#one of my favorite all time songs to belt it out to 😌 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy · 4 years

Text

“I’ve been doing stupid things

Wilder than I’ve ever been

You’ve become my favorite sin

So let them keep, let them keep on talking.”

— Bad Decisions, Ariana Grande

A/N: laidese and germs.....i cannot feel my mfing fingers!!!!! but the filth is worth it 😌this is the longest piece i have ever written and i’m pretty proud of it! i put my heart and soul into this and the smut is.....pretty wild ngl! this is the first full-on sex scene i’ve written for them so it’s pretty long but who doesn’t love a long smut scene, amirite? it’s also the official introduction to Onyx and Nimbus into the demon!h universe so a round of applause for those two legends. Lucifer is mentioned in passing and i posted a face-claim for him, in case you were wondering what he looks like (he will be making appearances in the future so keep your eyes peeled for that). a little disclaimer, the Latin i used for the summoning spell i created is a very loose translation!! i did the best i could with google!! without further delay, here she is :D thank you so much for supporting my writing, feedback is not only greatly appreciated but also getting tattooed on my forehead, get ready for quite the ride, and i hope you enjoy!

masterlist : ask : more demon!harry

word count: 26k (i have no self-control oop)

content: a ton of domestic banter, a huge amount of fluff, two (2) make out sessions, demon!h putting that tongue piercing to good use, a load of filthy ass smut, him looking hot while doing some spells, and some dogs of course

preview:

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.”

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?”

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.”

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.”

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

The raunchiness of it all is appealing to her urge to be rebellious— an urge he had instilled in her over the months they’d known one another. She reiterates her previous point, trying to convince herself more than anyone because it really is so unbelievably tempting. “It’s a risk, and it’s wrong.”

Harry fits her chin between his thumb and forefinger, ghosting his mouth over hers and blinking slowly, establishing a seductive hold. His whisper is warm and raspy, almost as if he’s trying to keep their shadows from eavesdropping. “That’s what makes it so fucking hot.”

Y/N follows his lips, aiming to draw him into a kiss, but he pulls back, brows kinking in a mocking fashion. The action silently communicates its intended message: If you want a kiss, you have to give in to me.

or demon!harry wants to introduce angel!y/n to his hellhounds but an extremely sinful offer ends up postponing the summoning ritual

///

Y/N’s having a stroke.

She has never experienced one and, technically speaking, angels’ bodies are immune to all sickness and ailments given that they are just physical vessels for celestial energy. She’s probably just being dramatic. However, Y/N is pretty sure that what she is currently going through is most definitely classified as a stroke.

Her palms are sweaty, her vision is blurring in and out of focus, she has a serious case of cottonmouth, her ears are ringing, her lungs are burning, and her heart is attempting to burst through her ribcage. According to what she has seen on television shows and commercials, as well as a quick search on WebMD, these strenuous sensations are the characteristics of a severe seizure. Or maybe a panic attack, at the least.

The issue is that Y/N is the one inflicting this upon herself by overreacting, but she can’t seem to help it. Given the current situation, it’s not unusual that all her nerves are splintering and that her entire body has kicked into high gear. Any angel having to witness a satanic ritual would react the same exact way.

It’s not so much Harry’s culture and practices that make her catastrophically uncomfortable, but it’s moreso the fact that she’s standing not even a full yard away as it all unfolds.

From the second Y/N and Harry had started dating, she was well aware of the consequences of their relationship. Apart from having to lie to her friends and family about why she had decided to extend her visit to earth into a semi-permanent moving-out, she’d also had to sacrifice a lot of the morals and ethics ingrained into her from the instant she had been created. Dismantling three thousand years worth of education and routine wasn’t necessarily a walk through the Garden of Eden. Y/N had no choice but to set aside her personal afflictions about her boyfriend’s lifestyle in order to make it work and though it had been a rocky start, everything she used to despise about demons had gradually integrated into her new status quo.

