Was really occupied for a couple of days and finally got some time alone to be as loud as I wanted. The plan was to edge for a while, but I got carried away fantasizing about a friend. A few minutes into recording, I was getting too wet to stop. The tension just felt too good to hold back... had to stop myself from moaning her name as I imagined finishing inside of her. Ended up being one of my longest orgasms; too bad she'll never know that. Don't mind the birds in the background...
Exploring the dynamic after you get together with him? Naughty shadows ? Him dealing with new found intimacy? His possessiveness, protectiveness? Bedroom dynamics? Exploring what the little freak is doing to his little human in the bedroom? And, equally important, what you do to him…? 😌🖤
In the quiet glow of the House of Wind library, Azriel pretends to read existentialism while his shadows betray him, slipping free to curl around Y/N like the traitors they are.
One permission becomes many—until the stoic Shadowsinger is nothing but a whimpering, needy mess in her arms, centuries of restraint shattering against the small, fierce human who sees him, wants him, and refuses to let him hide anymore.
(Naughty shadows included. Whimpers very much included.)
Rating: M
As you can probably tell, I've used AI to create part of the prose, the ideas are mine tho. I let AI create this little fic for me — and I loved it so much I thought I should share it with you. If you got a problem with that, just don't read it, I don't care.
24 дек. 2025 г. - Автор пина:flawlessbee. Находите и прикалывайте свои пины в Pinterest!
House of Wind — Library
He’s chosen one of her favorites—something heavy on existentialism, absurdism, the kind of text that makes most people glaze over. He’s barely comprehending a word. Every line blurs into the memory of her fingertip on his cheek last night, the way she’d whispered sorry like she’d committed a sin by wanting to touch him.
Y/N is curled in her usual spot, knees up, book balanced, occasionally murmuring to herself when a passage hits just right. The shared blanket is draped over both their legs again—unspoken, automatic now. Neither of them has acknowledged how natural it’s become.
Azriel turns a page he hasn’t read.
One of his shadows—traitorous, restless—slips free.
It doesn’t ask permission. It never does when it comes to her.
The dark curl drifts low across the cushion, silent as smoke, then rises toward her like it’s drawn by her warmth. It brushes the back of her hand—soft, tentative, almost shy.
Y/N startles.
Her head snaps up, eyes wide for half a second—then softening when she realizes what it is. Not danger. Not threat. Just… one of his.
She glances at Azriel first.
He’s still staring at his book, jaw tight, pretending utter concentration. He hasn’t noticed. Not yet.
Her lips curve—small, private, enchanted.
She extends her hand slowly, palm up, like she’s offering something fragile to a wild creature.
The shadow hesitates—then surges forward with sudden, delighted eagerness.
It curls around her wrist in a gentle spiral. Once. Twice. Then higher—coiling up her forearm in lazy, affectionate loops, wrapping her like black silk ribbon. It reaches her fingertip and twines there, playful, curling and uncurling around her index finger like a tiny, living ring.
Y/N lets out a soft, breathless chuckle—pure wonder.
The sound is what finally breaks Azriel’s focus.
His head jerks up.
His eyes lock on her hand—on his shadow happily encircling her finger like it belongs there.
Shock slams through him.
His shadows never do this. Not without his express will. Not with anyone.
Especially not her.
He yanks it back—hard. A mental lash, sharp and furious. Back. Now.
The shadow recoils like it’s been slapped, slinking to his shoulders in a sulky twist before vanishing under his skin.
Azriel’s face burns.
“Sorry,” he says immediately—voice low, rough, mortified. “Sorry, Y/N. I don’t know why it— I didn’t mean—”
She’s already shaking her head, smile lingering, cheeks faintly pink.
“No, it’s okay,” she says softly. “It was… nice.”
He stares at her.
Nice?
His shadows are extensions of him—dark, violent, hungry things born from trauma and trained for killing. They don’t do nice. They obey. They scout. They strangle when ordered.
And yet one just curled around her like a lovesick ribbon.
Y/N tilts her head, studying him with that quiet, piercing curiosity she always has when something fascinates her.
“It didn’t feel bad,” she says simply. “It felt… curious. Like it was saying hello.”
He exhales through his nose—almost a laugh, almost not. “They’re not exactly polite company.”
Y/N’s brows lift. “They seemed pretty polite to me. Friendly, even.” A small pause, then softer: “Kinda cute.”
The word hits him again. Cute. His shadows—tools of interrogation, whispers of death, constant companions in the dark—and she calls them cute.
He shifts, wings rustling faintly against the back of the sofa. “They’re part of me,” he says carefully. “Not pets. Not separate. They do what I ask… most of the time. But they have their own instincts. Habits. They’ve been with me since I was—” He stops. Swallows the rest. Since the cellar. Since the dark. “A long time.”
Y/N nods, absorbing it without pity. Just listening. Like she’s turning the information over in her mind the same way she does with her philosophy texts.
“So when one of them… reached for me,” she ventures, “it was following your instincts? Or its own?”
Azriel hesitates. The truth is both—and neither. The shadow had moved because some buried part of him wanted to touch her, to be close without the risk of rejection. But admitting that would be admitting everything.
“They sense things,” he says instead. Measured. “People. Moods. Sometimes they act before I tell them to. Especially if they think something—or someone—is…” He searches for a word that doesn’t betray him. “…safe. Or interesting.”
Her eyes brighten a fraction. “Interesting,” she echoes, tasting the word. “So I’m interesting to them?”
To me, he wants to say. To every part of me.
Instead: “Apparently.”
Y/N chuckles—quiet, delighted—and glances down at her wrist again, as if the shadow might reappear if she stares long enough.
“I like that,” she murmurs. “That they have a mind of their own. Makes them feel alive. Like they’re not just… weapons.”
Azriel’s chest tightens. No one has ever described them that way. Not weapons. Not curses. But alive.
“They’re useful,” he says, deflecting again. Voice low. “They listen. Watch. They keep things from me when I need quiet. But they’re not… independent. They’re bound to me. My will. My moods.”
She studies him for a long moment—searching, gentle. “Do they ever surprise you?”
“Sometimes,” he admits. The smallest crack in the armor. “Like tonight.”
Y/N smiles again—smaller this time, warmer. “Well… if they ever want to say hello again, I wouldn’t mind.”
His heart lurches—a violent, unsteady thing that slams against his ribs like it’s trying to break free and hand itself over to her right there on the sofa. He meets her gaze. Holds it. The firelight flickers in her eyes, turning them molten.
Her words hang in the air between them.
“If they ever want to say hello again, I wouldn’t mind.”
She said it lightly—almost playfully—but her eyes are steady on his. No teasing smirk. No deflection. Just quiet, open permission.
Permission for his shadows.
Which means permission for him.
Which means she’s not afraid. Not repulsed. Not indifferent.
Hope—sharp and dangerous—floods his chest so fast it hurts to breathe.
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just stares at her while the firelight dances across her face and turns her irises to liquid amber. His shadows are trembling under his skin, a low vibration he can feel in his bones, like hounds straining at a leash.
One of them—the same one from earlier—actually twitches forward half an inch before he clamps down on it with iron will.
Not yet.
Not like this.
Not when he’s still reeling.
Y/N doesn’t look away.
She just waits—patient, curious, the smallest upward curve at the corner of her mouth like she knows exactly what kind of storm she’s stirred inside him.
Finally he manages to speak. Voice lower than usual, rougher. “You’re sure?”
It’s the safest question he can ask. The one that gives her an out without making her feel like she’s done something wrong.
She nods once. Small. Certain.
“Yeah.”
Another beat.
Then—slowly, deliberately—he loosens his grip. Just a fraction. Just enough.
The shadow doesn’t rush. It’s learned its lesson from the earlier yank. Instead it eases forward like it’s approaching something sacred: a thin tendril of darkness sliding across the blanket, cool and silky, until it reaches the edge of her sleeve.
Y/N doesn’t flinch.
She turns her palm up again—slow invitation—and the shadow responds like it’s been waiting centuries for exactly this.
It curls around the base of her thumb first—gentle loop—then spirals up her finger in lazy, affectionate coils. Another tendril joins it, thinner, wrapping around her wrist like a living bracelet. A third drifts higher, brushing the inside of her forearm in the lightest caress, almost reverent.
Y/N’s breath catches—soft, audible.
Not fear. Wonder.
She watches the shadows move with wide, enchanted eyes, lips parted just enough that he can see the faint hitch in her breathing.
“They feel… cool,” she whispers. “Like silk. But alive.”
Azriel can’t speak.
Can’t look away from the sight of his own darkness twining around her skin like it belongs there. Like it’s happy there.
The shadows are purring—actual, low vibration he can feel through the bond they share. Content. Thrilled. Safe.
His own pulse is roaring in his ears.
Y/N lifts her gaze to his—slowly, like she’s afraid to break the spell.
“They’re… really gentle,” she says quietly. “I didn’t expect that.”
He swallows. Forces words past the knot in his throat. “They’re not always. But with you…” He trails off. Shakes his head once, almost imperceptibly. “They choose.”
Her smile blooms—small, radiant, a little shy.
“Then I’m glad they chose me.”
The words crack something inside him—clean through the center.
He doesn’t yank the shadows back this time.
He lets them stay.
Lets them curl and uncoil, lets one daring tendril brush the underside of her wrist where her pulse flutters like a trapped bird. Lets another drift up to skim the edge of her jaw—barely there, a whisper of cool against warm skin.
Y/N’s eyes flutter half-closed for a second. A tiny shiver runs through her—not cold. Something else entirely.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead she turns her hand over slowly, offering the back of it like she’s presenting it to be kissed.
The shadows respond instantly: one coils around her knuckles, another traces the delicate veins on the back of her hand in slow, worshipful strokes.
Azriel’s wings shift—tiny rustle of membrane against the sofa back. His leathers feel too tight. His chest too full.
Y/N watches the shadows play across her skin for another long, quiet moment—cool tendrils looping lazily around her fingers, one daring to trace the inside of her wrist like it’s mapping her pulse. Her breathing has gone soft and even, almost meditative, but her eyes are bright with that same quiet wonder.
Then, slowly—carefully—she turns her free hand palm-down.
The shadows pause, as if sensing the shift in intent.
Azriel’s own breath catches. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t dare speak. Every muscle in his body is locked tight, waiting.
Y/N extends her fingers toward the nearest curl of darkness—the one still wrapped loosely around her other wrist like a living cuff. She doesn’t grab. Doesn’t demand. She just… offers. Lets the pads of her fingers brush the edge of the shadow, light as a sigh.
The shadow stills under her touch.
Then—miraculously—it leans in.
It presses against her fingertips like a cat arching into a hand. Soft. Yielding. Almost eager. The cool, silky texture shifts under her caress—thicker where she strokes, thinner where she lingers, responding to every tiny movement of her fingers like it’s drinking in the contact.
Y/N exhales a tiny, delighted sound.
“They’re so responsive,” she murmurs. “Like they can feel everything I do to them.”
“They can,” he says quietly.
She strokes again—slow, deliberate, tracing the length of the tendril from where it coils around her wrist up to the delicate tip that had brushed her cheek earlier. Her touch is reverent, curious, gentle in a way that makes something deep in Azriel’s chest twist painfully.
The shadow purrs—a low, vibrating hum he feels through every inch of his own body, straight down his spine.
He shivers.
Once. Hard. Uncontrollably.
Wings twitching behind him, leathers creaking as his shoulders draw up for half a second before he forces them down again. Heat floods his face, his neck, the base of his throat. His hands—still resting on the book in his lap—curl into loose fists to hide the tremor.
Y/N glances up at him instantly.
Her eyes widen—not in alarm, but in soft realization.
“You felt that,” she whispers. Not a question.
Azriel can’t look away from her. Can’t pretend.
“Yes.”
Y/N’s thumb resumes its slow stroke along the main tendril. Deliberate. Testing.
“Does it… hurt?” she asks quietly.
“No.” His voice is barely there. “It’s… the opposite.”
The word scrapes out rougher than he intends.
She lets the silence sit for a moment—long enough that the fire pops once, twice—then asks the question he’s been dreading and craving in equal measure.
“How much of it?”
Azriel’s wings twitch again—restless, betraying him. He forces them still.
“Everything,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Every brush. Every pressure. Every place you linger.”
Her cheeks flush—soft rose against the firelight—but she doesn’t pull away. If anything, her touch becomes slower. More intentional. She lets her fingertip circle the core of the shadow where it’s densest, right at the base near her pulse point.
Azriel’s breath leaves him in a ragged rush. His hands—still on the forgotten book—curl into the leather cover until the spine creaks.
