#bbc enjolras smut

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part Fourteen

Summary: Enjolras and his girl, make a pledge.

Notes/Warnings 18 + for this installment! Shows, some Enjolras weaker character traits…being quick to anger. Enjolras deflowers fem!reader. Mention of body parts.

Kiss me, Kiss me again - Embrasse-moi, embrasse-moi encore, Yes, my sweet angel - Oui, mon doux ange, My angel - Mon ange, My sweet angel, you are fine - Mon doux ange, tu vas bien, I will make love to you now - je vais te faire l'amour maintenant,

I have strayed away from Enjolas in this chapter as well. I am still trying to keep how I believe it would play out with him. That said.. Be nice! Feedback is welcome! Want to be tagged, please let me know! ❤️ and of course…Enjoy!

“Embrasse-moi, embrasse-moi encore.”

He did, and he never wanted to stop.

As a cool breeze swirled around the two of you, coming from the depths of the night. Heavy, gray clouds rolled in and swallowed the full moon. They took away the silvery light that had been illuminating the inky night. Enjolras barely felt the breeze or notice as the moon hid behind some clouds.

He continued to brace himself against the wall, as the stones still dug into his hand. He allowed himself to lose himself in kissing you. A flutter went through his heart as he felt your fingers entwine in his hair.

The clouds finally stopped above in the inky sky, it was light at first then mere moments later the rain fell with heavy, large drops. A squeal came from you that bounced off the walls of the narrow alley.

He brushed aside his dripping curls that fell into his eyes aside. “We have to get out of here.” There was no going back, part of him felt. Something had shifted between the two of you. “Take my hand.” He offered you his hand. You eyes met, and you took it. Something deep within him came together; he couldn’t put his finger on it but it felt right, it felt right with you.

“Where are we going?” You asked but already following him, not letting go.

“My room in the boarding house.” He glanced back at you, as he led you. “I do not want us to get stuck here or elsewhere.”

You nodded, “I agree.”

Soon, he was leading you down the street through an another alley and down a few more blocks. He tried to always go to his place in different ways. A routine could led to mistakes, and to be possibly found out.

******

He stopped at an overhang not far from the boarding house. “The lady of the household may know you have been here but I don’t want all the other ears and eyes to become aware.”

“I’ll be quiet.”

“I know you can be.” He pressed his lips together. “I just worry for your, our safety.”

You nodded.

He looked over the courtyard. The rain may be still coming down in sheets but he was well aware there were scoundrels. He knew they would linger in the shadows and take advantage of such moments; especially in the rain. And since it was the middle of the night.

“Remember, what I had said earlier. Hold your skirts up and keep holding my hand.”

You nodded once again.

“Ok,” He whispered. “It’s clear.” He glanced down. “Let’s go.”

Continuing to hold your hand tightly, he slipped past the open rooms, once on the stairs, he climbed them with haste in mind.

It was just outside his door when he finally let go of your hand and reached in his pocket for his key. “We can relax inside.” He said softly, as he saw you try and calm yourself.

*****

The soft scent that he only knew as you lightly tickled his nose as you came to stand beside him. It brought a delightful sensation to his thudding heart. He was grateful his hand remained steady as he slid the lock into place.

“Now, we’re safe from that rain.”

“Yes.” He drew close to you, in the dim light managed to come in from his dirty window.

“Enjolras.” You whispered, as you looked up at him.

Oh, he needed, no he truly wanted to kiss you again. He pressed his lips together, tearing himself away from you. “We need some light once again. I want to see you properly.” He went and lit his candles and this time he places the glass over them so the light became fuller. Finally, he could see you as clearly as he did in the pub.

The bitter smell from the extinguished match caused him to make a face. Turning, he strode back over to you. With the gentle ease of his hands, he freed you from your sodden scarf that only sagged against you. He did not miss the soft pink flush that fell over you or how you inhaled as his hands grazed you. He laid the scarf the chair.

He felt your hand on his arm, before he heard your voice. “Enjolras.”

He turned to you. “Oui, mon doux ange?”

“I, I…” Your voice cracked, he saw something in your eyes.

Moving just so, he wrapped arm around your waist and pulled you close till you were flush against him. Your breath felt warm as you exhaled. He could see how your eyes grew at his actions.

The ale that still lingered in him, heightened the stirrings you caused in him. This time he didn’t suppress what having you against him caused. You didn’t push him away but you did wiggle.

“Mon ange after we parted,” He began. “all I could do was think of you. I came back here, my bed was still warm. My mind, my heart gave me visions of us. So I grabbed my book, I knew I would need something to tear my thoughts away from you.”

“But why, I thought it was good to have thoughts of the one,” You swallowed. “you care about.”

“Yes, it is.” His heart thudded harder in his chest. “I have had many of you, I hope you of me.” A tingle of relief prickled at him when he saw you nod. “but these, these created something in me to want, to crave more.” He swallowed.

It was growing hard for him to speak, the words hid. He couldn’t understand why. When speaking of his ideas on how to attack the royalists, to rile up or encourage those who followed him and his band of comrades, it was easy. Words, a plenty came to him. Though to speak to you, he faltered how did he tell you what he truly wanted. He feared it may cause you to run away.

“But you are a revolutionary, and I’m only a mere child just filled with silly dreams.”

“Damn it why do you keep saying that? Where did that come from.” His anger bubbled forth faster then he had meant it too.

You grew small in his arms at the flash of his anger.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, after a few moments, when he felt you relax he reached up and he undid the ribbon that held your hair back. With a soft sway, your wet hair fell in waves down your shoulders and back.

“A family friend, the doctor.” You whispered.

“What?” He took a breath. “Him? How would he?” Exasperation filled him. “Why would he even say such a thing?“

You shrugged. “When you pulled me into that small alcove for a kiss he saw.” As you looked up at him, he saw a few tears that clung to your lashes.

His jaw tightened. “How dare he attempt to poison you against me.”

“I think he is only worried, with all the violence.”

“That may be so but how he referred to you. Yes, you have your dreams and they are something, I would never wish to take away from you.” He had enjoyed hearing you share them when he had sat with you under the willow.

“So you don’t see me as a child?” How you looked up at him, stole his breath.

“Never.”

******

Your heart was in your throat, as you stepped closer to him. Something in you wanted more. You slipped your arms under his coat, he was still warm and dry underneath, it pulled a sigh from you. His solid body stiffened. A desperation you didn’t know existed came over you.

“Don’t push me away, Enjolras. Earlier, I had so enjoyed kissing and nipping at you. I want to do that again…I…I..”

His warm hand came up and cupped your cheek. His touch stole away anything you could have said further.

“I enjoyed how your lips, your tongue felt on me.”

You closed your eyes, as his thumb caressed your cheek and as you heard his words. “I would never want to, but you must know.” He tilted your face up. “Ange, look at me when I say this to you.”

At this moment, if you pierced your heart with a dagger it would hurt less. What was it he could possibly tell you. Had you caught his eye while he was promised to another. That he didn’t want to be with you as a man did a woman. That what you had shared had been more then enough. Tears filled your eyes, one managed to escape. His thumb caught it and he brushed it aside.

“If you allow me to love you, to feel you like my mind had imagined, things will never be the same.”

