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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: In Bad Waters - part nine Word count: ±3300 words Episode summary: Still in possession of the Winchesters’ belongings, Zoë meets up with the hunters on her next case. When it turns out to be a little more complicated than anticipated, she accepts their help in order to make an important deadline. Part nine summary: After splitting up, each hunter has their own part to play in order to solve the case. But when Sam has a vision, things go south real quick. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Descriptions of domestic violence/child abuse. Drug use/addiction. Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures/resuscitation. Swearing, alcoholism. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Descriptions of torture and murder, drowning. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 and @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls! Gif isn’t mine. If you are the creator or know who made it, please tell me so I can credit you.

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E02 “In Bad Waters” Masterlist

Bored out of her skull, Zoë flips the page of her newspaper for the third time, pretending to read it. She found a good spot on the terrace of a Pizza Hut restaurant. Traffic drives by on Highway 412 constantly, but from her table she has a clear view of a house on Magnolia Drive. Taylor Dawlson, Laura’s former teacher, lives in the suburban home.

It’s 14:30 and Zoë has been guarding the Dawlson residence for over an hour now, but nothing has happened so far. She hasn’t had a call from the boys yet either, so she presumes everything is quiet at the Shire place, and Dean is probably talking to doctor Hughes.

Taylor Dawlson is home, busy maintaining the household while keeping her daughter entertained. The husband, whose name is Jeff, is working the lawn at the moment, a sprinkler system watering the pink magnolias by the white wooden fence. On the table in front of her, next to the slice of pepperoni pizza, Zoë installed her Macbook, which shows some information about the Dawlson family, just so that she knows who she’s dealing with. Taylor is a teacher at the Woodrow Wilson Elementary School, Jeff is into sportswear and merchandise. They’ve been married for seven years and have a three year old daughter named Lesley. No criminal records on the parents, nothing out of the ordinary. Just a happy family, living in a normal neighborhood, right next to a church. One thing doesn’t show up on her screen, though, and it’s something the huntress knows for a fact; the mother happened to be in one of her flashbacks.

She lets out a bored sigh and takes another bite of her pizza, but then feels her phone vibrating in her pocket. Quickly, she takes out her Nokia and checks the screen; it’s Sam. “What’s up?” She yawns. “Your stake out is that exciting, huh?” Sam responds sarcastically.

Sam is comfortable in the driver’s seat of the Chevrolet Impala, which he parked across the street of the Shire residence, located on Reynolds Park Road. He has the window rolled down and rests his elbow on the door as he holds his phone to his ear. The streets are almost empty in this neighborhood just outside the downtown area of Paragould. A beautiful house by the lake seems like a fairytale to live in, and yet this place was the setting for violence and abuse for many years.

“It’s like watching a documentary on snails,” she comments, after which she bites off a piece of pizza. Sam can hear her chewing food and furrows his brow. “Are you eating again?” “Dude, you sound like my dietician,” Zoë responds with her mouth full. Sam chuckles and realizes how stern he must have sounded. “Burgers again?” “No, I like a bit of variation in my cuisine,” she claims, putting up a snooty voice. “I’m having Italian right now.” “Let me guess: pizza?” Zoë laughs. “Pizza Hut to be precise.”

“How do you do it?” Sam wonders, still chuckling. “Do what?” “Eat so much, without… well, you know--” he starts carefully, instantly regretting it. He’s on thin ice. Zoë can’t help but grin, deciding to mess with him. “- getting big? Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? Someone who had a long term relationship should know this; clothes, weight and age are the forbidden subjects.” Quickly, Sam sets things straight. “I’m sorry, I just think it’s extraordinary.” “What? The weirdness of women or the fact that I eat so much?” she jokes.

Sam chuckles, now that he can detect the trace of mockery in her voice. “Seriously, though. How can you consume so much food and still look - you know - like you do?” “Because I kick ass,” she answers, sassy. Her response might have come out rapidly, for a brief moment there, Zoë analyzed that sentence. Was Sam’s remark a compliment or a flirt? She’s not sure what to think of it, but presumes the flirtation wasn’t intentional, considering he’s clearly still struggling to deal with his ex-girlfriend’s death. And come on, she has given him a pretty hard time; she’s been anything but charming.

Zoë changes the subject before an awkward silence follows. “How’s it going over there?” Sam glances through his windshield at the two individuals up at the house. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Mrs. Shire seems to mourn by cleaning up the entire house and her son is sitting by the lake, just staring out over the water,” Sam describes. “The guy was an asshole, but he was still their family,” she realizes, after which a beep sounds in her ear; she has a different call coming in. “Gonna put you on hold for a sec, Sam,” she notifies the hunter, and pushes the green button on her phone. “Sullivan.”

“Doc ain’t talking.” Dean walks down the stairs of the Arkansas Methodist Medical Center. He unbuttons his blazer and loosens his tie. Zoë narrows her eyes, even though the recipient on the other end of the line can’t see it. “What do you mean, he isn’t talking?” “He got all nervous when I started asking questions. There’s no way I can get a word out of his mouth. But he does know something, alright,” Dean explains.

“Did you try everything?” she checks, questioning Dean’s interrogation skills. “Well, I didn’t torture him, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t tell him the truth either,” he admits. Zoë realizes it’s a good thing he didn’t reveal his true identity. If Dean starts talking about killer ghosts and the guy freaks out, they might have a serious problem, considering that they are identified as FBI. A call to their chief at the Bureau will ultimately result in a blown cover, which will not make solving any future case any easier.

“You have the death report, right?” she threatens with a tone. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Of course I have the death report,” Dean ensures cockily, as he takes out the report from his inside pocket. “Stole it from his file case. Piece of cake.” Zoë doesn’t bother to compliment him for his deed. “Anything interesting in there?” “Not really,” Dean presses his phone between his ear and shoulder and leafs through the pages, which contain a lot of medical talk that he doesn’t understand one bit. “It says that Laura Shire was brought in by her father around 11 PM, yada yada. Cause of death…” Dean pauses as he reads the line again and halts. “Didn’t you say that both dear daddy and Van Dyke broke their neck?” he recalls, looking up from the file. “Yeah.” “Laura broke hers too. Robert Shire claimed she fell down the stairs.” Zoë scoffs. “Well that’s complete utter bullshit.”

“One other thing,” he points out as he continues his way down the street. “Shire wasn’t just a colleague, he was his boss. Guess who the second signature on Laura’s death report belongs to.” “Shire himself?” she assumes, stunned. “The one and only.” “But he’s a family member of the victim, he should have been excluded from the examination!” Zoë exclaims in disbelief. “That’s why he got Hughes to do the autopsy. All they needed was his signature as Chief of Staff.” The huntress gets the point now and rolls her eyes skyward. “Which makes the report valid.” “So, what now?” Dean questions, his current mission having been completed. “Hughes played a part in this cover up, so he might be her next candidate,” Zoë ponders, glancing at the Dawlson residence, where it’s still quiet. “There is no way you can keep an eye on him in that hospital, is there?” “We don’t need to. Laura only attacks when her victim is alone, right?” Dean mentions.

Zoë thinks about that for a second, her mind going over the first two murders. She didn’t notice it before, but he’s right. There were people in the house when Shire and Van Dyke were killed, but never in the same room. “Now that you mention it. As long as the doc stays amongst people, he’ll be safe. When does he get off?” “Already checked that; not until 6 PM,” Dean informs. “Good, so we don’t have to worry about him until six,” she concludes, trying to think of a plan. “Everything nice and quiet over there?” Dean wonders. “I’m wasting my time. I’m not sure if Laura would target her anyhow.” Dean walks into the parking lot of the Kentucky Fried Chicken only blocks away from the hospital. “And Sam?” “Do I look like a fucking mailman to you? Why don’t you ask him yourself?” she returns annoyed.

He enters the KFC and takes a look at the menu, even though he always goes for the classic. When Dean ignores her remark, the silence however ignites a reaction from the huntress nonetheless. “You two had a fight or somethin’?” “Sort of,” he admits with a mutter. “Ah, brotherly love. What did you fight about?” Zoë asks nosy. “That’s none of your business,” Dean returns defensive, stunned by her boldness. “Damn, you’re not curious at all, are you?” “I’m not curious. I just want to know everything.” She shrugs, her correction sassy. “C’mon, spill it.”

