Summary: Y/n goes to an underground club and meets the devil and she'll never ever forget it.
A/N: Something filthy and fun for Halloween! Not really scary, mostly just a smutty thing!
Word Count: 3.1k
Warning: smut, filth, spitting, major MAJOR size kink, creampie, unprotected public sex, Harry's a demon (or maybe he's just a dick - you choose)
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
Y/n could feel the base vibrating through to her marrow. The whole club was alive, a sticky hot sea of sweaty, dancing bodies, strobing lights, god-awful costumes.
She was less concerned about her white angel wings getting dirtied than she was about her drink getting something tossed into it. Some of the people making eye contact with her were… she didn’t know, but perhaps she’d keep her distance.
Though, as she looked down into her plastic cup, she realized it was all but pink melted ice. If she wanted something to worry about (other than her delicate white wings) she’d need a refill.
She figured she put a little too much effort into her costume. Her angel wings were made of real feathers and lace, lined with ribbing to make them look real, and her gauzy smock dress left little to the imagination for what she wore under. Of course, she doused herself in a healthy amount of soft shimmer and glitter and attempted to do the perfect winged liner –it wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn near close.
She'd gone alone to the club. A maybe not-so-smart move in retrospect, but still. She was there and she wanted to do something she'd never done before. Something outside of her comfort zone. Maybe even a little dangerous for once in her life.
The bar was packed with bodies, all lined up for a drink. Y/n waved her arm in the air, hoping to get the attention of the lone bartender. The poor guy was running his ass off and she could see sweat stains under his arms. It was rather stifling in the building.
Suddenly a very warm hand was pressed into her back, hot palm burning through the thin fabric of her dress down to her skin, “You don’t need another drink, Y/n.”
Turning to her right she saw a man with an imposing stature standing over her, his massive mitt cradling his own cup as he looked down at her, green irises practically glowing.
“Says who? I’ve only had one anyway. And how do you know my name?”
The grin that stretched over his face caught her off guard. He was handsome. She let her eyes wander from his broad shoulders up his neck and to the top of his head. He had thick dark waves with small pointed horns sticking out of the top just so. They looked real. The devil. How fitting a costume for a man who looked like that.
“Your name is printed on your cup,” he pointed. Y/n had forgotten that everyone was given a cup upon entry, their name scrawled across the smooth plastic, and told not to lose it. It was one of those underground club events and the cup was like your ticket to get in once you'd passed the initial pay-to-enter area.
She laughed and smiled, “Oh, I forgot,” she looked down at his cup again, noticing large rings adorning his thick fingers, “Harry.”
“What’s an angel doing in a place like this anyway?”
Another laugh puffed from behind her lips before she used her tongue to wet her parched mouth, “It’s a club. I don’t know. Saw an ad and it sounded fun. Why? Should I be worried?” Y/n bit her lip for effect. She wasn’t worried. But she did like this man’s vibe. He was flirty without being overt, his warm hand still sprawled along her back, face dangerously close.
“You should be worried. This is not a safe place, Y/n,” an evil smile worked its way over his features. He was teasing. Or maybe he wasn't.
She shrugged and looked up at him through her lashes before releasing her bottom lip, “But you’re here,” she looked back over her shoulder at the wild crowd behind them, “You gonna keep me safe from all the bad guys?”
“Is the angel asking the devil to watch over her tonight?” His grin grew lopsided, a dimple digging into his skin. God, he was attractive.
“Maybe. But you won’t let me get another drink so I don’t know…”
His eyes scraped over her face and down to her angel outfit, auditing, before he pushed into her back, moving her toward him closer. She watched him sit his cup down on the syrup-smeared bartop before his hand found her jaw, fingers digging into the soft part under her mandible, “Oh you’re parched, are you? Open up for me, angel.”
She felt her body swell and seethe in heat from his bold ask. But what else was she there for that night but to have a little fun with a stranger? So she parted her lips, slowly opening wider as he dipped over her frame and tilted her neck back until she felt the warm glob of saliva land on the tip of her tongue. She let out a pathetic moan when he licked over her lips, his spit moistening the dry skin like he was making sure she knew whose spit was sliding down her throat.
“Did you swallow for me?” He asked cooly as he kept her jaw in his hand.
Knocking her head up and down she kept her eyes on his and then suddenly she was being pulled away from the bar. He had an arm tucked around her waist, keeping her next to his warm frame until they’d moved into the shadowy edges of the club and he prodded her into a small space between a column and a metal air duct before he was pushing his hips and mouth against hers.
He tasted like autumn outdoors, hay, spit, burning leaves… Running her fingers into his hair she felt his hand on her hip, bunching at the sheer fabric until he was reaching into the thin wispy lace of the top of her white panties, palm gliding down her belly button until the pads of his fingers were pressed in a place she would normally never let a stranger touch. Especially not in public.
But it was Halloween, and this was what she’d been looking for. Something a little dangerous, a little crazy. This was the kind of place where one could get away with such iniquities.
Soon, the only thirst that remained was to feel more of him. To feel his hands, his fingers… He smoothed his tongue against hers as his middle finger rubbed tightly over her exposed clit after he'd torn the delicate fabric of her underwear. She was throbbing against him. Wetting his digits slowly until it was slippery and he could easily slide one and then two inside of her cunt.
“Love when I make angels wet. You’re just a good girl but this is exactly what you were looking for, wasn't it?”
She moaned and yanked his hair, hoping he’d put his lips back against hers. She loved his mouth, loved how he kissed her all dirty and raw.
“Yes…” She blinked up at him and then gasped when he shoved a third fat finger inside of her hole. It made her wobble forward into him, her cheek pressed into his solid chest. He fucked her just like that, on his fingers as he kept whispering into her ear, “Gonna change your life tonight angel. Show you what it feels like to really get off.”
Her mouth was wide open as he slid his fingers so deep she was certain nothing had ever gone in like that before. Not even Donny’s hard prick felt like that (what a disappointment he had been).
“Can’t even stand up straight and that’s just my fingers in there little girl. What are you gonna do when it’s my cock splitting you in half, hm?”
She groaned as he continued pumping his fingers through her gummy insides and she gripped onto his biceps so she didn't simply wither to the floor.
Y/n didn’t want anyone to see what was happening but it felt so good and she was so close. Already. The heel of his palm was bumping, sliding into her clit with every thrust of his wrist and she swore he was fucking into her to the beat of the bassy electronic music.
Her head began to spin and her ears were ringing, muffling the noise of the crowd and the music when she felt the delicious release of her orgasm.
Harry pushed her back into the wall quickly when he felt her shaking and with his free hand he held her face, smushing her cheeks with his thumb at one side and his pointer finger on the other, “Look at me when you come. Your orgasm belongs to me. Fuck that’s so pretty…”
She was stunned. It felt so good. Her body was writhing and being pushed and pulled at the hulking man’s direction. He guided her through it, plunging his fingers inside of her and dragging them over her slick spongy spot at the front of her wall. It was like he’d found a hidden switch within her insides and turned it on for her.
“You gonna keep being a good girl for me? Let me claim you and fuck an orgasm out of you on my cock this time? Want that, angel?”
Y/n’s rationale had gone out the window the moment he spit into her mouth and licked over her lips at the bar. So she nodded as he pulled his fingers from her cunt and brought all three, slimy, coated in her arousal, up to her lips, “Open up that thirsty little mouth. Suck.”
She wrapped her lips around his fingers and he pushed them past her comfortable gag spot as he made haste with his other hand, undoing his pants before pulling out his dick.
Harry removed his hand from her mouth and pulled at her neck, "Take a look. Think it'll feel nice and snug inside that tiny little angel pussy?"
Y/n shifted her eyes down to the hot engorged dick the man had brushing against her, his tip wide and ruddy against her labia. She inhaled, looking up at the man and then back down at the size of him, "It's… I don't know… It's so…" She bucked into him, feeling unsteady, her thighs still shaking.
"At least twice as big as what you've played with before. I know. But you get used to it. Come to love it. The way it plugs in so deep, carves into your insides, and makes a nice wet home… No one ever forgets it."
She clutched his forearm with a shaky hand and used her other to reach down and touch him. He was hot. So much warmer than she expected. Peering around his broad shoulders she could see people grinding and doing ungodly things on the dancefloor already. There were no rules in that club, except to not lose the cup you were handed when you paid to enter, and she'd already lost that at the bar somewhere.
When she felt him grip tight the meat of her thigh and perch it over his hip he slid his cockhead to her dripping seam and began to dip in.
"Oohh…" she warbled out a moan and then looked up at his handsome face, "Mmm…"
"Open that pretty mouth, show me your tongue."
She did what he said, parting her lips as her pussy spread open little by little. The feel of him slowly pushing into her was sticky, gooey, sharp. But the warm spit that dripped onto her tongue was salacious, made her pussy throb and flutter around his girth.
"There we go. Get that pussy spread apart for me. Let me have you, angel."
She was already letting him have her. She was his… whatever he wanted, however he wanted it. Right in front of everyone… sloppy, wet, deranged, disgusting…
"Mm ahhh…" she panted, her brows pushed together as he rutted in and in, filling up every bit of empty space she had available. Split open, stuffed full, slippery hot debauchery.
Harry threw his head back for a moment, basking in the tight pussy wrapped around him. Sopping. It was his chance to feel a bit of heaven.
Reaching down for her other thigh, he pushed her up and lifted her, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could work into her deeper, really give her a taste of what the devil could do.
She yelped and gurgled wetly, eyes bulging as he buried himself in, "Fuck…"
"Yeah? Didn't know angels liked to say such words." He swiveled his hips, a harsh plunge in again, and the squelch of her pussy against his length meant she was as wet as she could possibly be. "Oh you're soaked, angel. No wonder you're so thirsty. All your juices are down here," He rocked up into her and she cried out, "So you can take me properly."
While no one much cared about the angel with her wings pressed into the wall, her legs wrapped around the devil's waist as he stuffed her pussy with his big cock, it was obvious what was going on in that dark little corner every time the strobe flashed over the pair copulating. If the look on her pretty face didn't give it away, all fucked out, wet lips parted, eyes rolling back into her head… it was the way the devil was rocking his hips sharply against her, making her legs shake with every thrust.
He knew he was hollowing her out, poking in beyond what was comfortable for her… he knew she'd never forget the way he felt inside of her. It'd stick with her forever and she'd never be able to come again without thinking about the devil.
She'd masturbate thinking about that night at the club and she'd release with the image of him inside of her. And any poor man who stuck his rinky dinky human dick into her pussy would never get her off –she'd be thinking of Harry, the demon with the biggest cock she'd ever had. That would be the only way she'd ever be able to come. A curse, but also a blessing because now she'd always be able to get off to the memory of him no matter who was fucking her. Everyone else would pale in comparison… but that's what he loved so much about fucking sweet human girls. They never forgot his big cock and he owned them in a way. At least he owned their orgasms.
Slushy, gloopy, splatting… his long dick dragged and kissed against her sweetest spot and she felt the tingle and the ache of it as she bounced with every drive of his hips.
"Give me that come, angel. Right on my cock."