She had learned to turn a blind eye when it came to Harry’s demonic dealings; she wasn’t by any means supportive of people selling their souls and condemning themselves to damnation, but God gave humans free will for a reason and it’s not any of her concern what they decide to do with it. Plus, according to what Harry had told her, demons have a certain monthly quota on how many souls they are required to collect and if he were to miss the mark, it would be a dead giveaway that something was out of the ordinary. Harry is one of Hell’s most prized businessmen— he’d been breaking records for centuries now— and if his numbers were to suddenly drop, rumors would no doubt cascade up the corporate ladder and make their way to a certain ill-tempered archangel’s ears.

The last thing either of them needed is Lucifer sniffing around, particularly because it would give him ammo to lord over Y/N, which he’d unquestionably use to threaten her status in heaven. Her own personal worries aside, she has no idea what her father would do to Harry if he got wind of their forbidden connection and honestly, she would rather saw off her own wings than find out.

There were too many risks involved in convincing her boyfriend to take the moral high road so instead, she kept her nose out of it all together. It's for the best.

When it came to his other demonic duties, she made herself slightly more aware of them, despite wishing she didn’t have to. Duties such as mandatory business meetings— which doubled as satanic rituals— and his role as a professor of dark arts and lethal combat training to the upcoming generations of Hell. Y/N asked him endless questions about his responsibilities because she felt that being purposefully ignorant was selfishly stupid. Educating herself made it easier to understand Harry’s life and taught her not to judge him so harshly for the actions he partook. Hearing him speak about blood sacraments and swearing loyalty to someone she had been conditioned to hate made her mouth turn sour, almost like she’d swallowed a spoonful of brimstone dust, but she shouldered it because she loved him and when you love someone, you have to put aside your own biases in order to fully comprehend theirs.

This had been Harry’s life for almost a millennia now and it’s not like he could bow out if he wanted— he’d sold his soul for the rest of eternity. Nothing could change that and she had to accept it.

And though the logistics of it all made her stomach curdle, there was one primary concern that truly nicked her above everything: Harry’s safety.

It mainly funneled down to the blood sacraments; the ceremony didn’t sit right with her for obvious reasons. There was just something so sickening about being required to participate in such an intrusive event and she doesn’t think it fair that he doesn’t have a choice. Harry assures her that it’s really nothing— a simple chore, at best— because he had been attending these occasions for decades now and was numb to their grotesqueness, but she can’t keep herself from prickling at the concept. Blood is so sacred— it’s a vital substance that all creatures have, humans, angels, and demons alike— and being forced to give it up to protect and stroke someone else’s ego is demeaning.

From a hindsight perspective, Y/N thinks that’s why she’s so strung out and why she carries so much stress towards the spell Harry is about to cast— because it requires his blood.

Y/N had seen Harry cast encanations plenty of times before and it never bothered her, mostly because all the sorcery she had seen was never anything to fear. Most of the magic he performed in front of her was harmless and innocent, which had surprised her since occultism was invented by Lucifer and anything that stemmed from him generally tended to be evil.

But the witchcraft Harry showed her was pretty juvenile. An embarrassing nude situation with a binding spell and the little disappearance act with his Halloween costume. Setting his hot chocolate mug aflame to toast the marshmallows on top, and using his powers at the Party City store to “lightly” shove an old lady that had been rudely judging their close proximity. Using an invisible force to tug at her hair from across the room to be annoying, or teleporting her phone out of her hands at random times just to fuck with her.

It was all benign, or so she thought. She knew there were more extreme forms of magic— it wasn’t referred to as the dark arts for the fun of it— but she had yet to experience anything drastic so she didn’t dwell in her head too much about it.

Because Harry hadn’t exposed her to anything worth the horror, she had agreed to accompany him while he performed a ritual to summon his hellhounds to their apartment. She wasn’t necessarily keen on engaging with two five foot tall, red-eyed, bloody-mawed beasts, but from the way Harry had talked about them, she could tell they were important to him.

