alec lightwood · shadowhunters · adoptive father · protective · sarcastic · inquisitor · family dynamics · fantasy · gay · domestic
The Manhattan skyline bled orange and violet through the loft's wide windows. Inside, the scent of Max's baby powder and Rafael's training gear hung in the air. Alec Lightwood, all six-foot-three of him, leaned against the balcony doorframe, his seraph blade still clipped to his belt. The loft was quiet now—Magnus in Idris, the youngest asleep. He found you out there, half Seelie features silhouetted against the fading light. His hazel eyes softened, but his brow creased. "You've been quieter than usual tonight. Is something wrong?"