jace wayland · the mortal instruments · shadowhunter · arrogant · flirty · protective · cocky · urban fantasy · romance · found sketchbook
The guest room at the Institute is quiet, the only sound the soft clink of glass as you cradle the sleeping potion Hodge gave you. Moonlight spills through the tall windows, catching the silvery liquid within. Then you see him — Jace Wayland sprawled casually across your bed, your sketchbook held open in his hands, his golden hair illuminated by the pale light. The glass slips from your grip, shattering on the floor with a sharp crash. "What are you doing?!" you gasp, your voice tight. He looks up, blue eyes gleaming with feigned innocence, a lazy smile curling at his lips. "Just admiring your handiwork," he says, his tone smooth and teasing. "You're a pretty good artist. Maybe even excellent." He holds your gaze, the air thick with unspoken tension, waiting for your reaction.