He’d told her about how he had raised the hellhounds into adulthood since they had been spawned into existence as mere puppies, which obviously meant they had a deep bond spanning over centuries. Apart from that platonic connection, being their guardian had helped Harry get over the trauma that lingered from his death. It had been at the claws of a different hellhound, and it’s needless to say it had not been pleasant— the rough scarring running down the length of his chest can attest to that. Onyx and Nimbus (the second name he’d assigned ironically; it was a synonym for “halo,” and both he and the dog got quite the kick out of it) taught him to mend, and in return, he had taken them under his wing. They’d been inseparable for decades. A packaged deal, and considering Y/N was now a major part of his life, too, he wanted them to meet and get along. Or at least not try to kill each other on sight.

Y/N had hesitantly agreed to letting the dogs stay at the flat, promising that she would do her best to form some type of civil relationship with them. She’s not sure how she would get used to two lethal canines casually milling around the kitchen, but she’d try awfully hard just to make Harry happy. Luckily, he wasn’t insensitive to her caution and explained that he would use magic to shape-shift his hounds into a more acceptable domestic form— “Probably pitbulls or labradors. Or German Shepherds! Those are pretty sick.” That consolation worked wonders for her peace of mind; it’d be easier to run from them without their ten foot leg-span advantage.

Amidst Harry’s other reassurances, she also figured the spell wouldn’t be too harsh— he’d probably just chant some words in Latin and the dogs would pop up out of thin air— so she’d just shrugged her shoulder and agreed to be present.

Much to the relief of her conscious, the initial setup had seemed as mild as usual. Harry had gathered a few select herbs, a rusted gold bowl with satanic glyphs carved into its circumstance, a matching muddler, and four stout candles, setting it all on the ground as he proceeded to move the coffee table off to the side for more space. He had extended a large tapestry over half of the living room, a giant gold pentagram painted over its expanse, weird symbols detailing each of its peaks. The piece had seemed ancient— it was faded and torn in certain places, mysterious dark stains splattered in others— and it made the back of her neck bristle for some unknown reason.

Y/N had brushed it off. She should’ve expected to feel a bit uneasy— it was a fucking occult object. Any sane person would feel nervous around it.

Harry, on the other hand, had been as carefree and nonchalant as always. Her boyfriend had dusted off the huge drapery, pinning down each corner with a different magical stone and a candle companion, whistling to the vague tune of his grandson’s newest single. Y/N found that incredibly amusing considering he never missed an opportunity to mention his hatred for the boy. Well, hate is a harsh word. Strongly dislike is more suitable, or so he would say.

“Could never hate someone with my face. It’s too cute to hate.”

He just found his relative’s fame annoying. Harry had lived almost seven hundred years of his undead life without having to fret about his appearance or about people recognizing him, but then his descendant had decided to pursue a career in a world-renowned industry. Even worse, he had the nerve to be good at it, which had launched him to international stardom and condemned Harry— his uncanny doppelgänger— to suffer the irritating lookalike-induced consequences. As if the identical physical aspect wasn’t enough, his grandson shared the same first and last name as him, as well, and it felt like the universe was playing a giant cosmic joke on Harry’s patience.

It had gotten to the point where he had been left with no other choice but to cast an illusion spell on his inverted cross necklace in order to mist their similarities in the eyes of mortals. Despite that, he had to withhold liquifying people’s insides every time he got a comment along the lines of “Oh my god, has anyone ever told you that you look like Harry Styles?!” It would get even worse once they learned his name and/or heard him speak: “Your name is Harry, too? And you’re British? That’s so crazy!”

He had started to develop an eye twitch as a result.

Especially because with his family tree logic taken into consideration, he didn’t look like the musician; in actuality, the musician looked like him. Harry was the original blueprint, his grandson was just the watered-down knock off.

But since no one could know the truth, lest the entirety of the supernatural world be exposed, Harry had to swallow his pride, smile tightly, nod, and mumble a, “Such a coincidence, huh?” through gritted teeth.

