Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/837286.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Les_Misérables_-_All_Media_Types, Les_Misérables_-_Schönberg/Boublil
  Relationship:
      Female_Enjolras/Javert
  Character:
      Female_Enjolras_-_Character, Javert
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-07-20 Words: 3986
****** What Did I Do? ******
by EnjolrasAmy
Summary
     Okay, this is my first attempt at an adult rated fic, so please bear
     with me. Constructive criticism is welcomed, but please don’t flame
     me if you hate it. The plot idea came to me while reading the Fifty
     Shades trilogy.
     WARNING: Smut, lemons, rape, bondage, violence, domination,
     interrogation etc are featured here. DO NOT read if you’re underage
     (why are you even on this rating anyhow?) or offended by any of the
     subjects this fic covers.
“Down with the King. Under him, we’ll never have the freedom we deserve, or the
equality we need. My friends, the time for talking is fast running out. Our
ally list is weak. Only Lamarque is with us. Desperate times mean desperate
measures!” Eighteen year old Marianne Enjolras spoke to the crowd gathered
around her, her slim frame standing out among the gaunt faces of the poor and
hungry, or the round, well-fed merchants who had also taken an interest in what
this pretty brunette had to say. Marianne glanced around, slightly uneasy. She
knew what a risk she was taking, speaking out against the King in public. This
was nothing short of treason, and she knew it. After all, she’d be easy to find
and arrest. How many other women were found in cafes with several young men at
a time, plotting treason rather than being the whore they paid for? She was the
only female leader of a rebellious group of the few in the city. Most people
thought her a whore in passing, but she was far from a whore. Her only desire
was to set France free. No man would distract her from the cause, and she
defended her pure, untainted virgin state. Oh, there had been many who wanted
to take her and have her from when she was fourteen. But the Cause came first.
 
Lurking on the edge of the crowd, a man watched her with a cold, calculating
malice. His only love was the law, and he’d do whatever it took to uphold it.
He watched this girl closely, heard her talking herself into arrest. His mind
strayed to the more human region as he watched her, the way she moved with an
unconscious grace, like a dancer. His cock twitched, as his mind ran through
the various possible tortures he could inflict upon her, as a named traitor.
Her rights, few as they were, would be irrelevant. Seeing the crowd around
Marianne starting to disperse, he quickly sloped away to a nearby alley, where
another man was waiting for him.
“Inspector Javert,” the man said quietly, “We have enough evidence to arrest
her for treason. She is the woman we’ve been looking for. Marianne Enjolras is
her name.”
“I have heard her talk.” Javert remarked. “Astounding, that a woman could
harbour such ideas. I wonder how many would have listened had she been a fat
fishwife?”
“You desire her then?” the second man asked curiously. Javert nodded, in spite
of himself.
“Yes. She’s too pure, too untouchable. And, as a named traitor,” he reasoned
smugly, “she’d have no rights. I could do to her what I wished. I’d be the man
who’d have her. And when she’s outlived her usefulness... well, we can always
kill her.”
The man smirked and handed Javert a warrant for her arrest. “I’m afraid
Mademoiselle Enjolras has lived her last day as a free woman.” He said
conversationally. Javert nodded and dismissed him with a nod of his head.
Frowning, he tailed her home, waiting for his moment.
 
Marianne sighed as she shut the door behind her. The crowd had been receptive
to her ideas. It wouldn’t be long before they were seeing with her eyes. With
the people on her side, the King would have to admit defeat. If he’d just stand
down, there’d be no need for bloodshed. She slid down her front door, curling
her knees up to her chest and thought through her options. After a few minutes
she stood up slowly and gathered her little box of papers. She looked at the
box carefully, thinking. There had been something not quite right about the
crowd today. She needed to get the papers out of the house, and fast. Looking
through the back, she saw one of the little gamins who often did small jobs for
her, in return for money for their families. She smiled and beckoned to him. He
came willingly.
“Yes, Ma’am?”
“Could you please take this box to Combeferre for me? And go discreetly and
secretly. I think this house is being watched.” She said, handing him a few
francs along with the box. The boy understood how dangerous it was, just from
the volume of money she’d given him.
“Yes Ma’am, I’ll be discreet.”
“Good boy,” she said quietly. “And thank you.” She opened the back door and let
him out. “Be safe.” He nodded and flashed her a cheeky grin. She smiled in
return and watched him go. Silently she closed the back door and locked it. At
least the papers were away now. Sighing, she went upstairs to change her dress.
She’d got a meeting with Combeferre tonight anyway. She needed to tell him to
be careful, if sending her box to him wasn’t warning enough.
 