You swallowed. “Since the moment, I first met you I gave you my trust. So once again, I do.” Tears, tears of happiness filled your eyes. You trembled as you felt him kiss them away. The softness of his goatee only added to the comfort and sweetness of those kisses.

“Oh, my sweet angel.” As he held you so close, you felt a tremble go through him. Your eyes were unwavering from his. “Long ago, I pledged my life to France, though now, I pledge my life to you.”

Flames from the candles flickered around the two of you, before once again standing proud casting their light as where it could reach. You wondered if it was caused from a stray breeze that found its way through a crack in one of the walls, or perhaps it was Lachesis giving you and Enjolras her blessing.

“Oh Enjolras,” You wrapped yourself tighter against him. “I pledge my heart, and give you my life.”

His lips met yours and you clung onto him. This kiss was just as hungry as the one in the alley, but there was also a warmth and tenderness to this one. As you felt yourself press against him once again, a soft moan rose from the depths of you. Your lips parted and his eyes moved over you, yet his grip on you did not loosen. If he had, you were certain that your trembling legs would not have held you up.

“Mon doux ange, tu vas bien ?”

“Yes. It all feels so good.”

“I’m glad.”

******

Your heart was thudding hard in your chest as you laid on your side under Enjolras’s fuzzy blanket. You may have still been in your chemise with your stockings that clung to your thighs, but for the first time, you were without your corset. His nimble fingers plucked, pulled and finally loosen the laces of it.

You were in no fear of growing light headed. Though, as you watched Enjolras not that far away from you in his small room, watching as he shed clothes made you fuzzy all over.

All that remained at the moment was his puffy white shirt, that you were convinced looked the most dashing and a very nice set of breeches. This sight of him, leaning there, as he had a drink. Wanting to freshen himself up for you, made you warm all over. But those soft feelings were short lived.

As you eyed him there, like this made you feel tingly all over. It caused you to rub your thighs together. Something, you had not done before but now, it felt right.

You shifted back into bed, as he sat down on its edge. The mattress gave into his weight. “My love,” He cupped your cheek. “Is this something you truly want?”

“Yes, with all of me I do.” Your voice was just above a whisper.

******

“I do not believe we will need this.” He told you as he gently pulled the blanket from you.

Seeing how the chemise laid on you with no corset, no petticoat made his breath catch. Despite extinguishing two of the four candles, he could still see all of you.

Turning, while leaning on his elbow he reached out to you. “My lovely girl.” He breathed.

For a moment, he just held you close your chest rose and fell with his. His eyes moved over the how your hair framed your face to the curve of your cheeks down to the line of your jaw.

“Enjolras, kiss me.”

At the sound of your voice he met your eyes, tilting his head down his lips met yours. He relished the softness of you as he felt you draw closer against him. His hand that and been idly caressing your arm now pulled you closer still.

A smile momentarily curled his lips as he felt you tremble. “Yes, my love.” He cooed softly. “Is your heart racing like mine?”

“Yes.” Your voice was hushed yet stretched in an expectation that matched his own.

“I want to see more of you, love.”

“Ok.”

Gently, as he inwardly trembled he grabbed the hem of your chemise he pulled it up and over your head. His eyes grew at the sight of you. “Oh my ange, mon doux ange.” He spoke softly. He wrapped arm around you again.

He could see the flush fill your cheeks and all the emotions that came with it, fill your eyes. “You,” His words stumbled. “You are so lovely, mon doux ange. You have no reason to flush.”

In his studies at the university he had seen his share of women in their nude form depicted in art or in books but none them could prepare him for you.

His lips met yours and he kissed you, while his finger tips merely grazed the side of one of your breasts. They gentle weight was so soft and firm it caused his stomach to tighten. The kiss the two of you shared broke as his thumb grazed the pink bud of your nipple.

The sound that poured from your lips immediately brought heat and a hardness to his loins. “Feel good my love?”

“Oh, yes.”

You arched and writhed as he held you, his fingertips continued caressing, relishing in the sounds he pulled from you.

“I want, no I need to feel more of you.” He laid you down beside him. Sitting up he pulled his shirt from his breeches.

You were so sensitive that as he came back to lay against you, it pulled the most delightful sounds. Your lashes fluttered, passion was fiery in your eyes as he gazed down at you. “Touch me again.” You almost pleaded.

“Yes, of course my love.”

Only this time, the temptation was there and he acted on it. He met you in the briefest of kisses before trailing his lips to your throat to your chest. His thumb continued to caress your breast and that sweet little bud, how it made you move against him.

Glancing up at you, made him moan at the mere sight of you. Your eyes close, lips softly parted like the flower petals that they were to let your sweet sounds escape. You bucked as his hand finally left your breast but soon caressed its way down your soft stomach before he glided his hand to the curve of your hip.

Not able to stop himself, he needed to taste more of you. Your throat had not been enough. Lightly, and unsure at first he traced you with his tongue. Oh, it felt so good and how then your fingers had met his scalp and his curls, he moaned himself against you feeling them work their own miracle of sensations in him. His hand caressed at your thigh, the difference between the softness of you and the contrast to the stockings was intoxicating.

It was coming increasingly harder to wear his breeches as they grew tight, taunt even as he grew.

“My love…” His voice was soft.

As he spoke he moved his hand so that came to rest on at the soft and warm apex between your legs.

You arched up like a bow against his, your eyes were half open as they met his. “Oh Enjolras.” As his name broke your lips and your hand came over his, he felt himself twitch against his breeches. A deep moan, that mingled with a desperate groan came from deep with him as he longed to take himself out.

“Love.” He swallowed a breath, he needed air. “I wish to remove these from you.” He hand moved just so and as he did the fabric immediately grew wet. Enjolras, knew from his limited knowledge, this was very good.

“Yes, please. I want you too.” Your eyes pleaded with his.

With your help and wiggling just enough they were soon off and discarded with your chemise. Biting the inside of his cheek, he muffled a chuckle that threatened to bubble from him. As he watched you pull down the stockings that had still proud sat on your legs.

He couldn’t be sure was it realization that filled you or was it your sweet coyness that he was finding incredibly endearing but you cupped yourself, hiding yourself once your legs were free those stockings.

Though, he had managed to catch a glimpse of your sweet mound.

The sight of you as this made him reach down and press a very firm hand against himself. This was growing to be almost much for himself. He sucked in air.

So gently he placed his much larger hand over yours. “You are lovely, mon doux ange. Don’t hide from me now.” He moved his hand gently up and down yours.

“But Enjolras?” You trembled. “I’m nervous.”

“There is no need love, I am just as nervous. Though a longing to feel the softest part of you as taken ahold of me. So may I, will you allow me to touch you?”

“Yes,” You trembled. “It’s just,” Your words lost you for a moment. “It’s just I’ve never had anyone touch me.”

He knew the answer, yet he felt if you voiced it perhaps it would ease how you felt. He smiled at you. “My sweet girl, as there should have never been. I am honored I am the one you chose to lay with.”

“Oh, Oh Enjolras..“ Your words drifted way and a soft moan came from your parted lips, as his hand finally replaced yours.

“I’m here. I’m here.” Gently, he cupped you. Delight shot through him as he slipped two fingers into the soft, wetness of your mound. Never had he felt something so good.

You writhed against his fingers. A louder, and sharper sound came from you as his fingers slipped and discovered a little nub. It felt like the soft buds of your breasts, gently he rubbed at it loving what it did to you when he did.