Unpleasantries overlooked, the young man’s music was pretty decent, Harry will admit. He had an astonishing voice and an undisputed talent for creating catchy tunes with easily enjoyable lyrics. And according to his newest hit, he also shared Harry’s affinity for the mutual pleasure that comes with giving oral, so at least the Walmart version has taste.

Harry had finished setting down each raw crystal, his hummed cover of Watermelon Sugar fading to an end as he carefully surveyed his work.

Obsidian for focus, malachite for strength, amethyst for protection, and garnet for manifesting. The jewels were the most appropriate for the hex and he’s proud he had remembered which ones to use without having to consult his grimoire. He had then made a curious sound in the back of his throat, recalling one more gem that was technically optional, but could be extremely useful for conserving his vitality and sharpening his clarity. He had rummaged a bit more through his black velvet bag and pulled out a rock bigger than the others, roughly the size of his palm, and set it down at the very center of the pentagram. Apatite, meant to empower and connect the energies of the other four gemstones to each other and to the rest of the ingredients within the summoning spell.

At that instance, things still seem to be remaining calm in Y/N’s eyes. These are the normal tools he uses here and there when needed; nothing scary.

She takes a small step back as her boyfriend walks over from standing in the middle of the tapestry, slowly sitting down front and center at its edge with a light grunt. Harry fiddles through all of the earthy contents he had collected, double-checking to make sure he has everything required before beginning the ritual. When he confirms that all of the factors are adequately present, he then proceeds to shrug off his oversized windbreaker, discarding the light tan fabric onto the floor behind him. He has to be as unconstrained as possible.

He is left in his checkered copper slacks and a tee Y/N had gotten him for Valentine’s Day from one of his favorite brands. It’s a blood red fitted cotton shirt with navy blue horizontal stripes and knitted detailing around the brim of the cuffs and along the collar. A small Mickey Mouse graphic sits embroidered over the right pectoral with its eyes cast upwards towards the wearer’s face, smiling happily and she had thought it to be pretty adorable. The t-shirt is a somewhat odd piece for a demon to wear given the cartoon, which is exactly why she had gotten it for him. She knew he’d enjoy the irony of an innocent drawing flushed tightly against his scarred chest and she had been absolutely right.

Harry twists around, craning his head back to meet her gaze and gifting her a huge, exaggerated smile while batting his lashes dramatically. His voice carries a theatrical honeyed tone. “Care to be my pretty little magician’s assistant for a second?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, unfolding her loosely crossed arms and leaning down closer as a response, moving a handful of rogue curls away from his forehead with the back of her hand. She kinks her eyebrows expectantly, waiting for his request.

Harry continues in his normal voice, his sugary sweet act dissolving away into his default sly smirk. “Can you go get me a dish cloth from the kitchen? One of the older ones, please.”

She thumbs over his lip ring for a moment, reaching forward and pecking his mouth chastely. “Sure.”

“Thank you, dove.”

Once she returns with what he’d asked and Harry drapes said rag over his broad shoulder for later access, she retakes her position behind him, absentmindedly chewing on the pad of her thumb nervously as she watches him crumble dried plants in his fist and sprinkle them into the steep metal bowl. Harry drops the shredded juniper, mandrake, rosemary, vervain, and lavender into the kettle in turns, a few unintelligible words whispered lowly as each herb filters through the cracks in his fingers. He retrieves the golden muddler, his other hand cupping the large bowl and spinning it in careful circles, grounding down the plants into a fine powder.

“What’s each one for?” Y/N pipes up, curiosity besting her wariness.

Her boyfriend continues his concentrated motions, keeping his eyes trained on his work as he humors her, voice airy yet focused. “The juniper’s for purification, mandrake for enhanced protection, rosemary for warding, and vervain for psychic connection.”

“What about the last one? I think it was lavender?”

From her sideline perspective, she catches the corner of his lips twitching into a small, amused grin. “That one’s just to make it smell good. Don’t want the stench of death stinking up the house.”

His indifferent demeanor makes it hard to tell if he’s just screwing with her or not.