Javert bided his time. When he was sure she was not coming out again, he stole
over to her door and picked the lock. It was easy, the work of a few moments
concentration. Really, with all her rebellious ideas, the stupid bitch should
at least have better security. He slipped quietly into the hallway and hid in
the shadows. He didn’t have to wait long before he got a glimpse of his quarry.
Marianne ran back downstairs, clad only in her corset and underskirt, before
disappearing into the room he guessed was her study. She stayed there for a few
minutes, coming out smiling slightly. Javert suppressed a groan as she ran
gracefully past his hiding place. Her corset was laced so tightly, and cut in a
way that was a mystery to him, making her breasts swell and pull together. He
felt his trousers tighten as his cock grew with desire. He had to have this
girl. Javert weighed up his options. He could go upstairs now, take her and
arrest her there, having her in surroundings she was comfortable with. The
devil on his shoulder spoke to him, urging him to terrify her first, to make
her biddable. Javert smirked. The devil won, as always. Decision made, he
scratched his chin thoughtfully and waited.
 
A few minutes later, Marianne made her way softly down the stairs, more refined
and ladylike than her headless gallop before. Javert stepped out of the shadow
and placed a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned with a gasp of surprise.
“Inspector Javert...” she breathed, terrified. Javert smiled coldly.
“Marianne Enjolras,” he snarled back, drinking in the sight of her like a
parched man drinks water. God, she looked so perfect, her torso a perfect
hourglass shape, her breasts large round mounds over the top of her bodice. Her
dress was red, with a hint of black in the trimming. ‘Red like a slut’ he
thought to himself. A simple gold cross encircled her throat. Being terrified
suited her. Pale, her long brown hair rippling down her back, and a look of
terror across her features, making her hazel eyes wide. He slid his hand down
her arm and grasped her wrist tightly. “You’re under arrest on a charge of
Treason against the King. As you are a woman, and a named traitor, you have no
rights left under the law.” Javert paused and nuzzled into her neck. She smelt
of flowers, and a faint trace of a perfume he could not identify. Marianne
resisted his nuzzling with all her strength, but his hold on her was too tight.
“Don’t resist,” Javert hissed. “It’ll be easier that way.” Marianne tried to
pull away.
“Where is your evidence?” she snarled. “I have no idea what you’re talking
about!” Javert just smirked.
“You were seen. In the market place today. Talking treason.” He slipped a rope
around her wrists, biding her hands behind her back. Marianne felt her hands
being secured and instantly went into survival mode. Stretching her wrists as
far apart as they’d go, she felt the rope give slightly. Slipping one wrist
out, she brought her hand up to his cock, hard. For a moment she was confused.
Why were his trousers so tight? She didn’t wonder for too long though, as
Javert let out a grunt of pain, letting go of the rope. She freed her other
hand and fled the house, trying to reach the relative safety of Combeferre’s
house.
 
To Javert’s credit, he recovered pretty quickly from her attack. Cursing
slightly, he followed her, only stopping to pick the rope up from where he
dropped it. Someone could search the house later, when the traitor was in his
possession. He knew where she’d go. She’d run to her little friends. All he had
to do was get ahead of her. Frowning, he started to run, thinking of places he
could cut her off.
 
Marianne gasped shakily. She hated corsets. Normally she wouldn’t bother with
one, being slim enough, but tonight... well, she had to give the impression of
being a good little bourgeois girl. Combeferre was pretending to be the perfect
gentleman, possibly pretending to be her fiancé. It was the only way they could
meet their contacts in authority. Her corset was compressing her lungs, making
each breath painful. She knew her time was short, Javert would probably guess
her destination, but she had to stop. She had to breathe.
 
