"I want it mentioned how I dragged you into this fandom kicking and screaming," - BewareTheFandom, 2020.

So I was somewhere in Lady Midnight when I started planning this. Anyways, as I'm writing I just started Lost Book of the White. Now that I'm caught up and the final book in TLH is out, I figured why not publish this?

Disclaimers - This is my first fic for anything TSC-related so apologies for any OOC. For my benefit, I'm tagging this OS as a slight AU. I don't own the characters.

His Emma:

When people fall in love and something happens to one party, the other person is touched and affected. Parabatai laws, oaths, and ideals aside because it applies to two people so immersed in each other that being separate became a foreign concept.

So much happened to them individually and more happened when they became one. The longer they knew each other, stayed with each other, loved each other, life kept hitting them with things that should've kept them apart. It got to the point where Emma and Julian could no longer distinguish an event as their own because they were both involved.

They needed a day. A moment. They deserved it.

Despite being Shadowhunters bound by Oath, they weren't weak or disgraced by feelings like anger, betrayal, and love. They're happy. They could smile so bright that the sun and stars are jealous. They've felt sad, cracked and crumbled, cried until their hearts are no longer heavy.

So they took a trip to Paris. No kids, no demons, nothing.

Just them and Paris. The City of Love.

They even decided to travel like mundanes and use airlines. The only downsides were dealing with the airport. Checking in bags, their flight, sitting on the flight waiting, and the same thing when landing. Emma almost lost it when the airline couldn't find their bags. Julian had to drag her away from nearly taking out Cortana (which getting across international waters is a different story for another time. At least the airline didn't lose it).

And they arrived in The City of Love at night. All the basic tourist attractions like The Eiffel Towel and The Louvre were closed. The streets were still busy as if it was the evening, people walking out of bars and clubs, snapping pictures with blinding flashes.

They went to check into their hotel and Emma was beyond grateful that there were no issues with their room, both in the registry and on the floor. Julian booked them a room that was like a honeymoon suite. A giant canopy bed in the centre with fresh sheets, a giant balcony with glass doors, showing a view of the Eiffel Tower. There was an ice bucket on a side table with a bottle of champagne in it, two empty glasses beside it; fresh roses everywhere they looked, filling the room with its pleasing scent. Still got the newlywed treatment which was sweet.

When in Paris.

"We're in Paris so might as well paint me like one of your French girls," Emma suggests, fiddling with Julian's sleeve with a teasing grin.


At least Julian's sketchbook and supplies survived their bag fiasco. He had it in his carry-on because it was essential (like Cortana but, again, different story for another time). It wasn't paint on canvas but they're making do with what they have.

Julian was kneeling on the ground about a foot away from the foot of the bed where Emma was, as she put it, posing like a mademoiselle but in her airport outfit. His sketchbook was resting on the leg parallel to his torso. Meanwhile, Emma was lying on her side, facing him. Her upper half was prepped by her elbow as her blonde hair messily fell down her face and shoulders. Her legs were bent a little, the leg on top teetering over the bottom one like it was peering over a cliff. As the final touch, Cortana was strapped on a sheath on her hips, draping down and in front of her legs.

"You're being too much," Julian says as he opens a fresh page in his sketchbook.

"I'm not being enough, dear Jules," Emma responds.

Julian doesn't respond and not because Emma had a point (which she would argue she had). It's because Julian's already disappeared so into his head and his sketchbook. It's a place Emma wishes she could follow him into. It was the one part of their bond she didn't have complete access to. He could try to describe the scenery to her but his words could only say so much. Since he told her that his heart as a canvas would be painted as her, she could imagine his mind is the same.

Emma watches his brows furrow, mimicking the expression on her face. She knows Julian won't look up at her again since he has her mademoiselle pose memorized like a photo in his mind.

Keeping the brows, she stealthily climbs off the bed. Emma softly lands on her toes and grips Cortana tightly in her hand. She holds her breath as she removes it from its sheath, holding it by her leg. She tiptoes towards Julian, light on her toes like a deer skipping through the woods on a quiet morning. Emma stands in front of Julian and he's still concentrated on his sketch. Emma lifts Cortana and presses the tip underneath his chin. She watches Julian's body freeze mid-sketch as the cold metal makes contact with his warm skin, pencil still in his white-knuckled grip.

