casting a hex on my worst enemy: ooo your favorite book series as a teenager will be turned into a popular tv show. and it will be absolutely terrible and completely disrespectful to the source material, but will greatly exceed the books in popularity. so whenever you look for content online about said books series, you will forever be reminded of the mediocrity of said tv show. you will be forced block the tag for it on ao3.
I really want to know what was going on in Alec's mind when Magnus, this gorgeous hot centuries old warlock he's known for 10 mins max winks at him and tells him 'call me'. I know he already knew he was gay but man, he really must have had the biggest gay panic that's ever gay panicked lol. He was just standing there, speechless, and Jace (his so called 'crush') had to drag him away. Smooth Alec, smooth
jamie campbell bower is a great actor, it'll always make no sense why shadowhunters the mortal instruments bombed at the box office, so it's great that finally people can see he's a talented actor.
If you still write for shadowhunters can i request anyyyy Alec x male reader you can cook up? I swear ive read everything i can find in that tag
I WANT YOU (BUT IT'S DANGEROUS)
pairing: alec lightwood x male reader
synopsis: Alec finds himself falling for the same shadowhunter his sister Izzy has a friends-with-benefits thing with. He tries to hide it, but Alec has never been good at hiding his feelings.
It started with Izzy. Not in the way most stories begin, not in the way Alec would’ve preferred. She had found you one night after a brutal patrol—both of you bloodied, irritated, and bone-deep tired. She teased you with her grin, and you teased back. One thing led to another, and before long, you and Izzy had settled into something comfortable: not romance, not love—just a release when the hunt left you too restless to sleep.
Friends first. Friends always. But friends with benefits when shadows ran too deep.
Alec hated it.
He wasn’t built for hiding his feelings, though he thought he was. The brooding silence, the way his eyes darted to you when you weren’t looking, how he stiffened when Izzy leaned into your shoulder or tossed a casual kiss to your jawline—it all gave him away. Jace noticed first, of course. His smirk was infuriating, and Alec quickly learned to avoid patrol pairings that involved both him and you. But you? You noticed next.
It was after a sparring session. Sweat dripped down your temple, your shirt clinging to you as you leaned casually against the weapons rack. Alec avoided your gaze, meticulously cleaning his bow as though it had offended him. “You’ve been weird.” you said flatly.
Alec froze. “Weird?”
“Yeah,” you pushed off the rack, closing the space between you. “All tense and scowly. Don’t get me wrong, you’ve always been scowly, but this is different.”
“I’m not—”
You stepped closer, close enough that Alec could feel the warmth radiating off you. His jaw tightened, and you caught the way his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. “You’re a terrible liar, Lightwood.” Your voice softened. “So tell me—what’s going on?”
He glanced at you then, finally, and the truth cracked through his walls. His gaze darted to your mouth, then back to your eyes, and you knew. Without thinking twice, you reached up, cupped his jaw, and pressed your lips against his.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. It was raw, desperate, and startlingly real. Alec froze for half a second before his hand fisted in the back of your shirt, pulling you in closer.
When you pulled back, his pupils were blown wide, his breath shaky. “You—” he started, voice rough. “You shouldn’t have—Izzy—”
“Izzy and I aren’t a thing,” you interrupted. “We never were. She’s my friend, Alec. Always has been. But you…” you smirked softly, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “You look at me like I’m more than that. Like I’m everything.”
Alec’s breath caught. Because you were right.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Izzy. She didn’t love you, not like that, but Alec still felt the weight of betrayal pressing down on his chest. She’d trusted him to be her brother, her anchor. And here he was, kissing the person she's sharing her nights with.
Later, lying awake in his bed, Alec stared at the ceiling with his heart racing. He could still taste you, still feel the imprint of your mouth on his. He wanted you—badly. But he also needed to tell Izzy. And that? That terrified him more than any demon ever could.
more alec lightwood fics pls. 🤤🤤 there are barely fics about him 😐
STAKING HIS CLAIM
pairing: alec lightwood x male reader
synopsis: You and Alec had been together for three years, and while you understood his fear of coming out, you still felt like a dirty little secret. Overhearing Maryse making plans of arranging a marriage between Alec and Lydia Branwell, you had enough. It was time to see if Alec would claim you, and what better way than to incite jealousy.