Dean sighs somewhat agitated. He doesn’t owe her an explanation, but he figures that once she knows, she might stop poking him. He keeps it as short as possible, though. “It was about Dad. Sam and I have different ideas on how to find him.”

Surprisingly, there’s no smart counter that follows up his words. Instead, Zoë swallows back a mean remark and decides not to respond for their own good. They are finally having a conversation without yelling at each other, and although the fighting doesn’t bother her since she has no interest in becoming friends with the older Winchester, she’d rather keep it civil. Like it or not, she can use their help, so now would not be the best time to counter the hunter.

Dean breaks the deadly silence. “Still there?” Zoë clears her throat. “Yeah, sorry. Got distracted.” “Want some chicken?” he jokes, as if he could teleport it to her place. She laughs, guessing where he is. “Where are you? KFC?” “Ahuh,” he confirms, and turns to the guy behind the counter. “One bucket of chicken wings, please.” “Is that all?” Zoë comments. “You’re right,” he agrees, looking back at the restaurant worker. “Could you add a Crispy Colonel Sandwich and a coke?”

He pays for his second lunch of the day and tells the employee to keep the change. “Did you eat?” Dean asks Zoë, as he walks out to the terrace and settles down in the sun. She smiles at her phone. Apparently they have found common grounds. “Yeah, pizza,” she mentions. “Which reminds me, I still have Sam on hold. If you wanna crash some place, feel free to break into my motel room.” “Alrighty, you didn’t boobytrap it, did ya?” he checks first. “Unless you’re a demon or a ghost you’re free to waltz in,” Zoë replies, referring to the demon trapping pentagram under the doormat and the salt lines in the windowsills. “Room number?” “Seventeen. Don’t break anything.”

With those words, she disconnected her call with Dean and returns to Sam. “I’m back,” she lets him know. But there’s not a sound on the other line. He didn’t hang up on her, she can still hear static. “Sam? You there?” Then she hears Sam’s voice, but it’s not comforting. A painful moan sounds from the other side of the line. “Sam, answer me! What’s going on?” Zoë calls out, sensing something is wrong. Sam groans. “I’m here.”

He has the palm of his hand pressed against his forehead, eyes shut firmly. He doesn’t know what just happened to him, but a stabbing pain in his head almost knocks him out cold. The images that flashed before his eyes a moment ago remain on display, but he cannot place any of them. Visions in his sleep are one thing, but he has never experienced them during the day before. “What’s happening?” He hears Zoë’s voice and presses his Blackberry against his ear. “I - I think I just had a vision.” Zoë’s eyes grow large. It has started. “What did you see?” Sam looks up, stunned. By the sound of her words, she experienced this too. “You had one of those while awake?” “That’s not important right now. What did you see?” she repeats firmly. Sam thinks back, trying to recover the recollections behind closed eyes. “I saw a house, white woodwork,” he remembers. “A woman inside is terrified, screaming, and I heard a child’s voice, saying ‘You didn’t stop it’.”

Zoë’s eyes drift from her laptop screen to the house across the street; the Dawlson home has white woodwork. Her eyes widen as she realizes what might be going on. “It’s Laura. What else did you see, Sam?!” she pressures while getting up so abruptly, that her chair tumbles over. “A guy mowing the lawn, sprinklers... and a church, right next to the house,” he recalls, concentrating on possible clues.

Zoë’s runs down the terrace, leaving her Macbook behind on the table. As fast as she can she crosses the street and is barely missed by a car, but she doesn’t have eyes for it. Her eyes are fixated on the front door and she knows; Laura is here. “Get to Magnolia Drive, now!” she orders Sam, putting away her phone right after. Adrenaline rushes through her body as she grabs the doorknob, but the door seems to be jammed. She pulls as hard as she can, but there’s no movement whatsoever.

“Hey! What do you think you are doing?” Jeff Dawlson exclaims at the intruder. He left his lawnmower on the grass and now approaches her with large steps. “Your wife’s in danger! We need to get inside the house,” she tells the man straight forward. The facial expression of the tall man changes from mad to worried, his gaze shifting to his home. “Who are you?” “Jeff, I don’t have time to explain! We need to get in the house!” Zoë cries out, losing her cool.

She puts her shoulder into it and tries to lift the door from his hinges, but it won’t budge. Frustrated, she looks around for another way in. Jeff hastens to the back door, but returns soon after, panicking. “I can’t get the back door to open! My daughter is in there too!” The huntress curses, ramming into the door again. Laura is doing this, she’s shutting them out so that she can work over her victim without being interrupted. It’s amazing how fast this little ten year old developed into the monster she is now. This isn’t a ghost problem anymore, this is a poltergeist. Without hesitation, Zoë draws her gun from behind her waistband and aims for the kitchen window. She pulls the trigger, but instead of breaking the glass, the shell flings back as if it just hit bullet proof glass.

“Taylor!” Jeff calls his wife's name, desperately. But they don’t hear a sound, not even a horrific scream and Zoë wonders if that is a good sign. Not willing to give up, she creates some distance between her and the door and drives her shoulder into the wood again and again, until she feels sore to the bone. “Goddamnit! Let us in!” she yells, furiously.

In the meantime, Jeff got his hands on a shovel and starts hitting the windows, but none of them break. While he keeps calling out for his wife and daughter, Zoë hears the roar of a V8 engine coming around the corner. With screeching tires Sam stops the car and jumps out, rushing for the trunk. Without pausing her efforts to get in, Zoë calls out. “You better have a bright idea, Sam!” With two loaded shotguns in his hands he runs up the lawn, but stops in his tracks when he glances at the window. “Zoë?”

She looks over her shoulder and sees the staggered expression on his face, triggering her to back up glances at the second story. In front of the window stands a young girl, but the sight is anything but endearing. This time she isn’t the sad little innocent kid, she looks terrifying. Here eyes seem to have sunken deep into their sockets, blood and bruises cover her pale body. Her head is tilted to the right in an unnatural way, twisted at the base. The image distorts, then she disappears.

The next moment, they hear the sound of shattering glass. The hunters’ attention is drawn to the kitchen window; Jeff managed to break it. Hastily Zoë rushes for the door, knowing it’s unlocked now and enters the house. Sam is right behind her and hands her the shotgun in the hallway, just in case. She looks at the gun for a moment. “This isn’t gonna help.” “Loaded with rock salt,” Sam elaborates. Her eyes dart to the rifle again, this time appreciating the weapon. She heard of many ways to fight ghosts, but this is a new technique. It must be a Winchester invention, seems like those lumberjacks aren’t that stupid afterall. “You get their daughter,” she orders. They split up and when Sam glances into the living room, he sees Jeff's and Taylor’s little girl. She doesn’t seem to realize what is going on, apparently she didn’t hear a thing. The child is playing with her dolls, as her mother told her to.

While Sam picks up Lesley and takes her outside, Zoë rushes to the second floor. Quickly she climbs the stairs, her shotgun ready to fire. Alert, she scans the corridor; all clear. Knowing Laura might still be inside, she takes a deep breath and busts the door to what she assumes to be one of the bedrooms. What the huntress sees inside makes her stomach turn, even though she has seen her fair share of blood and violence.

What she feared the most has happened. Laura made her teacher die an even more horrible death than her own. Taylor has collapsed against the wall, her eyes stare at the ground, as if she was unpleasantly surprised by her attacker. But she doesn’t move, she doesn’t flinch; she’s dead. Her arms and neck seem to be broken, a bad head injury that cracked her skull giving Zoë a glimpse of her brain. Blood prints of her head and hands are smeared over the pink wall paper of her daughter’s room. Crimson stains the carpet, the teddy bears on Lesley’s bed, the covers, even the ceiling. “Damnit, Laura,” Zoë says, breathlessly.

Footsteps echo from the staircase behind her. She looks back and sees Jeff, running onto the corridor. “You don’t wanna see this,” she warns, trying to keep him from the doorway. But as she would have done, he steps inside anyway. As soon as his eye catches the sight of his wife in the state that she is, he freezes. Unable to say anything, unable to move like a deer in headlights, he looks down at her dead body as tears well up in his eyes. Zoë watches him, but she can’t get a word out of her mouth. After she swallows apprehensively, she averts her eyes away from the heart wrenching scene.

