#bbc enjolras x reader
Text
A Time to Love and to Fight
Part Twenty
Summary: Fighting…till all things change.
Notes/Warnings: 18 & over. Revolutionary violence. Character death. Gun and sword violence. Angst…with a dash of fluff.
Thank you, for reading! (It’s a long chapter) Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy! (Two collages!) More chapters are coming!
My love, I finally fear for my death and I do not wish for you to witness it. - Mon amour, je crains enfin pour ma mort et je ne souhaite pas que tu en sois témoin.
Feeling hollow, knowing this the end he climbed to the top of the barricade and hung the flag, a gentle breeze made it billow out and flap near where he stood.
Swallowing, he turned back to all those who gathered. As he saw you stand in the doorway hanging back, he tightened inside.
“Citizens! This is the end game.”
He saw the exchanging of glances, heard their soft murmurs. Lastly, he saw your eyes grow.
“Every man and woman who stays here and fights today will die. History will remember us, and one day the people will prevail.”
He swallowed. Distantly, he could heard marching and gunfire.
“But for now, the whole Paris army is out, and within an hour they will be upon us. You have nothing to expect, nothing to hope for.”
“We will stand fight. We can strengthen this barricade. We can fight to the last man!” The man held his fist high as he rallied among the people rallying them.
It lift d his heart to see. But they had to be realistic. Absently, he reached up to your ribbon that was still tied to eyelet of his vest.
“Friends, consider. Some of you have wives, husbands, sons, daughters, think of them. A heroic death will do nothing for them. You get yourself killed, they starve. Or worse.” He exhaled. “For you, it is a braver thing to live, for your family’s sake.
“Enjolras, is right.” Called out Marius.
Surprising, him. He glanced down at him from where he stood.
“There’s no shame on you living to fight another day. Every married man and woman, every breadwinner, come forward shake our hands and leave!”
He climbed down to join Marius. “I command you!”
“I entreat you!” Marius added.
He looked the man up and down, who at one time thought had joined the wrong table, at the wrong tavern. Now here he was beside him. He grimaced.
There were more murmurs and glances between the people. A few women began to quietly sob. A few came over, for an embrace a hand shake.
Enjolras’s stomach churned as Despiat came forward. He had been there since day one.
He shared a tight embrace with the man, he continued to swallow down the lump of anguish he felt growing.
“Live well, comrade.” He wished the man. Giving him a brave smile. “You’ll be building a better world.”
*******
Exhaling, he turned you. “My angel.” He whispered. He strode over to where you stood.
“Come with me.”
You nodded. Your footfalls filled the small room as you followed him.
“We don’t have much time.” Looking at your beauty, he swallowed. “I need you to take leave.”
“Enjolras ask me anything, but not that.”
He could heard the crack in your voice. “You will listen to me.”
Tears twinkled then slid down your cheeks. In a short steps, he was directly before you. “Mon amour, je crains enfin pour ma mort et je ne souhaite pas que tu en sois témoin.”
“I will not allow you to die alone. You pledged your heart, I pledged mine. I am not leaving.”
“Stay here, stay hidden they are almost upon us. I will come back for you.”
You nodded. Stepping forward, he reached his fingers caressed your cheek. He pressed his lips together, nodded and ran back.
Once in He immediately two others as they brought over a mattress. Inhaling he glanced back at the alley that led to you, turning he climbed up to his place beside Marius on the barricade. He slapped him on the shoulder.
His heart stilled as he watched as the finished rolling cannons into place.
“Prepare yourself! Cannon fire!”
He braced himself. Around him what had once been chairs, tables splintered and exploded as bullets wizzed by.
“Get down!” He managed to scream.
A cannon ball slammed into the barricade it blew someone backwards. They didn’t even have tome to scream. The barricade stood and so shall he.
In the billowing smoke, he looked for the navy blue fabric of their uniforms and took aim.
There was a blur of limbs and people in the midst of screaming. Guns, rfles were being fired. Swords clanged loudly as they were being wielded.
******
“They are falling back!” Enjolras, screamed.
All at once the soldiers turned and fled. His heart lifted.
Cheers rang out but in the pit of his stomach. He knew this wasn’t good. If the general had taught him anything, he knew they were most likely regrouping.
“Comrades! This is a grim moment in our history. But a glorious one! Our sacrifice will help build a better world!” He swallowed the growing lump in his throat.
“This barricade is made of more than just cobblestones and bedsteads; it is made of hopes, ideals and of love of our fellow men. We are fighting for the wretched and if we go to our deaths, we go to our deaths with joy! Love live the republic!”
The last part made his heart hurt, despite all the cheers that rang out.
He climbed down. “Marius,” He leaned in close, to whisper to him. “We are running low on bullets. We desperately need more.”
He reached out, feeling the ribbon looped to his vest filled his lung with breath despite the pain growing in his heart.
Marius nodded.
“We won’t last long.” His mouth formed a thin line.
“We could try to fall back.” Marius suggested.
He shook his head. “Too late for that.”
“Leave it to me.” Gavroche gave them both a huge smile. Enjolras watched as he quickly climbed and then hopped down from where he had usually perched on the barricade.
“Gavroche, get back here!” He yelled.
He watched as the boy moved with his usual flair as he would stop and collect bullets, tucking them away here and there.
“Gaveoche!” Marius hollered after him. “You’ll get yourself killed.”
That’s when the first bullet whistled by.
The boy only paused to looked. “Hey lay off the corpses!”
A few more bullets whizzed by. Marius ducked behind a table.
Gavroche, chuckled and spun about. “Bad luck! Try again.”
Enjolras, barely glanced around a bed post as a bullet impacted on the edge of the warehouse stone rained down onto the cobblestones. He could hear as the kid began to softly sing a lullaby. He glanced around a bed post.
“Get back here you are gonna get yourself killed!”