Javert dashed along the streets, ignoring the people who gasped in surprise at
the sight of the Inspector running, heedless of the other law-breakers he was
passing. At the same time as she stopped to catch her breath, Javert reached
the entry to the alleyway she was in. He nodded thoughtfully. She was close to
her friends’ house. Had she reached it, he would have had no chance of taking
her alone, without a fuss. Quietly, he prepared the rope again. Marianne
started to move off, trying to find a gap in the fence that she could slip
through. But alas, she was not fast enough. A lasso of rope slipped over her
body, binding her arms tightly to her side. She tried to fight the rope,
wincing in pain as the rope bit into her pale skin, drawing blood. Javert
tugged the rope, ensuring it was tight, before gathering up the ends as he made
his way to the spot where she was fighting her bonds. “I told you not to
struggle!” he hissed to her as he came close. She froze where she was.
“And I told you, I’m innocent.” Javert laughed softly.
“Innocent, my arse.” He scoffed. “I have to remind you, that I have an order to
arrest you for treason. As such, you have no rights. You’re mine. To do with as
I will.” Javert leered at her, smirking. Marianne tried to suppress a tremble
of fear. She knew what he meant. He’d take her virginity; she’d be worthless to
the Cause. Her purity, her link to Patria... it would all be gone, taken by
force. She’d be nothing but a whore. She frantically tried freeing herself
again, making the rope bite even more. She gasped in pain. Javert grasped a
handful of her hair and pushed her down to her knees. Marianne fell heavily,
crying out in pain as she landed on the cobbles, hard. With his hand still
twisted cruelly tight into her hair, he used his other hand to bind hers
tightly behind her. Marianne tried to struggle, tried to break free from his
grip, but every time she tried, his nails dug into her scalp, and he kicked
her. Tears formed in her eyes, but she’d be damned if she gave him the
satisfaction of seeing them fall. Biting her lip, she allowed him to drag her
roughly to her feet. He let go of her hair but grabbed her upper arm tightly,
inwardly cursing. The only way to get to the police station from here was to go
past her friend’s house. Damn, she’d chosen well. Pulling his pistol out, he
cocked it and pointed it at the small of her back. “If you so much as whimper
to alert your friend, I will kill you. Understand?” Marianne nodded in terror.
Her only chance was to hope that Combeferre was watching out his window,
waiting for her. “Good.” Javert prodded the base of her spine with the muzzle.
“Now walk.” Marianne had no choice but to obey. However, as they passed the
front of Combeferre’s house, she risked a glance to the side. A curtain
twitched, and a shadow got off the window. She caught a glimpse of glasses
reflecting on the glass. She smiled to herself. Combeferre knew. He’d figure
something out. As long as she could hold on until he mounted a rescue...
Feeling the pistol against her spine again, she snapped her eyes to the front
and co-operated all the way to the station.
 