The sensation hits him like a wave: cool silk dragging over raw nerve, intimate, overwhelming, hers.
His eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat. A low, involuntary sound catches in the back of his throat—half groan, half sigh—before he clamps it down.
When he opens his eyes again, Y/N is watching him with something new in her expression: not just wonder anymore. Awareness. Heat. The faintest flush creeping up her own throat.
She doesn’t pull away.
Instead she strokes once more—slow, lingering—and murmurs, so soft he almost misses it:
“They like it.”
Azriel swallows hard. His voice comes out wrecked.
“They do.”
A tiny smile curves her lips—shy, knowing.
“I do.”
The admission hangs between them—simple, devastating. Y/N’s eyes darken. Not with fear. With understanding.
She’s quiet for a long stretch, just watching the way the tendril responds—thinning when she lifts her touch, thickening when she presses a little firmer, curling tighter around her pinky like it’s clinging.
One of the other shadows—the one at her nape—shifts, sliding higher to skim the shell of her ear again. She shivers this time—small, visible—and her free hand comes up instinctively to press against the cool touch, holding it there for a heartbeat.
He can’t look away from her. Can’t lie anymore—not when she’s holding a piece of him in her hand and stroking it like it’s precious.
“They’re not separate,” he says, finally giving her the truth he’s guarded so carefully. “They’re me. The parts I can’t control. The parts that don’t know how to stay hidden when I’m near you.”
Y/N’s fingers pause.
The shadows seem to sense the shift—the confession hanging heavy between them. One tendril lifts from her wrist, drifts upward, and brushes the corner of her mouth—light as a sigh, cool against the warmth of her lips.
Y/N’s breath hitches.
She doesn’t move away.
Instead she turns her head—just enough—so the shadow traces the bow of her upper lip, then the fuller curve of the lower one.
She looks at him then—eyes glassy, cheeks flushed, lips parted where his shadow still lingers.
“And right now?” she whispers. “What do they—what do you—want?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
He just lets his hand move—slow, careful—until his scarred fingers cover hers where they rest against the shadow. Not gripping. Just… holding. Skin to shadow to skin.
The contact jolts through him like lightning—warm human touch layered over cool darkness.
Y/N’s eyes flutter shut for a heartbeat.
When they open again, they’re locked on his.
Azriel is trembling.
Not just his hands—his whole body. A fine, constant shiver that starts in his wings and radiates outward until even his leathers feel too tight, too constricting, too everything. His shadows have gone unnaturally still, as if they too are holding their breath, coiled tight against his skin and hers, afraid that one wrong move will shatter this impossible moment.
He won’t close the distance.
He can’t.
Every instinct screams at him to lean in, to take what she’s offering with those wide, soft eyes and that parted mouth and that quiet permission still hanging between them like smoke. But centuries of wanting and never having, of reaching and being turned away, of loving in silence until the silence became safer than the risk—they chain him in place.
Rejection would kill him tonight.
He’s not sure he’d survive it.
So he stays frozen—heart slamming, breath ragged, gaze locked on hers like she’s the only anchor in a storm he’s drowning in.
But Y/N moves.
Slowly.
So slowly it’s almost torture.
Her small frame shifts forward on the sofa—barely an inch at first—then another. Her knees brush his thigh through the blanket. Her cardigan—soft, oversized, pale cream wool that smells faintly of lavender and old books—grazes the edge of his leathers. She’s so close now he can feel the warmth radiating off her skin, the delicate rise and fall of her chest, the way her breathing has gone shallow and quick to match his own.
She looks up at him the entire time—never breaking eye contact—searching his face for any sign that he wants her to stop.
He doesn’t give her one.
He can’t.
He’s too busy trying not to fall apart.
Her tongue darts out—nervous, quick—wetting her lower lip. The tiny motion pulls a low, involuntary sound from the back of his throat. He’s dazed. Intoxicated. Her scent wraps around him—lavender, paper, faint honey from the tea, and underneath it all the warm, living smell of her skin. Human. Fragile.
Her eyes flick over his features—his sharp cheekbones, the faint scars, the hazel that’s gone almost black with want and fear.
“You’re so pretty,” she whispers, voice thick with awe.
Azriel huffs—a short, shaky laugh that’s more exhale than sound.
“T-thank you,” he manages. Swallows hard. Tries to hold her gaze but his eyes keep dropping to her mouth, then jerking back up like he’s been caught stealing. “You—you’re beautiful yourself.”
Y/N’s lips twitch—half smile, half deflection.
“For a human,” she says softly, the joke slipping out like armor.
“No.”
The word comes out firmer than anything else he’s said tonight.
He swallows again—throat working visibly—and lifts his hand. Lets his scarred fingers hover near her cheek, trembling so badly the air between them seems to shake with it.
“In any regard,” he whispers. “The most beautiful.”
Y/N makes a small, helpless noise—something between disbelief and a sob she tries to swallow. Her lashes flutter. Her hand comes up instinctively, fingertips brushing the back of his hovering one—barely a touch, but it burns straight through him.
Azriel feels ridiculous. Exposed. Like a fumbling teenager who’s never kissed anyone before, when he’s had lovers—male, female, countless nights of bodies and release that never touched the hollow place inside him.
But this…
This is different.
This is someone who maybe maybe wants him back.
And the terror of it—of believing it, of risking it—locks every muscle.
He can’t do it.
He can’t be the one to cross that final line.
The please undoes him.
He closes the distance in one slow, trembling motion—until his lips brush hers.
Cool shadow-wreathed warmth meets soft, yielding heat. Her mouth is velvet under his—pliant, tasting faintly of chamomile tea and honey, with the barest salt edge from nerves or tears or both. He freezes there, lips parted just enough to feel the puff of her exhale mingle with his own ragged inhale, his breath stuttering out in shallow, uneven bursts like he’s forgotten how to breathe at all.
This can’t be real.
The thought spirals through him—sharp, disbelieving, a vortex pulling him under. Why isn’t she pulling away? Why isn’t she laughing that dark, absurd laugh of hers to shatter the tension, turning it into a joke about broody Illyrians and tiny humans? Why isn’t she recoiling in disgust from the scarred monster who’s spent months pining in shadows, yanking back parts of himself that ached to touch her? Why is she looking at him like that—eyes half-lidded, soft and wanting, like he’s something precious instead of broken?
He’s terrified. Gut-wrenching, bone-deep terrified that if he moves, if he deepens this, the illusion will crack and she’ll vanish like smoke between his fingers. But gods, she’s so close—her small body radiating heat through that soft cardigan, thin and delicate under his hovering hand, her presence an intoxicating haze of lavender and paper and warm skin that makes his head spin. She’s so fragile, barely reaching his shoulder even now, curled toward him on the sofa like she fits perfectly in the space his massive frame carves out. His wings twitch behind him—membrane rustling faintly, shadows coiling tighter in restraint and want.
Then she sighs—a tiny, helpless sound, half-moan, half-relief—against his mouth.
“I—I’ve wanted you for so long, Y/N,” he rasps between kisses, voice cracking on every word. “You have no idea.”
“You did?”
“I wanted you so bad, I thought I was losing my mind.”
Y/N makes a noise—soft, broken, a whimper that vibrates straight into his mouth and down his spine like lightning.
"Me too, Az!", she rasps. "Since the first day I saw your beautiful stupid face."
He kisses her like he’s starving.
Slow at first—devastatingly slow—lips moving in languid, deliberate drags that coax her mouth open wider. His tongue brushes the seam of her lips—tentative, asking—and when she parts for him with another shaky exhale, he slips inside. She tastes sweeter there, warm and wet and gods, perfect. Their tongues meet in a soft, exploratory slide—hers hesitant at first, then bolder, tangling with his in a rhythm that makes his blood roar.
Y/N leans in harder, her small hands sliding up his chest—fingers splaying over the hard planes of his leathers, gripping the edges like she needs to anchor herself. The pressure sends heat exploding through him, his cock twitching painfully against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, drowns in her instead.
A low groan rumbles from his throat—guttural, involuntary—as her fingers dig into his leathers, nails scraping faintly against the material. He feels every point of contact like fire: her knee pressing into his thigh under the blanket, the soft swell of her breast brushing his arm when she arches closer, the way her breath hitches and fans hot against his cheek in uneven puffs. His free arm wraps around her waist—broad hand spanning nearly the width of her back—pulling her flush against him. She’s so small, so delicate, fitting into the curve of his body like she was made for it, her thin frame yielding under his hold but pressing back with a quiet strength that wrecks him.
Mine, the thought spirals, obsessive, possessive. Mine, mine, mine! She wants this. She wants me. Disbelief crashes against overwhelming need—centuries of rejection, of silent longing, of lovers who took his body but never his shadows, never his heart. But Y/N—his Y/N—is kissing him back like she’s drowning too, her tongue stroking his in slow, needy swirls that make his hips shift involuntarily, seeking friction he won’t allow himself yet.
She whimpers again—higher this time, needy—and sucks lightly on his lower lip, teeth grazing the edge in a tiny bite that sends sparks exploding behind his eyes. Azriel’s shadows surge—cool tendrils wrapping around them both, one curling at the base of her throat like a collar, another sliding under her cardigan to brush the bare skin of her collarbone. She gasps into his mouth—a sharp, wet inhale—and the sound undoes him further. He deepens the kiss, tongue delving deeper, tasting every corner of her, swallowing her soft moans like they’re air.
His hand slides from her cheek into her hair—fingers threading through the dark strands, gripping gently at the nape to tilt her head back further. She complies with a tiny, broken sound—half-sob, half-plea—and her body melts against him, soft curves pressing into hard muscle. He can feel her heartbeat hammering against his chest—fast, erratic, matching his own thunderous pulse. Her breaths come in ragged pants now, mingling with his own harsh exhales, the air between them hot and thick with shared want.
Thread by thread, stitch by stitch, every careful restraint he’s spent centuries weaving around himself is coming undone under her mouth, under her hands, under the simple, devastating fact that she’s here—wanting him back.
He kisses her like a man who’s been starving in the dark for too long and finally found light: deep, messy, desperate. His tongue strokes into her mouth in slow, filthy drags, tasting every corner like he’s trying to memorize her flavor before she disappears. She meets him eagerly—tongue curling around his, sucking lightly, then harder, pulling a broken, involuntary whimper from the back of his throat.
The sound shocks him.
He’s never whimpered before. Not in battle. Not in pain. Not even in the rare moments of pleasure he’s allowed himself with others who never saw past the weapon he carries. But now—now—every time her hips roll against his thigh, every time her fingers tug at his hair or scrape lightly down his neck, another soft, needy sound escapes him. Quiet. Helpless. Raw.
He tries to swallow them down. Tries to hold himself together. He’s the Shadowsinger, for fuck’s sake—control is his birthright, his armor, his cage. But Y/N’s small body is pressed so perfectly against him, soft and warm and trembling with the same hunger that’s eating him alive, and he can’t—gods, he can’t stop the sounds.
Another whimper slips out when she grinds down harder, chasing friction against the thick muscle of his thigh. The heat of her seeps through her sweatpants, damp and insistent, and he feels it like a brand against his skin. His cock throbs in painful counterpoint—straining, leaking, trapped behind leather that suddenly feels like torture. He’s so hard it hurts, every pulse echoing the frantic beat of his heart, but he won’t rut against her like an animal. He won’t take more than she’s offering. He won’t ruin this by being greedy.
Except he already is.
His hands are shaking where they grip her—fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips, then sliding up under her cardigan to span the bare skin of her back. She’s so small his palms nearly cover her entire waist. So delicate. So alive. Her skin is fever-hot under his calluses, smooth and trembling, and every time she arches into his touch another broken sound tears out of him.
“Y/N—” Her name is a wrecked plea against her lips. He kisses her harder, deeper, swallowing her moan as his shadows coil tighter around them—cool tendrils slipping under her clothes, brushing the undersides of her breasts, tracing the dip of her spine, making her gasp and buck against him.
He’s giddy.
Stupidly, dizzyingly giddy.
His heart is doing ridiculous things—tripping over itself, slamming too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to climb out of his chest and hand itself to her on a platter. He’s never felt this before—this overwhelming, terrifying rush of yes, this, her, mine, please don’t stop. It’s not just lust (though gods, the lust is blinding). It’s joy. Pure, aching, disbelieving joy that she’s kissing him like he matters. Touching him like he’s wanted. Moaning his name like it’s something sacred.
Another whimper—higher this time, almost a whine—when she sucks on his tongue and rocks her hips in a slow, deliberate grind that drags her heat right over the ridge of his thigh. Pleasure spikes so sharp it borders on pain; his hips jerk once—helpless—seeking more before he forces them still again.