She inhaled sharply as he laved his tongue over her lips, slicking his saliva over her mouth and spitting onto her tongue again, "Mine. It's all mine, isn't it? Cunt will never feel it like this again but she'll remember who owns her won't she?"
Y/n was simply done for… her body was putty, molten liquid, dripping, bowing to his whim. His cock would be forever imprinted within her womb as she felt him slide through her channel, thick and throbbing - it was as if she could feel his bulbous cockhead pushing into her tummy, bulging at the front. Microscopic tears around her gaping, wet, stretched muscle she'd need to tend to later. All worth it to be fucked like that.
Her eyes were bleary as she looked at him when she began to come. He was right and she knew it. Her body would never forget it. She was ruined for him already as her vocal cords hitched up an octave and she made his favorite noise. Every dip of his broad crown through her gushing walls smeared his leaking slit against her cervix.
Harry watched the angel fall apart around his cock, face crumpled, body reveling in her release, toes curled in her shoes, but when she moaned his name and gazed into his eyes with droopy lids he couldn't hold back the way she was milking around him. He slammed into her, one brutal thrust, cock burrowing in as he splattered and pumped into her. His warm spend, a mucusy mural for her tight little wet walls. Like his signature left behind so anyone else who entered would know he'd been there. That everything inside of her cunt belonged to him because he'd already claimed it…
She'd think about all that later. That she'd had unprotected sex with a stranger at a club. That he'd filled her with his sperm and spit into her mouth. She'd get tested and watch for her period and then get tested again. And when she turned out clean and not pregnant part of her would be disappointed that she didn't have some excuse to search for the man to let him know what he'd done so she could do it all over again with him. Get her brains fucked out and her little pussy stretched in a way that shouldn't have been as good as it was.
But she wouldn't regret that part. Her only rue that night would be that she hadn't gotten his last name or maybe a number. It was probably better to not know who he was, though. Because if she did she'd obsess. She'd fiend. She'd pine. She'd stalk. She'd make a fool of herself to just have another taste. And a guy like him would probably already be onto the next.
It was better to not know who he was because he wasn't really nice. When he was finished with her, when his come was fucked into her and he made her watch how he shoved it all back in with his huge cock, gripped her neck, and made her look at the way it dripped from her puffy, used pussy and how he took his dick and pressed it back into her stinging hole and told her to not to clean herself up –he left. He dropped her down to her feet, tucked his big cock back into his pants, patted her hot little cheek, and walked off without even turning back to look or check on her.
She watched him disappear into the crowd with her torn panties at her hips and his come dripping down the inside of her legs, chest heaving, heart thrashing in her chest… Her back and her legs and her pussy ached but she'd have him again if he just came back. So, it was better to not know.
It was better to not know because maybe he actually was the devil.
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
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CW: Smut, long hair Harry (I swear all my spooky fics aren’t with lhh), language, Harry has an attitude problem aka he’s an asshole, obsessive behavior, one emotional moment and slight dirty talk (sorry I like my fictional men very vocal).
A/N: This was very fun because who doesn’t love a bit of unhinged behavior followed by extreme regret? I hope y’all enjoy!! Also…it’s been too long since I’ve mentioned Harry’s hatred for Shawn so I tossed that in for funsies🖤
Summary: Harry can’t stand you until suddenly he can’t stand to be without you🖤
“If there is a true ruler of the underworld please let them have mercy on me just one time and don’t let her-” Harry’s quiet pleading gets cut off by the sound of a door slamming closed, he opens his eyes and looks up and over his shoulder to see who it is that could possibly need to be on the roof of his apartment building at this hour. When his eyes land on an extremely familiar pair of pink fuzzy slippers he lets out a groan and looks down at his feet with a scowl. “I should’ve known…mercy isn’t exactly your thing.” He mumbles as he runs a hand through his long hair, trying his best to ignore the smacking sound that accompanies each step the slipper clad feet make towards him.
“I brought you some snacks.” Your voice is entirely too bright and cheery for it being near midnight and it has Harry’s jaw ticking as you approach him near the railing that keeps people from falling off the ledge of the roof. “I know you-”
“You don’t know me at all.” He snaps as he turns and leans his back against the metal railing, crossing his arms over his chest making the thin material of his black long sleeve shirt strain against the muscles in his biceps while his eyes narrow into a hard glare that you ignore as you take your usual spot in front of him.
“I know you get cranky when you haven’t eaten and by the looks of that glare I’d say you’re well past cranky and are now headed towards full on hangry.” You explain with a shrug as you reach into the floral print tote bag you always have draped over your shoulder, Harry doesn’t say anything as he watches you pull out a ziplock bag of cookies.
“You expect me to eat those?” He asks looking away from your face and down to the bag in your outstretched hand, a look of disgust etched onto his devilishly handsome face. “I don’t know how clean your kitchen is…you could live in a shit hole for all I know not to mention I don’t know if you even know how to bake-I’m not risking my health over your very sad looking excuse for chocolate chip cookies.” His voice is low and his tone is harsh but it doesn’t even make you flinch, having gotten used to Harry’s temper after the first few times he said something mean to you the very first night you met almost a month ago.
“As if you really care about your health.” You argue as you shake the bag just a bit, Harry’s glare looses a bit of its hardness as he looks back up to your face just as you flash him a playful smile.
“Just because I’m one of the Devil’s offspring doesn’t mean I don’t take my health seriously.”
“Oh right because smoking a pack of cigarettes a day and never drinking a single ounce of water is the picture of a healthy lifestyle.”
“It’s half a pack a day and-” He states as he snatches the ziplock bag out of your hands making a chill run down your spine when his fingers brush against the skin of your palm. “I drink one glass of water every week.” He corrects you with a smug little smirk on his face as you roll your eyes.
“Does that make you the healthiest demon in town then?” You ask curiously while you dig around in your tote, Harry lets out a scoff as he opens the bag of cookies and brings it up to his nose to give it a sniff before deciding to take one out, holding the bag in one hand and examining the baked good in his other as if he’s checking to see if it really is something he should risk eating or not.
“I’m the only demon in town.” He answers harshly, his tone giving away his annoyance at you having the audacity to think there was someone similar to him in the small little town you live in. You quirk a brow at him as you look over just as he takes a rather large bite of one of your cookies.
“Are you sure? Because I think-”
“At the moment I’m sure about two things and one is that baking isn’t your forte because that was absolutely disgusting.” The corners of your mouth drop down into a frown as he tosses the ziplock holding the rest of your cookies down onto the floor by your feet. “And the other is that there aren’t any other demons in town because that’s the whole reason I picked this boring ass place to begin with-no competition.” He tells you as he tosses the half eaten cookie over his shoulder smiling when he hears a muffled noise of surprise mixed with a hint of pain as it lands on a man walking on the sidewalk in front of the building four floors down.
“That wasn’t very nice.” You say with a huff as you walk over to the ledge and look down to make sure the man is okay. Harry just lets out a loud laugh as he turns his head so he can watch the worry slowly fade away from your face once you see the man rubbing his head as he walks away seemingly fine just a little confused.
“I wasn’t made to be nice.” He reminds you as he takes a moment to look you over, your hair is blowing around in the wind and the neck of your oversized pink and black sweatshirt is hanging just slightly off your left shoulder giving him a view of your black bra strap and the soft looking black shorts you have on are showing him way more leg than he’s used to seeing from you and for some reason it makes an odd sort of anger begin to flow through his veins.
For the short amount of time you’ve been bugging Harry and showing up nightly to his hiding spot on the roof where he likes to take in the view of the city before going to prowl the streets for people too drunk or desperate to be bothered about the idea of selling him their soul in exchange for what they see as a wish but always turns out to be more of a curse, you’ve never had less than four layers on because you’re one of those annoying humans that always run cold. So seeing you without a pair of leggings or those god awful looking sweatpants on that he can tell you’ve have for over a decade is extremely bothersome because he knows you’re going to complain about how chilly you are as if you’re not the one who picked the extremely short shorts to begin with. And if there’s one thing Harry hates hearing more than any other sound in the entire world it’s the squeaky whiney tone your voice takes when you’re upset about something.
“You need more clothes on.” The way he spits the words out as if they cause a bad taste in his mouth makes you look down at your outfit while Harry’s eyes slowly trail from your fuzzy slippers all the way back up to your face.
"Just because you're the offspring of some evil...thing doesn't mean you have to be mean for no reason." You argue, completely ignoring his random outburst and remaining oblivious to the way his eyes are glued on you and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“Are all humans this unintelligent or is this a special little talent that only you possess?” You ignore him and continue to look out at the city that’s half asleep and half buzzing with excitement since it’s a Friday and the clock just hit midnight meaning for some people the evening has just begun while others are calling it a night and heading off to the safety of their warm and cozy beds. “Honestly I’m curious because I just don’t understand how you can be so wrong about everything? It’s fascinating but also tiresome because I hate having to dumb things down but I guess for you I’ll make an exception.” He turns his body so he’s facing you while you stay leaning against the railing.
“Okay Harry dumb it down for me then…what am I wrong about now?” You ask as you turn your head so you can look at him, his jaw is set in a hard line while his eyes turn almost black as they stare into yours and he has a look on his face that should have you cowering away in fear but instead has you unable to move an inch. As if you’re worried that any sudden movements from you will have Harry turning and storming off in a dramatic fit of rage and that’s the last thing you want to do, hating the thought of him being anywhere but the few feet away from you.
“It’s my genetics that give me a reason to be mean all the time-I’m the son of a demon who gets pleasure from other people’s pain so of course I’m going to enjoy causing a bit of chaos and the feeling I get is a bit addictive when I know I’m the reason someone is having the worst day of their already miserable little life.” You turn your body so you can be face to face with him as he goes on about how he’s made to be mean, a look of amusement on his face when he sees your brows pinch together in confusion.
“But you’re not mean all the time.” Your words have Harry seeing red, not because he’s mad but because as they roll off your tongue he feels his insides start to burn at the idea of you not seeing him for the evil entity that he is and confusing him for someone or something that’s capable of anything other than causing people pain and misfortune anywhere he goes.
“You truly are the dumbest human I’ve ever met and that’s saying a lot because I’m well acquainted with Niall on the second floor.”
“Niall is nice he-”
“I never said he wasn’t nice I just said he’s an idiot.” He states as he glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Both things can be true at the same time.” He adds matter of factly while you just stare at him, getting distracted by the way his jawline looks in the dim lights on the roof.
“Do you think all humans are idiots?” Harry can tell by the way your voice is soft and breezy sounding that you’re lost in your thoughts and when he looks away form his watch and locks eyes with you he notices your cheeks are flushed a bright pink and your pupils are blown out and he can’t help but let out an annoyed sigh as he brings a hand up and snaps a few times in front of your face knocking you out of whatever trance you were in.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” You try to hide your embarrassment while Harry turns to face the door that you just walked out of a few minutes ago. “But to answer your question-” He looks at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. “No I don’t think all humans are idiots-just most of them.” He says teasingly but with an edge that lets you know he’s actually not kidding, you watch him take a step towards the door, the crunching sound his boot makes as he steps on the bag of cookies he tossed on the ground makes your mouth drop into a small pout.