“Taylor…” Jeff whispers as tears run down his face. The cry that follows gives Zoë chills. “Taylor!” In a blink of an eye this family’s life has changed forever. The woman Jeff loves dearly, the mother of his child, just got ripped away from them, murdered, and there is nothing he can do to reverse that. Zoë knows the feeling, she knows it way too well. He falls down on his knees in her blood, but he doesn’t hit the floor. He hits rock bottom.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read chapter ten here

#Supernatural: the Sullivan Series #Supernatural series #Dean Winchester series #Sam Winchester series #Dean Winchester x OFC #Sam Winchester x OFC #Dean angst #Sam angst #Dean Winchester #Sam Winchester #Zoë Sullivan #SPN #Supernatural #STSS #1x02 In Bad Waters #Kate Huntington

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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Harm’s Way || Ariana & Lydia

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @inspirationdivine & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana goes snooping around to figure out where Ace (Sammy) is and if he’s safe. While following where that tunnel leads, she finds Lydia outside her home and has a tense meeting. A potential promise is made... as a treat.

Though Ace would never know the promise she silently made him, Ariana was determined to make sure he was both safe and free. Checking in on him had been on the forefront of her mind since they’d seen each other last. There was no bringing Celeste back, but the least she could do was help protect the other people she cared for, like so many had done for her. The first step had been going back to that tunnel and getting a proper feel for where the front entrance would be. She got herself acquainting with where she was underground and worked her way toward the front. She was mindful to mimic the exact path above ground while also trying to follow her sense of smell. As she approached the outside of a nice looking home. She could vaguely smell Ace, but there was someone else familiar which pulled her forward into the yard, trying to put her nose on who else was here that she knew. Her features scrunched up in confusion, when she saw Lydia coming out the front door. “Lydia,” she asked, puzzled to see the elegant older woman before her and tried to quickly recover, “Sorry, I was looking for a friend. I think I got a little turned around.”

It was a hot summer’s day, and the nearby sea made the air thick and muggy. Lydia adjusted her dress, looking herself up and down in the mirror before finishing pinning up her hair. As much as she dreaded heading outside, she needed more food for both her humans and Remmy, and the farmer’s market always had a treat or two she might enjoy, like cherries. Lydia grabbed her purse and stepped outside, locking the door behind her. As soon as she turned, she noticed the intruder. Ariana. Lydia tilted her head curiously. Apart from a short conversation online and pretending to watch her on a soccer field, Lydia knew nothing about Ariana. “Ah, Ariana. I’m afraid Simon isn’t here, of that’s who you’re looking for.”

Ariana hoped the suspicious squint in her eyes could be chalked up to the currently blaring sun. She knew Lydia and she had seemed nice enough. A little snooty, but not inherently bad. And she was friends with Simon. Something just felt off. There was this feeling in her gut screaming that something was wrong. This was definitely Lydia’s home, but she could smell Sammy. What did that make Lydia? She could hear a heartbeat, so she definitely was a vampire. Simon would probably know. She made a mental note to ask him about that later and carefully studied Lydia. She shook her head, “Oh no, I wasn’t looking for Simon. I was looking for another friend actually,” she paused and raised an eyebrow, “There’s not someone else staying here? Not to be… well, wolfy, it just smells like they’re here.” She had a feeling she wasn’t getting her wires crossed on this one.

Lydia’s friendly, cordial smile faltered, her eyes narrowing a little. Remmy was in danger, and while Lydia might not have been as cautious as she ought with Morgan, a child was quite another matter. She clasped her purse in both hands. Her acrylic nails clicked against the gold buckles. Her head tilted as she considered Ariana carefully, but when she spoke, it was at least with a patient compassion in her tone. “I might have a guest. However, if they wanted your company, do you not think they may have told you? How do you think they might feel, knowing you’ve followed them here?” She sighed, looking back at the house, and then back to Ariana. “I’m sure you mean well, Ariana, but I’m not going to betray anyone’s confidence in me.”

Under normal circumstances, which Ariana was pretty sure didn’t even exist in this town, she would have considered that Lydia had a point. As it stood, she knew Ace was here. She could smell him. She also knew something was off. Ace didn’t have the freedom to talk about things and specifically could only sneak out at night when he definitely wasn’t a vampire. She could still remember the gentle thumping of his heart. She considered her options for a moment, she’d already been caught here. She didn’t feel too threatened, but she didn’t want any repercussions to come down on Ace. Still, she couldn’t hold herself back as her eyes narrowed and she did her best to appear taller, leaning forward onto the balls of her feet as she retorted, “I understand that, it’s just I was under the impression that their situation may not be entirely safe.”

Ariana shifted in her posture, and Lydia frowned at the sight of it. Children. She always wanted her own, but at times she was reminded just how much of a nuisance they could be, especially as teenagers. No sensibilities. Nevertheless, she was a friend of Simon’s, and Remmy’s as well, it seemed. All the more reason to play nice. She took a deep breath and delicately pinched the bridge of her nose. “All the more reason for me to maintain their confidence, don’t you think?” Lydia smiled gently, and perhaps just a touch too patronisingly. “If they were to invite you, you would be most welcome.”

It was evident that Lydia wasn’t pleased with her, but Ariana hardly cared. She was definitely asking Simon a ton of questions once she left. It was clear she wouldn’t be able to check out more today so she’d have to come back another time and she found it was difficult to stifle a growl at her response. It all seemed to line up like she was implying Ace was here of his own free will. Like he didn’t have to sneak around at night and she didn’t like whatever this ruse was. “Right, because they’re totally allowed to have guests,” she huffed, arms crossed over her chest in defiance.

“What on earth does that mean?” Lydia replied sharply, eyes narrowing. She took a few steps towards Ariana, seething, and prickling with suspicion. Wolves lied. Wolves could lie. Lydia was starting to wonder if Ariana wasn’t there for Remmy at all, or if this was some other kind of nuisance. A set up to a prank, or worse. It hadn’t been that long since the portrait had been stolen, after all. Lydia kept these thoughts to herself, blinking slowly. “Your petulance is unseemly. I don’t keep my guests in isolation against their will, and I don’t appreciate the insinuation that I do anything so abhorrant. You might wish to mind what accusations you throw at people, as you are the one trespassing.”

Ariana wanted to believe Lydia. It’d be a whole lot easier if Ace was there just of his own free will, but it didn’t add up. He couldn’t talk about himself or could only sneak out at night. That didn’t sound like a whole lot of freedom nor did it convince her that Ace was in fact a guest in Lydia’s home. Still, Ulfric’s words rang in her mind. Keep in mind what could happen. What could happen? Could she be endangering Ace by pushing too far too soon? She needed to know more about Lydia and what she was before she could even begin to rescue Ace. Her stomach twisted in knots at the thought of anything bad happening to Ace. She couldn’t lose him. She wasn’t sure she could handle losing someone else she cared about, she was still barely navigating through losing Celeste. This time she had to be smarter, so she unballed her fists and steadied her breathing, trying to make the red in her cheeks fade away. “I’m sorry,” she said, somewhat defeatedly as she looked down at her feet. “You’re right, I should just-- Go, I guess.” She hated backing down, but Ace’s immediate safety had to be considered. Maybe one day soon, she could poke around a little more when Lydia wasn’t home though hopefully she didn’t add more security measures before then. There was always that tunnel. No matter what, she was more determined to figure out just what was going on here.

“You should.” Lydia replied coolly. “I’ll endeavor to forget this incident if you do too.” She’d still check with Remmington, and her security footage. Possibly Simon, too. Her heels clicked against the pavement impatiently, as she eyed the little wolf. She sighed deeply, looking pointedly for Ariana to go. “I’ll put this down to youthful indiscretion, Ariana. I don’t see the need for any grudge between us. Return with an invitation and you will be more than welcome.”

Ariana nodded, her heart still feeling impossibly tight in her chest. Whatever was going on here, she was going to figure it out, but patience was going to be important. Not that patience was by any means her strong suit, but for Ace, she would do her best. “I-- thank you. Forgetting this happened would be better. Sorry-- wolf temper is a little, well animalistic,” she explained, though as much was only partially true. “That’s kind of you, thank you, Lydia.” The words made her feel a bit sick, but she tacked on, “I’ll be out then. Let you go about your day.” She waved and tried to hide the grimace on her face as she beelined to be anywhere but here. There was a million things she needed to figure out and she had no intention of wasting any time.