Emma grins as she raises Cortana so Julian would meet her gaze, but all that changed when his blue-green eyes locked with hers. Julian quickly stands, dropping his sketchbook and pencil as Emma let go of Cortana. She looks down and her eyes gravitate to Julian's sketch of her.

Emma could make out the bed and the outline of her body and Cortana. It wasn't detailed, but she saw lines indicating the creases in the bedsheets, wrinkles in her clothes, runes on her skin, curves on her body and locks of her hair. It wasn't much but it's her.

"That's beautiful," Emma exhales.

When someone compliments another person, it's because they recognize things they admire and are impressed by. Talent isn't everything but it's nothing if people don't do the work.

"Because you're beautiful," Julian responds, "but I was so close to getting the right way the light hits your face."

"You could guess one number in the lottery right but that doesn't mean you win," Emma responds. "Come here."

Emma grips his shirt and pulls him in, their mouths crashing onto one another. She loosens her grip, unbuttoning his shirt to run her hands down his uneven chest that's seen training and combat. Muscle, scars, and runes. Julian takes a second before investing himself in this moment. He wraps his arms around her, starting at the small of her back and opening his hands on her skin.

A small laugh escapes Emma's mouth when she feels his hands tugging at the hem of her jeans. He copies her laugh, his sounding like a deep rumble against her body. She didn't hear him say her name but she felt it against her skin, crawling through her as she held on tight.

"Emma…" He whispers again.

The way he says her name is like it doesn't belong to her, like she isn't worthy of being His Emma. It sounds like it belongs to the Emma in the sketch on the floor, or any of the paintings in his art studio or his heart, or the scenery in his head she'll never truly understand. It's like a different language only he knows and translates into his art. It was the most emotive way he could've ever told her he loved her.

Emma raises one of her legs, knee at his waist. She wraps it around his back and Julian takes his cue. Not breaking from their kiss, he grips underneath her leg, pressing lightly into her skin, and she bounces her other leg up to lock herself in place. Julian's hands hold her from below before travelling up her back.

A journey they've been on many times but always acted like tourists. Even after being this intimate and more for a while, exploring each other's bodies gave them a thrill that felt like walking down the streets of a new town for the first time. So much to see and do, and wanting to experience and remember everything.

But when a tourist's been to a place enough times, they know their way around town.

Once hoisted in the air, Emma drapes her arms over his broad shoulders, dangling them against his back. His muscles move against her touch whenever he does something new to her, whether it was tracing her skin as if he was dragging a pencil against her veins, or dropping kisses in trails along the shape of her bones like smudging his sketches to emphasize them. Every sensation rockets through her body and she thrives from it.

Julian walks forwards and leans, putting Emma on the bed. Emma's arms land flat against the sheets circling her head. She opens her eyes and arches her back up to see Julian shrug off his shirt before climbing beside her. Their mouths meet again and bodies move together in a smooth rhythm they've composed over time. A silent song only they could understand and be inspired by.

Emma guides his hand up her torso, grazing the scars and runes gained through the years, each with their own stories from numerous battles. Some he witnessed mark her skin and heal so they would scar nicely. Her shirt is bunched in his hand, rising at her sides. He stops at her chest and his thumb hooks under her bra about to tear it and her shirt off. He pulls at it and releases repeatedly to tease her. His hand twists at the centre as he presses himself onto her.

If Emma could pull him closer onto her, she would in a heartbeat.

Julian pauses, causing Emma's breath to hitch since she didn't expect the sudden stop. Her eyes squint a little as she watches Julian looking at her as if he's studying her, an arm propped beside her head for him to rest his weight. Locks of Emma's hair drape over the edge of the bed, the ends barely grazing the floor. She isn't sure why but she's holding her breath as if exhaling would cause Julian to lose his focus.

"This," Julian exhales.

"What?" Emma asks.

"This is the right way the light hits your face."

Not me posing on my bed as I type this on said bed so I know how to describe Emma posing like a mademoiselle.

Anyways, thanks to everyone who read this story! Please let me know what you thought in the reviews. If you have a story idea you want me to write or a story you want me to beta, don't be afraid to ask!

~ MysteryGal5