“Goodnight Harry.” He doesn’t respond or even give you any indication that he heard you, instead he just opens the door and quickly walks through it letting it slam closed behind him as if he’s trying to get as far away from you as quickly as possible.
Meeting Harry almost a month ago wasn’t something you planned, you had no clue he was even on the roof when you ran up there to get some air during a small panic attack. The moment you pushed the door open and took in the first deep breath of the crisp nighttime air letting it work its way into your lungs you somehow just knew you weren’t alone. When your eyes scanned the dimly lit rooftop Harry was already staring at you from his spot near the edge, his eyes locked on you while his head was tilted to the side and his long hair was half pulled up keeping his face from being hidden. You had never seen someone look so painfully beautiful before, with a jawline that looked like it was carved out of marble and emerald green eyes that seemed as if they could see straight into the deepest darkest parts of you and instead of turning and running away at the intensity of him, you simply took a step closer to him, wanting to be as close to him as possible like his stare was pulling you in instead of pushing you away.
“Stupid girl.” Was the first thing he ever said to you, his voice was deep and the harshness of his tone was accentuated by his accent, all of it only added to the appeal of him.
That first night up on the roof he gave you half an hour of his time before he disappeared through the door and went about his business for the night, a business you quickly learned was collecting debts of some sort and making deals with the types of people you would normally avoid. The second night you were just indulging in your curiosity and went up to the roof to see if he was there and when you saw him smoking a cigarette while looking out at the city with his forearms resting on the railing you couldn’t even attempt to stop the grin that quickly took over your face. Harry on the other hand couldn’t hold back the annoyed sigh that puffed past his lips when he stood up straight and tossed a glare your way over his shoulder but you didn’t care, all you cared about was that he was there and he was looking at you. That was the night you learned he goes to the roof every evening, something he would later inform you he deeply regretted telling you because now he can’t get rid of you. But it wasn’t until the third night that you met him on the roof that you learned the true nature of his being, and although he was annoyed during the whole duration of his explanation you were just enamored by the way his eyes seems to glow in the moonlight.
“I’m a demon…my job is to collect souls of the people who unfortunately made a deal with the wrong devil.” That was the first time you saw him smile, even though it was small and had a glint of something mischievous behind it, the dimples that appeared with it nearly had your knees feeling weak at how perfect it looked taking over his face. “I also make a few deals myself-granting wishes to people who are so desperate that they don’t care what it takes as long as they get what they want…but in the end it’s always only me who gets what he wants.” It was the way he watched you as he spoke, studying your reaction to his job description that had your heart feeling all funny. But when you just merely nodded and asked him if he liked his job sadly the smile and the dimples that came with it faded into a scowl and him mumbling something under his breath about how you’re the dumbest human he’s ever met as he pushed past you to make his usual dramatic exit for the evening.
You never intended to catch feelings for him but with each snarl, dramatic roll of his eyes, insulting words tossed your way about your lack of intelligence and the very rare smile that’s only ever stitched onto his face for less than an second before falling into a scowl you somehow found yourself looking forward to the time spent on the rooftop with him. It never once occurred to you that it was a bad idea to have a little crush on him because his good looks and quick wit are all things made to draw people in, using them to his advantage to get what he wants out of them but it seems that with you he does almost everything in his power to try to keep you away. He’s said cruel things to you such as how annoying your voice is, how clingy you are and how every single second he has to spend with you is arguably the worst part of his day because all he wants is some peace and quiet before going out for the night. He even lets it be known how he sees you as nothing more than an overly bubbly and obnoxiously naive nuisance of a human.
The thing is, you just can’t seem to care.
You let out a sigh of content as you stand next to Harry, the sky a swirling mixture of darkness and the occasional twinkle of stars that poke through the clouds as they pass by. You don’t need to look at him to know his mouth is set in a hard line and the wrinkle between his brows is more prominent due to the way he has them pinched together in both annoyance and confusion as he looks at you. It’s a look you’ve come to know very well because it’s the one he always gives you every time you walk out onto the roof just a few minutes before midnight. A look that lets you know he still doesn’t understand why you come up here after all the things he’s said to you and the way he’s treated you, like he has no clue that he makes your heart do back flips and a swarm of butterflies to go off in your tummy every time he looks at you.
“This is getting a bit ridiculous.” His voice causes you to look over at him with a quirked brow as he turns so he’s facing you while your hands stay gripping the railing.
“You have to stop coming up here-at least while I’m up here.”
“You don’t own the rooftop Harry I can come up here whenever I want.” You tell him with a laugh that makes him clench his jaw as he glares at you.
“But that’s the thing-you don’t come up here when it’s empty…no you only come up here to see me and that’s not only annoying it’s pathetic.” His voice is steady, his tone flat as if it means absolutely nothing to him to toss such harsh insults your way like this is just another meaningless conversation he’s having with someone of no importance to him.
“I-I’m not pathetic I’m-”
“Oh but you are.” He snaps, cutting you off. You turn to face him as he runs a hand through his hair letting you see the chunky rings that are snuggly tucked up against his knuckles. Him letting out an annoyed huff has your focus going away from his hands and back up to his face.
“You come up to this rooftop every single night because you want to see me because the hour or so you spend with me each night is far better than the rest of the hours you’ve spent alone in your apartment all day because you have no friends and no social life.” You stare at him as his words chip away at you bit by bit, Harry lets out a sigh as his eyes finally find yours and you can tell by the way the turn almost black that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to hurt.
“But what makes you really pathetic is the fact you come up here knowing that I can’t stand you-that the minutes we spend together are like torture because you are the most idiotic and frustrating human I’ve ever come across and yet here you are.” He gestures to you as a dark chuckle bubbles up from his chest. “Standing there looking at me as if I’ve hung the fucking moon and all the bloody stars that go with it…you look at me as if you love me and I don’t know if there’s even a word to describe how dumb that is because I’m not capable of love and even if I was there’s no way in hell I’d ever love someone like you.” His voice is harsh as his words cut through the tense atmosphere surrounding the two of you like a knife, he watches your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you let out a deep breath through your nose before blinking a few times and looking down at your feet.
“Okay.” Your voice is soft and quiet as you do your best to keep your composure, refusing to let Harry see how his words have all but broken you completely. He stares at you with a look of pure shock etched on his face, clearly not expecting such an odd reaction from you seeing as usually when he says mean things to you all you do is roll your eyes and move on to asking him a silly question of telling him a random fact.
“Okay? What does that even mean?” He asks with a small hint of frustration in his voice. You clear your throat and put on a small smile before looking up and meeting his gaze. Harry almost flinches at how empty your eyes look, but he hides it and waits for you to explain yourself hoping it’ll shine some light on why it feels as if you’re looking through him and not at him.
“It means you win…I mean you said it yourself…in the end you always get what you want.” Harry opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something but closes it as you turn and head for the door. His eyes are glued on the back of you as he watches you, not able to look away until the door slams shut behind you and he can hear your slippers smacking against the metal steps of the stairs, leaving him alone to soak up his peace and quiet.
Five days.
That’s how long Harry lasts without seeing you.
The first day starts off relatively normal for him, he sleeps until well past noon and he doesn’t even think of you until he hears the unmistakable sound of you walking by his door. It’s that sound that has him standing in his kitchen, coffee mug in his hand and a scowl on his face while thinking your feet hitting any kind of floor is such an annoying sound that he’s able to pick it out of everyone else’s that walk by. On day two Harry is hit with the faint smell of your perfume as he walks up the stairs to the roof, it has his tummy doing weird things as he readies himself to see you standing there when he pushes the door open. When he steps out onto the roof the corners of his mouth twitch as he looks around and sees you’re nowhere to be found. An odd feeling takes ahold of him as he looks out at the city, a feeling that maybe just maybe being left alone isn’t what he really wanted.
Day three is when he hears your voice for the first time, it’s through his door while he’s sitting on his couch except it’s not the usual “have a good day Harry” you shout to him on your way out for the day or even the occasional warning of “don’t forget a jacket Harry! Just because you’re from hell doesn’t mean you can’t catch a cold” that usually has him rolling his eyes. This time it’s you saying hello to someone else and the voice that responds to you isn’t one Harry’s familiar with at all and before he can even stop himself he is bent down so he can look out his peep hole and the feeling of pure rage that takes over his body makes him nearly rip his door off it’s hinges when he sees you’re talking to some brunette man he doesn’t know. Now normally Harry couldn’t care less who you talk to, he’d be happy to have someone else take up your time so you can stop bothering him but seeing the smile that’s on your face and knowing it’s directed at some mystery man just doesn’t sit right with him at all.
The fourth day is when Harry starts to truly come undone but in a way that’s more like a pot slowly boiling over, the bubbles cascading down the side causing an unpleasant hissing noise as they hit the burner. That hissing noise is how he would describe his inner thoughts as he paces his living room trying to come up with a rational explanation as to why you smiling at someone has him ready to send some man he doesn’t even know down to the depths of hell for the rest of eternity. Not that he can even do that seeing as there’s levels to the power each demon has and Harry isn’t anywhere near the level that can actually send someone to hell.
The fourth day is also the day that Harry discovers the painful ache in his chest isn’t because of the weird leftovers he ate two days ago, it’s because some part of him, his heart to be specific is longing for something or someone. It’s a pain he hasn’t ever felt before and it has him ready to reach inside himself and yank the useless organ out of his chest and toss it out the window because he has no real use for it, or at least that’s what he thinks until he’s standing outside on the roof and sees you walking towards the apartment building. It’s in that moment that the ache in his chest starts to fade as soon as his eyes land on you that has him coming to a startling realization, it’s you his heart has been longing for. The one that causes him to feel as if he’s slowly losing his mind just because he hasn’t gotten to see you or properly hear your voice in a few days. But more importantly the one he pushed away and the one he thinks he might be in love with.
Day five is the one that changes everything.
Harry is walking out of his apartment on the fourth floor when he hears the irritating sound of Niall Horan’s voice. Harry knows he lives on the second floor so he’s not really sure what he’s doing up here unless it’s to see someone and the only other person on this floor that’s even remotely the same age as him would be you. As Harry turns around to face the blue eyed Irishman he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up just as a man walks by and offers a cheerful hello to Niall.
“Shawn mate s’good to see ya!” Harry’s eyes narrow into a hard glare as he watches the tall brunette man give Niall a hug, it’s not until Shawn turns to the side that Harry recognizes him.
“Who the fuck are you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them making both Niall and Shawn turn to look at Harry with raised brows.
“Uhm I’m Shawn who-”
“Do you live here?” Harry asks cutting him off, Niall looks away from Harry and over at Shawn who looks extremely uncomfortable, a typical response when Harry’s dark eyes are staring straight into someone else’s.
“N-no I don’t live here I just-”
“He’s just hanging out with our friend in 4C.” Niall finishes for him making Harry’s hands clench into fists at the mention of your apartment number. Harry doesn’t know what takes over him as he walks over and grabs a fistful of Shawn’s shirt and slams him against the wall making Niall’s eyes go wide in shock.
