This is basically my relationship with all my friends…
(via ofphanandfandoms)Source: haizii
“Izzy…” he whispered. He was afraid to look at her, afraid that now that his teeth were no longer in her throat, she would stare at him with revulsion or horror.
“You didn’t stop me,” he said. It was half accusation, half hope.
“I didn’t want to.” He looked at her. She was on her back, her chest rising and falling fast, as if she’d been running. There were two neat puncture marks in the side of her throat, and two thin lines of blood that ran down her neck to her collarbone.
Obeying an instinct that seemed to run deep under the skin, Simon leaned forward and licked the blood from her throat, tasting salt, tasting Isabelle. She shuddered, her fingers fluttering in his hair. “Simon…”
He drew back. She was looking at him with her big dark eyes, very serious, her cheeks flushed. “I…”
“What?” For a wild moment he thought she was going to say ‘I love you,’ but instead she shook her head, yawned, and hooked her finger through one of the belt loops of his jeans. Her fingers played with the bare skin at his waist.
Somewhere Simon had heard that yawning was a sign of blood loss. He panicked. “Are you okay? Did I drink too much? Do you feel tired? Are -“
She scooted closer to him. “I am fine. You made yourself stop. And I’m a Shadowhunter. We replace blood at triple the rate a normal human being does.”
“Did you…” He could barely bring himself to ask. “Did you like it?”
“Yeah.” Her voice was husky. “I liked it.”
She giggled. “You couldn’t tell?”
“I thought maybe you were faking it.”
She raised herself up on one elbow and looked down at him with her glowing dark eyes - how could eyes be dark and bright at the same time? “I don’t fake things, Simon,” she said. “And I don’t lie, and I don’t pretend.”
(via snowflakesandlondon)Source: weliveandbreathewords