#Un'beta'd

[blackashbluephoenix]

Had this idea but it doesn't fit into either of my WIPs so I'm giving it to the community.

Harvey and Mike are driving. They're bantering lightly, Mike had a case file in his lap. There's light music on in the background. Mike feels safe in the front seat- he always does when Harvey's driving. Anyone else, he fidgits nervously, squirms. The longer the ride, the worse it gets. But Harvey has both hands on the wheel, hovers a mile or two under the speed limit. He focuses on the road. Mike knows he'd never let anything happen to him.

They drive up past an accident with all the stops- flashing lights, police sirens, an ambulance. The car is on fire, there are bodies being pulled from the wreck.

Before they can get close enough to see any details though, Harvey reaches over and turns Mike's face to him. They've slowed to a crawl now because of traffic passing the accident, there's no danger in taking one hand off the wheel.

"Look at me, sweetheart." He orders softly. "Just keep looking at me."

Harvey doesn't try to restart the banter. He doesn't try to smile or pretend it's not bad. But he can put on a poker face for Mike's sake. He can look stoic, in control. He can breathe normally. He can use the word sweetheart, a word he normally only whispers to him in moments when they are alone and at their most intimate.

"Just look at me, sweetheart."

Because one real glimpse of that accident and that image will be burned permanently into Mike's beautiful mind. Having a memory like his is both a blessing and a curse, as Harvey has come to find out. And right now, if he lets Mike look at that, if he allows that image into Mike's mind... It will torment him. It will creep into thoughts when they're at work, at home. It will etch itself into his nightmares, add itself to what Mike imagines his parents' last moments were like. He won't be able to comfortably get into a car for weeks, will worry when Harvey steps foot in one, even if they're both in the backseat and Ray is the one driving.

"Just keep looking at me. Don't think about anything else."

He pulls the car into a lane away from the accident as soon as he can, creating some distance and removing some of the morbid temptation to look as he does so. Mike's not the eager to please puppy he once was, but he obeys this particular order even after Harvey drops his hand. He nods, ducks his head slightly. He can't quite look at Harvey's eyes, but he can still focus on the rest of him. As long as he's looking at Harvey, his mind is protected from whatever else he might see right now.

They're both quiet when the traffic lets up. Harvey puts both hands back on the wheel. Drops his speed limit down to five miles below, moves to the slow lane. Tries to ignore the way Mike is white knuckling the armrest or the way he wants to take his hand. Touch would help right now, certainly, but not if it compromises his driving abilities.

They pull into a gas station about an hour from the city. Harvey wouldn't have stopped- he wants to take Mike straight home- but the gas light is on. When he puts the car in park, Mike takes a long deep breath as though he's been holding onto it for far too long.

"We'll be home soon." Harvey says softly. He reaches over, brushes his fingers over the back of Mike's neck. Relishes in the way Mike instantly leans into him, even if the angle is awkward because of the console between them.

"Thank you." Mike says quietly. He seems a little better now. Okay until Harvey can get him home at least. He can spoil him when they're there- Order a pizza with stuffed crust, crack open one of those cheap beers Mike likes for some reason. Maybe tuck him into one of Harvey's hoodies before he pulls Mike down onto to his chest and they settle in on the couch with a wide selection of movies. He'll hold him a little bit tighter and speak just a little softer. Maybe it will be enough to keep the nightmares away.

For now he just kisses Mike's hand, then his temple before he gets out to pump gas. Smiles in relief when Mike eventually gets out and wanders into the gas station, returning with a highly disproportionate amount of junk food to the time they have left on this trip.

He'll be okay. Harvey will make sure of it.

[littlemessyjessi]

"I Need A Favor": Naga Boyfriend Sef: Part Three

"I Need A Favor": Naga Sef: Part Three 

Warnings:  Some mature content.  Monster boyfriend… if that can be a warning.  Maybe language.  Also, my unedited, un'beta'd work.  Maybe my grammar because I'm a troll.  Idk?  

. 

Monster Boyfriend x Plus Size Reader 

Commissioned by the lovely @thickemadame  

Thank you so much, darling!  And I apologize that this took so long.  I was devastated when I lost everything on my old computer and I am permanently scatter brained but still… I am appalled that it took my so long.  I love you, darling! 

-

Never in my life had I been so nervous for someone to be in my garden. 

All this despite the fact that I had strangers in it all the time for photoshoots … and also the fact that Sef was my neighbor and literally saw it every day. 

Though somehow this felt different. 

While my nerves were turning my stomach into the equivalent of a washing machine with a brick inside… I was still quite proud of my the oasis that I had created in my time here. 

The lush foliage and blooming flowers. 

I'd put a lot of work into making sure that it was a garden that was beautiful year round and taking care to plant so meticulously so that when one thing was done another was coming to life. 

Strategically placed stone pieces reminiscent of a garden some ancient greek goddess might've had. 

Twinkling lights and no short amount of gorgeous focal points. 

It was my pride and joy. 

Despite the fact that I allowed strangers here for my side hustle all the time… it still seemed intimate to have a date here. 

I'd never done that before. 

I'd chose a simple outfit for the evening. 

Something comfortable and flowy to accent my figure in an ethereal way but also cozy enough as to not add discomfort to my growing anxiety. 

The scent of something cooking away caught my attention and l looked over the fence to see a trail of smoke spiraling into the air. 

I stood on my tiptoes and peeped over the fence to see Sef standing at the grill. 

I admired him for a moment before he began to chuckle. 

"You know, I've heard of Peeping Toms before but perhaps I should call you a Peeping Tammy." he said before those vivid eyes of his flicked up to meet mine. 

I was suddenly very grateful for the fence between us as I could feel the heat rise in my skin… and more importantly the weird face I pulled when I realized I'd been caught. 

"Sorry, I smelled the food." I said. 

"I'm glad to know you're hungry." he said.  "I may have overcooked a bit but it's alright.  Atleast, I know you'll be well fed with the leftovers this week."  

