Lawyers: I don't own TMI

Pairing: Isabelle/Clary

Readers: I've never written a story like this but I'm going to try. No Beta, so sorry for my mistakes.

Warnings: M for major adult themes, seriously if you're not the girl-on-girl type you probably shouldn't read, and uh that whole dominant-submissive thing, so if you ain't into those kinks... don't read...

-Disobedience-

-Chapter One-

"Hello?" Clary called out nervously, feelings extremely out of place. In converse, jeans, and a paint-covered T-shirt that she self consciously tried to hide under her jacket, the manor made her feel under-dressed. The large door closed behind her with a thud, closing off the sound of cars and pedestrians. Lights imitating candles flickered on a chandelier, in dark brass holders on the wall, the silence ominous. Everything was so clean, beautiful, expensive. The home of a wealthy family. On cue, the elevator opened, out walking the woman who was the reason for Clary being here.

"Hello, Clary," Isabelle chimes smoothly, leaning on the elevator doorframe. Dressed in flats, jeans, and a tight white top, the clothes on her made the under-dressed feeling much worse, even if the clothes were casual. Isabelle had that effect. But the black haired female didn't notice the awkwardness, and instead chose to train her eyes on Clary's body. "You look nice today."

"Uh... you too," Clary said, blushing and looking down, then forcing her gaze up. Resisting the shy urges. She tucks her hands deep into her pockets, willing them to stop shaking. "So... you want-"

"To go to my room," Isabelle says airily, waving a hand in the air. Stepping back into the elevator and pressing a button, she waits for Clary to scramble in. Glass and gold, even the elevator looked gorgeous. Up onto the second floor, the ten seconds passed by slowly as the elevator rose. Isabelle smirked at the glass, and Clary tried to focus on the numbers. Anywhere but on the hot seductress. Seductress. A perfect word for Isabelle Lightwood. Just what did Clary think she was getting herself into? Her, a skinny girl with wild red hair and the looks of a twelve-year-old, agreeing to this... insane deal. She was no match for this kind of game. This kind of relationship, if you could call it that.

No match at all.

Creeping into the house silently, Clary locks the door behind her, locking it. Brushing her fluffy hair back into her hood, she creeps past the empty living room and up the short stairway to her bedroom. Running into no one, the perks of having the first bedroom on the right. Entering softly, she shuts the door and locks it as well, turning around to put the AC on in the dark. Working her way around expertly, knowing the place well. Ripping off her jacket, she finally turns on a lamp, as well as the radio. Drowning out the silence and placing her hands on her hips to get her bearings together.

Ten PM, not a super later time, but late enough for her mother to notice. Clary never stayed out late, much less hung out with a girl. Not that 'hanging-out' was the exact word for what happened...

Grinning, tired but her blood spiking in an elated beat, Clary changes into loose shorts and a baggy shirt. Taking one long look in the mirror, feeling like her looks were sub-par, but not caring. Not really. She was too giddy to care. Still, she attempted to put her hair in a messy bun, admiring the flushed look on her cheeks. The glassy eyes and bright smile, and even though her hair looked messy and her frame unsightly, makeup now groggy with smeared lipstick and mascara, she was happy. Unbearably so.

Time for a shower.

"It'll only take a second," Isabelle promised, kneeling in front of Clary on the bed. Making her close her eyes to put on some light eyeshadow, showing her specific ways to put on mascara. Outlining her lips in a shade that was pinkish-red, all light makeup. Breathable. Meant for a fun time. Next came the clothes.

"It's not necessary," Clary said, glancing at the high-waisted shorts and tight black T-shirt. Isabelle pouted though, full lips in hot-mode, and Clary couldn't say no. It was just a movie anyway for now, and the outfit was pretty casual. And, it turned out, the clothes fit nicely. Slim, revealing yet relaxed. And then a bit of hair product, the curls being tamed into soft red spirals. One look in the mirror showed a huge improvement, a new person. The very fabric felt expensive, even if it wasn't extravagant. Everything about Isabelle had to be extravagant.

