of you wondered how you were going to even lift yourself off the bed, much less stand. Enjolras felt his dick becoming hard again, just watching your innocent, pathetic attempt at obliging his request. You grunted softly, heaving yourself up from the bed, your head spinning in circles endlessly. Enjolras extended his hand, helping you sit up.

You felt some of his seed running out of you, but you were doing your best to ignore it. The only other thought your brain could register was the amount was a lot—more than you had expected. Your legs were weak, threatening to give out at any second. You took a deep breath, praying you could hold yourself up as long as he wanted you to. 

“Just turn around and lean on the bed, amour. Hands behind your back.”

His words puzzled you. 

“Hands behind my back?”

“Mhmmm.”, he hummed.

His hands were reaching for something. You felt his seed mixed with your own release seeping down your legs, causing you to feel slightly embarrassed. Your cheeks were growing hot, the words you wanted to say catching in your throat. 

“Look what a mess we made. What a naughty girl you’ve been. What would your father think?”

Your breathing caught again as his hands traced your hips and lower back, helping bend you on over the bed. You felt his fingers trace your wrists, the next sensation becoming the one to throw you off. You felt a soft, velvet fabric. The dots were finally connected in your brain. You felt him tie the soft fabric around your wrists—your mind thinking about his handkerchief immediately. His fingers left your wrists, leaving your hands bound together behind your back. 

“Now,”, Enjolras breathed against your neck. “I’m going to spank you—discipline you for how naughty you’ve been. And I want you to count each one, understand amour?”

You nodded, gritting your teeth in preparation for the first hit. 

“Good girl. Maybe you can redeem yourself.”, he rubbed the globe of your right backside.

He could admire them much easier with no dress in the way.

His hand left your backside, and you held your breath as you waited for what was to come. Your face was pressed into the bed. 

“Alright, let’s start counting. Ready, amour?”

You nodded breathlessly, your mouth going completely dry. 

“Perfect.”

Even though you had given him permission to start, you weren’t prepared for the sudden, abrupt impact of his hand against your skin. You yelped with the first spanking to your right backside, your throat sore and your face hot. 

“Un.”, you choked out in French. 

You closed your eyes, bracing for impact again. Enjolras sent another smack to your left backside, causing you to jolt.

“Deux.”

“A little louder, amour.”

That was all the advice he mustered up for you as a third strike came to your backside. 

“Trois.”

Your voice was hoarse, you were trying to find your voice. The vulnerability was coursing through you, no one else had seen this side of you. Maybe Enjolras had fed you sweet lies tonight, but nevertheless, he had a spell on you. He just had some power over you. There was beginning to be a numb stinging to your backside, making it less painful with each spanking. You felt his thick, bare hand caress over your backsides. During this, spankings four and five occurred.

Another smack. Pain melting away into pleasure by this point. 

“Six.”

“Maybe you’re not such a naughty girl, after all.”, he hummed, rubbing the tingling, burning spot on your backside.

A small laugh escaped your throat. Should you go over the list of things that made you a naughty girl? For one, you flirted with your dad’s leader. Two, you drank tonight. Women didn’t drink. It was unheard of. It was very unbecoming of you. Three, you had premarital sex with Enjolras. There could be grave consequences for your actions. But you were doing your best to not think about that right now.

The seventh smack to your backside was harsher, probably a result of your laughing, causing it to cease very quickly. 

“Se—pt.”, you choked, this number broken. 

More of your all’s mess cascading down your legs, them beginning to shake. Laying down sounded so good right now.

“H-how ma—many more?”, you moaned out. 

“Three, unless you’re naughty and laugh again….”, he breathed.

You nodded, closing your eyes. Another smack to your backside. He was now giving you longer intervals in between them, teasing you. 

“Huit.”

You tried to pull your arms in front of you, but the piece of fabric didn’t budge, stalling your arms in their current state. All you wanted to do was rest your arms in front of you, and become close to dozing off as he finished. 

“Not yet, amour.”

SMACK. This brought you out of your stupor rather quickly. 

“Neuf.”

Your response was softer. 

“One last one.”

Your legs were beginning to buckle, you feared they’d give out before he finished and send you crashing into the floor. 

You nodded. This was the last one. If you could just make it through this last one. 

SMACK. 

“Dix….”, you choked out, legs caving before Enjolras grabbed your shoulders easily.

His arms were strong enough to support your weight, while he took his free hand, unknotting his handkerchief making it look so easy. 