"If it's as good as it smells there may not be any left." I said.  "Would you like me to open the gate?" 

"That would be great." he said, turning the vegetables on the grill. "I'll meet you in the middle." 

I fiddled with the latch on my side and swung the gate door open at the same time he did his. 

At the risk of sounding terribly cliche, it was like a moment in the moment where the two romantic leads finally see each other in a certain light. 

And in a way… it was. 

Despite the rather comical last twenty four hours or so… I had never really taken notice of Sef in this way. 

Handsome? 

Definitely. 

Talented? 

Without a doubt. 

But I had never really, really looked at him as a pontential partner. 

And I had to say… he was looking very good. 

A slow smile spread across his lips, "You look absolutely breathtaking." 

"Thank you." I said softly.  "You look very handsome, yourself." 

And he most certainly did. 

He'd opted for a green button down that made his skin tone positively glow against it as well as matching his eyes incredibly well. 

I was also very pleased to see that he hadn't completely changed back into his human form. 

He was caught somewhere in between. 

The legs were gone, replaced by his long tail and little scales dotted his skin here and there. 

His eyes were the same beautiful color but if you looked closely you could see that the pupil of the eye was enlongated a bit. 

Apparently, I had been quite too long and mistook my admiration for gawking. 

"I, uh, I hope this is alright." he said gesturing towards his tail. 

"Oh!" I started, shocked and perhaps a little embarassed that I'd made him uncomfortable.  "Of- of course! Whatever you are most comfortable with.  I, um, well I was just admiring you was all.  I didn't mean to stare.  You just… you look very handsome tonight and I was a little taken." 

He smiled softly but only broke out into a laugh as I bumbled through my words again. 

"Not to say that you're aren't always handsome! You are! You always have been! I mean, you know that.  You see yourself in the mirror every day.  Oh god, someone please shoot me to put me out of my misery.  Excuse me while I go crawl under a rock and die now."  

He erupted into further laughter before he gently took my by the arms, "Relax, sweetheart.  It's quite the confidence boost to know that you're so taken." 

"Oh, great.  As if your ego needed anymore inflating." I said before I could stop myself. 

The smile turned into a fond little smirk, "Ah, there's that sassy mouth I love so much." 

"Excuse me?  You enjoy ridicule?" I asked. 

He laughed, "It's not ridicule. It's your duality.  I love that you are both sweet and salty. It's my favorite kind of snack actually." 

In favor of my thundering heart, that I have no doubt he could hear judging by the deepening smirk on his face… I chose to ignore to the double meaning to those words. 

Instead, I chose to prissily turn my nose up, "It's very rude to call your date salty, you know." 

"Oh, would you prefer sweet and sour?  That's another flavor combination I'm partial to.  I just love devouring things that dance on my tongue." 

My heart felt as if it were going to burst from my chest and I narrowed my eyes into slits when he actually doubled over in laughter. 

"I am so not your friend anymore." I said, huffing and turning away from him. 

It was all playful, of course. 

He was riling me up and despite the fact that my body was betraying me, I couldn't deny that I loved his attention. 

"Oh, come now." he whispered into my ear and I almost choked. "Don't be cross with me. I was only teasing.  It's just my nature." 

In his nature, indeed. 

His arms wrapped around me as well as his tail, "But you are correct about one thing." 

Curiosity having gotten the better of me, I turned in his embrace to lock eyes with him, "What's that?" 

"I don't want to be your friend." he said. 

My brows furrowed in indignation. 

"I want to be much, much more than that." he said, a twinkle in his eye again. 

I slipped out of his embrace after deciding that I needed to give my nervous system a break from his infuriatingly intoxicating presence. 

"Go finish the food." I said sternly. 

"Yes, ma'am." he said, bowing dramatically and slithering back to the grill. 

I huffed again and I could hear him snort in the background….but I would sooner fling myself off a cliff than give him the satisfaction. 

I soon lost myself in fussing over the area I had prepared for us. 

Earlier I'd made quite the little paradise in the best spot in the garden. 

I'd set up the projector and brought every pillow I owned outside under what I called the fairy grove. 

Twisting vines and twinkling lights. 

It was magical. 

"Where should I put these?" 

I turned to see him standing there with trays of food in his arms and a small bar cart trailing behind him being pulled by his tail. 

It would seem that it was quite dextrous. 

Interesting. 

I shook the thought from my head before I could start drooling.  

"Just there." I said pointing to an open spot while I fretted over the set up. 

"Just relax." he whispered in my ear.  "There's no need to be so tense.  If you're trying to impress me, just know that I've been impressed since the moment I saw you.  I just want to spend time with you." 

And for some reason, my stress just slid off my shoulders. 

We ate- his skills as a chef were truly unmatched. 

We drank- he hadn't been lying about being a bartender. 

We laughed- he was incredibly funny with a sharp wit. 

Before I knew it, we were laid out, stomachs full and smiles on our faces as we watched the movie. 

We'd long since turned the volume down and decided to provide our own dialogue. 

He'd just finished making it seem as if the lead role was headed in for his routine colonoscopy causing me to fling myself backwards across the pillows in a fit of laughter. 

He laughed before laying back and joining me. 

We stared up at the night sky through the canopy of leaves and soft twinkling fairy lights. 

"You know, I've always thought this was the best spot in your garden." he said. 

"Thank you." I said before blinking, "Hold on.  You've never been in this spot of my garden.  You've never even been in my garden before." 

He gave a long that I could only describe as a child having been found out when they were being naughty. 

"Well, that's not exactly true…" he said. 

"Oh?" I asked. "Been trespassing have you?" 

I wasn't necessarily accusing him… though I was curious as to what might've provoked him to scale not only his gate but mine as well. 

"Kind of." he said.  "But you've actually seen me many, many times. You've even given me snacks and placed me in sunny places on particularly chilly days." 

"What are you talking about?" I asked. 

He sighed and before my eyes he transformed yet again into a tiny green garden snake. 

