Jace and Clary Fanfiction Clary Thinks Jace Doesnt Want to Be With Her Again

Shadowhunters, it's getting hot in herre! Cassandra Clare but took to her tumblr to share a very steamy Clary and Jace original short story chosen Our Waking Souls with the accompanying art by aegisdea!

Please but read the following snippet if you lot are absolutely fine with Lord of Shadows spoilers and if you lot exercise not mind mature content and/or rather explicit fine art!

Our Waking Souls: Clary/Jace

That's correct, Clace! Original Coke. This was written on request as a gift for a friend who did something kind for me: it is, however, canon with the books and takes place while Clary and Jace are on their mission in Faerie in LoS. (If yous squint, yous can even guess when.) Clary struggles with what information technology means to dearest and keep secrets, and sexy times are had. Definitely R-rated, and with extremely sexy fine art past Aegisdea (a tiny chip excerpted higher up): so, warnings for sexual content both visual and textual.

Some spoilers for LoS; Clary and Jace are nigh 22, 23 here.

For Virna, Mari and Julia.

And now expert morrow to our waking souls,

Which watch not one another out of fright;

For love, all love of other sights controls,

And makes one little room an every where.

— John Donne

Clary was continuing over her own dead torso.

There was wasteland all around, and a dull wind stirred Clary's hair. It reminded her a footling of the volcanic bare countryside around the Adamant Citadel, though the sky here looked near burned — there were streaks of red and black char hanging in the air instead of clouds.

She could hear voices calling in the distance. She heard them every time she was here. They never got shut enough to assist her. She was lying on the ground, and at that place was blood on her face, in her pilus, on her gear. Her eyes were open, dark-green, staring sightlessly at the heaven.

Clary began to kneel, to touch herself on the shoulder, when the ground beneath her gave a shudder and a jerk, and she heard someone shout her proper noun — she whirled, and information technology all slid abroad from her as if she were tumbling from the crest of a moving ridge. She gasped, choking, and jerked awake.

For a moment, disoriented, she had no thought where she was. She was lying on a blanket on grass, staring upward at a heaven full of multicolored stars. They seemed to turn above her equally if she was staring into a kaleidoscope. She could hear music in the altitude, soft and insistent. An unfamiliar melody, but a singular kind of tune.

Faerie. She was in Faerie. With —

"Clary?" It was Jace's sleepy, puzzled voice. He had rolled onto his side next to her. They both slept in their training clothes hither, never knowing if they'd be safe during the dark. Their weapons were shut at hand, too, and Clary was glad the nights were warm because she had kicked her way free of the light blanket while she was dreaming. "Are you all right?"

She swallowed. She could notwithstanding feel the goosebumps on her skin. "Bad dream."

"You lot've been having a lot of those." He moved closer, concern in his pale gilt eyes. His low-cal hair was tousled, starting to get too long once more, a little in his eyes. "Exercise you desire to talk almost it?"

She hesitated. How did you tell someone that your dreams weren't dreams, they were visions? You knew it. And that you were seeing yourself dead, over and over, on a day that was getting closer and closer. That one day you would exist looking down at your ain body and knowing you were gone forever from the world you loved and the people you loved and who loved you.

No. She couldn't tell Jace that. Sometimes she thought she was the only person in the world who thought of him as delicate (well, except for Alec, of form). To most people, he was the boy with the angel blood, the Head of the New York Institute, one of the warriors who had gone to Edom and ended the Dark War.  To her he was e'er the skinny boy with drastic eyes who'd survived an abusive father and a soul-crushing lack of childhood dear; the boy who'd learned that to honey was to destroy, and that what you loved died in your hands.

She knew Alec understood, that in many ways he had the stronger power to behave up under tragedy, to remain calm in the face of fear for his loved ones. Isabelle, mayhap? Merely neither of them could be told, anyway; she wouldn't ask them to keep a underground from Jace. Simon wouldn't be able to carry it any more Jace could. The only person who might be able to help at all was Magnus, she thought; struggling up onto her elbows; when they got dorsum, she'd go to Magnus. She hadn't wanted to tell him when he was sick, simply she might have no choice.

"Simply a actually bad nightmare," she said. It was true, as far every bit that went. "Pitiful I woke you lot up."

He propped himself upward on his bent arm. "The music would have washed that, anyhow." It was loud: Clary could hear pipes and fiddles echoing from the other side of the hills. He flashed a grin, the crooked one that always fabricated her middle jump. "Should we cheque out the revel?"

"Isn't that kind of the reverse of being undercover?" she said. "You know, showing ourselves at a major Faerie event. Plus, your dancing is memorable."

"It is pretty skillful," he said, the multicolored stars reflected in his optics. He reached out and laid a hand on her hip, where it curved into her waist. She remembered him telling her one time it was his favorite spot on her trunk. "Works like a handle," he'd said, picking her upwards with ane manus while she giggled. Sometimes having a boyfriend who was a lot taller than you wasn't so bad.

"I said it was memorable. Not good."

His eyes gleamed. "Come up hither, Fray."

