Another drabble.
I own... nothing. Which means: I don't own the Mortal Instruments. Just to be clear.
Isabelle Lightwood is a lot of things. Strong, beautiful, determined, flirtatious, and passionate are among the top contenders.
When you first see her, she's stunning with bedroom eyes and thick, dark hair. Then you notice the alluring smile and dangerous way her head is tilted, as if she's sizing you up -or checking you out; both of which are equally intimidating. (Especially if you're Alec Lightwood. But, that's a different story, for a different day.)
Her hips sway provocatively as she sashays over to you confidently, her feet moving gracefully across the dirty dance floor. She steals your drink from you and sips it, a delicate eyebrow raised, perhaps wondering if you'll say anything, perhaps hoping you will. Her tongue flicks out and licks her surprisingly pink lips. You're mouth suddenly feels a bit dry, and you unsuccessfully try to swallow- but that's okay, it's a normal reaction of the male species.
"Hey." She greets you with a seductive voice, slightly husky as if she's just woken up and she's used it too much the night before. You can't help imagining her naked, it's a knee jerk reaction. Unfortunately your mind slips down darker paths, imagining sheets and more skin and touching.
"Hey." You croak, trying to banish the thoughts from your mind before you humiliate yourself. There's something knowing in her eyes, you're afraid she knows exactly what you were thinking.
She has an idea, but you're lucky, Isabelle isn't ominous - she actually thinks it's a bit cute that you're blushing, something most of the guys she approaches have failed to do. You remind her a bit of Simon, back when he was a mundane and that intrigues her. Then again, Isabelle hasn't approached many mundanes since everything happened in Idris -no, she's stuck to Downworlders mostly- and she's forgotten just how intimidating she really can be.
Guess it's your lucky night.
"What's your name?"
You stutter it out, sweating you're so nervous.
"I'm Isabelle. Do you wanna dance?" She winks at you once and your gone, you'll do just about anything for her -even seriously consider chopping off your own arm.
So, you stutter out, "S-sure."
She grabs your hand and the golden bracelets on her wrist tinkle encouragingly. Her hands are warm and a little calloused -or scared- but you don't remember that until much, much later- when you play this night through your mind countless times.
You dance with her to something upbeat and you notice how she brushes her ass against you, and runs her hand through her hair. You're really not sure how to dance, but you sure as hell try - personally you're just glad her back was pressed against you so she couldn't see what a complete loser you are.
She smells like vanilla -but you don't think about that until later, at the time the first thing you think of is cupcakes -sweet and delicious.
You're completely enthralled with her that only when she tenses, listening to a guys voice, do you come out of her spell.
"-have to go now, Iz. Emergency for the dangerous sort! Stop rubbing your ass on that guy like a slut and move it!" The guy yells, a slightly scared looking redhead on his arm.
"Keep your panties on Jace, I'm coming!" Is her not so subtle reply. "I have to go, sorry."
And she went without a backward glance.
You never see her again, and think about her far too often than is reasonable for only knowing her for twenty minutes. But she's just that kind of girl, she's got that aura about her.
Isabelle Lightwood is many things, and one of those things is unforgettable. (Especially if you're Simon Lewis, but, again, that's a different story, for a different day.)