I gasped, "My little friend…" 

He slithered towards me and gently nudged my hand with his head until I ran my fingers over his scales. 

He changed back and looked at me sheepishly, "Honestly, I never meant to invade your privacy.   I've just always thought you had such a beautiful garden and, of course, you are possibly the most lovely creation in here.  I just… wanted to get closer to you. I didn't exactly have the confidence." 

I was shocked. 

"I've told you many, many secrets like that." I whispered. 

"And they're still just as safe with me as they were when you thought I was just a little snake." he pressed. 

"But why?" I asked.  "If you were so taken then why not just talk to me?" 

He chuckled, "Love, for all my pompous ego of mine… I am really no different than any man. I see a beautiful person and I am just as scattered and flustered as the rest of them."  

"What's changed then?" I asked out of curiosity.  "Forty eight hours ago, we weren't exactly chummy." 

"I've known for a long time that I wanted you, darling." he said. "But in my time of need, when you didn't particularly like me… you helped and it was that that told me everything that I ever needed to know about you. I wasn't afraid of asking anymore.  I was more afraid of not asking… and letting the opportunity slip away." 

I was quite then. 

Pondering all he'd told me. 

Here I'd thought it was simply a neighbor version of 'and they were roommates' but it was so much more. 

"There is this thing with creatures of my breed, the Scalenes, The Cobraeans." he said.   "Our animal counterparts don't always hold true to it but those of us who live between the two worlds of human and animal.  We're born with two eyes, two ears, many things in twos.  But we're only born with one heart… because we're supposed to find the other.  I… I think I've found that with you." 

I simply stared at him for a moment. 

Perhaps a moment too long because he seemed to be panicking a little. 

"Uh… could you say something?" he said before looking down at his lap, eyes widening.  "I don't think you're freaked out.  You're hearts not racing but your eyes are dilated. Oh my goddess, I've gone and thrown you into shock! By Medusa's gaze! Nice going, Sef! You've gone and-" 

His sudden monologue was cut short by my laughter and he whirled around to look at me. 

"Sorry, sorry." I said. "I just - you're quite funny when it's you having the come apart." 

He narrowed his eyes at me slightly. 

"I reveal my feelings to you and you laugh at me." he chuckled.  "Wow." 

"Oh, come now." I said with a mischeivious smirk of my own. 

He gave me a deadpan look, "It's not nice to toy with a man's libido after scaring the life out of him." 

I smirked, "And I thought you liked my duality." 

"Well the sour I get but I've yet to see the sweetness." he pouted. 

"Aw, I'm sorry." I said, playfully rolling my eyes.  "Whatever, can I do to make it better? Would you like a hug?  Perhaps, a cuddle?" 

"Not enough." he pouted childishly, already long over it but definitely gonna milk it for what it was worth. 

That much I could tell already.  

"You made my blood run cold I was so scared." he accused. 

"You're Scalene.  Your blood is always cold." I teased. 

He huffed but I could tell he wasn't finished, "The only way this absolute injustice could possibly be righted is by a kiss." 

I pretended to ponder it just for the sake of toying with him. 

"I could…"I trailed off, bringing my lips dangerously close to his, ghosting them against each other. 

He chased after me as I pulled away. 

"Tease." he hissed at me. 

I giggled ridiculously, "Perhaps, I have Scalene in my bloodline somewhere.  Teasing seems to be in my nature as well." 

He narrowed his eyes but the smile playing about his lips gave him away. 

I dramatically clasped my hands together in consideration, "I could give you a kiss to mend this obvious discontent I've bestowed upon you.  But perhaps, I've been too cruel.  Perhaps, it's not enough." 

He softened thinking I was serious, "Darling, you don't have to.  I was only playing." 

I winked at him, "Oh but I do.  I have giving you saltiness and sourness.  So now I shall give you something very sweet." 

I pulled him into a kiss that seemed to suck the very life from him. 

He was easy to roll over as I straddled him. 

"And now perhaps, I'll let you have that snack after all." I said flicking the bottom of my dress at his face. 

The man looked like it was Christmas Day and Santa Clause himself had arrived to give him his presents. 

And that is how two quarreling neighbors ended up finding the other heart they'd always been searching for. 

Fifteen years later and we're still together. 

We tore down our fence and built out two homes together into one just as we did with our own lives. 

Tore down the walls we'd both had around our hearts and built a new one together. 

Entwined together forever. 

And it all started with a favor. 

—--- 

For my darling @thickemadame : I do hope I've done this justice and that you forgive me for taking so long.  I know it's not very smutty but I got caught up in the fluff of it all and I hope there was enough saucy bits to keep you happy.  All my love, darling. 

—-

Hey, loves! I hope you liked it! I'm trying out new content styles! If you liked, it please let me know!

Love, K

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[rarephloxes]

@elucienweek, day IV, favorite headcanon ;)

It spiraled of out control. I still have no idea how this came about.

psa: english in not my first language, if you see any errors pls let me know, this whole thing is un'beta'd. I’d love to read what it made you feel!

moodboard

rating: M

wc: 6.129

Elain searches for herself and finds more than she ever expected.

or: Elain travels, kisses strangers, goes a little crazy and falls in love with herself. If it all happens in Paris so she can fall asleep to Lucien speaking French... sometimes the red thread just guides you home <3

(1)

Elain has been living in her sister’s boyfriend house for two months.

It is big enough of a place for them to be able to avoid each other without much effort.

Elain gardens, helps at the kitchens, walks around the green land surrounding the property.

Nesta comes to visit when it’s convenient for her busy schedule.

Elain tries to call, anyone.

She can’t remember the process of losing all her college friends.

She doesn’t know how she ended up a shell. A pretty porcelain doll meant for a man’s praise.

Not enough for the boy who plucked all her petals.

Elain wonders how she could possibly have let her life lead to this.

She does not know who she is.

Greysen cheated on her a month away from their wedding. With his dad’s PR assistant.