She merely grinned. Already the dream was receding. At that place were times she could fifty-fifty forget the visions, concentrate on her mission in Faerie, the time hither with Jace. She hadn't realized when they'd accepted the Institute job how much miserable travel and paperwork it would entail; she was desperately jealous of Alec and Magnus, sometimes, who got to run their Brotherhood out of their apartment and be together as much every bit they liked. One-half the time Jace was being dragged off to Idris while she was assigned to some local demon activity with Simon and Isabelle.

Really being sent somewhere with Jace was a rare opportunity for fourth dimension together, and despite the gravity of looking for a weapon, she'd been enjoying it. And Faerie was beautiful, in its conflicting way — fruit hung similar jewels from depression-hanging branches in bright colors of jade and sapphire and amethyst. Tiny pink and royal-winged faeries fluttered among the bees and flowers. There were crystal pools full of nixies who liked to come up and chatter while Clary washed her hair; she hadn't seen a mermaid nevertheless, but one of the nixies had confided that they mostly spent time in the bounding main and had definitely gotten above themselves regarding their tails.

Of class, there was the blight to fence with. Gray patches of dead land, bisecting the green fields like dueling scars. They'd taken samples of the grey soil for the Silent Brothers. That wasn't especially beautiful, but —

"Clary," Jace said. He waved a hand in front of her face; information technology was withal a jolt to encounter his fingers temporarily without the Herondale band. "Y'all have ceased paying attention to me."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "You're a like a cat. If I don't requite y'all attention, yous come up and sit on me until I rub your ears or whatever."

His smile deepened. "It wasn't my ears I —"

She smacked him on the shoulder. "Don't say it!"

He was laughing at present. "Why non?"

"I'm a very proper lady," she said. "I might swoon."

Sometimes she was still surprised at how quickly he could motility. He'd rolled them both over in less time than it took her to blink; lying on top of her with his weight braced on his arms, he looked down at her with the laughter beginning to fade from his eyes. "I'll revive yous," he said, his vocalism low.

She reached up to bear on his face. He was gazing at her so seriously, and Jace was nigh never serious when he could avoid it. She remembered the manner he had looked at her when he'd asked her to ally him, and her heart contracted with a pain close to desperation. She had injure him, proverb what she'd said then; she hadn't wanted to, simply she'd felt every bit if she'd had no choice. Remembering it, though —

"Kiss me," she said.

A flicker of surprise at the abruptness of the request, but it was quick; Shadowhunter reflexes were convenient in more than than battle. Jace rocked back on his heels then he was sitting up with her straddling his lap; he cradled her face in his hands, and kissed her.

Gentle, slow, exploratory: his mouth on hers was warm and soft; he parted her lips with his, the touch of his natural language against hers sending a daze through her torso. Every buss was like that kickoff ane in the greenhouse, rewriting her body's circuitry, teaching it: you lot volition never want anything else once again.

But still she remembered: Clary, will you lot marry me? And her voice, shaking: Y'all want to become … married?

"Harder," she whispered, pressing against him, delving into his rima oris with her tongue; she ran the tip across his lips, making him curvation back in surprise and desire. Her easily were on his shoulders; she nipped his lower lip, and he ran his easily upwardly into her hair, gathering handfuls of information technology, gasping into her mouth.

"Clary, this is going to get — out of control — very fast," he said, and in reply, she reached downward and pulled her training shirt off over her caput. He stared at her in actual astonishment (rare for Jace) before his hands flew up to cover her breasts. "We're outside," he protested. "In that location'due south a revel correct over there. Anyone could but walk by."

"Jace Wayland Morgenstern Lightwood Herondale," she said, her vocalism a low purr. (If he'd thought putting his hands on her breasts was going to dissuade her, it was not working.) "Are you being shy? Didn't you once run naked downward Madison with antlers on your head?"

"I don't care nigh people seeing me naked," he said. "I care about people seeing y'all naked."

She leaned in and kissed the corner of his oral cavity, his jaw, and then lower. She knew his sensitive spots now, including the i on the left side of his throat, just below the pulse point. She licked and sucked at his peel until his head roughshod dorsum; his easily were moving on her body now, stroking her from her breasts to her waist, untying the string that held her training pants on. They barbarous with a whisper of material and his fingers slid between her legs.

It had been years and he knew her body at present the way he knew weapons, could make her writhe in his arms they mode they danced in his hands. She gasped every bit he touched her, and her fingers tore shaking at his shirt, ripping the buttons as she dragged it off him.

"Let me," he said, his cheeks were flushed and his voice low and gritty. It sent an ache through her deeper than the ache of longing her torso felt for his: she remembered what he'd said so: Of course, spousal relationship, what else did you think? There never will exist anyone else, not for me. I thought it was the same for you lot. And she knew what he was maxim now: let me, let me please y'all, for I cannot know what troubles your dreams, I cannot know your secrets, but this I can practise.

She put her hands on his shoulders, let him stroke and touch her and the pleasance spiraled up inside her like smoke. Information technology is the same for me. It always has been. But you and no one else. Just the feeling was to intense to hold onto memory; information technology filled her caput and fabricated her lightheaded and she cried out finally, excavation her hands into his back to keep herself steady.