It brought him so much closer. He didn’t know how much longer he could last. He slowed his fingers and went back to gently cupping you.

“Love?” He drew close and pressed some soft kisses here and there.

Your hand felt amazing as drew from his hair, caressing his cheek. “Yes.” Your reply was breathless.

He swallowed. “All of this, your loveliness it is almost too much. I wish, I yearn to be one with you.” He could feel as your heart that already felt like it was beating hard, like his own beat harder at his words.

As your eyes met his, searching his and as the silence grew longer from you, he began to worry. Had he asked too much.

“My treasure,” He chewed his lip. It was probably much to ask, he may have pledged his life to you but it wasn’t the same as being wed.

“Please, I want us to be one. I want to feel you.”

“Then it is with great pleasure and from my heart, faire l’amour to you my ange.”

Reaching down he began to undo the buttons of his trousers, relief over the fabric loosening, gave him comfort. Not wanting too, but knowing it was needed he stood beside the bed once again. As he did, he finished undoing the last of the buttons on his trousers, the pushing them down and stepping free of them. He was finally as nude as you.

Without even thinking, he cupped and hid himself from you. A pang of worry shot through him. What would you make of seeing him naked.

“Oh Enjolras.” You whispered.

You reached out and your fingertips gently grazed the tuffs of hair on his stomach and moved down to where his hands held himself.

Was it possible that this gentle touch that he just barely felt made him even more aroused. Where before he twitched against his trousers, now he did against his hands.

“You are like paintings, statues from the days of past.”

Now, he flushed. A feeling, he had never thought would fill him, but he welcomed it. “Truly?”

“Yes.”

******

Carefully, Enjolras came back into the bed and this time he settled between your legs, the sight of him took your breath. His curls were a mess, his eyes were focused and the sight of him made the pleasurable ache once again blossom between your legs, only this time it was the mere sight of him that did that to you. An eagerness took a hold of you as to how the rest of this would be.

His hand came along side you to brace himself. “Now, my love I have heard this may hurt but I promise, I will not allow that pain to linger.”

You nodded. “I believe you.”

You inhaled as pleasurable tingles erupted at the mere feel of his tip rubbing up against you. “Oh, oh that feels good.” Your head began to tilt back. You fought it. You wanted to watch.

“Good, good.” He cooed softly, in contrast to the strain you saw sharpen features. Your eyes meeting your heart swelled. “My love here comes the part that may be painful.” He warned.

As he began to enter you, immediately you felt the resistance of your body, there was a sliver of pain and you clung to him, whimpering.

“I’m here, mon doux ange. I’m right here.”

His voice was soft but there was a tightness to it. You don’t know if it reached his face since you squeezed your eyes shut. He lips grazed your forehead.

“Take a breath for me.”

“Ok.” You did as he asked, and you felt as he slid in once again.

This time there was only a pinch worth of pain then he was in. Blinking, you opened your eyes, it felt good.

“Better, love?“

You met his eyes and smiled. “Yes, you feel good.” You were a little shaky but this was giving you flutters everywhere.

“Good, je vais te faire l'amour maintenant.”

Without a further word, you looked up at him once again, his name was a breathless whisper on your lips before his met yours in a hungry kiss. As your tongues move together as you felt him moving in and out of you. His cheek with soft wiry hair of his goatee, you felt his breath before you heard his voice. “You feel so good ange.” His words a whisper.

You body delighted in how he felt in and against you. You wrapped you arms around him, pulling him closer still. Unsure of yourself, you attempted to move with him. It pulled out the most pleasurable sounds from him.

“Yes. Yes.” He panted. “Just like that.”

He moved faster and deeper, it wasn’t long till you felt like you were going to come undone. A sound came from you that you couldn’t hold back, as it poured from your lips it was a mixture of a moan and a whine.

His warm brown eyes met yours filled with concerned. “I’m ok.” You promised.

You felt yourself arching and tightening against the solid warmth of his body, “Oh, yes..yes.” You said in full abandon, panting unable to catch your breath. Your legs trembled as he continued to slide in and out of you. The pleasure that was filling you, was sharpening between your legs. It was exquisite, though it began to border on pain.

******

He was close to cumming, he could practically taste his release. You were so wonderfully tight. He never knew it to feel this good. Seeing you like this flushed and eyes shiny, far exceeded what anything his mind had imagined and felt better too.

“I feel like,” You finally managed to say. “I feel like I could break Enjolras.”

“Oh, that is good my sweet angel. Give yourself up to it.”

A soft whimper came from you, as he pulled himself tighter against you. The erect buds of your breasts were like small caresses. Your moans grew, till finally you made a moan that sounded like his name breaking your lips, as your body tightened around him.

He grew with pride, he had most assuredly made you cum. “That’s my sweet girl.” He cooed softly as you shook under him, before you began to wilt. It was a sight that only fueled his desire for you. He thrust, once twice more as he made his way even deeper inside of you before he finally came hard, arching into you. He felt as your fingers nestled in his hair making him spasm in the aftermath of cumming so hard.

“Oh, my sweet angel.” He murmured, he pressed a hasty kiss to your lips before resting his forehead against your shoulder. “My sweet angel.” He exhaled pressing some kisses on your shoulder, the curve of and where-ever else his lips could reach.

******

The dark blue, purplish tinge of the false dawn flooded Enjolras room. When you awoke with a start, from a nightmare. The anguish of it clawed at you, as you fought to awake up and leave the feelings of the nightmare where they were in the nightmare and not in the waking world.

Sighing, you glanced behind you and saw Enjolras, lightly stirring. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you watched him rub at one of his eyes.

“Are you alright my love?” He asked, blinking he opened one eye while he continued to rub at the other.

“Yes, just a silly nightmare.” You said sourly.

“Come here, my sweet treasure. No more nightmare.” He felt silly in the best possibly way. “Let me hold you in hopes of chasing it away.”

@aftertheglitterfades @sebastianstvn @dealswiththedevilsblog @randomstory56 @pl1nfa1 @phantomxoxo @ladybug0095 @the-iridescent-phoenix @maryan028 @netusha @kindablackenedsuperhero @crazyworldofsiani @moondev1l @eddiethebloodiedhand @offical-bee @lluviamg06 @samunson83

[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. ♡

[mypoisonedvine]

which joe character do you think is the best at giving oral? bonus points if you prove it with a blurb

okay me and bex discussed this... THOROUGHLY. and we think that the best is probably enjolras and I've been waiting to write this one cause he's-- he's so-- [barking noises]

warnings: fucking guess. it's in the ask y'all. it's RIGHT THERE.

You whined, head falling back onto the mess of cotton sheets beneath you as Enjolras kissed along your inner thigh. "Darling," you breathed, running your fingers through his curls-- but you'd already made quite a mess of them throughout the last half-hour of desperate, needy, messy kisses.

He hummed against your skin, you even felt him smile a bit, but continued to lick and bite closer and closer to where your body was all but screaming with need for him.

When he gave you just a kiss-- just one, sweet, tiny little kiss to your clit-- you moaned his name desperately. Then he really smiled, and dove right in to lick and suck all over your cunt. "Fuck!" you yelped, your body jolting as he slipped two fingers inside you quickly and curled them in that way he knew exactly how to do. "Oh-- I'll come, fuck--"

"Already?" he had to laugh; normally damn near nothing could break him away from you, but he couldn't let something like that go by so fast. "We've only just started, my love--"

"No!" you denied. "You've been teasing me since before the sun went down-- a-and I was thinking of you all day."