The Institute was always cold.
Not physically—though the stone corridors didn’t exactly invite barefoot strolls—but in the way secrets were kept pressed under polished boots and behind tight-lipped smiles. You had been Alec Lightwood’s secret for three years now.
Three years of stolen glances in the training room. Three years of his hands in your hair under the shadow of library archways. Three years of sneaking back into your own quarters before the morning patrol began, your lips still tingling from goodbye kisses he never acknowledged in daylight.
At first, you understood. The Lightwood name was a pillar of Nephilim society. Alec carried its weight like an iron pauldron. You’d been proud of him for it.
But pride doesn't keep a heart warm forever.
You weren’t even meant to hear it. You were only coming back from a short demon patrol, blood crusted beneath your nails, when you passed the drawing room and heard Maryse’s voice—clipped and pleased. “Lydia Branwell is strong, respectable, and already a high-ranking Clave member. If you agree to it, I’ll begin arranging your courtship before the year ends.”
A pause.
No objection from Alec. Just silence.
Like you were nothing.
Like you hadn’t spent the night before tangled with him in a tangle of whispered I miss you's and promises he never seemed ready to keep in public.
That evening, you found yourself at Magnus' door, shoulders heavy with things you hadn’t said aloud. “Darling,” Magnus said with his usual flourish, but stopped short at your expression. “Tell me which person to smite.”
You managed a weak smile. “Do you have a few minutes?”
Magnus, despite the glitter and sarcasm, could be serious when needed. He listened. Patiently. A glass of something spiced and golden placed in your hand while you spoke—about years of hiding, about overheard conversations, about Alec always almost choosing you but never really doing it.
When you finished, Magnus studied you for a beat, swirling his glass in one hand. “He hasn’t even mentioned you to them?”
You shook your head.
“Darling, I’m offended for you.”
“It’s not that he doesn’t care,” you said quickly. “He does. I know he does. I just…I feel like a ghost. Like I only exist when the lights are off and his parents are far away.”
Magnus’s cat-eyes soften. “I’ve seen many Nephilim go through that path: choosing convenience over someone they love. It starts with silence. Then comes the excuses. And before you know it, you’re a footnote in their glory.” His eyes sparkled—not with magic, but something sharper. “You are no one’s footnote.”
You looked down at your drink, the amber liquid catching lamplight like it might hold an answer. “I kept waiting for the moment he’d say something. Anything. I don't need fireworks or a dramatic reveal—I just want to exist in his world the way he lives in mine.”
Magnus rose gracefully and crossed to you, placing one bejeweled hand over yours. “You’re asking for dignity, not decoration. That’s not too much.” He tilted his head, lips curving into the beginnings of an idea. “What you need,” he murmured, “is a touch of theatre.”
You blinked. “Magnus—”
“No, no—hear me out. Alexander is terrified of losing control, but jealousy? That, my dear, is instinct. It bypasses pride. Bypasses fear.” He grinned with dazzling charm. “Let’s remind him how many others see your worth.”
You eyed him warily. “So what, you’re going to pretend to seduce me?”
“Oh, I won’t pretend, darling. I’ll simply act as if I see you the way he should. Head over heels. Devoted. Hands-on.” He paused. “Unless, of course, you’d prefer I summon a minor chaos demon to break his door instead.”
You snorted into your drink. “This sounds petty.”
“It is petty,” Magnus agreed cheerfully. “It’s also effective.”
You hesitated, thinking of Alec’s tense smiles, his glance over his shoulder before touching your hand in the shadows. You thought of Lydia Branwell arriving soon. A marriage alliance. A clean, bloodline-approved future.
And then you thought of how you hadn’t been invited to that conversation.
You set your glass down. “Fine. But I’m not throwing myself at you.”
Magnus smirked. “Perish the thought. You’ll be a vision of effortless charm. I’ll do the throwing.”
True to form, Magnus went big.
