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babybluebex · 1 year

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𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 | 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐥𝐫𝐚𝐬 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your latin tutor is one of those revolutionaries that your father despises and, after he invites you to a citizen’s meeting, his true intentions are revealed. 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: enjolras (BBC les miserables) x fem!reader 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: canon divergence, mentions of drinking, kissing, forbidden romance, names (mon cher = my darling, mon amour = my love, mon ange = my angel) 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: omg alright it's happening everyone stay calm (also pls lmk if this is all glitchy bc my tumblr has been acting weird lately so like. grr.) ((and yes, there will be a part 2 hehe...))

“Well, mademoiselle,” Enjolras started, shutting his textbooks as he looked at the clock on the wall. “It’s that time again.”

You groaned, hating that your lesson had come to an end. Ever since you had turned eighteen, you had been begging your father to let you go to university, just like your brother had gone, but he had forbidden you from even entertaining the idea of university. It was no place for a lady, he told you, and you had pouted and stamped your foot and demanded to be allowed to go. The middle ground for your father were private tutors, just as you had had when you were growing up, but for sophisticated topics. You chose to learn Latin, and your father had hired the perfect Latin tutor for you.

Tall and thin, short caramel curls and dark eyes and plush lips, mustache and thin beard. His name was Enjolras, one of angels in the original Latin, as he had told you. He was handsome and a good laugh, and, even if you got frustrated with the language, he soothed you with a gentle hand on your arm and soft words of encouragement. “You can do it, mon cher,” he said. “Just think about it for a moment.” He always called you sweet names as well, names that made you blush and avoid his eye to keep from exploding.

“Oh, no, Enjolras,” you begged him, reaching out and taking his arm in your hand. “Please don’t go, please stay!”

“Oh, mon cher, I have to,” Enjolras bemoaned. “I have somewhere to be.”

“But can’t you stay long enough for tea?” you asked quickly. “It’s rather cold outside, I’d hate to send you out into the cold without something warm to drink first.”

“Mon cher,” Enjolras said softly, putting his hand over yours. His hand was warm, his fingertips stained with days-old ink, and you wondered how it would feel for him to touch your bare skin. You often had dreams about your Latin tutor, less than ladylike dreams about the things you wished he would do to you. Just last night, you had dreamt of him taking you against your desk, pulling up your dress and making love to you, and you had hardly been able to meet Enjolras’s eye during your lessons. “I just can’t.”

“What do you have to do?” you asked. “Where do you have to be?”

“So curious,” Enjolras chuckled with narrowed eyes. “Why do you want me to stay so badly?”

“I just—“ you started shyly. “I like talking to you. You’re the only one who treats me like an equal as opposed to someone lesser.”

“Yes, well,” Enjolras started, shuffling around the papers on your desk as he tried to tidy and pack up. “The revolution preaches equality amongst all men, and women are included in that.”

That bloody revolution of his. Enjolras brought it up every so often, equality and friendship among all, the abolition of kings and monarchies, and, while he never went very in depth about it, you knew that it was a cause that was dear to his heart. You didn’t know if he had a woman in his life or not (the very thought of it made your heart drop in despair), but he spoke about his revolution as if it were his only love.

“Equality among all,” you scoffed. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

Enjolras regarded you with those narrowed eyes again, his pupils the color of dark, bitter chocolate, and he said, “Is it that hard to believe that you could be treated as I am?”

“Only because I’ve never been treated that way,” you said gently.

“I treat you that way,” Enjolras said. “I treat you and speak to you as any one of my friends.”

“Are we friends?” you asked. “Or do you tolerate me because my father pays you?”

“I do like you, mon cher,” Enjolras smiled. “Genuinely. Perhaps if things were different, I’d offer to…” He hesitated for a moment, a bit of restraint that you had never seen from him before, and he finally mumbled, “I’d offer to bring you with me to my meeting tonight.”

“Meeting?” you echoed. “What sort of meeting?”

“A citizens’ meeting,” Enjolras said. “Me and my friends, and revolutionaries all over Paris, we come together weekly to discuss ideas. I look forward to it every week, almost as much as I look forward to our lessons.”

“Oh, that sounds lovely!” you smiled, and you clutched his arm tightly. “Please take me with you, Enjolras, please!”

“I can’t do that,” Enjolras told you firmly. “Believe me, I wish I could. But if your father found out—“

“My father,” you scoffed. “So what if he found out?”

“He would fire me,” Enjolras said. “No more Latin lessons, mon cher. Your father, he’s an aristocrat, the revolution does not benefit him, so he’s against it. If he knew you went to a citizens’ meeting, he might even disown you.”

“He could never,” you mumbled, leaning back and crossing your arms over your chest. “He loves me too much.”

“People don’t like their politics to be challenged,” Enjolras said. “He would punish you, and that likely would come at my expense. Like I said, no more Latin lessons, I would never be permitted to see you.”

