Enjolras' Soul Shan't be Lonely, a makinghugospinkinkmeme fill
Prompt: e/R love spell
Les Mis; Canon era
Rating: Gen (so far)
Summary: Enjolras is hit with a love spell and everyone goes crazy for him except Grantaire. Why? Because a love spell placed by a trickster faerie is nothing compared to Grantaire’s love for the Fearless Leader. (Yes, the Amis call Enjolras that, just behind his back. Shh, now.)
Part 1/?
“Ninyere, what are you doing?”
“The schoolboys are planning a revolution. Their leader is so pretty yet he cares not for anyone’s lonely soul.”
“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t.”
“…But-”
“Don’t.”
“No promises!”
*
The sun is already streaming through Enjolras’ window when he wakes, which is probably why he takes a moment to realise what’s wrong. He’s usually up before the sun; how strange that he has overslept!
Still, that does not deter him. He dresses and tidies his rooms quickly, gathering his notes and maps from the night before to take to Café Musain. He has a revolution to run, after all.
Outside of the building in which he rents his rooms, Paris herself is rising, birds twittering from the eaves of houses, cobblestone roads gleaming in the early morning sunshine. Though he’s woken up later than normal, Enjolras does not meet anyone for the majority of his walk, many of his fellow citizens having chosen to lounge in their beds instead of facing the cold November day. It doesn’t bother him, though. Enjolras, for all his talk about the People, appreciates being alone as much as someone who is constantly surrounded by friends can - which is to say, a lot.
The peace does not last, however. When he’s got a street or so to traverse before the Musain comes in view, he’s stopped by a call.
“Monsieur!” he hears a voice say. He does not heed the call at first, but turns around when it is repeated; you never know, he might be able to convince whoever it is to join the revolution.
“Oui?” he asks briskly, eyes drawn to the small figure approaching him. He surveys her quickly, noting her tattered clothes and dirty cheeks. A gamin, then, one who has clearly been starving for days if the hollowness of her face is anything to go by. And that’s probably why he doesn’t notice the strange spark in her eyes.
“Monsieur, I need to ask you a question.”
Enjolras wrinkles his brows. “Well, I only have a few francs in my pocket at the moment but if you join in the cause then we can overthrow the tyrant king and then poverty can be demolished-“
The gamin’s eyes widen. She sounds breathless, as though her words are costing her much-needed oxygen. “Oh! No, no, I do not wish for money from you! I need to ask you something else.”
“Alright…”
“Monsieur, can I bear your children?”