“Not anymore you’re not. You’re never going to come back here again and if I so much as catch a whiff of your tacky smelling cologne you’re a dead man. Got that?” Niall places his hands on top of Harry’s shoulders as he practically growls his way through the threat, Shawn’s brown eyes go wide with fear and the silent understanding that the man in front of him staring at him with pitch black eyes isn’t kidding. Harry takes his little nod as a yes and releases his hold on his shirt, letting him make his way to the stairs nearly tripping over himself in the process. Niall is staring at Harry with a very knowing look on his face as Harry runs a hand through his hair.
“Oh you’re down bad.”
“What are you blabbering on about?”
“4C…you like her huh? That’s why you went all crazy on poor Shawn.”
“Fuck off Niall I don’t have time-”
“Haven’t seen her hanging around the roof lately…you two in a fight or something?”
“No.” Harry snaps as he pulls his hair into a messy bun before heading for the stairs that go up to the roof.
“She likes carnations if you need ideas on how to apologize to her for whatever dumb shit you said that’s making her avoid the roof like the plague.” Harry turns on his heels, Niall just watches as he stalks over to him.
“You think I don’t know which flowers she likes? As if I haven’t memorized every little detail about her?” Niall’s cheeks get red as Harry glares down at him. “I can tell by the way she unlocks her front door if she’s having a bad day or not. I know the way her laugh sounds from down the hall and can tell if it’s fake or genuine and when she’s around you it’s usually fake. I could spot her in an overcrowded room by her smile alone.” Harry lets out a sarcastic chuckle as he takes a step backwards. “So no Niall I do not need ideas on how to apologize.” With that Harry turns and heads for the stairs but he doesn’t even hit the first step before he hears Niall’s voice.
“So you are going to apologize then?” And that has Harry letting out a frustrated huff as he walks up the short staircase and pushes the door open letting the loud slam of it closing behind him to serve as an answer to Niall’s question.
Harry closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath feeling himself start to calm down as he lets it out slowly through his nose. He repeats that process two more times, opening his eyes when he feels his urge to go and find that Shawn fellow out on the street and get rid of him for good so he can’t ever try to attempt to see you again turn into a low simmer deep inside his chest instead of the raging boil it was just a few moments ago. He taps his back pocket and lets out an annoyed groan when he doesn’t feel his pack of cigarettes that he usually keeps there along with his lighter.
“Fuck.” He snaps as he starts pacing the length of the roof, he drags a hand over his face in frustration. “Stupid fucking Niall asking if I’m going to apologize-apologize for what?” He asks himself as he pauses and look over his shoulder at the soft glow of the city lights in the distance.
“All I said was the truth…she’s insufferable with her silly laugh and annoying smile and the way she’s always asking questions and….and-” Harry’s words get stuck in his throat as his eyes glance towards the spot near the railing that might as well have your name etched in the concrete due to how often you stand there every time you come see him. “And I…I love her.” He barely gets the words out before he’s rushing towards the door, skipping every other step getting down the stairs in record time.
He doesn’t even allow himself time to catch his breath or fix his disheveled appearance, he just reaches a hand up and bangs his knuckles on your door three times. His hands grip the frame as he leans in to press his ear against it, trying to listen for the sound of your feet shuffling towards the door. His brows pinch together when all he can hear is the faint swirling of the small space heater you told him you bought for your living room because your feet are always cold. He’s about to knock a few more times when suddenly the lock turns and you’re swinging the door open.
“Someone better be dying for you to bang on my-Harry?” The sleepy tone of your voice is quickly replaced with one of surprise as your eyes find his. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just stands there with his hands on your doorframe staring at you as if you were a precious work of art. “W-what are you doing here?” Your voice is shaky as you take a small step backwards to create some space between the two of you.
“I lied.” You raise a brow at him as he drops his hands to his sides and takes a small step into your apartment, kicking the door closed with his foot behind him. You swallow down the nerves that are building up in your chest.
“Lied about what?”
“Everything.” He says quickly and before you can register what’s happening Harry lets out a loud sigh and falls to his knees right in front of you. “I am capable of love…and I only know that because I-I love you and I’m the pathetic one because it took me hurting you and pushing you away to realize it.” His voice is shaky as he reaches out and grabs your hands as you stare down at him with a look of confusion and shock on your face.
“Harry you don’t mean that you’re just-”
“Oh but I do.” His eyes lock with yours as he brings your hands up to his lips, placing kisses to your knuckles. “And I’m so sorry I was so cruel to you and I would understand it completely if you told me to leave but I just need you to know that I didn’t mean any of it.” His hands place yours over his chest making your cheeks get hot as you feel the soft material of his shirt under your fingertips. “Every minute you’re away from me is the real torture because then it just leaves me with the reminders of you that are everywhere it seems-like I couldn’t escape you even if I wanted to.” He lets go of your wrists so he can reach out and place his hands on your hips, gently urging you closer to him while your hands move to grip the tops of his shoulders.
“I-uhm I don’t understand? I thought you hated me.” You tell him softly, Harry lets out a soft groan as he rests his forehead on your lower tummy, trying to think of the words he needs to say for you to believe him, that he really does care about you.
“I could never hate you.” He admits as he looks up at you. “I know I’m not good enough for you so I was mean and hoped it would keep you away because-I’m never going to be the good guy that can sweep you off your feet and ride you off into the sunset…I’m inherently evil and I know that you can do so much better than me but-” Harry pauses when you place a hand on the side of his face making him close his eyes briefly as he leans into the warmth of your touch.
“I’m selfish and don’t want to have to go through the agony of watching you be with someone else…I would rather burn in the pits of hell than have to endure that…please tell me you’ll forgive me? That you’ll let me earn a spot in your heart again.” He speaks in a softer tone than you’ve ever heard him speak before and his eyes are all but pleading with you to believe him and to accept his apology.
“You really….you really love me?” Your voice is barley above a whisper as you stare into Harry’s bright emerald colored eyes and for the first time you watch a smile spread across his face, one that has no hint of mischief or teasing behind it but one that shows off his dimples and makes the hard edges of his face soften ever so slightly.
“I do-so incredibly much it’s a bit infuriating if I’m being honest.” He answers as he stands up, making your hand slide off his cheek and down to his chest.
“I love you too Har-” Harry’s lips are crashing into yours before you can finish saying his name, his hands cup the sides of your face tilting it upward allowing him to deepen the kiss as he slowly starts to walk you backward. He doesn’t need to be given a tour to know his way around your house, since it’s the same layout as his.
“I missed you.” He mumbles as he kisses down your jaw as the back of your knees hit the armrest of your couch. “Missed your voice.” You let out a little noise that goes straight to Harry’s cock as his lips kiss down the side of your neck. “Missed your laugh.” He says between kisses over the soft skin of your throat, his hands travel down your sides until he’s sliding one under the hem of your oversized sweatshirt that has a ghost with a cowboy hat on it that says “lets ghoul girls” in pink writing across your chest.
“You-you don’t think my laugh sounds like nails on a chalkboard?” Harry lets out a laugh as he pulls away just enough so he can look at you.
“No love-it sounds like what I like to think my version of Heaven would sound like if they ever decide to let me in… it’s sweet…bubbly and bright.” He tells you sweetly before his lips are once again on yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you making him smile against your lips as he moves his hands to your hips letting them glide down to the back of your thighs and in one swift motion he pick you up making you let out a squeak of surprise while wrapping your legs around his middle causing your pink fuzzy slippers to fall off.
“Oh no! My slippers!”
“Those things are hideous and the sound they make when you walk is loud enough to wake the dead.”
“That’s rude…just please don’t drop me.”
“Never.” He states with a smile as he walks down the your bedroom is on, being the room that shares a wall with his living room giving him the privilege of being able to hear you talking to yourself when you think no one is listening.
His eyes never leave yours as he gently places you down on the soft comforter covering your bed, your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as his hands run up and down the outside of your thighs as he stands between them, he kicks his shoes off making them land on the floor with a thud. As Harry looks at you he feels as if everything suddenly makes sense, like he understands now that didn’t randomly pick this city because the lack of competition in the demon department, no he picked this city because deep down what’s left of his soul knew this is where he needed to be and that’s wherever you are. He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side as his eyes break away from yours and slowly roam down your body stopping when he gets to the hem of your bike shorts.
“Normally I’d say you need more clothes on but honestly right now I think you have way too many layers on.” He jokes gently, not wanting to push his teasing too far and make you upset since just yesterday you sat on this very same bed and told yourself the demon next door hated you.
“I keep it warm in my apartment because I’m always-”
“Cold.” He answers for you making you just nod as his hands slide up your sides until they find the waistband of your shorts. “I know you better than you think I do.” He watches your face for any signs of hesitation as he slips his thumbs under the band and starts to gently tug them down, you swallow thickly and lift your hips a bit to help him and this has Harry grinning down at you as he tosses them to the side of your room.
“I-I never knew you were actually paying attention to me when-when I spoke.” Your words has a pang of guilt hit Harry right in the chest.
“If you only knew the way I hung off every single word you ever said to me because I was always afraid they’d be the last ones I’d get to hear come from that pretty little mouth of yours.” He tells you as he leans down, his hands on either side of your face. “I was so scared that eventually you’d realize how horrible I am and stop showing up.” He explains before placing a kiss to your forehead.
“Harry why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?”
“I think it’s safe to say by now that I’m an idiot-not only for how I treated you but for not telling you how I felt the moment I felt it.” He says with a breathy laugh as he stands up, your eyes go wide when he reaches down and grabs the bottom of his shirt pulling it over his head so he can throw it on top of your shorts.
Harry has to hold back a little chuckle as your mouth falls open while your eyes take in the view of him shirtless for the very first time, his muscles and swirls of dark ink scattered across his skin make your heart start to beat faster and your hands struggling to remain at your sides and not reach out and touch him to make sure he’s real. You sit up and as gracefully as possible given how shaky your hands are take your sweatshirt off revealing to Harry you decided to skip the bra tonight as you add the garment to the growing pile of clothes on your floor.
“Can I take these off?” You’re nodding your head yes just as his fingers slip into the silky material of your panties. “You’re so pretty baby.” He says with a soft sigh as he slides the material down your legs, his eyes taking in the newly revealed parts of your flesh he’s never gotten the honor of seeing before.
“You-you’re pretty too.” Your voice is timid making him smile as his eyes find yours, the moment they do you feel all your worries and sudden embarrassment fade away.
“Yeah? You think I’m pretty?” He asks smugly as he grabs one of your hands and places a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I love you.” You smile as the words effortlessly fall out of his mouth.
“I love you too.” Harry feels his heart swell as the sound of your pretty voice tells him the words he didn’t even know he’d been longing to hear. As his eyes stay locked with yours his hands begin messing with his belt buckle and then quickly unbutton his jeans so he can push them down his legs and kick them off along with his boxers.
“Fuck baby you’ve been hiding all this from me under those ugly sweatshirts and leggings?” The way his eyes leave a burning trail as they roam up your body has you not even able to be upset at him insulting your sweatshirt collection.
You bite into your bottom lip as Harry leans down and presses his lips to your lower tummy, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he kisses his way up to your chest. You watch his eyes darken as they stare into yours as he hovers over you, a smile appears on his face as your hands reach up and cup his face. He watches your face as your fingers trace over the bridge of his nose and ghost over his cheekbones, he kisses the pad of your thumb when you drag it across his bottom lip making you let out a laugh.