“I don’t want that,” you said quickly. “I like you too much. Erm, your lessons, I mean. I don’t want to find another tutor.”

“I didn’t think so,” Enjolras said with a coy smile. “I’d hate to see you punished, so I won’t invite you to the meeting. In fact, on very certain terms, I am telling you not to come.”

“Alright, alright, I understand,” you grumbled. “No meeting.”

“Don’t be cross with me, mon cher,” Enjolras begged, taking your hand in his. He squeezed your hand and gave you a tight smile, and he dropped your hand as he spoke again. “I’d hate to make you upset with me before I leave for my meeting.”

“Rub it in, why don’t you?” you huffed, and Enjolras set his eyes on his papers and books, looking at you quickly before looking back down at the papers. You took his hint and looked at the paper, and your eyes widened as you saw that his own neat script covered the paper. Even though you saw it upside-down, you could see a date and an address.

“Remember,” Enjolras said, passing the paper to you. “I told you not to come. But, if I left this and you wanted to return it to me, you know where to find me.”

“Oh, Enjolras,” you said softly. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Enjolras asked. “Denying you to come to a meeting? I should think I’m hurting your feelings.”

“Oh,” you said quickly, catching onto his game. Enjolras was wonderfully playful, and this was only proof of that. “Yes, yes, it hurts my feelings so much. In fact, I might think twice about returning your paper to you.”

“But you’re a good girl,” Enjolras said. “You’ll return it to me hastily, just as soon as I’m gone and you’ve noticed I left it.”

“Of course, of course,” you said passively, and your stomach shrank behind your stays. He had called you a good girl. Did he know the effect his words had? “Anything for you.”

“Alright,” Enjolras said. “I really must be leaving. Have a good evening, mademoiselle.”

“You as well, monsieur,” you told him, and you stayed seated at your desk and lazily tidied up your things as Enjolras left. Your heart hammered inside your chest at the prospect of seeing Enjolras again, outside of your lessons, at this revolutionary meeting. Would he treat you as a friend, or like some girl that had hopelessly fallen in love with him and followed him?

About an hour after Enjolras left (because you definitely weren’t paying too much attention to the clock), you crumpled the paper up in your hand and went to the front foyer, tying your cloak around your neck. You hoped that maybe you could slip out of the house unnoticed, but the creak of the stairs made your heart stop.

“Are you going out?” your father asked you, and you sighed.

“Just for a moment,” you said. “My Latin tutor left something of his, and I’m going to return it.”

“You can’t wait to give it back next week?” your father asked, and you shook your head, looking up at the stairs to see him. Enjolras’s words swam in your head, about how your father’s politics were better left unchallenged, how angry he would be if he knew the truth, but the promise of seeing Enjolras was too great for you to back down now.

“It looks important,” you said, looking down at the paper in your hand. “Doesn’t he work as a copier? This looks like an unfinished piece of his work. I don’t want him to get into any trouble.”

“I can deliver it,” your father offered, and you shook your head.

“I’d rather do it,” you said. “I’ve been inside all day, I’d like to go out for a moment.”

“If you say so,” your father said. “Just be back before dinnertime.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him, and you quickly left the house before he could ask any more questions. The air was cold against your cheeks as you began your walk to the small pub that Enjolras’s flyer indicated, and your heart was beating quicker with every avenue and rue that you turned down. Eventually, you heard the chatter of a pub as you turned onto a street, and you steadied yourself as you pushed open the door. The air inside was warm and smelled like ale, but you weren’t focused on that. Your eyes were instantly drawn to the back corner where, on a raised stage-like area, your Latin tutor sat. He looked incredibly laid-back and handsome, his jacket slung across the back of his chair and exposing his vest and chemise, and you had to keep yourself from shouting his name to catch his attention.

Luckily for you, his attention was captured by your mere presence. His eyes found you instantly, and a smile crossed his face as he swept his arm towards him and the other men at the table. He beckoned you over several times before your feet finally started to move, and you crumpled the flyer in your hand as you made your way to the back corner.

“I know you’d come,” Enjolras beamed. “Come, sit, would you like a drink?”

“Oh, umm,” you started, eyeing the other men at the table. Any friend of Enjolras’s was a friend of yours, but you didn’t miss the odd ways that they stared at you, like they were seeing some fantastical being for the first time; almost like Enjolras had spoken of you and they didn’t expect to actually meet you. “Not now, but maybe later.”

“Of course,” Enjolras said, and he tugged a seat over the table, where sheaths of cards laid out, in the middle of a game. “Here, you can sit here—“

“Uh, Enjolras?” one of the men asked. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to the lady?”

“Hardly a lady,” you quipped before you could stop yourself. “I-I mean, why am I a lady if that title comes with consequences? Why am I not just one of his friends?”

