#enjolras x you

[pedgito]

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

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

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

word count: 1.6k

His rhythm of work was inherently stressful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were his favorite.

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

The pent up frustration and stress was the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long do you need?”

You already knew the answer—only a few minutes.

He was insatiable, as you’d said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m only weak for you, mon amour.”

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

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

#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

[keeponquinning]

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

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

#joseph quinn #bbc enjolras #enjolras #enjolras x you #enjolras x reader #enjolras x fem!reader #— words come audios

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part: Thirty One

Summary: The truth comes to life.

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

❤️s, feedback, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turned on his heal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

“Oh, yes that shall be pleasant.”

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

******

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

“Is this the message?”

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

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

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

He smiled. “You do enjoy your tea.”

You nodded.

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

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

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

You swallowed. “You.”

The flush returned to his cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not break my heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

“Enjolras?” Your voice scratchy from sleep.

“Yes, mon amour.”

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

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

“Would you have awoken me?”

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

“Let me come with you.”

You put your hand over his.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“I promise.”

*******

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

You say absently, after stirring.

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

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

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

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

“Only far lovelier.”

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

“Because my words speak the truth.”

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

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfic #joe quinn fanfic #enjolras #bbc!enjolras #bbc! enjolras imagine #bbc! enjolras fanfiction #bbc! enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #bbc les mis #les miserables #bbc! les miserables #les miserable imagine #les miserables fanfiction #a time to love and to fight #part 31

[emmywrites-blog]

run away

pairing: enjolras x fem!reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: angst & fluff

summary: after spending a night with enjolras you are determined to get back home, wanting to make sure that your wealthy father has no inkling of your meeting. that is until your love brings up a serious conversation. 

warnings: indication of sex, kissing ?

notes: i have not edited this so i apologize if there are any grammtical/spelling mistakes, also, have fun reading my first work on here!

“My father would kill both of us if he knew I was here.” You spoke as you adjusted the puffy sleeve of your dress. You had visited your rebellious love for the first time in a week, spending the night in his arms, fondling and cradling him till the early hours of the morning. 

Enjolras was laid back on his bed, an arm resting behind his head as his gaze moved along your body, a perfect body in his eyes, “Yes well, he will have to get used to it eventually.” He stated, the corner of his mouth turning upwards in a beautiful smirk. 

Your dear Enjolras had caught your eye the minute you saw him within the town market, a place you didn’t go very often. He was there with a group of his comrades, seemingly in a heated discussion. It was when he glanced over his shoulder at you though, that you felt the butterflies in your stomach radiate through your bloodstream, making a home in your brain. 

You smiled softly to yourself and pulled your other sleeve over your shoulder, being sure to straighten out the front of the pink silk material cascading down your body, “He won’t get used to it if he never finds out,” You mentioned briefly, your words carrying a soft tone, “Hopefully he never does.”

Enjolras watched as you ran the tips of your fingers through your hair, calming the subtle waves. The sunrise shone through the window to his room, illuminating a golden glow along your figure, “Never?” He then asked, lifting himself up so he could rest on his elbows, “My love, you believe we can truly keep up this act forever?”

Your small smile turned into a solemn look of despair. You had fallen so deeply for Enjolras that even the thought of him made you weak in the knees, but you knew the truth of your relationship. A rebellion like Enjolras, although wealthy, was never destined to be with you. You were the oldest of four girls, a daughter in which your duty was to marry a loyal man. Your father was never a supporter of the revolution, especially now as times were dangerous. 

You turned and looked at Enjolras. You admired him, the way a stray curl hung over his forehead, how the sheet on his bed rested just above his bare belly button. You took a step towards him, your heels clacking along the hardwood floor, “Until I am courted.” You stated quietly, knowing that your loves reaction would be that of disappointment. 

Enjolras shook his head and sat up a bit straighter, keeping the sheet around his waist, “You are being courted.” He quipped, his eyes boring into your own, “We can be together, we’re together right now, don’t you see how wonderful this is?” 

You clasped your hands together in front of you, looking at the floor beneath your feet, “You know we can never marry,” You mentioned, the same thing you had told Enjolras many times before, “My father will never agree, not with your position in the revolution.” 

“Take back your freedom, darling.” Enjolras finally stood from the squeaky mattress beneath him and secured the sheet around his waist, “Do you love me? Do you feel the way you have told me? Or was it all a lie?”

You knitted your brows together as your eyes hopped to Enjolras face, shaking your head quickly, “Of course I love you! I loved you the moment I laid my eyes on you.” You told him, desperation evident in your voice. You had never felt this way for anyone, not even the men who had come close to asking you to marry. No one had swept you off your feet like Enjolras had. 

“Then be with me,” Enjolras whispered, coming close enough that he could take your hands in his, running his thumbs along your knuckles, “Tell your father about us. We are unstoppable together, Y/N. Isn’t this what you want?”

You nodded, gazing into his chocolate brown eyes, “Of course this is what I want. I want you, I will always want you, but the beliefs you stand for will never be good enough for my father.” Pain fell past your lips like a waterfall, coming from the words you spoke, “He will never take us seriously, not unless we were to be engaged.” 

Enjolras’ eyes scanned your expression, noticing the pure love evident, “Then marry me.” He whispered, bringing your left hand to his lips. He left a small kiss on your hand, his beard gently scratching at your soft skin, “Tell him we are to be married. Tell him I have courted you.”

You shook your head in disbelief, not believing the words spilling past Enjolras’ lips, “It won’t be enough. To know his eldest daughter is to marry a revolutionary? He will forbid it.” You explained, looking to the window in Enjolras bedroom, “I really have to leave, if I’m not in my chambers when he wakes up then he will surely know.” 

As you moved away from Enjolras, determined on exiting his home, he wrapped an arm around your waist pulling you back to him. Your chests were pressed together, causing your breath to hitch within your throat, “Run away. Go home and pack some belongings. Run away tonight.” He pleaded, searching your eyes for any inkling that you would do as he said, “Just be with me. Be with me while we can.” 

“My sisters.” You whispered softly. Surely you couldn’t leave them behind. They looked to you for guidance and care, to be their pillar of consistency. You couldn’t just leave them without warning, “They won’t understand.” 

Enjolras leaned forward and pressed a small kiss to your lips, a fond and familiar feeling radiating off of him, “Leave them a letter. Tell them of our love.” He reasoned, “Won’t they simply be happy with our love for one another?”

You looked deep into Enjolras eyes as you thought about everything he was saying. Could you really escape your family's grasp so easily by running away? You were an adult, therefore you were simply taking control of your own life. They didn’t own you, even if it felt like they did. Maybe you could truly be happy and leave all this sneaking around behind. 

“I can’t give you anything if we marry. I alone have nothing to my name…no money, no fortune.” You said, shaking your head as you looked down at your hands clasped with Enjolras, “I can’t provide you with anything. I would have to take up a job as a barmaid in order to help with any finances. Your family surely wouldn’t be happy. You are an educated man Enjolras, how would they feel to have you marry a run away woman? Hm? A smart and wealthy man like yourself married to a woman who defied her family's values?”

Enjolras cupped your face with his hands, his fingertips sliding into your hair, tangling themselves softly within the long strands, “Our love is all you need to provide me with. As long as we are in love I couldn’t long for anything more.” He explained, pressing a brief kiss to your lips after speaking, “As for my family, their opinion on my life means nothing. If you are by my side, you are the only family that truly matters to me.” 

Your heart swelled at his words, feeling as though your chest would explode any moment. You had always felt the love Enjolras had for you, especially when spending the nights with him, or being delivered a note by one of his friends, but now, here in this moment, you knew it was all real. You leaned forwards and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss. 

Your lips moved in sync with his, fitting perfectly together like puzzle pieces. You felt him nip softly at your bottom lip, causing a soft sigh to erupt from your chest. 

“I really have to go, especially since I’ll have to pack.” You said once you pulled away, keeping your arms around Enjolras’ neck. 

A wide grin spread across your angels face, looking down at you with a mix of passionate love and admiration, “You’re really going to run?” He asked, wrapping his arms around your waist, “Does that mean you will marry me?

You nodded and smiled happily, a surge of love rushing through you, “Of course I will marry you.”

#josephquinn #enjolras #les mis #fanfic #joseph quinn #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras angst #enjolras fluff #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn fic

[bees--in-my--bones]

Beyond the Barricade

Masterlist

Character: Enjolras x f!reader

Summary: All you had ever known was life at the Musain. You worked hard to stay alive and keep your family comfortable, and that's all that you ever needed. But your life's path will be forever altered by a young revolutionary who has his sights set on changing the world.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, slightly suggestive

Word Count: 19,000

A/N: Enjolras x Reader!! I love this guy so hopefully this isn't half bad. It's all one big long part because I didn't really have a good way to break it up, but I had a couple ideas for scenes that didn't make it in, so if this does well maybe I'll write a couple short one shot things.

Also just want to clarify I'm not an expert, I watched the movie and read wiki articles, but I haven't gotten around to reading the book so there's some stuff I'm just kinda extrapolating. Like I'm pretty sure they meet in the back room of the Musain, but they just meet in the upper floor here. And in the final battle there's the Musain as the base of operations and a non named tavern where they keep the bodies and Javert, just for my own storytelling purposes. (Even though I think there's another place in the book or something idk)

Anyway, enjoy!

-----

You scrubbed at the counter until your arm burned, trying your hardest to get the stains out. Despite your best efforts, nothing budged. You sighed and tossed the rag into your bucket of soapy water, moving on to the leftover dishes strewn across the counter top.

The Café Musain would open soon, and your sister had not done the work that your father had asked of her the night before. So now, as usual, the chores fell to you, while your sister was out gallivanting, probably with one of those ridiculous Amis de l'ABC. You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at the mere thought of them. Their revolution had merit, sure, but a fight against the monarchy was hopeless for a bunch of schoolboys. Your father, however, was sympathetic to their cause, so he allowed them to use the upstairs room of the café whenever they pleased.

Your father lumbered through the door, already tired in his old age and having spent the morning arguing with vendors and traders, trying to prevent them from increasing the supply prices yet again. He paused, taking a moment to catch his breath after the long walk and looked around the café. When he saw you behind the counter, he sighed. "Where is your sister? Why is she not helping you?"

You shrugged. "Marie is out and about, I suppose. I can't keep track of all her callers."

Your father pinched his brow. "Okay," he sighed. "Okay."

He made his way over to a table and lowered himself into a chair.

You finished cleaning the glass and filled it with fresh water. Making your way around the bar, you set it down in front of your father.

"Thank you, Y/N," he said softly. He sighed again and leaned back in his chair. "Les Amis de l'ABC are coming tonight. I know your sister usually tends to them, but I want you to do it today. I hate to say this, but she needs to be put in line. I want her to have her fun, but we're struggling here, and if she cannot tend to her duties properly, she doesn't get to do the jobs she likes."

"You're punishing her?"

The nights that Les Amis came to the café, you usually let Marie take care of them. They were a bit too much for you, and you didn't mind working up front while she got to flirt with the students as they planned their revolution. She was not going to be happy about this, and you weren't exactly thrilled either.

"I think it's appropriate discipline," he replied, "until she can manage to balance her work and social life. We are better off than most, but we cannot afford to neglect our work."

"I understand, Papa. I'll talk to her later. "

He laid one of his large hands over yours. "Thank you, Y/N. I'm going up to my room now. I need to go over the books once more before we open."

The big man stood and patted your shoulder gently before exiting the room, leaving you alone in the empty café.

—--

You glanced at the old clock on the wall. You were supposed to open in a matter of minutes, and still no sign of Marie. Usually your father would have come back to help, but you imagined he had fallen asleep in the small apartment upstairs. You decided not to wake him. Your sister and you could manage on your own, provided she showed up, and the old man needed what rest he could get.

You snapped up your head at the door creaking open. In walked Marie, who you hadn't seen since the night before. She rubbed her eyes, all but ignoring you, and grabbed the rag from its bucket, beginning to clean off the counter.

You plucked the rag from her hands, tossing it back in the bucket. When she looked at you in confusion, you sighed.

"It's already done, Marie. I spent the morning doing both of our chores, which I didn't even get to until much later than I should have, because I had to clean up the mess you left last night." You had to admit, you weren't even that upset, just tired.

She tugged at her sleeve and looked away sheepishly. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I really did think that I would have been back sooner. But my friends and I-"

You waved your hand. "It doesn't matter." You grabbed the broom out of the corner and handed it to her. "Give the floors a once over before we open."

She took the broom without complaint and began sweeping. You sat down at one of the tables, giving your feet a much needed break.

"Les Amis de l'ABC are coming tonight," you told her, watching as she moved about the room.