Wiping some remnants of the makeup off, Clary stares in the mirror. Dressed in her own clothes, face-to-face with her real looks, she still feels...

Pretty. Glowing. She runs a bristled brush through her hair, combing out the tangles, and puts it all into a bun again. Sloppy, but no one but mother was home. Satisfied, Clary heads into the hall and down the stairs, listening to the sound of soft music sail through the house. The kitchen is empty, with a plate of spaghetti sitting on the counter. Heating it up, she grabs a cup of water and fills it up, immensely enjoying the cool liquid.

"Clary? You home?" Jocelyn calls out from the back of the apartment, from the art studio. Both of them had their own, though Clary's was next to her own bedroom. Talented artists, the both of them, and the place showed it. There was paintbrushes on some tables, a few canvases leaning against walls, loose paper here and there. Messy, yet airy, though the huge windows probably had something to do with that.

"Yeah I'm home."

"Remember we're going out to Luke's tomorrow."

"I'm... seeing Isabelle tomorrow," Clary calls out, walking over to the microwave when it dings. Pulling out her plate, she searches for the pepper as her mother's footsteps approach, stopping in the hallway. Jocelyn Fray was a nice woman, and older version of her daughter. Red hair, and clothes also constantly covered in paint, sometimes messy except where social skills were called into question. She was delicate, too, but more curvy and muscled.

"Really? You're new friend?"

"Yes, my new friend," Clary sighs, glancing at her mom who held wet paintbrushes in one hand, and a discoloured jar in the other. "Besides, I know how much you and Luke need 'alone time'."

"To think that you'd suggest that is absurd," Jocelyn scolds nicely, but her cheeks turn red at the mention of the burly, curly-haired man that held her heart. Not that she was close to admitting it. Clary shrugs, taking her plate to the dining room to eat alone, her heart still thumping at the day. What a fine day it was. The taste of cherries had settled into her mind, along with the scent of laundry soap and lavender. Cleanliness. Makeup. God, why did she agree to this? Technically, she hadn't yet, it had only been one date at Izzy's, but soon enough she was going to need to choose. The answer was inevitably heading toward yes.

"I had a fun time."

"It was just a movie," Clary laughs, looking over at Isabelle on the higher steps, adding to the girl's already huge height. Five-inch heels could do that. Isabelle shrugs, the movement soft and eye-catching.

"I guess." Isabelle nods, pink lips forming a smile of perfect white teeth. Clary blushes and shoves her hand deep into her pockets, palms sweaty. Her body was shaking a bit. Slowly, the taller girl walks down the front steps so they are facing each other, long legs effortlessly swinging like a model on the runway. Then they are nose-to-nose. The close distance is straining with fear, excitement and nervousness. A wire with an electric current, about to over-pour with magnetism. Slowly, Isabelle closes the distance while Clary instinctively closes her eyes.

Warm, a slow brush of the lips was all it was at first. The smell of flowery perfume and cotton-candy mixed together. Isabelle grasps Clary's hand, the other one moving to her hip. Not knowing what to do with her hands, or even how her lips, given that she only kissed two people in her life, Clary nervously grabs Isabelle's upper arm with her free hand. Fingers curling around the toned muscle, forgetting what it meant to breathe for a few seconds as she tilts her head, moving her mouth more. Cherries, that's what she tastes, a bit of the Pepsi from earlier when they watched that movie-

Isabelle unexpectedly bites her lip, causing Clary to gasp and pulls away. Both girls stare at each before bursting into giggles, the tension dropping. Laughter, bubbling and musical. Happiness. Even if the warmness wasn't always there in the relationship, once Clary agreed to be a good little submissive, who cared? Moments like this were precious. Sexual, loving, and friendly, all at the same time.

Clary was definitely going to say yes.