Lydia nodded at Ariana’s apology, graciously accepting it, and the offer to forget. Her hands only tightened on her purse as she made excuses for herself, but she had no way of knowing if they were lies just yet. Her smile was curt and clearly unimpressed. She’d endeavor to forget, but not before rummaging around for whatever had brought Ariana here. Whether it was Remmy or not. Fortunately for her, the youths of the day loved nothing better than letting themselves be searchable on social media. This was one to watch. Lydia watched the girl go, seething quietly. Thank you, Lydia. “You will,” she spoke softly, and felt the promise sink into place. Just in case.

#wickedswriting #harm's way #lydia

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lenaisanerd · 6 years

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won’t you come on over

In which Izzy and Magnus hang out in the aftermath of swing a little further, paint their nails, and talk about relationships.

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Thanks again to my friends and editors @disaster-lesbiab, @raisehades and @beesarekind, who let me text them in the middle of the night to discuss this fic. I love you!

“You’ve reached the voicemail of Magnus Bane. Please don’t leave a message at the tone. I’m centuries old and even I think it’s outdated.”

“Magnus, it’s Izzy. Listen, we need to talk. Call me back as soon as you get this.”

A click resounded in Magnus’ ear, signalling the abrupt end of Isabelle’s message. The warlock stared at his phone in bemusement when next to him the coffee pot on the stove began to make gurgling noises. Magnus turned off the heat and divided the coffee between two cups, then added milk to one of them and handed the other cup to a very sleepy Alec, who had just walked into the kitchen. Alec took a careful sip and pressed a warm, coffee-flavoured kiss to his boyfriend’s lips. He pulled back, smiling softly, his hand resting on Magnus’ waist. Then he turned and padded out of the kitchen again.

Magnus followed to find Alec sitting at the table in the living room, looking out of the window at the thick clouds gathered over the East River and the Manhattan skyline. He had decided a while ago that he would never fully understand Alec’s enjoyment of rainy or gloomy weather. Admittedly, the steady patter of rain was soothing, and he even enjoyed the cool air flowing into the room through the open balcony door after the last few weeks had been relentlessly hot and humid. But rain like this, unending and monotone, just depressed him after a while, not to mention that leaving the house always meant getting ever so slightly wet, which was not one of Magnus’ favourite states of being.

Alec, however, seemed to delight in every rainstorm or light drizzle. It made him calm and he loved the fresh, cool air and the smell of rain on asphalt that permeated the city. In the soft grey light of the early morning his hazel eyes looked almost entirely green, framed by dark lashes still heavy with sleep. Magnus smiled fondly. Sometimes his boyfriend’s beauty still astounded him.

“I should call Isabelle back. Whatever it is sounds important.”

Alec’s brows furrowed. “Izzy called? On a Saturday, before 8 a.m.? Is something wrong?”

“Don’t worry, she didn’t seem too concerned. Besides,” Magnus said with a wry smile, dialing his phone, “she only called once and is not currently barging through the front door, so I expect she does not require immediate assistance.”

The phone rang one, two times, then Izzy’s clear voice came through the speaker: “Magnus, hi!”

She sounded out of breath, and in the background Magnus could hear the clanging of wood and metal echo through what must have been the Institute’s training room.

“Hey, Isabelle, you called earlier? Said you wanted to talk? I’m sorry, we just got up. You know how your brother is before he’s had coffee.”

Alec pulled a face at him. Magnus grinned.

“You… oh fuck, I’m sorry, did I wake you two up? I didn’t think about the time, I’ve been up for hours--”

“No, no, don’t worry, you didn’t disturb us. What’s the matter?”

The line went quiet for a moment. “Um, well. I was wondering if we could hang out today? Just the two of us? Of course if you want to spend the day with Alec, I completely understand, forget I asked.”

Normally, Isabelle Lightwood was a good bit more eloquent and less apologetic than this. Something is bothering her, Magnus thought. Well, there is only one solution.

“I would love to spend time with you. When should I expect you?”

Izzy seemed momentarily taken aback, but quickly caught herself, sounding carefree as ever. “Let me shower and get ready first, I’ll be there in an hour. See you then. Say hi to my brother dearest for me.”

“I’ll do that. Goodbye, Isabelle.”

Alec got up and finished the last of his coffee just as Magnus hung up.

“Your sister sends her greetings, and herself. She’s coming over.”

“Then I guess I should make myself scarce for a few hours?”

Magnus wrapped his arms around Alec’s waist, who returned the embrace.

“Gotta say, it’s pretty cold of you, just kicking me out like that,” Alec said with a completely straight face.

Although he would never tell him that, sometimes Alec’s deadpan humour almost fooled Magnus, with the Shadowhunter’s uncanny ability to instantly switch from sincere to sarcastic.

“Well, it’s for a good cause. And we’ll have the whole afternoon and evening to ourselves. We could order some food, watch a movie. I would even,” Magnus said with deliberation, “go on a walk with you. In the rain.”

Alec relented and his expression softened. He sighed.

“I still have some work to do back at the Institute anyway. I’ll go in now and when I come back,” he smiled deviously, “I’ll take you up on that walk offer. No umbrellas.”

Magnus leaned back against the safe grip of Alec’s arms, raising one hand to his temple and fluttering his eyelids with dramatic flair.

“Oh, what have I done to deserve such a merciless lover? Will he never let me rest?”

Alec giggled and pulled Magnus back up so the warlock could kiss him languidly, until Magnus finally let go to allow him to get his shoes and jacket.

“I’m just saying, if you think that Cate Blanchett is not the hottest person on screen at any given time, you are wrong! Wrong and blind!” Izzy said between sips of tea.

“Are you kidding me? This movie gives you Rihanna, Anne Hathaway and Richard Armitage and you go only for Cate Blanchett? You are limiting yourself.” Magnus gestured pointedly at her with the nail polish brush he was holding.

Izzy scoffed. “Richard Armitage was barely in this movie, and you want to tell me he’s more beautiful than Cate Blanchett? Please. He’s like a snooty Hugh Jackman. Don’t tell me you think that’s attractive.”

Magnus raised his eyebrows and said nothing. Instead he concentrated on applying a clean second coat of polish to Isabelle’s toenails. Her leg stretched almost the length of the sofa, with Magnus sitting on the opposite end, her foot in his lap. Almost two hours after Izzy had arrived at the loft the coffee table was crowded with snacks, a teapot and cups, and several bottles of nail polish. Isabelle’s fingernails were already coloured a deep violet, and she was holding her teacup gingerly to not mess up the paint job. A Bangles album was playing softly on the stereo, the beat intermingling with the sound of raindrops hitting metal roofs.

“There, Mademoiselle Lightwood. All done,” Magnus said as he performed a small flourish with the brush on Isabelle’s nail.

Isabelle sat up and pulled her knees to her chest to admire his work. The whole time she had spent at his apartment, Izzy had not dropped even a hint regarding the topic she had been so eager to discuss this morning on the phone. This was a fact Magnus was keenly aware of, and he was itching to ask her about it.

But a lot of experience interacting with the Lightwood siblings had taught him differently. They could rarely be pushed into talking about a specific thing and would only say something when they were absolutely ready for it. Which of course didn’t mean they were always graceful about it. Alec had a habit of stumbling over words when he tried to get something out of his system as quickly as possible and hadn’t really thought about what he was going to say.

With Izzy, however, it was the opposite. She would decide she had to talk about something, but then spent anywhere from ten minutes to the next few hours talking about anything_ but_ what was on her mind originally, until she felt sufficiently prepared to do it, at which point she would change the topic very suddenly. Attempting to hurry that process along would cause her to clam up immediately.

So the only thing to do was to wait. And Magnus was no stranger to waiting after all the time he had been alive, but that didn’t mean he liked doing it.

“Flawless, as always,” Izzy said, still examining her perfectly manicured nails. “Who knew 800-something-year-olds had such steady hands?”

“Well, let’s see how steady your hands are, young whippersnapper,” Magnus shot back with a smirk, “you’re doing mine next. But first--” he stood and picked up the tea tray--”I’m making some more tea. Any requests?”

Izzy smiled magnanimously and finished her cup. “Surprise me!”

Magnus nodded and turned towards the kitchen. As he measured tea leaves into the pot he heard steps behind him, and then a soft thump. The warlock looked up to see Isabelle perched on the counter next to where he was standing, her bare feet dangling above the floor, dark eyes watching his motions intently.

“Already bored without me?” Magnus asked, only half joking. Izzy could have something of an impatient streak, especially when there was something on her mind she’d rather not think about.