Instantly she perked up. "You know, I think Courfeyrac has his eye on me."

You leaned forward in your seat, resting your head on your hand. "Shame we'll never find out."

She paused her sweeping. "What do you mean?"

You gestured for her to keep sweeping, which she hesitantly did. "Papa says you aren't allowed to tend to Les Amis until you can show up to work when you're supposed to."

Marie opened the door with a loud sigh and swept out her pile of dust. "I suppose that means you're doing it then."

"Yes."

She moved to sit on the counter with another loud and dramatic sigh. "Fine. Tell Courfeyrac I said hello."

You shifted in your seat to face her. "You aren't upset?"

She shrugged. "I knew that Papa would be fed up sooner or later. I'm just glad the punishment isn't as bad as I thought it would be."

"Why do you do it, Marie, leaving us with all the work? Why don't you care about the family?"

"I do," she protested. "I do care about you. I guess I just find my life difficult to come to terms with. Is this café where I spend the rest of my days?"

You joined her behind the counter as the first few customers began to trickle in. "We do not live in a forgiving world, sister. If you want a stable job and home, then likely so. Unless you manage to find a rich man somewhere willing to marry a barmaid."

Marie let out a short laugh. "That would be the day."

—--

Soon, the café was bustling with the evening business.

Your father entered the room, looking slightly more rested than he had earlier that afternoon. You were glad, he deserved the reprieve.

He approached the bar and motioned for you to come talk to him.

He leaned over to you and lowered his voice. "Our.. guests' meeting is about to begin. Your sister and I will take over out here. Bring a few bottles of wine up, they usually start with those."

With a nod, you gathered up the drinks and glasses and made your way to the private upper room. As you approached you heard a strong voice speaking confidently. "Too long have the people of France lived under the thumbs of dictators. I thank you all for joining me today to fight for a new world, a world reborn."

You slipped into the room, staying in the shadow of the doorframe, meaning to allow the speech to come to a natural pause before interrupting. You didn't get the chance, however, before a voice in the corner cried. "Marie! How nice of you to join us!"

"That's not Marie, you louse, that's her sister!" another voice cried, this one much higher than the first. You glanced down in front of you and your eyes widened.

"Gavroche!" You couldn't help but exclaim, startled to see Eponine's younger brother. "Does your sister know you are here?"

"Yep!" The boy said proudly. "I'd be happy to take that off your hands, milady," he said, reaching for the tray of wine.

You lifted it out of his reach. "I think you're a bit young for me to be giving you this."

A hand rested on the boy's shoulder. "Pardon young Gavroche, he only wishes to be of help."

You looked up and met the eye of the blond man who had been speaking at the front of the room only moments ago. Your breath hitched for a moment at his intense gaze.

"I can take the wine," he added when you said nothing. You blinked away your initial startledness and handed the tray over to him.

"Thank you, Mademoiselle," he said. He leaned closer to you, a conspiratorial look on his face. "We'll likely need another round soon, though, knowing these men."

"Of course, Monsieur. I'll be back soon to check on you all. I'll be up front if you need anything before then."

The rest of the night was spent going back and forth, clearing away a glass or two at a time, doing your best not to draw attention.

At the end of the night, you stood behind the counter, counting the night's earnings as customers began to leave.

Marius approached the counter, as he always did this time of night, after Les Amis had had their fill of drinks and politics and were heading home.

"Good evening, Monsieur Marius," you greeted him.

"Hello, Y/N." He handed you a pouch of coins. "This should cover the tab, along with a little extra as a tip. You did excellent on your first night with us."

His tone was slightly teasing. He knew you would rather stay behind the counter. But you weren't lying when you shrugged and said "I didn't mind it all that much. Work is work, people are people." You counted out the change as he watched, sorting it into neat piles. "They're making you pay again?"

"They all chip in," he said. "They just make me take it up to you. Trying to force me to talk to people, I think" he said with a grin.

You laughed softly and put the money away. "Have a good night, Marius."

"You too, Y/N."

You watched the young man leave the café before turning to get the cleaning supplies out. When your father saw what you were doing, he came over and took the supplies from you. "Marie will take care of the cleaning up after Les Amis de l'ABC are gone from here on out," he told you.

You raised an eyebrow. "You don't think that's harsh?"

"It is. That's precisely the point."

Marie sighed one of her signature sighs as she passed by and took the cleaning supplies from your father, the same way he had taken them from you. "You two go on up to bed then, I'll take care of this."

Your father gave her a little pat. "Good that, Marie," he said, before turning and making his way to his room.

"I think I'll go sit outside for a while," you told her. "It's a nice night."

She shrugged. "I'm not your boss."

Shaking your head, you opened the creaky door and sat on the concrete step leading up to it, leaning your back on one of the pillars that framed the entrance. The city was silent this time of night, and you loved the brief respite from your hectic life. You hadn't been able to enjoy it in a while, though, thanks to Marie and her antics always leaving you with far more work than free time.

No sooner had you relaxed than the door opened once more, spilling warm light from inside on to the dark street.

You jumped to your feet, startled by the sudden intrusion. "I am so sorry, Mademoiselle," said the silhouette at the same time you started splattering muddled apologies, your brain still scrambled from the scare.

The voice gave you pause. You recognized that voice. As the figure stepped away from the door, you realized why. The leader of Les Amis de l'ABC stepped on to the street, concern in his eyes. "Are you all right?" he asked, closing the door behind him.

You nodded as you smoothed down your clothes taking your seat once more. "You startled me is all. I didn't think any patrons were still here."

He shrugged. "I was working on a paper and Marie kicked me out."

"If you need to finish, I'm sure I could-"

"No, no," he interrupted. "Thank you, but I can finish it another night."

"Alright then," you said. "Goodnight, Monsieur."

He gave you a curt nod. "Mademoiselle." Turning on his heel he began to make his way down the street. He only made it a few steps before turning back towards you. "Actually, I do have a question for you. You seem like you actively avoid my little group, but tonight you replaced Marie. Why?"

"Marie was being punished, that is all. Our father told her she could not work with you all because she enjoys it."

"And you don't."

You hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He asked no question, only offered an observation.

"You don't agree with our ideals," he said when you didn't respond. Another observation. He stepped forward, offering you his arm. "Walk with me. Allow me to convince you."

You laughed softly at his boldness. "Is that what you say to all the women?"

A hint of a smile brushed his lips. "Only the pretty ones."

"I don't know," you said, now smiling as well, your teasing tone juxtaposing your objections, "walking off with a strange man at night sounds dangerous."

"What if I promise to protect you?"

You glanced back at the door, light glowing from the crack at the bottom. With a sudden burst of resolve, you pushed yourself off of the stone and took his outstretched arm. "I'm going to hold you to that promise."

"I'd expect nothing less."

The two of you walked side by side in the night. Neither of you spoke for a while, but the silence was comfortable.

"So why do you avoid us?" he asked, finally breaking the quiet.

"I don't avoid you, per say…"

He only raised an eyebrow in response.

You shrugged. "I only think that you are taking great risks to do what you do, and have seen very little reward. It's not something I want a part in."

"The reward will come," he responded. "In time. Even if we are not there to see it."

"In time, perhaps," you said. "But I find it difficult to justify jeopardizing what I have for a world that I will not live to see."

"But what of those who have nothing to jeopardize? People suffer because of tyrants that hoard all of the wealth. France is dying because of the rich who hold the resources captive."

You stayed quiet for a moment after that, pondering. Finally you asked, "Say you're starting to convince me, what can a few schoolboys possibly do?"

"Light the flame of revolution. We won't be fighting the war, merely the first battles. We are not foolish enough to believe that change will come quickly, but if we give it all we have, people will rise when we fall. Then one day the world we long to see will come into fruition."

Again, this gave you pause, as you pondered over the words and their meaning. "Would you mind terribly if I sat in on the next meeting? Of course, I would still do any of the services your group needs."

"That depends," he replied, his tone light. "Would you be sitting in the way that Marie does, or would it be to listen to what we are discussing?"

This made you laugh. No doubt Marie was often a distraction in meetings, with her bubbly personality and her need to make friends with any human being who crossed her path. "I would like to think the latter," you told him.

He smiled. "Then I would be honored that you join us." He slowed and came to a halt. "I believe this is your stop, Mademoiselle."

Sure enough, you had made a full loop around the block without even realizing it, and you were back at the front door of the Café Musain.

"Right," you said, "I'll be seeing you soon, then." You dropped his arm. "Goodnight, Monsieur."

Taking your hand in his, he bent over and pressed a feather light kiss to your knuckles. "Goodnight, Mademoiselle."

You felt the blood rush to your cheeks at his gentle touch.

With a final nod goodbye, you turned toward the door. You had only made it a step when he shouted, "Wait!"

You stopped and turned around to face him, waiting for him to say something more.

“I never learned your name,”

“Y/N,” you called. “And yours?”

“Enjolras.”

“Well then, goodnight Enjolras, and I will see you again soon.”

“Goodnight, Y/N, I look forward to it.”

—--

When you walked in, the chores were complete, the lights were out, and Marie was nowhere to be found. As silently as possible, you made your way up the stairs, past the upper room that held the Amis meeting space, and into the small apartment on the topmost level. Your father's door was shut tight, but you could hear his snores even through the thick oak frame. You cracked the door to your small room and slipped in, trying to avoid waking Marie in the next room over. You quickly slipped on your nightclothes and ducked under the covers, heart still thumping in your chest from the excitement of the night.

"Where were you?"

You jumped up at the sudden noise as Marie's whispered question broke the silence to see your sister looking through a crack in your open door.

Your chest tightened at the question, but you responded hesitantly, "I went on a walk."

"That's not the whole truth," she said, slipping into your room.

"How would you know that?" you hissed in response.

"I saw you walking with someone."

So there was no hiding it then. Not that you had a reason to, it was just a friendly conversation. "Enjolras."

Marie gasped loudly.

"Shhh!"

"Oh, stop it," she said. "Papa is fast asleep."

She lit the candle on your small nightstand and plopped herself down on your bed with such force you couldn't help but make a soft "oof" sound. "What were you doing with Enjolras?"

You shrugged. "He saw me outside and asked to talk to me about his revolution, so we did, that's all."

"Ugh," said Marie. "Boring. I've never been able to get him to say more than a few words to me though, so clearly something you're doing is working."

Your eyes widened at the implications of her statement. "I'm not doing anything! We were just talking!"

Marie looked disbelievingly at you. "Mhm, sure. You have to admit he's attractive though."

You hid your face beneath the covers, which she promptly yanked down. "I'm going to take that as you agreeing with me," she said.

"Even if I did agree with you," you said, swatting away her hand, "there's nothing to do about it. He's more interested in the revolution, and his family is far wealthier than ours."

"True," she said, "but he has never once tried to recruit me for the cause, even before I started getting a little friendly with some of the boys. And how can you truly think class would matter to him? It's the antithesis of who he is."

"I'm sitting in on the meeting next time."

Marie nodded. "Good. And you'll be waiting for him at the steps again at the end of the night."

"I will?"

"Of course. You must establish a pattern."

Your jaw dropped. "Marie, are you trying to set us up?"

"Yes," she answered shortly. "And it's going to work." She pinched out the candle and left back to her own room without so much as a goodnight.

—--

You thought about Enjolras a lot the next few days. There wasn't even much cohesive thought to it, just his smile, his warm hands, the way the dim street lights shone through his hair.

The rest of Les Amis de l’ABC were regular customers of the café. They were loud and jovial on the nights they had no official meeting, but never had you seen Enjolras on a night that there was no meeting. Now that you were listening, though, you heard the other students speak of him. He preferred to stay home studying and planning than spend his nights out and about.

You replayed the memory of your walk over and over in your mind, for no reason other than the joy it brought you to remember him.

Finally, finally, the day came when Les Amis de l'ABC would meet again above the Café Musain. You hated to admit it, in the fear that you were getting excited over nothing, but your heart buzzed all morning at the thought of seeing him again. The customers began to arrive and you busied yourself in the back doing inventory as your father made the night's meal.

Marie poked her head around the corner. "Y/N, he's- they're here," she corrected herself quickly after seeing your father.

"Thank you, Marie," you said, and gathered up the tray of drinks you had already prepared.

Your father looked up from his task. "Good luck."

Muttering a quick "Thank you," you slipped out the door and made your way upstairs. Like the last time, the meeting had just started by the time you got there. It came to a quick halt as you entered though, as the men realized that drinks had arrived.

You made eye contact with Enjolras from across the room, and you did your best to ignore the butterflies from his intense gaze. He made no move to get to the drinks like the rest of the men did, but you gave him a small smile and he nodded briefly in return.