“I’ve dreamed of this.” You confess quietly. “Of getting to know how soft you are and-and what you’d look like smiling at me like you’re happy and not because you’re about to tell me how annoying or dumb I am.” Harry knows you don’t mean to hurt him with your words, but each one cuts him deeper than the last hearing how you’ve dreamed of something as simple as his smile all because he never once gave you a genuine one.
“I’m sorry love…you didn’t deserve that.” You close your eyes as he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. “I’m going to be better-going to give you what you deserve.” He promises as he kisses the tip of your nose making you giggle as his lips move to your cheeks giving them little pecks.
“I believe you Harry.” His lips are pressing into yours in a hungry kiss as soon as the words leave your mouth. Your hands grab the sides of Harry’s face pulling him closer as he slips his tongue past your lips, you let out a soft moan when he gives you a small roll of his hips letting you feel the tip of his cock press against your center.
“Need to feel you baby please let me feel you.” His words are rushed as his lips travel down your jaw to your neck.
He lets out a loud groan when you hike a leg over his hip as your hands slide into his hair pulling his hair tie out and tossing it to the floor so you can run your hands through it, giving it a tug when he starts nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. You let out a gasp when you feel him push his thick shaft into your wetness, your eyes close and your grip in his hair tightens as you adjust to his size while he slowly pushes all the way in. His lips are back on yours, swallowing down your moans as he pulls out to the tip just to push back in with one smooth thrust of his hips.
“I’ve dreamed of this-getting to feel you like this. You feel so fucking good baby.” Harry says with a moan as he pulls away so he can watch your face, your eye open and a soft moan falls from your parted lips as your hands drop from his hair down to your sides so you can grip the sheets as his hips find a steady pace. “My pretty girl taking me so well.” He praises as he gives you a harsh thrust that has the tip of his cock hitting a spot that has you arching into him.
“Oh god.” Harry gets a smug smile on his face as he feels you start to pulse around him. “You-it’s so good.” Your voice is breathy as Harry keeps up his quick and steady pace, he lets out a deep growl when one of your hands claws at his back at a particularly deep thrust.
“Shit baby you’re squeezing me so fucking good-want you to let go for me.” His lips are next to your ear as he leans down, you let out a loud moan of his name when you bend your other knee and spread your legs wider letting him get deeper with each thrust. “Make a mess pretty girl-need to feel you soak my cock baby please.” The desperation in his voice mixed with the harsh thrusts of his hips has you tipping over the edge and all but crying out his name as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
“That’s it baby there you go-fuck you’re so perfect.” He coos sweetly in your ear as he gently fucks you through your high, chasing his own in the process. He lets out a deep moan when your hands go into his hair giving him a tug at his roots.
“Don’t-don’t stop Harry-please don’t stop.” You plead as his thrusts turn sloppy, he lets out a muffled groan as his lips find your jaw. He eyes close and he hides his face in the crook of your neck as he gives you a few harsh thrusts until he’s letting out a chant of your name mixed with a few curse words as you feel the warmth of his release coat your walls.
“So good baby you did so good.” You have a smile on your face when he pulls away from the comfort of your neck with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. “I love you-so fucking much.” He pants with a lopsided smile on his face as he looks down at you.
“I love you too.” You answer with a sigh as your arms fall to your sides making Harry chuckle at how content you look. “Will you stay the night with me?” You ask suddenly feeling your nerves begin to creep back up into your chest. Harry just rolls his eyes before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss before he rolls over so he’s on his back next to you.
“Of course I will-honestly good luck getting rid of me now baby.” You let out a giggle as he pulls you into his side letting you rest your head on his chest. “Also you won’t be seeing that fucking asshole Shawn ever again.”
“What? He’s just-”
“He’s just an overly friendly twat is what he is and you won’t be seeing him again.”
“Harry.” He raises an eyebrow at you as you turn onto your stomach so you can rest your chin on his chest letting you look into his eyes. “Did you uhm- did you like…take his soul or something?” Harry lets out a loud laugh that makes your whole bed feel as if it’s vibrating.
“No I didn’t take his soul I just did the normal human thing and threatened him that’s all.” He explains making you let out a sigh of relief. “Can I ask you something?” You just give him a small nod as he reaches over and grabs a throw blanket and covers the two of you up, not wanting you to get cold. “Do you forgive me?”
“Yes.” You tell him with a smile that makes a dimpled grin take over his face as his hand runs up and down your back.
“You’re mine now right?”
“No I think it’s more like you’re mine?” You joke making him laugh as he runs his free hand through his hair.
“Sounds good to me.” He answers with a shrug as you get comfortable in his arms.
“Now I have a question.”
“Okay…let’s hear it.”
“Did you really not like my cookies?”
“I loved them-remember when I said I lied about everything? I really meant everything.”
“Oh thank god because I swear that was my best batch yet.” Harry lets out a laugh as you let out a deep sigh of relief and in this moment as you rest your cheek against his chest he gets a feeling that this is exactly where he’s meant to be, he closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the warmth of your embrace and the love that comes with it. He takes a second to promise himself that he will never do anything that’ll risk him losing this feeling because he never wants to spend another midnight alone again.
Summary: "Every soul in the room jumped at his command—every soul except yours."
A/N: Just a heads up...this story is about to get really horny you've been warned. This chapter will be the door opening!! (Taglist Open!!)
Word Count: 6.4k
Warning: None.
It had been four days since he rushed from your room, taking with him the finest print of the moth your mind could summon. When he departed the following morning, you lingered at the bay window, watching his carriage leave, and as the footman opened the door, a strange, aching dread tightened your throat. Every movement you observed—the command in his posture, the relentless rain pouring down in sheets, soaking everyone—seemed only to emphasize the almost impossible journey he was about to undertake. Just as he was about to step into the carriage, you softly whispered the word ‘please,’ the word a faint sound trembling on the edge of your breath.
To your astonishment, you observed him utterly absorbed as he paused, his head tilting to the side as if he had caught the faint whisper of your quiet plea, as if he could sense the pounding of your harrowing heart across the vast lawn. For a fleeting moment, you almost wished for him to turn toward the window and grant you one final glance; yet, in your hesitation, he moved—vanishing into the carriage, and amplifying the ache of his departure—knowing full well he would brave the harshest elements to place distance between you. What mistake had you committed? Why did the image of a meek moth evoke such visceral revulsion, when he had just uttered words—words that kindled within you a towering hope for a future where you might be more than a wife—perhaps, dare you say, even a partner?
Because if you had not witnessed his leave, you might have thought it but a mere dream—words spoken with such pure intent that no question arose within you in that moment. The only answer you sought was that your bodies moved as one, husband and wife forming a union under the watchful eyes of God—a righteous duty which he, too, seemed eager to uphold.
Yet, as the days moved slowly, one sedentary day after another, every query you imagined had been sufficient was swallowed by a new breed of questions that seemed equally distant and unfathomable, much like his presence felt within the space surrounding you. Should it appear strange that, on the very night of his departure, the dreams of torment ceased to come? Or that the sun had yet to shine brightly in the sky, not a single day since your arrival, for to gaze upon the ocean was like holding up a mirror; every stir of emotion was as severe as the tide crashing against the rocks of the shoreline—the dismal grey sky a gloomy longing, awaiting the sun’s bright light to pierce the thick clouds of confusion, to end the chaos that had entrapped you the moment you uttered the words ‘I do.’
For nearly a week, your evenings had been spent gazing out at the night sky, aching for a blanket of stars, yet all your longing heart was met with was the shrouded veil of darkness as the rain prevailed. As you reflected the final lines of your thoughts in your journal, you released a knowing curiosity that had been stirring from the moment your gaze met Harry’s—a deep, wild sense that the life you were meant to live was only just beginning to wake inside you as the memory of his eyes and the unsettling red flash, became a quiet understanding in your heart. Perhaps he was a creature, but even you yourself felt like a creature, so far from the woman you had been when you stepped past the threshold of your new home. You knew these strange happenings were not things you could dismiss as “anxiety,” as Agnus had suggested. No, these were facts requiring an explanation you simply hadn’t possessed the language for, at least not in this moment. Just then, a low, gentle knock on the door broke your concentration as Agnus entered, her movements a quiet sigh of relief after a long day of service.
“Are ye ready for bed now, ma’am? I’m settin’ out yer fresh nightgown and turnin’ down the covers.”
At the sound of her voice, you closed your journal swiftly, the leather-bound cover cool beneath your fingertips. “Yes, Agnus, thank you.” And you paused, your gaze lifting to her weary face. “Please, do tell me, Agnus, has there been any word from my husband, Mr. Styles?”
Evading the news you knew was coming, Agnus busied herself with the bed linen, avoiding your gaze with the subtlety of a long-serving maid who knew exactly how to dodge a question when needed. When finally she spoke, she said, “No direct word, ma’am, not a telegram, but we know his journey began safely. I’m sure he’s about his business, as he must be.” She sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly. I promise you, ma’am, that the moment I hear anything at all, you'll be the first to know, indeed. Now, darlin’, try to rest your mind, and let me help you get ready for bed.
When Agnus finally left for the night, the sudden silence was no longer heavy with apprehension, but rich with a strange, blossoming energy. Without the nightly torment of the dreams, you were less exhausted, your mind operating with a keen, rousing clarity. You had been using your nights to write and draw, your pencil moving with a determined urgency, thrillingly translating the chaos of the past nearly two weeks into quiet lines on paper.
It was as if your mind, no longer battling an unseen force in your sleep, had shed a protective veil. Your memories—usually a dense terrain of scattered thoughts—were now startlingly clear. You realized after days of conjuring the inked moth, that just by simply closing your eyes, you could step back into time, or so it felt, like you could walk through the spaces of your past—the scent, the light, all the muted words that had ever been spoken left to turn to ash were all retrievable. Each one was like sorting through old letters, every detail down to the very conversation, every room you had ever known, seemed to exist in a perfect, vivid landscape within your mind’s eye.
Yet the more you tried to dig deeper into your past, the more you noticed a strange and frustrating resistance, as if any memories preceding the onset of your womanhood were cocooned in an impenetrable, dark fog of mystery—all time before your first bloods was a blank wall, while the time after was a crystal stream, suggesting a pivotal shift, perhaps, one you hadn’t even noticed that seemed now both key to something lost within you and terrifyingly subtle in the way you had missed it.
But the strangest sensation, however, was reserved for Harry, and Harry alone, because in the moments you allowed your mind to linger on him, a gripping ache bloomed deep in your womb—not the familiar cramping pain of your recent courses, but a dull, insistent tremor in the boom of your belly, a feeling nearly as deep and magnetically familiar as the longing that ached in your bones for a man you truly knew nothing of—the feeling a physical, undeniable response to the man who had abandoned you, a silent pulse stirring that throbbed with the knowledge of a resounding, unseen thread that seemed to be connecting your core to his very presence, and even if this were not a fact, your spine tingled with it, your fingers twitching to write the words on paper, solidifying their realness in your mind.