Rhysand manages to settle all the work that would have been hers to deal with: rescinding invitations, returning gifts, trying for refunds, canceling venues, canceling catering...

Feyre and Nesta agree company would be what Elain needs. So, they moved her into Rhysand’s house by the Sidra’s coastline.

Greysen texted her asking for his grandmother’s ring within a week.

She cannot bear the thought of parting with it.

She loves him.

She hates him.

There is a family dinner at the house, all Rhysand’s and Feyre’s friends come.

It’s a loud affair, drinks and food and laughter filling the corners of the quiet house.

Mor approaches Elain to tell how sorry she is.

“And to flaunt it on his socials? Trust me, babe. You dodged a bullet,” Mor said with a sweaty hand on Elain’s shoulder, “Get it?” Mor laughs “Because his dad was in the military?”

Elain smiles politely the rest of the evening.

When it is appropriate to leave the guests, Elain excuses herself and goes to her room with shaky hands.

Her breath stutters while she tries to plug her charger into a socket. She has not used her phone since the previous month, at least. When Greysen had asked for the ring.

A million messages appear on the screen.

He needs the ring, Elain.

He'll pay for it.

He’ll send someone to pick it up, wherever she is.

He needs it.

It’s not her ring, she has to give it back.

She doesn’t have to be a bitch about it, it’s a family heirloom.

She scrolls through her messages and finds it.

I love you, babe. Can’t wait to marry you ;)

There is a new photo on Greysen’s Instagram of him with his arms around another woman.

Elain’s birthday photo is gone, their engagement party photo is gone. Their New Year Eve’s kiss is gone, their one-year anniversary compilation is gone.

He deleted her existence from his.

He and Big Blondie are somewhere Elain knows. Not because she has visited it before, but because it was the subject of weeks' worth of preparations and months' worth of dreams.

He took someone else to their honeymoon trip.

Elain barely makes to the bathroom before emptying her dinner at the basin.

The days after that blur into each other in an endless stream of numbness.

Rhysand’s governesses, Nuala and Cerridwen, try to gently coax Elain out of her room.

When she finally leaves, there is a suitcase in her hands.

“I’ll go on a trip,” she says in a haste, going down the stair two steps at a time.

She meets Feyre at the airport.

“How did you- “

“The girls at the house,” Feyre explains, hugging her sister.

“I know it is rushed,” Elain explains “But I need to- “

“I know, you don’t have to spell it out for me,” Feyre laughs, silver lining her eyes “I’m glad to see you out of the house,”

“I just wanted to wish you a safe journey! Oh, and give you this,” Feyre fast speech stops when she places a black rectangle in Elain’s hand.

“I can’t accept it,”

Feyre rolls her eyes and chuckles, “Yes, you can. It's a gift,”

Nesta appears minutes before Elain must cross the gates. They say their goodbyes in the hurried affection that has become such an intimate part of their relationship.

There is still a weight on Elain’s shoulders when she crosses the sliding doors, but when she turns and sees her sisters’ smiling faces waving at her, things do not seem so impossible.

Elain hops on a plane to Paris.

The first few days she spends at the City of Light are reminiscent of her time at Sidra’s House.

Elain sleeps, walks around her hotel arrondissement, eats when she remembers to.

She observes tourists and locals from her hotel’s balcony.

She becomes the unmoving voyeur to old couples, young couples, loud teenagers and the bold color contrast between tourist’s clothes and Parisians sober tones.

The mid-summer has the city like a swarm of ants.

Once, Elain watches as a group of primary school kids, in neon orange vests walks down the sidewalk, delimitated by a safety bright red tape held by all their puffy little hands, a kind voiced teacher pointing at the buildings around them.

There’s awe in their tiny little eyes.

A spurt of energy grows in Elain’s chest.

She looks at the constructions she has been staring at for the past few days with renewed eyes.

She wonders at all the different perspectives people have about the same subjects. A street can be a tunnel towards a bad memory, a painful public break up, an embarrassing trip on a loose rock, or the path to greater landscapes, the first view of the city one has just moved into, a toddler’s first steps. She wants to discover all the different perspectives she can have.

Elain grasps at her epiphany with every ounce of strength she has left.

(2)

Elain goes on a shopping spree that lasts a week. She wears her new clothes like she is a movie star during the recording of a film: multiple outfit changes through the day, different assembles of style for every meal. She tries every aesthetic she can think of.

She sees a beautiful lavender gown draped over a mannequin in a shop’s window. Her reflection lines perfectly with the dress’ silhouette. It looks too much like something Elain would buy, so she leaves the dress for the mannequin and walks to a different store.

Elain buys the most outrageously expensive and obnoxious faux fur coat paired with a black hat and face veil she can find on Champs-Elysées and pretends to be the mysterious widow from one of Nesta’s smutty novels for an entire day. She gets into fancy hotels and restaurants and cries prettily to hoard sympathy enough to not pay the bills from the, once again, outrageously expensive foods and drinks she orders, even managing to finesse a penthouse room for her to lavishly spend the afternoon. It works like a charm. She tips the bell boy and winks at him. He smiles at her like a fool.

When she’s Claudia, a moody therapist with a beauty mark right underneath her left nostril who wears tweed coats, high heeled tight leather boots, frog-printed scarves and talks in a smooth Brummie accent, she enters a conversation with an egocentric Frenchman and has a two-hour long discussion about a psychologist she made up. They both get kicked out of the café for disturbing the peace. She makes out with him for what feels like another two hours in the alley which leads to the establishment’s back door. When she decides Claudia has smeared enough of her red lipstick in Paul’s face and neck, she gives him her coat and scarf while Elain sneaks back into the café, under the disguise of using the bathroom, with the promise to later follow him to his apartment. She leaves through the front door and gives her bonnet to an old man she passes by as she runs across the street.

When she’s Petra, a struggling poet that uses thrifted, vintage Prada moccasins and long, light, flowery dresses with sewn-on, ink-stained pockets for pens and notebooks, she buys scenery art she finds intriguing on Pont des Arts and sends them to Feyre along a Notre Dame postcard.