When the Institute had a welcoming party for Lydia Branwell, you invited Magnus as your plus one—a last-minute addition to the guest list that had Maryse raising a finely plucked brow and muttering something about protocol. But by the time Magnus stepped through the main doors in a coat of enchanted obsidian that shimmered like liquid night, no one dared question his presence.
He was breathtaking.
You barely had time to blink before Magnus’s arm slid around your waist, his rings cool through the fabric of your suit. “Smile, darling,” he whispered, voice honey-slick and wicked. The ballroom was carved from old stone and older expectations. Nephilim mingled in polished armor, Lydia stood tall near the head table, all sharp poise and golden runes, and Alec—he stood beside her, form stiff as his eyes watched you and Magnus across the room.
“I could spin you around the dance floor,” Magnus murmured, fingers brushing your collarbone in mock affection, “or I could just keep you right here and murmur scandal into your ear. Which do you prefer?”
“That depends,” you replied, voice low. “How much do you want to make him sweat?”
Magnus grinned like the cat who swallowed the canary—and then wore the feathers as a brooch. He leaned in close, lips nearly brushing your ear. “You’re positively devilish when you’re heartbroken.”
A few more steps. Alec’s gaze burned now, pinned to where Magnus’s hand traced lazy, lingering shapes at your hip. Isabelle had caught on, her eyes darting between you and her brother and Jace’s brows lifted, as if he'd just realized the plot twist of the evening.
You and Magnus stopped near the drinks table, and he, ever the dramatist, conjured two flutes of champagne with a snap of his fingers. The magic cracked softly in the air—harmless, elegant, noticed.
Alec moved.
Fast.
He all but stormed across the room, his face a sculpted mask of calm only someone who knew him could see right through. Magnus saw it too—his smile widened just enough to expose the trap Alec was marching into. “A word.”
“Of course,” Magnus replied, offering him an exaggerated bow. “Though you’ll have to be specific. Who do you want a word with?”
Alec’s eyes flicked to you, jaw tense. “Him.”
Magnus glanced your way, then to Alec, then back again. “Oh dear. Have I made a mess?” he asked lightly, before pressing a swift, not-quite-innocent kiss to your cheek. “Be gentle with him, Alexander. He’s rather fond of you.”
Alec didn’t even respond. His hand closed gently—but firmly—around your wrist, guiding you toward the archway that led to a quieter hall. You followed.
As if you had a choice.
The moment you were out of sight, Alec rounded on you, tension brimming in every line of his body. “What the hell are you doing?” he snapped, voice low but furious.
You didn’t flinch. “Enjoying the party. Magnus makes excellent company when I can't bring my secret boyfriend as my plus one,” you replied, arms folding. “Especially when their mother’s matchmaking them with Lydia Branwell.”
His expression twisted. “I didn’t ask for that.”
“No,” you said quietly. “But you didn’t stop it either.”
Alec looked away. “It’s not that simple.”
“It is,” you shot back. “Either I’m someone you’re proud to stand next to or I’m someone you kiss in the dark and hope your parents never find out about. And I’m done pretending one is enough.”
Silence stretched. Alec opened his mouth, then shut it, and for the first time, he looked afraid. Not of you—but of what this meant.
“I saw you,” he said suddenly. “The way he looked at you. Touched you. And all I could think was—he knows what he has. He gets to show it.” Alec’s voice cracked, raw and unguarded. “I want that too. I want that with you.”
You inhaled slowly, heart thrumming. “Then take it.”
Alec stepped forward and, in a rare moment of impulsive honesty, cupped your face with both hands and kissed you. Hard. Fierce. Desperate. As if he could rewrite the years of silence with just this one act. And when you pulled back, the door creaked—Isabelle stood there, arms crossed, lips twitching upward.
“Took you long enough,” she said, then tossed a wink your way. “Also, Magnus won the pool. I owe him fifty bucks.”
From somewhere down the hall, Magnus’s laughter echoed faintly like bells in velvet dusk. And this time, when you stepped out into the ballroom, Alec Lightwood’s hand was in yours. In front of everyone.
annaxmalina
blakekathryn
baratheonpilled
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
2087