“I’m sorry,” he gasps against her mouth, voice cracking. “I’m—fuck—I’m trying not to—”
“Don’t,” she breathes, lips brushing his as she speaks. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you.”
The words hit him like a blow.
He buries his face in the crook of her neck—lips pressing open-mouthed kisses to the soft skin there, tasting salt and lavender and her—and lets another low, desperate whimper vibrate against her throat. His shadows respond instantly: one curling around the nape of her neck like a cool hand holding her steady, another slipping between them to brush the sensitive peak of her nipple through her shirt.
She cries out—soft, shocked, needy—and arches harder into him.
Azriel’s control splinters.
He pulls back just enough to look at her—eyes wild, pupils blown, cheeks flushed dark—and then he’s kissing her again, messy and frantic, hips finally giving in to tiny, helpless rolls that grind his aching cock against the pressure of her body. Every movement pulls another whimper from him—soft, broken, embarrassing sounds he can’t stop making because she feels so good. Too good. Better than anything he’s ever known.
(To what filth you two get up to in bed.)
Alec’s POV
Mentions of BDSM, anal play, dominance, switch dynamics
Alec had never liked parties, never liked being surrounded by people who made too much noise, who took up too much space. But being here now, with her, he couldn’t remember a single reason why he ever wanted to be anywhere else.
She’s mine.
The thought came fast, unbidden, wrecking through him like a strike to the ribs.
And no one in this room had any idea what that meant.
She stood a few feet away, deep in conversation with Izzy, a flute of champagne held loosely between her fingers. She wore a black dress, sleek and simple, the hem teasing the middle of her thighs, her collarbones sharp beneath the dim lighting. To anyone else, she looked poised, collected. To Alec, she looked like something meant only for him.
And no one else here knew.
No one knew how her breasts felt in his hands, how she gasped when his calloused fingers rolled her nipples between them, how her body arched so prettily when he took his time wrecking her. No one knew the way her voice broke when she was close, how her lips parted in breathless desperation, or the way she whispered his name when she couldn’t hold back anymore.
No one knew that the same sharp mouth speaking so casually right now had begged him—pleaded—just last night, her voice hoarse with need, "Alec, please, please—"
Only he knew.
Only he knew the truth of what she was beneath that cool exterior.
The bruises on her wrists weren’t from training. They were from the shackles he’d locked around them last night, the metal biting into her delicate skin as she writhed beneath him, begging, whimpering, struggling, pretending she didn’t love it when they both knew she did.
No one else in this room had seen her like that.
No one knew how her body looked bound and helpless, ankles shackled, hands locked above her head, her hips lifting off the bed as she moaned for him, as she begged him to touch her, fuck her, ruin her.
No one knew that beneath this elegant dress was a girl who had let him fasten a leather collar around her throat, who had gasped in pleasure when he tested it, his fingers tightening around it just enough to make her breath stutter.
No one knew that she had whimpered into a gag, her lips wet, her thighs trembling, as he made her struggle in her restraints, watching her body tense, watching her desperate need build until she was so wet for him it dripped down the inside of her thighs.
No one knew that she had sobbed when he pressed a plug into her tight, trembling body, stretching her slowly, whispering in her ear how good she looked filled up, how he would take her apart so perfectly when he finally gave in.
Alec exhaled sharply, shifting against the bar, jaw tight, trying not to let it show on his face.
Shit.
He was getting hard just standing here.
Across the room, she turned, meeting his gaze once more. Her lips parted slightly, as if she could already tell where his thoughts had gone.
She knew.
Of fucking course she knew.
She smirked, subtle but deliberate, taking another sip of champagne, tilting her head in that way that made his stomach clench.
You’re so fucked, Lightwood.
Alec’s breath left him in a slow exhale.
No one knew.
No one knew what she let him do to her.
Or what she did to him.
No one knew how easily she could ruin him.
Alec had always been in control. A leader, a warrior, a protector. But no one here knew how easily she could break him.
No one in this room knew that more than once, he had been the one shackled, tied down and helpless, his arms straining against the manacles as she took her time, teasing him, making him beg.
No one knew how she had pushed him onto the bed, straddled him, rubbing slow, deliberate circles against his aching cock, whispering, "You always act so strong, don’t you? But I know what you really want. But shh, don’t worry, I won’t tell."
How he had thrown his head back, groaning so deep it scraped raw in his throat, because her weight above him, her hands sliding under his shirt, her nails scratching down his stomach—it was too much.
No one knew that she had kept him like that for hours, whispering filth into his ear, watching him strain against his restraints, teasing him until he was a wreck, his hips jerking up uselessly, his abs quivering from the effort of holding back.
How she had kissed down his stomach, slow and deliberate, licking at the sweat pooling in the ridges of his abs, whispering, "So desperate already, Lightwood? Always so tough, but look at you now."
No one knew.
That she had kissed the inside of his thigh, just to watch him turn to putty beneath her, his breath hitching, his hands trembling, his body straining to stay still because she told him not to move.
That she had looked up at him through her lashes, smirked, and whispered, "Do you want my mouth, love?"
No one knew that he had begged for it.
Begged.
Pleaded.
Moaned her name like a man tortured.
And God, he had fucking loved it.
No one knew.
That when she did take him into her mouth, he had sobbed.
That his hands had fisted in the sheets, his head had slammed back against the mattress, his legs had shaken as she sucked him deep, slow, taking time to make him fall apart.
That he had whispered her name like a prayer, voice wrecked, chest heaving, his body trembling as she worked him over, dragged her nails down his abs, swallowed him deep.
But she hadn’t let him come. Yet.
No one knew.
That her mouth could ruin him in more than one way.
And he fucking loved it.
Alec had had this done to him before.
Of course he had.
He’d been with Magnus for years, and Magnus had never been shy about what he wanted, what Alec enjoyed, what made him come undone.
But this—this—was different.
Because he had never asked this of her.
Not once.
Never even mentioned it.
Because he hadn’t wanted to.
She wasn’t Magnus.
She wasn’t someone he thought would even want to.
But then she had proved him so fucking wrong.
No one knew.
That she had let him turn around, pinned down by the shackles, kissed his shoulders, his spine, his lower back, whispering soft, filthy things into his skin as she ran her nails down his sides.
That she had eased his thighs apart, pressed a kiss to his spine, then lower, lower, lower.
No one here knew.
That when her tongue finally flickered against him, 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒, his whole body had jolted, his breath catching, hands struggling in the shackles, his fingers clutching desperately at the sheets beneath him.
That he had 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑 to stay still, tried to breathe through it, tried not to lose himself too quickly, but she 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔, kept licking, pressing her tongue deeper, her nails scratching against his hips as she held him open.
No one knew.
That he had let out the most 𝑤𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑑 moan, face buried in the pillow, his body 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.
That he had never thought she would do this—never expected it, never even 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑒𝑑—but now that she was, he didn’t think he could survive it.
No one here knew.
That when she slid a finger inside him, slow and careful, he had 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑑 so loudly she had laughed against his skin, murmured, "Oh, love, you’re gonna fall apart for me so fast, aren’t you?"
No one knew.
That she had 𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑒𝑑 him like that for so 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔, licking into him, fucking him with her tongue and fingers, whispering filthy praise as he shook and gasped beneath her.
No one here knew.
That he had 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒.
𝐴𝑐𝑡𝑢𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑔𝑔𝑒𝑑, voice wrecked, words slurring together, so 𝑓𝑢𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 desperate for her to keep going.
No one here knew.
That when she had pushed deeper, when she curled her fingers just right, his entire body had arched so violently against the shackles that the chains rattled, his wrists straining against the cold metal, his breath punching out of him in a high, wrecked gasp.
That his vision had went white for a second, his chest heaving, his whole body tightening like a bowstring about to snap.
That when she had flickered her tongue against him again, slow, deliberate, teasing, he choked on a sob, his fingers clawing at the sheets, his hips jerking helplessly.
That when she had fucked him open with her fingers, murmuring soft, filthy things against his skin, he couldn’t even speak anymore—his breath coming in shallow, broken gasps, his entire body shaking apart beneath her touch.
That when she curled her fingers deeper, twisted just right, the pleasure hit him so hard he couldn’t breathe.
That his eyes fluttered shut, his mouth falling open on a desperate gasp that sounded so helpless, so wrecked it barely even belonged to him.
That he was right there, trembling, teetering on the edge—
And then she had whispered it.
"Come for me, love."
And Alec—Alec fucking shattered.
His whole body had jerked violently against the shackles, his muscles locking, trembling, convulsing.
His breath hitched, caught, broke into a wrecked, helpless sob as the orgasm crashed over him in wave after brutal wave.
A hoarse, broken cry had ripped from his throat, his body convulsing so hard she had to hold him down, her hands firm against his hips, keeping him still as his cock pulsed untouched, spilling into the sheets beneath him.
That it was so much, so deep, so overwhelming that his vision went black, his body nearly numb from the intensity of it.
That he kept shaking, kept gasping, kept whimpering, because it didn’t stop—it kept rolling through him, kept pulling him under, kept leaving him raw and undone.
That when she finally, finally pulled her fingers out, when she finally eased her mouth away, he let out a high, wrecked little sob, his thighs still trembling, his breath still uneven.
That even then, even after coming so hard he nearly blacked out, he still twitched helplessly when she kissed the small of his back, when she ran soothing hands down his sides.
That when she unlocked the shackles, his wrists raw, his body spent, he didn’t move. Couldn’t.
That he just lay there, gasping, wrecked, trembling with aftershocks that wouldn’t stop.
That when she curled up against him, pressed her lips to his shoulder, stroked a hand down his stomach, his cock twitched again, already aching for more.
That he had never, in his life, felt so completely, utterly destroyed.
That he had never felt so fucking good.
No one here knew.
But 𝐒𝐇𝐄 did.
𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰.
And now, standing across the room, sipping her champagne, her dark brows lifting just slightly, lips curling at the corners, she was 𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤.
And Alec knew this wasn't over.
Alec’s fingers twitched against the empty glass in his hand, his jaw tight. He should be embarrassed. Should be ashamed that she could 𝑑𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑚, that she could 𝑟𝑢𝑖𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑦 𝐴𝑙𝑒𝑐 𝐿𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑤𝑜𝑜𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑎 flicker of her tongue, a touch, a look.
But he wasn’t.
Because she was the only one who could.
And now, across the room, she was looking at him again, still talking to Izzy, but watching him 𝑡𝑜𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤𝑖𝑛𝑔, a little smirk curling at the edges of her lips.
𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤.
𝑆ℎ𝑒 𝑘𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ ℎ𝑖𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑.
Alec swallowed hard, shifting against the bar, feeling the uncomfortable pressure of his jeans growing worse by the second. He exhaled slowly through his nose, curling his fingers into a fist, because if he let himself keep thinking about it, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.
No one knew.
But as she took another slow sip of champagne, her eyes flickering back to his, Alec knew one thing for certain.
I wrote this little ficlet for my own clumsy ass in need of comfort the other day.
Alecs POV
Alec/fem!reader
Warnings: oh it's tame, comment, if you want the filth, I got some in the making ;)
_______________________________________________
"What happened to your arm?"
Alec doesn’t mean to ask. It slips out before he can stop himself, his eyes catching on the dark bruise blooming along the delicate curve of Y/N’s forearm. It stands out against her skin, deep purple at the edges, fading to yellow at the center.
She glances down, frowning slightly like she hadn’t even noticed it before. "No idea," she mutters, brushing her fingers over it absently. "I run into things all the time."
Alec exhales sharply, shaking his head. Of course she does.
He’s seen it firsthand—the way she turns too fast and clips her shoulder on doorframes, the way table corners seem to lunge at her as she passes by, the way she misjudges distances like the laws of physics don’t apply to her body the same way they do to everyone else. It’s almost impressive, really, how thoroughly the world conspires against her.
He reaches for her wrist, his fingers wrapping easily around the fragile bones. His thumb brushes over the bruise, careful and light, feeling the heat of her skin beneath it. "You should be more careful."
"Yeah, well—"
She turns too quickly—again.
And walks straight into the corner of his dresser.
The impact is solid, the thud loud enough to make Alec wince in sympathy.
"Fucking—!"
She hisses, stumbling back, her hand immediately flying to her side. Her expression crumples in pain, her fingers pressing against the fresh bruise she’s definitely just acquired.
Alec is about to reach for her, ask if she’s okay—
But then, because fate is an actual bastard, she swings her arm out, maybe to steady herself, maybe just out of pure frustration—
And clips the open drawer beside her, slamming it shut with a sharp bang.
Silence.
She stands there, frozen, breathing too hard.
Then her breath hitches—once, sharply—before she explodes.