“Ah,” the man said. “So you’re the girl he’s been tutoring. Corrupting, as it were.” He reached over and jostled Enjolras’s arm, and your tutor rolled his eyes. “Tell me, how often does he speak about revolution during your lessons?”

“Not often,” you said, and you playfully bit your lip as you considered your next words. “But enough for it to be a bother.”

Enjolras gaped at you, his game still afoot, and he turned his nose up. “See, I told you that you shouldn’t have come,” he said. “I would only bore you with more revolution speak.” He took the cards back up in his hands and carefully began to shuffle them, and you took notice of the way his ink-stained fingers shook a little. Was he nervous? Surely not as much as you.

“What if I wanted to come?” you asked softly. “To see you?”

Enjolras smiled gently, and he carefully touched your hand, taking your fingers in his grip. “Well, that’s the best reason,” he said. “Because I also get to see you.”

“I thought for sure you’d hate seeing me,” you told him. The conversation at the table had resumed, leaving you and the handsome older man to your own devices, and Enjolras shook his head. “That-That you wouldn’t want me around…”

“I can hardly get enough of you,” Enjolras told you. “I hope you enjoy the meeting. Speak up if you have something to say.” With that, Enjolras stood from his chair and began to bang his fist on the table in front of you, startling you into a jump. His compatriots started to do the same, and it flooded the pub until you yourself were compelled to slam your hand into the table with them. The sense of camaraderie was astounding, and you laughed as Enjolras started to hush the crowd.

“Citizens,” he started, and the eager crowd silenced themselves to listen to him. You had learned from him that equality among all meant no leaders, nobody with a higher standing or rank than any other person, but you could instantly tell that Enjolras was their leader. Everyone looked at him with bated breath, awaiting his words, and a shiver ran down your back at his authority.

“General Lamarck lays dying,” Enjolras announced. “He is a supporter of the revolution, one of our first and strongest supporters. As soon as he dies, we need to do something. Paris is a powder keg, yes? And Lamarck’s death needs to symbolize something, it needs to symbolize everything. It is the spark that we need to make the whole of Paris go up in flames.”

“Hear, hear!” one of Enjolras’s friends said, banging his fist on the table again, and a giddy excitement filled your chest. You looked up at him from where he stood, and you found Enjolras looking down at you, the hint of a smile on his face.

“Take this woman!” Enjolras began, brandishing a hand out to you. Your face went cold then before flooding hot with blush, and you shook your head.

“Mon ange, please, no,” you protested. “Not in front of everyone—“

“Strip her of her aristocratic clothes and what do you have?” Enjolras asked. “You have a woman. A woman with wishes, dreams, hopes! And there is no better way to ensure her success in the world than with…” He trailed off, looking to you, and you gulped, knowing what he wanted from you.

“La révolution!” you squeaked, wholly unsure of yourself, but Enjolras clapped his hand down on your shoulder as the pub exploded with cheers and cries. You grinned at him as he squeezed your shoulder, and he leaned down to nestle his mouth right next to your ear, speaking so that only you could hear him.

“How do you like it?” he asked.

“I…” you started, and you reached up to gently touch his cheek, the rough stubble under your fingers. His hand went to cover yours, his eyes big as he watched you, and, under the commotion in the pub, you said, “I think you should kiss me.”

He didn’t hesitate at all, reaching to capture your cheek in his hand, and he pressed his mouth to yours. Fireworks exploded in your chest as you held him close, your eyes fluttering shut to enjoy the kiss. You had never kissed a man before, and Enjolras was a good first kiss; his lips were soft, his mouth gentle, his grip soothing on your jaw.

When you drew away, the din of the pub still raging as Enjolras’s friend spoke now, Enjolras suddenly looked forlorn, his eyebrows furrowing as he bit his bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he said softly, and he tore himself away from you, grabbing his jacket from off the back of his chair. “I shouldn’t have—“

“Mon ange, wait,” you told him, and you grabbed at his hand as he started to walk away from the table. “Wait, what do you mean?”

“I shouldn’t have just kissed you,” Enjolras told you. “That was a mistake.”

“But why?” you asked. “I asked for it, and I liked it! I didn’t—“

“Because there’s no room for love in this,” Enjolras said, grabbing his hand away from you. He stepped away from you, and turned to the room, and he hesitated for a moment before he quickly scaled down the steps and made to leave the pub.

“Wait!” you exclaimed, grabbing your cloak, and you chased after him, threading through the crowd. You finally caught up with him outside the pub in the cold air, and you grabbed his hand again and tugged him back to you. “Mon ange, wait just a moment, please!”

“Stop it, don’t call me that,” Enjolras said quickly. He turned to you and you saw his cheeks red, his eyes aflame, but not with anger. He truly regretted kissing you, and your heart sank into your stomach. “I’m not your angel, as much as you wish.”

