Disclaimer: We don't own Simon or Isabelle. The belong to The Mortal Instruments and Cassandra Clare.
These will be a series of drabbles/one-shots about Simon and Isabelle's relationships so the chapters don't necessarily follow each other. These are also posted on our tumblr: Isabelle-Lewis
Beautiful
Isabelle has always been pretty, Simon thought to himself as he waited outside the Institute dressed up in a genuine black Armani suit, courtesy of Magnus Bane. He didn't understand why she had to take so long to get ready. Even upon waking up in the early morning, Isabelle is pretty.
Nervously tugging on his red tie, he wondered how he got to this situation in the first place. If you asked him a year ago, he would have told you that he was either (1) not going to prom or (2) going with Clary. He supposed it was all Clary's fault for telling Isabelle about it.
—**—
"Simon, what is this prom that I've been recently informed about?" she asked him with her hands on her hips and eyes daring him to even try to change the subject.
"Informed by who?" he asked, instantly alert.
"Not really important." She said, brushing his question away…
"Clary."
"Like I said, whoever I heard it from is not really important. Well? What is prom and why have you not mentioned it to me?
He gulped, "It's just this … dance thing we do at school. You know. Mundane things."
She raised one delicate eyebrow, "And you're not going?"
He tried to shrug nonchalantly, "I'm … a vampire now remember? It's not like I have to."
"You're going."
"What? There's no reason for me to go." He said defiantly. There was no way he was going.
She moved.
Suddenly all he could see, smell, and feel was her. With her hand lightly teasing the buttons of his shirt, and eyes seductively blinking up at him she whispered, "Let's go. "
"Alright."
—**—
Sighing, he was too whipped. Now he was stuck going to prom, an event he could hardly care about. At least he was going with –
"I'm ready!" Her voice called out from the door.
Turning around he was met with Isabelle dressed elegantly in a crimson dress, hugging her curves and showing off her feminine figure. Her long raven tresses were curled and piled neatly on her head with a few strands of hair framing her delicate face. His eyes roamed through her light make up, just enough to highlight her entrancing eyes and seductive lips.
He swallowed thickly. If he had a working heart, it'd be beating insanely fast –
"Simon? Do I look okay?" she asked, with a knowing look in her eyes.
"You… You look –"
No wonder she took so long to get ready. Pretty wasn't a deserving enough word to describe her Isabelle anymore.
"Speechless Simon?" she teased, walking up to him, a small black purse in her hands.
As soon as she was within reach, he grabbed her waist and kissed her, molding her body into his. Surprised, she gave out a small yelp which quickly turned into moans as his hands roamed lightly around her figure. "You're going to be the death of me." He whispered, groaning against her lips.
She laughed, pulling away while lightly answering back, "You're technically already dead."
He chuckled, not commenting back to her reply, and instead leaning his forehead against hers he breathed, "Tu es belle, Isabelle."