"I CAN’T DO ANYTHING RIGHT!"
The words tear out of her, furious and raw, shaking with frustration.
Alec blinks, thrown by the intensity of it.
She’s shaking now, fists clenched at her sides, her whole body taut like a wire about to snap.
"I swear to God, I could just be standing still and somehow still manage to injure myself! I don’t know why—why I’m so—so fucking useless!"
Her voice cracks on the last word, and Alec feels something in his chest twist.
"I can’t do anything properly. Not even walking. Not even existing. It’s like—like the universe is against me, like it actually hates me, like I’m just—I'm just—"
She stops short, her breath shuddering, her lip trembling.
"I'm just so tired, Alec."
And then—
She breaks.
Covers her face with both hands, shoulders curling inward, and lets out a wrecked, helpless sob.
Alec doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate.
He closes the distance in two strides and pulls her in.
She crumples against him immediately, her small frame shaking as she buries her face in his chest.
"Hey, hey—shhh," he murmurs, wrapping his arms around her, pressing his lips to the top of her head. He can feel her body trembling against him, every breath of hers sharp and uneven, like she’s fighting to hold herself together and losing.
"You’re not useless," he says, his voice low, firm. He presses his lips against her hair, speaking directly into her, willing her to believe it. "You’re not."
She lets out a small, miserable laugh, muffled against his shirt. "Tell that to my bruises."
Alec sighs, tightening his hold on her, his hand stroking slow, steady paths down her spine. He hates this. Hates that she feels like this.
"Maybe they’re just proof you’re unstoppable," he mutters after a moment, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Think about it—you’ve been through hell, you’ve survived Valentine’s men, you’re literally being hunted by a cult… and yet, your deadliest enemy is a fucking dresser."
A sound breaks out of her—wet and unsteady, but real. A laugh.
She sniffles, still pressed against his chest. "I just hate how you’re making me feel better. It’s infuriating."
Alec grins, his fingers finding the back of her neck, stroking gently. "Yeah? Wanna punish me for it?"
She pulls back just enough to glare at him—lashes damp, cheeks flushed, lips trembling.
His chest aches at the sight of her.
God, he’s so in love with her.
So he does what he’s been dying to do.
He kisses her.
Hard.
She lets out a startled little gasp against his mouth, but he swallows the sound, tilting her head back, devouring her.
He feels starved for her. Desperate.
Her fingers fist in his shirt, clinging to him as he deepens the kiss, his hand sliding down to grip her waist, pressing her tight against him. She’s small, delicate, but she fits against him perfectly, her warmth soaking into his skin.
Alec doesn’t stop until she’s breathless, until he’s breathless, until his whole body is burning with the need to pull her even closer.
Then he breaks the kiss, his lips still brushing against hers as they both catch their breath.
"You know," he murmurs, his hands roaming down her waist, "I think this bruise situation might be more serious than we thought."
Her brows knit together, still dazed. "Huh?"
Alec smirks.
Then he grabs her thighs, lifts her effortlessly, and shoves her down onto the bed.
She lets out a startled gasp, blinking up at him.
He looms over her, caging her in, his fingers toying with the hem of her shirt.
"I should probably inspect your whole body for more bruises," he murmurs, voice low, teasing. "Just to make sure you’re okay. You know—important medical assessment."
Her cheeks flush.
"Alec—"
"Shhh," he hushes her, pressing kisses along her jaw, down the curve of her throat. "I take my job very seriously, Y/N."
She huffs, but her breath shudders when his lips reach the hollow of her collarbone.
Alec Lightwood x fem!reader
Prompt: You reeeealy like his leather pants and well, who can blame you
Rating: Mature
As soon as the door clicks shut behind you, the air shifts. The tension that has been simmering between you and Alec all night sharpens, heavy and inevitable. He stands just inside the doorway, his broad shoulders rising and falling with each measured breath. His dark eyes flicker over you, lingering, hungry.
The soft glow of the institute’s lights casts deep shadows across his face, accentuating every sharp angle of his jaw, the strong line of his throat, the tension in his shoulders. But it’s his body that has you transfixed—the way his black leather gear clings to him, how every single muscle is outlined beneath it, the way his belt sits low on his hips, like it was made to drive you insane.
You swallow, your throat suddenly dry, as your eyes drift lower. His leather pants, snug and unforgiving, highlight the flex of his thighs, the solid strength of him. And you can see it—the way he’s already hard beneath the material, the way the friction must be driving him crazy.
Alec shifts slightly, rolling his shoulders like he’s trying to ease some invisible tension, but the movement only makes the leather creak, and your stomach tightens.
His gaze snaps to yours, sharp and knowing. “You keep looking at me like that,” he murmurs, his voice lower now, rougher. “I won’t be able to hold back.”
A slow, wicked smile tugs at your lips. “Maybe I don’t want you to.”
That’s all it takes.
Alec closes the distance between you in an instant, his hands gripping your waist as he backs you against the wall. His body presses into yours, solid and warm, and you gasp at the sensation—the hard press of his belt, the unmistakable friction of leather against your thighs.
He groans, low and rough, his breath hot against your ear. “You feel that?” he murmurs, rocking against you slightly, just enough for the friction to spark through both of you.
A whimper escapes your lips, your fingers flying to his shoulders, gripping him hard. “Alec—”
He exhales sharply, his hands tightening on your hips. “It’s been driving me insane all night,” he admits, his voice unsteady. He rocks against you again, just enough to make you shudder. “How tight these damn pants are. How fucking hard I’ve been since you walked into that club looking like that.”
His confession sends a fresh wave of heat through you, and you press up against him, matching his movement, testing. The effect is immediate—Alec lets out a sharp breath, his head dropping against your shoulder, his body trembling slightly.
“Fuck,” he groans, his voice barely more than a breath.
You smirk, sliding your hands down his chest, over the smooth, fitted fabric of his gear, before dipping lower, your fingers tracing the edge of his belt. “Bet this isn’t very comfortable,” you murmur, teasing.
Alec lets out a soft, desperate sound, his hips pressing into you involuntarily. “It’s torture,” he admits, his voice wrecked. “And you’re making it worse.”
“Am I?” You drag your fingers just under the leather of his waistband, just enough to tease, to make him twitch beneath your touch.
Alec shudders, his breath stuttering as he presses harder against you. The friction is exquisite—the leather against your bare skin, the way he moves so effortlessly, how tightly wound he already is.
“You have no idea what you do to me,” he breathes, his voice shaking. “I’ve wanted this—wanted you—” He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you roll your hips against him, slow and deliberate.
The whimper that slips from his lips is helpless, shattered—a sound that sends heat licking through your veins and leaves you breathless. His hands fly to your thighs, gripping hard, holding you in place as he grinds against you, properly this time.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathes, his head tilting back slightly, his eyes dark with pure need.
The sight of him—flushed, trembling, barely holding on—sends a rush of heat through you, and you realize you don’t want to tease him anymore. You want him. All of him. Now.
Reaching for his shirt, you tug it off him in one swift movement. Alec discards it in a corner of the room, and then he’s on you again, kissing you deep, desperate, his hands shaking as he grips the hem of your shirt, tugging it over your head.
You’re past the point of teasing. Past the point of restraint.
Tonight, you’re giving in.
Alec is all over you now, his hands gripping your hips, his breath coming fast and uneven against your lips. The heat between you is unbearable, thick and electric, crackling through every inch of your body. His kiss is desperate, bruising, like he’s trying to claim every single breath you take, and you let him. You want him to.
Then, without warning, his hands shift, gripping the backs of your thighs, and he heaves you up effortlessly. A surprised gasp escapes you as he lifts you off the ground, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist.
“Fuck—Alec,” you gasp, clinging to him.
He groans at the sound of his name, carrying you easily to the bed before dropping you onto the mattress, the weight of his body following, pinning you down. His hands press into the sheets beside your head, his hair falling into his dark, blown-out eyes as he looks at you—really looks at you—like he’s finally letting himself take in what’s happening.
And then, suddenly, he hesitates.
Not because he wants to stop—no, you can feel how much he wants this, feel it in the way he’s rock hard against you, still trapped inside those sinfully tight leather pants. But there’s something else. Something he’s just realized.
His lips quirk up slightly, amusement flickering through the haze of desire in his gaze. “Hm,” he murmurs, his voice dark, wrecked. “You liking that?”
You blink up at him, dazed. “W-what?”
Alec exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like he can’t believe what he’s just discovered. He shifts his hips slightly—just enough for the firm leather to press against the slick heat between your thighs.
A whimper escapes you. Loudly.
His smirk deepens, something dangerous flashing in his eyes. “Didn’t realize you like it so much,” he murmurs, his fingers trailing lower, lower until he’s slipping a hand between your thighs.
And then—he finds out exactly how much you like it.
He groans, deep and low, his fingers sliding against your soaked underwear, pressing against the fabric like he can’t quite believe what he’s feeling. “Jesus, Y/N,” he breathes, his voice almost trembling. “You’re fucking drenched.”
You moan, your thighs twitching beneath his touch, your hands flying to his shoulders. “Alec—”
He presses his fingers against you again, a slow, deliberate stroke, and you arch into his touch, gasping. “This is from me,” he mutters, his tone almost possessive. “From those damn leather pants rubbing against you. From just—” He groans softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “God, you’re killing me.”
Your breath stutters, your fingers digging into his back. “Take them off.”
Alec smirks, shaking his head. “Not yet.”
And then—he’s stripping you down instead.
His fingers hook into your jeans, dragging them down your legs agonizingly slow, like he wants to savour every second, every inch of skin he exposes. His breath stutters as he peels them away, leaving you in nothing but your underwear, bare and completely exposed beneath him.
Alec sits back slightly, his gaze raking over you, drinking you in like he’s starving. “Fuck,” he mutters, his voice hoarse. “Look at you.”
You reach for him, tugging him back down, and he groans against your mouth as your bodies collide—his leather-covered thighs slotting perfectly between yours, his hips pressing down, grinding against you.
The friction is unbearable. The leather is smooth and hot against your bare skin, so different from anything you’ve ever felt before, and Alec feels it too.
He grinds down again, his hips rolling in slow, controlled movements, and his breath catches on a sharp inhale.
“F-fuck—” His voice is wrecked, shaking with restraint, and his head drops against your shoulder as he ruts against you.
You moan at the pressure, your nails digging into his back, and Alec shudders, his entire body trembling as he rocks against you again and again.
“You’re—” He inhales sharply, his fingers digging into your hips. “Jesus, I can’t—”
His movements get rougher, less controlled, his hips rolling with more urgency, more desperation. The leather creaks with every movement, the friction so intense it’s driving both of you to the edge.
“Alec,” you whimper, tilting your head back.
That’s all it takes.
He lets out a sharp, devastating moan, his entire body tensing above you, and then—he’s completely falling apart.
His breath catches, his jaw clenches, and then he groans—low and wrecked—as he helplessly spills into his pants. His hips jerk one last time against you before he goes still.
His breath is hot against your neck, his body trembling, his hands gripping you so tightly like he’s afraid to let go.
For a moment, neither of you move.
Then, after a long, shaky breath, Alec lets out a soft, breathless laugh, burying his face in your neck.
“Oh my God,” he mutters, voice still thick with pleasure, his entire body still shuddering with aftershocks.
You laugh softly, running your fingers through his hair. “That good?”
Alec groans against your skin, shaking his head. “You have no idea.”
Then, after a beat, he lifts his head, his dark eyes meeting yours, a slow smirk creeping onto his lips.
“But don’t think for a second,” he murmurs, trailing his fingers down your side, “that we’re anywhere near done.”
Also on AO3
Warnings: Mature sexual content (if even)
Not beta read and english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry!
“…I don’t know. I think I don’t know myself anymore, and that’s what I’m afraid of.”
“I understand. I understand very well, in fact. I know you like order and things going the way you expect them to go. But sometimes we have to be open to be surprised, even at my age, Alexander. That’s what makes life worth living. You’ve been in pain, Alexander, and so have I. It’s normal, because we have something special. And we have tried to make it work so many times. And it’s hard to accept, but it’s not a failure, it’s not your failure that it didn’t work. There are two in a relationship. We’ve had a wonderful time together and we’ve tried, many times, and now we both are allowed to move on. It doesn’t mean we’ll forget. It means that you should allow yourself to be happy again.”
Soft, I feel when I wake up. Soft and a scent of Sandalwood and burned herbs in my nose, cars and sirens, the sound of the streets at night, a light wind in the curtains, faint voices coming from outside, from a terrace. I prop myself up on one elbow, blinking, feeling the world coming to me through vision and colours, an apartment, stone bricks on the wall, a Persian carpet. When I move, I hear myself making a pained noise.