Marianne pulled against her bonds frustratedly. Since their arrival at the
station, she’d been taken underground, to a corridor where the cells were few,
thick walls between each one. Javert had left her with two guards, ordering
them to secure her well. She was kneeling on the cold, hard floor of a cell,
her wrists bound above her to a couple of rings set deep into the wall. There
was enough slack in the rope for her to stand and move around slightly, but she
wanted to save her energy, to try and free herself. Just out of her reach,
there was a table, covered with a cloth. For some reason, she was terrified of
that table. She couldn’t see what was on there, but when she glanced over, she
was gripped with a sudden terror. Forcing herself to look away, she swallowed
and tried to ignore her fear. She had to be strong. She had to hold out for the
amis, until a rescue party could come and save her. Whatever the cost, whatever
they did to her... she had to survive. Her breathing grew shallow as she heard
footsteps approaching. She lifted her head and looked through the door. Javert.
She knew it. Javert, accompanied by three guards. On seeing her bound there,
his lips spread into a wicked smile.
“Marianne Enjolras. We meet at last, with you at my mercy.” She glared at him.
“Fuck off Inspector.” She snapped in return.
“Temper temper.” He chided mildly. “I must remind you that you have no rights.
Your confession, and sentence, is heard and carried out by myself. And I can
make this easy, or hard. You decide.” Marianne didn’t reply, she just glared at
him. Javert smiled. “God, you’d drive a man insane with those smouldering
eyes.” Marianne’s eyes widened slightly, thrown. Javert smirked at catching her
off guard and went over to the table, fingering the cloth gently. “I have under
here various items that will make you scream, make you talk. Now, you can tell
me willingly, and we can avoid any unpleasantness. Or I can torture it out of
you.”
“I’ll never willingly tell you anything.” Marianne gasped, trying to hold her
nerve. Javert sighed.
“I was worried that this would be the case. Very well. You leave me no choice.”
And with one swift motion, he whipped the cloth off the table, allowing the
torchlight to fall on the table. The gleam of countless metal instruments
reached Marianne’s eyes, and she involuntarily shrank back. “You still won’t
talk?” Javert asked gently.
“No. Never.” Marianne replied, her voice steadier now she knew what she’d face.
Javert sighed and picked up a knife. He held it up in front of her, before
pulling one of her arms towards him and placed the knife on the seam holding
the sleeve to the bodice. After a moment’s pause, where Marianne just stared
silently at the door, he put the knife to the stitching and made a small nick
in the fabric. Putting the knife down, he shoved his fingers into the gap and
pulled. The fabric ripped easily in his hands. Pulling the sleeve fully off, he
examined her arm. It was so smooth, so white, so flawless... He couldn’t
believe that someone this beautiful was single. But enough of that. He pulled a
metal bar out of a cauldron of coals and held it close to her arm, so she could
feel the heat radiating off it. She flinched back and mentally braced herself
for the pain. Javert paused and withdrew the bar slightly.
“Ah, but you’re a virgin, aren’t you? Well, I’ll give you a choice. Either let
me educate you in the ways of a woman, or you can burn to death as a heretic
traitor, trying to set yourself up as a Goddess, as Patria.” Marianne
shuddered. She’d die both ways. Die from shame if she let him take her, or die,
the name of Patria sullied. She closed her eyes. Somewhere deep within her
heart, she heard a melodious voice speak to her.
‘Marianne, do not give up your life. I know your pain. You’re suffering for me.
I’ll never abandon you. This is not your choice, this is your test.’
“Patria...” breathed Marianne, knowing that it was Patria who spoke to her.
Opening her eyes, she stared into Javerts’ eyes, searching for a scrap of
humanity. All she saw was lust, and desire. She trembled.
“Decided?” Javert asked snidely. Marianne just glared. “I thought that would be
the case. In that case...” He threw off his jacket and picked up the knife
again. Marianne tensed as Javert went behind her. He rested the blade of the
knife across the top lace of her bodice. Leaving it there for a few seconds,
Javert listened to her shallow, terrified breathing with a smirk. Turning the
knife slightly, he sliced the lacing of her bodice, causing it to fall to the
floor. Marianne’s breath caught in her throat as her terror threatened to
overwhelm her. Javert smirked and dropped the knife, gathering her hair tightly
in his hands. She whimpered in pain as he jerked her head back, so she was
looking up at him, and could see his growing erection through his trousers.
“What do you want me to tell you?” She asked, staring at the bulge in his
trousers with terror.
“Well, just an admission of your guilt is enough to see you executed. As it is,
by not admitting anything, you’re my prisoner. To do with what I will. You’ll
die eventually.” Marianne gasped. ‘Hurry up Combeferre, please...’ she begged