His eyes were glazed, dark with need. "Prevarication down," he said, his voice guttural, but she shook her head, her easily fumbling at the waist of his grooming pants. She managed to shove them down and closed her mitt around him, stroking. He sank dorsum on his elbows, and his torso arched under the multicolored stars was beautiful, his hair and the tips of his eyelashes catching their vivid gold.

She stretched herself out over him, as if she could shield his body; she ran her easily over his chest, the scars and Marks there, as if she could protect his heart. She sank down over him every bit if the joining of their bodies could foreclose whatsoever separation, could stop death from ripping her away from him, the thing she feared most in the world.

He cried out and his hands came up to grip her hips, steadying her, holding her to him, and she remembered that day once more and the look on his face, like something within him had been crushed, and her ain rising vocalisation. I dearest you lot. I dear you and you lot have to trust me: I'thou not maxim no, I'thousand saying non now. I have a good reason, I swear. Please believe me, Jace.

He looked upwardly at her now. She could see herself in his eyes, backlit by a 1000000 stars, and his confront was total of wonder and pleasance. Please, she prayed, let this not be the last fourth dimension, let this not be my terminal nighttime with him, my terminal day with him, permit me see his face similar this once more: that wait that only I e'er go to see, that has but ever been for me. And let him have this over again, too, don't take this away from him, he'southward been through plenty, done enough and given everything and —

"Please," she said, speaking aloud without realizing it, and he groaned as he moved within her, slow and hard then faster. He raised his shoulders off the basis, finding her mouth with his, kissing her as if he could fuse the two of them together. Her body was blanking her mind: at that place was simply this, a drumbeat building fiercely in her chest, drawing estrus through her veins; the unstoppable tide was coming, drawing him as it drew her: it would drown them both.

"I love y'all," she said, pulling her rima oris abroad from his, seeing his eyes widen, "and I always — I e'er —"

She broke apart around him and it was similar dying; a second after, he let go and shuddered into her, throwing his left arm across his optics in a strangely vulnerable gesture, every bit if to protect himself from a blinding light.

When Clary could orient herself again, he had pulled her downwards and rolled them both sideways, one arm effectually her, the other reaching to pull up the blanket and cover them both. In case a passing faun saw her naked, she thought with some entertainment, and kissed his olfactory organ.

His gold pilus was dark at the roots with sweat, his breast still rising and falling fast. "Jesus, Clary," he said. "That was — "

Intense. She knew what he was thinking: after five years, when they fabricated beloved it was often with laughter and teasing, e'er with passion, but that had been something else. Some part of her had establish again the desperate girl she had been in the ruins of the Wayland Manor, property Jace far too tightly because she knew she would never accept him over again, that it was impossible.

She swallowed, curling her torso close to his, tracing the line of the Herondale scar forth his shoulder with her fingertip. "Missions are dangerous," she said, in a low vox. "Tomorrow we infiltrate the Unseelie Courtroom. I — I was thinking information technology could be the last time we were ever together."

It wasn't a lie.

He looked appalled. "Clary. I know we live a unsafe life. But we've survived everything it's thrown at us." He pulled her closer, winding his fingers through her pilus. "I become it," he said, gently. "The worst affair I can imagine is something happening to you."

Her centre sank. She burrowed against him, her body's exhaustion taking over, drowsiness spreading through her as he stroked her back. "It's only that I honey yous then much," she said.

"Of course y'all exercise." His hand had stilled, fingers barely moving; his voice was thick with sleep. "I'm amazing."

She wanted to tell him that he was actually amazing, that it wasn't merely a joke, that though she knew she'd hurt him asking him to delay proposing to her again, he'd let her have the time she'd requested and never demanded to know why. She'd said he needed to trust her, and he had.

It had made her love him more than, if that was possible, and she wasn't unaware of the irony of information technology. Simply sleep was washing over her in a tide she couldn't concord back: the rainbow stars spun over them and Clary laid her head against Jace's shoulder. But earlier she fell entirely into unconsciousness a idea flickered at the border of her listen — something about the grey earth of the place in her visions, and the blighted country in Faerie. But it was gone like a leaf in a whirlpool, drawn downward along with both of them into sleep.

BY THE ANGEL! I have to acknowledge that my mouth fell open for a second when I saw Drei's art – wow!

And I also love the snippet because I really accept missed Clary and Jace as a couple. I hope everything is going to be well for them *fingers crossed* Raziel, delight, let Clary be okay!

Cassie also shared another steamy Lord of Shadows scene a while ago which we are going to share in the next couple of days.
Starting from July 1 we are going to include Lord of Shadows spoilers in our posts simply we volition give spoiler warnings get-go!

What do you think of this snippet? Tell us in the comments below and please give spoiler warnings if you discuss Lord of Shadows!

regofrach1947.blogspot.com

Source: https://tmisource.com/2017/06/26/cassandra-clare-shares-steamy-clary-and-jace-short-story/