“Y/N?”
A tall dark figure comes through the curtains. Instinctively, I startle back, sinking into the orange sofa, where I lie with a thick blanket draped over me.
“Y/N, are you okay?”
It’s Alec, the handsome features of his face come into view, when he gets to his knees in front of the sofa, clasping my hands.
“What-?” I look around, the world coming now with more and more detail. Big paintings on the wall, is that Franz Marc's blue horse? Black metal shelves on the wall, industrial style. A table with liquors, another with flasks, mortars, glasses with herbs, a cauldron emitting some faint scent of forest moist. “Where are we? What happened?”
“We’ve been buried under concrete, do you remember?”
A faint memory comes creeping up, a small dark space, dust, dim light, Alec’s wrinkles when he smiles, dust, no air.
Instinctively, I feel my lungs expanding, sucking in the air, but at the same time, a pain shoots through my ribcage.
“Don’t move too much, your ribs are broken,” Alec says, touching his hand to my arm.
“Are we dead?”
Alec visibly fights a grin. “N-no, we… We’re safe here. We’re at Magnus’ apartment. He’s saved us.”
“How? We… There was no air…” The constricting feeling comes back, the feeling of the enclosed space, and I suck in another hitching breath, my eyes wandering aimlessly through the room.
“Easy, it’s alright,” Alec strokes my arm soothingly, his long fingers scraping carefully over my upper arm. My eyes lock with his, and I feel myself calming, whether it’s by looking at one point or drawn in by the intensity of his gaze. “I’ve called him, and he came. He immediately knew what to do. He removed the slabs without hurting us and then teleported here. He couldn’t heal your ribs as he was more concerned with what the lack of oxygen has done to your brain. He wanted to wait until you were awake. You’ve been out for a few hours.”
“And… is my brain very damaged now?”
Alec can’t help but smile, apparently, I’ve said something amusing.
“No, you’ll be okay.”
“So I will be normal now?”
“Mundane, yes, but just as mad as before.” Alec grins so widely his teeth show, his hazel eyes sparkling, and I again feel my heart pounding so excitedly, I have to breathe out carefully between my trembling lips. And I feel I can’t hide it too well this time. But how come Alec is so nice, so playful if I’m not dying anymore?
“That’s good, I’m glad,” I say, my eyes fixated on his mouth, his beautiful lips, can’t help myself as all of my rationality is dampened and my reflexes seem somehow more prevalent. It’s what near-death experiences do to you, probably. Then, all of a sudden, I remember. I remember what I’ve said, right before I passed out. Oh god. Oh my fucking god. I feel my cheeks heating, at the same time as my stomach goes ice-cold. Fuck. Oh no.
“Hello, dear,” a voice says, and I’m torn violently from my thoughts. I look up to see a handsome man, dark hair, blue eyeshadow, a tasteful velvet violet jacket over satin trousers and painted fingernails. He looks eerie, and somehow, I know, he’s a wizard. Or warlock, as they call them.
“I’m Magnus. How are you feeling?”
“H-hi,” I say, propping myself up, but Alec’s hand on my shoulder steadies me. “Thanks for saving my life.”
“Gladly. No, don’t get up, I’ll have a look at your ribs now, if I may. I couldn’t heal them before as you were out, but now I can.”
“O-okay, I’ll just,” I try to pull up my shirt.
“It’s okay, I’ll help you, if that’s okay. Meanwhile, Alexander, why don’t you get some towels and a bowl of hot water in the meantime?”
“Sure, of course,” Alec gets up and leaves the room. Very smooth, I think. Sending Alec out so I can have some privacy.
“Is it okay if I take off your shirt with magic?”
“I- Yeah, sure, no problem.”
With a snip of Magnus’ fingers, my shirt vanishes, leaving me just in my bra.
“Oh wow, where is it gone?”
“I’ll wash it and fix it for you. Could you lie down? I’ll have to look at those ribs.”
It takes an effort to lie down, my ribs stinging with every movement.
“Thank you,” I say again, feeling guilty about the fuzz. Alec has had to call his ex-boyfriend because of me, how embarrassing.
“It’s nothing, my dear,” Magnus says as he touches the blue of my ribs carefully, feeling them with his fingers.
“Two of them are broken, as I thought,” he murmurs to himself. “I’ll clean the wound and then make you an envelope. They should be fully healed in the morning.”
“What? So quick?”
“Magic can do many things, my dear,” Magnus says. “Alexander, the towels?”
Alec comes in and I instinctively tense, imagining him seeing me in my black bra, thinking, maybe it isn’t any different, he’s already seen me in sports clothes, and anyway, he isn’t, he can’t be, he couldn’t…
Magnus cleans my wound with water and then applies a green paste that scents of mint. Then he bandages my ribs, while Alec steadies me, his fingers warm and long on my small shoulders, beautiful, strong fingers. He says he’s informed the others of our whereabouts. They’ve been busy with Valentine’s men, hunting them down, after they’ve fled from the scene. Hadn’t noticed the building collapsed.
When Magnus has finished, he says: “I’ve prepared a bed. You should lie down here. You can return to the Institute tomorrow.”
“Okay…” Involuntarily my eyes wander to Alec’s.
“I’ll stay here too,” he says, somehow knowing what I haven’t asked. “Can you get up?” He holds out his hand. I grab it and try to get up, my legs wobbling.
“Okay, that’s not a good idea,” Alec says, and before I know it, I’m in his arms. He carries me over as if I weigh nothing into an adjacent room that is dimly lit with a huge bed covered in silk sheets. On it, there are a pajama shirt, shorts, and woolen socks. Alec helps me get in the shirt and gets out to let me get out of my jeans and into the shorts and socks, which takes a while. When he returns, he takes my hand and helps me get under the covers. They’re heavy, but not constricting, somehow not reminding me of the enclosure of the concrete but giving me a feeling of peace, safety.
“Please don’t leave me,” I say when he retrieves his hand, and I grab it with both hands, my eyes filling involuntarily with tears.
Alec sits down on the bed, his expression worried, but not appalled.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’ll stay,” Alec says, scanning my face as if he thinks I’m… damaged.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing my tears. “Y-you don’t have to, it’s just, I think, I feel a bit traumatized at the moment, a bit shook after- But it’s not your fault, so-”
“No, no, no, it’s okay,” Alec says and his eyes flicker between mine, his gaze intense, so intense, as if conveying that he really understands, whereas I myself don’t really understand why I feel so vulnerable.
“Sorry, I’m a stupid human,” I whisper, not able to turn my eyes from him. “I’m not used to… nearly dying. Especially not by being smushed under rocks.”
“That’s alright,” Alec’s lips quiver, as if fighting a grin, not wanting to make me feel not taken seriously.
“I’m not as strong and tough as you,” I continue babbling. “I can’t take as much, I’m a little weakling, just as you said.”
Now Alec smirks brightly, which makes my heart stumble, and the wicked look in his eyes causes a prickling sensation in my lower belly. My god, that smile.
“You’re not,” he says, his voice raspy. “You’re actually very brave.”
“Yeah sure.”
“No, I mean it,” Alec’s smile drops. “It’s easy to be tough when you have strength, but it’s much harder to be brave when you’re afraid. And I’ve been afraid too, to be honest. Down there in the dark. And I wouldn’t have managed as well if you hadn’t been there.”
“Sure, whatever,” I say, averting his gaze, feeling my cheeks burning with embarrassment when the memory comes back, the memory of what I’ve said, what I’ve confessed. What I haven’t even confessed to myself before.
Alec leans forward, and before I know what’s happening, he presses a kiss to my forehead.
“Sleep now, I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
I can’t answer, just follow him with my eyes when he closes the door, and fling myself to the side, clasping the soft blanket around me.
That’s strange. A kiss to the forehead. That’s the most platonic thing ever. I shake my head, trying to close my eyes, but I can’t. What was I thinking? He’s probably very nice because of what happened, the love confession forcing him to be nice, because I’ve shown myself vulnerable, so he shows me compassion. Just that.
So cringe. You’re so cringe. And now he’s even agreed to stay the night here, just because I’m too afraid to sleep alone. Pathetic. Just pathetic. I should tell him to sleep on the couch. It’s okay.
Ten minutes pass, and my self-loathing thoughts soon turn into a slight daze, the fatigue getting the better of me. I’m aware that the door opens and Alec gets in. I want to say something, to turn and tell him it’s okay, he can sleep on the couch, or I could, but I’m too weak, and then I’m already drifting away.
When I wake, it’s dark. I inhale loudly and sit up straight, inhaling air in quick, big breaths.
A light is turned on, and Alec is by my side, clasping my shoulders.
“Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, you’re safe.”
I look around and see the room, the bed, the antique bookshelf, Alec.
“You’re safe,” Alec says, stroking my arm. Gently, he pulls me back onto the bed. Breathing heavily, I let myself be calmed, feeling Alec’s fingers on my arm drawing small circles, and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. I quickly cover them with the blanket and turn away, facing the wall, trying to breathe normally.
I turn my head, seeing Alec’s head on the pillow beside me, staring up at the ceiling with brows furrowed, then turning, meeting my gaze, unfathomable. I stay silent, and he doesn’t say anything either, so we keep looking, watching. In the dim light, I can only make out his features, his prominent eyebrows, his black hair against the light pillow, his dark skin, his muscly arms under his black t-shirt. I want to avert my gaze, saying, it’s okay, let’s just move on, but I can’t. He’s just so damned beautiful.
Alec lifts his hand, and I feel his fingers touch my upper arm, barely touching the skin, but I shiver. He watches me, his lips parting, his expression weary.
“Is that alright?” he says, his voice merely a whisper.
“Y-yeah,” I say, my voice unsteady, my heart suddenly beating very strongly. He traces the skin of my arm with his long fingers. Goosebumps. I exhale and realize my breath is shaking. Suddenly self-conscious, I close my mouth and breathe through my nose.
He traces a line down to my wrist, up again, and down again over the back of my hand, drawing small circles, then grasping my fingers with his, intertwining them. I don’t dare open my eyes, my heart beating so fast my ribcage can barely contain it, my breathing shaky.
“Can you hold me?” I hear myself say, immediately regretting that I have so little control over myself.
Alec stops stroking my arm. “Come here,” he says, extending his arm so I can inch forward, and he carefully draws me closer, welcoming me by wrapping his arms around me. My heart is beating so fast I fear Alec might hear it.
“How are your ribs?” Alec whispers very close to my ear. His voice sounds strained.
I clear my throat. “Yeah, okay I think.”
Alec makes a low humming noise and lays a hand on the back of my head, touching my hair with his fingers. He must have showered before he got in here because he smells exquisite. Something flowery and leathery, and suddenly self-conscious, I ask myself if I smell of dirt and sweat or if Magnus has somehow taken care of that by magic, and if so, if it’s somehow intrusive—so maybe not.
Under my cheek, I can feel Alec’s muscles, his broad chest and arms enveloping me like a blanket. His chest hair rustles slightly under his t-shirt. It’s intoxicating, being so near him, feeling his warm body under the thin layer of his night clothing. I notice that Alec’s heart is in fact racing as well, and his breathing is heavy although he clearly tries to hide it. I try to calm my own breathing, exhaling through my mouth. Our legs aren’t touching, and I don’t know if I could manage if they did, imagining those long legs of his on mine, his hairs on my smooth skin.
He feels it too, doesn’t he? He feels for me. Is that what he wanted to say with his actions? Or am I misinterpreting? Am I taking advantage of him yet again?
I don’t dare moving, fearing that if I do, the moment will break, ruin whatever it is that’s happening right now. With my hand, I touch Alec’s back, feeling his muscles slightly shifting under my touch. Alec’s hand is on my neck now, his fingers moving in small circles, stroking away little strands of my hair, slowly caressing the sensitive skin beneath my hairline. He dips into the hem of my shirt and I shiver helplessly.
He wouldn’t continue, would he? He’d find an excuse to leave if this was too much for him, wouldn’t he? But he continues stroking me, his breath hot on my ear.
The room feels impossibly quiet, yet I can hear the rapid pulse of my heart in my ears, thumping with every slow, deliberate breath I take. Alec’s fingers continue their gentle movements against the back of my neck, each touch sending sparks down my spine. The warmth of his body is intoxicating, and I’m aware of every inch of him pressed so close to me.
My body feels on edge, alive in ways I never knew it could be, filled with a longing that screams beneath the surface, while I have no idea if he feels the same.
“Alec?”, I say, desperately grappling for control.
“Yeah?”
I can’t look at him directly. I’m too scared of seeing something in his eyes—something that would make me pull away, something that would shatter whatever fragile sense of hope I’m holding onto.