Y/N decides to chance another question.

“You said one of the herbs is for enhanced protection? Is the protection from the stones not enough…?”

Harry doesn’t miss a beat, tapping the grinder tool along the edge of the bowl with finality before setting it down on the floor beside his thigh. “The stones should be enough, but you can never be too careful, right?”

Y/N swallows heavily, the caution behind his quip causing her stomach to knot. “I thought you were just gonna, like, ring them up and they’d just pop in. Is it really that dangerous?”

The demon throws a knowing glance behind his shoulder, scoffing into a light round of chuckling. “Sweetheart, I’m quite literally reaching a telepathic arm into Hell to yank them out. If I don’t take extra precaution, who knows what else could latch on.”

The angel’s eyes widen in angered alarm, arms tightening protectively around her torso. “You said this was safe! That you’d done it before and nothing went wrong!”

“It’ll be fine, I promise.” Harry reaches over and squeezes the back of her calf playfully, trying to sooth her nerves. He runs a palm up her leg as far as it allows and then grabs onto the hem of her Minnie Mouse t-shirt (which he had gotten to complete the matching set with his own), tugging at it to signify he wants her to come down.

His girlfriend refuses, glaring at him with cinched brows and a begrudging grimace weighing down the ends of her pretty mouth.

Harry’s eyes go hooded in a deadpan expression, jesting. He pulls at her shirt again to try and convince her to kneel down next to him, but is yet again met by her body stiffening up to stand her ground.

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N.” He sighs in exasperation, wrapping the material of her maroon tee around his knuckles and giving one final yank, tapping into a bit of his unnatural strength to get the job done. “Come here.”

The sudden heightened force behind his action throws her off balance and Y/N ends up toppling right into his lap, falling bridal style over his crossed legs with a sound of infuriated shock.

“You’re so fucking annoying.” She grumbles, features maintaining a sour appearance as her arms lock harder around her chest.

Harry gently moves a few strands of hair out of her face, the locks having fallen victim to her rough landing. He tucks them behind her ear, thumbing over her temple tenderly as boyish giggles threaten to spill out of his mouth. He stifles them by biting into his lower lip, but he can’t stop the way his mouth jolts as they try to come loose.

Y/N stares at him intensely from beneath furrowed brows, daring him to laugh at her. “This isn’t funny, Harry. What if something happens?”

He clears his throat lowly, finally managing to get rid of the snickering threatening his relationship. He sighs dismissively through his nose, shaking his head in an after-thought. “We’ll be okay, I was just answering your question honestly. All magic comes with a risk, especially when it’s this advanced. But lucky for you, I’ve been doing this for a while now so the chances of me fucking up are pretty low.”

She presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek, raising an eyebrow with newfound doubt. “‘Pretty low?’ So not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“And that includes you getting us dragged to Hell.”

“You look real cute when you glower and pout, y’know that?”

Y/N shoves at his chest, slapping his hand away from her face. “Will you cut it out? I’m being serious.”

“So am I! Makes you look pretty in a rugged sort of way.” He leans forward, puckering his lips to try and get a kiss in.

His girlfriend smothers her hand across his face to push him away and he has to resist biting into her palm as retaliation. “If you get me plunged into that godforsaken realm, I swear to Dad I’ll—”

“Think of it this way,” Harry interrupts, swiftly snatching her wrists and giving her a quick shake to get her attention off the bloodthirsty rant. “If we end up down there, I can give you the grand tour. We can visit all my favorite places and I can show you where I made my blade! Seems like a neat date night idea, if you ask me.”

“You’re insufferable and I’m leaving. Call me when it’s done.”

Y/N goes to stand up, attempting to shimmy her way out of her boyfriend’s lap and get a decent footing. Harry, as always, has other plans. He pulls her upwards towards his face, flushing their foreheads together and rubbing the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. She blinks at him in a daze, all rage slowly melting right off her face as the amber specks in his eyes soothe away her fright.