Gavroche kept singing and dancing along grabbing bullets where he saw them. Bullets just missed him. They would hit cobblestones or random debris.
Some of the men began to peak out from where they hit in the recesses of the barricade. A few smiles appeared.
He continued to hop about. Though he was getting terribly closer to where the bullets came from.
Finally a gunshot rang out but this time it impacted something solid and Gavroche’s song wavered on his lips. He collapsed to his knees like a sack of flour.
“Good shot.” His voice was weak.
His finger trips grazed the back of Marius’s vest as he jumped off the barricade and began running to the boy.
“Don’t be a fool.” Enjolras screamed out.
He couldn’t afford to lose anyone else. Grantaire was still out cold, maybe permanently he couldn’t tell and Courfeyrac had a wound that needed to be looked at.
Watched as Marius scooped him up and put him over his shoulder and then ran as fast as he could back to them. His heart was beating fast in his chest, he helped bring Gavroche back over.
Marius was back over the barricade in no time. to help climb up. He watched as Marius soon cradled Gavroche in his lap. It didn’t look good.
He trembled at the sight.
His voice was fading. “It was good sport wasn’t it?” Then he stilled forever.
Shortly after his he watched as Marius fainted back against the barricade. “Get him inside quickly, we need to dress his wounds.”
Courfeyrac came over and together the two of them carried Marius into the warehouse. Soon they were making quick work of his wounds. Relief filled him as it wasn’t long before Marius came around again.
“Marius, give me your eyes.” The man looked woozy. “When they take the barricade, those left alive will have to fight on in here.” He swallowed. “This will be our last refuge.”
“Oh Marius, Enjolras are you ok?”
He turned to your anguish filled voice; it tore at him harder then the bullets that drove into the cobblestones outside.
********
Fear slid down your back when you came out of the small room. You immediately saw a bloodied Marius, Enjolras had smudges of blood and soot. You shook uncontrollably.
He closed the distance, you could smell the gunpowder and whatever else that chose to clung to him. Your stomach churned.
“You, you have to get out of here they are coming down the alley.”
“Not without you.”
*******
An unnatural smile curled his lips at your love and determination. He nodded. “Yes ange.”
Your presence lifted his spirits despite death surely knocking just behind him. Easily he grabbed you, thankfully you didn’t yield and he managed to bring you to the small alley on the other side. “Stay here, I will come for you.” He barely saw you nod as he turned to run back.
Eyeing a sword, he grabbed it and made to the alley where the sounds of bullets, groans and puffs of smoke filled it. He glanced towards what had left of the barricade the army had breached it. Movements of attack and defense came naturally within moments. His sword clanging, he bared his teeth managing to fend off a few that came right at him.
******
You could barely make out that it was Enjolras. One side of his face was terribly smudged from fighting. It was the clean side that reminded you of siting with him in the park or under your willow. That was the man you loved, regardless. He was becoming your warrior today. The two of you would have stories to tell.
*******
“Get back!” He hollered.
Soon him and some of the others fled into the warehouse. The closed the large doors behind them. They pulled down the large wooden plank and slid the locks into place. They would hold for only so long.
Turning, he found Courfeyrac slumped against the wall. “Get up, they are right outside those doors.”
Courfeyrac swallowed and nodded. But didn’t stand any straighter.
“This is history.”
The wooden doors creaked and cracked and creak as the army kept on pushing against it.
A sound of frustration poured from his lips. As he turned and ran off. Just as he did the door burst open, soldiers poured in.
His sword clanged as it met with other swords. Somehow, he struck a few and pushed off others. Enough logic still ran in his veins, he closed the door ran over to you. He could see your shock wash over you, he must be quite a mess.
“Ange.” As he ran to you, he could hear as the burst open. A scream came from you before he could even look behind him.
Turning, it was a lone solider with his sword he cutting the short distance to the two of you.
He stood in front of you, stepping towards the solider. Enjolras would protect you to the death. There was no grace in the solider’s movements. All he was did was try to cut him down.
Eyes met and the swords followed. The sound of the metal hitting echoed and bounced off the walls. Seeing the man’s eyes shift, he glanced that way and you were not budging. Gathering some strength, he managed to push you out of the way. Your scream and the clashing of the swords was awful. It made him pause.
It was all the solider needed in a smooth blow he knocked the sword from him and rushed him. A shot filled the air, the man stumbled and fell into him.
Blinking, Enjolras looked up and saw Courfeyrac, gun still drawn.