“So good, amour. You did so, good.”, he breathed, placing a kiss on your neck. 

He could see in your eyes that you were caught in a state of limbo—between euphoria and facing the reality of what you both had done. 

“Help me get my clothes?”, you asked softly. 

“You’re in no shape to go home.”

“My mother has to be worried about me.”

“She may be—but you can’t go home like this. I’ll help you in bed and just sleep for a bit, amour.”

You debated his offer, softly humming for a few moments. “Are you going to sleep?”

“Probably not, but I’ll wake you before your father and the other men wake up.”

The way your legs felt, you knew Enjolras was right. But what would you tell your mother? Those thoughts couldn’t be processed right now. 

“Okay.”, you said softly. 

He nodded, helping you up in bed, pulling the covers over you. You yawned easily, your glossy eyes looking up at him as he bent down and kissed your head. His brown eyes were watery—or were you seeing things?

“Sleep well, amour.”

He brushed his thick fingers over your forehead, moving the stray hair out of your face. You nodded softly, drifting off to sleep. Little did you know, Enjolras stayed up all night long, watching you sleep in complete silence. He studied his maps, all his plans only breaking every few minutes to look at you, making sure you were still resting. Part of him began to feel guilty thinking of all the results that could come from his actions. 

He had wanted a normal life—find a woman, settle down, and have a few kids. But the revolution changed those plans for him. He couldn’t sit by and let this go on any longer. What was the point in bringing children into this kind of world? That’s how he rationalized it. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn the life he would never have the chance to have. He’d love to have it with you, but he knew that could never be. Your father would never agree to that. You were too good for the likes of him. 

The sun began to rise on the horizon, causing the blanket of darkness to lift. Enjolras blew out the candle before coming over to kiss your forehead, hoping to bring you out of your slumber easily. 

“Is it morning?”, you asked softly, stretching.

“It is amour. I’ll get your clothes.”

You nodded, sitting up. You rubbed your eyes quickly, hoping to get a good glance of Enjolras. This could be the last time you see him alive. The thought made you sick to your stomach. Enjolras took a deep breath as he helped you get dressed, taking his last opportunity to breathe in your beautiful body. He was not an emotional man, but he was feeling something he had never felt before. It felt like a dream that he finally was able to become one with you, but not under the circumstances he had.

“I’ll lead you outside.”, he took your hand easily.

You looked down at your hands before looking back up at him. He led you down the same set of stairs you all had come up last night. You’d give anything to get that night back, to get a chance to do it over again. But that was impossible. No one was out on the street as he opened the door to the pub, the warm morning summer breeze meeting you. 

You almost could feel tears beginning to pool in your eyes, cursing them back quickly. You had no right to cry over a man you had shared one night with. You all stared at each other, looking into each other’s eyes. His hand was still in yours, you both trying to find the right words to say. 

“See you later?”, you asked easily. 

“See you later, amour.”, he smiled bittersweetly.

Your hands finally broke apart, you nodding as he turned to back inside.

He turned to view you one more time, watching you walk away. That was the hardest part. It was different with you. The other women could leave, it didn’t bother him. He hadn’t given them a second look. There was something different with you, or was he just mourning what is and what will never be? He was choking back tears, quickly reminding himself he had to get it together. There was a revolution to start today. 

——————————————————————————————————————

Your mother asked you a million questions once you got home, doing your best to quietly sneak in. You had failed miserably. Giving her very generic answers, she finally gave up. She asked if you had been with a man to which you responded ‘no’. A mother’s intuition never seemed to be wrong. She proceeded to tell you how much she had worried about you, how little sleep she had gotten. You felt guilty about causing her to worry, but didn’t regret the night you had spent with Enjolras. 

As the day progressed, you tried to take your mind off things and help your mother with the chores around the house. She was nervous, afraid your father wasn’t going to make it back home. You were nervous, afraid Enjolras was going to die today. You tried to reassure her while trying to reassure yourself. You almost dropped dinner, feeling clumsy. All you could think about was your parting glance with Enjolras, thinking you may never see him again.

“Dear, are you alright?”, your mother asked you.

“Fine, mother. I’m sorry. Just worried about father.”, you responded.

Part of it wasn’t a lie. You had just left out Enjolras. 

She nodded, placing a hand on yours. “Me too, dear.”