And the more you dwelled on this knowledge, the relentless, unspoken draw became a compass for your nightly activities as your mind wandered the halls as you lay in bed, and when your body could no longer bear the stillness of your room. You rose, your mind and body driven by an overwhelming intuition you couldn’t quite rationalize, and you began to sneak down the hallway to Harry’s private study. The room, now unoccupied, seemed to call out to you, a chilled, cultivating beacon of his essential being, daring you to enter.
That night, you crept through the dark house, your bare feet silent on the marble floors, the thrill became the illicit journey, a blunt, electric antidote to the humiliation you had suffered the moment Harry rushed from your room. When you slipped into the study, the lingering scent of Harry hit your senses with a brutal awareness that had your head spinning with an unforeseen longing you hadn’t spoken aloud, and as the smell of leather and earthly spices filled your nose, your knees weakened. It was like you had known it your whole life, could close your eyes, and the staggering sense of his presence was there, almost intoxicating, as if you could reach out and touch him, giving you a strange, humming focus that stole the very breath from your lungs.
Overwhelmed, you took a seat in his enormous, wingback desk chair, the leather cold and stiff beneath you, yet strong and firm, like you would imagine the engulfing spans of his arms, and you dared not move. Instead, you allowed your curiosity to roam, losing track of time as you explored and memorized the sweeping scroll of his signature across documents you read inch for inch, your head spinning anew, and each time you finished a page, there was Harry’s name, and each time you repeated, Harry, the syllables became a quiet, rhythmic mantra that whispered through your mind like an echo from the past. As your mind grew tired of reading, your fingertips began to tingle with a desperate, instinctive need to translate your focus, and when you finally crept back to your room, with Harry’s pen in hand, you brought it to your nose, inhaling what was left of his scent, and then you covered a sheet of paper with the swirling, intricate lines of his name, your belly trembling with that familiar, dull ache.
The next night, as his scent enveloped you like a glove, a chill ran over your skin, and suddenly, the books seemed to demand your attention. Your ears perked up the further you walked into the study, as a low, chanting whisper began to emanate from the dark, recessed shelves—a heavy murmuring reverberating around you that seemed to press directly on your mind the more you focused on it. In the stir of your belly, you knew no human ear could register this sound, yet something in you felt the sheer pressure of the knowledge contained within. As you approached the darkest section, the whispers grew louder—a howl so insistent, so terrifyingly non-human in its authority that you didn’t know if you should fear it or follow its command. Maybe it was your heartbeat pounding in your ear, but you swore you saw a section move, and when the noise filled the space, you fled the room, your heart striking a frantic rhythm against your palm as you slammed the door behind you, your body trembling as you paced down the corridor to your room.
With barely any sleep, the next day, as you woke to the dark gloom of another rainy morning, the unsettling experience became a quiet obsession, playing through your mind as you wandered the vast, chilly house, unable to focus. Eventually, you found refuge in the abandoned greenhouse attached to the home, which you had grown very fond of over the past week. It was the only place where you seemed able to escape the confines of your own mind—the only place where you could let your guard down. The humid air, rich with the scent of damp earth and abandonment, guided you away from the cold granite of the house. Like a newfound ritual, you strolled through the greenhouse, absentmindedly touching the dry, brittle leaves of the neglected plants. The more time that you spent with the plants, the more the soothing certainty of your curiosity seemed to tingle to the tips of your fingers, becoming a quiet sense you hadn’t realized you possessed. It was as if you understood the needs of the nature around you, knowing exactly what each plant required.
It grew instinctive; day by day, your hands reached for tools you had never used, working with a natural, unhesitating knowledge over each plant. As you tended to the neglected ones—each nurturing action seemed to flow into your consciousness—your mouth hummed a faint whisper of words that bloomed in your mind, so pure and honest that you knew them to be true. As if they were a fundamental language you had forgotten you spoke. It felt more natural, more genuine, than any polite conversation you had ever had to endure.
That night, when the house had finally fallen silent, armed with a calm confidence from your work in the greenhouse, you gathered the courage to return to the study. This time, when the books called out, you allowed the unbearable resonance to guide you, accepting the pressure over your mind, not as a threat but as your curiosity demanding a challenge of will. Pushing your fear aside, you followed the low, humming murmur until you reached the hollow shelf and jumped when the books began to shake. Your eyes landed on a thick black book—the leather edge dried and cracked, and as your hand finally rested on the cold binding, a sudden vibration shot through your entire body, as the familiar ache in your womb worsened, doubling you over. The pain was so intense, so tied to the object in your hand, that you cried out, clutching your stomach, dropping the heavy book to the floor with a loud thud, as you fumbled back, searching for stability as the blinding pain overtook you.
Breath after heavy breath, you finally regained some composure, your hand trembling as you leaned heavily on the desk. Your dizzy gaze shifted to the dark, leather-bound relic, reading the dense title that seemed to confirm the terrifying quest to retrieve it: The Nocturnal Doctrine of the Serpent’s Shadow. As you pushed yourself up, you reread the title, feeling the ominous words run through you, and you sensed the danger lurking within without even opening the book. Its presence was like a whip cracking through your chest, speeding your heartbeat, and lashing your senses.
As if you couldn’t last another minute in the study, you gasped for air and snatched the book up, not daring to open it or even examine the cover any further, as the need to possess it overwhelmed every muscle in your aching body, and every instinct within you urged you to flee. You hurried back to your room, your heart hammering not with fear but with the exhilaration of a secret too enormous to keep. You shoved the forbidden book under your mattress, hiding it alongside the other Moth sketches and markings you hastily drew from memory just days before, now determined to forget the book ever existed. Right now, you only knew you were meant to have it; you knew it wasn’t the time to read it.
After another dreamless night, you woke to a startling silence so serene it felt like waking in a dream. When you opened your eyes, the room was bathed in a blinding, silver-white light as the sun broke through the lace curtains, bringing with it a new hope—silence and light had returned. The storm had passed, bringing forth the sun and all its glory, shining for the first time since you arrived in Newport. When you were called for breakfast, you walked down the stairs, drinking in the light as it streamed through the large windows lining the hall. You soaked it in as the sudden warmth of the light stirred that strange, new energy that seemed to be flowing through your veins all week.
As your foot hit the first step, a drumming began in your ears, and you listened to the thunder of your heart—the thrill pounding like a steady drum, like a call you had heard many times before. The sound grew louder as you neared the dining hall, beating so loudly you wondered if the staff could hear. Still, as they carried on around you, not paying any mind to you, the sound grew more piercing, quickening until you paused dead in your tracks, eyes widening at the figure sitting at the head of the long, carved table, impeccably dressed in dark wool, and just as his eyes met yours the beating, rhythm of the drums ceased all at once.
Because there was Harry, his green eyes holding you in place, and you stood mesmerized in the doorway, taking each other in as the slow, low drumming started pounding in your ears again. Still, this time it was different, no longer the frantic beat of your heart, but indeed a calling—a powerful, soul-deep thrumming that felt like the earth waking under your feet, pulsing a silent, echoing chant that felt like the wind pushing you toward the man you called your husband. This time it wasn’t the music of fear, like it had been in your nightmare; it was the magnetic pulse of something you knew inside you, like an unseen tether finally drawing taut.
And as you glided into the room, moving with an elegance born from a resounding weariness to draw any closer and a will to harness a quiet control, you settled into the chair across from him. Your eyes stayed fixed on his, and in that moment, you promised yourself you would not let him see the ache or the longing you endured; he would know the strength you had felt swelling, the power of self that you were more certain of than ever before, for when he spoke the words of his intentions into your mind that night, he filled you with a power you had been waiting for your entire life.
“You look well,” were the first words that left his mouth, as your plates were presented in front of you, but you didn’t say a word, only nodded your approval to the waitstaff, as you straightened your posture, ready for Harry to ache with the silence you had weathered for days.
Only silence filled the space between you both. A silence unlike anything Harry had ever experienced in his entire life, rendering him powerless, or what felt powerless. This silence itself was altogether something devastating and hopeless—a void opening up inside him where your thoughts should have been, your mind a mystifying wall that left him more isolated than any prison he had constructed around his demonic nature—to his one true self, he hid from the world.
Completely unbothered by his existence, you sat across from him, delicately cutting into your poached egg with a casual grace that seemed almost to mock him in its normalcy, as if his world hadn’t shifted the moment you entered the dining hall, as the morning light streaming through the tall windows caught in your hair, creating a halo effect that would have been laughable if it weren’t so cruelly fitting—you, the unreachable angel, and he, the demon desperately clawing at the gates of heaven.
Harry watched as you brought the fork to your perfect lips, the simple act becoming a form of exquisite torture. How could you sit there, consuming your breakfast with such apparent tranquility, while he fought every instinct screaming within him? Fighting the demon beneath his skin that writhed and pulsed, demanding he breach the distance between you, demanding he take what now felt more than ever to be promised to you both. But it was the silence—that damnable, suffocating silence—that threatened to undo him entirely.
When he tried to press deeper with his inner perception, that cursed gift that had always allowed him to slip past the mental barriers of every human he had ever encountered, he listened to the noise of thoughts around him as the servants bustled quietly around you both, broadcasting their thoughts like beacon fires: “The master seems agitated this morning,” from the footman; “Poor lamb, she deserves better than this cold marriage,” from the serving girl; even Agnus…sweet, sweet Agnus stood sentinel by the door, projecting her fierce maternal protectiveness toward you with crystal clear clarity.
But you—you remained a fortress of nothingness.
The scene unfolding around him only seemed to set the first burning within him as Harry’s fingers tightened around his silver fork until he felt the metal begin to bend. How was it possible? He could sense the very essence of your soul, that intoxicating energy that had nearly shattered his control from the moment he had touched your hand, yet your thoughts remained cocooned in an impassable fog. It was as if something more powerful than himself guarded the sanctity of your mind, something that recognized the demon and barred the door.
The longer the silence stretched, the more it became a living thing between you, growing teeth and claws that raked across his consciousness—an agony he could barely contain. You reached for your teacup, the fragile china meeting your lips in another moment of devastating normality, and it was just enough to have Harry’s Shrouded form flickering at the godforsaken edges, forcing a tremor to the tips of his fingers as he felt the onset of throbbing along his hairline, his small horns aching with the effort to remain hidden, the demonic markings beneath his shirt burning like brands against his skin.
In desperate focus, he attempted once more to penetrate the barrier of your mind, pushing with a force that would have sent most humans reeling. Yet you merely dabbed at your lips with your napkin, your expression as serene as the fairest Madonna, giving no indication you felt not a single ounce of his psychic assault. The failure of it, the complete and utter inability to reach you, sent a spike inching through his chest, inching toward the dangerous edge of panic.
When you set down your teacup with a gentle clink against the saucer—a sound that might as well have been a gunshot ringing through the stifling quiet—Harry could stand it no longer.
“Leave us,” he barked, standing to his feet, his voice carrying a demonic edge that had every servant in the room freezing mid-motion—dishes rattling, as a serving spoon clattered to the floor, and the footman stumbled back a step, bumping into the wall behind him.
Every soul in the room jumped at his command—every soul except yours.
You merely lifted your gaze to meet his, those analytical eyes studying him with the same startling intensity that had first captured him across the ballroom floor. There was no fear there, no surprise, just that quiet observation that made him feel more exposed than if he were standing before you in his truest form, horns and markings and all.