He licked harder over your swollen bud, twisting those fingers inside you as he went. "Can tell you've needed me all day, love-- look how you soaked my fingers!"

Pulling them out to show you, he suckled some of your sticky flavour off of them-- and then brought them to your lips for you to taste the rest. He loved making you taste yourself, you weren't sure why but far be it from you to complain about it.

"I'll make it all worth your wait, beautiful-- you'll come on my fingers and tongue at least three times before the sun comes up again. Can you do that for me?"

You nodded, biting your lip; "I'm sure I'll find it within myself, darling, with your talent. As long as you promise to let me pleasure you after as well."

He laughed sweetly, "If you're awake. And if you're awake, I may not have done my job correctly."

[bizaar]

enjolras x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

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

He wouldn’t like that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He gives it to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Alons-y! Go!”

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

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

Somewhere behind you, Enjolras sighs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I missed you tonight.” He murmurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rock your hips back tentatively against him.

“They weren’t for me.”

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

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

You certainly do yearn, though not presently for liberation.

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

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

He was similarly affected by you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Enjolras…” you whine.

“Hmm?”

“Make love to me,”

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

“As you wish, Mon Cher.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He forces out a breathless laugh.

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

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

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

“I told you — I missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh how he suffers, your poor idealist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You just smile at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How you wish you would let him.

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

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

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

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

“I love you,” you gasp.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Say it again.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It boils over all too quickly.

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

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

Thankfully, he is not far behind you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nasty little voyeurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you love me?”

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

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

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

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

You think that perhaps it is a willful blindness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It won’t come to that.” He says.

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

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

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

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

“I preach nothing.” He says sullenly.

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

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

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

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

Somehow you highly doubt that.

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

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

He doesn’t let you finish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not impossible... simply improbably...

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

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

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

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

You're laughing again, suddenly giddy with possibility.

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

He nods.

“For you, I would leave tonight.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

How terribly cliche.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why does it all rest on your shoulders?

Why is it not enough just to be lovers?

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

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

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

Your heart breaks for him.

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

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

You would shield him from that if you could.

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

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

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

You love it when he's speechless.

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

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

You smile against his lips.

“Then I will come away with you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[babybluebex]

𝐣𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐡 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 (𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬) 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

༻ ralph penbury (timewasters, 2017)

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

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

marking ralph's cheeks with lipstick (fluff)

punishing ralphie for misbehaving (smut)

coked up ralphie fucks your ass (smut)

༻ jamie sampson (kin, 2017)

jamie tells you about harry (angst)

༻ koner (game of thrones, 2017)

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

༻ peter grunauer (overlord, 2018)

reuniting after peter goes to war (angst)

sweet awkward reunion sex (smut)

༻ enjolras (bbc les miserables, 2018)

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

༻ prince paul (catherine the great, 2019)

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

paul yells at you (angst)

paul punishes you for flirting with someone else (smut)

༻ tom grant (make up, 2019)

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

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

boyfriend!tom headcanons (fluff)

teaching tom how to go down on you (smut)

tom convinces you to try anal (smut)

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

making you smile after a hard day (fluff)

cuddling with tom (fluff)

༻ pub!charlie (best move along, 2019)

pub!charlie headcanons(fluff)

nsfw pub!charlie headcanons(smut)

༻ billy knight (cb strike, 2020)

breeding kink (smut)

handjobs (smut)

camilla (fluff)

༻ eric (a quiet place: day one, 2024)

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

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

[of-apollo]

“ NAVIGATION ”

—> IMPORTANT LINKS:

Masterlist

Wattpad

AO3

Ko-Fi

Ship requests

Request rules and fandom list below the cut ->

—> WHO I WRITE FOR:

Ted Lasso: Dani Rojas, Sam Obisanya, Jamie Tartt, Ted Lasso, Rebecca Welton and Keeley Jones

MCU: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Pietro Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff and Yelena Belova

Good Omens: Furfur

BBC Ghosts: Thomas Thorne, Alison Cooper, Kitty

BBC Merlin: Gwaine, Lancelot, Arthur, Guinevere, Morgana

Les Miserables: Enjolras, Grantaire, Eponine, Cosette

ASSORTED: Black Noir (The Boys), Miguel O’Hara (Spiderverse), Apollo (PJO)

- PLATONIC ONLY:

WWDITS: Nandor, Guillermo, Nadja, Laszlo

Good Omens: Aziraphale, Crowley

BBC Ghosts: The Captain, Pat Butcher, Fanny Button, Mary

Please feel free to ask about other fandoms that I repost/mention! These are just the ones I am 100% comfortable in writing currently, but I am willing to consider others upon request!

—> REQUEST RULES:

I will NOT write about: pregnancy, suicide, self harm, prejudice/discrimination or any level of smut.

I write headcanons or imagines, so please clarify which you’d prefer. Otherwise, I’ll choose what I think fits the request best.

I use they/them pronouns for all of my writing, but I will consider using she/her upon request.

If you are unsure of any of these rules, please feel free to DM me or send an ask for clarification!

—> BLOG RULES:

My asks are always open, whether for something writing related or just a chat! Just please be kind and respectful when you visit my blog! :)

My requests are always open, and you are free to send more than one at a time (I’d cap it at five, please don’t go overboard!).

A bit about me: I’m Welsh, a history lover and musical theatre nerd. I also love Taylor Swift a whole lot. Talk to me about any of those things, you have my heart.

[television-bodies]

fic writer tag game

thank you for the tag @palmviolet ! love things like this. blessings upon you and all your sheep

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

five! my ao3 account is but a baby

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

63k. in approximately ten days this is going to jump by ~15k so perhaps i should have waited to do this tag but alas. impatience

3. What fandoms do you write for?

currently only les mis. so many themes to explore... so many characters to sink my teeth into... so many dynamics to look at and so many situations into which i can drop people...

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

i mean. this is going to be all of my fics but here's the ranking

suckerpunch

visiting hours

restoring the balance

tech week

the two sides of monsieur valentine (the perils of rarepairs)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes!!! i love comments. fuel. life blood

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

well. there's a major character death marinating in my drafts, yet to be unleashed

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

currently all of them have pretty happy endings, which is something i'm sort of trying to change because i'm starting to get a little bored of writing that all the time. sorry. scared of getting myself into a funk! all things considered though, it's probably tech week. those final lines were in my head from the very start of the fic, and with the whole christmas vibe... yeah. that one, i think

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not so far! hoping that will not change!