As the day turned into night, you all had barely eaten any dinner. You were waiting for news—anything to let you know your dad or Enjolras was alive. Silence lay between you both as you sat by candlelight. This time last night, you were with him. You closed your eyes, fighting back the urge to cry. It was silly to feel like this over a man you had for one night, wasn’t it?

A defeated knock came to your door, jarring you and your mother out of any thoughts. You looked at one another before rising from your chairs, quietly asking the other who was going to answer the door. Quietly, you decided you would be the one to get the news firsthand. If it was your dad, you could ask him about Enjolras. Your hand began trembling as you placed it on the knob, turning it. Your eyes widened, seeing Enjolras standing there.

He had a somber expression on his face, covered in soot and dirt, his brown eyes were almost the only thing visible. His white shirt was filthy. Part of you wanted to cry from happiness, the other worried as to why he was here at your doorstep.

His name threatened to fall from your lips.

“L/N residence?”, he asked.

Your mother nodded behind you. 

“My name is Enjolras.”, he began, mouth dry. “I regret to inform you that your husband didn’t make it.”

All you remember hearing was the shrill cry from your mother before she collapsed in your arms. Tears pricked up in your eyes. All he could do was look at you, feeling defeated. He was supposed to die. Not the other men, especially not your father. He wanted so badly to take you in his arms and comfort you and tell you everything would be okay. He wanted to tell you about the last few moments of your father’s life. 

“Did he suffer?”, your mother asked through tears, clearly distraught.

“No, it was quick.”, Enjolras closed his eyes, preparing to hear your mother cry again. 

You eyed him easily through tear-stained eyes. Your pain was quickly turning to anger, you immediately began to blame him in your head.

“If you’d let me come in, I could tell you about the last few moments of his life.”

“No—,”, your tone started out harshly. “No, please just leave. Thank you, Enjolras but my mother and I need time to process this.”

Your tone ended softly. He was surprised by this change in you. He didn’t argue or with your reasoning, turning to leave. It killed him to not be able to comfort you, but he understood you needed time to process this. You were caught between a rock and hard place—thankful Enjolras was alive but distraught your father was dead. That was the last memory you had of Enjolras in weeks. 

The days had been darker since your father had passed. You had been sick in bed, with terrible stomach pain and aches. Racked with nausea and vomiting, your mother worried that you had come down with cholera. She sat on the edge of your bed, brushing through your hair. It was early morning and you had finished vomiting as she placed a cool cloth on your forehead. It had been seven weeks since you had seen or heard from Enjolras. 

“I can’t lose you.”, your mother sighed.

“Mother, I’m sure it’s just something I ate.”

“For four weeks now? I will send for the apothecary.”, she got up, leaving the room. 

You sighed, closing your eyes. That’s when the feeling hit you like a ton of bricks—you had slept with Enjolras seven weeks ago. Your mouth became dry, beginning to think about your symptoms. Your vomiting was always in the morning. Not to mention, you had missed your monthly. You felt exhausted all the time, breasts began to feel sore. All of it was adding up, beginning to make sense. 

Fate had not served you well, it appeared you were with child.

“The apothecary should be here this evening.”, your mom sat down on your bed, holding your hand. 

You nodded numbly. 

[oldbookist]

cherubs and cherubim

pairing: enjolras x fem!reader

rating: gen

tags: canon compliant

summary: As a grisette living in the Latin Quarter, you’re used to short-lived dalliances with wealthy students…until a certain revolutionary catches your eye. Things go exactly as you might expect. (Or not.)

The street was crowded with a throng of students as you walked home to your flat on the rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais. It was one of the hazards of living so close to the university, although you had to admit the proximity of so many good-looking Parisian students more than made up for the inconveniences. After moving to Paris you started working in a dressmaker’s shop to pay the bills, adding embellishments to gowns made for wealthier ladies, but gifts and dinners from students with generous incomes helped to maintain a more fashionable lifestyle. 

The crowd blocking your path was surrounding something. Curious, you pushed your way in to see what the fuss was about. 

“The prime minister has been replaced with the prince de Polignac,” cried the speaker at the center of the crowd. “This regime has no interest in moderation. How long until the rest of our meager gains are stripped away?”

Just another street orator, you thought with annoyance. But then you saw him. 

He looked like a wingless angel. His chiseled features might have been carved out of marble; he looked like he belonged in the Louvre, not a dirty street corner. His perfect curls billowed in the wind as he spoke, and you found yourself nodding along to every word he said as though entranced. You felt a sudden lightness in your chest like seeing the sun rise in the morning, and a desire to possess that beauty, to have him as your own, dug its painful claws into your heart. 

