“All these kisses” for a gal pal of your choice for clary
⇏ 💌 who remembers what this is from not me. @afraidofchange ♡ no longer accepting!
no. 8: jaw kiss.
( Clary tosses her hand towel into the laundry basket. ) That storm really, uh. Really came out of nowhere, huh?
( Did it really, Clary? Or did it catch you by surprise, because you got too wrapped up in listening to Stella?
In addition to being ruggedly handsome and hilarious, Stella is the best storyteller Clary's ever met. She makes it so easy to hang on her every word, gesturing as vividly as an orchestra conductor, and yet, totally unpretentiously. Every one is like listening to a tall tale. Clary always has half a mind to ask if they really happened - or quietly fact-check herself when she’s alone, maybe - but by the end, she can never remember to. She forgets every time; for laughing too hard.
This time, she didn’t just forget to ask about those four flat tires Stella was talking about as they walked the short gravel path home - but to check the weather, too. Clary caught Stella point out a raindrop, but it didn’t quite register until bucketfuls poured down around them, drenching them immediately.
Then, giggling, they’d had no choice but to scurry inside. )
I swear I didn’t know it would rain. ( Clary mutters to herself, from where she’s sat on the floor. She’d insisted Stella take the couch for herself.
She pretends to watch the rain patter down outside, but she’s really gazing at Stella’s reflection in that big bay window - lying on her back, damp hair dashed against the pillow, formidable profile facing the ceiling. Clary should offer her something to drink. Right?
She doesn’t. Instead, she scoots backward just a little, so she’s flush with the sofa leg, tips her head back, and pecks her jaw with a smile.
There are far worse people to wait out bad weather with. )
