DaveElizebeth

Four hours. It should have been four hours ago that Alexander Lightwood should have stepped through the door of the High Warlock's flat in Brooklyn, prepared for their date. But still, he wasn't there. Magnus gave up sending his boyfriend text messages because he didn't got any answers from the other seven yet, so this would be a waste of his free texts. Sighing, he stood up from the pink couch where he waited most of the time, heading for the bedroom to change his clothes. They had planned to have a nice dinner at an Ifrit restaurant in Brooklyn, so Magnus was dressed in formal black trousers, a white shirt with an elegant golden bowtie a

"Magnus?" "Hmm?" Alec leaned his head farther back into Magnus' shoulder, playing idly with the warlock's fingers that were splayed across his stomach. They were lying on the couch, the color of which Magnus had changed to an inky blue since Alec loathed pink. Magnus was half-propped up against the armrest with Alec lying between his legs, the Shadowhunter's head and shoulders on Magnus' broad chest. His heartbeat, markedly slower than a human's, thudded gently beneath Alec's ear. "Where is your accent from?" Magnus paused for long enough that Alec craned his neck to look up at him. Magnus wore a bemused expression, his eyes twinkling.

Your name is Dirk Strider and you are currently freaking the fuck out. You’ve always thought of yourself as the cool one, the man in control, the one with the plan and the guy who always has the answer to everything. There was never anything in your mind that could prepare you for the biggest obstacle you’ve ever faced. That obstacle happened to be one Jake English. Jake English. The boy you’ve been dreaming about meeting for years. The very same boy you’ve had a crush on since you were thirteen. He’s tall, and tan, and about as awkward as you. You watch him shift from foot to foot, then smile a bit and walk forward