“I’m sorry.”
Alec lifts his head, staring down at me through the darkness.
“What for?”
I swallow hard, preparing myself to do the right thing. “Because said those things, and now you think you owe me or something.”
Silence. Alecs breath hitches, just barely, but it’s enough for me to hear. His touch lingers on my skin, but it’s not just warmth I feel anymore. There’s a pressure behind it, a weight that’s lingering like the unbearable tension.
“I thought you maybe didn’t remember,” Alec finally says. Strange answer.
“Well, I do,” I say, not understanding, feeling ashamed for even bringing it up. Childish, even.
“I don’t feel like I owe you something,” Alec says quietly.
“Okay. Because you don’t. I was dying, you know. Or I thought I was. So…”
Alec ceases his stroking and says nothing. He’s stays calm so long that I think he’s maybe fallen asleep. Then-
“So, you didn’t mean what you said?”
I exhale, shakily. I don’t even know the answer to that myself. „I wouldn’t have told you that’s all.“
Alec’s silent again. “Why?” Alec says, his voice strangely hoarse.
I’m paralyzed, torn between wanting to push him away or to draw him in closer. My lips part, but nothing comes out. I have no words, only this storm inside me, the fear of being vulnerable with him—of letting him see how much I care, how much I need him.
I feel his hand brush my hair back from my face, the tenderness in the movement almost unbearable. The room feels smaller, the space between us shrinking even though neither of us has moved. Then I feel something else—the barest press, impossibly tender, the soft touch of his lips against my neck. And just like that, the atmosphere shifts, the currents of the tide turning, flooding me in a wave of hunger and longing so strong my vision blurs with it. I go completely limp. I can't think straight, emotions coiling up in my chest, the longing unbearable. I exhale a shaky breath. The warmth of his lips pulls away almost instantly, but my heart feels like it’s about to explode in my chest. I can’t look at him, not yet ready to see if he’s regretting it, or worse, if he doesn’t feel anything at all.
“Is this okay?” Alec whispers, his voice ragged, uncertain against my ear.
I try to steady my breathing, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how. My heart won’t slow, my body can’t relax. I want to answer him, but the words won’t come. Instead, I nod once, barely perceptible, hoping he knows what it means. Hoping that this—whatever this is—doesn’t stop.
He moves then, and before I can second-guess myself, he’s leaning in again. His lips brush against my cheek, so gentle, so hesitant. So wet and warm. I’m shaking now, helplessly intoxicated with it. Why is he doing this? He can’t feel the same I feel, Izzy said. And still. He could easily shove me away or do nothing at all.
I never wanted anything so badly as to turn my head right now so our lips can touch, but I don’t dare. Because maybe it’s all a misunderstanding. His kisses are just platonic and the way I am reacting to them is betraying his innocent, brotherly tenderness he displays after our shared near-death experience. He’s just being protective and affectionate and I… I’m in very ecstasy just lying in his arms, my heart pounding like in a race. It’s ridiculous, impossible he feels the same way.
And still I can feel his mouth on my cheek, laying barely-there kisses, and I just stop thinking—now or never, there is no point of return now, when I turn ever so slightly and finally, finally, our lips touch, as lightly as a breeze. Alec exhales sharply, going all stiff. I don’t move either, just holding the contact of our lips touching, his breath mingling with mine, hard and ragged. And then, he opens his mouth, and as he’s clasping my lips with his, he sighs, a long, deep sigh, and my head is spinning at the desperation of that raw sound that seems to reverberate inside me, kindling my nerve ends, setting them alight, and something inside me breaks free. The tension that's been knotting my insides dissolves in an instant, replaced by a rush of pure want. Every cell in my body comes alive, humming with the need to feel him, all of him. I feel his hand, gentle but firm, resting on the small of my back, pulling me closer, the weight of his touch grounding me like nothing else. And for once, for once in a long time, I stop questioning what’s happening. Because right here, in his arms, everything just feels right.
I open my mouth and he takes the invitation, sliding his tongue in, hot and wet, and I gasp into the kiss, clasping his shirt in my fist. Need pulses between my thighs, sending rushes of heat through my blood. It’s too much, too good, the feeling of his tongue sliding against mine, velvety, with slow, indulgent strokes, his deep breathing mingling with mine, being pressed against the hard lines of his body, his calves touching mine, and I am absolutely stupid with it.
Then, Alec pulls back slightly, just enough that I can feel the heat of his gaze on me. „Y/N… Your ribs… You have to rest-” I open my eyes, meeting his, and the raw intensity in them makes my heart stumble in my chest. He’s so beautiful it’s almost sickening. His lashes so long, almost feminine, a sharp contrast to his his dark, masculine eyebrows, his round eyes, his perfectly shaped lips, his strong jaw.
Alec’s hand moves, brushing my cheek softly.
Before he can finish the sentence, I lean in again, taking his lips with mine, sliding my tongue eagerly into his mouth. Alec whimpers softly and the sound shakes me to my core. He pulls me closer, clasps at my shirt if I might slip away if he lets go, and I feel the same. I never want him to let go. He tilts my head and deepens the kiss, and it’s not just tenderness I feel in it now. There’s something else—something raw, undiluted, something that makes my heart race even faster. His lips are urgent, yet restrained, as if he's holding back just enough not to let himself completely lose control.
His lips leave mine for just a moment, trailing down my jawline to my neck, the sensation of his mouth against my skin sending shivers through me. He pauses again, and I feel his lips hot against my ear, and there’s a barely audible, shaky exhale, like he’s trying to breathe through the tension in his chest.
“Y/N…” Alec whispers, his voice strained and thick with something I can't quite place—need, fear, hope? It's impossible to tell, but I don't care to figure it out right now. “I don’t know if I can stop if we continue.” I’m not sure if he means stopping the kiss, or stopping whatever it is that’s happening between us.
I nod, my breath catching in my throat, unable to form the words yet.
Alec exhales, his forehead still resting against mine. His breath is warm, unsteady, and I can feel the way he’s holding himself back, as if he’s afraid to push too far, to break whatever fragile thing exists between us. His fingers skim over my waist, the touch barely there, but enough to keep me anchored to him.
“You need to rest,” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, like he already knows I won’t argue.
I want to. I want to tell him I don’t care, that I’d rather stay here, feeling this, than let the night fade away into something hazy and unreal. But the exhaustion is creeping in, thick and heavy, wrapping itself around me until my body starts to sink against his. I try to fight it, but my limbs feel weightless, my thoughts slipping out of reach.
Alec shifts, pulling me in, his arms circling me in a way that feels both protective and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt me if he holds too tightly. His chest rises and falls beneath my cheek, and I let my eyes drift shut, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“I’m here,” he whispers, and I don’t know if he means tonight or longer than that, if he’s making a promise or just stating a fact.
I feel the press of his lips against my hair, so soft it could almost be imagined. And before I can think too much about it, I let sleep take me, sinking into the warmth of him.
You are attacked by strange creatures in your student home in NYC. Your rescue party is a tall, dark and handsome stranger lurking in the shadows. But you make sure nothing goes as planned. Hijinks ensue.
Warnings:
- Canon typical violence
- Swearing
- Sexual content
Chapter three - Things get concrete
When Isabelle came, I was still in thoughts. Though I emotionally felt numb, my body didn’t. It was as if I had been kindled alive, feeling the exhaustion in my muscles from the workout and the adrenaline in my veins hadn’t ceased once since yesterday night. My senses were heightened and I felt alert, as if my surroundings had been rendered more palpable. I know it came all through the extraordinary hormones because of my extraordinary situation - my body was reacting to the life threat. And even if I was afraid and didn’t know what was gonna happen, I couldn’t help but enjoy the rush of new sensations, the excitement of the new and unknown. It was probably just a protection mechanism that kept me from crumbling, but still. I felt I should enjoy it while it lastet. The numbness, the fear would certainly come back at some point.
But she didn’t come to fetch me for the meeting. It had been pushed to tomorrow, since her mother wasn’t able to make it. Frustration and anger rose in my chest like a heavy weight, and the feeling of desperation. Isabelle tried to cheer me up by showing me the library of the Institute. The high, vaulted ceilings were adorned with intricate carvings of runes, glowing faintly in the dim light, as though alive with ancient power. Towering bookshelves crafted from dark, polished wood lined the walls, stretching up to the ceiling and filled with countless tomes. Some books appeared centuries old, their spines cracked and faded, while others shimmered with enchantments, their covers adorned with glowing glyphs. She let me borrow some books to read in my room. After grabbing dinner in the cantina, she, Jace, Clary and Alec went off demon hunting, leaving me alone with my thoughts until I dozed off, startling up from time to time, when images of bloodthirsty demons kept creeping up behind my eyelids as soon as I tried to relax, falling into an unsteady sleep.
In the morning, I went to the cantina alone, since I was awake at nine. I grabbed my breakfast and sat at a free table, evading the hostile stares, and returned to my room. An hour later, Isabelle knocked at my door and fetched me for the meeting with Marise. Finally.
She told me about last night, having not found any clues or hints regarding Valentine or the mortal cup. But they had slain a few demons that had tried to murder some innocent people at a club. Normal business, as she put it.
Isabelle led me to the bureau of the head of the institute. That being Marise, Isabelles mother. She looked very much like her daughter, but more mature: her hair tied in a tight knot, her dress a tight costume that could have easily been a normal business outfit of a successful middle aged woman in finance. She greeted me by shaking my hand and gestured for us to sit. Clary, Jace and Alec were already there, all seated around the massive colonial desk with intricate carving of the same runes that Shadowhunters wore on their skin. Clary, Jace, Isabelle and Alec were covered in them, even on their necks and hands. On Alecs neck there was a huge rune that startet at the bottom of his jaw and ended at his collarbone that looked like a Z. Why did they chose to mark their skin on those sensitive places, I asked myself.
Marise asked me to explain in detail what had happened yesterday night and then proceeded to ask me questions on the mortal cup. I didn’t know what benefit it would bring, but forced myself to answer patiently nonetheless.
„What do you think, is it a pure coincidence that they were at her apartment?“, Jace asked when I had finished. „We checked the apartments in the parties, none of them appear to have any connection to the Shadowworld.“
„Maybe they don’t have to be connected to the Shadowworld“, Marise said. „Maybe it’s just the building or something else. We have to be absolutely certain. We’ll have to check any entrances or portals, any anomalies in the structure of the building. Any loose floorboards or bricks. It could be anything.“
„Right. We’ll lance an inquiry“, Isabelle said, taking notes on a sheet.
„Does that mean I can come with you? I’d like to fetch some more stuff. I’ve got an essay to write for Uni“, I said.
The glances the others shot me could be generously described as pitiful. Besides Alec who rolled his eyes. Maybe they were worried about my mental state. Or the fact that they thought I should have other priorities right now.
„What? If that is only a temporary inconvenience, I should better keep up with my studies, shouldn’t I?“, I said defensively.
„I really hope that is the case“, Marise said. „But if Valentine has sent men, he’ll have a reason to think you’ve got something to do with this or can help him in any way get nearer to the cup. That means, you’ll probably have to move anyway.“
„Or wait until this Valentine business is over“, Jace said.
Alec snorted.
„Guys, that’s not funny“, Isabelle said. „For us, it’s daily business, but for Y/N not. She’s got a life she’d like to return to.“
„What do you study?“, Marise asked suddenly and everyone got quiet.
„Philosophy“, I said.
„Cool“, Clary said, while the tension fell from the others. Clearly they had hoped my subject of study would give a hint on Valentines interest in me.
„Unbelievable“, Alec muttered, shaking his head. „Mundanes have such an easy life that they can even contemplate asking silly question why there is a life at all.“
„Clearly you have no clue what kind of subjects philosophy actually discusses“, I retorted.
„Oh yeah? And which would that be? Morality? Religion?“
„Theory of science, of knowledge, of cultures, how myths are the foundation of every culture - if you think that’s irrelevant, then you deny yourself, then you’re not different from a worm that doesn’t ask about his own existence.“
„How do you know the worm doesn’t?“
Anger burned in my cheeks and I clenched my fists.
„That’s enough“, Marise said, rising from her desk.
„Wait a minute“, Isabelle said. „You said myths are a subject in your studies?“
„And other things, yeah-“
„So you haven’t come across a myth that involves a cup of come sort?“
I paused, irritated. „Uhm. Well, there’s the legend of the holy grail, but -“
„What do you know about it?“, Marise asked, stepping in front of her desk.
„I- Well, I’ve written an essay about it. It was published I think in the Campus Magazine… What-?“ Jace and Alec had risen from their chairs.