@aftertheglitterfades @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @Ilo @samunson83 @ @julieteagk @little-wormwood @gretavankleep37 @wafflepixie @joe-quinn-loving-queer @peacefroggg23
#joseph quinn#joseph quinn imagine#joseph quinn fanfic#joseph quinn fanfiction#bbc!enjolras#bbc les mis#bbc enjolras x you#bbc enjolras x y/n#bbc enjolras x reader#bbc enjolras imagine#bbc enjolras fanfiction#bbc les missrables#bbc les misserables fanfiction#bbc les miserables imagine#a time to love and to fight#part 20
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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. ♡
#joseph quinn x y/n#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn smut#bbc!enjolras#enjolras#modern!enjolras#my writing#joseph quinn rpf#bbc les mis#enjolras x reader#enjolras x fem!reader#enjolras smut#enjolras x you#enjolras x y/n#eddie munson smut
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𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 (𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
༻ ralph penbury (timewasters, 2017)
wizard: at ralph’s birthday party, you feel the need to apologize for what you’ve done. ralph, meanwhile, has a question to ask you. (fluff)
making waves: before a party, you do ralph's hair. (fluff)
marking ralph's cheeks with lipstick (fluff)
punishing ralphie for misbehaving (smut)
coked up ralphie fucks your ass (smut)
༻ jamie sampson (kin, 2017)
jamie tells you about harry (angst)
༻ koner (game of thrones, 2017)
only you series masterlist (koner x fem!reader): your secret relationship with a winterfell guard is threatened when your father marries you off to another man, and you do everything you can to stay with him and keep your love strong. (retired)
༻ peter grunauer (overlord, 2018)
reuniting after peter goes to war (angst)
sweet awkward reunion sex (smut)
༻ enjolras (bbc les miserables, 2018)
don't call it love: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed.(angst)
༻ prince paul (catherine the great, 2019)
out of the dark: marrying the prince of russia would be dream if he wasn’t such a dick, but a late night conversation leads to a mutual understanding. (smut)
paul yells at you (angst)
paul punishes you for flirting with someone else (smut)
༻ tom grant (make up, 2019)
5 minutes in heaven: your boyfriend finds an empty closet at work, and he convinces you to play a game of 7 (or 5) minutes in heaven. (smut)
stupid for you: you and tom get into a fight and, after he says something especially nasty to you, he makes it up to you in the best way. (smut)
boyfriend!tom headcanons (fluff)
teaching tom how to go down on you (smut)
tom convinces you to try anal (smut)
tom takes care of you when you're sick (fluff)
making you smile after a hard day (fluff)
cuddling with tom (fluff)
༻ pub!charlie (best move along, 2019)
pub!charlie headcanons(fluff)
nsfw pub!charlie headcanons(smut)
༻ billy knight (cb strike, 2020)
breeding kink (smut)
handjobs (smut)
camilla (fluff)
༻ eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024)
a medium place: your husband, eric, spends too much time at the office, and he assures you that you’re a priority in his life. (smut)
#ralph penbury x reader#ralph timewasters x reader#jamie kin x reader#jamie sampson x reader#koner got x reader#bbc!enjolras x reader#prince paul x reader#tom grant x reader#billy knight x reader#eric aqpdo x reader#joseph quinn x reader#eddie munson x reader#joseph quinn masterlist#eddie munson masterlist
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which joe character do you think is the best at giving oral? bonus points if you prove it with a blurb
okay me and bex discussed this... THOROUGHLY. and we think that the best is probably enjolras and I've been waiting to write this one cause he's-- he's so-- [barking noises]
warnings: fucking guess. it's in the ask y'all. it's RIGHT THERE.
You whined, head falling back onto the mess of cotton sheets beneath you as Enjolras kissed along your inner thigh. "Darling," you breathed, running your fingers through his curls-- but you'd already made quite a mess of them throughout the last half-hour of desperate, needy, messy kisses.
He hummed against your skin, you even felt him smile a bit, but continued to lick and bite closer and closer to where your body was all but screaming with need for him.
When he gave you just a kiss-- just one, sweet, tiny little kiss to your clit-- you moaned his name desperately. Then he really smiled, and dove right in to lick and suck all over your cunt. "Fuck!" you yelped, your body jolting as he slipped two fingers inside you quickly and curled them in that way he knew exactly how to do. "Oh-- I'll come, fuck--"
"Already?" he had to laugh; normally damn near nothing could break him away from you, but he couldn't let something like that go by so fast. "We've only just started, my love--"
"No!" you denied. "You've been teasing me since before the sun went down-- a-and I was thinking of you all day."
He licked harder over your swollen bud, twisting those fingers inside you as he went. "Can tell you've needed me all day, love-- look how you soaked my fingers!"
Pulling them out to show you, he suckled some of your sticky flavour off of them-- and then brought them to your lips for you to taste the rest. He loved making you taste yourself, you weren't sure why but far be it from you to complain about it.
"I'll make it all worth your wait, beautiful-- you'll come on my fingers and tongue at least three times before the sun comes up again. Can you do that for me?"
You nodded, biting your lip; "I'm sure I'll find it within myself, darling, with your talent. As long as you promise to let me pleasure you after as well."
He laughed sweetly, "If you're awake. And if you're awake, I may not have done my job correctly."
#enjolras bbc x reader#joseph quinn x reader#bbc!enjolras x reader#enjolras bbc smut#bbc!enjolras smut#joseph quinn smut#bex and jd's sleepover
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I can't stop thinking about this I'm on my knees, screaming crying and throwing up
also this was made for @ceriseheaven if you know you know
Credits
#eddie munson#joseph quinn#eddie stranger things#stranger things#stranger things cast#joe quinn#stranger things season 4#eddie x reader#eddie munson x reader#enjolras les mis#bbc les mis#les miserables
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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.
#joseph quinn#bbc enjolras#enjolras#enjolras x you#enjolras x reader#enjolras x fem!reader#— words come audios
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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.
#bbc enjolras#enjolras x reader#bbc les mis#enjolras x fem!reader#enjolras x you#reader insert#not gonna outright put this in the general les mis tag because ya girl knows better#i'm not super happy with how this ended but I needed it to end because I'm incapable not not writing long fics#and this is about the smut everybody please#if you find typos no you didn't i've been staring at this so long i've gone cross eyed#can you tell i wrote this in a fever after rewatching moulin rouge?#its about the yEARNING#it's about the FORBIDDEN LOVE
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girl help they (stranger things fans) are writing enjolras x female reader…
#tbf the concept of enjolras x reader in general is ridiculous#but female reader is specifically egregious#les mis#enjolras#anna.txt#AND BBC ENJOLRAS😭😭 OF ALL THE ENJOLRI!#les mis phase coming back just so i can gatekeep.
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—> SHIP REQUESTS…
I am now accepting ship requests for any of the fandoms I write for including Ted Lasso, MCU, Les Miserables and more (see the more here)! Just send in a bit about yourself, your chosen fandom, and your gender preference (if you have one), and I will ship you with a character from that fandom and give a few headcanons to go with it!
—> WHAT TO INCLUDE…
A bit about your personality.
Your hobbies + interests.
Gender preference (if you have one).
Fandom (please only request one fandom at a time!).