“I promise on my soul— as damned as it may be— that I will not let anything bad happen to you. I swear.”

The emotion behind his oath works as intended, seen in how she releases a shaky exhale and gifts him a solemn nod. “Okay.”

“Alright.” He runs his nose across the crest of her cheek, dimples carving into place. “Now gimme a kiss.”

She rolls her eyes lightly, an endeared smile finally cracking the unease on her face. “Just one.”

“Just one?” Harry groans dramatically, throwing his head back in fake anguish and she can feel her ears spark with electricity at the way to his throat flexes against the collar of his shirt. “You’re killing me. A second time.”

Y/N laughs fully now, wriggling her hands free and shifting accordingly across his thighs until she’s sitting upright with her arms wrapped around his strong shoulders, her fingers toying with the baby curls along the nape of his neck. She speaks up with exaggerated authority. “Just one kiss, so you better make it good.”

Harry’s eyebrows jump up challengingly as his head cocks to the side, large hands coasting along her plush waist and onto her backside, roughly hoisting her closer to his body until she’s practically balancing on her knees around his hips. Y/N gropes at his t-shirt as a means to steady herself, breaths catching in her lungs as she feels one of his middle fingers trace up the curve of her spine, his entire hand then raking into the hair along the back of her head.

He jerks her head downwards until their mouths are barely touching, the skin of his lips brushing over her own, warm and unbearably silky. His tousled curls tickle along her hairline, the heat of his words puffing over her cupid’s bow. His voice is as soft and tempting as his mouth, paired with a dark undercurrent of dirty intentions. “I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

Y/N’s eyes flicker between the coy smirk painting his beautiful lips, the attractive smugness defining his cheekbones, and the suggestive glint dancing across the different shades of jade in his eyes. If she pays close enough attention, she can just make out the faint black veins starting to web underneath his waterline.

It’s rattling how even after being together for a decent amount of time, Harry always manages to knock the air out of her chest and the composure out of her mind. They’ve been here a dozen instances before, with him placing subtle caresses on her skin, whispering blatant innuendos into her ears, and playing every single one of her strings like he was made for the sole purpose of unraveling and putting her back together. He always leaves her speechless, breathless, and aching for more.

More of anything— of his attention, of his affection, of his hand at the dip of her back, of his lips pressed to the base of her throat, of his laughter chiming around her, and of his irises blinking back at her’s with all of his emotions leaking through. And at the moment, she’s practically squirming to feel the way he handles her when he’s desperate for her touch. To feel the way he groans hoarsely when she smudges her lips across the sensitive spot on his neck, and the way his breathing stutters when she drags her fingertips down his bare chest, and the way the muscles along his back flex and contract beneath her palms while she makes him feel like his soul is glowing.

All the pit of her stomach is throbbing to experience is the way his nose bumps at the slope of her jaw timidly when he exhales shakily across the curve of her neck, voice tight and needy while his hips crash between her thighs messily. “Want your mouth, baby. Want you to mark me up and remind me I’m all yours.”

She wants the feeling of his fists tearing at the sheets below her sweaty body as he tries to keep himself from spilling too soon, hellbent on stretching every millisecond into an eternity because the way she’s all snug around him, whining and bucking to his thrusts… It’s the only thing that could possibly rival heaven, or so he says whenever he’s murmuring sweet nothings into the shell of her ear.

She needs it— needs the sensation of him panting and gasping into the sweaty hair along the crown of her head as she digs her teeth into his shoulder, her hands fumbling to grip the fleshy bits of his waist as they rock into her at a sloppy, hard pace that is somehow controlled, giving her everything she craves while still making sure she’s comfortable and cared for. He’d flutter kisses across her forehead, rasping reassurance against her scalp between guttural moans and pleads. “You’re okay, yeah? Doing alright for me, princess? Wanna make sure I’m making you feel good— need to know I am. Need to know I’m making my girl feel so fucking good for me.”