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

not as of yet and i can't see myself doing so if i'm honest but i'm also a big believer in never saying never because i don't know who i am (or more importantly, who i will be). so. not at the moment. but in ten years maybe i'll look back at this and laugh. you know

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

again, not as of yet! not a full crossover, with characters from each thing intersecting, anyway. i've got some AUs for les mis that are specific to other interests, but nothing closer than that.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't see many fics in the les mis fandom getting translated at all anymore! the fandom is so lovely but it's definitely quieter than it has been in the past, so it doesn't surprise me. i'd love for it to happen, but no, not yet.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

nooo. i like the idea of it, if there was someone i think i worked well enough with -- but i don't know anybody over here well enough for that yet, i don't think. i am currently bad at messaging people/interacting on any level deeper than reblogging posts or commenting on their fics, which is really something i should work on. open to the possibility though!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

enjolras and grantaire, oh my god. living in my brain for goddamn YEARS now. years upon years. with that said, i do have certain Feelings about them -- maybe i'll go more into detail with this someday on some other post but really i think that the way they're done in canon is kind of perfect, which is why i don't write canon era fic for them. there's nothing i can do to that that would make it worthwhile, to me. but putting them in different time periods or situations? ohhh yeah

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

i've got bits and pieces of a les mis AU for the BBC series race across the world which i am still sort of attached to but can't see myself doing anymore, purely because writing the logistical parts of how the race etc functions in that show was boring me, and i don't want to be bored by something that i'm doing for my enjoyment. but maybe i'll do a post at some point laying out the main plot points if anybody's interested because i do still like the concept

16. What are your writing strengths?

probably still nailing this down, if i'm honest. i like descriptions.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i always think i'm not great at dialogue, but i've been told the opposite, so who knows! i think my issue with it comes more from wondering where the conversation should go/what should go in the middle of two points i want the characters to make, rather than making it sound realistic. i think i'm fairly good on the realism front.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

occasionally i'll make characters say the odd phrase in another language, but nothing more than that. i'm not fluent in any language other than english, so unless it's something i'm sure of in spanish i think i'd just be worrying if the translation is correct, which isn't worth it to me (and there isn't much use for spanish in what i'm currently writing lmao)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

fanfiction dot net days are ones we do not talk about... a haze in my mind... banished to the darkness... but i actually do know the answer to this -- it was dracula, for some fucking reason. (i know the reason. but i'm not sharing)

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

i'm quite fond of suckerpunch, just because i think it's sort of speedrunning my personal exr manifesto, but i don't know! seriously no answer to this! taking that as a good sign: maybe my favourite is yet to come.

no pressure tags go to @pumpkinspice-prouvaire @sereendy @shamedumpster and anybody else who wishes to do it!

[decodedlvr]

leave it to me to not leave things how they seem butttt,

pov: he’s shakin that last bit of cum out

[justgayrevolutionnaries]

I said this before and I will say it again but one thing I really hate is the fact that after Joseph quinn's rise to fame thanks to stranger things, a lot of people are all of sudden starting to

- worship bbc enjolras bc "I mean he wasn't the best Enjolras but c'mon it's joseph Quinn" (actual quote from a friend, it made me so angry)

- write bbc enjolras x reader ; very out of character fics in which Enjolras is boiled down to a hot man played by joseph quinn

- write bbc enjolras straight smut bc once again they would write anything with joseph quinn

And like guys no please back off you can't just burst into a fandom you don't know anything about (because I am pretty convinced most of them don't know shit about les mis) and bring your toxic stuff here just because you like an actor

I mean I am sorry if that comes out as disrespectful, I usually let people do whatever they want with characters because it's their opinion, but right now I really don't care and I actually hate the whole joseph quinn as bbc enjolras resurgence. Also this post might get controversial and I might get a lot of "let us do what we want" reactions but like I said I don't care and I won't back off because yes, just taking a character (and actually it's not even a character, just that one adaptation of the character), defending him because you find him cute all of sudden and taking his entire personality away from him just to write a love story because "the actor is hot" can actually be seen as a toxic behaviour for the actual fantom

[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

[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. ♡

[gayforjosephquinn]

Idk if you’ve watched bbc’s les miserables but if you have, can you write an Enjolras x male reader? If you’re comfortable writing smut, perhaps them making love the night before the day they go to fight at the barricade? If you don’t write smut, it could be anything you’d like honestly I just crave a fix with him!<3

I did just finish watching this last week, funnily enough. This is my first time writing smut, so I'm sorry if it's not very good!

Enjolras x male reader: Smut

Smut (m/m), Reader is male-bodied & uses he/him, No extreme kinks (just some praise), No spoilers! | Requests are open!

Cheers and song died down as the pair left the tavern. Enjolras and Y/N stumbled towards their apartment. Both had drank in honor of the revolution in the morning. The pair struggled a bit on the stairs, coordination lost from the alcohol. Everytime the wooden stairs creaked beneath their weight sent a cringe through their faces. They took turns playfully shushing each other whenever the other took a step. Fortunately they made it to the top without harm or waking the cranky landlord who lived below.

The apartment wasn’t anything to marvel at. It was quaint--all of their items squeezed into a single room. The roof was low, forcing them to duck their heads to avoid hitting it. Of course, that left them with pain in the neck and back, but they couldn’t move anywhere else. Hell, they were lucky they could afford this place. Y/N found his way towards the small bed they shared, bending over to remove his boots. Enjolras followed, pressing his back against the dark wooden walls.

Y/N glanced towards his lover, a giddy smile on his face, making him look his age for once. Such a simple things to warm his heart. “Excited for tomorrow, dear?” he teased, setting his boots on the floor. Those big brown eyes met his own, butterflies fluttered in his stomach. “Of course, love, this is a moment of a lifetime! To organize such a large demonstration!” Enjolras’s excitement was too big to be expressed, his arms flailed about as he spoke. He walked towards a desk pressed against the opposite wall. He busied himself with the varying papers and books strewn about, “They will have no choice but to witness! Witness as the working class revolts against them and their tyranny!” He turned to face Y/N. “It will be written in history books for centuries to come.”

Y/N stood, placing his hands on the other’s shoulders, “Not to mention what will become of the conversation of people like us.” Enjolras grabbed Y/N’s waist, “‘People like us?’ Queer revolutionaries?” A smirk crawled up his lips as Y/N laughed and nodded. One hand raised on Y/N’s cheek while a warm arm wrapped around the small of his back. Their lips pressed against the other, fitting perfectly together.

Their sweet, innocent kiss soon turned heated as Enjolras bit Y/N’s lip. His tongue slipped into his mouth as he moaned. No fight was offered, Y/N allowed his boyfriend to explore his mouth as his hands gripped onto the other’s beautiful curls. The two stepped backwards, only stopping when the back of Y/N’s legs ran into the bed. Smirk ever-so-present, Enjolras gestured towards the bed, silently inviting Y/N to lay back, which he obliged. Before he could comprehend what was happening, Enjolras was unbuttoning his trousers, providing much needed relief to his hardening cock.

Stroking him through his briefs, Enjolras glanced up towards him. “Is this okay, love?” Y/N frantically nodded, causing Enjolras’s grin to somehow get wider. He teasingly removed his briefs, allowing Y/N’s erection to spring free. The cold air meeting him caused a shiver. Resting on his arms, he raised himself off the bed to watch as Enjolras stroked him. Y/N bit his lip. The same eyes that made him swoon almost a year ago stared up at him innocently as Enjolras took the head of his cock inside his mouth. He groaned, throwing his head back. Quickly, Enjolras took more and more of him as he quickened his pace.

Sinful noises filled the space, Y/N thanked all the higher powers that their landlord’s hearing had gone bad. “Oh, fuck, Enjolras. Don’t-fuck-don’t stop,” Y/N moaned, a hand on the back of the other’s head, gently guiding him to go on. Despite his pleas, Enjolras’s mouth left his cock. His lips were swollen and red and so kissable. The hand on the back of his head guided him towards Y/N, engaging in another heated makeout session.