Physical appearance isn’t necessary, but feel free to mention height, unique features etc. - anything you think is important!
—> RULES…
My regular request rules apply - no mentions of smut, etc. Refer to my navigation post.
Please refrain from mentioning sensitive/triggering subjects in your ship. Any that do this will not be responded to out of consideration for other followers.
Please send requests into my ask box. Requests send through DM’s will not be responded to.
Try not to make it too short or too long, just go off the pointers here and you should be fine and dandy.
If you request a fandom from my ‘platonic only’ section, the ship will most likely be written platonically.
Please be patient and don’t complain if you’re shipped with someone you don’t like! I go off the vibes you give me and sadly I can’t please everyone.
—> 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.
#dani rojas x reader#sam obisanya x reader#jamie tartt x reader#isaac mcadoo x reader#colin hughes x reader#roy kent x reader#keeley jones x reader#rebecca welton x reader#ted lasso x reader#bucky barnes x reader#steve rogers x reader#yelena belova x reader#miguel o’hara x reader#spider-noir x reader#mcu x reader#marvel x reader#spiderverse x reader#atsv x reader#les miserables x reader#enjolras x reader#grantaire x reader#the boys x reader#bbc ghosts x reader#ofmd x reader#wwdits x reader
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A Time to Fight and to Love
Part Twenty - Two
Summary: Closing of a chapter in life.
Warnings/Notes: Angst, Vision of possible death (makes reference to canon novel/movie end of Enjolras), Fluff, sadness of reader’s father’s passing, dated modes of thinking with marriage..woman’s role.
Long chapter. Two collages. There are a few more chapters lined up. 😥 I am having fun expanding on the character of Enjolras…hope you like it too! and after a bit there is some fluff. Oh! So yes…I veered more away from canon…and one of the pictures I used in my collage is not terribly accurate (might change) but it helps convey the setting.
Thank you for reading! ❤️s & reblogs are always welcome. Feedback is also very…very welcome!
Blinking, you stirred to the sun dancing on your closed eyes. Stretching and yawning, you finally opened your eyes.
Seeing Enjolras, you relaxed. He had fallen asleep, sitting at the end of the sofa. You allowed yourself to smile at the sight of him before you. Easily, you could tell by how his lashes rested on his cheeks and the softness of his face, he was deeply asleep.
Glancing around the room, it looked even more welcoming in the light of day. You could now see that it was a small library, sitting area. Shifting you were careful not to awake Enjolas. An eagerness came over you when you saw all of the books.
That’s when you spotted a plate of food. Your stomach churned in delight. There was food you had not laid your eyes on in months, if not longer. You glanced back at Enjolras and smiled. He had certainly raided his solicitor’s kitchen.
PausIng, resting your elbow on your thigh you sat there and looked him over. The warm light of the day that poured into the room, made his curls a richer looking brown. Seeing how they rested on his forehead made you smile. All of it made him even more impossibly handsome. It made your heart flutter. You resisted the urge to press a kiss to his cheek. He needed his rest.
There was much more you had learn about him but you were grateful that you were given the chance. Feeling cornered in that alleyway, watching him clang swords with that solider made you tremble. You could feel your throat tighten. At any moment, he could have been run through. Several more soldiers could have poured out of that doorway. You know they would have lined up the two of you….a cry of anguish came from the pit your stomach. You finally realized that you had biting your fist when a blossom of pain hit you.
“Angel, are you ok?” Enjolras’s gravely voice freed you from your visions.
Blinking, you opened your eyes and you found Enjolras was kneeling in front of you.
Your bottom lip trembled, shaking your head you let your sink to carpet. “No.” You managed weakly.
“Oh my ange, mon doux ange.” He whispered as you felt his arms wrapping his arms around.
You nestled close. “Enjolras, I had been so afraid. He could have run you through, they could have lined us up.” Your voice trailed off.
“But It didn’t happen Courfeyrac and I managed. We’re safe. I will always make sure you are safe.”
“Oh Enjolras.” You whimpered, as you nestled even closer; his arms around you tightened.
******
The trunk creaked when opened. Inwardly, your heart sank, none of your possessions were going with you. Enjolras knelt down beside it and carefully opened his pillowcase.
“In England, we will make new memories.”
You nodded. “We will start a new chapter in our lives.”
“Yes, yes we will.”
A ghost a smile touched his lips before he looked back into the pillowcase. He inhaled sharply.
“Is everything ok?” A pang of worry went through you. He gently took out your scarf.
“Oh, my scarf. With everything I forgot we tucked that in there.”
“Me too.”
******
You tucked your scarf into the trunk, which was now brimming with items. Enjolras looked everything over a final time before locking it. He slipped the key into one of inside pockets of his jacket.
You glanced at Olivier.
“I don’t even know what to say.”
Olivier smiled. “You made this young man happy. And that makes me happy.” He replied warmly.
Enjolras stood and dusted his hands off.
“Olivier, you out did yourself. That is more then I’ve allowed myself to have since living here on my own.”
“I know Julien. Someone did help me with that.”
“Oh?”
Olivier turned to you. “Let us go to my office.”
*****
His stomach churned, these last few months he had insisted she stay in the country. He had been terribly concerned for her safety. The months had passed quickly.
“Julien.”
He turned and watched as his mother began to close the distance, he met her halfway.
“Olivier, sent word.”
“I see.” He exhaled and shook his head. “It’s worse then ever.”
“He told me. But he didn’t want you to leave without me seeing you.”
“What if the carriage had been stopped? I don’t see or hear father. Who would have protected you.”
“There was no way, I was not going to say goodbye to my son.”
His mother’s eyes were piercing. It reminded him of the times he would try to hide from her the few times the foil or the saber landed.
He stepped closer. He relieved to see his mother but the thought of her risking her life to come here made his relief and annoyance mix. It made him ill.