You spent the majority of the night in the back of the room, listening, save for the time you spent running for drinks and food. The more you listened, the more you found yourself being swayed towards the revolution. The things they spoke of called to mind all of the suffering people you saw around you, even in your small sheltered corner of the world. Who knew how bad it was in the areas of the city even poorer than yours, or rough areas like the docks, where you were forbidden to even go.

Enjolras was a strong leader, confident and well spoken, and it was clear that he was respected by everyone in the room. It made you wonder why a man who already had plenty of people that agreed with him and the ability to sway many more was wasting his time by radicalizing a singular barmaid. Free drinks on the battlefield, maybe.

Like all nights, this one came to an end. You gathered up the dishes and took them out to Marie, who had begun cleaning the kitchen. Les Amis de l'ABC began filing out the door, talking loud and cheerily as they left.

You placed the dishes into the bucket of soapy water, earning a sharp look from Marie.

"Get out there," she said. "He'll be out soon."

You shook your head. "Marie, he's probably already left with everyone else. I know what Papa said about your punishment, but at least let me do the dishes."

Did you want to do the dishes? No. Were you far too nervous to come face to face with Enjolras again, now that Marie had put all these ideas in your head? Absolutely.

Marie quickly moved in front of you, blocking you from the dishes. "He hasn't left yet, I have to kick him out every single time he has one of these meetings."

"Marie-"

"Go."

Giving her a sharp glare, you obliged. As you sat on the stone and leaned against one of the pillars framing the door, you closed your eyes and let out a sigh of contentment. Enjolras or not, you had a sizable appreciation for the peaceful night.

Like before, you were alone in the night, and like before, it didn't last long.

The door creaked open, gentler than it had last time, and light once more flooded the street.

"Ah, Mademoiselle, I was wondering if I would find you out here again."

You stood and turned towards the voice, pleased to see that the small smile on your face matched his own.

"I thought I had given you my name?"

He held up his hands in concession. "My apologies. Y/N, I was wondering if I would see you here again."

"Well, here I am,"

"Here you are indeed."

The moment's silence that followed was far more awkward than any silence had been last time, but he made no move to leave. You cleared your throat. "Working on a paper again?"

He chuckled. "I usually am. Marie is responsible for cleaning again?"

You nodded. "For the foreseeable future."

He nodded, and things were silent again.

It was his turn to clear his throat. "Care to take another walk? You can tell me what you thought of the meeting."

You stepped toward the street, looking back at him. "I thought you'd never ask."

And so you did walk. And again after the next meeting. And again after the next.

You talked of politics at first, but your conversations soon gave way to more personal matters. Talks of opinions, and the future. His favorite color was red. He was in law school. He told you he wanted to help people who couldn't help themselves, but he didn't need to say anything for you to figure that out. He was not warm or welcoming, not on the outside, but his compassion for others was evident in everything that he did.

You noticed that he started coming to the café far more regularly. At least once a week he would sit working silently in the most private corner of the upper room, never ordering, but he would always meet you at the end of the night for your walk.

You found yourself spending all your time thinking of him. He was on your mind in every idle moment. But still, you hesitated to admit why.

You fell into a routine on meeting nights, and no longer felt dread before attending them. On one such night, you were running a bit late. You hurriedly made your way up the stairs, only to be greeted outside the door by a seemingly flustered Enjolras.

He took you by the shoulders and guided you away from the doorframe.

Tucked in the corner of the hallway, he glanced worriedly over his shoulder. "Can Marie work tonight?" he asked.

You shook your head. “It’s just me and Papa tonight, actually. Marie is sick. I actually needed to talk to you about that. It’s why I was late up here and why I won’t be able to stay for the meeting tonight.”

“Let me take the drinks in, then,” he said. “Best that you get back downstairs.”

“Oh, that’s alright. It’ll only take me a moment,” you replied, trying to move past him.

“Y/N, please do not go in there.”

“What is this about, Enjorlas? You’re acting strange.”

“I will tell you later.”

You pushed past him, balancing your tray on one hand. “Or you could let me do my job,” you said, walking to the doorway. He reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“Y/N, please.”

You pulled your hand away and walked into the room. The second you entered, you were greeted with shouts of your name, accompanied by hearty laughter. The men were usually excited to get their drinks, but never this excited.

In the corner, one man grabbed his closest companion tightly. “Y/N, my love!” he cried, gazing into the other man’s eyes. “Nothing can tear us apart!”

The other man clasped his hands together and fluttered his eyelashes while speaking in a high pitched voice, “Oh, Enjolras, run away with me!”

“Enjolras” took “Y/N” into his embrace, the two of them writhing in what you could only assume was an exaggerated passionate kiss, earning plenty more laughs from the rest of the men.

You could do nothing but stare in horror as you watched the scene unfold in front of you. A gentle hand rested on your shoulder, and you looked up at Enjolras, your eyes still wide in shock. “Someone saw us out walking together, and the story spread,” he told you gravely. “I am truly sorry.”

You gently removed his hand from your shoulder, not wanting to give the men any more ideas than they already have, and your shocked expression morphed into a determined one. “You have nothing to apologize for, but these men do.”

You slammed the drink tray on the table, and the harsh sound was enough to gain everyone’s attention. “I don’t know what you all think is happening,” you began, “but I can guarantee that anything happening between Enjorlas and I is none of anyone’s business but our own. But since you must know, he has been teaching me politics so that I can better understand these meetings, which up until now, had been full of men I respected. My father does you all a great service by allowing you to meet here, and by disrespecting me, you disrespect him. Not to mention the disrespect to the man who leads you sorry lot.”

You pushed the drink tray to the center of the table. “Serve yourselves tonight.” Turning on your heel, you stormed out of the room. There was no protest, only deafening silence. You did not look back, remaining steady on your course, but if you had, you would have noticed the small proud smile on Enjolras’ face.

—--

You finished the clean up as fast as you could that night, in the hope that you would still be able to catch Enjolras before he left. To your dismay, you caught a glimpse of him leaving right around his usual time, even without Marie to kick him out. You finished up the rest of your work, feeling quite disappointed, and made your way outside regardless. May as well get some fresh night air if you still could.

To your surprise, you found a familiar figure waiting. Enjolras was silhouetted in the darkness of the street, but there was enough light to see when he outstretched his hand toward you. “Care to join me?” he asked.

Silently, you took his hand, and the pair of you began your usual stroll.

After some silence, he finally spoke. "Like I told you before, one of the boys saw us out walking after the last meeting. The mockery has been nonstop since. You have my sincerest apologies that you had to hear that."

"It's not your fault. We both know it means nothing."

But did it mean nothing? Not if you asked Marie. And maybe, just maybe, there was a small part of you that didn't quite mind what those men were saying.

"Nothing?" asked Enjolras, his voice tight.

You kept your sights straight ahead, unable to look him in the eyes. "I only mean to say that what we do is our business, no one else's."

He seemed to relax almost imperceptibly when you said that, and you couldn't decide if that made you feel better or worse.

Suddenly, you felt a droplet on your skin. Looking up at the sky, you could just make out the edges of the clouds in the inky darkness. You had barely made it a few more steps when the rain sped up, moving quickly from a drizzle to a downpour.

Almost instinctively, Enjolras shrugged off his coat and held it above the two of you, trying to offer the best protection he could from the rain. “This way,” he said, his voice raised slightly to be heard above the sound of droplets hitting the ground. He led you to a shop front with a small outcropping, where the two of you huddled, trying to stay as dry as possible. Despite Enjolras’ best efforts, though, both of you were soaking wet.

“Here,” he said, wrapping his coat around you. “We can wait here for a while until the rain slows down.”

“Oh, I don’t need this,” you tried to protest as you began to take off his coat. “Better that you stay dry, you’ve got a longer route home.”

“I insist,” he replied, pulling the coat around you once more. “I would be abandoning any gentlemanly values I have left if I let you give this back to me. Winter is creeping closer and this rain is freezing.”

You held his gaze for a moment, trying to gauge if you had any chance of convincing him to take it back, but were met only with his intense eyes and sheer determination behind them. Deciding that he really wasn’t going to take the coat back, you pulled it closer around you. He gently pulled his arm around you, and without even thinking about it, you nestled into his side. The soft pitter patter of the rain was peaceful, and you were pretty sure you could have fallen asleep there if you had wanted to.

“Y/N?” Enjolras broke the silence after a while.

“Yes?”

“I must confess something to you. I have to admit, I was not… completely bothered by what my men have been saying about us. I do not appreciate their mockery, but… I don’t mind when they talk of us being together.”

You pulled back, looking up at him in shock. “What are you saying?”

Reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your face, he chose not to respond with words, instead moving his hand to your jawline and drawing you gently into his face, planting a light kiss on your lips. When he pulled away, your face was burning and you were left speechless. His gaze was darker than you had ever seen it before. Seeing the stunned look on your face, he stood and offered you his hand, refusing to meet your eyes again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “That was out of turn. Let’s get you home.”

You wanted to tell him that it wasn’t out of turn, that you felt the same way, but you were paralyzed, overwhelmed by your emotions, so you took his hand and made your way home through the downpour. You moved like a zombie, feelings burning bright on the inside, but unable to articulate any of it outwardly.

—--

Marie was asleep when you got back, and you quickly and silently got into bed, piling a few extra blankets on top to combat the steadily dropping temperatures. As you drifted off to sleep, your thoughts were filled with Enjolras, and you could only hope that he had made it home safely and warmly, and that you hadn't offended him too terribly.

—--

You woke the next day to white flurries outside your window. It was the first snow of the season, and it showed no signs of stopping. As of now, it was only a light dusting, but you were sure that by late afternoon the ground would be covered. Marie was up and about, having recovered from yesterday's sickness, and your father only spent part of the day out of his room, retiring early because of the cold’s poor effect on his old bones. You and Marie spent the evening by the warmth of the kitchen fire, chatting, reading, and working on various projects since no patrons had made their way through the thick snow that blanketed all by now. It grew darker outside and the snow grew higher. Marie had just begun to suggest heading to bead when you heard a knock at the door.

You exchanged worried glances and Marie quickly made her way to the front of the store, with you following close behind. She opened the door and let out a large gasp.

“Enjolras?” she said, clearly taken aback.

“Is Y/N there?”

She stepped aside, allowing him to see you. He rushed forward, gripping your shoulders firmly, as Marie shut the door behind him as fast as she could. He seemed to be completely unaffected by his blue lips or his usually curly hair that was frozen into frizzy chunks.

His gaze was more intense than you had ever seen it, his blue eyes seeming to bore into your very soul. “Y/N, I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go another moment without seeing you again. Last night was all wrong, I know that, but I need you to know how I feel, and I need to say it properly.”

“That can wait,” you replied before he could continue. “We need to get you warmed up right now, before you get sick. I don’t need to explain to my neighbors why a rich boy died of frostbite in my home.”

“Marie,” you said, taking Enjolras’ hand and leading him to the kitchen, “will you grab my blankets from my bed and bring them down here? And see if there's any of Papa's old clothes about? I’m going to heat up some of our leftover dinner.”

Marie gave you a mischievous look, glancing back and forth between you and Enjolras, but for once in her life she kept quiet and did what was asked of her, and she scampered upstairs to get all the extra winter furs she could find.

“Take off every layer that you can without exposing yourself,” you told him. “Marie will bring back a change of clothes, but the wet clothes are going to be what kills you if you don’t get out of them.” He complied silently removing his coat and layer beneath that, leaving him only in a button down undershirt and trousers.

You busied yourself getting him something hot to eat. "Thank the Lord that Marie never cleans up after herself," you muttered to yourself when you noticed that she had left the pot she had used for dinner out above the fire, keeping the small amount of soup still inside of it warm.

The entire time, Enjolras' gaze never left you, waiting for you to relax for a moment before he spoke again. He would have to wait longer, though, because just as you set the soup in front of him, Marie entered the kitchen with a large pile of blankets. She set them down next to the hearth and brushed her hands together. "Well, unless you two need me any longer, I think I'll head up to bed."

"Alright. Thank you, Marie, goodnight," you said.

"Yes, thank you, Marie," Enjolras added.

Marie left, with a wink to you behind Enjolras’ back. Ignoring her goading, you turned toward the hearth, throwing your last log on and stoking the dying flames higher. When at last you were satisfied with your work, you turned to find Enjolras standing, and an empty bowl set on the table.

"Y/N I-"

You shoved a shirt and pants into his hands. "You're soaked to the bone. Change."

"You're avoiding this."

He was always too perceptive, wasn't he? Yes you were avoiding it. It wasn’t as simple as I love you and you love me. There was your status, his status, the work you had to do and the degree he was working towards. The revolution you were fighting.