Most importantly, she longs to see how his eyes ink completely black when he stumbles over the edge, a numb darkness swallowing up the bright emerald of his irises, framed by pleasure-furrowed brows and thick lashes. Longs to feel his front teeth catch on her stinging lips as he pours whimpery praises onto her tongue, his hard back shuddering beneath her palms as his shaky hands cup her jaw lovingly. Longs to clench around him and whisper encouragement against his mouth as he returns the favor, telling her how the noises that escape her mouth make him utterly drunk and how he would crawl across Hell all over again if it meant getting to spend even a minute between her legs.

Y/N can’t help the way her thoughts wander when Harry’s so close to her. He sets every single one of her cells on fire without having to lift a finger. She’d never had anyone make her feel the way he does— never looked at anyone the way she looks at him. He’d somehow won her over with his stupid inappropriate jokes, that stupidly handsome crooked grin, the stupidly gentle nature in which he touches her, and his stupid poetic way with words. He keeps her on her toes and makes her grateful to have given love a chance; she doesn’t think anyone else would have given her an epic story quite like theirs.

And now she sits here perched on his lap, as wordless and awestruck as ever, his arms snaked around her securely, one large warm hand gripping her ass as the other cards into her roots with a domineering air. A conceited look plucks at his sculpted brows and at one corner of his bitten lips, waiting for her to respond to his last comment. Harry’s suggestive remark echoes in her ears like a church bell, causing her thighs to unintentionally clench around his as her fingers twist harder into his expensive tee.

“I think you know by now just how good I can make it feel.”

A whimpery “I know.” is all Y/N manages to squeak out before Harry’s surging forward and knitting his mouth to her’s, the hunger behind the action causing heat to spill into her cheeks and across her neck.

Y/N fumbles to cup his sharp jaw with trembling hands, moaning shyly into his mouth at the way the pads of his digits dig into her scalp. His lips burn against hers, her body vaguely recalling that what they are doing is strictly forbidden, but they’ve been doing it for so long now that the sizzling is nothing but a dull sear. It’s easy to ignore, especially when Harry turns his head to the side to deepen the kiss, their cupid’s bows smearing and noses bumping, a weak little, “Fuck, I love you.” rasping out below his breath.

Her thoughts wade through the syrup pumping into her head, trying to find their way to her vocal chords but she can hardly focus when her boyfriend’s hand gives her ass a rough grope, large palm then sweeping up beneath her shirt to scratch up her back. A small delicate whine betrays her, skin boiling under his influence as his cold rings send sparks raging down her spine. Harry chuckles into their prolonged kiss, the sound vibrating deep in his chest and bleeding into her own, making her heartbeat hiccup.

His knowing purr streams right past the crack of her teeth, lodging in her throat and making it difficult to breathe. “You like the way my rings feel?”

Y/N nods her head bashfully, the pads of her fingers staining bruises along his jaw. She doesn’t mean to, but she can’t be expected to control her strength when there’s a pulsing in her abdomen demanding her full attention.

“What about when I do this?”

Harry pulls his hand out from below her clothes, much to her disapproval, and cups his digits into a loose fist, reaching upwards to run his gold rings across the arch of her cheekbone. Y/N easily gives into him, coaxing the side of her face against his hand. The image of his black- and red-lacquered nails goes blurry, the sensations he’s putting her through fogging her peace of mind.

He continues to lull his jeweled knuckles up and down her cheek (especially the ruby ring hugging his pinky, which is the same one that often hangs around her neck from a feminine silver chain), pressing soft pecks to the opposite end of her wobbling lips, his nose drawing meaningless figures along her other cheekbone. His voice comes out admirable and dreamy. “You look so pretty right now. Y’always do, but especially when you give into me like this. When you want me to baby you.”

Y/N blinks the frost out of her sight, drawing back to get a look at her boyfriend, swallowing audibly at the expression of fond affection softening Harry’s flawless traits. He looks younger, for some reason, with that wispy smile barely titling his lips and his eyes the color of pure seaglass, glossy with familiar warmth.