“Hmm?” Izzy made a distracted little sound and looked up at Magnus. “I was just wondering if you needed some help, that’s all,” she replied, in a tone that was so casual it was almost conspicuous. “Feels weird, suddenly doing nothing after all that work at the Institute. The last week was hell.”

Magnus sighed in sympathy. “Tell me about it. I was doing work for clients all week, otherwise I would have come to help you with that demon infestation. Why is it that people always decide they want something from you when ten others decide the same thing?”

“Right? If I ever have to fix some kids’ stele again it will be too soon. I’m pretty sure we didn’t break our shit this often when we were junior Hunters.”

The kettle whistled. Magnus took it off the stove to fill the tea pot with hot water. “What did you do back then?” He chuckled to himself. “I don’t know if I can imagine you and Alec running around killing demons when you were children.”

“That’s basically what we did though. Training, going on missions. Nothing big, obviously. We were all around 12, maybe 13 years old when we got our first runes, at that age you bust up a few lesser demons, maybe investigate some minor cases, and you’re done for the night.” Izzy grinned. “We used to come home after missions at like 3 a.m. and just fall into bed. Of course that meant the mission report usually got handed in late, but sometimes if it was really important and Jace and I begged him to do it, Alec would stay up and finish it. God, we were horrible.”

Although she seemed to remember all of this fondly, Magnus couldn’t help but feel a sort of protective instinct for the younger versions of Izzy, Alec, and Jace. Shadowhunters had truly strange notions of what was an appropriate task for a group of literal children. He rarely saw the youngest of the Shadowhunters at the Institute or out on a mission. But when he did spot some he wanted to take them all aside, give them some chocolate, a glass of milk and a sandwich, and send them all home to bed. They were just so young. Hell, Magnus wondered sometimes if Alec running an entire Institute at 23 was taking on a heavier duty than what he could, what he should have to endure. Dying young was no excuse to raise children as soldiers first, people second.

It was probably best not to think about that too much right now, though. That would just make him angry. And sad.

“You probably were. Then again, in my experience, most teenagers are horrible to a certain degree.”

Izzy nodded in agreement. Over the last year, an ever increasing stream of stories about the youngest Lightwood, Max, had reached Magnus, and judging by the tales of his exploits, the little terror was at least as much of a troublemaker as his older siblings. Which, of course, didn’t stop them from being frustrated and concerned.

“Alec wasn’t though. Horrible, I mean,” Izzy said fondly. ”Sure, he stuck too close to the rules. He’d act like Mom. He seemed to hate fun. But he was always looking out for me and Jace, often taking the heat for the stuff we’d done. And when he couldn’t keep us out of trouble, he would join in.”

“What sort of trouble?” Magnus was genuinely curious. Alec didn’t actively avoid the subject of his teenage years, it just didn’t come up often. Especially not the no doubt adorable stupidities he and his siblings had committed.

Isabelle thought for a moment, pursing her lips. “I remember we snuck out of the Institute once to go to some party, and it was summer. We were on our way back, it was really late, it was getting light. Alec wanted to hurry back home, because people would start waking up soon, and they’d notice we were gone. But Jace decided it would be fun to go swimming.” She grinned. “He might have been drunk at the time. Anyway, so we’re walking through Central Park, and Alec keeps trying to tell him it’s a bad idea, and Jace just takes off running and jumps over the fence into the Reservoir.”

Both of them burst into sudden laughter. Magnus thought that he had never heard something so distinctly Jace.

“Of course he got scratched up terribly by the bushes and trees on his way down the bank,” Izzy said when she had calmed down a bit, her shoulders still shaking with suppressed laughter, “and the water by the shore is way too shallow for swimming, so he just wades in, trying to get out into the deeper parts, and he is just covered in leaves and twigs and mud. He looked like the Creature from the Black Lagoon.”

“And what did you do?”

“I joined him, of course. I just had the sense to take off my clothes first. And I didn’t just vault over the fence, I chose a spot where the bank was clear and the water deeper. So I swim out a little ways, and Alec is still standing on the pathway. I couldn’t really hear what he was saying, I was too far away, but he was probably trying to get us to come out.”

Magnus had no trouble imagining Alec as a lanky teen, exhausted after an illicit night out and exasperated with his siblings’ antics.

“Did you do as he said?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

Izzy grinned. “Like I said, we were horrible. We just swam out further.”

“And Alec?”

Isabelle was silent for a moment, letting the suspense build.

“He jumped in after us.”

Magnus let out a laugh. “No!”

“Yes!” Izzy, too, was laughing again. “He undressed, and just jumped in. I guess he gave up, or maybe he decided he’d have an easier time getting us to come out from the water, or maybe he was fresh out of fucks to give about getting back home on time or reigning us in. So there we are, me and Alec in our underwear, and Jace still dressed, boots and all, swimming in the Central Park Reservoir at dawn. It was amazing.” Her laughter trailed off, the last tremors of it still clinging to her lips. “We were in so much trouble when we arrived at the Institute early in the morning, with Jace dripping wet.”

“You got grounded?”

“Yeah, and we were on cleaning duty for the next month. But it was worth it.”

Chuckling, Magnus transferred the pot onto the tea tray, and they made their way back into the living room. The rain dampened the noise of the traffic outside. Although it was still before noon, the thick blanket of clouds meant the daylight was weak and gloomy, and with a flick of his hand Magnus turned on several lamps strewn around the loft.

Isabelle had grown quiet, her arms wrapped around her torso as she sat down. As Magnus leaned forward to fill their cups, he heard her deep intake of breath, felt the nervous bounce of her leg on the sofa.

“Do you ever-- I mean, have you-- do you think there’s a difference, between dating men and dating women? Have you ever noticed something like that?”

Izzy had spoken very quickly, almost as if she was ashamed of the question. Now, however, she was looking resolutely ahead at Magnus, her insecurity betrayed only by her teeth digging into her lower lip.

Magnus considered the question for a moment.

“When one has lived as long as I have, these differences even out more and more. Every relationship is different, because every person is unique. In my experience, at least, a partner’s gender doesn’t matter much. What matters is whether or not there is a connection.”

“Like with Alec?”

Magnus nodded, a tiny smile sneaking onto his lips.

Izzy didn’t look entirely satisfied with this answer.

“I might not be the best person to ask, though,” Magnus admitted. “After all, my love life isn’t exactly what you’d call a universal experience.”

In response, Izzy uncrossed her arms. She inhaled deeply again, almost steeling herself to talk.

“It’s just-- I don’t know. For me, being with guys feels… different? Not bad, definitely, just a different sort of connection.”

“I would say there’s nothing wrong with having a preference, or feeling a difference. Being bisexual is not the same for everyone all the time.”

Her eyes wandered through the apartment and out of the window. “Yeah, I know. But I’m wondering if a relationship with a girl can work, if I can make it work. I guess I just realized that don’t have much experience being in serious relationships with men, but I have even less experience with women.”

Ah, Magnus thought. There it is. This was what Isabelle had been so anxious about. Of course it was a matter of the heart (it nearly always was in such cases).

Best to go at this gently then. “I’m guessing there is one specific reason you’ve been thinking about this?”

Like a deer caught in headlights, Izzy’s eyes snapped back to Magnus’. She swallowed hard.

“I might have… a crush. On-- on Clary.”

Magnus had to admit, this took him slightly aback. It wasn’t a complete surprise, though. Ever since the group of young Nephilim had first come to him for help Isabelle and Clary had seemed particularly fond of one another, their comradery resembling that of Alec and Jace even though they had only known each other for a few days. Over the following year this initial bond had grown into a deep friendship. Now that he thought about it, the two of them exchanged quite a few lingering looks, casual touches. No, this hadn’t come out of nowhere.

“And you haven’t told her?” he asked in a soft voice.

“No!” Izzy said loudly, and then quieter, “I needed to talk to someone who’d understand, who would know what to do. To you.”

Deep in his chest Magnus felt a warm rush of affection for his friend, mixed with more than a little pride that out of all her family and friends she would turn to him for advice on this, that she would share such an intimate secret with him.

“And anyway, I don’t even know if she feels the same way. What if I tell her and it breaks everything we have?”

She crossed her arms again and tucked both feet up onto the couch, curling up into herself more and more.