The servants fled like water through a sieve, Agnus casting one last worried glance at you before pulling the heavy doors shut with a definitive thud. The sound echoed through the cavernous dining hall as Harry took his seat, sealing you both in together, predator and prey—though Harry was no longer certain which role belonged to whom.
“I’m sorry,” Harry said, his voice rough as he tried to conceal his barely controlled desperation, “but I cannot sit in this silence any longer.”
Your head tilted slightly, a gesture so subtle yet somehow more commanding than the stunt he had just pulled to command even a sliver of power back to himself. “There is no silence,” you replied, your words carrying that quiet strength that seemed to emanate from your very core.
“I cannot hear—” Harry caught himself just before the damning confession could spill forth, his jaw clenching as he redirected, “Are you angry with me?”
“Should I be angry?” And yet the question was posed with such genuine curiosity that it sent another wave of frustration through him—the simplicity of your words like lashes across his skin.
“It’s just...” he struggled, searching for words that wouldn’t betray the unearthly perception he wielded, “It’s just that it’s so quiet.”
And as if his cryptic words meant nothing, you set down your fork with that same graceful ease, folding your hands in your lap as you regarded him. “Forgive me, but I’m not quite sure of your meaning.”
“Everything. about. you. is quiet,” Harry ground out, feeling the demon surge beneath his skin, his control fraying like rope against sharp stone. “I can’t—”
Harry bit back the rest of his words as the frustration, the need, the unbearable pressure of your unreachable presence finally shattered his restraint, and with a devastating force, his fist came down on the table with the sole intention of fear, sending the china jumping and crystal singing as the sound cracked through the air like thunder, and this time—finally—you jumped.
When you brought your napkin up to your mouth, eyes cast down at your plate, Harry caught the slight tremor as he watched the slow release of your controlled breath deflate your chest, yet your perfect posture didn’t waver, and this seemed to stem more fear than he had just momentarily inflicted, and he wondered if you seemed to wield a power of your own. But just as he was trying to make sense of it all, your eyes met his again, this time blazing with a focus so unmistakable it seemed to make his demon rear back in recognition, as tears gathered at the corners of your eyes, not of fear but of something far more treacherous—a righteous fury that even he understood he deserved.
Silently, you forced your chair back with a harsh scrape that seemed to echo in his very bones, and when you stood, when you looked at him with that same piercing gaze, in that moment, his demon didn’t just quiet—it cowered. “I wish to get one thing clear with you, Harry Edward Styles,” you said, and the moment his full name left your lips, something impossible happened.
It was as if an invisible force wrapped around his throat, not crushing but undeniably present, firm enough to make its warning absolutely clear. Harry’s eyes widened, his hand instinctively rising halfway to his neck before he forced it back down. Yet, the touch wasn’t demonic—no, this was something else entirely, something that hummed with an authority that was just as unearthly as his own power.
“I will tell you this…I have no intention of cowering around you in fear,” you continued, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to fall. If it is fear that you seek to evoke within me, I shall keep my distance. Should you wish to imprison me, I will play my part, but if you meant a single breath of what we discussed before you stormed off the other evening, you will never speak to me in such a manner again.”
For a second, the grip around his neck tightened, just enough to remind Harry of its presence, as you held his eyes. The longer you maintained his gaze, the more Harry felt as though you were looking straight through his illusion, past the perfect human facade and directly into the writhing darkness beneath. Then the grip went slack, but it remained a constant presence, neither tightening nor loosening, only becoming a steady reminder of a power he couldn’t name or understand.
“If I’ve spoken out of turn,” you said, though your tone suggested you knew very well you hadn’t, “please speak now, and I will know where we stand.” And as the words left your mouth, a flicker of pain crossed your features, and your hand moved to press against your lower belly, a gesture that sent an unexpected ache of concern through Harry’s chest.
His eyes tracked the movement, noting the way your fingers pressed into the fabric of your morning dress, and suddenly the fight drained from him entirely. He cleared his throat, and miraculously, the invisible grip released. When Harry’s eyes flicked to yours, the power ebbed and slowly faded, as if you, too, no longer wanted to fight, your features softening just enough for him to lay down arms.
Harry finally spoke then, “I am clear on the words you have just expressed.” And out of instinct, his hand rose to his neck, massaging the phantom sensation that lingered there. He cleared his throat again, trying to banish the rasp from his voice. “I’m sorry for my unseemly outburst. Please forgive me. I will do my very best to tame it next time.”
Wordlessly, you nodded, granting him a single, commanding inclination of your head that somehow contrived to make him feel both pardoned and condemned—carried with all the grace of a queen dismissing a subject, and you placed your napkin beside your unfinished plate.
“If you’ll please excuse me,” you said, your voice returning to that maddeningly calm register, “I would like to get changed to work in the greenhouse. I have plans to be there most of the day.”
Harry stood abruptly, then immediately questioned the wisdom of it. He didn’t want his height, his presence, to seem like another form of intimidation. But you didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, merely waited with that boundless patience that was somehow more disturbing than any show of fear would have been.
He gave you what he hoped was a sufficiently grave nod. “I truly am sorry. Please tell me if there is anything I can do to make it up to you, and I will do my best to accommodate it.”
Just as you reached the door, you paused, hand clutching at your lower belly, but you didn’t turn around fully, only offered him your profile—a sight that inexplicably reminded him of that first night in the carriage, when you had removed your gloves and nearly unmade him entirely.
“I told you what I wanted,” you said, and then you looked over your shoulder at him, your eyes carrying the weight of your meaning, sending a flash of heat pooling in his stomach. “You’ll know where to find me…when you’re ready.”
Just as your words settled, a servant opened the door as if summoned by your very presence, ushering you out and leaving Harry standing alone in the vast dining hall, staggered by the remnants of every unfinished thought torturing him and the echo of a power he couldn’t comprehend.
When Harry climbed the stairs after breakfast to his study, his feet heavy and leaden with each step, as he meditated on the disaster he’d made of the morning, and he was struck with a new surprise. The moment he crossed the threshold, your scent hit his senses, giving you away, like it had seeped into every surface you had touched during his absence. Curious, he moved to his desk, sinking into the chair where he knew without a doubt you had sat. His eyes roamed over the surfaces where yours had run, and probably ran your fingers across. He gathered the neat documents in his hands, eyes tracing over his signature with a new curiosity, looking for any clues you may have found interesting in his mundane life.
Should he see the act as a violation, yet as he searched for the anger, he found he had nothing to hide. On paper, he was a normal man, handling his business affairs like any other man in his position. Still, as he calmed the human, the demon stirred, your scent rousing his fleshly want—an animal in search of its mate. Was that what you were? Had you both been fated to meet that night, was this the draw silencing his demon in your presence—the magnetic pull that defied every ounce of his control, could you be the fated connection that terrified him more than any prophecy his father had ever spoken, because that was never spoken. He was never meant for anything more than the role he was created for.
Should he dare to dream of such happenings, he asked himself as he closed his eyes, allowing himself the dangerous indulgence of imagining what it would be like to shed his human mask entirely, to stand before you in all his monstrous truth. Would you run? That warlike spirit you had displayed this morning suggested otherwise. Would you recoil at the sight of his horns, the demonic markings that told the story of his cursed heritage? Or would those remarkable eyes of yours simply observe and accept, as they seemed inclined to do with everything else about him?
Nevertheless, the gravest question, the one that sent a shiver of genuine apprehension through his very soul, was whether he could maintain control if he gave into your desires—what you had made so painfully clear you wanted, as you held fast to the sacred duty to consummate the marriage—a marriage he had crafted as a mere facade, a convenient arrangement that had become anything but convenient the moment you had taken his hand in that carriage—because it truly was so much more.
His demon had harbored a desire from the very first touch—a wish to devour, to claim and possess in a manner most mortifying to any proper lady… or even any human being, for that matter. Yet you were no ordinary lady, were you? There was something decidedly otherworldly about you, a mysterious aura that called to both sides of his nature with equal infatuation. The human within him longed to cherish and protect you, even from himself, while the demon yearned to worship you in ways that would cause the angels above to weep in despair.
The question that haunted his thoughts most was whether he could lie with you—to take you as his wife in truth—without succumbing to the beast within. Could he trust himself to be gentle when every fiber of his being yearned to claim, to mark, to possess? Could he maintain his illusion of control? Did he require more time, or was his time already slipping away? Because then the memory of his father’s presence in your room, the lingering scent of Susurrus' breach, sent a fresh wave of panic as a protective rage surged through him. If he couldn’t even keep his father at bay, how could he trust himself not to harm you?
Yet, what choices remained? To persist in this distance, this meticulous routine of avoidance, which only seemed to be gradually draining your spirits. He could see it in the shadows under your eyes, in the way you tenderly pressed your hand to your belly, as if seeking relief from an ache that mirrored his own. Beyond your shared desires, he longed to ask you so many questions—curiosities that hovered like delicate paper notes around him, waiting to be unfolded.
Just as Harry was forming another thread of thought, a knock at the door shattered his trance. Agnus entered, her weathered face attentive and neutral, though her thoughts rang clear… “The poor master’s as tortured as his bride. What a pair they make, both too stubborn to see what’s plain as day.”
“Is there anything you’ll be needing before I settle the missus for the evening?” she asked, though Harry could hear the real question beneath… “Will you finally stop this foolishness and go to your wife?”
“No,” Harry said, standing to make it seem as though he had been working rather than lost in another round of tortured contemplation. Yet he knew the movements looked stiff and uncertain, nothing like his usual steady refinement.
And as Agnus turned to leave, Harry found himself speaking before he could think better of it, the words emerging with a pained hesitancy that even he knew was uncharacteristic of himself.
“Please tell her...” he paused, the weight of the decision pressing down on him like weighted pockets full of stones in the ocean, and when he spoke, he felt the demon writhing in anticipation while the human within trembled with the magnitude of what he knew this would cost him. “Please tell her she will get what she wants.”
Harry watched confusion flicker across Agnus’s features, stunned only for a moment, and though the confusion lingered, she merely nodded, and just as she was about to close the door, Harry called out her name. She paused in place, gazing at him again, “While I was away, did my wife suffer any more terrors?”
Agnus spoke quickly, even though Harry already pulled the answer from her mind, “No, terrors, sir, she was perfectly rested every night.”
“Very well, Agnus, that will be all, thank you—,” Harry answered, gathering a stack of papers into his hands as he listened for the sound of the door, but when he didn’t hear the click, he glanced back up.
“Excuse me, sir, just in case the missus asks. When should she be expecting you this evening?” And the joy that rang out in Agnus’s mind nearly swallowed his thoughts completely, as if Agnus had just understood Harry’s intentions in the message she was to convey.
Harry ran a hand over the sleeve of his jacket, his markings burning beneath, “Within the hour. I’m just finishing up here. I shouldn’t be long.” He told her, pulling at his sleeve, being sure everything was concealed at the wrist.
“Very well, Mr. Styles…I will bid my leave now…” She said, trying to hide the smile pressing at the corners of her mouth as Harry listened to her inner monologue, and the great details she would take to make this evening perfect for both of you.