You started to move past him, out of the kitchen, to give him some privacy. “Obviously. Regardless, you still need to change.” There was no denying that you were avoiding the subject to him- he knew you all too well.

His arm reached out, lightning fast, and he grabbed your arm, stopping you in your tracks. His grip was firm, but not painful. You avoided his gaze, waiting for him to let you go, or say something. “Help me, then.”

You looked up, finally making eye contact. You could see the dare dancing behind his eyes. He knew it would be improper. He also knew you would do anything he asked of you. Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand down your arm and took your hand, slowly guiding it up to the top button of his shirt. You stood silent and stony faced, weighing your options. Finally caving, you reached up with your other hand and began undoing his shirt, slowly, your fingers brushing lightly against his skin with every button.

“You’re upset,” he said, his voice low.

“You noticed?” The sarcasm dripped from your question.

“I notice everything about you.”

You clenched your jaw as you undid the last button and he shrugged the shirt off of his shoulders. You turned slightly to the side, trying to avoid looking at his bare torso. From noticing the way his skin gleamed in the firelight. From watching the way that the melted snow ran down his body.

“Why did you come here tonight?” you asked.

“I told you. I did not get a chance to tell you how I felt properly. Nor did I give you a chance to respond.”

“At the risk of your life? You could have gotten lost in this storm, and then what? You wander for hours until you freeze to death?”

“You truly think so little of my navigation skills?”

You rolled your eyes. “Say your piece then.”

He stepped towards you, taking your chin in his hand and slowly guiding your face to look at his. “I have never met anyone who makes me as happy as you do. I count down the minutes until our next walk together. I want to be with you as much as possible. Seeing you only once in a while is not enough for me. You are smart, hard-working, and kind, and I want a future with you. I love you, Y/N.”

For all your bravado, your angry facade melted the moment he finished speaking. Your voice was weak, barely above a whisper. “Never did I think I would hear you say those words. I love you too, Enjolras.”

This time, you initiated the kiss. It was far more passionate than the last. Enjolras kept one hand firmly on the side of your face, and snaked the other around your waist, pulling you close to him as you wrapped your arms around his neck. You kissed him until you couldn’t anymore, finally having to come up for air. You pressed your forehead to his, panting slightly.

The reality of what happened suddenly hit you. You had just kissed Enjolras, who was currently holding you very tightly against his very bare chest. And the air around you was still freezing. Gently, you pushed yourself away from him. “Finish changing,” you told him. “I’ll be right back with more firewood.”

He smiled. You had never seen him smile so brightly. “Come back quickly,'' he whispered as you left.

—--

The cold outside was unbearable, even in the back alley behind the café where you stored the firewood. How had Enjolras made the journey all the way from his school in this? Grabbing a bundle, you rushed back inside, hurrying back to the kitchen and its warmth. When you entered, you found a fully clothed Enjolras curled up in the large pile of blankets on the floor next to the hearth.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, the worry evident on his face. “You’re shivering!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You’re one to talk. I’m glad you have the color back in your cheeks. You had me worried.” You threw more logs on the fire, stoking the flames to a much more considerable size. You set down the poker, but did not get the chase to stand before you were being pulled into a mass of fur and warmth. Before you knew it, you were once again wrapped in Enjolras’ embrace. Surrounded by blankets and his strong arms, you were so warm.

“Please stay,” he said gently.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

He kissed the top of your head, and you were lulled to sleep by his gentle breathing and the sounds of the crackling flames.

—--

When you woke, Enjolras was still asleep. Judging by the dying flames in the fireplace, it had only been a few hours.

Carefully, you removed yourself from Enjolras’ embrace and out of the pile of blankets. You wanted nothing more than to stay with him, but you would prefer to not have to explain to your father why you were in such a compromising position.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving" you had told him only a little while ago, but you knew he would understand.

Silently, you made your way to your room. Making a stop at Marie’s room, you stole a few of the blankets off of her massive pile and curled up in your bed, drifting back to sleep with a smile on your face and warmth in your heart.

—--

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes and pushed yourself out of bed. Marie's door was still shut, and as you walked out of your room, you saw your father's door wide open, with him nowhere inside. You grimaced, hoping that he hadn't been too upset after finding Enjolras.

As you made your way downstairs, you were astonished to hear your father's hearty laughter from the kitchen. Of course, you really shouldn't have been. Your father had always sympathized with Les Amis de l'ABC, and he had no way of knowing what Enjolras had said or done last night. You shivered as you remembered his gentle touch and the way he held you.

Rounding the corner you were greeted by your father and Enjolras, who were talking at one of the tables in the main seating area.

"Good morning chouchou!" your father called. "Enjolras has been telling me of you and Marie's heroics last night."

Enjolras nodded. "It was quite foolish of me to think I could visit Grantaire and make it back to my own home before the worst of the storm hit. I am incredibly grateful I was able to stop here," he said, giving you a pointed look as he subtly filled you in on the story he had told your father.

"I'm just glad you were not stranded out in the storm," you told him, taking a seat at the table.

"You can imagine my surprise when I found him curled up next to our fireplace this morning," your father said. "Speaking of, I should go prepare breakfast. I was a bit distracted after finding Enjolras." He gave you a quick pat on the shoulder and disappeared into the kitchen.

You turned to Enjolras, your voice lowered so your father could not hear. "You lied to him?"

"I didn't know if you wanted him to know or not," he replied. "Should I have told him the truth?"

You thought for a moment, and then shook your head. "Give it a little more time, I think. We're only just figuring it out."

Before he could reply, your father stuck his head out from the kitchen. "Y/N, would you go wake Marie? Breakfast will only be a few minutes."

—--

For a day trapped inside, it flew by surprisingly quickly. Once Marie joined you, your group spent much of the day around the table, talking and exchanging stories. The snow had stopped, but your father insisted that Enjolras stay one night more to give the drifts that covered the streets more time to melt. After several protests, Enjolras agreed.

Your father and Marie had turned in for the night (Marie far too eagerly), leaving you and Enjolras completely alone, just like the night before. You fiddled with the hem of your sleeve, unsure of what to say.

"Alone at last," Enjolras remarked.

"Indeed," you replied, your tone light and teasing. "What to do?"

He smiled fully, a rare sight to see. "I have a few ideas."

He leaned across the table, meeting you halfway, as he captured your lips in a kiss just as passionate as the one from the night before. Slowly, without breaking the kiss, he stood and maneuvered you so that you were sitting on the table, him standing between your legs. You ran your fingers through his silky blond curls, tangling your hands in his hair as you drew him closer to you.

Eventually you had to stop. The short pauses between kisses was not nearly enough to catch your breath.

You broke away, the both of you panting, and you buried your head in Enjolras’ neck.

"I love you," he whispered.

You slowly pulled away, the lightheartedness of the past few moments fading as reality crashing back down on you. "Enjolras, I think we need to talk about that."

His brow furrowed. "I thought you told me you loved me too."

You sighed, unable to meet his eyes. "I do it's just-"

"Go on." His voice was low, gravely serious, but not threatening. You felt safe with him, you always had.

"You are in a completely different class of society than I am. I know you don't care, but that does not change the obstacles that come along with it if we want a future together. And the revolution! How can we truly commit to one another if the most important thing is France?"

When he didn't respond, you raised your eyes to finally meet his and saw that his gaze had softened considerably as had his words when he finally spoke. "We can face those challenges together, when they come. And the revolution is not an obstacle so long as our love for this city binds us together."

You nodded, a silent agreement to his reassurement. He took your face in his hands. "I know you, Y/N, and you know me. Our love for each other is stronger than anything the world can throw our way."

"I'm going to hold you to that," you whispered.

"You had better."

You leaned back into him, planting a kiss on his lips, far gentler than the one before.

"I should probably go up to my own bed," you told him, your voice all too easily betraying your hesitating to leave him.

"Goodnight, chérie," he said, placing a kiss on your brow before he moved to the side, allowing you to hop off the table and walk past him.

You didn't get very far when you felt him grab your hand and spin you around until he was holding you tightly against him once more and pressing one last kiss to your lips.

You broke away and brushed a golden lock of hair away from his eyes. "Goodnight Enjolras, I will see you in the morning."

—--

Enjolras left early the next morning, the snow having melted enough for him to make the journey safely. "A few days' time," he told you, "Then I will be back for a Les Amis de l'ABC meeting."

You helped your father work in the kitchen, preparing for the guests that would surely arrive that afternoon now that the snow had subsided. Marie worked on cleaning tables and floors in the outer rooms.

"So," your father began. "You and Enjolras?"

You froze, your eyes widening at the unexpected comment. "Whatever do you mean, Papa?"

Your father laughed heartily. "You think that I do not notice? You look at that man like he is the greatest thing you have seen, and he looks at you the same way. Not to mention the walks you two have been taking for quite some time now."

You stared in disbelief. "You knew?"

"Of course I knew. You and Marie aren't as secretive as you think you are. I'm happy for you chouchou. Enjolras is a good man, and I can tell he makes you happy."

"Thank you, Papa," you said sheepishly. You scooped up the pile of inventory you had been working on and left the kitchen to take it to the storage, shaking your head and muttering to yourself, "He knew the whole time." Try as you might, though, you couldn't shake the smile from your face.

—---

The rest of the night was largely uneventful. Customers came in, you served them, and they left. You and Marie were cleaning up for the night when a familiar face burst through the door.

"Oh no!" the girl said, looking around at the empty space. "Are you closed already?"

"Never for you, Eponine!" A grin spread across your face at the sight of your old friend. You hurried towards her, pulling her into a hug. "Where have you been? I haven't seen you in months, and Gavroche never gives me a straight answer when I ask him!"

"My parents were busted in a scam and we had to flee to the countryside. We've only just returned," she replied, squeezing you tightly.

"And what of Gavroche?" you asked. "He has been here the whole time! Has someone been caring for him?"

She nodded. "There was no time to take Gavroche when we ran, but we knew he would be able to stay with one of Les Amis. He's been staying with Courfeyrac, I believe."

"Oh, Eponine," you said, "I wish you would just come and work here. We could give you an honest living and lodgings, and you would not need to live a life on the run."

"Y/N, you know I couldn't. My father is far too vengeful, and I would never want to put you and your family in danger."

You sighed. "I know Eponine. Just remember our doors are always open. Truly, I am just glad you are back."

“You must catch me up,” she said, suddenly excited as she pulled you down to sit at a table.

“Well,” you began with a smile, “I have made good friends with Les Amis de l’ABC.”

Eponine’s shock was evident. “You? Getting all buddy buddy with the politicians?”

“You know I have never been one for politics, but it is far more than that. It is the very roots of our society that must change.”

Eponine laughed. “You sound like Enjolras!”

You shrugged and looked down sheepishly, a small smile on your face, and Eponine gasped. “What?” she asked.

“Two days ago he told me that he loved me.”

Eponine stared, her mouth agape. She leaned back in her seat, shaking her head silently. “You and Enjolras, of all people. Who would have thought?”

—--

Your time with Enjolras was a blur, filled with joy and passion - for one another and for the revolution.

You went to meetings and rallies, him hardly letting you out of his sight in the crowds. But most importantly, you had continued your nighttime walks, that brief moment of bliss that the two of you could share together, away from the rest of the world.

And you were ever so thankful for those moments, because you had something big planned.

Tonight he stopped in front of the Café Musain, took you in his arms, and kissed you, just as he always did. Spring was in full force, and the warm air danced around you. But instead of going inside, as per usual, you grabbed his hands and pulled him around the back of the building.

“Y/N, what are you-”

“Shh,” you hushed him. “Follow me.” You began to scale the side of the building, the hand and foot holds familiar to you. You hoisted yourself onto the roof, looking down at your lover following, although somewhat slower than you had been. When he was within reach, you grabbed his hand and pulled him up to you, a little too forcefully, causing him to stumble over the ledge and into your arms.

“Fancy meeting you here,” you said quietly, still holding him close. He smiled, something that was becoming rarer and rarer these days, and began to lean in for yet another kiss- not that you ever tired of them- when something gave him pause. He stepped back from you, although he did not drop your hand, and surveyed the roof, eyes wide in astonishment.

“Y/N, what is this?” he asked, gesturing to the scenic roof that Eponine and Marie had helped you prepare earlier that day. A dozen or so candles flickered in the night, illuminating a simple blanket adorned with flowering embroidery. The flowers on the blanket matched the small basket that eponine had brought, filled with a flower arrangement. You pulled him down to sit on the blanket with you and pulled out another basket, this one filled with the food that you had made that morning. Pulling out the contents, you spread them around the two of you. “It’s a picnic,” you told him. “I made it for us. I thought it might be romantic.”

Enjolras smiled again, and it warmed your heart. “It’s amazing Y/N,” he said.