He glanced away, he knew it was a mother thing, but she made him feel like a child.
“You risked alot.” He pressed his lips together, meeting her eyes.
She shrugged. “You are my only son.” She reached a gloved hand up to cup his cheek. “I couldn’t bear the thought of not saying goodbye, I love you.” She gave him a soft smile. “And I have to meet woman that made you change your vow.”
He placed his good hand over hers. “Thank you, mother. I love you too.”
That’s when she saw his wrapped hand. She opened and closed her mouth but didn’t say a word.
“So he told you that as well.”
She stepped back and met his eyes again.
“Yes.”
*******
“I want you to know, I swear I will do all in my power to reach out to your mama and Greta. If it continues to be safe enough, I will get them passage to you and Enjolras.”
“Juilien.”
The older man gave you a soft smile. “Yes, Juilien.”
There was a sharp knock on the door.
He smiled. “This is probably her. I assure you, she is a firm but kind woman. A lot of her is in Julien.”
“Ok.” You whisper and inhale. You were nervous.
“Ah dear woman,” You heard him greet her. “Yes, she is in here. I shall give the two of you some time.”
Glancing your way, he nodded.
At first you were going to have hold your hands in front but at the last moment you brought them behind you. The door closed with a whisper.
In your nervousness you kept looking at the wooden floor. You could practically feel the grains in the planks. The floor creaked as the woman came over.
“Oh my, do look up. I am not a tyrant.”
You did and there was no doubt where Enjolras got his charisma from. She was elegant, like your mama when father was still alive. So you could only imagine what his father was like. Though, hers made you nervous she had traveled through the night and still looked amazing.
Behind your back you wrung your hands. You would not fidget, even when you could practically feel as she looked you up and down. Never had you been more grateful you had worn your best dress for the wedding ceremony. It was elegant and beautiful, but was not too extravagant.
“So you are the lady that made my son break his vow?”
“Yes. I oh, I’m sorry.”
“No, speak my child.”
“He told me of a promise he made. I didn’t realize it had been a vow.”
“Ah, yes. He can be quiet at times when he should talk and then will talk lot when he doesn’t have to.” She smiled.
You nodded.
“Pardon my assumption but you don’t look like one fighting along side him. How did you two meet?”
“Your assumption was correct. We met by chance. I was out late one night getting medicine for my mama. Our paths crossed and he made sure to escort me the rest of the way to the physician and then back to my house.”
She smiled at that. “That pleases me to hear.” Her eyes were quite keen, Enjolras had her eyes, and they could be utterly unwavering. “But do you not have a brother or father that could have done that?”
You had to stop yourself from giggling, since he had said the same exact thing when you informed of your actions.
“I have no brother and my father died at sea.”
“Oh, I am sorry.”
*******
You watched as she removed a beautiful brooch that accented her dress. She pressed her lips together then looked at you.
“To be honest, I wish I could have grown to know you during a courtship between you and my son.” She sighed. “But these are difficult and hard times.”
You nodded.
“I fully expected when getting that telegram I was going to be bringing him home for his final rest.” Her eyes twinkled. “Instead here we are. You must be pretty special.”
You could see that her eyes had become shiny. A lump formed in your throat.
“But here he is, young and as handsome as ever, and with a lovely wife.”
She smiled.
You felt the warmth of a flush in your cheeks. “Thank you.”
“As I’m sure you are aware he is and can be incredibly charming,” She took a step closer to you. “it is how he kept from getting in trouble as a young boy. He did get into fair amount of scraps but he’d tell what happened and I wouldn’t have the heart to punish him.“
You nodded.
She sighed. “That is why in the end, I didn’t fight too hard when he told me of his vow for France.” She grimaced. “I also knew that in end he’d still leave. If I pushed too hard, I worried I’d never see or hear from him again.”
Her gloved thumb grazed the elegance of the broach. Glancing down, it reminded you of treasures your father would bring home from his trips.
“It is that stubborn side of his I wanted to avoid. Once his heart is set, he has rarely ever changed his mind.”
At least you couldn’t help but a small giggle. “I have seen that side of him too.”
“I am sure you have.” She joined you with a smile and nodded. Then all at once, the air felt heavy.
“Since, I trust my son I accept you as his wife.” Her eyes met yours. You could see the intensity they shared. “Promise, me if he blesses you with a daughter, you can give this to her or if you are blessed with a son; he can give it to woman he loves. Till then I give you this with my blessing.”
“I…I don’t know what to say.” Your voice faltered as she placed it your hands.
“You don’t need to breath a word. Just love him. And be a kind yet firm mother to the children that will surely bloom within you.”
“I promise.”
******
With a help of Olivier’s maid, she helped you dress. Now you were clad in your new day dress. Your wedding dress was safely stored away in the trunk along with your gift from Enjolras’s mother. It had been decided that something a little more functional would be best for the journey to England.
You tried to look at France as much as you could while the carriage bounced along the cobble stones. Beside you, Enjolras and Olivier were discussing some final arrangements.
You looked at the boat then back France. You were about to start a whole new life in England. Father, you thought to yourself, I’m on the cusp of an adventure. A new start. This was something you could have never ever imagined. But here you were.
Now on the way to ocean, you had become certain you’d never return. A part of it broke your heart. Anguish still sliced at you, that you’d never see mama and Greta again.
You were grateful that Olivier had given you some paper to write them both a letter explaining. They had to realize it was too dangerous to return.
You hoped that the doctor had not just been giving shallow boasts. He better scoop her up and usher her away to the country. Maybe after she would tell him, of you going to live in England would be enough for him to do that. And maybe that would give her a second chance at some happiness.
******
You smelled the ocean before it came into view. Simultaneously, you felt an uneasiness come over you and yet it also felt so familiar. It had been a scent growing up you had been used to. The scent clung to your father for weeks after he would return with his treasures. But it was also the ocean that led to him never coming home.