„I’ll call in a search party“, Marise said, turning her back to me and fumbling on some papers on her desk. „We need access to the research now. Bring all you can find and bring it to me.“
„Wait, I- That’s- I’ll come with!“
„Certainly not“, Alec said, walking past me nearly pushing me over.
„It’s too dangerous, Y/N“, Isabelle said, grasping my arm. „I’ll stay with you.“
„No, you are“, Marise said, looking at Alec. Alec, half way through the door, paused instantly.
„You’re not serious.“
„I certainly am“, Marise snorted. „Isabelle, Jace and Clary are going to collect the files in the apartment and you are staying here keeping Y/N company. Maybe you can show her some fighting moves so that she can defend herself, hm?“
Alec looked as if he’d been sentenced to clean public toilets with his toothbrush.
„Isabelle, Jace, Clary, come with me.“
„See you later“, Isabelle said, smiling apologetically before leaving the room behind Marise, leaving Alec and me standing there like lemons.
I saw Alec’s jaw clenching, as he wasn’t used to being told what to do. I walked to the door, deciding I could spend the time reading or going to the gym by myself. Though my muscles weren’t hurting yet from yesterday, I was sure they would eventually.
„Where are you going?“, Alec snarled, turning around and eyeing me suspiciously.
„To my room? Or do you want to hang out?“
Alec snorted. „There’s nothing I want less, but unfortunately, I’m responsible for you now, so I’m gonna make sure you’re doing something useful with your time so that you maybe become less of.a burden to us and maybe not needing to get rescued next time.“
I tried to breathe calmly through my nose.
„Or you can just buy me a new pepperspray. Seemed to work fine last time.“
Alec clenched his fists, grinding his jaw. „Get into your training clothes and meet me at the gym in ten minutes.“
*
My legs felt heavy when I put on Isabelles tight sports leggings and bra, not having anything to put on top. Fuck it, I thought. Alec’s couldn’t care less about my appearance anyway. Not only because he was gay, but because he dispised me. I filled the bottle Isabelle had given me with water, grabbed a towel and made my way to the gym, earning a few glances from walking past Shadowhunters.
Alec was already waiting, tipping his foot impatiently when I arrived at the bench. He wasn’t shirtless today, just wearing a plain black T, trousers and boots and still looking like a model.
„Are you ready?“, I asked , dropping my things on the bench.
Alec didn’t answer, just eyed me wearily. He knew I was provoking him but wouldn’t have it. He grabbed a staff from the stack on the wall and threw it to me. I ducked and it clattered on the floor right in front of me.
„That’s yours“, Alec sneered, when I scrambled to the floor, picking the damn thing up. He had grabbed a staff as well and gestured me to follow him to the middle of the room. Thankfully, the gym was nearly empty, so not many people would witness my embarrassing failure.
„Try to hit me“, he said, placing one feet in front of the other. Now that he was standing in front of me, towering over me, I realized he had to be at least 6 foot 2, possibly 3. With my Y/H I wouldn’t have a chance against him. On top of the fact that I didn’t at all think it a wise idea going at each other with pointy potentially deadly weapons. He stretched out his hand and curled two fingers into a come-hither-motion.
„Come on!“
My heartbeat rose, as I pointed the staff and aimed at his chest. He immediately blocked, sending my staff clattering on the floor.
Alec had the audacity to cluck his tongue. „Pick it up“, he said calmly.
I bend over, but he placed a foot on the staff so I couldn’t lift it. I looked up. His face was emotionless, returning my look with a faint hint of challenge.
The sadistic ass. He was enjoying this! I yanked the staff out but he let go so suddenly, that I fell right on my back.
„You have no inch of control over your movements“, Alec said with a weary voice.
Anger boiled up in me. I shot up, as fast as I could grabbing a steady hold on the staff and flinging it at him.
He countered, I countered, but with a quick swishing movement of his staff, my feet were gone and my back hit the mat, my ribs taking most of the impact. I groaned, feeling the ache in my back.
„You mundanes are pathetic“, Alec said, cocking a disappointed eyebrow at me and walking a few steps in a bored manner. „Defenseless and weak.“
Rage filled my ears, pumping in my veins and dulling my rationality. I jumped up, coming at him without the staff. Maybe Alec was too perplexed to react. Remembering all Isabell and Clary had shown me yesterday, I jumped at him, using his thigh as a launching pad and yanked his staff up, tilting it to the side and grabbing his wrists. He fell to the floor, his staff landed a few feet further, and I felt my kneepads scream, as they hit the floor on both sides of his chest, not feeling pain but satisfaction that I was on top of him, breathing hard from the sudden leap of strength. A faint smell of leather and sandalwood and sweat hit my nose and I realized my legs were wrapped around Alecs firm abs, feeling them clench under his shirt.
„Awesome“, Alecs dark eyes shot up and met mine. „You can disarm demons by mounting them, congratulations.“
„You are fucking insufferable“, I retorted, not willing to let go yet and returning his gaze with ferocity.
„Glad that we’re on the same page.“ Alec flung himself up, and before I realized what he was doing, I was the one on the floor, his hand clasped my wrists in a single movement, holding them up above my head and pressing them into the floor. His other arm was on my throat, not blocking my air, but definitely capable of it. His hips used the leverage of my thighs, still clasping them, and pressed me hard to the floor. „Dead again“, Alec said in a low voice, and his lip was quirking into a wicked smile.
My world narrowed to the arrogant glint in his eyes, spite pouring from them, and I tried to retorted his gaze with just as much hate I could bring myself to, while trying to blend out his delicate features of his face that were such a harsh contrast to his steel-hard muscles and his tall, giant like stature - a scar in his left otherwise perfectly shaped eyebrow, his dark brown eyes, his beautiful lips…
He lied heavily on me, and suddenly realizing the suggestive position of his hips between my thighs, my pulse skittered. Heat rushed to my cheeks, realizing how close he was, how good he smelled, how well his body seemed to merge with mine. I couldn’t be turned on, no, not by him, not now!
Alec returned my gaze, something changing in his features, his eyes darkened seemingly involuntarily, and then I felt it. My thighs were bracketing his hips, and between us, plain as day, clear as daylight, I felt his hardness pressing down on my crotch, could feel him through the thin fabric of his trousers and the even thinner material of my leggings. My breath hitched in my throat as my body threatened to react on his own. It took all my willpower not to heave my hips and rock them against his, increasing the friction and feeling his hot, pulsing length. For fuck’s sake!
And then it all was over. Alec shot to his feet, quick as lightning, while I was still laying on the floor, slightly out of breath and even more confused.
„Lesson’s over“, Alec said and before I was back on my feet, he was out the door.
What the hell had that been?
_______________________________________________
An Alec x fem.reader fanfic
Chapter 2: The Mundane
Summary:
The first morning in the Institute. Alec is shirtless, sweaty and angry. But why?
When I woke in the morning and realised, I was not in my own bed, it all came back to me in a rush. The demons, Isabelle, Jace and Alec, the Institute, the mortal cup. All of that hadn’t been a dream. All of a sudden I was wide awake, taking in my surroundings with heightened alertness. Green curtains in front of a gothic window that was adorned with stained glass panels, casting soft, etheral patterns of light and colour into the room. The big four-postered bed dominated the room, the silky sheets heavy on my legs. An antique writing table sat by the window, a tall bookshelf lined the other wall. The room paneled with dark wood. It was nice, it was luxurious. But not home. At least my cat was here. I looked at my phone. Not reception here. Today, I had no courses at Uni, but soon I would have to make up some excuses. It was nine AM. I got to my feet, pouring my cat food into her bowl and stepped into the bathroom to take a shower. I got ready for the day, as I always do, doing my hair, putting on makeup like a mad person. As if nothing had happened. As if I hand’t had to flee my home and fear for my life. It was all nuts. But nonetheless, it was the only thing I could do.
At ten, I stepped out on the hallway and knocked at the neighboring door. And again. Maybe Isabelle was still sleeping. Maybe she had forgotten I was here. As I was about to turn around and leave, the door opened.
„Hey, I was about to- Oh.“
„What the fuck?“ Tall and shirtless, Alec eyed me angrily through sleepy eyes.
„I thought that was Isabelles room. She told me to come over at ten.“ Though Alec looked more than annoyed, I couldn’t help blushing. He was really very well built, gentle dark hairs all over his strong chest and his muscly lower belly, his firm hips in dark blue sleeping trousers that was just tight enough for some things leaving no room for imagination.
Alec pointed at the door on the left side of my room.
„Oh, I’m so sorry to have woken y-“
Before I could finish, he had slammed the door shut right in front of me.
„Dickhead“, I muttered to myself while I strolled over to the other door left to mine. As soon as I reached it, it opened.
„There you are!“, Isabelle chanted. „I was hoping you were still sleeping! I would have brought you breakfast to your chamber!“
„What a contrast“, I said, shaking my head. „Are you even real siblings?“
„What?“
„I accidentally knocked on Alecs door and he was really pissed.“
„Oh no! I should have probably specified which door“, Isabelle said. „Doesn’t matter. He should be up by now anyways.“
She lead me through the hallway down a couple of stairs into another part of the Institute. On our way, people kept staring at me and even turned around when we walked past.
„They are not used to seeing a mundane in the Institute“, Isabelle explained, when we entered the cantina, a bright room with probably twenty or thirty people sitting on tables enjoying their breakfast and talking, just as if they were students at uni, only they looked all well built and muscular like Isabelle and her brothers. The buffet looked normal, fruits, porridge, eggs, bagels. I took a coffee, croissant, butter and jam out of tiny plastic sachets on my tray, just like in a hotel.
„Is that all?“, Isabell said, eyeing me from the side.
„Yeah, I don’t manage much in the morning.“
Isabell smiled. „You’ll want to eat at least a bowl of porridge with it. Otherwise you’ll faint at our workout session.“
„Workout?“
„I’m always doing my workout in the morning and I thought you’d want to accompany me today.“
„Well…“ I returned Isabells bright smile, not sure whether she wanted to be nice or just keep an eye on me. Maybe it was both. But fuck it, what was I to do anyways. I didn’t even have the WiFi password of that place. Hopefully they’d have one. „Sure“, I said. „Porridge it is then.“
We sat at a table next to Jace and another red haired girl.
„Hey, you must be Y/N! I’m Clary. Nice to meet you!“ She extended her hand and I shook it. „Jace just told me what happened yesterday. I can imagine what you must be going though. I myself didn’t find out about the Shadowworld until I was eighteen. And the way I found out wasn’t exactly how you’d wish for. So, tell me, how are you holding up?“
„Well, I just think I’m going mad, so…“
„That’s alright. That’s normal. In fact, it would be more troubling if you didn’t“, Clary said, extending her hand and grasping mine. „But we’ll help you get through this, ok?“
„Y-yeah“, I said, her worried look making me uneasy. „Thanks.“
„Did you have the chance to pack a few things?“
„Not much. A little suitcase, that’s all. A few clothes, my laptop, a few books. Everything I need for a few days.“
I saw Clary and Isabelle exchange a quick look.
„It will not take longer, will it?“
„Impossible to say“, Jace said, chewing on a pancake. „Your apartment is under surveillance now, we’ll know if Valentine’s men are gonna return. Plus, we still need to find out what connection you have with the cup.“
„I have no connection, I already told you. There has to be some kind of mistake.“
„Still“, Isabelle said. „Until we know for sure Valentine’s men are not returning, it’s not safe. We can’t let you go back just yet. It’s too dangerous.“
I nodded, poking at my porridge but didn’t feel any hunger.
„Later we’ll have a meeting with mother“, she continued. „She’s coming especially from Idris. She’ll know what do to. Until then… We’ll make sure you’re enjoying yourself here.“
*
After breakfast, I changed into some training clothes Isabelle lend me from her wardrobe. Then Clary came to pick us up and together we went into yet another area of the church. The inside of the building had to extend bigger than it actually was, otherwise it didn’t make any sense. Maybe an enlargement rune, I thought, when we entered the dimmed training hall. There was a mix of equipment one could find at every gym - barbells, dumbbells, kettlebells, pull-up-bars, a cable machine and a threadmill, but also racks of weapons like swords, staffs and throwing daggers. The floor was a smooth, dark wood, worn in places from countless training sessions, while stained glass windows casted coloured patterns across the space. In the centre, there was a sparring ring enclosed by black rails with leather mats. A few people were here, trained mostly by themselves with the equipment.
I followed Isabelle and Clary to the side where we put our water bottles on a bench.
„Hey, big brother“, Isabelle said, and I followed her look to the guy training a few steps further, throwing punches at a big punching bag hanging form the ceiling. And yet again he was shirtless, thick sweat pouring over his well defined torso. It was a sight to behold.