Without words being spoken, the two stripped the remainder of their clothes, only stopping to kiss each other and bite the other’s exposed skin.

Y/N laid on his back with Enjolras between them. With a gentle caress of his lover’s face, Enjolras whispered, “May I, dear?” Y/N responded with a muttered, “yes,” and he grabbed a small bottle of lubrication and a rubber from the floor.

Covering his cock with a generous amount of oil, Enjolras pressed the head of his member against Y/N’s entrance. As he pressed in, he lowered his head, peppering his neck, shoulder, and chest with kisses. “You’re doing so good, Y/N. You feel so divine, my love,” he muttered praises. Y/N’s grip on his back strengthened, nails clawing at him. He could only pant, his brain gone fuzzy from the feeling of becoming fuller. Finally, Enjolras bottomed out, still kissing and praising his lover. He waited for consent to continue moving, not wanting to hurt his love. After some time, Y/N gave him permission to begin moving.

Slow, tender thrusts sent the pair into moans, increasing in volume and frequency as Enjolras went faster. Y/N’s cock bounced in time of his thrusts, leaking precum across his abdomen without care. His eyes screwed shut from pleasure. Once he did open them, he was met with the glorious sight of Enjolras pleasure-stricken face above him, hair stuck to his forehead from sweat.

“Enjolras-fuck, fuck-I’m so close. I'm so close,” Y/N moaned out. Enjolras reached down and stroked his cock in response. “I know, dear. I am too,” a filthy moan escaped his lips, “Cum with me, Y/N. You can do that for me, can’t you?” Frantic, Y/N nodded, the mixture of Enjolras stroking his cock and fucking him made thinking impossible. “That’s it. That’s my good boy,” he cooed, fucking into even harder than before. The praise went straight to his dick. “Enjolras, I can’t, I got to,” Y/N pleaded, words slurring as his head thrashed about.

“Then cum for me, love.”

That’s all it took for Y/N’s climax to overtake him. Nerves burned from pleasure. His arms reached for anything to ground himself as white liquid covered his stomach and Enjolras’s hand. He felt Enjolras’s thrust grow erratic before stopping, burying himself into the crook of his neck and moaning his name into his ear.

Time was a blur. Y/N felt lips being pressed against his before the warmth on top of him left. Before he could process its absence, Enjolras came back with a rag, cleaning him up, before tossing it and the used rubber away. He laid beside the blissed out Y/N, wrapping his arms around him. Y/N turned, pressing his back to the other’s chest. “You are gorgeous, dear. Just beautiful.” Enjolras pressed more kisses from his neck down his shoulder and upper arm and back. “As are you.” Y/N traced circles into the warm arm wrapped around him. It didn’t take long for the two to fall asleep like this, basking in each other’s presence.

[pumpkinspice-prouvaire]

btw i don't care if people write enjolras×female reader smut. i just don't understand how people find bbc!enjolras hot. are we looking at the same person.

[phoenixflames12]

I was tagged by @kcrabb88- thank you so much friend! 

1) how many works do you have on AO3?

100 

2) what’s your total AO3 word count?

350,714

3) how many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

I’ve written for 31 fandoms (mostly single one shots), but the fandoms at the top of my list are Outlander, The Terror (2018), BBC Poldark, Sharpe Series, Les Miserables and Rivers of London 

4) what are your top five fics by kudos?

A Daughter Lost, A Father Found- a retelling of Outlander Book 3 ‘Voyager’ considering if Brianna had gone through the stones to find Jamie instead of Claire. 

Vergangenheit- My Outlander WWII AU epic saga that traces Jamie (a captain in the 51st Highlanders Division) return from a POW camp and the ways in which he and his children grow and develop in post-war Scotland. 

Someone To Die For- A Pride and Prejudice and Zombies one shot in which Fitzwilliam and Lizzie are separated in the chaos of the final battle and come to a realisation that they love each other- aw. 

An Endless Night- The prequel to Vergangenheit- a epistolary fic charting a set of letters between Captain Jamie Fraser of the 51st Highlanders Division and his family during his internment in German POW camps. 

Resurgam- A missing moment from Outlander Book 6 ‘A Breath of Snow and Ashes’ where Jamie is comforted by Brianna.

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

I do and I love doing it! I love trying to explain why I’ve made a particular choice, or trying to flesh out a character’s backstory. It’s also lovely to create a conversation with readers and build a writers’ and readers’ community. 

6) what’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

After The Battle (a missing moment from Book 8 of the Aubreyad) ends on a  pretty angsty note, as does Facing the Ghosts- my Barricade Day fic from 2017 with all of the dead amis appearing to Marius and Cosette. 

7) do you write crossovers? if so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t write crossovers! 

8) have you ever received hate on a fic?

I think I got hate (or more of a why have you made character x survive and that how dare I not comply to certain parts of that fandom’s collectively hate for said character for some reason) on A Daughter Lost, A Father Found, but otherwise everyone’s been lovely! 

9) do you write smut? if so what kind?

I don’t write explicit smut and I don't intend to. It’s either fade to black or the scene starts afterwards. 

10) have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge! 

11) have you ever had a fic translated?

No, but I would love to. If any translators want to translate my fic, please get in touch! 

12) have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not officially, but I have had friends who have beta- read for me, and @pudentilla has been the most amazing sound board/inspiration for some things to do with my most recent WIP Known To Those You Love, so I think she deserves a writing credit, or will do when it’s finished! 

13) what’s your all-time favourite ship?

Romantic would be John Bridgens/Henry Peglar from The Terror, platonic would be the triumvirate of Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac from Les Miserables. 

14) what’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I have a WIP on fanfic.net titled Out of the Darkness which was a canon era partially survival au for Les Miserables (my first chaptered fic!) that I highly doubt I’ll ever finish now. 

15) what are your writing strengths?

Creating backgrounds and strong atmospheres of places. I love grounding characters in a set place and developing their surroundings so they’re not just in a black box in my head. 

16) what are your writing weaknesses?

Blocking. Getting characters to move. I’m great with getting in their heads and exploring all of their inner thoughts and questions and turmoil and love etc, but getting them from point a to point b? Agh! Save me! 

17) what are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I’m a fan, but it needs to be done well and not be glaring. I did it with my Outlander stuff with Gaelic because it’s such a big part of the canon.

18) what was the first fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter. Definitely. 

19) what’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

I don’t know!! That’s really hard! I’m loving writing Known To Those You Love and I loved writing Vergangenheit because that’s when I really came into myself as a long fic author and got to grips with consistent deep dives into research, plotting and planning as I went along. I also got to write a love letter to Scotland whilst living in Yorkshire, so that was a bonus!  I also loved writing On Loving A Wounded Boy, because I got to give Ben Perkins a happy ending (he doesn’t die in this and had the chance to flesh out Miranda, who is barely a character in the film that she appears in at all.) So probably a toss up between those three if I really had to choose. 

I will no pressure tag: @pudentilla, @silvermagpies, @boilyerheid and anyone else who wants to have a go! 

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 30

Summary: Interesting moments for Enjolras and his girl…

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

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

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

You giggled at your reflection, you eyed it up and down. You were going to be a mommy. Reaching, you grabbed one of the fresh tarts. You could eat them forever.

“Do you like these too?” You laid a hand on your stomach. “Let us take the air.”