@aftertheglitterfades @corrodedcoffn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @kindablackenedsuperhero @amethyst-serenade @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @samunson83 @julieteagk @little-wormwood @gretavankleep37 @wafflepixie @shadyhamiltonfanatic @peacefroggg23
#joseph quinn#joseph quinn imagine#joseph quinn fanfic#joe quinn fanfic#joseph quinn fanfiction#bbc!enjolras#bbc enjolras imagine#bbc enjolras fanfiction#bbc les misserables fanfiction#bbc!enjolras x fem!reader#bbc enjolras x reader#bbc enjolras x you#bbc enjolras x y/n#bbc les mis#bbc les miserables#bbc les miserables imagine#a time to love and to fight#part 22
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Enjolras grabbing you and holding you up against a wall for a quick fuck super dirty just shoving clothes aside panting into your neck
author’s note: i realize writing for enjolras can be a tricky but to anyone seeing this and not agreeing with the way i wrote it, don’t bother me, because frankly i don’t care lol. anyways, that being said, to those of you that do read this, i hope you enjoy!
cw: 18+ (minors dni), bbc!enjolras, fem!reader, canon divergence, unprotected sex, semi-public but clothed, mentions of drinking, this was literally just a reason to write for enjolras to see how people liked it/how i would enjoy writing him, so if it flops, this didn’t happen. if i missed anything lmk!
word count: 2.6k
You’d wasted nearly a month of your time infiltrating their rebellion under your father’s order—and it had been going well, not a single hendrence in your plans until a very unfortunate night, on the precipice of courageous attack being led by Enjolras himself, speaking out in a boastful manner to his people at these sacred meetings—it gave many hope that things could change, that they had a fighting chance. In your eyes, it was all lies. You came from the other side, experienced how they lived, the power they had—it was a battle he was going to lose regardless of how passionate he was for it. He was outnumbered, easy to outsmart, and despite his passion for the cause, he was blinded by it.
You felt sympathy, it was why you were able to fit yourself in so easily, so well��he never questioned your intentions for a second, swearing by the look of determination in your eye, your willingness to throw out ideas, boost the morale—but if there was one thing about him, it was that he knew just the right things to say, even to the people who didn’t believe it. He was great at convincing people to believe lies, acting like he had the answer to everything and everyone’s problems.
It would be easier if there wasn’t a war at all, but it seemed like the only way to solve issues now, fight first and solve things later.
The first night you end up alone with him isn’t intentional. It’s a late night at the bar, your tired figure nestled up in a chair in a dark corner of the room, Enjolras nursing his drink from the other end, watching as his friends parted ways. You had a bed to sleep in, a lavish home to keep you safe, but you wanted nothing more than to be away from that, if even for just a moment.
Enjolras tells you of his background, how he grew up, why he cared about the things that he did—and it made you realize that under all his anger and crazed acts, he was a lot like you. If not, he was more sure of himself than you. You were lost, fighting between right and wrong and only doing what your father had ordered, but you could feel it in your bones—this wasn’t right.
They had every reason to fight against the more fortunate; the richer, arrogant, mindless people running the show—they were all just as horrible as everyone assumed and you’d seen it firsthand.
Your backstory is simple—you came from nothing, were nothing, and you were tired of living that way. You’ve practiced it for weeks, making it all seem as believable as possible. He believes it, at least, he acts like he does.
From that point on, and the weeks follow, Enjolras turns to you every night, both of you staying later than necessary to talk about the day and complain about nonsense, sometimes sitting in the silence, listening to the other conversations in the establishment, watching as Enjolras separated the food on his plate, sharing with you.
You never went hungry, not when you were being served several course meals most nights, but you played along anyways.
Enjolras is dedicated to the cause with an obscured ambition and it feels like maybe you won’t be able to break-through to him, relying on the fact that maybe you could seduce him enough to have him slip-up, even the smallest tidbit of information.
Your father was growing angry, more and more upset that you were coming home empty-handed.
Until another night leads to several drinks, Enjolras leaning over you as he grabbed for the liquor, a sated smile pasted over his face. He didn’t smile often, not genuinely, but it was mesmerizing nonetheless.
“Darling, you’re going to clean this place out, you know?” He comments, voice thick as he swallowed the bitter alcohol.
“Must you insult me like that?” You tease, “I am a lady, after all.”
Enjolras gives you a look, one that’s calling your bluff outright.
“I am,” You squeak, shoving him away playfully, “Shall I prove it?”
Enjolras tilts his head slightly, considering it.
“I’m not being serious.” You tell him before he can answer.
“Yes, darling. I’m aware.” He tells you, “It does not make the idea any less intriguing though, I must admit.”
You snort softly, grabbing at your peacoat and shrugging it over your shoulders, “I think you’re at your limits, Enjolras.”
He peers at the bottle, holding it up to shine under the light, only enough for a small sip left in the bottle. He still seemed as sturdy as a rock, just more relaxed, less worrisome.
“I think you are right.” He agrees with a giddy laugh, pressing the bottle back against the table, the uneven weight of it causing the glass to rock, rattling to a stop. “Leaving already?”
“Yes, unfortunately.” You tell him, rising from your seat. It doesn’t take him more than a second to grab your hand, fingers pressed gently against your ring and middle, an unthought attempt to stop you. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Tomorrow.” He tells you simply, eyes unnerving as he glances toward the floor, around the room, before landing back on you.
“Where?” You inquire, knowing full well what he meant.
“Outside the wine shop, if things go south.”
It was the piece of information you so desperately needed, giving the other side even more of a fighting chance—your face fell slightly, nodding in response as you shrugged your hand away.
“Sleep well, Enjolras.” You tell him before fleeing without another word, disregarding the few goodbyes you receive, feet carrying you faster than you can manage yourself, stumbling over your feet as you round the corner outside the bar, disappearing down a dark alley.