You pushed some food towards him. “Eat,” you said, “I’ll be right back.”

As he ate, you opened the door on the corner of the roof and dropped the ladder. You climbed inside the café and dashed to your room, grabbing a box and quickly running back to the roof. You took your place back on the blanket and handed him the box, slightly fidgety with impatience. “This is for you.”

“Chérie, you know I do not expect gifts. You did not have to-”

You waved your hand, dismissing his protests. “Just open it.”

After one last pointed look towards you, he complied, and opened the box, pulling out the contents with a shocked look on his face. He slowly felt the fabric as he looked up at you. “Y/N, this is beautiful.” You swelled with pride as your hard work was appreciated, watching him admire the red jacket you had made him.

“I worked some shifts at the sewing shop to afford the nicer fabric,” you told him. “And then I spent my evenings working on it. The buttons,” you scooted closer to him to point them out, “are the best part.” You ran your finger over one, and in the candlelight you could see the inscription on the metal. ABC.

“Y/N,” he said softly, wonder in his eyes, “this is amazing.”

“You did say red was your favorite, right?” you asked.

“I did,” he said, shrugging on the jacket. “It’s perfect Y/N.”

“I do not have much to give,” you told him, “but I wanted you to have something to remind you of me.”

“I do not need to be reminded, Y/N, for you are always in my thoughts. But this jacket is now my most prized possession.”

You smiled. “Good. I am glad you like it.”

—--

Time went on, and as it did, political tensions rose. And as political tensions rose, so did Enjolras’ stress. He was more distant, and the more you tried to reach him, the more he withdrew. He was becoming short tempered and irritable, and you did most of the talking on your walks.

Why could you not comfort him like you used to? Was your presence no longer enough?

You waited for him tonight, as you always did after meetings, and when he exited the café, he did not offer you his arm, simply rushed past you.

“Apologies, Y/N,” he called over his shoulder, not breaking stride, “but I have far too much to do. I will try to make time to see you soon, but it may need to wait until the meeting next week.”

Before you could even reply, he was out of earshot, and you were left alone on the stairs of the Café Musain.

—--

The next day, you rose bright and early, a mission on your mind.

Quickly dressing and grabbing a bite to eat, you made your way downstairs, passing by a barely awake Marie

"Where are you off to?" she slurred, still mostly asleep.

You sighed. "To find Enjolras. I should have said something to him sooner, because he's been so stressed lately, but I didn't want to bring it up. But then he skipped our walk last night…"

Marie raised her eyebrows, the fogginess of sleep seemingly disappearing instantaneously. "He skipped your walk? He's never missed one, has he?"

You shook your head. "I'm worried about him, Marie. Only a few weeks ago we were as thick as thieves, but since we've received the news of Lamarque's sickness he's like a completely different man."

She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You'll find him, Y/N, and you'll help him through this, I know it."

You nodded your thanks and made your way out to the street only to be startled by Gavroche, dashing across the street with some of his friends.

Perfect.

"Gavroche!" You called after him. "Gavroche, I need your help!"

The young boy spun on his heel and sprinted towards you as his friends continued onward. “Whad'ya need, Y/N?”

You crouched down to his level to speak to him. “I need to go to Enjolras’ apartment. Do you know where it is?”

He nodded, but then his brow furrowed. “Haven’t you been seeing him? Why don’t you know where he lives?”

You sighed. “I’ve never had cause to visit him alone in his apartment, but I’m afraid that he sorely needs my company, even if he refuses it. Can you show me the way?”

“Absolutely!” he said, and he stuck out his hand as you stood up. You gave him a stern look, but dropped a few francs in his hand. Lord knows the boy needed it more than you did.

You followed him down the city street, passing through familiar shops and homes, before he finally stopped in front of a small building wedged between two much larger ones. “This is it!” he told you. “I deliver his letters here all the time.”

You ruffled his hair. “Thank you, Gavroche. Do you know if Eponine will be at the meeting next week.”

“That depends,” he said with a laugh. “Will Marius be there?” Before you could respond, he ran back in the direction you came, no doubt meaning to catch up with his friends.

You felt a twinge of pity for Eponine. Her unrequited love towards Marius had been tearing her to pieces, and you could hardly bear to watch her fall to shambles like this.

Take care of Enjolras first, you told yourself, then you can worry about Eponine.

Steeling yourself, you approached the door and gave it a sharp knock. You waited, but no response. Another sharp knock.

“Go away!” called a voice faintly.

No way in hell you were going to do that. Jiggling the handle slightly, you were pleased to find that it was unlocked. The door opened with a quiet creaking and you slipped inside.

You rounded the corner of the main entryway and what you saw made your heart sink. Enjolras was slumped over his desk, his hair a mess, his clothes crumpled, and the entire room in disarray. You stepped forward, and your shoe clinked against a glass left on the ground.

“Get out,” he muttered, sounding groggy.

You pressed forward, approaching him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Enjolras, it’s just me.”

He turned toward you, giving you an appraising look, but he quickly looked back down at his work. “I said get out.”

You raised an eyebrow. His words were slurred, and you could smell the sharp stench of alcohol on his breath. “Enjolras, have you been drinking?” You had barely known him to have a single drink, much less get drunk.

“It does not matter. Now, if you would leave me be, I have matters to attend to. Letters to write, rallies to plan.” He batted your hand away.

Not satisfied with his answer, you snatched the letter he was currently working on out from under him. “Dear Commander,” you began, reading his work aloud.

“Hear the the pleas the cries of the people who we need we need assistance. I beg your well wished and timely response.”

You tossed the letter back on the desk. “Enjolras, this is incomprehensible! You need to take a break. You need rest.”

He leaned back in his chair, placing one hand over his eyes. As the sunlight from the window illuminated the panes of his face, you noticed the thin layer of stubble that covered his usually clean-shaven visage. “There is no time for rest,” he told you. “Every day, Lamarque is nearer to drawing his final breath, and we are running out of time.”

You took his chin in your hand, guiding him to look up at you. “All your efforts will be for naught if you kill yourself in the process. Rest, Enjolras, please. You need sleep just as the rest of us do.”

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes. “Fine. I will take a break.”

You kissed his forehead. “Good. Come on now.”

Seeing as there was no bedroom on the first floor, you guided him up to the second floor, and like you had all those weeks ago when he had turned up half frozen on your doorstep, you slowly undressed him, allowing him to feel your hands on his skin at every opportunity as you rid him of his dirty clothes and helped him into a pair of clean nightclothes. He was silent, and kept his eyes closed, but you could feel the tension in his body slowly melt away as you tended to him.

He laid in bed, and you sat on the edge beside him, using a damp washcloth to wipe the sheen of sweat from his face.

“Thank you, my love,” he said quietly as you finished up.

You brushed the side of his face gently with your hand. "I only wish that you would speak to me instead of working yourself to the bone."

"I'm sorry," he said, placing a gentle kiss on the palm of your hand. "You deserve much better than a man like me."

This gave you pause. "What is it then, that you think I deserve?"

"A lover whose focus is on you, not France. You deserve to be happy."

"What did you tell me, when I said nearly the same thing? You are not fighting for France alone, my love, I am fighting with you. Together, always. I am the happiest I have ever been."

You leaned in close, a teasing smile on your face. "Except, of course, when you choose to ignore me instead of telling me what's wrong." You planted a kiss on his lips, feeling his smile against your mouth.

"You're right," he whispered. "You're always right."

And with that, he wrapped one arm around your waist and pulled you down on the sheets next to him. "Please stay," he whispered.

"I wouldn't dream of leaving," you replied.

—--

Together you worked. Together you built a revolution, rushing to tie up as many loose ends as possible before the inevitable: Lamarque's death. Meetings were more frantic, rallies more crowded and more prone to intervention by law enforcement. But you stayed by his side and he stayed by yours.

You rushed through the square, glancing up at a nearby clocktower. Enjolras would be expecting you by now, but no matter, you would watch the rally from the crowds like everyone else did, rather than by his side as usual. You pushed to the front, muttering apologies to deaf ears, as no conversation was comprehensible in the massive crowd.

"Lamarque is the only one who stands for the common folk, the only one in our government who fights the wealthy elite in our name! But he is ill, and fading fast!" you heard Marius' voice ring above the crowd.

You pushed further forward and then there, up on the stage, you saw Enjolras. He looked almost angelic, the sun streaming through his hair, passion written on his features.

"How long do we suffer for their benefit before we take what's ours and cut the fat ones down to size?" your lover cried. "Join us in our rebellion! Join us at the barricades!"

Just then, the police burst in from the opposite side of the square, sending the crowd into a frenzy as they rushed to clear the area. The entire time, the students were shouting to the people to not give in, to meet again the following week in the same place for another rally.

You moved against the crowd struggling to stay upright. People were moving in every direction. Which direction was Lamarque’s home? Which was the police? The world was spinning and you had lost all sense of direction, until by some blessed luck, you ran into Marius. “Marius!” you cried, grabbing his arm. “Where is Enjolras?”

“He’s near, he’ll meet us back at the Musain.”

You followed him through the crowd, and soon the people thinned out, and you saw a flash of red ahead.

“Enjolras!” you cried, rushing forward to reach him. He turned quickly at the sound of your voice, and swept you into his arms as you came towards him, holding you tightly against his chest.

“Y/N,” he said into your hair, “I thought you had not made it to the rally today.”

“I was just late,” you replied, your voice shaking. “After the panic, I could not find you. I feared something had happened to you.”

He rubbed small circles onto your back. “It would take far more than a mob to get rid of me. From here on out, we will travel to rallies together. With tensions rising, it is far too dangerous to go on your own.”

You nodded against his chest, still gripping him tight.

“Come now,” he said, releasing you from his embrace, but grabbing on to your hand instead. “Let us go prepare for tonight’s meeting. We will have much to cover.”

—--

The students were gathered together now, and energy was crackling throughout the room. Throughout France, the people were beginning to rise in protest. Notre Dame, rue-du-Bac, everywhere, they were eager to stand and fight.

“The time to rebel is fast approaching, '' began Enjolras. “The people are stirring, rising up with us for the common good of France. I need you all to stay sharp.” He shot a pointed look at Grantaire, who was chugging from a bottle of wine. “The National Guard outmatches us by far. We need a sign that will unite the people, that will call them to arms.”

“Marius, wake up!” Joly shouted across the room. Marius looked dazed, completely indifferent to the meeting happening around him. “You look as if you’ve seen a ghost! What’s gotten into you today?”

“Some wine and say what’s going on?” Grantaire offered.

“A ghost,” Marius mused. “Yes, she was like a ghost. There one moment, gone the next.”

Grantaire laughed, the sound almost barking. “Marius has found himself a girl at long last! I am aghast! Never have I seen him in such a state. Why, it’s better than the opera!”

Your stomach dropped as you thought of Eponine. Did she know of Marius' mystery woman? By some stroke of luck, was it Eponine?

“Marius, now is not the time.” Enjolras said. “Is this what we must fight for now? The right to sit around and talk of women? The right to a night at the opera? This is real life men, not a game for a few young, rich, fools to play. We are coming out of a dark age, my brothers, but there is a red dawn at the end of this black night.”

“You should know how it feels, Enjolras,” Marius protested. “When you see Y/N, are you not struck to the bone in breathless delight? Does she not fill your vision with a burst of light each time you think of her?”

“Yeah, Enjolras,” you said playfully, nudging him slightly. “Do I not do that for you?”

He shot you a sharp look that said “Now is not the time to make light of the situation.”

“What I feel for Y/N is not relevant at the moment, and she knows that as well as I do. If your woman was here, helping with the rebellion, we would not be having this discussion. We all have a higher call now, a larger goal, one far more important than finding solace for our lonely souls. Feel how you must Marius, but you are no longer a child, and we need to be present at these meetings. Our little lives are nothing in comparison to the whole of France.”

“Hear, hear!” you cried, raising your glass at Enjolras’ words.

“Hear, hear!” the men echoed.

“Listen, everybody!” The group turned sharply toward the doorway, where Gavroche stood waiting. “General Lamarque is dead!”

You drew in a sharp breath. You knew it was coming, had known for a while now, but it was still jarring to hear the words aloud.

“Lamarque,” said Enjolras. “The people’s man, fallen at last. His death is the sign we have been awaiting.” He grew more confident as the plan solidified in his mind. “His funeral day will be soon, and there we will gather to honor his name. There will be a crowd there, a massive one, of the people who knew Lamarque to be the last truly good man in our government, and from their candles of grief we will kindle the flames of rebellion. The tomb of Lamarque shall lay the foundations for our barricade, for the freedom of all of France!”

