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Lydia doesn’t know why she came back.
There’s nothing for her at the New York Institute; she barely stayed long enough to become friends with Alec, let alone anything else. The messes she created with the trial and the wedding didn’t endear her to anyone there, so there’s no reason for her to be back.
Alec wanted her to lead the Institute with him, yes, but she could have said no. The Clave had offered her plenty of positions, plenty of Institutes to look after, and yet she chose New York.
She doesn’t know what she’s doing here. Most of the shadowhunters still look at her sideways, as though they’re expecting her to lock them up or force them into a marriage they don’t want. Alec fights for her tooth and nail, glaring at their subordinates when they refuse to treat Lydia with the respect he thinks she deserves, and she appreciates him even more for that.
Still, her life would be a lot easier if she had chosen any other Institute, any other city in the world. Maybe she likes making things hard for herself, or maybe fate pushed her this way for a reason. All she knows is that her first month at the Institute was hell and she doesn’t know if she could make it through a second.
Alec is at her side but she doesn’t know if it’s enough, especially since a lot of their shadowhunters lost some of their respect for him when he decided to call someone else in to help. It makes their lives that much more difficult, and they haven’t had a single good day since she arrived.
Until they do.
They’re a week into their second month as co-head when it happens. They send three groups of shadowhunters on missions and all of them come back successful. They organise yet another Downworld Cabinet and get more done during that meeting than they ever have before. Alec and Magnus’ relationship is thriving, so Lydia gets to see her co-worker smile all day long.
And then, to make things better, Lydia comes across Clary and Isabelle as they’re training.
When she returned to the Institute, Lydia had expected the two women to snarl and snap at her just as they had the first time she had been there. Alec had told her they’d changed, but she hadn’t quite believed it until she saw it happen.
For a few weeks, they ignored her. They acted as though she didn’t exist, going to Alec when they needed help and glancing at her sideways when she was in the room. Alec explained they were trying to understand what she was doing here and indeed, after those few weeks of suspicious looks, Isabelle and Clary warmed up to her.
She wouldn’t say they’re friends, exactly, but they’re getting there, slowly but surely. Part of her wants to spend time with them, the two only female shadowhunters around her age who don’t sneer at her when she walks into a room, but she knows they’re dating and doesn’t want to feel like a third wheel.
She’s never been alone with them since she arrived and, as she watches them fight, she suddenly remembers why she’s been avoiding this particular situation.
She knows, objectively, that Clary and Isabelle are beautiful women. They’ve got sharp features, gorgeous bodies, and wonderful personalities on top of it all. It doesn’t help that they’re also ridiculously skilled. Even Clary, who has only been a shadowhunter for a few months, knows how to wield a seraph blade.
Lydia has always found competency attractive, but ability combined with physical beauty is a whole other problem to deal with.
Isabelle is an elegant fighter. It’s obvious she’s been doing this for longer. Her movements flow more naturally, her whip lashes out as though it’s an extension of her arm, and she fights in heels better than anyone else. The smug smirk splitting her features as she whips Clary into shape doesn’t make Lydia feel any less attracted to her.
Clary is the opposite of Isabelle in many ways. What she lacks in experience and training, she makes up for in speed and creativity. She doesn’t smile as she fights, but it’s a damned near thing. She taunts and distracts Isabelle masterfully, and watching the two of them spar together is the hottest thing Lydia has ever seen.
Desire pools in her gut and, before either woman can catch her looking, Lydia slips out of the room. She’s got enough on her plate as it is; she certainly doesn’t need an unrequited crush on not one, but two of her shadowhunters. As she leaves them behind, Lydia promises herself to stay away for at least a week.
She goes back to the training room the next day, leaning against the far wall as Isabelle and Clary dance together. The only noises disturbing the peace are the clash of blades, the women’s panting, and Isabelle’s delighted laughter. They’re just as beautiful as they were the day before, and Lydia is fascinated.
After that, she keeps coming back. Every night, she tells herself this was the last time, the last day she observed them as they fought, and every afternoon her resolve cracks until she’s standing in the training room again. She can only thank the angel that Isabelle and Clary are too caught up in each other to notice her creeping up on them.
The only person who knows about her little excursions is Alec. He catches her slipping out of the room and raises an eyebrow at her, smirking when Lydia blushes darkly. He obviously knows about her crush on the two ladies but isn’t going to say anything about it. She’s never been more grateful for her co-head.
Things go on like that for over a month. Lydia sneaks into the training room twice a day; once for herself and once for the two incredibly attractive women who are only getting better by the day. She’s finally happy at the Institute; the New York shadowhunters have stopped fighting her at every turn, and she’s growing to love the city as well.