You take a long breath, body relaxed as you feel the weight drift from your chest, removing the coat you had shrugged on as you felt hot, overheated, throwing it to the ground angrily.
“Running home to daddy, I assume?” His voice travels like an echo down the long, dark alley.
Your hand clutches over your chest, heart feeling like it’s going to burst. You muffle the scream with your other hand, staring at the dark figure as it approaches—his face was cold, eerily void of emotion.
“Enjolras, please.” You beg, knowing there was no using in lying. If he knew, he’d known for a while.
He huffs a vindicte laugh, pulling uncomfortably at the right ascot around his neck. “Is that where you go every night?”
“Enjolras, you do not understand.” You ignore his question, trying to level with him.
“I believe I do, darling.” He responds tensely, “How would he feel knowing you’ve been fraternizing so closely with the enemy? I thought it was all business with you monarchy people.”
“Wouldn’t you know?” You retort, “You are no different—only because you’re fighting against them you think that makes you better? You come from the same life that I do, do not try and belittle me.”
“So that, back there, that was only an act?”
The flirting, he means. You’d never considered he cared, giving his unwavering attention to his own cause, you didn’t think he cared that much. But clearly, you were wrong.
“Isn’t all of it?” You retort.
“You tell me, darling.” Enjolras challenges, taking a brave step forward, forcing you to stumble back against the wall. “Are you really going to allow all of these lives to be lost? Are you going to run back home and tell him everything?”
You shove him away weakly, eyes glaring harshly.
“It is no business of yours, Enjolras.” You tell him firmly, “Give this up, come fight with us—you’re on the side that has no chance, you do realize?”
“Are you trying to convince me?” He asks, “My love, you must try harder.”
“You’re infuriating.” You complain, “Your voice, your attitude—I'd rather hinder my hearing if that meant not having to listen to your voice again.”
It’s not the route he’s expecting you to take, but two can play at that game. The frustration was building, boiling over, and he could see it in the way your body canted toward him inconspicuously, despite your vile words.
His touch ghosts over your hip, pulling at the shirt tucked loosely in your britches, squeezing at the soft skin.
“Likewise.” He agrees, watching as you rested your hand against the him of his trousers, traveling up his dirtied shirt, over his vest, pulling at the ascot until it came loose. “Now, let us see if I can change your mind, yes?”
Enjolras gently yanks the red material of his ascot from your hands, taking his time as he wraps it around your head, knot settling between your teeth as you bite down, eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
“Not a word,” He warns, “Understood?”
You roll your eyes in annoyance, letting him shift you until your front is pressed against the brick wall, his hands sifting through the layers of clothing shared between you both until he’s free enough that he can fist his cock, the hard ridge of it pressed against the curve of your ass, his hands squeezing soft at the flesh of your thigh, traveling up enough to tap against the innermost flesh, motioning for you to spread your legs slightly.
His calloused fingers drag over your folds, finding their way to the center and covering his fingers in your slick, moan muffled around the soft fabric shoved into your mouth.
“They’re probably worried sick,” Enjolras comments, “wondering where you are, if you’re hurt—if they only knew.”
You make a noise of defiance, pressing back against his fingers, the pad of his middle nudging against your clit, eyes squeezed shut in response.
You’ve been deprived of touch for so long that this felt needed, wanted—and even the smallest touch had your eyes rolling back, keening against him. He gives no warning when he slips inside, though his movements are slow. He’s responding to your noises, the soft clenches of your walls around the tip of his cock as he moves in small thrusts, groans muffled behind his clenched teeth.
“Women like you don’t deserve to be bed properly,” He comments harshly, “are they attempting to marry you off already?”
You shake your head furiously, allowing him to grasp your hands behind your back, shoving your body gingerly against the harsh texture of the wall—it’s a stark contrast to the way he’s consuming you, but you don’t question it.
“I figured as much,” He comments lowly, lips pressed against the shell of your ear, panting harshly as he increases his speed, the ferocity of it, a startling gasp slipping from your lips, failing to be muffled by the fabric. Enjolras’s hand cups over your mouth, “Quiet,” He orders harshly, “do you not listen?”
Again, you shake your head. If you did, you would’ve never ended up in this situation. Enjolras leans back slightly, loose grip on your hands as he pulls out slowly, thrusting into you harshly, watching as his cock disappeared inside of you, squeezing at the soft globes of your ass.
“You drive me mad in the worst ways,” Enjolras admits, “but you are divine, you know?”
You make a noise, drawing his attention up. He sighs, pulling the fabric from your mouth, pressing a single finger against your lips to warn you of your volume.
“How so?” You ask quietly, teasingly, hoping it gets under his skin.
“You fit me perfectly,” He acknowledges, “such a shame you were ready to betray me so easily.”
“I had you fooled,” You chide, confidence seeping through, “for a while, at least.”
Enjolras releases your hands, his own palms spreading over the expanse of your back, forcing the shirt up higher as he grips your hips, pulling you tight against him. Your palms slapped against the wall, held there for support.
“I could teach you things,” He tells you softly, “things you haven’t even come to understand—I’d make you realize which side you should be fighting for, you’d never want to leave.”
“So, you’re not hoping for your—your cock to do the job?” You stammer out, whining softly with each movement of his hips. “I thought that was the point of all this?”
“Partly.”
“I’m not dull, Enjolras. I have higher education, I know—why do you think I agreed with my father so—so easily,” It’s redundant, he doesn’t answer, “I hate their stance just as much as you, but they are my family. I cannot abandon them.”
“A shame,” He seethes, reaching around your front to palm roughly at your breasts, pulling you back against him, other hand slipping over your cunt, circling your clit furiously, “—at least I have this to remember you by.”
You’ve never been with anyone like this—it’s usually slow, sensual, sweet. This was nothing but anger and frustration, hatred for the same cause, but fighting on two different sides. It was a battle, deep rooted in confusion.
