Shadowhunting IRL

Impulse Control

A/N: Or, something I've proven I have none of. (it is 3 am. i dream about sleep, because i am a stunning walking contradiction. dumb poet, smart thinker, ridiculous writer.) anyway sorry for the late updates, enjoy lol

A pounding headache materialised first, her impossibly dry mouth snatching her attention before she realised she was awake.

Shit. Shit, shit, SHIT. Simon. And...Jordan? By the Angel.

Isabelle Lightwood sat up so quickly the pain in her skull flared, prompting her to yell; a shriek of surprise that only looped back to the exploding headache.

She could make out dark silk sheets, soft bright walls--her room, then. A glass of water stood on her nightstand, and next to it, her blurry vision could just make out a plate of... were those pancakes?

I owe Alec big-time.

She threw off her covers—her body felt like It was aflame at this point—and extended her arm to pick up the glass. Only...all she had on was a shirt. And this wasn't the kind of shirt girls wore at parties, the kind they ended up wearing to bed after a night of getting smashed and only taking off their shoes and skirt when they got home.

No, this was a nightshirt, one she definitely did not own. And the Hogwarts logo on it only spiked her slowly mounting panic. This wasn't Alec's, either. (though she wasn't entirely unrelieved by that. She knew for a fact she hadn't put that shirt on herself.) The beginnings of an idea began to worm its way into her brain. No. no way. Was this why Jordan's name had popped into her head?

Holy Edom, this is so much worse than I'd ever imagined.

She leaped out of bed, ignoring the shooting pains to her head, and grabbed her purse to check the emergency reserve condom she'd stowed in a secret pocket a month ago, vowing to herself at the time that she'd sooner kill the guy with her handgun than use it against her will, but still kept... just in case.

(Because women were so incredibly lucky in this day and age, being raped on the street at night for daring to step out.)

She tossed out her lip gloss, mini handgun, tissue, Starbucks receipt, a tiny black plastic circle (presumably a button that had popped off the previous night—ugh) before finding the pocket.

It was empty.

It came back to her then--the soft invite at the kitchen after an hour or more of drinking, bright hazel eyes looking down at her, a green tee being tossed on the floor, the lock in her room clicking shut as she threw off her bag.

And Izzy's glass shattered before she registered it falling from her grip, for she'd lost far more than the secrecy of her crush last night. She'd lost something far, far worse. Respect.

For if she'd chosen to sleep with Jordan while pissed to forget, why was Simon's kiss still seared into her brain?

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SIMON POV

It lingered on his lips, snaking its way around his thoughts even as he sat in Maia's room, trying to figure out why.

She was renowned for exactly the opposite of the reason his best-case scenario could offer. She'd broken countless hearts, always been far too intense, burned far too brightly for guys like him, all the while not being half as invested as those she fooled around with, basically wrapping them around her little finger. And then there was the thing of... how she looked; she'd be mental to kiss a guy that looked like he did. He was still surprised Maia had picked him.

Isabelle Lightwood had her pick of guys (and more than a few willing girls) to fool around with. Why'd she chosen to do so with him? Was it a bet? A test? Practise she didn't need?

'SIMON.'

Simon blinked; Maia was waving her hand in front of his face, closer than she appeared to smacking him while she was at it.

He grinned apologetically, even as his mind continued to race. 'Sorry. What were you saying?'

'I was asking if you wanted to watch a movie, or head out. I've been meaning to try that vegetarian place you're in love with. Well, were in love with. I'm here now, so...lucky you.'

'It's Veselka, Maia, it's great to hear you listen just as less as you accuse me of,' he snapped, before noting the quickly fading gleam in her eye. What was wrong with him? 'Sorry. I'm really sorry, that was...it was unfair and ridiculous. Let's get the borscht, yeah? Maybe go to that karaoke room, after?' He almost teased, I won't bring earplugs as an apology to you, but wisely bit his tongue at the last second. He'd turn into one of those Nice Guy assholes if he didn't rein in his entitlement. 'You could pick the songs this time. It'll be great.'

She rolled her eyes, but the corners of her mouth quirked up begrudgingly. 'Fine. But you're paying for dinner this time.'

He answered her with a kiss that soon had both of them putting off the restaurant for the next 10 minutes. And a small part of his mind that he loathed, the part that knew there was so much more to Izzy than she let on, and was intrigued by her kiss despite having had a crush on Maia for several months, couldn't help thinking,

Does this match up to Isabelle Lightwood?

A/N: If you liked this, please vote and leave a comment (polite--and constructive--criticism is also wonderful) it means a lot. xo