“I haven’t exactly had the best track record with relationships either, if you can call them that. Don’t get me wrong, I was never unhappy. But… well, most of them didn’t end well, if they ever really started. I don’t want that. For me or for her. Again, if I ever tell her and she likes me back.”

Isabelle’s voice had grown ever quieter while she talked. Now she was staring down into her lap, thick black hair falling forward over her shoulders and into her face. The music had stopped a while ago, and the rain was coming down harder, roaring in Magnus’ ears almost as loudly as the sudden stillness that had settled over the room. He shuffled down the length of the sofa until the side of his leg rested reassuringly against Izzy’s shins. Leaning back into the couch pillows he cleared his throat.

“You know, I’ve never told him this, but when I met Alec I was not sure he was interested in me,” he said softly. He felt Izzy’s gaze shift up towards him, but he looked down at his hands, playing absentmindedly with one of his many rings. “I know, in hindsight I must have seemed absolutely confident that he would fight for this, for what we have now. And sometimes I was actually convinced he felt the same about me as I did about him. Sometimes that confidence was real. But other times… it felt like I was on a fool’s errand. Like I was chasing this boy who would never admit to himself who he was. Like I couldn’t help him. Like I would run myself ragged trying to do something I was stupid to even try.”

He looked up at Izzy. “Over the years I have had quite a few crushes that went unreciprocated. It always hurts, even when you expect it. But being with Alexander has been worth a hundred times the fear I felt that he would reject me. Don’t run and hide, Isabelle. You’re a warrior. Fight for love.”

Isabelle said nothing, her deep brown eyes scanning his face. Then she sat up, unfolded her legs and put her feet back on the ground, and wrapped her arms around him. She relaxed into him as Magnus hugged her back, and they sat still like this for a moment. When Izzy drew back, Magnus could have sworn her eyes were a little misty.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice mostly steady. “I think… well, I’m not gonna pretend I know what to do now,” she let out a shaky little laugh, “but you definitely helped. So much. Thanks.”

“It was my pleasure. And thank you, for bringing your problems to this ridiculous, sappy old warlock,” Magnus replied with a grin. Izzy laughed again, longer and surer this time.

“Now,” Magnus continued, “tell me: Why Clary? What do you like about her?”

As Isabelle launched into a long list of her favourite things about Clary, starting with “her smile” and ending somewhere around “the way she frowns when she doesn’t like the song that’s playing, but doesn’t want to skip it because she knows you like it”, Magnus settled into the couch and snapped his fingers to turn the stereo back on. The music and the rain ran together into a melodious background hum as Izzy talked and Magnus listened with interest, occasionally offering up remarks. The tea on the coffee table grew cold. The wind blew coolly through the curtains.

When Alec got home that afternoon, Izzy was just on her way out.

“Alec!” She beamed at him, gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, and drew him into a hug. This burst of affection and happiness was a little surprising; after all, Magnus had said she had sounded anxious on the phone this morning.

“Hey,” he said, smiling at her as she released him. “Everything okay, Iz?”

“Yep, I’m great now. Thanks for letting me borrow your boyfriend, big brother. I’ve hogged him for long enough, so I’d better leave you two lovebirds alone.” She smirked as he rolled his eyes, and after a quick “bye” in the direction of the kitchen she slipped out of the door.

Following the sounds of dishes clattering, Alec walked through into the kitchen, where Magnus was busy putting away a clean teapot and cups. He walked up to the warlock and wrapped his arms around him from behind, resting his chin on Magnus’ shoulder. Magnus tilted his head sideways so their cheeks touched and let out a contented hum.

“Izzy seems happy,” Alec said after a minute. “What did she want to talk to you about?”

“I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say. But,” Magnus replied with a smile, “I expect you’ll find out soon enough, if Isabelle takes my excellent advice to heart.”

Alec’s curiosity wasn’t satisfied, but he knew when to stop prying. Instead he remembered his boyfriend’s promise from that morning.

“So. About that walk.”

Magnus gave a little sigh before he turned around to kiss Alec. Pulling back, he took Alec’s hand and walked towards the door, stopping only to grab his jacket on the way out.

When the door clicked shut behind them, the loft was quiet once again, filled only with the rustling of the curtains in the breeze coming in through the open balcony doors, the noise wafting up from the busy streets of Brooklyn below, and the ever-present, quietly insistent sound of the warm summer rain, falling.

#shadowhunters fic #clizzy #izzy&magnus #isabelle lightwood #magnus bane #malec #shadowhunters #sh writing #shadowhunters fanfiction #clary x izzy #my writing #fanfuckery #i am so tired of tumblr's bullshit i had to edit these fucking links 20.0000 times and IM DONE

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angstymarshmallow · 7 years

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Something to Remember Me By - Drake x MC (A Royal Romance Fanfic)

#ChoicesCreates Round15

Prompt: “That was fun, let’s do it again sometime!”

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake x MC

Rating: T

Hosted by @zigisbisexual this week.

[A little note: I don’t know why all I want to write lately is TRR fanfics. Here’s another rather long one for Drake and MC. It began as Drake’s perspective but then whizzed off into MC’s. Hope it’s enjoyable! ]

[Summary: Drake’s unwillingness to let her go has nothing to do with honest intentions or loyalty. Will he find a way to convince MC to stay? My summary descriptions are still awful.]

“If words fail, let my eyes and my heart be my language.”

Maybe that was the problem with wanting someone too much. You started to forget other things, the little things that should matter. You looked for excuses, anything just to see them again and ultimately make that last mistake. The final straw that doesn’t make it easy to go back. Back to the way things were before they became complicated.

Drake liked to think he was pretty level-headed, the reasonable sort. He didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about things that he shouldn’t. Usually, he wasn’t the sort to make these kind of mistakes.

Yet here was, pacing back and forth outside of Prince Liam’s room, unable to make the decision he knew he should. He should ignore his own feelings for Riley; he shouldn’t care about her the way he does and yet he cannot stop himself from doing so.

He was at the front of Liam’s door with a confession on his lips; a way to admit to his best friend he had feelings for the same woman. It wasn’t the brightest of plans, but Drake had enough whiskey to convince himself that it might not have been such a bad idea after all.

He reached for the handle and hesitated when his fingers finally touched the knob. Was he really going to go through with this? Was he really going to step in the middle of Liam’s happiness? Doubts began clawing at him, until he had no choice but to step back.

It’s not the right time. He turned to leave except his feet wouldn’t let him. But maybe there’d never be the right time, and maybe waiting will only make it worse. He turned around, and wrenched the door wide open. Before he could think any better of it, he fumbled through his half-thought out explanation. “Hey Liam I’ve got something - ” He stopped short once he glanced down at his friend and squinted at him.

Liam looked as if he had no intention of leaving his room any time soon. His shoulders were slightly slumped and he was sitting on his bed, reading a parchment inside his hands. There wasn’t an inkling of movement for Drake to think he was paying any attention to him.

“Liam..?” Drake muttered questioningly, closing the door behind him.

Still nothing.

Drake waited a beat. He wondered if he came in at a bad time. Curiousity and concern eventually triumphed over his need to give Liam privacy. “C’mon Liam, you’re kinda creepin’ me out here.”

Finally, his friend’s gaze swept up to meet him. His eyes were panicked, confused and Drake’s own chest seized in response. “What’s going on?” He asked. Tension radiated off his friend as he sat down beside him.

Wordlessly, Liam handed him the letter. “She’s gone.” He mumbled under his breath. “She’s really gone.”

Drake stiffened at the hollowness inside his tone. He had never heard the prince sound so desolate, looked so defeated before. His ignored the sudden apphrension that crawled across his skin as he impatiently took the paper from him.

Apprehension spiralled into doubt. Liam couldn’t be talking about her, could he? No, there was no way Riley would simply leave without saying anything. There was no way she would leave without telling them goodbye.

His eyes quickly scanned the sheet of paper and with every word, his heart began to sank.

Dear Liam,

I don’t know if you’ll ever find it in your heart to forgive me when you find this. In fact, I don’t expect you to. The reasons I stay in Cordonia have become less and less significant; shrouded by doubt. And I don’t have a legitimate reason to stop all of it anymore. There are four other woman that are a lot better at this than I am. Four beautiful women that would love to be your wife. Your queen. And…I don’t know if I could ever be one of them. I like you, truly I do and maybe if we had more time, maybe if there wasn’t this deadline hanging over our heads - I don’t know. Maybe things could be different. But my feelings aren’t strong enough; they aren’t strong enough to fill the void that you want to fill. Maybe it’s because you aren’t the last thing I think about before I fall asleep, and I can’t promise to be the woman that you want if I can’t even give you that. So this my goodbye. My cowardly goodbye. I’ve left a letter for Maxwell too because I knew I couldn’t leave without telling you both the truth. At least, this is the part of the truth that doesn’t hurt as much. You deserve that much. When you think of me; years later - you’ll realize I was right to run away.

