if you think combeferre has nothing to do with it

For @coughdontfeelwellcough! (Right? I believe you sent me this??)

Pre-Enjoltaire 

Enjolras manages to keep quiet as he gets ready to go out with Combeferre and Courfeyrac, but after the sixth or seventh sneeze from his roommate, he caves with a loud sigh as he looks into his full length mirror to smooth down his sweater. 

“You’re going to spread your germs all over our room, Grantaire.” He says, flicking his gaze to watch Grantaire’s rather pathetic form on their small dorm couch through the mirror. 

Grantaire presses another tissue to his nose and sneezes sharply into it, shoulders shaking from the force. “I’ll try not to.” He rasps out, and Enjolras arches both brows at this. 

It’s common knowledge that he and Grantaire are not that fond of one another; to put it simply, they hate each other. But, they couldn’t swap rooms, no matter how much either argued with the college’s dorm advisor. So, on a normal day, this conversation would have ended with Grantaire running around the room and breathing on everything, doing everything in his power to drive Enjolras up a wall, but the brunet seems genuine in his words right now. Enough to have Enjolras turning away from the mirror with a frown. 

He watches Grantaire keep one tissue pressed gently to his nose as he remains hunched over an art book resting in his lap. Grantaire’s off right now, Enjolras thinks, different, and a twinge of confusion plays on his face as he moves to grab his dorm keys off the small key-holder on the wall. He contemplates pressing the brunet further, almost wanting their usual banter to fill this silent void between the two, but his phone chiming in alert of a text has him moving toward the door instead. 

“I’m going out,” he says, knowing full and well how obvious that is but saying so as if inviting the brunet to call him out on the stupid statement. 

But, Grantaire only mutters a quiet “have fun” around a weak cough that has Enjolras ripping the door open a little too hard and storming out of the room. 

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Defining the Relationship

Kinda sorta ish.

You have no idea how much I wanted to make this angsty. Instead, I made it nauseatingly fluffy. As one does.

Modern AU, developing E/R.

Emetophobia TW, though nothing contained herein is graphic by any means. 

“Go away,” Grantaire groaned, his voice echoing strangely, even through the heavy wood of both the bathroom door and the door to his apartment.

Enjolras sighed and rapped on the door again. “I’m not going to go away,” he called. “Not until I know that you’re alright.”

There was a long pause before Grantaire called weakly, “Enjolras?” Enjolras took that as a rhetorical question and patiently waited until Grantaire continued, “I figured it would be Bossuet who came after me. Or maybe Joly.”

“You’re kidding me, right?” Enjolras asked, amused. “When you pulled your Linda Blair in the Exorcist bit at the Musain, Joly naturally assumed that you’ve contracted Ebola, and Bossuet is trying to talk him out of contacting the CDC to get you quarantined.”

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au where everybody lives | canon era, confusion, angst | enjolras grantaire combeferre courfeyrac joly bossuet feuilly bahorel jehan | for infierceways

Combeferre’s voice is close at hand. Enjolras’ hand is held.

Courfeyrac’s voice joins the chorus. “Open your eyes and stop pretending. We are restored. It is safe!”

“You have barely a scratch,” assures Joly’s most diagnostic tone.

“The soldiers used false cartridges,” explains Jehan gently. “They did not want to kill schoolboys, so they play-acted at it. I have been hidden away, drinking tea with a captain of the guard.”

Grantaire squeezes his hand.

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bisexual-ben-wyatt  asked:

I have a deep and vested interest in hot dad!Courfeyrac pining after kindergarten teacher!Combeferre, if you're feeling up to it :)

Ooh, I quite like that idea myself. I’ve given it a go, but I don’t know whether I like what I’ve written or not, so I may toy around with the idea sometime and see if I can come up with anything better. Thanks for the prompt! :D

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Combeferre who forgets to do laundry during exams, so the only things that he has left to wear are old tank tops. They are clean, but very different from his usual wardrobe of baggy sweaters and collared shirt.

Unfortunately for him, he only has five minutes until the Les Amis meeting that night, which means no time to wash anything in him hamper.  He thinks, what the hell, and throws one on before heading out the door with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac is pretty sure he almost dies when Combeferre walks into the room, and Joly is very concerned.

“Courfeyrac, you’re flushed, do you have a fever?  Your pulse is pounding, oh dear, are you quite sure you’re alright.”

"No.  No I am not.  How the hell has he been hiding those muscles?  He spends all his time studying, he doesn’t have enough time to work out.  Obviously he’s fit but, damn, my best friends are not allowed to be secretly ripped.

"What?”

“Nothing…”

Joly shrugs and wanders off to his own table as the meeting starts and Courfeyrac is left to the painful task of watching Combeferre’s biceps flex as he gesticulates.  Courfeyrac needs to figure out how to burn all of Combeferre’s other shirts because that man is never allowed to cover his arms again.  Never.

Til Summer Comes Around

Kinda-sorta but not really. A loose interpretation of this prompt, one might say.

Title is from Keith Urban’s “Til Summer Comes Around”. This isn’t so much based on the song as it’s based on one single line: “You had to go I understand”, because I’m about really loose interpretations today, apparently.

I had originally planned for this to be equally written from Grantaire’s POV, but then it got long, so I didn’t. I may, however, follow it up with a companion piece from Grantaire’s POV. We shall see.

Warnings: discussions of drug addiction, rehab, treatment, recovery, and therapy. As always with this kind of fic, anything said about drug addiction/abuse, rehab, recovery, etc., is based solely on my own experiences and should not be taken as universal.

Enjolras collapsed next to Grantaire, breathing heavily, and rolled over to press a soft kiss to Grantaire’s shoulder. “That was…” he started, and Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, amazing, you saw stars when you came, I know.” Despite his mocking words, his smile was fond, and he carded his fingers through Enjolras’s hair. “It was good for me, too, you know.”

Whether from post-orgasm bliss or something else, Enjolras didn’t so much as make a face at Grantaire’s glib statement, instead laying his head against Grantaire’s shoulder. This was not their first time having sex; in fact, in recent weeks it had become a fairly regular thing between the two. And though Enjolras was not one to put labels on things, was not one to even care about such things, they were the closest thing Enjolras had probably ever to a relationship. And he was remarkably ok with that.

As if picking up on Enjolras’s thoughts, Grantaire’s hand stilled, and he said quietly, “I know we haven’t really discussed, you know, this, whatever this is, but–”

“Look, I like you,” Enjolras interrupted, twisting his head to smile up at Grantaire, who seemed taken aback. “I don’t really care what label you want to put on it, if you want to put a label on it at all. That’s up to you. But I like you – have feelings for you – whatever you want to call it. And I want us to be together, if you want to.”

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