Then, Isabelle catches her. The brunette looks up one day in the middle of a fight and her gaze locks straight onto Lydia’s. Before Lydia can say anything to defend herself, Isabelle is grinning widely and jumping back into Clary’s training with even more enthusiasm. If Lydia thought the brunette was beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to what Isabelle shows her that afternoon.
Lydia has no idea what Isabelle is trying to prove; she doesn’t know if the brunette is trying to intimidate her or impress her. All she knows is she’s never been more turned on.
Isabelle and Clary look absolutely amazing, and Lydia almost chokes on her own spit when her gaze trails down their bodies and settles on their matching thigh holsters. Raziel, that shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Lydia can barely look away from their legs as the two women move and stretch their bodies, flying across the room at alarming speeds.
She knows she’s been spotted, but she still tries to leave before Isabelle can call her out on her voyeuristic tendencies. Yes, she knows the pair wasn’t doing anything particularly scandalous, but she still feels like she’s been intruding on a private moment all along.
This is why she should have stopped.
“Lydia, wait!”
She curses, turning around slowly and trying to force a smile onto her face. She can still pretend, she knows. She can still tell Isabelle she was observing their skills and trying to determine if Clary is getting better. She can still lie and get away with it if that’s what she wants.
However, Isabelle is staring at her with something like hunger in her eyes, and Lydia freezes in her tracks. Unconsciously, she licks at her lips, wondering if that’ll make her mouth feel any less dry. It doesn’t, especially not when Clary appears behind Isabelle, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist and smiling brightly at Lydia.
She doesn’t think she’s ever seen them up close like this. Doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything quite so alluring. She clears her throat, trying to retain a semblance of control. It’s a fight she’s going to lose and she knows it. She never stood a chance against Isabelle Lightwood and Clary Fray.
“Isabelle, Clary,” she greets them, her voice hoarse. Damn it, she sounds wrecked. “You two looked…”
“Fabulous?” Isabelle suggests, a dangerous smirk playing at her lips. She turns her face to press a kiss to Clary’s jaw, but her gaze never leaves Lydia’s. If she’s going to die, Lydia thinks this might be the best way to go. “I agree. Clary and I are always quite attractive, but nothing beats two sweaty girls fighting like they were born to do it, don’t you agree?”
Lydia’s breath hitches as Clary nods in agreement, her eyes turning dark as they trail up and down Lydia’s body appreciatively. She’s not wearing anything special, just training gear, but the two women in front of her make her feel like she might as well be naked.
“Yeah,” she croaks out. “You two of you definitely know how to put on a show. Do you ever train with anyone else?”
She doesn’t mean for it to come out as an offer, but Isabelle’s eyes light up as soon as the words are out of Lydia’s mouth. She curses herself internally, wondering why she couldn’t have phrased that differently. Even before Isabelle speaks up, Lydia knows exactly what she’s going to say.
“We don’t usually,” the brunette grins. “However, we could make an exception for our gorgeous co-head. You’re good with your paperwork, Branwell, but how are your practical skills, huh? Maybe you need a bit of a refresher.”
Taunts don’t usually get to Lydia. She’s used to letting people’s words wash over her like they’re nothing at all. She doesn’t let herself get lost in the heat of the moment or give in to her impulses. She’s logical, rational, she follows the rules more than anyone else.
But Isabelle’s offer sounds like a challenge and, for the first time in a very long time, Lydia doesn’t want to back out of it. She’s been watching them train for over a month; she knows their strengths and weaknesses, knows what makes them tick and flail and hesitate. Maybe Isabelle knows this or maybe she doesn’t; either way, Lydia isn’t going to let her think she’s anything less than perfect at what she does.
“Or maybe I should teach the two of you a lesson about discipline and true fighting,” she retorts, a lazy smile making its way onto her face. “You may think you’re impressive, Isabelle, but you still have so much to learn.”
“Really?” Isabelle raises an eyebrow. “Well then, why don’t you enlighten me? Go get your weapons, Clary and I will be waiting for you right here.”
Lydia is heading for the weapons’ case before Isabelle is even done talking. She grabs her favourite weapon, a long seraph blade that looks more like a katana than anything, and turns back towards Isabelle and Clary, twirling her weapon around that she walks.
The two women are waiting for her with wicked smiles on their faces. They’re poised to attack, daggers and whip in hand, and Lydia suddenly realises that watching them fight has nothing on fighting with them.
“Two against one seems a bit unfair, don’t you think?” she asks innocently, looking from Clary to Isabelle and back again. Honestly, she believes she has a shot against them even if they decide to team up, mostly thanks to all her observations. However, she knows they expect her to say something about the injustice of the situation. “Or do you truly think neither of you can take me down alone?”