“Knowing you may die tomorrow?” You ask tensely, stalling his movements slightly. “This is how you wanted to spend your final night? If it must be?”
“I liked you better quiet.” He spits at you.
You laugh brokenly, the harsh pass over your clit sending you over the edge, cunt clenching around him as buries himself deep inside, coming with little warning as he attempts to pull out, but held still by the hand forcing him there, buried into his shirt as you both ride out the high of your orgasms, moaning into the silence of the night, both of you barely visible at this hour from the lack of a full moon. His mouth rests against the back of your neck, nose buried into the back of your hair, most of it piled up messily atop your head.
“You’re at risk of dying, too—if not more than me. These people, they’re passionate. If they find out—“
“Will they?” You ask quietly, hearing the faint rustle of his pants as he pulls out of you.
You turn, connecting eyes with him. He seems hesitant to answer.
“Oh, darling—don’t be coy now. You come inside of me, threatening me with the burdance of bearing your child if fate has it that way, and now you can’t even look my way?”
“That’s not—“ He begins, shaking his head.
“You men are all the same.” You tell him harshly, “Just because what you think you’re doing is right, it doesn’t make you a good person.”
“My love—“ He begins.
“Calling me that doesn’t make it so,” You retort, “you hated me just a few moments ago, am I wrong?”
“I’ve never met anyone like you.” He admits, “Not before, not during the rebellion.”
You smile tightly, adjusting your clothes back to their original place, reaching down to fetch your coat.
“How sweet,” You tell him, patting his chest, “I guess we shall see how tomorrow goes, that should determine where this takes us.”
But unfortunately, you had a sneaking suspicion that none of this would end well, for either of you.
“Stay,” He tells you, “for a few more hours, that’s all I ask.”
You’re hesitant, every morsel of your being telling you otherwise. You ignore it, allowing yourself to enjoy what may be your last night.
“Another bottle and you have a deal, Enjolras.” You barter, watching the grin grow on his face—because despite how much he wanted to hate you, he wasn’t sure he could. Given the time he had gotten to know you, learn about you, he had to believe there was a part of you that would do the right thing,
Although, it was much too late for that.
“After you, darling.”
Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡
#bbc!enjolras#enjolras x reader#enjolras x fem!reader#joseph quinn x reader#joseph quinn x you#joseph quinn x y/n#enjolras x you#enjolras x y/n#jq!enjolras#joseph quinn fic#joseph quinn smut#my writing
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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader
𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel)
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))
“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.”
You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you.
Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding.
“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!”
“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.”
“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.”
“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.”
“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?”
“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?”
“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.”
“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.”
That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love.
“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”
Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?”
“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently.
“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.”
“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?”
“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.”
“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?”
“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.”
“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!”
“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“
“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?”
“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.”
“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.”
“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.”
“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.”
“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.”
“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.”
“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.”
“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address.
“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.”
“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.”
“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.”
“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.”
“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.”
“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.”
“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.”
“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him?
About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop.
“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed.
“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.”
“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now.
“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”
“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head.
“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”
“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.”
“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention.
Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner.
“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?”
“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.”
“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“
“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?”
“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?”
“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?”
“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.”
Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you.
“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?”
Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.”
“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…”
“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd.
“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority.
“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.”
“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face.
“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head.
“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“
“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you.
“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.”
He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw.
When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“
“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?”
“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.”
“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“
“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub.
“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!”
“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.”
“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?”
“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“
“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”
“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“
“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.”
“But I do love you,” Enjolras said.
“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.”
In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…”
“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.”
“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head.
“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—”
His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.”
“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.”
“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked.
“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?”
“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled.
“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.”
“I’ll dream of you as well.”
#bbc!enjolras x reader#bbc!enjolras#bbc les mis#bbc les miserables#joseph quinn#joseph quinn x reader#*my writing
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Enjolras is the kinda man to read Voltaire and Rousseau to your pregnant belly, so that your baby will, to quote the man himself, “be born with the mind of a revolutionary.”
#bbc enjolras#enjolras#enjolras x reader#bbc les mis#bbc les misérables#pbs masterpiece#pbs les misérables#< if you’re american like yours truly
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recommendations masterlist
here is a masterlist of all of the fic reccomendations on this blog. all of my recs are ‘x reader’. this is meant to be an 18+ ONLY blog. if an author places an 18+ tag/warning on their work, RESPECT THE AUTHOR AND DO NOT READ/INTERACT if you are under eighteen. this masterlist will get updated as new obsessions emerge.
*i would also like to add, if you enjoy a piece of work, please give it a reblog. if it doesn’t match up with your blog aesthetic, then leave a comment letting the author know you enjoyed it. anything other than just a like. it’s frustrating for authors who pour their time and energy into works just to have over 90% of the interactions be likes.*
➳ marvel
➳ stranger things
➳ other/misc. characters
➳ favorites *work in progress* *this post will also include authors*
#marvel x reader#eddie munson x reader#stranger things x reader#loki x reader#bucky x reader#steve rogers x reader#ari levinson x reader#kylo ren x reader#winter soldier x reader#loki laufeyson x reader#bucky barnes x reader#tom (make up) x reader#fic rec#prince paul x reader#bbc!enjolras x reader#tom hiddleston x reader#joseph quinn x reader#robin buckley x reader#wanda maximoff x reader#kate bishop x reader#jonathan byers x reader#steve harrington x reader#billy knight x reader#koner got x reader#koner x reader
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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.
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enjolras or prince paul?
You know what I’m really getting into this guy lately- so option one I think is looking pretty good 👀 vive la revolution mon amour 🇫🇷
#punkwrites#i would die for this man#joseph quinn#thank you 💕💕💕#eddie munson x reader#thank you babe#bbc enjolras#prince paul catherine the great
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