When Elain is Eleonora, she shares cigarettes and kisses with a lonesome barista during her break named Sophie. Eleonora finds her while walking near the Senna and thinks her charming.

Elain becomes too many people in too little time. A few of her characters she writes down in a leather notebook she got from a pretty Brazilian boy that worked in a quaint, corner bookshop. He flirted with her like he needed to put a bit of the sun in his eyes into hers. According to the first yellowed page, his name is Rafael. His number is underlined with the intricate drawing of a vine. Elain paints her thumb in deep red lipstick and puts her fingerprint right next to where he had written ‘For the thoughts of the prettiest sad smile I’ve ever seen.’

Eventually, Elain gets tired of her new clothes. She sells the ones she has tailored herself to thrift shops. She spends a full day carrying around a suitcase filled with the pieces she still has and gifts them to people on the streets she thinks might like them.

That night, she closes her eyes and randomly chooses a place to move into from the 5 Stars Hotel session of a battered City Guide. She has but a big shoulder bag to pack.

Before she leaves, she kisses the kind concierge with a strong Italian accent woven into his French on the cheek. He plucks a rose from one the flower arrangements in the reception and gifts it to her in a curtsy. He promises to never forget her. She promises the same with her eyes. When her cab arrives, she crushes the flower in between the pages of her new diary and sews it with the leftover sewing thread she finds on her bag, and carefully writes Sergio’s name and the date below it.

During her 5-day stay at Hotel de Crillon, Elain only takes off the fluffy white robe to take hour-long baths in the obscenely big bathtub. She goes to the spa multiple times a day and eats everything on the room-service menu at least twice.

Elain buys train tickets on a whim. She still only has one pair of jeans and a coat, the shirt she was wearing now stained with wine.

Nevertheless, she turns a scarf she finds hidden in her bag (a pleasant surprise!) into a shirt and goes to Saint Tropez.

(3)

She finds a villa to stay by stumbling upon it after aimlessly strolling around the city.

She puts on heart-shaped sunglasses.

On her first night out, a new summer dress flaring around her knees, she befriends a group of girls on vacation.

Elain introduces herself as Connie.

They eat pasta and drink pretty colorful drinks until they are all laughing and squealing happily with each other. Elain, while faking her name, doesn’t fake the story she tells the girls.

At least not most of it.

Amanda, the beautiful blonde, invites Connie to the yacht trip they will have in two days.

The next day, Elain runs around the city in a flurry of movements to buy swimwear appropriate for someone’s sugar daddy yacht.

Connie, Amanda, Brandy, and Nora get on a boat with Constatin, owner of half the cellular data companies in France, and drink all his rosé.

Like his namesake watches, Constantin is well polished, beautifully crafted and greying in the ways that make him attractive to young women.

Nora, the writing major, and Brandy, the recent graduate from fashion school, tan topless at the deck.

Connie, runaway bride, joins them.

Elain jumps into the calm, cold, dark blue and crystalline waters of the Atlantic Ocean until she is not afraid to do it anymore.

She dives as far as she dares below the surface and cries.

Their days together are carefully unplanned and unimaginably fun.

They party endlessly. They sell kisses 1 euro each in the streets. They buy cigarettes, get high by the beach, and take photos in Amanda’s digital camera of every adorable old couple they pass on the street.

They eat gelatos and wink at the passerby.

They dance with strangers and laugh at each other’s runny eyeliners.

They all give a parting kiss to the last stamp Elain glues on the top corner of the envelope containing Greysen’s ring.

“For good luck,” says Brandy.

“No, mine is definitely for wishing it gets itself lost in a pile of letters and ends up in Turkmenistan,” laughs Nora with a huff.

If it’s not Connie’s name in the paper, it’s none of their business.

They part ways with promises to email. They all doubt they will stay connected. Elain will never forget them.

Elain goes to Belgium for a week.

She is offered a round pink pill from a boy whose lips taste like sugar at an open-air festival.

She pretends to swallow it and parties as if she didn’t.

Poor Laurent waits for Nora to appear at the festival’s main gate, the unkept promise of a wild night of love with a beautiful stranger going cold in his brain.

He couldn’t know Nora is well settled in her Manhattan apartment by the time the last of the techno set ended.

Elain flees by sunlight’s first rays to her hotel, pops the drug in her mouth and thinks of the interesting new colors she finds on the wall.

Elain spends her days in Germany sober.

She goes to most museums in Berlin and cries at every single one.

She walks in the paved tracks of Tiergarten and silently prays for all of those whose pain is greater than hers.

She stole Amanda’s camera, and uses it for capturing the flowers she likes best along the way.

She rents a car and visits only the towns whose name seem weird enough to order a visit.

She talks to the grumpy, old salesmen at flea markets.

She takes a train ride that crosses Germany, Switzerland and Lichtenstein borders within the same hour.

She drives a Cadillac down the Italian countryside and blares Lana del Rey on her speakers.

She skinny dips in a brook by a tiny village.

She tries to go by using only 25 euros a day.

She eats a slice of pizza from every little stand she sees on the streets of Rome.

She takes a boat trip to Greece.

She day drinks.

She walks around Athens pretending to be a Goddess.

She misses her family.

It’s easier to admit she doesn’t miss Greysen.

Before getting on a plane back to Paris, Elain sends Nesta, Cassian, Rhys and Feyre a postcard scribbled with ‘I’m only using burner phones!!! I promise to get in touch more often, miss you all very much!!’

Elain rents an apartment at Marais and buys a bicycle.

There is an easiness in the way she breathes now.

She smiles at her many faces in every reflective surface she encounters.

(4)

She meets him with the scent of Paris’ spring encompassing her every breath.

He asks her what sorts of flowers a man should buy for a woman he loves.

“That depends,”

“On what?”

“Which type of love are we talking about?”

“What about love at first sight?”