“Maybe we just want to see you show off those skills you’re so convinced you have,” Clary teases her, waving her forwards. “Standard rules apply. And please, try not to ruin my top? It’s new and I don’t want to have to replace it already.”
“Should have thought of that before challenging me, Clary,” Lydia sing-songs. The redhead’s eyes flash momentarily, and then Clary is advancing.
The fight is on.
Unsurprisingly, Isabelle and Clary split up to cover more grounds. They circle around her for a few minutes, trying to poke at the holes in her defence. Through it all, Lydia doesn’t falter. She keeps an eye on the both of them, trying to understand what their strategy is, exactly.
She also needs to decide which one of them to disarm first. Isabelle is the harder choice, but if Lydia manages to bring her down, it’ll only be a matter of minutes before Clary is done for as well. On the other hand, Clary would be quicker to get rid of, and then the fight between Isabelle and Lydia would be fairer.
Lydia grins. She’s never been one to take the easy way out.
Isabelle launches for her and she dodges out of the way effortlessly, sending the brunette tumbling towards Clary. The pair are strong and good at what they do, but their weakness is so obvious Lydia almost laughs. They’re not used to sparring against someone as a team.
“Eager to get back to your girlfriend, Lightwood?” Lydia teases, knowing words are the easiest way to distract Isabelle. Clary uses this strategy all the time, flirting until Isabelle falters. Lydia may not be able to be quite as obvious as Clary with her innuendos, but she can certainly try her best. “If you’re so desperate to kiss her, go ahead. Don’t stop on my account.”
Isabelle gulps, her gaze straying to Clary for a second. A second is all Lydia needs to tackle her to the ground, rolling them over and pressing her blade to Isabelle’s throat. Their hips are slotted together and Lydia is tempted – oh is she tempted – to stay there and shift until their entire bodies are pressed against each other. Isabelle’s forehead is covered in sweat and her lips are parted, but Lydia only takes a second to admire the sight before jumping up and turning back towards Clary, blocking her blow just before it hits her.
“Took you a minute,” Clary smirks. “I thought you’d never get up.”
“Well, Isabelle is quite comfortable,” Lydia shoots back, prowling towards Clary as the other woman continues to walk backwards. “Did you enjoy the sight as much as I enjoyed watching the two of you fight? Were you jealous?”
Clary’s grip clenches around her blade and Lydia almost lets herself smile victoriously. Instead, she takes the last few steps needed to press Clary against the wall and points her own sword at the redhead, winking at her disgruntled look.
“Nice try, Fray,” she murmurs, leaning forward to whisper the words straight into her ear. She has no idea where all this confidence is coming from, but Isabelle and Clary clearly don’t mind. “How much do you think Isabelle wishes she were in my place?”
“Not as much as she wishes to be in mine,” Clary smirks, turning her head until their lips are less than an inch apart. “Too bad for her, don’t you think? I always told her I’d get the first kiss.”
Lydia inhales sharply, waiting for Clary’s lips to press against her own. She can feel the redhead’s warm breath, but the kiss never comes. Instead, Lydia is twirled around and pulled in by Isabelle, who crashes their mouths together in a fiercely possessive kiss.
Lydia pushes against her, grabbing at her shirt and giving as good as she’s getting. Isabelle’s lips are warm and talented and eager to explore, and Lydia melts against her, glad that Clary is holding her up from behind. She’s not sure she would have managed to stay upright without the redhead’s help.
When they finally break apart, Lydia is breathless, and Isabelle isn’t much better. Behind them, Clary huffs, and if the amused smile Isabelle is sporting is anything to go by, the redhead is probably glaring at her girlfriend.
“Too slow, Clarissa.”
Lydia chuckles, but then she’s being turned back around again, and Clary is kissing her softly and carefully, and she loses her mind a little bit. It’s nothing like the way Isabelle kissed her, but it’s just as incredible. She can’t help but wonder if there’s anything sweeter than being caught in between two beautiful women who, apparently, want her as much as they want each other.
Clary’s kiss lasts longer and the redhead lingers against her, pressing small pecks to her lips before pulling away and giggling happily.
“Was that slow enough for you, Isabelle?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Isabelle answers, her hands gripping Lydia’s hips almost painfully. “What do you think, Lydia? A preference?”
Lydia pretends to think about it for a second, twirling a strand of Clary’s hair in between her fingers and taking a step backwards so she’s pressed flush against Isabelle’s body. Then, she lets a mischievous smile tug at her lips.
“I’m not sure,” she mock-pouts. “Care to try that again?”
Clary’s gaze turns ravenous, Isabelle growls into her ear, and Lydia laughs delightedly. Maybe Fate really is what brought her back to New York.