„Fuck me“, I muttered to myself, trying to recall what an arrogant ass he was, hoping that knowledge would render hi ugly.
„Have you skipped breakfast? No wonder you were so grumpy earlier.“
Alec ceased to hit the bag, turning to his sister with a look of annoyance. Was his face even able to look not annoyed? His gaze fell on me, and my features hardened in turn.
„Why did you even bring her here?“
„Don’t be mean, Alec“, Clary said, dropping her jacket on the bench.
„Why shouldn’t we?“, Isabelle asked.
„Don’t play dumb“, Alec retorted. „People are already talking. Bringing a mundane in the institute is a violation of the accords.“
Isabelles smile faded. „So you want to have it that way? Again? After all we have been through, you have been through?“
Alec features hardened. He looked stern at Isabelle, it was almost intimidating.
„Don’t you dare using that against me. Times have changed. We’re moving up. And we can’t afford another incident like Clary’s.“
„I’m right here“, Clary snarled, eyeing Alec angrily.
„And I’m going“, Alec said, shooting me another piercing look before walking past his sister to the door.
„Leave it“, Isabelle said, as Clary was attempting to retort something, her voice soft.
„What’s the matter with him?“, I asked. „What did he said about me being here is violating some accords?“
„That’s not the problem“, Isabell said with a deep sigh, tying the shoelaces of her training sneakers. „The real issue is… his ex-boyfriend is a warlock. And while he was with him, he didn’t care that he violated the accords of the clave by being with a downworlder. My parents accepted it and all was fine. But now, that it’s over, he seems to have forgotten the accords don’t always make sense.“
„Maybe it’s his way of dealing with it. Seeking security in rules, you know.“
„Probably. The breakup was really tough for him. But still. He doesn’t have to be an asshole.“
The training was tough. Tougher than all the workouts I had been doing until then. Probably tougher than all of them combined. After a bit of strength training, Isabelle and Clary taught me a fighting moves I could apply to an attacker by just using my body. I ducked under the staffs they were winging at me and after an hour I was soaked with sweat and exhausted.
„Good job, Y/N“, Clary said, patting my shoulder. I was sure she didn’t mean it, but nevertheless smiled in return. She wanted to make me feel nice and I could certainly appreciate that over honesty.
We went to our respective rooms and I hopped into the shower, the second today, and creamed my skin with a vanilla body lotion to prevent it from drying out too much. Then I had just half an hour left before Isabelle fetched me for the meeting with her mother. I sat on the bed, stroking my cat absentmindedly. It was surreal, all just nuts, plus very inconvenient, but also a bit exciting. I had always read about foreign worlds of magic, but never thought there really was one, hidden from the normal world, existing side by side with it. And the shadowhunters somehow seemed to be the gate between the two worlds, the gate that prevented the Shadowworld from pouring into the mundane world. Mundane. I never had heard the word before and still was using it already. Mundane. Yes, my life had been mundane, normal, until twelve hours ago. Mundane. Alec had used it as if it were an insult. Maybe it was.
Finally I'm posting the first part of the Alec fic. CHapter two is hopefully following soon. I'm gonna remove all hate comments or comments about how Alec can't be in love with a female etc. I honestly don't care. I love Alec/Magnus in the show and think a personality/character shouldn't be defined only by their sexuality. We all deserve a comfort character and are free to imagine whatever the fuck we like. So yeah, that said, I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing.
Nive comments are much apprechiated. Love u guys. By the way, I wrote in I-POV, not You-POV, I hope that's OK and you can immerse yourselves nontheless. It's set somewhere in canon, don't ask me where. I just watched the tv show. Let's be generous with the plot logic. Anyways, enjoy.
Warnings: swearing, canon typical violence
Word count: 1829
_____________________________________
Chapter One - The shadows have eyes
I didn’t hear them coming. It was dark and after a few drinks with my friends at the pub, I wasn’t as steady on foot as I’d wished, as took the steps to my apartment, fumbling for the keys in my bag while thinking of my warm bed and the garbage I should probably get out since the disposal company would collect the ton tomorrow morning, when I suddenly heard a floorboard screech behind me.
I whirled around, trying to get a grab on the pepperspray attached to my key. I had never had to use it, but it gave me a sense of security when I had it with me. I didn’t even know if it worked. The light in the staircase was dim and didn't reach the corners that lay in the shadows, as well as the staircase that led up, to another set of apartments. It was an old building, but cheap and perfect for a student as myself that didn’t come from money and had to work half of the week to pay rent, not to mention the student credit that was accumulating in silence. There were nine other parties in the house, mostly students, and I rarely ever encountered them, but I had heard of robberies in the neighborhood. I stared into the darkness, trying to make out shapes.
But nobody seemed to be there. I shook my head, laughing at myself and my overly probably drunken alertness. I turned around, grabbing my key, when suddenly, there was a hand over my mouth and a tall figure creeping on me from behind and pulling me into the shadows of the upper staircase.
„Make no noise“, a deep voice tingled at my ear. I was surprised I hadn’t alreade made any. The blood rushed through my veins like a tidal wave and the adrenaline seemed to render me completely immobile, enhanced by the fact that a strangers strong grip held me in place. „Stay calm“, the voice continued redundantly. „They’re searching your apartment.“
I wanted to ask who, why and what the hell was happening.
The hand lowered from my mouth and the grip around my arms loosened. I whirled around to see who had been lurking in the shadows, and was surprised to see a very tall guy in his late twenties. He was dressed all in black leather gear, thick boots and straps containing several knives. On his back, he seemed to carry a bow and a quiver with arrows. He was very tall, lean but not lanky, muscly but not buff, and he seemed to be tattooed all over. His hair was black and messy, and I couldn’t help but notice the very advantagously arranged features of his face, culminating in the sharp gaze of his eyes under prominent dark eyebrows. Pity, I thought, when I whipped out my pepperspray.
„AHHHHRGH!“
The guy cried out loudly and held his face, while I stumbled my way over to the door, somehow miraculously managing to get a grip on my keys, opening the door and slamming in shut behind me. My hands were shaking uncontrollably, when I tried to get a hold on my phone in my bag, getting the code wrong twice before realising I didn’t have to unlock my phone to make an emergency call, but before I could type in the number, there was a movement near me. I turned my head and in that moment, someone grabbed me and slammed me into into the all behind me. A man had grabbed me, a hand around my throat, and I wasn't sure whether I saw right or my hazy mind was playing tricks on me, but there were tentacles with teeth coming out of his head. There was only one rational explanation to this. Someone must have put something in my drink, a hallucination drug or something, acid or LSD, what the heck did I know, and I should probably skip the last season of Stranger Things. However, for now, I could only hope the intoxication would end soon.
„Where is the mortal cup?“, the thing said, despite it having no mouth.
I wanted to say something, but fear must have disabled my nerves somehow, because I could move my mouth.
„I-I…“, I managed.
„Tell us!“, another voice said and another figure emerged. It was a man, middle aged and rather unpleasantly looking. „Or we’ll cut off your limbs, piece by piece.“
I struggled against the monsters’ grip but couldn’t even remotely bring it to move a tiny fraction.
Suddenly, there was a sound at the door, and then it was kicked open. Three figures came storming in, one of them the tall guy that attacked me in the staircase. The figure in front of me loosened its grip, and was knocked out by a small black haired girl, while another blonde one fought with the other man. The girl held the creature with her whip, while the tall black haired guy took a shoot at it, and then it seemed to explode in a million pieces of glowing dust. The blonde guy struggled with the other one, but when the girl and the other guy came to help him, he retracted and flung himself out of the window.
„Now that was good timing“, the blonde said, turning around and facing me. So did the others.
„What the fuck is happening?“ I didn’t recognize my own voice, it sounded calm and collected and not terrified like I actually felt.
The blond guy rushed to the apartment door and slammed it shut., while the dark haired woman turned to me and said: „I realize that must all have been very disturbing.“
„What the fuck is happening?“, I heard myself repeating, dizziness scraping at the corners of my consciousness. „Who are you? And what are you doing in my apartment?“
„I’m Isabell“, the girl said quickly, stepping closer with a worried look on her face. „And that’s my brothers Jace and Alec. But I think you already met earlier.“ Her lips quivered.
„Before she nearly blinded me, that is“, the guy named Alec snorted. He all but avoided to look in my direction, disapprovingly inquisiting the contains of my apartment, but I couldn’t help but notice his eyes weren’t red in the slightest.
„Oh come on, big bro. It’s not as if you could have been a bit more sensitive. You have to excuse my brother“, Isabell said, eyeing me playfully, „he’s not good with women.“
„Funny“, Alec said dryly.
Even though my judgement was clouded in the moment, I felt that these guys weren’t here to harm me. But still.
„Would somebody please explain to me what’s happening?“, I said angrily, not understanding why they were joking around as if nothing had happened.
„The men who were here were demons“, the blonde guy said, crossing the apartment and checking on all the windows, as if he was expecting more of those creepy guys lurking around. „They were looking for the mortal cup.“
„The what?“
The siblings exchanged some looks.
„You don’t know where it is?“, Isabelle said, her voice tense.
„Uhm no? What the fuck’s going on? Who are you people?“
„I told you she’s just a mundane“, the guy named Alec said, not even attempting to hide his annoyance. „There has obviously been a mistake. This is all a waste of time.“
„No, there has to be a reason they think she knows where it is“, Jace said. „We have to take her with us to the institute. It’s not safe here.“
„Not safe? What do you mean?“
Isabelle stepped forward and grasped my arm. „Okay, I need you to trust us. We have to get you to a safeplace. Pack quickly all the things you need and come with us.“
„All the things for what?“
„Things you need for a stay. Clothes, toiletry and such.“
„But why?“
„Because those guys that waited for you earlier, there’s more of them. And they will be coming for you. We’ll explain everything later.“
„And who are you guys?“
Isabelle smiled. „We’re Shadowhunters. Demon fighters. Keepers of peace. Protector of mundanes.“
I looked at her, expecting she would burst out laughing every moment, but she didn’t. Neither did the others. Jace was still alert, looking out the window while Alec was leaning agains the wall of my living room, still looking bored and examining my overflowing bookshelves with a kind of weirded out expression.
„Right“, I said calmly, more to myself than to Isabelle. „But the cat comes with.“
*
„So all the legends are true? What does that mean? All the legends?“
„Well not all, but some. Those of demons, werewolves, vampires…“
„Never read of Shadowhunters before though.“
„Well, but we are the coolest, so we know how to stay hidden.“
„That’s nuts.“
Though Isabelle had spent most of the last two hours answering all my questions, I still couldn’t believe what was happening. They had led me to an abandoned church which was hidden from the rest of the normal world and was functioning as their New York headquarters. After following them through a busy room full of big screens and holographics, they had led me to a room in a quieter wing of the Institute, where I could dump my small suitcase and let my cat out of the transport box. Isabelle had helped me get settled but instead of sleeping all I cared about was getting answers to my questions, while slowly also sobering up, which wasn’t pleasant. But the adrenaline that was still pumping through my veins kept me wide awake, although it was way past three o’clock of the morning.
"So, Valentine is looking for the cup. And your friend Clary is his daughter. And you already found a cup and destroyed it. But now there's another one. And you thought Valentine was dead but now he's somehow alive again? And Jace thought he was his son but wasn't, and ... now you don’t now what I have to do with all this?“
Isabelle shook her head. „All we got was a tip they were heading to your address. We didn’t know they were looking for the cup.“
„So why were they looking at my place?“
„I really don’t know“; Isabelle said apologetically. „Maybe that’s all a huge mistake. But until we know for sure, it’s better you stay here.“
„Right“, I said, still not able to grasp what was happening. Still believing at every moment I would wake up in my bed and that it all was only a weird dream.
„You have to sleep now“, Isabelle said, getting up. „We’ll talk more in the morning. I’ll fetch you for breakfast at ten.“
„Ten? Thanks, that’s… a reasonable time.“
„We’re used to be up all night. No early birds here. Have good night. And if you’re having trouble sleeping, just knock. My room’s next door. By the way, nice move with the pepperspray. I haven’t seen Alec disarmed in years. So thanks for the show.“
"Are his eyes, you know, ok?", I said, feeling a bit guilty.
"Sure they are. We have healing runes, remember?"
"Ah right. That's convenient."
Isabelle smiled, wished me a good night and left the room. My tired eyes followed her. Leaning back in the admittedly very comfortable bed, stroking my cat that had curled up beside me, thinking I was definitely going to leave on the light, I dozed off, strange images in my head of tentacle demons and holy cups and angry sharp eyes under prominent dark eyebrows.
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