Going to your table beside the bed you grabbed a book. Then holding your dress you went out to where the doors led to the garden.

It still needed a lot of work. And honestly the idea of paying someone to design and then up keep it was rather excessive. This was your first season, perhaps next year.

You smiled seeing that Angela had made your bench, your little nook more comfy for you and the baby. The pillows and blankets were a welcome sight.

*******

Your heard the ground crunching and looked up from your book. You smiled.

“Yes, Angela?”

The house keeper smiled. “Sir Julien is still in town, however a letter and a package arrived for him.”

“Oh! How nice he will be happy to receive mail.”

“Yes? Shall I put them in his study then?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

********

Enjolras, walked through the market. Memories danced in his head, as he reminded walking through that one market with you. You had been as fresh and as lovely as the white blossoms that swept through the garden.

“Oh!” He replied and grimaced as yet another person bumped into him. It made him remember, he bit his cheek. He had Gavroche walk you home. His broken, bloodied body took shape and then faded fast.

It made his anxiousness of you wanting to go to the market with him tug harder onto him. People had already stepped on his feet and even bumped harder into him contacting with the table. That could hurt the baby and you. He would not let that happen.

As he shifted the satchel that slung on shoulder from one to the other. It was already filled with some rather nice vegetables and fruits. His nose twitched as he grew closer to where the the meats salted and other wise were on display for the choosing.

*******

He brought the satchel and the meats directly to the kitchen. Those that tended to his house were getting used to him not also helping with some of these tasks.

When he had been a youth, the servants his parents had would serve him and his mother. But now as a grown man, and after doing much on his own he could not go back to the ways of his youth. He compromised and let them cook, bake and help you but moments like this, he insisted upon.

He was just wiping his hands from the meats when Angela came into the kitchen from the root cellar.

“How nice I do enjoy when you bring things that I shall change into something you and the lady shall enjoy.” She smiled.

He nodded. “Tell me where is she?”

The older woman chuckled. “Oh sorry.”

He made a dismissive gesture as she apologized for the informal response to his question. He knew, there was no keeping you in the bedroom or even one of the parlors with the weather as nice as it was.

She smiled. “She is in the gardens, comfortable among the pillows and blankets we brought her. And she has a book for her mind.”

“Good.”

Turning, he made his way to you.

*******

He stopped just shy of where he knew your bench was and peered around a shrub to gaze upon you. His heart lifted and smile graced his lips. The sight, pushed away the gray cloud of the past away.

Your lips were as elegant as artist’s brush stroke. He felt blessed to know how they feel. He longer for another kiss. He would have one now here in the gardens.

His boots made the ground crunch and the tall grass, parted a he closed the distance.

“My love!” You called out sweetly.

His heart warmed as he watched you hold out your arms to him. How you looked up and your eyes twinkled.

Soon, he was beside you and easily he held you close. Sighing, he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“Have you had a good morning?”

“I have.” You gently pulled back. “I enjoyed some tarts and came out to read.”

He rubbed your arm. “I am happy to hear it. I would have woken you before departing but you were such a sweet sight, so soundly asleep and gentle hand on your stomach.”

You drew a little closer, “You could have woken me.”

He tucked a stray strand behind your ear. “Perhaps, next time.”

You took his hand and he drew it to your lips, he smiled lightly as he felt you press a kiss to his palm.

“Oh! I almost forgot some mail did arrive for you. Angela has brought it to your study.”

Inwardly he stilled. “Did you see if it was from mother or Oliver?”

You shook your head. “It is not my place.”

He pressed his lips together. “We’re in this together.”

You shrugged. “Yes, but you deserve some privacy.”

“Thank you.” He looked you over. “Shall we go in and perhaps, have some sandwiches made. I can tell you all about the market and the e butcher.”

“And maybe we can discuss what do with the nursery?”

He chuckled. “Yes, we can do that too.”

*******

Stopping outside, his office he decided he had better see what the mail brought.

“Ange, have you left me any tarts?”

You stopped and giggled. “There are a few that remain.”

He cupped your cheek. “It is nice to discover how my ange, is sweet and how she enjoys sweet treats.”

“You have given me a chance to enjoy them once again.”

“I am glad.” He eyed the doorknob and then looked back at you. “Please, tell Angela then that I would like one with tea.”

You giggled. “I will enjoy one with you before we have our sandwiches.”

“Good. All of these tarts will make our baby just as sweet as their mother.”

His hand drifted from your cheek and it ghosted the side of your stomach.

You smiled brightly. “I hope so. But I want them to be brave and strong like you.”

He gave you a half smile. “We’ll see.”

*******

When he saw how large the package was, he strode back to the door and locked it. A pit of nervousness blossomed and began to grow.

He opened the envelop first. He swallowed, seeing his father’s scrawling across the paper.

Son,

Knew it was your heart that would bring you back to us. Grateful, you got that from your mother.

A solider, came by looking for you. Apparently, you have an edge. It has balanced your heart.

He is looking for you. He is on a ship. Headed for the new word. Anger has consumed him. His ship docks in London. He found us. I believe he will find you.

I sent my dueling sabers. You were always good behind a sword, if he finds you choose your battle. Ask for a duel.

In conclusion, be firm and a few tears never hurt you. Your mother approves of your wife so for once I will blindly approve of her as well. Keep her in your heart and keep your head clear, if that man finds you and accepts the duel.

Your mother sends her love.

Father

He chewed on his thumb. Enjolras, never ever fretted. He always knew the right course of action. He was always victorious. He always could look ahead and see the possible outcomes. All of which usually would be end his favor.

He was certain that sometimes he heard the whistle of Death’s scythe as it sliced through the air barely missing him. Or he’d feel as Death’s boney fingers graze his sleeve as he would attempt to yank him from this world.

Pulling back the heavy velvet material, two swords were nestled there. As he looked at the polished metal before him; he couldn’t see the future. It blurred, became hazy. He had to keep his eyes open. Could he write adequate letters. Could he make peace with you, and his unborn child that still grew in your belly. He did not know.

@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

[stardancerluv]

A Time to Love and to Fight

Part 29

Summary: New developments for Enjolras and his girl.

Notes/Warning: 18 & Over! Male receiving consensual handjob. The death of some rats. Mentions of violence.

My sweet angel - mon doux ange, Angel - Ange

❤️, reblogs, comments…feedback…messages are always welcome! And thank you!

You inhaled deeply, the fresh flowers brought a sweetness to the air that reminded you of walking or sitting in the park. It made you miss such days. You sat up against the plush pillows and gave Enjolras a look, eyebrow raises.

“This is a lovely room, truly it is.”

The shades of pink and cream were like something out of a dream. Enjolras, wanted you to have that. The bed gave as he came to sit beside you. “It really came together.”

It had been hard for him to acquire so many things. He had never been one to enjoy excessive spending. Though he knew it was expected of him to appear a man of means. However, making a home with you, and knowing you were with child; it grew easier. You missed being with him and picking out treasures.

“But, but I miss coming out with you. I miss doing things.”

He placed a hand over yours. “But look what has been happening.”

“I only fainted once.”

“Once is too many.”

You could see his jaw tighten.

“And now you are carrying our child.”

“I’ll be careful.”

He glanced around. He spoke just above a whisper. You knew he didn’t necessarily trust the staff.

“England doesn’t sit well with me, my love.”