He was met with cheers and jubilant shouting. You silently took his hand in yours, and he looked to you with more hope in his eyes than you had seen in months. “Tomorrow!” he yelled to his men. “Tomorrow we meet again and prepare here. Bring what ammunition and supplies you can find, we will need all you can get!”

The men trickled out, and as the uproar died down, Enjolras muttered to you, “You remember our night on the roof?”

You nodded.

“Could you take me there now?”

—--

You did as he asked, leading him up to the trapdoor in the ceiling that led to the roof, and soon the two of you were alone in the cool night air. As soon as the door was shut, Enjolras pulled you into a kiss, kissing you far more passionately than he had in a while. “We’re close,” he finally said. Another short kiss. “So close.”

You held him tight. “I’m proud of you, Enjolras. You’re changing the world."

"I could not have made it this far without you, ma chérie."

"Then into the new world we ride," you told him. "Together."

You couldn't place the look on his face. Hesitant, maybe?

"I have two things I must ask of you , my love."

"Anything," you replied.

He released you from his embrace and backed away a bit. He reached for something small in his pocket and then took a deep breath before kneeling.

"Y/N, since the day I met you, my world has been brighter, more hopeful. You occupy much of my thoughts, and to be apart from you is the worst fate I could imagine." His eyes, so often your only windows into what he was feeling, were shining with emotion. "You have already done so much for me, but would you do me the greatest honor of all and become my wife?"

Tears welled in your eyes, threatening to fall. All you could do at first was nod, for fear of bursting into sobs, but eventually you were able to croak a small, "Yes."

In an instant, Enjolras was on his feet, kissing your face over and over muttering "Thank you," and "I love you," over and over. He slipped a ring onto your finger, and you held your hand up to examine it. It was a simple band, nothing ornate, but it was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.

"I will get you a nicer one someday soon," he told you. "I had not planned on doing this tonight, but after the rally this morning, when you clung to me in the streets, I knew that I couldn't wait another day to ask you."

"I don't want a more expensive one," you told him. "It would never mean as much as this does."

He held you close and rested his head against yours. His jaw was tense, almost as if he was in pain.

"Enjolras?" You asked, raising a hand to his face. "Are you alright?"

He inhaled sharply at your touch. "I'm afraid there is one more thing I must ask of you."

"What is it?" you asked, your eyes searching his.

"I need you to take your father and sister and leave the city."

Your blood ran cold. "What?"

"It's far too dangerous here. I cannot- I will not- be the reason you get hurt."

You stepped away from him, disbelief written over your features. "What happened to together Enjolras?" You held up your left hand, now adorned with a ring. "I made a promise to bind myself to you only moments ago, and now you ask me to break that promise?"

"Y/N-"

"No! I am sick of this, Enjolras. When I agreed to see you, you told me that this revolution was something we would fight together, and now you try and send me away!"

"Y/N, we are fighting together, but I need you to stay away from the actual battle. I could never live with myself if you were hurt."

"What about me? How do you expect me to sit by while you risk yourself? I will arrange for Papa and Marie to leave, but I will not abandon our cause in its hour of need. I will not abandon you."

He held your gaze, the stubborn look in his eye no doubt matching your own.

"Fine," he finally said gruffly. "But if you are going to stay, you have to follow orders, the same as the rest of my men. Regardless of what you think, I need to keep you safe."

"Of course," you nodded. "So long as you don't order me to leave."

"I won't."

You embraced him once more. "I love you, Enjolras."

"I love you too, ma chérie."

—--

Marie and your father were gone. There was some protest about you staying behind, but they saw the way you clung to Enjolras' hand, and had been watching the way you had thrown yourself into revolution work the past few months. They packed up what things they needed and left for an inn on the outskirts of Paris.

The next day was a blur. Preparing was busy work. You organized weaponry and ammunition, you helped deliver messages to other rebel groups across the city, and you kept Enjolras from losing his head.

One day more, and then you would be in the fight of your lives.

The students prepared late into the night, and eventually, there was simply no more that could be done. Most stayed the night, setting up a makeshift camp on the second floor of the Musain. You and Enjolras once again found yourselves on the roof, looking over the city at night, pondering the challenge that tomorrow would bring.

“Are you ready?” you asked him.

“As I’ll ever be.”

Silence once more. The comfortable silence took you back to all those months ago. The time that you had first met, and the walks that ensued. The time that you had spent together, simply enjoying one another’s presence.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?”

“Will you marry me?”

“Unless I’m remembering incorrectly, we’ve already had this conversation. Is the stress getting to you so much that you forget?”

“No,” he said. “Will you marry me tonight? Right now?”

You were taken aback. “Now? That’s a bit soon.”

“We may not have another chance,” he said grimly, and for a moment, the gravity of tomorrow weighed on your mind once more, but you quickly pushed it back. You were as prepared as you could be. You had to keep reminding yourself of that.

“Alright,” you said slowly. “Let’s get married then.”

—--

Soon, Les Amis de l’ABC were gathered in the upper room of the Musain, like so many times before. Unlike usual, however, you were there to celebrate a union, rather than plot the downfall of the monarchy.

Combeferre was chosen to officiate, as he was widely regarded as the second in command of Les Amis. You and Enjolras stood facing each other, hands clasped together.

“We are gathered here on this night to celebrate the union between two of our most core members,” Combeferre began. “Enjolras, you have bravely led us through all our trials, and continue to do so even now. Y/N, you have only been with us a short time, but in that period you have shown tenacity and passion in all that you do. I understand you each have something to say?”

You smiled up at your fiancé. His features were softer than they had been in a while, and his smile was more relaxed. He was less tense, like his stress had all but vanished, if only for a little while. “Enjolras,” you said, completely lost in his eyes, “I have no idea where I would be if not for you. Not only did you show me love, but you opened my eyes to a world beyond my own, and to the possibility of a better future. If I could do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing, because as long as I have you, I know that I will be alright. However tomorrow ends, I am grateful that we will be fighting for France hand in hand, as husband and wife.”

Enjolras took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was no doubt one of the biggest challenges he would have to face in the coming days: being emotionally vulnerable in front of his friends. “Y/N, I still cannot place what it was, but the first night you came into our meetings, you left your mark upon my very soul. I have thought of you every day since then, and I could not ask for a better woman to call my wife. You care for me when I don’t deserve it, and remind me again and again that I am stronger than the things holding me back. I love you more than I could ever articulate, and I will never be able to thank you enough for agreeing to marry me."

Combeferre nodded curtly. "Now-"

"Wait!" you said. "Gavroche, it's time."

The young boy dashed up to the front of the room and handed you something.

"Thank you, Gavroche," you said.

"Something for you, something for me?" he asked hopefully, earning a chuckle from yourself and many of the students gathered there.

"After we finish up here," you told him, ruffling his hair. He grinned up at you and ran back to his seat. Turning back to Enjolras, you noticed his look of confusion.

"I really wanted to exchange rings," you began, "so I raided my father's small jewelry collection. He's been saving it in case we ever fell on hard times, but I don’t think he would mind." You opened your hand to reveal your engagement ring and a similar band that you had found. "I think it belonged to my grandfather," you told him as you handed him your ring.

You took his left hand and gingerly slipped the ring onto his finger, and he mimicked your actions with your ring.

"Now," Combeferre started over when you had finished. "Enjolras, do you vow to take Y/N as your wife and cherish her through all times, bad and good, until the end of your days?"

"I do," he said, practicing glowing.

"Y/N, do you vow to take Enjolras as your husband and cherish him through all times, bad and good, until the end of your days?'

You nodded, trying to keep your voice from shaking. "I do."

Combeferre smiled. "Then I now pronounce you husband and wife. Enjolras, you may kiss the bride."

Enjolras’ lips were on yours in an instant, like he had been waiting for this moment the entire time. He dipped you down low, earning quite a few wolf whistles and cheers from the students.

He helped you back upright and there was a smattering of applause from your companions, as well as some very loud sobs from Grantaire.

"Would you be quiet?" Marius asked from next to him, nudging him slightly before snatching the nearly empty bottle of alcohol from his hand.

"I'm sorry" Grantaire half blubbered, half slurred. "Weddings make me emotional."

"So does liquor," Marius muttered.

"You're drunk, Grantaire," your husband said, arm around your waist. "Get to bed. In fact, all of you should get some sleep. We have a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

The members of Les Amis de l'ABC filed out of the room, off to their respective sleeping spots, when you noticed a slip of a boy with his hat pulled down over his brow trying to leave out the back.

"One moment," you muttered to Enjolras, and you followed the figure out the door. "Eponine," you called after "him." "I know it's you."

She paused, then turned back towards you. "I'm sorry, Y/N. I wanted to be there, but I didn't want to face Marius."

You hugged her. "That's all right 'Ponine. I'm just glad you came. And I'm sorry to hear about Marius. What girl has got him acting like this anyhow?"

She shrugged. "Some rich girl named Cosette. I grew up with her, actually."

"You're far too good for him anyways," you told her. "Any man worth his salt would be lucky to have you."

She tried to smile, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Thank you, Y/N. I'll be alright on my own tonight. Go back to your husband."

You hesitated, not wanting to leave her when she so clearly needed a friend.

"Go," she said.

"Well if you're that eager to be rid of me…"

"Congratulations, Y/N," she said, and she was soon out of sight.

—--

You couldn't help but worry for her, but your mood brightened when you found Enjolras waiting for you.

"Come on," you told him. "Let's spend our first night as husband and wife together."

—--

The second the door to your room was shut, his mouth was on yours. You laughed a bit at his eagerness before surrendering yourself to the kiss.

He guided you backwards until the back of your legs hit your bed frame. "Do you trust me?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded.

He lifted you into his arms and laid you down on the bed. He leaned over you, his hair falling around his face like a curtain. "I love you, Y/N."

"I love you too, Enjolras."

That night was bliss like you had never felt it. Enjolras was gentle and rough and kind and passionate all at the same time. It seemed like you were there for an eternity. When you held you in his arms at the end of the night, you wished it truly had gone on forever.

“Please stay, Enjolras.”

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

—--

The next morning, you woke to him standing at the foot of your bed, buttoning his red coat. A small grin cracked on his face when he saw you stir. “Good morning, chérie.”

You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, pushing yourself up to a sitting position. “You should have woken me when you got up.”

He bent over and placed a kiss on your brow. “You looked so peaceful, that I just couldn’t disturb you. Do you own a shirt and trousers?”

You nodded. “Somewhere around here.”

“Wear them today then. You may get a few stares at the funeral procession, but I would rather you be wearing something more practical for what follows.”

Groaning at your stiff muscles, you pushed yourself out of bed and began to rifle through the small trunk that held your clothes. You tossed what you needed onto your bed, and Enjolras picked them up.

"Allow me?"

You nodded, and your new husband helped you into the outfit, which was just baggy enough to hide any curves and make you look like a young boy.

"You've never looked so lovely," he said jokingly.

You rolled your eyes and grabbed your two cockades from the nightstand and handed one to him. He pinned it on your lapel, and you did the same for him.

"I love you, my beautiful wife.”

You grinned. “I love you too, my beautiful husband.”

—--

You stood at the front of the crowd, watching Lamarque’s funeral procession slowly parade down the street. You held Enjolras’ hand tightly in one hand, and Eponine’s in the other, although a bit more discreetly. You didn’t think she wanted anyone to know that she was there. Quietly, Les Amis started singing. It was a song you had heard many times before, but still gave you chills. You added your voice to the choir.

Do you hear the people sing?

Singing the song of angry men

It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again

The surrounding crowd looked around in confusion, but slowly, they started joining in.

When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drum

There is a life about to start

When tomorrow comes

The voices crescendoed, and soon the vast majority of the people were singing.

Will you join in our crusade

Who will be strong and stand with me?

Beyond the barricade is there a world you long to see?

Enjolras gave your hand one last brief squeeze before jumping out into the middle of the procession, waving a bright red flag for all of Paris to see.

Then join in the fight that will give you the right to be free!

Following his lead, Les Amis ran for it, crowding the funeral procession, and a few bolder onlookers in the crowd did the same.

Do you hear the people sing?

Singing the song of angry men

Somewhere in the confusion, Eponine’s hand slipped from yours.

It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again

You and Les Amis crowded the hearse, climbing up onto its sides as it continued down the street.

When the beating of your heart echoes the beating of the drum

There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes

Enjolras joined Marius, standing on the top of the hearse. His voice rang out over the crowd.

Will you give all you can give so that our banner may advance?

He leaned over the side, offering a hand to you.

Some will fall and some will live

You took it, and he hoisted you up next to him.

Will you stand up and take your chance?

One arm was around your waist, steadying you and the other was grabbing the hilt of his red flag. You sang at the top of your lungs, and yet you could not hear your own voice over the crowd.