Elain can’t help but laugh, her shoulders tensing with the attempt to curb her chuckles.

“Ok, I’ll admit it! That could’ve been a bit smoother” he says, half the sun in between his lips.

“Who are you buying flowers for, Mr.…?” Elain asks, the corners of her eyes watering with the intensity of her giggles,

”Just Lucien,” he sags a bit, laughs with her, “My mom is flying back home in a few hours, and I want to see her off with a bouquet,”

“All right, Just Lucien,” she jokes “Try pink and yellow roses, with the white tulips. The tulips do not actually mean love, but they are too pretty not to mix in with the flowers. Spring is when tulips start to bloom,”

They leave the stand, Lucien with a big, opulent bouquet and Elain with little bulbs she can plant in her apartment.

“Hm…?”

“Brandy” she supplies while setting her precious bulbs into her canvas bag.

“Would you like to grab a coffee? Only if you’re not busy, I mean, only if you want to?”

When the corners of his mouth pull up, they tug at a once-dormant thread in her ribs.

Elain smiles at the way he stammers. She wouldn’t have taken him for the shy type, with his well-kept red hair, pretty eyes. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

“Good, I know a place, but we’d have to take the metro- “

“Or we could just walk a block or two to find a pretty corner to sit down.”

They end up not sitting down but sipping their drinks as they aimlessly walk around her neighborhood, Lucien’s frame towering over hers.

He is wearing a suit, but no tie. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her trusted, soil-stained dungarees.

They are reaching Pont Marie when Lucien suddenly stops, in midst of telling her about how he and his eldest brother trained their dogs to scare away his tutors when he was a nothing more than a scrawny, trouble-prone boy.

”’Listen, Brandy,” he stops, cursing when he glimpses at his watch “I promised my mom I’d take her to the airport and I have meetings today I can’t postpone, but if you’re still in the city tomorrow, I’d really like to- “

She places her pointer and middle finger over his lips. It’s the first time they purposefully touch. “I’ll text you where.”

She likes the way he makes her smile.

(5)

They meet at Pont Neuf.

“I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, Lord” he pleads with wide eyes and sagging shoulders “You’re not about to tell me you’re married, are you?”

The word, strangely, doesn’t hurt to hear when it’s his voice pronouncing it.

“Oh, God. No, no, that was not- “she interrupts herself in a laugh. If Lucien notices her voice sounds a bit off kilter, he doesn’t mention it.

“I lied to you,” she admits, an anxious smile on her lips.

“Great start to a relationship,” he jokes, leaning onto the railing, crossing his arms. Her eyes catch the way the open buttons on his shirt shift to allow the light bouncing from the river to illuminate the golden hue of his skin.

As if just realizing what he’d said, Lucien opens his mouth and lifts an apologetic hand as if to explain his true meaning but-

“I know what you meant,” Elain cuts him off, “My name is not Brandy.”

He smirks at her “I didn’t think it was,”

Elain pushes him in mock outrage, trying to conceal her smile “It could’ve been,”

“Well, yes,” he holds the hand that made contact with his shoulder and looks so deeply into her eyes she can’t help but gasp, “But I read people for a living. Also... you do not look like you’re named Brandy,”

“What do I look like my name is then?”

“Juliet”

Elain rolls her eyes, but she knows the blush on her cheeks gives her away, “Would that make you Romeo?”

“If you want to,”

Lucien had slowly pulled her close. If she takes a deep breath, her chest will touch his.

“It’s Elain,” she whispers, because she doesn’t trust her voice to do much else “My name is Elain,”

He tucks a brown flyaway that is stuck to her cheek and places it behind her ear. The line his fingers trace on her skin grows light of their own. “Beautiful,”

He didn’t stray his eyes from hers for even a moment.

Elain feels silly to think that she has never felt like this before.

They spend the day speaking into the shrinking space between them. They eat croissants with rosé at Lucien’s favorite café. They go to Elain’s favorite patisserie for macaroons.

They order one of each flavor and share them. Lucien asks for pen and paper in perfect French. There’s a pink one that tastes exactly like the smell of perfumes. The pistachio macaroon is sage green and nutty in the perfect balance. The vanilla bean is creamy and basic (complimentary). The blueberry is purplish and basic (derogatory).

They museum hop. He tells her about his mom in front of the history-book-famous DeLacroix painting.

She tells him about her sisters in front of the Hammurabi Code.

They talk about the paintings and their worldviews.

They share mediocre mac-n-cheese at the Louvre’s cafeteria.

They count how many steps they need to cross the big painting which hangs in the wall opposite of the Monalisa (The Wedding in Cana is 22 Elain-steps long and 19 Lucien-steps long)

Almost every piece of art they visit she has already seen. Looking at all of it again with Lucien by her side feels like discovering something new.

He has a clever remark for every comment she makes.

Lucien kisses Elain with his thumbs pressing her jawline up. Her hands find their place grasping the front of his shirt. They become a fleeting fundamental part of Psyche Revived by Cupid’s kisses.

She doesn’t have the breath for teasing him about the spot he chose for their first kiss.

When the ringing in her ears diminishes, she hears cheers and applauses.

Lucien smiles, “Hold on tight,” he whispers against her lips before tilting her back in an elegant bow to kiss her to the grand excitement of their audience.

When she smiles against his lips their teeth clash together.

They climb all the 280 steps to watch the sunset at Arc de Triumph’s roof.

They photobomb all the travel groups that pass by them.

They are walking near the Pallais Garnier when bold letters catch the corner of Elain’s eyes,

“Oh, I can’t believe it,” she giggles and pulls Lucien with her, “there’s a ballet presentation today!”

He laughs and she covers his eyes before he has the chance of reading the banner “Guess what Ballet it is,”

“How many chances do I have?”

She hums as if in deep thought, “Three!”

“The Nutcracker,”

“Nope,” she pops the p.

“Giselle,”

She tuts negatively, “Come on, last chance!”