“I’ll be with you. We, we could go to a market or perhaps a dress maker.” Your gave him a soft look. “They can’t be dangerous.”

“I’ll think about.”

He reached over to the nightstand, he grabbed the book you both loved. He handed it to you.

“Read and travel among the stars with this.”

He paused, a smile appeared on his lips.

“I have secured more candles. You do not have to only read by the light of the sun.”

You didn’t care you, you hugged him then. He shifted in your embrace to put the book down beside the two of you. His arms wrapped around you. You sighed laying your head on his shoulder.

*********

He drank a little more and played cards with a riskier flair.

Before arriving at the pub that night, he finally sent off a letter to his mother. He had pressed the envelop to his lips and then heart before bidding it a safe journey to his mother’s hands. With a twirl of the feather he wrote reams of how the house was coming along and how she was to be a grandmother in the coming months. He did not dare telling her of your lightheadedness or even the fainting spell. No darkness would be out on paper, only happiness and joy.

Now that you were tucked away in the house, in that beautiful room. He felt like he could relax. Now, you be comfortable and grow into your role as mother.

Coins jangled on the wooden table, paper notes of value were shuffled about and ale on occasion spilled along the side of the tankards. Some tightened while others loosened their hold on the cards would deliver a victory or a loss.

Once the moon was high enough in the sky, and his head was filled with the pleasant fuzzy warmth his ale gave him, he returned home. He’d shed his boots and coat and pull you close. He’d be lying if he didn’t miss your quick with or a peal of your laughter while sitting in that pub. The few moments, he had shared you with the company of Courfeyrac or Grantaire he missed it.

Pressing his lips together, he made it back rather easily to where he now resided with you. Not sure if he should be pleased or not, he was able to remain in cloaked darkness of the shadows and managed to make it very easily back up to the lovely bedroom, he made for the two of you.

The door creaked ever so as he opened it, it made him wince and he slipped in and soon moved fast so he could close it as soon as he opened it. Not going far, he soon let his heavy coat fall from him. He loosened some of the buttons on his shirt before leaning against the wall and gritting his teeth he pulled one and the other boot free of his person.

A soft sound floated over to him, where the candles burned low. Glancing in its direction he could just make out as he saw you moving.

“Love? You’ve returned.”

He smiled, making quick strides over to you. “It is I my ange, I have arrived.”

You rubbed in eye and smiled, pulled the blanket aside. “Then I welcome you home my love. I have missed you.”

His heart picked up speed, he knew the curves and beauty that was barely cover by the chemise you wore. Easily, he crawled in, then sitting up and he urged you to curl up to his side.

You looked up at him, your nose gently wrinkled. “Oh? I can smell the ale.”

“In my excitement of winning some hands, I did spill some.” He rose his eyebrows. “Do you forgive me?”

You smiled. “I do.”

His lips curled into a broad smile as he felt your lips just barley grazing a spot on his face where he tamed the growth there.

He cupped your cheek, his thumb caressed you. “You are so lovely.” He whispered. His heart warmed a she could actually feel as you flushed.

“I am glad you still think so.”

He paused, the fuzzy warmth still there but your words stuck him. “I always will.”

“Even when my belly grows with our child?”

“Yes, especially.”

He pulled you closer and finding your mouth, he kissed you then. It had felt like a lifetime. At first, you were hesitant but then he felt as your responded. He held you closer. Your warmth and softness was exactly what he had needed.

As he held you closer, and your hand drifted over him as you moved closer, a groan of deep rooted pleasure bubbled from him breaking the kiss. His stomach had tightened. His pleasure of having you so close had quickened his heartbeat.

“Oh? My love are you well? I have not injured you. Have I ?”

“No.” He chewed on his cheek. “But I have not eyed, your chemise as closely. It has quickened my heart for you.”

“Oh? Is that so bad? I am your wife. I miss being one with you.”

The dip in your voice stung.

“Angel, don’t despair.” He bent his head, pressing some soft kisses where you allowed. “Since you are with child we have to be careful.”

You sighed. Your breath warm and soft, distantly he smiled. It was obvious you had some tarts while he was out. Its sweetness lingered on you. “You would be.”

“I could only hope. But what if I hurt you or them, I would never forgive myself. “ He paused, in the muted light he relished the sight of your beauty. “Though I have an idea. And we can still be intimate.” He assured you.

“Oh tell me.”

“Nestle, closer my love.” He urged you. He had remembered how you had enjoyed touching him that one day. “Do you remember, the day you touched me?”

“Yes.”

“I would like you to do that again.”

“Oh can I?”

“Yes, mon doux ange you can. I will help you.”

Shuffling, he managed to open the buttons of his trousers and then move his shirt. He glanced down at you. “Love, I will take myself out and I will let you touch me. I can guide you.”

“Please. You will have to, I will not want to hurt you.”

He smiled, relief filling him as he heard how breathless you had become. He knew this was making your heart beat harder just like his own heart. Easing himself out of his trousers, he sighed and soft moan broke his lips.

“Oh, you are still magnificent.” You whispered.

Your words making his heart squeeze.

“Thank you, love. May I take your hand now?“

“Yes.”

Gently, he took your hand. He help you wrap your fingers around him. His entire being tightened. It felt unbelievable.

“Are you ok?” Your hand twisting on him as you looked back at him.

He coughed. “Yes. That, your hand feels amazing.”

“Oh, good.”

The gently he began guiding your hand. It almost made him come undone right then there.

“Your hand feels so good.” He whispered.

Trembles coursed through him and he bit the inside of his cheek. He would no let go just yet. This was entirely new way of you making him feeling so good.

“Just like that angel.” He encouraged.

He wrapped his hand around yours once again. We will do this a little firmer. He felt like this was a pleasurable torture. Also however in the shadows, watching your hand as it up and down. Was almost too much. His sweet angel.

“Oh, my angel that feels so good.”

He was so close to coming undone. His stomach continued to twist into pleasurable knots. He shook.

“I’m…I’m….oooh angel!” He called out. And soon, he expelled his seed.

“Ooh!” You rubbed a little harder, and he reached out and stopped you.

“That’s it my love. You have made me undone.”

He panted and melted back into the pillows. He licked his lips.

You hand held him gently. “Did I help you to feel good?”

He blinked. “Yes, love that was amazing.”

That’s when it dawned on him, he reached into his pocket and took out a cloth. “I wasn’t thinking. I am sorry.” He gently took your hand and cleaned off his essence.

Gently, he tucked himself away. “Angel, thank you for making me feel so good.” He was still breathless. He ran his fingers along your cheek. “Would you like me to return the favor?”

“Can you?”

His stomach once again tightened with pleasure.

“Yes, I can.”

*******

He crouched in the shadows. He longed for a real meal. Once in London, he would. There he grab some salted and dry meats for the journey to the new world.

He was tired of the sorry excuse for the stew the cook had been making the last few days. He ignored the burning or the cramping of staying there in the shadows, waiting on another rat. He had already managed to catch four of the seven that came into the corridor.

******

He banged on the kitchen door. The chef looked him up and down. “What?”

He held up six dead rats. “Add their meat to the stew.”

The man grumbled. “If you grow ill, it is your fault.”

The man shrugged and walked away. This would hunt more tomorrow. Now he’d have strength again. He had to keep it up, he was going to find the man who killed his son.

@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