The blood of the martyrs will water the meadows of France!

Do you hear the people sing?

Singing the song of angry men

It is the music of a people who will not be slaves again

The crowd was following the procession now, the swell of people moving down the streets of Paris.

When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drum

There is a life about to start

When tomorrow comes

The procession came to a halt. Standing before you was the National Guard.

They threatened you, but you didn't think they would do it, not really. Until the shot rang off, and almost as if it was in slow motion, a woman in the crowd fell to the ground. The echoes of the shot rang in your ears as you looked on, stunned.

You looked toward Enjolras, whose features were grim, but determined. “To the barricade!” he cried.

The revolutionaries ran, moving like their life depended on it, which it did. You came to the little square where the Café Musain was and called to the people in the buildings to throw down whatever they could, which they did immediately, all too willing to aid in the downfall of the monarchy. You ran into the Musain, grabbing what chairs and tables you could to toss out onto the street.

You made swift work of the project, and foundations of the barricade were built, blocking you from the National Guard waiting on the other side.

“I need a volunteer!” your husband cried through the frenzy. “Someone who can find out their plan and when they will attack.”

A man that you did not recognize approached. “I will go,” he declared. “I was once a part of the guard, and I know their ways well. I will find out the truth.”

Enjolras nodded. “Thank you for stepping up, citizen.”

In the blink of an eye, the man was gone.

Ejolras dashed to the top of the barricade and planted his red flag there, a symbol of the revolution.

Soon night fell, and the buzzing of the day’s adrenaline was still taking hold. Everyone rushed about doing whatever they could.

“He’s back!” a voice cried, drawing your attention to the barricade.

“Listen friends, I have the information you seek!” the strange man called from outside the barricade. “I have counted their men and overheard their plans. They are strong, and it will be a dangerous fight.”

Enjolras gestured for him to come around the barricade. “Have faith. If you know their plans, we will find a way to overpower him. There is great strength in the people here.”

“You are safe for tonight,” said the man. “They wish to starve you out and weaken your forces before they attack in the morning.”

“Liar!” echoed a young voice. “Good evening, dear Inspector Javert!” It was Gavroche. “This man is no ally, he’s the law!”

Courfeyrac and Grantaire quickly grabbed him. “Throw him in the tavern,” Enjolras directed coldly. “We will let the people decide his fate.”

Javert’s face twisted in anger and he spat at Enjolras’ feet. “Kill me if you wish. You schoolboys know nothing of the world and the laws that bind it. I renounce your people’s court.”

They tried to pull him into the tavern, but he flung the two men off of him.

Enjolras rushed forward as the men struggled to restrain him. Javert rushed to the corner grabbing something-

“Enjolras, watch out!” you cried, as Javert swung a metal bar straight at his head. It missed narrowly. Enjolras wrestled the bar away from him, and swung it down hard, knocking the Inspector out cold.

Suddenly, you noticed the hairs on the back of your neck rising. You weren’t the only one who noticed something off, as the rest of the people gathered began looking around. Realization dawned in Enjolras’ eyes, and the men rushed out of the tavern, grabbing guns as they did.

“They’re coming!” someone yelled

You were in charge of reloading Enjolras’ musket, so you settled in behind him, on the ground below the barricade, as he took aim.

“Who’s there?” shouted the leader of the National Guard.

You clenched your jaw. The time was here.

“French Revolution!” your husband cried.

“Fire!” was the only response he got, soon followed by a volley of gunfire.

Shouting. There was so much shouting. The shouts soon grew louder, and you looked on in horror as you realized why.

They were climbing over the barricade.

You saw Marius grab a barrel of gunpowder and a torch before scurrying up the barricade.

What was he planning?

He reached the top nearly nose to nose with enemy soldiers. One raised his musket.

Oh God, you thought, Oh God, he doesn’t see.

Before you could cry out, before you could move, Eponine lept, seemingly from nowhere, in front of the musket, right as the shot rang out. Her body seemed to fall in slow motion, and you stood paralyzed. You hardly processed Marius’ threats to blow the barricade and the retreat of the National Guard as you ran to Eponine’s side. You took her hand in yours.

“Eponine!” you cried. “Eponine, please be all right.”

“Y/N?” Her voice was shaky.

“Yes, Eponine. Hold on, all right? We’ll get you a doctor.”

“I love you Y/N. You were the best friend I could have asked for.”

“I love you too, Eponine, but don’t talk like that, okay? We’re going to get you fixed up, don’t worry.”

She shook her head, but then you saw her eyes brighten. You turned over her shoulder to see what she was looking at. Marius stood looming over you. You backed away, knowing that she would want him by her side in her final moments.

He knelt down and held her, whispering to her, as her light slowly dimmed. The hot tears in your eyes mixed with the cold rain as your vision blurred.

You saw Gavroche, standing alone, the rain pouring down not masking the silent tears streaming from his eyes as he watched his sister bleed out. You approached him, and gently took his hand into yours. He squeezed so hard that it hurt, but you didn’t say a word.

Eponine went limp and her hand fell from Marius’ face. You stifled back a sob. As he passed you, Enjolras placed a hand on your shoulder, a silent reminder that he was there if you needed him. He and a few of the others gently lifted her body to take it out of the rain.

A while later, you were sitting quietly with Gavroche when Marius approached you. You tried to push down the swell of anger that came when you laid eyes on him. He, who had only noticed Eponine when she killed herself for him,

“Gavroche, can you do something for me?” he asked.

“Anything. Without you, I would have bitten the dust,” the young boy replied.

Marius handed Gavroche a letter and a few francs. “Deliver this for me, would you?”

No sooner had he spoken than Gavroche was off, leaving only you and Marius.

“Was that to Cosette?” Your voice was cold.

He nodded sheepishly, and your face twisted in anger.

“Eponine sacrificed herself for you! Took her own life so that you can live, and all you can think of is your wretched girlfriend? And now you have the gall to ask her brother to deliver your love letter? You didn’t even acknowledge her until she was dying in your arms!”

Enjolras dashed over, alerted by the yelling. “What’s the matter?”

“He doesn’t care,” you sobbed as he pulled you into his arms. “He doesn’t care that Eponine is dead. My best friend is dead.”

“I care,” Marius said quietly, the look on his face grave. “That I can promise you.”

He turned and left, leaving you and Enjolras alone.

You sank to your knees, no longer having the motivation to keep yourself upright, as the sobs racked out of you.

“She didn’t deserve this,” you muttered into his chest as he rubbed small circles on your back. “She didn’t deserve this.”

“No one does,” he said. “That’s why we fight. Why we must keep going, so that Eponine’s death is not in vain.”

You nodded, still sniffling slightly. “I know, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” he said, smoothing your hair. “Her death has shaken us all. Why don’t you go try and get some sleep? I’ll join you shortly, for a little while, but I have things that need to be taken care of.”

“I think I’d like to be alone, just for a bit,” you told him, “but I’ll sleep when you sleep.”

He kissed your brow. “That’s fair. Now go, and I’ll be there soon.”

—--

You had done as Enjolras had said, and you were sitting in your room, staring at your candle as it slowly burnt down. The tears had long since dried, and you were sure you must look a mess.

Bang!

Bang!Bang!

You jumped to your feet, startled as a series of gunshots went off. You raced downstairs, grabbed a musket, and prayed to God it was loaded. When you stormed into the square, armed and at the ready, the gunfire had died, and Enjolras was closing the tavern doors.

“Enjolras!” you cried, running to his side. “What happened?”

“Enemy marksmen from the roofs,” he said. “We took care of them. And there is another volunteer from the National Guard, but Gavroche has claimed he is trustworthy. He’s taking care of Javert as we speak.” As if to punctuate his sentence, a loud gunshot rang from behind the tavern. And thus ended Javert.

The men were relaxing, leaning against the barricade after a long and difficult day. Enjolras turned to address them. “Courfeyrac, you take the watch. The enemy may attack before light. Keep the faith, all. The people will rise, we are not alone.”

He took your hand, leading you along with him. He approached Marius, who was lost within his work, reinforcing the barricade. “Maruis,” he said, “rest.” Marius’ jaw tightened when he saw you, but he nodded curtly at Enjolras’ command.

Enjolras led you to an outcropping in front of one of the surrounding buildings, and leaned against the wall. The fatigue was evident on his face, but he drew you in and held you close as Grantaire began to sing an old drinking song.

Drink with me to days gone by

To the life that used to be

At the shrine of friendship, never say die

Let the wine of friendship never run dry

Here’s to you

And here’s to me

You could feel the soft rumble of Enjolras’ voice as he joined in. His soft voice was comforting, and you couldn't help but chuckle when he kissed your head as the rest of the men sang

Here’s to pretty girls who went to our heads

And to witty girls who went to our beds

You stayed like that for a while after the song was through, listening to his heartbeat. Despite his relaxed appearance, you could tell how stressed he truly was. He was scared.

“Go on up to bed now,” he told you. “You need to get some rest.”

“That’s the second time you’ve told me to do that,” you said. “Are you trying to get rid of me?”

“Never,” he said. “I just worry about you. And I have far too much to take care of to rest.”

You nearly laughed at that. If anyone should be worried it should be you. He was working himself to the bone, and at this rate, he wouldn’t even survive until the next attack.

“You need to sleep as much as I do,” you told him. “Come to my room with me, just for a few hours, and then we’ll take care of your stuff together, okay?”

He sighed. “You've swayed me, chérie Let’s go get some rest.”

—--

You woke a few hours later to an empty bed. You sighed loudly, but you shouldn’t have been surprised. At the foot of your bed layed Enjolras’ red coat and a note.

I’ve gone to see how the other barricades are faring. I know you would have wanted to come with me, but I promise I will be back soon. Keep my coat safe, chérie. I love you.

You scoffed, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to be upset at him. He wanted to keep you safe. You just wished he realized that you wanted to keep him safe as well.

You put on his coat, and were pleased to realize that it smelled like him. You met up with the rest of the men outside.

“Looking sharp,” Grantaire said with a wink, earning a gentle playful slap on the arm.

“How are things looking?” you asked Combeferre.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The rain has damaged our supply. We’re working to see what we still have, but it’s not looking good.”

A sudden whistle from the top of the barricade drew your attention, and your heart soared as you saw your husband climb over.

Before he could even crest the barricade, Marius ran over to him, “Enjolras, the rain damaged the gunpowder. We’re low on ammunition.”

“We’re the only barricade left,” Enjolras replied, but his eyes were trained on you as he spoke.

“What?”

“We’re the only ones left.” In a perfect demonstration of his inner character, Enjolras spoke to the crowd as he approached you, wrapping one arm around your waist in a silent greeting. France came first, but he would not forget you because of that. The look he gave you was a silent apology for leaving you alone.

“The people have not stirred,” he announced. “Those who still live in fear have abandoned us, so I will say this. All who wish to leave must do so now.”

The air was thick. Would they stay and risk losing their lives, or leave and risk losing their values?

The silence was broken by one little boy, singing a familiar tune.

Do you hear the people sing?

Singing the song of angry men?

The people around you joined Gavroche, with hushed tones at first, but then soon at full volume.

It is the music of the people who will not be slaves again

When the beating of your heart

Echoes the beating of the drums

There is a life about to start when tomorrow comes

Soon the troops were gathered again, their spirits reinvigorated, but the concern of ammunition was a big one. No one was sure how you were going to keep going on.

“Gavroche!” you heard someone whisper urgently, and looked up to see a few of Les Amis, leaning over the top of the barricade. Your stomach dropped and you climbed over the edge and looked over the side to find Gavroche, holding sacs of gunpowder and taunting enemy forces. A gunshot rang out, narrowly missing the boy.

“Gavroche!” you hissed. “Get back here!”

Your words fell on deaf ears as Gavroche looked up, grinned, and continued onward.

Courfeyrac yelled for him, trying to jump over the barricade, but he was held back. All you could do was watch in horror as one, two, gunshots struck Gavroche down. His lifeless body stared at the sky, his blank eyes devoid of all their usual mischief and playfulness.

Courfeyrac ran out to grab the body, bringing him back and laying him at the base of the barricades. His sobs hit you like a knife. How many more must die?

“Bring him to lay next to Eponine,” you said quietly, and someone, you didn’t see who, obliged.

“You at the barricades!” the leader of the National Guard shouted. “The people of Paris sleep in their beds. No one will come to help in your fight. You are on your own with no chance at all! Why throw your lives away?”

Enjolras took on a new air, ever the leader. “Damn their warnings!” he cried, “And damn their lies. Let us die facing our foes. We can still make them bleed.”

“They will pay for every man!” yelled Courfeyrac, still teary.