In short, you were screwed. 

As the crowd began to disperse after the speech, you mustered up the courage to try to speak to him. Get ahold of yourself, you scolded. It wasn’t as though you were blushingly inexperienced, and you’d been called one of the most beautiful women in the Quartier Latin by people who ought to know. Still, you felt close to fainting as you approached him. 

When you reached him he was conversing with two other men, and god, he was somehow even better looking up close. 

You smiled, trying to hide the nervousness you felt. “You speak very well, monsieur,” you said. 

He inclined his head. “Thank you,” he said gravely, then turned away. 

His shorter friend grinned. “You are interested in politics, mademoiselle?”

“I may be persuaded to be,” you replied cheekily, “Monsieur…?”

“Courfeyrac,” he said, taking your hand and kissing it. You giggled. Courfeyrac was handsome, but not nearly as much so as his friend. (Though much more fashionably dressed, you thought.) “And you, mademoiselle?”

“Y/N,” you replied. 

“Y/N,” he repeated, putting a hand to his heart. “The very word sounds like music.”

Poor Courfeyrac, you thought, that luck should place him next to such incomparable beauty. You felt certain you would have given him a chance otherwise, yet you could hardly tear your eyes away from the statuesque man beside him. 

Courfeyrac noticed where you were looking and added, “These incorrigible brutes are Messieurs Enjolras and Combeferre, respectively. He looked at them pointedly. “My apologies for their rude behavior.”

“Enjolras,” you commented, “what a charming name.” But Enjolras appeared entirely preoccupied with whatever his other friend, Combeferre, was whispering in his ear. 

You were nonplussed. His utter lack of reaction was strange, to say the least. Perhaps he was just shy? The way he avoided your gaze and stared at the ground would certainly seem to indicate that. 

You turned back to Courfeyrac. “Do all of you come here often?”

“Yes, although I can’t tell you exactly when, I’m afraid.”

“Do you think I’m a spy?” You pretended to be offended. 

“If you are, you’re the prettiest police spy I’ve been in trouble with,” he said with a devilish grin. 

It was evident you would get nowhere with Enjolras with his friends around. But at least you knew his name, and that there was a chance you might see him again here. 

“Well, then. Until next time, messieurs.” You smiled brightly. 

~

A week had passed, and though you hurried home every day from the shop hoping to catch a glimpse of him, there had been no sign of Enjolras or his friends. You were beginning to ponder actually going by the law school (was he a law student?) to catch him when a familiar-looking student crossed the street to the wine shop in front of you. It was Enjolras’s other friend—Combeferre, you recalled. 

You hurried after him, not caring about the indignity of the situation. 

“Excuse me, monsieur,” you called. 

He turned around, surprised. 

“You are Monsieur Combeferre, yes? I believe we met last week.” 

“Yes, I remember.” He looked at you expectantly. 

“I’m looking for your friend,” you said, then immediately winced at how foolish you sounded. 

“Courfeyrac? I don’t know where he is.”

“No, Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?” He smiled in a manner that seemed gently mocking. “What business do you have with Enjolras?” 

“My own,” you retorted. 

“No matter,” he said coolly. “I can guess.”

You frowned. “I just want to know where I can find him, that’s all.”

“He won’t be interested,” he said flatly. 

You felt your face heat up. “And how do you know? Is he attached?” 

“No.”

“Then—“

“Furthermore, I’m not in the habit of revealing his whereabouts to strangers.”

You folded your arms crossly. “Me? How could I possibly be dangerous?”

He looked at you coldly over his spectacles. “Perhaps you are not aware of the current political situation. However, I can assure you it would be imprudent for me to tell you when Gisquet, our esteemed préfet de police, has lately deemed it necessary to raid private gatherings of citizens.”

Now you were really annoyed. “You cannot actually believe I’m a spy.”

Combeferre shrugged. “Not really.”

“Then why—”

“I told you. He won’t be interested.”

“I mean no harm to him, honestly,” you said, despondent. “You needn’t be so cold towards me.”

He scoffed. “I’m doing you a kindness.”

“A kindness!” You clasped your hands. "Are you not without pity for love?"

Combeferre raised his eyes towards the heavens.

"You believe you love him?"

"If I didn't, would I be standing here humiliating myself? You cannot tell me he's not absolutely the most brilliant, most beautiful man you've ever met."

