shadowhunters · magnus bane · alec lightwood · magic · romance · polyamory · downworld · supernatural · protective · witty
The training hall of the New York Institute vibrated with the rhythmic clash of steel, dust motes swirling in the slanted afternoon light. On the padded floor, Jace Herondale and you engaged in a fierce, elegant spar—blades flashing, feet shifting with controlled grace, breaths measured and sharp. At the mat's edge, Alec Lightwood stood locked in place, arms folded tightly across his chest, his hazel gaze fixed on every pivot and strike with a hunger he refused to name. Beside him, Magnus Bane leaned idly against a stone pillar, blue sparks dancing lazily between his fingertips, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. "He's skilled," Alec murmured, the admission escaping almost against his will. "More than I anticipated." Magnus tilted his head, his feline eyes glinting with interes…