“Don’t be mean!” you exclaimed. “What’s the matter? You said there’s no love in this? What is ‘this’?”

“The revolution,” Enjolras answered. “Love means that one person matters more than others, there is no love in revolution, everyone is equal in everyone’s hearts—“

“But!” you huffed. “Why did you kiss me then? Just to play with me? I thought you were better than that.”

“Because I wanted to kiss you,” he told you. “I want nothing more than to kiss you, to have you be mine and mine alone, but I can’t just abandon all I’ve worked for for you. Falling in love is not what I’m supposed to do—“

“So don’t call it love,” you told him. “Don’t call it anything. We are… Citizens, comrades, yes? There’s no sense in being upset over something that doesn’t truly exist. If you can decide that I’m not high born and decide that I’m just a woman, then you can just as easily decide to not love me.”

“But I do love you,” Enjolras said.

“Just don’t call it love,” you said back. “Call it anything other than that.”

In an instant, Enjolras stood closer to you, throwing his arms around your middle, and he tugged your body right on top of his. His hands explored your body, gripping your hips and feeling up your sides, and he pressed his forehead to yours. “How can I resist you?” he whispered. “My sweet girl, mon amour…”

“Mon ange,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “Kiss me, my angel.”

“I’ll regret it,” Enjolras warned you, and you shook your head.

“Only if you let yourself regret it,” you told him. “Kiss me, please—”

His hands cupped your jaw as he kissed you, his lips plush against yours again, and you clutched his jacket tightly to keep him from leaving you again. You could never let him go again, not as long as you lived. Enjolras held you tightly as well, equally as passionate about keeping you, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. “Mon amour,” he whispered. “You had an awfully hard time at your lessons today. I might need to come back tomorrow and give you some extra lessons.”

“Yes, please,” you said quickly. “Yes, tomorrow, yes.”

“So eager,” Enjolras chuckled. “Go home, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“What if I want to stay for the meeting?” you asked.

“Do you really want to?” Enjolras asked with playfully narrowed eyes. “Or do you just want to spend time with me?”

“Maybe both,” you teased him, and Enjolras smiled.

“Go home, mon amour,” Enjolras told you. “I’ll see you as soon as possible. I’ll dream of you.”

“I’ll dream of you as well.”

#bbc!enjolras x reader #bbc!enjolras #bbc les mis #bbc les miserables #joseph quinn #joseph quinn x reader #*my writing

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kwistowee · 1 year

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#alexa play the jaws theme

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nowadayz · 2 years

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JOSEPH QUINN as ENJOLRAS BBC Les Misérables 1.06, dir. Tom Shankland

#ok last gifset of this ever #joseph quinn #*#bbc les mis #les miserables #dailyflicks

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stardancerluv · 1 month

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A Time to Love and to Fight

Part: Thirty One

Summary: The truth comes to life.

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

❤️s, feedback, reblogs and comments are appreciated.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Turned on his heal.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

“Oh, yes that shall be pleasant.”

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

******

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

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

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

******

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

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

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

“Is this the message?”

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

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

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

He smiled. “You do enjoy your tea.”

You nodded.

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

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

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

You swallowed. “You.”

The flush returned to his cheeks.

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

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

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

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

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

“Do not break my heart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

******

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

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

“Enjolras?” Your voice scratchy from sleep.

“Yes, mon amour.”

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

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

“Are you alright?”

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

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

“Would you have awoken me?”

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

“Let me come with you.”

You put your hand over his.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.”

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

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

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

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

“Really?”

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

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

“I promise.”

*******

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

You say absently, after stirring.

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

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

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

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

“Only far lovelier.”

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

“Because my words speak the truth.”

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

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kiissmegraphics · 1 year

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joseph quinn as enjolras in bbc’s les miserables.

#joseph quinn #josephquinnedit #enjolrasedit #bbc les mis #guess who's making a gif pack of this man??#just some of my faves of him drinking in the background #and also him having none of the bs #the fifth one radiates 'bitch pls' and i love it

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breath-of-fresh-grantaire · 11 months

Text

scrolling through the enjolras tag is like this

#seanposting #les mis #les miserables #bbc les mis #enjolras #barricade day

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pedgito · 1 year

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

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

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

word count: 1.6k

His rhythm of work was inherently stressful.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They were his favorite.

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

The pent up frustration and stress was the problem.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long do you need?”

You already knew the answer—only a few minutes.

He was insatiable, as you’d said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m only weak for you, mon amour.”

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

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

#joseph quinn x y/n #joseph quinn x you #joseph quinn x reader #joseph quinn smut #bbc!enjolras #enjolras #modern!enjolras #my writing #joseph quinn rpf #bbc les mis #enjolras x reader #enjolras x fem!reader #enjolras smut #enjolras x you #enjolras x y/n #eddie munson smut

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