As she finally took her leave and closed the door, Harry was left alone with the consequence of the promise he had just made; now the die was cast. Tonight, he would go to you. Tonight, he would risk everything—his control, his methodically conserved facade, possibly your very life—based on the growing certainty that you were meant to be more than just this convenient arrangement. That in your presence, you could silence the beast, but if there were a God above, please grant thy will of safety, he nearly whispered, allowed, as the demon gnarled its ugly head.
Could you both be strong together? Were—you—strong enough? Were you meant to be his salvation, or were you the very damnation his father spoke of?
Could you be both?
And though these thoughts should have terrified him. Instead, for the first time since you took his hand, Harry felt hope rise enough to tame the monster.
Okay, I wanted to write a TEENY bit amidst my frantic workload. Here we have just a crumb of that incubusrry idea. What do we think?
She’d fallen asleep. When had she fallen asleep?
The man at the foot of her bed is a shadow — face veiled by the angle of the dusk. His stature, though — broad, visibly — is enhanced by the traces of the sunset that streak through the window he eclipses. It builds him and cascades over his shape, and her eyes bound and imbibe in slivers. His waistline, his parted thighs, the crest of his shoulders, his arms, ominously at his sides. His head, tilted just a tad.
Mila should be scared. She should be so scared to see this foreboding shadow of a masculine figure at the foot of her bed. Chills should thrive down her arms under the circumstances, terror should curl over the skin of her bones and manifest in a blood-curdling scream, expelled by her lungs. Pumping, pumping, pumping blood, her heart should be racing — Mila should be petrified.
She isn’t. Instead, she finds ease in his presence. There’s an oddly ironic comfort to his company — a soothing sentiment that muzzles her racing thoughts and stifles what would typically be a hammering behind her ribcage. And when he speaks, his voice is a velvety croon that envelops her like a weighted blanket. He says her name. Two syllables that roll off his tongue with songlike cadence holding no tune. And it’s pleasant — his voice. Deep in inflection, a sweet melody to her half-awake eardrums, dreamy like a lewd fantasy in her REM cycle. It’s familiar, it’s the same voice she’s heard grazing against her ear, in the middle of the night, when he’s on top, his weight warm over her, when his hips rock against her own, when he stretches her with his cock. Mila, Mila, Mila, you’re so wet for me. When he slips his forearm between her back and the mattress, winding it and flipping their position with what seems like preternatural strength; Mila, Mila, Mila, bounce on my cock for me, baby. Just like that. And so she does — she follows the guide of his voice like a lifeline, lured by his song, siren-like. Lured by his touch, when he cocks his head up at her and squeezes her jaw in his colossal palm, the pads of his digits pressing into her cheeks. His hands are always a relief — they always carry a bit of a chill, they always soothe the feverish burnish of her own flesh (that a rendezvous with the man always seems to incite). That same jaw unhinges, an aimless mewl escaping when he grinds up and hits something extraordinary within her at a ridge, and he ogles her newly parted, strawberry mouth with eyes glazed by lust. He uses the opportunity to slide his thumb across and brush it against her tongue.
“I know, baby, I know,” is what he tells her, his tone gentle like the soft touch squeezing over her love handle — he uses that to maneuver her hips, just gliding back and forth over him. It hits all the right spots. He hits all the right spots. He’s a dream. Literally.
She’s dreaming, the young woman convinces herself — she’s dreaming about dreaming of him. He looms over her in hues of darkness that paint his muscles, and those muscles flex when moves to disrobe. Yes. Yes. Yes.
“Mila,” she hears him beckon again. This one is sing-song-y and tailed by the subsequent sound of a belt buckle clinking. Leather yanked through linen loops. Her chest rolls on her breath. Yes, yes—
This is a dream. This is a very lucid dream, Mila thinks, but it feels very real when his touch cradles her bare ankle —the blanket’s been kicked off from her feet at some point or another. His cool touch presses over the joint, and his thumb swipes over the bone before the foot of the bed dips. He’s pasted a knee onto it, and Mila watches his form in motion, bathed in shadow.
“Gonna be a good girl and let me make you feel good tonight?”
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Preview: Harry is a demon, and Y/N is just really nice
Warning: SMUT (I got this idea when I was in the library. Do not judge me)
Full story: Tuesday, April 19, 2022 or read now on Patreon.
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Harry never considered himself a gentleman. He couldn't recall the last time he'd done something remotely gentlemanly. He never got up on the train or a bus when there was no seat left and an old lady with a cane got on. He almost pushed a guy into the train track the last time he'd ridden the tube; in his defence, the bloke was a tourist, so who hadn't thought about pushing a tourist into the train track before? So it took everything in him now not to strangle this mortal girl after she'd woken him up at 1 AM and dragged him here.
"It won't take long," Y/N said, taking him by the hand and pulling him down the aisle.
They were the only ones in the library. Every person and object in this house was asleep. After midnight, the house was as quiet as a graveyard. The only sound you could hear on a peaceful evening such as this one was the rustling of leaves outside the windows.
Harry's heart thumped with every one of their footsteps across the wooden floor. The library was so big that even a whisper echoed. He never understood how his great great great uncle had chosen to build such a huge library and filled it with so many books that stacked up all the way from the floor to the ceiling. Four walls were covered by books. All dusted up and abandoned for decades.
Y/N was the only one who came in here often, and she cleaned up sometimes, but she couldn't possibly clean every corner of this old place.
"You better give me a good reason not to kill you," Harry said with a growl when she released his hand and they had reached the wall at the end of the aisle.
She looked up at him, her eyes gleaming. And now he was curious about her new discovery that made her unbothered by his threat of killing her.
"I found this book." Her grin reached her eyes as she pulled a hardback out of a shelf. It was pretty old, the leather cover dirty and torn at the corners. Y/N opened it and Harry started coughing and waving his hand in front of his face, dust floating in the moonlight streaming through the oval windows above the bookcase.
Y/N dragged her fingers down the page and stopped at one paragraph. "Okay, here it says that a demon is free of his chains when..."
"When he's collected 666 pure souls," Harry rolled his eyes, "are you mansplaining me right now? This was in Demon 101."
Y/N blinked in surprise. "You had a class called Demon 101?"
"No. That was sarcasm."
Y/N didn't seem amused. "Also, it's not mansplaining because I'm a woman."
"You're human. So it's mansplaining." Then, he jabbed a finger at her face and she flinched, her back hitting the shelf behind her with a thud. "I can gladly waste a pure soul and kill you now so I can go back to sleep."
"No, listen!" She circled around him and stood in front of him. Despite his annoyance, she went on reading the content on the page. "A demon is free of his chains when he gives up his immortality."
Harry arched an eyebrow as Y/N's smile grew. "So there is a way to save you."
"Errr, that is even worse than having Lucifer burn me to ashes."
"How? Being human is great."
He eyed her up and down. "Says you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"It means you suck, and this is stupid."
Y/N seemed offended. Good. She should be.
"Just think about it, you sold your soul when you were twenty, and according to this book, you could go back to being twenty again. You'd rather suffer for eternity than be human?" she asked.
"Wrong." He held up a finger to her nose. "I'd rather finish my job, then get released from my contract, and live a life as an immortal. I don't want to die of old age. And this book–" he grabbed the book from her hand and clapped it shut, making her jump, " –is not correct. Well, at least not entirely. Maybe this is an old version that existed centuries ago when humans had a much shorter lifespan. With the new laws of the Underworld, if I ever agreed to give up my immortality, I would become human again, but then Time would catch up with me and I'd die instantly."
"Oh."
Harry rolled his eyes at the disappointment on Y/N's face. "Sweet that you're trying to help, but don't think you can outsmart me."
She stayed silent and watched him put the book back on the shelf. He turned back to her, about to tell her off, but now that his anger had cleared and the sleepiness had faded, he finally noticed her standing there in her nightdress. She caught his intense stare and pulled her cardigan close to cover her revealing chest.
A smirk tugged at his mouth. He advanced, and she quickly withdrew. One step, two steps, three steps. Her back hit the shelf and she froze. He leaned in until he could feel her breath shudder in his presence.
"But why are you so passionate about helping me, little human? Tell me," he sighed and her chest heaved as well, "what would you gain from that, hmm?"
Prompt: just some cozy mornings with the King and Queen Of Hell
Warnings: sexual activities, harry being a simp and a confident husband 😉 i’m a little worried if this is good smut or not so i’m sorry if this doesn’t suit you :/
W/C: 610 words
A/N: Mar my love happiest birthday!!! I’m hoping the best for you today and every coming day 💕 here’s a gift from me to you on this special day of yours 💖 (do look forward to more 🐣 ) @marmixedwithabitofintellect
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“I’m assuming you’re yet again looking at me sleeping, right?” You muttered, voice still rough as your eyes slowly opened to see Harry more clearly. It was still early since the sun seemed to just rise but it didn’t help when you could feel his eyes raking your skin.
“And if I am? Am I wrong to adore my wife’s face?” He said with a smile on his face as he shifted closer to you, enclosing your waist with his arm and leaving a delicate kiss near your shoulder. You hummed as you felt the kiss, eyes closing unconsciously as sleep enchanted you.
A few minutes later, you felt another light kiss on your shoulder and you took the initiative to shift and rest on his chest as you placed your lips over his in a soft kiss. You could feel the smile on his face grow more as he softly caressed your cheeks with his fingers.
You love this unplanned routine you both share, soft kisses shared and bodies wrapped around each others’. Far away was sleep now and you couldn’t help but caress his muscles gently. It’s moments like these that make you not want to leave his warmth and how much you wish to spend more time together with him.
“Not wrong, m’love,” You said, resting your head in the crook of his neck and humming slightly when you felt his hips buck into your own. Just when you start going down with kisses on his body, he turns you both to be the one on top.
“I’m having my breakfast so if you’d excuse me.”
It leaves you laughing while feeling relaxed when his fingers began to trace down your body, eventually caressing your thighs.
“I wonder who makes you this wet every time?” His lips nip at your sensitive skin before pulling aside your underwear and coating his fingers with your slick as he slowly moved them to your clit.
“Well my husband will have the perfect answer to that, won’t he?”
“I bet he has,” You felt the desire grow when a strong flick came on your clit as if he did it in retaliation. When you felt his fingers stretch your pussy, you know you’d never grow used to how his fingers stretched you out. It amazes you how he’s ever ready to give you pleasure and is perfectly fine with keeping his aside.
You probably don’t know but Harry loves you like this, loves you that you look this pretty even when you complain that your hair’s messy afterwards, loves that only he has the pleasure to see you like this, to make you feel this way. No amount of anything else will be able to satisfy his soul so much than to see you and wake up with you by his side.
You didn’t leave him either - your hand moved towards his cock and despite the clothed barrier, you could feel the precum. You decide to please him just right after but you continue with subtle touches.
“F-fuck.” And he knows, you’ll get there soon with the way your thighs begin to twitch, the increasing moaning with little gasps in between as he curls his finger, especially finding his way into that spot which makes you come apart. He is quick to attack your clit with his other thumb as you arched your back and closed your thighs, the desire eventually striking you.
You calmed down few moments later but just as Harry seemed to go and grab tissues to help clean you up, you’re grabbing him back.