“Others will rise when we fall!” your husband shouted, his voice thick with passion. “One day the Earth will be free!”

He grabbed your hand as the men ran to arms, speaking now in a low voice. “You told me not to ask you this, but I must. Please go. This ends in prison or death for all of us if we stay.”

“I’m not leaving you, Enjolras,” you whispered.

He nodded and raised his gun. “To arms, then.”

“Cannons!” came the shout from the other side of the barricade. Your blood curdled, but you held fast. This was judgement day.

“Fire!” cried Enjolras, and a volley of gunshots rained on the National Guard. He tossed his musket down to you and you handed him the new one you were holding, prepped and ready, and began to make quick work of the old one.

Through the screams, the bloodshed, the falling bodies, you did what you were supposed to do. You tuned it out and changed the weaponry. But soon the guard advanced. The bodies were dropping from bayonets instead of muskets, and you were forced to retreat. Those who had previously been sympathetic closed their doors, shutting out the dying students in the streets.

“To the Musain!” you cried, and the straggling survivors followed. There were shouts to barricade the door, but it wouldn’t hold for long. Your group ran to the second floor

Enjolras grabbed your hand. “I know you don’t want this,” he said, speaking hurriedly, “But I don’t care. Go to the storage room on the kitchen and don’t come out, no matter what you hear. I love you.”

“Enjolras, I won’t-”

“Go! I love you!” He was moving away from you, towards the stairs, forcing himself to leave because he knew you wouldn’t leave him.

“I love you too!” you yelled after him, and ignoring the sinking pit in your stomach, did as he asked.

—--

You shut yourself in the tiny room and curled into a ball on the floor. You were surrounded by bottles of your father’s finest liquor and extra cleaning supplies.

You broke the skin on your hand when you bit it to keep from crying at the gunshots outside.

The footsteps and shouts of the National Guard retreated, and there was silence in the Café Musain once more.

You were alone once more.

Your eyes scanned the small room around you, an idea forming. An idea that you knew Enjolras would hate just as much as it would make him proud.

It’s either die here or rot in jail, you thought. There’s no getting out of here without the guards seeing me. May as well make all this effort worth my while.

You grabbed what you needed and threw the supplies in a small satchel. Placing a hand on the doorknob, you steeled yourself, and then stepped outside.

There was a thin haze in the air, most likely smoke from the barricade and musket fire. You slowly crept your way up to the second floor of the building, and stifled a gasp when you saw the bodies of your friends littered on the floor. Grantaire was slumped next to the window, and next to him-

You knew it was true, but you didn’t want to believe it. You slowly leaned over the edge of the windowsill, and felt a pang of horror as you saw Enjolras’ body hanging from it, waving his red banner proudly, even in death. You had no time to process it, before you heard a guardsman cry. “Up there! Someone’s still in the building!”

You sprinted away from the ceiling and up to the top floor. You pulled the trapdoor down and hoisted yourself onto the roof, then quickly scampered down the side of the building, two bottles of brandy clinking in your bag.

You rounded a corner, crouching at the edge of the barricade. You were hidden for now, but you knew that wouldn’t last long. Opening the bottles of alcohol, you stuffed a rag down the neck of each. You kissed the neck of one bottle. “For you, Les Amis de l’ABC.” You kissed the other. “For you, Eponine.” Bringing your hand to your lips, you kissed the band around your finger. “For you, Enjolras.”

With that, you lit each rag with a flint and steel, and raced to the top of the barricade.

“Vive la France!” you cried, so loud that it hurt your throat, and you hurled the two makeshift bombs towards the enemy’s cannons, right into the highest concentration of gunpowder.

If the explosion wasn’t enough to knock you off your feet, the responding volley of gunfire was, and you fell to the ground as the bullets tore through your body.

“Vive la France,” you whispered once more as the darkness enveloped you.

—--

You woke to sharp pain from your core and the sounds of a woman sobbing. You realized suddenly that you were being carried, and as you slowly opened your eyes, you recognized who it was.

“Marie,” you whispered, barely able to get the sound out. Your sister screamed and nearly dropped you.

“Y/N, you were dead!”

“Not yet Marie, but I’m dying. Where did they put Enjolras’ body?”

“You know, then,” she said grimly. “He is in the tavern. I’ll take you.”

“What you did was amazing,” she said as she walked. “Everyone’s talking about it. They’re calling you the Belle of the Barricade.”

You crinkled your nose. “I was never one for semantics.”

Marie laughed, but there was little joy in the sound. “You were very brave, Y/N. Your bravery won’t be forgotten. Why, I’ll tell every patron we have about my daring older sister who took on the National Guard single handedly in a final attack.” She was smiling, but tears were streaming down her face.

She laid you down on the floor next to your husband’s lifeless body. “Marie?” you said softly.

“Yes, Y/N?”

“We were married. The night before the funeral procession, we were married right in the Musain. I want you to know. And Papa.”

She nodded tearfully. “I’ll tell him.”

You raised one hand to Enjolras’ face, so rigid and smooth in death. “I told you, my love,” you whispered to him, “I wouldn’t dream of leaving.”

And with that, the strength ebbed from your body, and all went black a final time.

—--

Light, warm and pure surrounded you. Your eyes opened, and as your vision cleared, a face came into focus.

Enjolras, his face far more peaceful than you had ever seen it. The lines of his face had softened, and he looked for once like a school boy, not a hardened general.

“Enjolras?” you asked. Your brow furrowed. “Where are we?”

“Beyond the barricade,” he replied, offering you his hand.

You took it, and he pulled you towards him. The two of you went forward into the light, into the world you longed to see.

-----

Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it, because it was really fun to write.

Also sorry for the fade to black scene, I'm just not a fan of writing smut.

But I appreciate anyone who took the time to read this, and I hope I was able to do Enjolras justice.

#enjolras #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras imagine

[bizaar]

enjolras x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gives it to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alons-y! Go!”

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

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

Somewhere behind you, Enjolras sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you tonight.” He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rock your hips back tentatively against him.

“They weren’t for me.”

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

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

You certainly do yearn, though not presently for liberation.

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

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

He was similarly affected by you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjolras…” you whine.

“Hmm?”

“Make love to me,”

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

“As you wish, Mon Cher.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces out a breathless laugh.

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

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

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

“I told you — I missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh how he suffers, your poor idealist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just smile at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you wish you would let him.

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It boils over all too quickly.

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

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

Thankfully, he is not far behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nasty little voyeurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you love me?”

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

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

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

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

You think that perhaps it is a willful blindness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It won’t come to that.” He says.

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

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

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

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

“I preach nothing.” He says sullenly.

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

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

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

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

Somehow you highly doubt that.

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

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

He doesn’t let you finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not impossible... simply improbably...

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

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

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

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

You're laughing again, suddenly giddy with possibility.

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

He nods.

“For you, I would leave tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

How terribly cliche.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it all rest on your shoulders?

Why is it not enough just to be lovers?

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

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

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

Your heart breaks for him.

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

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

You would shield him from that if you could.

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

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

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

You love it when he's speechless.

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

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

You smile against his lips.

“Then I will come away with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

#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

[punk-in-docs]

Do not for the love of god get me started on how horny I am for this scruffy puppy eyed hero (absolutely do please? I’m going feral fill my inbox)

#punkwrites #i would die for this man #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras fanfiction #enjolras les mis #joseph quinn #go feral #PLEASE #WANT HIM NOW #I MEAN FUCKKK

[writing-fanics]

Enjolras laying in bed with his wife before he leaves for the barricade. his wife doesn’t want him to go but knows he must. cues a small argument insuses. her begging him to let her join in the fight to help. he doesn’t want her to wanting her to stay home where it’s safe.

but she doesn’t want to and tells him that he isn’t the only one who cares about the revolution and she wants to help. she tries to convince him but he’s still says that she should stay.

she starts tearing up cause she doesn’t want to wake up one day. in a world that he’s not in. and if he isn’t wants to die by his side. not wanting to live in a world where he isn’t in it.

and after some more convincing he just said, “you are so stubborn and that’s what I love about you.” he said to her holding her close kissing her on the lips. which leads to a passionate moment for them in bed.

they died together at the barricade hand in hand

#les mis imagine #les mierables #enjolras imagine #enjolras x fem!reader #Enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #enjolras x reader

[autumnalmess]

I hope you all know that this is the best version of Les mis ever recorded and I will not be taking criticism on that point.

I don't care that it's in french, get yourselves on Duolingo if you've got a problem with it.

In this essay I will ⤵️

I hope you're all appreciating the chord changing to a major on the line "je prefer quitter ce monde" in Javerts suicide that symbolises his resolution because not only does it send instant chills but it makes it SO MUCH SADDER because he's completely resigned himself to his fate.

The whole album is incredible musically and has so many elements added in that aren't in any of the English versions. And all of the Amis voices are super sexy so it's a win win situation. (Esp enjolras 😫). De plus, no one has a weird voice so you don't have to put up with anyone's strange singing

Also there's a buildup in 'Seul devant ces tables vides' (empty chairs at empty tables) like I've never heard before it's insane.

ALSO the way that fantine sings j'avais rêvé is so tender and she just sounds so broken it's SO GOOD.

ALSO so obviously the English is not directly translated from the french so you get a lot of variation in lyrics and I could talk for days about this but one thing I'll point out is that in drink with me, Marius says 'j'attends, comme le délivrance, la balle qui m'est destinée' (I await, like deliverance, the bullet intended for me), which is insane because it gets across a side of Marius we see in the book of his absolute resignation to death that we hardly ever see in the English musical. And then instead of WOULD you cry if I were to fall, he goes will you cry. Which is super sad

I could talk about this album for YEARS

Anyway go listen to it if you haven't

#les miserables #the best version #let me know if you want to hear any more of my thoughts #i could talk about this for years #français #à la volonté du peuples #victor hugo #les mis #i can now sing most of it in french x #its what Victor hugo would have wanted #enjolras #enjoltaire

[pedgito]

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

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

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

word count: 2.6k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Enjolras tilts his head slightly, considering it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Isn’t all of it?” You retort.

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

You shove him away weakly, eyes glaring harshly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not a word,” He warns, “Understood?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Partly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My love—“ He begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Although, it was much too late for that.

“After you, darling.”

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

#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

[keeponquinning]

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

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

So this??? done with audio from Fallon.

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

#— words come audios #bbc enjolras #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #joseph quinn

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Twenty - Six

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So are you feeling nice and warm?”

You nodded, a giggle came from you.

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

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

“Yes, love.”

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

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

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

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

He wiggled his brows. “Oh? Do I now.”

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

He truly loved and enjoyed this sweet your nature.

“I am completely besotted.”

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

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

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

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

You nod.

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

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

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

“I need you mon ange.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mon amour.” He moaned aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

“Truly?” You asked softly.

You glanced at him in shadowy cabin towards him.

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

“I will have to remember that.”

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

“Thank you.” You yawned softly.

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

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

******

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

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

“Love? Are you alright?”

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

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

“Yes.”

“Night terror?”

“Not necessarily.”

He rubbed an eye. “Your father?”

“Not tonight. I was remembering that night.”

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

“Yes.”

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

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

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

His arm around you tightened.

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

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

#joseph quinn #joseph quinn imagine #joseph quinn fanfic #joseph quinn fanfiction #bbc!enjolras #bbc les mis #bbc! enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras #enjolras fanfiction #enjolras imagine #enjolras x reader #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #enjolras smut #enjolras fluff #enjolras angst #les miserables #bbc les miserables #joe quinn fanfic #joe quinn #a time to love and to fight #part 26

[emmywrites-blog]

my mission is to write so many enjolras and paul x readers because i can barely find any

there will be a paul fic coming out in the next few hours

#enjolras x you #prince paul x you #enjolras fluff #enjolras angst #prince paul fluff #prince paul angst #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn

[apollocomic]

#the boys are back #but its gonna be a very rocky update schedule i just cant keep up honestly sorry guys :( i'll see you when i see you #apollocomic #enjolras #grantaire #les mis #les miserables #exr #e x r

[nomeveas-art]

A friend paid me to draw this and I've never been happier while working on a commission. Bless.

#grantaire #enjolras #les miserables #art #my art #digital art #commission #musicals #fan art #fanart #e/r #enjolras x grantaire #i will follow you into the dark #grantaire x enjolras #eR #les miserables art

[raouls-fine-horses]

I am going feral I need to disect every single interaction Grantaire and Enjolras have ever had

#they’re so tragic #and deep #it’s so deep #I’m not sure if I believe if it was requited in the book #but grantaire is definitely in love with enjolras #you cannot deny that #victor hugo literally said r was inlove with e #les misérables #les mis #e x r #enjoltaire #the brick