See you in another lifetime,

Riley.

Drake reread the letter - over and over again until his hands begun shaking. He hoped that his eyes were deceiving him. He hoped that this was all some kind of joke. “That’s it?” He muttered in disbelief. “This is her goodbye?!” He didn’t know why the thought alone made him so angry but before he could think better of it, he tore the paper in two.

“Drake!” Liam yelled in alarm, grabbing the two pieces from him before Drake could shred it any further. “That’s the last thing I have of her!” He sighed, before he rolled the papers together.

“Sorry.” Drake grumbled without showing any repentance. He rose to his feet, “But I don’t believe it. I don’t believe it one bit. This is bullshit.” He was hurt, confused, angry - all of these things at once.

The worst part of it was that she hadn’t done the same for him. She hadn’t written him a letter. The thought alone was nearly enough for him to swear every little word he could think of about her out-loud.

They sat in quiet silence for a few minutes until Drake sprang up with purpose. “I’m going to stop her.” He said abruptly, surprising them both.

Drake couldn’t let her leave; not without telling how he felt. Not without seeing the way her eyes sparkled after his misplaced jokes or sarcastic remarks, or her smile that disarming smile of hers whenever they finally found something to agree on. Or the way her eyes were the first to find his, no matter the crowd. No, he couldn’t let her go. Not yet.

“I’m coming with you.” Liam said softly, intruding inside Drake’s private thoughts. He stood and nodded once as if trying to convince himself that this was the best course of action. “If we take the car, we should be able to stop her before she get’s on the ferry.”

“No, no!” Drake’s voice rose an octave. He tried for an aloof tone as Liam’s brows went up in alarm. “I mean - you’ve got your duties here.” He lowered his voice. “And you can’t leave without people figuring out you’re gone. It doesn’t make sense. I should just go alone.”

Liam searched his eyes.

Drake wasn’t certain what he expected to find, but he ensured to carefully vield his expression into a cool mask. He couldn’t allow Liam to see how much Riley’s words had shaken him.

“Is there something you’re not telling me?” Liam prompted. When Drake didn’t respond right away, he pressed further. “Something that has to do with Riley perhaps?” He asked cautiously.

The question hung between them at Drake’s hesitance to answer. This was his moment, this was the chance he was waiting for. He could end all the uncertainty, all the jealously - all the hurt by just telling Liam the truth.

But he couldn’t.

Looking at his best friend; the way Liam slightly held himself back in expectancy. Holding his breath as he waited for his answer. Drake knew he wasn’t ready to hear the truth.

Instead, he snorted before responding. “Believe me, the only reason why I’m going out of my way to do this, is so that you and Maxwell won’t spend the next few weeks crying over her.”

The relief in Liam’s eyes appeared just as quickly as it vanished. “I do not cry over women.” He scoffed. Noticing Drake’s sordid expression, he added. “But I would feel glum for a little while if I never saw her again.”

Drake swallowed the lump inside his throat, and offered him a weak smile. “I’ll bring her back.” He clapped him once on the back before escaping the room.

He grumbled on the whole trip down to the small ferry. He grumbled about the inconvenince of having to find her. He grumbled about Liam and Maxwell’s insistence and affection for her. He even grumbled about his own damn confusing feelings. None of it was helping, but all of it he couldn’t help thinking.

He thought of how much hell she had already put Liam through. Even if some of it was indirectly; every time they snuck off together only made it worse for him once they got back. He even thought of Maxwell and his family - this meant more to him than it did for the rest of them. Riley could change things, shake some of the foundations those snooty nobles had always relied on. And lastly as he parked his car, he thought about how much he’d miss her if she left.

He slammed the door roughly shut and quickly jogged through the parking lot. Even if he couldn’t admit it to Liam, he knew better than to lie to himself.

His stupid confused feelings for her. Really confusing feelings, and dammit - if she left without ever knowing; well she’d put him through hell too. Remembering her and the absence of her would put him through hell.

Riley saw him first.

His hair was tousled as if he’d just gotten of bed, and his clothes were all wrinkled. She couldn’t see his expression very well, not from here. But he looked like a mess. Much like herself; he seemed as if he had a hard time sleeping the night before. And yet; he was the perfect mess she had ever seen.

She pursed her lips as she watched him frantically search the crowd. She shouldn’t be watching; she should be putting him out of his misery. But he looked so wonderfully irritated with every movement, that she couldn’t help the laugh bubbling inside her throat.

It was Drake that had came after her. And the sudden recognition made her laugh disappear. Instead, it caused butterflies to flutter inside her stomach and reminded her why she couldn’t stay. Why she had to get as far away from this place as possible.

Cordonia was beautiful a place. She had come to learn that in every good memory it brought her; whether with Liam or Hana, Maxwell or Drake. It brought her good memories; and the good ones outweighed the bad. Both, she would cherish for a long time.

It was as close as to living a fairy-tale dream than she ever imagined.

But sooner than later; most good dreams ended. They had to fade away and remind her of the gritty harshness of life. Real life wasn’t this nice, wasn’t this beautiful. She had friends back in New York and family - important family ties that she didn’t have here.

And inevitably, things would continue to grow more complicated, the longer she stayed. The other suitors were a complication. Bertrand’s attitude was a complication. Maxwell’s friendship which she would miss deeply was a complication. And finally - Drake. He wasn’t the biggest problem of them all; rather he was the only one which lingered most of the time.

The terminal staff was beginning to direct the crowd. She forced a smile as she handed one of them her ticket. She was hoping to be on board before he could find her.

It didn’t take long for them to be seated. She closed her eyes briefly while the staff waited for the rest of the passengers before they could begin their journey. Familiar tinges of weariness she had fought off all morning crept upon her. Mainland wasn’t far; still, it was enough time for a quick nap.

She hadn’t rested her eyes for more than a couple of minutes when she felt someone tap her shoulder. Once, twice and a third time until finally irritation propelled her eyes to snap open. “What?” She hissed at the passenger beside her.

The person was a meek, older gentleman and had gestured apologetically at her. “I’m sorry mam. It’s just there’s a man that really requires your attention.”

She followed the direction of his hand prior to her eyes spotting him. And her heart strained at the sight. Drake was on this ferry too, sitting more than a dozen seats behind her and glaring until his eyes had turned into slits. “Drake?!” She yelled in disbelief.

He was saying something but she couldn’t make out his words over the sound of the engine roaring to life. “What?” She shouted.

“What?” She repeated louder this time.

The older gentleman beside her tensed. When she yelled a third time, he inexorably stood. “Okay, okay - he can have my seat.” He grumbled.

“That’s really not necessary,” She objected thinly, but the man waved at her dismissively. Before she could protest again, she felt Drake’s gaze on her back until he finally seated himself beside her.

Neither one of them spoke at first as the ferry began moving. She folded her arms and his jaw had tensed with anger. Eventually, she turned to him. “What the hell Drake?”

“Don’t what the hell me. I should be saying that to you!” He gritted his teeth in silent fury.

This was it.

This was the argument she had been dreading. The only one that persisted inside her head and stopped her from writing him a letter. “You’re the one that wanted me to leave in the first place, remember?” She gestured wildly with her hands. “This should make you happy.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” His eyes searched hers. They were getting farther and farther away from Cordonia, and with each passing second - he knew he was losing her. “None of us want you to go. Not me, not Maxwell and certainly not Liam.”

At the mention of the prince’s name guilt prickled until she covered her face in exasperation. “That is exactly why I wrote letters in the first place, so I wouldn’t have to face anyone.” She wailed.

“Except, you forgot mine.”

She peeked at him through her fingers at the sound of his voice cracking. His expression surprised her. She was so used to seeing the bitter, sarcastic Drake that seeing such softness in his features was something she never thought as possible. Passionate sure, she knew he could be passionate - driven, and stubborn; these were things she was beginning to become accustomed to. But Drake was too hard around the edges to have even a smudge of softness. Yet, here he was - looking at her the way she only dreamed he would. “I couldn’t.” She said simply.