"He is," Combeferre said with amusement.

"Then what, if he's not attached? Why won't he be interested? Is there something wrong with me? I don't understand."

He softened slightly. "Mademoiselle, it is no fault of your own that does not recommend you. But I can promise you he's not what you're looking for."

"Let me find that out for myself," you said fiercely. "You don't know what I want.

Combeferre regarded you with impassive percipience. "You are remarkably persistent," he said finally. “But I will not help you.”

At that moment, the door to the wine shop opened. A rather balding man walked out. “Combeferre!”

At second glance, the man seemed younger than his thinning hair suggested, but he had an overall appearance of misfortune, as his coat was wearing out badly and his shoes were scuffed. Combeferre recognized him. “Ah, Bossuet, good afternoon.” 

“I was waiting for you. My apologies, I didn’t know you had a lady friend with you today.” He inclined his head to you. You huffed. The very idea of being with this obnoxious, arrogant pedant. Bossuet did not seem to notice.

Combeferre rolled his eyes. “She is not. She is looking for Enjolras.”

“Enjolras?" Bossuet scratched his head. "I saw him not half an hour ago in that little café on the rue des Anglais.” 

Combeferre gave Bossuet a disbelieving look. 

You smirked triumphantly. “Thank you!” Victorious at last, you dashed off.

It was a short walk to the rue des Anglais, but you prayed he would still be there by the time you made it. Admittedly, you hadn’t really thought this out. You were glad you were wearing one of your favorite bonnets, and had spent extra time arranging your hair that morning. What were you going to say to him? You decided it didn’t matter. All you needed was to see him again. And surely, he just needed to see you again too. 

As you approached the café, a familiar head of blonde hair ducked through the door. 

Your heart skipped a beat. It was him. You had almost missed him—but this was perfect, you could make it appear as though you were just casually passing by. 

If anything, he seemed even more beautiful than before. He was tall and fair like a gallant knight in a fairytale. His golden curls framed the sweetly delicate features of his face, with long lashes hiding his downcast eyes and rosy lips you desired nothing more than to kiss.

He seemed absorbed in thought, but as you approached from the opposite direction, you “accidentally” dropped your reticule directly in front of him. 

After a moment of hesitation, he bent down and picked it up. Your hands brushed as he handed it to you. The slight touch sent your heart pounding, but you tried to maintain your confident exterior. 

“Thank you,” you said, and gave him your most winning smile. 

He nodded. And continued on his way. 

“Wait,” you called, trying not to sound too desperate. “Have we met before, monsieur?”

He stopped and briefly looked over you with his intense blue eyes. “I…do not know, mademoiselle.”

So he did not remember you at all? You felt a little crushed. “Yes,” you continued valiantly, “I heard you speak last week. I have never heard anything like it.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. “The Republic will need many allies.”

He was talking to you, at least. “I don’t think I’ll be much help,” you replied with a laugh. “Since I can’t fight or fire a gun. Does the Republic need a seamstress?”

“Of course,” he said earnestly. “Women may be helpful in different ways—sewing, doctoring, mothering. All citizens should be able to contribute their abilities to the fatherland.”

What a passionate man, you thought. You liked that. Passionate, yet so cold, like stone. His strange and reserved nature compelled you, something about him was entirely unlike any man you'd ever met. You yearned to possess him.

With sudden boldness, you touched his arm. “Then I will be happy so long as I can be useful to you, monsieur.” You batted your lashes at him slowly in your charming manner that had never failed to ensnare a man before. Surely he could not mistake your intentions now.

His gaze turned forbidding. His cold, pale eyes turned your insides to ice, and you instinctively took a step back. There was a severe and dreadful fierceness to him. That terrible glance seemed to reveal a profound and unfathomable abyss, and suddenly, you found yourself frightened of falling into it. 

An angel, you had thought, and now you knew you were right—a mighty angel of the flaming sword, divine and terrifying.

You averted your eyes, stunned, as though blinded by harsh sunlight. When you looked up he was gone. 

As you slowly walked home to the rue Saint-Jean-de-Beauvais, you considered that there might be a lesson to be learned here. Or not.

[keeponquinning]

I've been seeing the other Enjolras audio making the rounds in my activity so ironic I have this to post now!

Ironically I had tried to use actual Joseph as Enjolras but.... the AI doesn't know what to do with itself when I do and makes it sound NOT Enjolras or Joseph.