“I need an incentive,”

“I’ll give you one if you get it right,”

He presses their foreheads together, her fingers still over his eyes “Give me a tip?”

“It’s a love story,” she counts “And a tragedy,”

“Romeo and Juliet?”

Elain laughs and snakes her arms around his neck “I made it too easy for you,”

He hugs her and spins them around to hear her laugh again,

“I wish we could watch it,” she laments, and she starts walking down the sidewalk again.

“Why can’t we?”

“It’s probably sold out,” she mentions at the big decadent building near them “we also can’t watch the ballet in our clothes. These things have dressing codes,”

“Okay...” he looks around them as if planning something “Let’s try it like this: I’ll see if I can buy tickets,”

She looks at him in disbelief.

“Wait! Wait,” she smiles, and he pulls her close, “Believe in me, ok?”

She nods. She can’t remember a moment in this day she has not smiled because of him.

“We’re close enough to Rue de la Fayette, we can buy something appropriate. There’s one hour for us to get ready and meet here before the first act begins,”

There is a shiver in her spine when he says we.

“Do you really want to do this, or is it just because you think I want to do it?”

“And pass up the opportunity take you on a date to see the French Ballet? Do I look like a fool to you, Elain?”

She brushes her lips against his and giggles.

“Let’s do it, then.”

While Lucien runs up the stairs towards the ticket's office, Elain crosses the street and goes in search of a very specific mannequin.

She reaches the store she has been to in what seems like a lifetime ago.

A little breathless from the fast pace track she had to make until the shop, she tries her best to explain to one of the workers her circumstance.

“There’s always a little extra luck for lovers in Paris,” Elain is told.

Elain doesn’t feel the need to explain that they aren’t really lovers.

Marie takes her to the worker’s lounge where there is a shower Elain can use.

Marie appears with another woman, Cecile, together they dress Elain in her beautiful lavender dress.

Ella has a make-up bag; Stella has dry shampoo. Elain ends up in sat down at a table with Frenchwomen flying around her.

Elain’s hair is falling to her waist in gentle curls due to the braid Lucien’s careful hands had woven into her hair at the Jardin de Tuileries.

After forty-five minutes, Elain leaves the store with a skip on her step.

Lucien is already waiting for her in front of Ópera Garnier, dressed sharply in a tuxedo.

It seems that Paris is indeed a lucky place for lovers.

“Mademoiselle,” he greets, kissing her knuckles,

“Monseigneur,” she blushes under the candle-lit light of his eyes.

They sit together at the Balcon, near the orchestra.

“How did you get these seats?”

“Told them I had a lady to impress,”

The lights turn down and Elain is swept away by the music, Lucien’s fingers in her palm guiding her through waves of sound and magic.

“We could totally do that,” he whispers like a conspirator in her ears, a shiver blooming over her spine and growing until the crown of her head.

As the Balcony Pas de deux evolves in front of them, Romeo, in all his earnest adoration, lifts Juliette with his head devotedly pressed to her stomach, the grace of their movement leaving no doubts of the love they feel.

Elain quells her laugh lest she bothers the audience around them.

During intermission, Lucien and Elain are standing on the red-carpeted stairs, she a step above him.

Elain kisses both of his eyelids while he reads aloud from the performance’s booklet they received at the entrance.

“What’s this for?”

“Your eyelashes are red,”

Elain goes down the steps leading down to the Ópera’s foyers, a bright spot of lavender amongst the departing crowd, with melodies singing in her bloodstream. She feels as though a wind could lift her towards the stars in the sky, the ending note of the orchestra still vibrating in her ears.

“Come with me.” Lucien asks with his hands on her cheeks.

Elain realizes she doesn’t want to make up an excuse not to go.

They take the metro to the hotel he’s hosted at. Lucien carries her on his back for the last few blocks, her heels dangling from his fingers.

Their chatter dies down by the time Lucien squeezes on the elevator button. The air suddenly heavy, warmly pressing down on her skin, the hairs of her arms standing alert.

Their gazes meet in the mirror as the elevator rides up to his floor.

She is sure he can see her chest fluttering for the powerful rhythm of her heart.

She is sure she can hear his heartbeat.

There is a buzz on Elain’s skin, as if a rabble of eager bees had taken cover in her stomach.

The red of his hair looks soft and inviting, his eyes solemn and hungry.

She wants him.

Desperately.

Passionately.

He is staying in the sort of hotel suite that has a living room, adorned with rococo era sofas and coffee tables, watercolor and impressionist paintings on every wall, an upright piano at the corner of the room, music sheets spread over it, its beautifully woodsy color matching the room’s color scheme.

What takes her breath away, though, is the view from the floor to ceiling windows right in front of her.

The sprawling city below them is alive. Light and movement intertwined in a stunning performance of humanity and art.

As if on cue, the Eiffel Tower’s lights started to glow in their hourly show.

This is beyond any dream she could ever had.

“Pinch me,” she breaths, unbelieving.

Lucien holds her, his chest pressed to her back, his arms curled around her until there is one hand at each side of her waist.

There is a hundred thousand words in the tenderness of his touch.

When they kiss, it is rushed and sloppy, Elain’s hands unapologetically relieving Lucien of his clothes.

Somehow, her panties are off before her dress is.

There’s magic in your eyes, he worships.

He can’t stay away.

She doesn’t want him to.

Be with me.

She feels the deep scar tissue on his back and opens her eyes, startling, a hesitant question in them.

“I’ll tell you," He promises with his nose curving along her cheek.

She has no reason to not believe him.

Elain is still shaking with the remnants of her second orgasm, her mouth and cheeks sticky from him, she he finally slides home within her.

Elain can’t string one coherent thought when he kisses her ankles and thrusts inside her so reverently she wants to cry.

She shatters one last time, prompting his release into the innermost piece of her, both their frames sated and deliciously spent.

With the way he stares at her right before they both fall asleep; Elain deeply understands the meaning of afterglow.

(6)

Lucien sometimes wakes her up with the whispers of his lips below her navel.