His eyes narrowed at her. “That’s it? That’s all I get for coming all the way out here to find you?”

“No one told you to.” She said ruthlessly, “Unless Liam did. He probably did, didn’t he?” She shook her head. “He’s too sweet for his own good.”

Drake didn’t bother to correct her. “I think I deserve more than that for making the trip out here.” He appeased his tone. He knew the telltale signs of when she wanted to avoid a subject. The way her shoulders stiffened, the fact that she could no longer meet his steady gaze. Carefully, he tucked a hand under her chin until she met his eyes. “You can do better than that Riley.” His voice had turned oddly quiet.

She hesitated, then finally her shoulders relaxed. “For some reason when I picked up that sheet of paper, I just couldn’t.” She dropped her hands inside her lap. “Every time I tried, words just failed.”

She watched his eyes darken. The way they swam with something more than the simple worry of a friend. As her eyes searched his, she began wondering if she was truly awake - if it was possible that she somehow managed to slip out of conciousness, and inside her dreams. “It was simple with the others; I was sad sure - and yet I did it anyway. But with you, it’s different.”

The space between them was nearly no more. “With you, it’s never easy. It’s complicated, and it drives me crazy.” She gave a short laugh, only to lose herself in the intensity of his stare. “And I can’t stay knowing that doing so hurts. Knowing that it’s you I think about when I fall asleep.” She added before she lost confidence in herself. Staring into his eyes, she felt like she could have told him anything and everything. “It’s you I think about when there’s no one else around to tell me what to do, or what to say.” Her voice finally broke.

Silence had been his only reponse, but his eyes had conveyed so much more. “This isn’t fair Riley, you don’t know what you’re asking.” His voice has gone hoarse.

“And you think this is fair for me?” She reached out to place a hand on his cheek. “I’m not asking you for anything. I’m just telling you why I can’t go back.”

She watched as he sucked in a breath. “The problem is,” he muttered as he leaned in closer until their lips have almost touched. “If I kissed you, I don’t think I’d ever be able to stop.”

It was her move, she could tell that he was giving her an out. The way he paused before his eyes fell to her lips. Her throat had suddenly gone dry. “And I wouldn’t want you to stop.”

And without hesitation, they both with an exaggerated slowness, moved closer. Closing those last few inches between them until their lips had finally met. Hers were softly plushed, velvety and slide against his slimmer, warm ones; fitting together like the final pieces of a puzzle. A sigh of pleasure escaped her lips as it dawned on her; her quiet dream had finally become reality.

The tenderness lasted seconds before he kissed her firmer, more possessive this time. His lips were a hot demand which she was more than eager to reciprocate. Her hands moved to clutch his back, while his went to unfold the dark tumble of her hair. His insistent mouth parted her lips, over and over again; sending wild shivers down her spine - inflicting sensations she had never thought she was capable of feeling. She had expected the fireworks, but not this. This nearly all consuming need for him.

His fingers roughly stroked her hair, and she arched her chin forward to meet his lips. As their tongues danced, entertwined by unbridled lust, she shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the crisp afternoon. Desire for him blossomed inside her chest and her knees grew weak once he shifted closer.

When he finally pulled away, his breathing was as ragged as the uneven sounds of his own heart beat. “Stay.” He muttered; one simple word that carried the weight of his own feelings.

He watched the whirlwind of emotions sweep across her face. “Stay.” He repeated. He brought a thumb to graze her bruised lips. “I want you to stay.”

He would have given anything at that moment to hear her thoughts. To know exactly what she was thinking because he knew his own. This was it. This was the other moment he had been waiting for. He was being selfish; but dammit he wanted her to stay. “I want you to say for me,” He took a deep breath, “and not for Liam. Not for this competition - not even for Maxwell.” He knew those were reasons she wrestled with, but he hoped if they weren’t enough. He would be. He knew he wasn’t being fair; but he had never wanted anyone as much as he wanted her. “Stay, for me.”

He couldn’t tell how long they sat there, staring at each other as he gauged for her reaction. Eventually, she nodded and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “Yes.” She mumbled against his mouth. “I’ll stay.”

A surge of monumental joy overwhelmed him; unfamiliar because he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt such pleasure. He grinned before sweeping her off her feet. Her cry of surprise quickly turned into outbursts of laughter.

“Put me down before you make a scene.” She half-laughed, half-yelled.

It was too late. Most of the other passengers were cheering as he kissed her again, and she immediately softened against him. She weaved her arms around his neck, and this time he didn’t let go until they nearly stumbled back inside their seats. When she was on solid ground again, they sat. “Are you telling me you don’t do PDA? I always pegged you as the sort.” He teased.

“And I always pegged you as the brooding sort.” She clicked her tongue. “Happy to see we’re both wrong.”

“Sarcasm doesn’t become you.”

She laughed and relaxed beside him.

He swore when he checked how far out they were at sea. He could still see the dock, if he squinted hard enough. “Well, any ideas on how to get back?” By the time they got to mainland, it would be too late to board the last ferry ride back.

“What about jumping?” She pointed at the ocean.

He blinked at her in dismay. Jump? He echoed his thoughts aloud. “Jump?” When she nodded, he scrutinized her. “As in jump here? Really?” At her nod of impatience, he stared at her incredulously. “So let me get this straight - you want to jump?”

“Have you suddenly gone deaf Drake? Yes jump. Jump and swim towards the dock.”

“Good swimmer, then?”

She lifted a shoulder and shrugged.

“What about your luggage?”

“I didn’t carry much.”

“Your carry on?”

“I can replace it all.” She said dismissively. She wiggled her eyebrows at him. “Besides haven’t you ever wanted to do this before?” She gestured to the open sea.

“Yes. As a child. But I’m an adult now with thankfully better sense.” When she grabbed his hand, his body went ramrod stiff.

“C’mon, this’ll be fun.” She squeezed his hand. “Let’s go before security realizes what we’re planning.” She lowered her voice as one of the staff that passed by them. “Besides, how else will we get back to Cordonia in time for dinner?”

He should tell her no. He should tell her this entire idea was stupid. That they should wait until tomorrow for the earliest ride back to the docks. But he doesn’t. Instead, he fed off the sizzling energy he experiences whenever they were alone together. He allowed the inexplicable pull to inspire courage, and nodded once in agreement before they withdrew from their seats.

Drake kept a look-out as Riley hooked one foot over the ferry’s railing. His eyes scanned quickly until he begun to notice people pointing in their direction. Knowing his luck, their anonymity wouldn’t last very long.

As Riley scampered over the railing, she held a hand out to him. He took it without hesitating and swiftly swung a leg over before his other followed.

Seconds later, she pointed behind him. “Two of them; hot on our heels.”

“We’ll be off before they have a chance to catch us.”

They both stared at the sea, and any last ditch effort for common sense to return had been shattered as soon as he felt her smaller hand grip his.

Their feet titter off the edge at the same time; hearing warning shouts from voices that scrambled by to grab them just before hitting the water’s surface.

It was colder than he expected. Gooseflesh erupted across his skin as he sank; and his grip around her hand loosened before falling completely short. He sputtered as the waves smacked into him and coughed until his head resurfaced. This was a terrible idea. A terrible stupid idea.

He could still hear the sounds of people yelling above him. He blinked a few times and rubbed water out of his eyes while waiting for RIley to resurface. When she didn’t, his forehead creased with worry. “Riley?” He scanned the area frantically.

Then he felt it. A sharp tug on his right leg that nearly pulled him under. An outraged cry left his lips involuntarily; and his submerged feet kicked wildly until a moment later Riley surfaced beside him laughing. “Not cool, seriously not cool.” He scowled.

She couldn’t stop laughing. She splashed him as they waded through the ocean. “You should have seen your face.”

His face, doesn’t budge in it’s stern expression.

“Seriously, that was fun!” She beamed a smile at him and his frown wavered. “Let’s do it again sometime!”

Drake finally gave in to her infectious enthusiasm and grinned.

He hated to admit it but every moment he spent with her was a moment where he forgot everything else.

She wasn’t a girl competiting with four others for some ridiculous notions of love and the crown. He wasn’t the best friend of the man she was supposed to pinning after.

When they were alone like this - they were simply two people. And whether they were laughing or arguing, taking last minute trips for cronuts - Cordonia wouldn’t be the same without her.

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