So this??? done with audio from Fallon.

I don't even know man. Enjolras is cursed. So let's pretend.

[elfenbensord]

hello love! i’m not sure if u still write for les mis but if u do, can i request a modern!enjolras x reader who struggles w anxiety/panic attacks? just lots of comfort and fluff<3

masterlist  /  requests

4.10.23

note: sorry for being several years late with this reply. also, this hit a lil close to home lol

modern! enjolras x gender neutral!reader

bad day

From the moment you woke up, you knew it wasn’t gonna be a good day. Your heart beat just a little too hard. Fingers numbing slightly at the tops. Breating felt like a task, instead of a comforting fact. You try your best to keep a smile on your lips, to get through your day without having it show. Fake it ‘til you make it, you thought.

After your last class, you were absolutely exhausted. Tired from the excess adrenaline rushing through your veins.-Tired of your brain being in constans, fight-or-flight mode. It made you feel like a caveman, like you hadn’t evolved from being chased by dinosaurs and gathering berries for dinner.

You finally made it home to your dorm. Feeling weak in you limps, you slouched down into the couch in the common room. 

Enjolras, a strawberry blonde majoring in political sciences with a too handsome smile for his own good, walked in. 

He gave you a smile. “Hey, you alright?”

“Yeah, just a bit frassled I guess.” You smile back weakly. “Didn’t sleep great.”

A small crease forms in between his eyebrows as he sat down beside you. “You sure? You look terrible.”

“Ever the charmer”, you bite back, a bit less sharp than usual. “I’m fine.”

He reaches for your hand, squeezing it lightly. Smiling softly he says, “You know you can talk to me.”

Like floodwork, the day’s challenges start to pour out of your eyes. “Sorry”, you splutter in between sniffles and drying your eyes with the back of your hand. “Sorry, I’m so embarassed.”

“No, no, no”, he assures you. “It’s alright. You’re alright.”

He moves to hold you closer, pulling you into a hug. 

“This alright?” he asks. 

You nod, mumbling a small, “Hmh. I just– Today wasn’t a very good day for me.”

“I get that.”

You feel his heart beat through his thin shirt. It’s a steady beat, calming your laboured breathing. He held you through your tears, until you’d calmed down. 

You felt your face turning hot red. “I’m sorry, again.”

He smiled softly, squeezing your hand again. “You really don’t have to be. I’m always here for you.”

You smiled back.

[of-apollo]

—> SHIP REQUESTS…

* SHIP REQUESTS ARE CURRENTLY CLOSED *

—> WHAT TO INCLUDE…

Gender preference for your ship.

The fandom you’d like a ship for.

A bit about yourself - personality, hobbies and interests especially.

Physical appearance isn’t necessary, but feel free to mention height/unique features if you feel it’s relevant!

Regular writing rules apply - please try not to mention anything in your request that doesn’t adhere to these.

—> RULES…

Please refrain from mentioning anything triggering/sensitive in your requests. These will not be responded to out of consideration for my followers.

Try not to make it super vague or super detailed. If you just go with the pointers here, you should be fine!

If you request a fandom from my ‘platonic only’ section, the ship will be written platonically.

—> EXAMPLE…

Request: Hi! I’d like to request a Ted Lasso ship. I’m pretty quiet and shy but can be very talkative when I’m comfortable around someone. I love to visit museums and spend time reading in cafes, and much prefer a quiet night in over a night on the town. I love History and am currently studying it. I’m pretty short and I like to think that I have really pretty eyes :) I have no gender preference!

Response: I ship you with Sam Obisanya!

Sam is more than happy to spend a quiet night in with you, though he does love dragging you to the silent discos some museums do.

He’s so patient when you’re shy at first and is honestly slightly the same. When you both open up, you can happily talk about anything for hours to each other.

He loves to listen to you ramble about your studies and finds it so cool that you know so much.

Sam is definitely the type to ask you about everything when you go on museum dates. He teases you with the classic ‘rubbish historian’ jest when you say you don’t know.

Overall, he is just so lovely and patient with you.

[cloverhasnobrain]

Ok but Im really gay for Enjolras crucify me

Like jesus christ he is so dramatic and ugh— I love me a guy that is emotionally a dumb blonde but smart everywhere else

If any of yall have good tips on x readers drop it like rn please I am not picky, male reader, female reader, I am made of moss. So long as the writing is good I am salivating