Elain sometimes wakes him up in the middle of the night, straddling and flexing herself around his body until he rocks back into her with a sleepy moan.

She tries to feel ashamed for how much she wants him. She can’t.

They ride bikes at Bois de Boulogne and feed the swans, looking for serendipities along the trees.

She always lets him order for her so she can listen to him speaking french for a few minutes longer.

He tries to count the freckles in her face and frowns when her mouth distracts him.

She tells him about her father.

Lucien is the seventh son of a lengthy line of brothers.

Elain tells him about Greysen on a Sunday. It’s midday and they have yet to leave their bed. Lucien has one leg draped over hers, she diverts herself by drawing faces in the canvas of his skin with her fingertips.

Lucien tells her about Jesminda. The maid’s daughter that lived in the estate house he grew up in and stole his heart with the tug of her crooked smile.

They fell in love. They got engaged.

There was a car crash. She was driving. She died and he didn’t.

“Is that how you got your scars?”

“A few of them, yes.”

They weep, sheltered in their lover’s embrace.

She holds him close like she wants to pull him inside her ribcage and keep him safe and ensconced within her, side by side with her caring heart.

There are three very peculiar words building in the back of throat.

It comes a time when he is generally staying at her house, and the few times he’s had to go to his hotel room to pick fresh clothes got him too far away from her. So, now his suitcase rests on top of a dining table chair in the corner of her room.

Finding a routine together feels like rowing a boat along the tide. It feels comically like fitting the last few pieces of a puzzle, a little room for error, all the chances to make it right.

They get their groceries from the market down the street every Monday.

There are the days he has meetings to attend (mainly Tuesdays). Then, he spends the whole night making up for his absence with his head between her legs.

They go cycling most mornings at Bois de Boulogne. They cook together every night and bar hop every Saturday.

They do laundry and make love and don’t talk about the coming of Autumn.

(7)

They have just returned from Marseille when Elain finds the black envelope standing in her mailbox, Lucien climbed the stairs first, taking their bags up while she checked for bills.

She recognizes her sister’s round penmanship, as well as Night Court Inc. stationary.

Feyre is getting married at the end of the month. She misses Elain dearly. Feyre wants Elain to be a bridesmaid. Feyre need help with preparations.

Feyre needs Elain back home.

Elain enters the apartment that became his as much as hers and ponders on how to tell him she is leaving.

He has just left the bathroom, the sound of running water and the smell of his favorite bath salts lingering in the air. He is tan, tired, and unbelievably hers.

For four weeks, at least. And Mother knew how many more few days she gets to steal before going back.

She puts the letter in her bag and hugs him, scenting salt and sunbeam on his skin.

She tells him of the letter after they finished washing their dinner dishes. He has just opened the book he was reading, a bit of sand sliding from in between the pages unto his uncovered torso.

She presses gentle fingers on his lips before he has a chance to say anything.

She doesn’t want to hear him say that it is ok that she has to go.

She doesn’t want to hear the empty promises of an ephemeral springtime love that turns into something more.

“Thank you, Lucien,”

Elain closes her eyes before kissing him and misses the catastrophic way the candle in his eye's sputters and wilts.

(8)

Elain arrives in Velaris International Airport to her sisters’ and their friends’ loud cheers.

Elain smiles, truly smiles at them, and even if a part of her still thinks of home as a little apartment in Paris, she welcomes their familiar hugs and questions that come a mile a minute.

Settling back into Sidra’s House feels like being back to the beginning, so Elain rents out a new place near downtown.

She goes to a Tea House with Nesta and Feyre. They discuss Cassian, Feyre’s wedding and her sisters ask enthusiastic questions about her wanderings.

She doesn’t yet know how to tell them about Lucien. How she went away to forget a painful love and found herself a new one. Or how she pretended to be multiple people for thrills.

She does tell them, however, of the slow healing of her spirits.

And about her still newborn plan of opening a flower shop.

Helping with the wedding planning is surprisingly cathartic. She picks the flowers, goes cake tasting with Feyre, organizes the seating arrangements, chooses the catering company…

She also decorates her new apartment and paints one of her walls a familiar shade of red.

Feyre and Rhysand say their vow to each other at dawn, under a perfectly curated vine of white tulips, black irisis, and many tones of pink roses.

At the ceremony, Elain is paired with Rhysand’s other brother, Azriel.

He has a handsome face and an aura of mystery he wields like a sword.

His eyes are the wrong hue of brown.

That doesn’t mean Elain wastes his skillful dancing abilities.

She and Azriel are dancing to one of Feyre’s favorite Frank Sinatra songs when suddenly-

“Would you mind if I stole her from you?”

Elain would recognize that voice until the day she laid her head to rest.

Unsure, Azriel looks down at Elain, a question in the way he stands.

She nods but doesn’t dare to turn around.

Elain’s view is filled with the warm tones of a neck she has memorized with her lips.

“It’s weird, I’ll call it, how I never connected the dots that Elain is quite the unusual name. That Feyre and Nesta with a sister named Elain is an even more unusual family name combination,” He starts to explain while they twirl in the dance floor. “I mean, how many people do you know with those names?”

Something inside her heart unfurls.

“Not realizing that I somehow already knew of you without knowing you. That I can admit was an honest mistake,” his throat bobs “The unforgivable mistake was letting you go with too many unspoken words between us,”

The gentle hand in her waist gives her the strength to look into his eyes.

“I didn’t say anything in Paris because I thought that it was what you wanted, a clean break up. A rebound so you could rebuild your life here being new person,”

“And if that truly was your intent, I’ll finish this dance and leave. I’ll make peace with your decision and move on,”

“But if there’s a chance I was wrong, if there’s a chance you think of our times together and knows that it was real, if there’s a chance you can forgive me for not fighting for you, if there’s a chance you love me just as I love you-”

She kisses him before he starts to ramble.

Their teeth clash when they smile against each other.

“Don’t fly away from me ever again, dove.”

“I won’t.”