silently, knowing her chances of living were almost none-existent. Javert
smiled and placed his hands on her shoulders, letting her hair go. Marianne
bowed her head, ashamed, wanting this torture to cease. Javert pressed into
her, his cock pressing against the back of her head. She nipped her lip to stop
herself crying out. She could feel his hardness, and was aware of how
vulnerable she was, tied down, completely at his mercy. She glanced down at her
corset regretfully. No doubt Javert would have that off her too. He picked up
the knife again and cut the waistband of her skirt. With a swift motion he
pulled the fabric apart, tossing it carelessly aside. Marianne whimpered as she
was kneeling there in nothing but a corset and slip. Javert paused and stepped
back, admiring his bound prize. Leaving her there, he went over to the table
and picked up an iron rod. Thrusting it into the coals, he left it there for a
few moments, heating. He stared at Marianne. She refused to look at him,
preferring to hang her head, her hair covering her face.
“Look at me.” He snapped. She refused, staring steadfastly at the floor. “Look
at me. Bitch, you will look at your Master!” Marianne flinched at his tone, but
kept her head down. She didn’t obey any man. Javert’d had enough. Quickly, his
hands went to the top of his trousers, freeing his trapped erection. If the
girl wouldn’t look at him, by God he’d make her. He prowled over to her,
pulling her head up by her hair. She screamed in shock and pain, as his cock
slammed into her mouth. Wrapping her hair around his fingers, he moved her head
up and down his length, not allowing her air. Slamming her head down his shaft,
he groaned as her chin hit his ballsacks. He came in her mouth, forcing her to
swallow. Withdrawing he stood aside, smirking. She gasped for breath and
heaved, trying to remove the taste of him from her mouth. She felt dirty and
violated. Tears started falling down her cheeks. Javert observed this quietly.
“I’ll give you something to cry about you little whore!” He muttered, glancing
at the rod with a pleased look. He took his knife in his hand again and wasted
no time teasing, he slashed straight through the front of her corset. She cried
out in pain as the knife nicked her stomach, ripping her slip in the process.
Javert pulled her underwear off, admiring her naked body. “You’re beautiful,
for a law breaker” he hissed. Marianne sobbed slightly, petrified.
“Please!” She begged him. “Please, leave me alone.” Javert shook his head
silently and pulled the heated rod from the coals. Marianne looked at it in
terror. Javert smiled cruelly and placed the bar slowly and deliberately across
her back, from her left hip to her right shoulder. She screamed in pain,
writing in her bonds, trying to free herself and pull away from the pain. But
wherever she shuffled, Javert followed, holding the bar against her, headless
of her screams of pain. Her skin sizzled as the bar burnt into her. When Javert
was sure it’d leave a permanent scar, he removed the bar swiftly and placed it
back on the coals. Marianne sobbed in pain, as Javert ran his hand over the
open sore.
“What do you want Marianne?” He asked softly. “I can either do that until you
die, or you can let me take you.” Marianne shook her head slightly.
“I can’t say.”
“Come come.” Javert said softly.
“Take me.” Marianne said softly, scared, but wanting to cling onto life, for
Patria. Javert smiled and lifted her up onto her feet. His erection had grown
again. Positioning himself behind her, he slowly inserted himself. She was so
tight. Marianne gasped at the sharp pain as he inserted his length. He left
himself in her for a few moments before withdrawing slightly. Smirking into her
hair, he started to move, faster and faster. Marianne bit her lip, whimpers
escaping her. Feeling a tightening in her stomach, she cried out and saw stars
as her orgasm ripped through her. Javert came at the same time and kissed the
back of her neck.
“Well done you.” He said softly. Marianne cried. Her purity, her innocence, was
gone. To a man she couldn’t love, in a dark cell. Javert freed her bonds,
allowing her to collapse on the floor, sobbing. He motioned to the two guards
who accompanied him into the cell. “Alright lads. She’s ours.” The two guards
smirked and dropped their trousers. Marianne sobbed as she foresaw what would
happen. It was even worse than she thought. The three of them fell on her like
vultures, taking her over and over again. She lay curled on the floor, trying
to ignore the pain. After a few hours they were spent. She’d come over and over
again, even when she thought she had nothing left in her. They’d left her with
her burn, in agony, dirty, sweaty, and sticky with their fluids. She heard
footsteps outside her cell and glanced up, dreading more. Combeferre’s anxious
face looked down at her.
“Combeferre...” She breathed, holding a hand out to him before she passed out.
She was unaware of the cell being broken into, her body covered by the tattered
remains of her skirt, being lifted by gentle hands and spirited away from the
cell, away from Javert. But the memories remained.
 
-Fin-
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