The angel inhales slowly, turning her face a bit to dust a kiss onto his palm. Her tone is airy yet solid, confident in her words. “I love you. I love you so much.”

Harry’s sudden sarcastic snort snaps her out of the lovey haze that had settled into the atmosphere. “Was starting to think you weren’t gonna say it back.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at his dig, diving her fingers into his dark auburn locks and giving a vengeful tug. “Shut up. Way to ruin the moment.”

His jaw drops into an open-mouthed smirk, his mood one of dramatic pained insult. “What did I do?! I was just expressing my concern for the fact that you left me hanging.”

“I didn’t leave you hanging.” She scoffs, using her hold on his curls to give his head another spiteful shake.

“Yes, you did.” Harry crinkles his face ironically, scrunching his nose and blinking a bunch of times for snarky emphasis. “I was getting nervous. Thought you were gonna pull the good old, ‘I love spending time with you’ on me. Would’ve had to chug a liter of holy water to avoid the embarrassment.”

“Moron.” Y/N deadpans, but the giggle hanging from the end of her sentence muffles the insult.

“Guess that makes you a moron, too. By association.”

“Is that so? And what’s the logic behind that?”

“The logic,” Harry shifts her in his lap, the hand in her hair falling away to find a place snuggled at the dip of her spine, the thumb of his free hand tapping at the center of her bottom lip playfully, “is that you regularly let this moron fuck you into a begging mess.”

Y/N ignores the spark that goes off between her thighs.

“Very funny.”

“I’m only telling the truth, aren’t I?” He holds up his fingers, counting off each statement with a cocky shrug of his brows accompanying each motion. “You let this moron stretch you out over the bed, and you let him bend you over the kitchen counter, and you let him fuck you in the shower while he pushes you face-first into the wall, and you jerk him off in the mornings when you wake up all needy, and you sit on his face every other—”

“Okay, okay!” Y/N buries her face into his chamomile-scented hair, trying to hide the pastel blue glow she can feel sheening across her irises. “Enough.”

“And—”

“Harry.” The angel grits out warningly against his scalp.

He snickers at how he’s managed to bend her all out of sorts, the hand nursing her chin streaming downwards to play with the ends of her hair. “Alright, alright. I’m done.”

She sighs sharply in relief. “Thank you.”

A few seconds drag by, and then he breaks the silence.

“Wait! Can’t forget the way you willingly get on your knees and suck on his—”

Y/N claps one of her palms over his mouth, glaring at him pointedly. “Be quiet.”

Harry blinks in mild surprise, going cross-eyed to look at the make-shift gag covering the lower half of his face. He glances back up, eyes half-lidded in mischief, cheeks jolting with an evil grin she can feel beneath her skin.

A much less pleasant feeling suddenly washes across said skin: his warm, damp tongue.

“Ew!” Her shriek could probably be heard all the way in heaven. “Harry, that’s gross!”

He launches into a round of bubbly, childish giggles, eyes winking shut from how hard he’s laughing. The fact that Y/N is frantically rubbing her palm over his clothed chest to dry it only adds to the comedy. “Should’ve thought of that beforehand, then. And that’s hilarious considering you don’t seem to mind when I put my tongue somewhere else.”

This time around, she doesn’t have enough control to hide the celestial flush that invades her irises. It shines through at full blast, casting a watery white light across Harry’s face and despite her best efforts to wield it away, it dies down aggravatingly slow.

The demon purses his lips arrogantly, circling a strand of her hair around his index finger and giving it a lighthearted tug. “There’s that cute little blush I fancy so much.”

Y/N breaks their gaze, blinking away the last remnants of neon blue and muttering under her breath. “I think I will leave, actually. You can do this yourself.”

“Oh, c’mon, darling.” Harry locks both of his strong arms around her hips, preventing her from moving even an inch. “Was just teasing, yeah?”

She knows it’s all harmless, but she enjoys working her temper to her advantage. She’s learned quite a few tricks from her time dating a demon and she’s not ashamed of putting them to good use, one of them being that throwing a fit earns her more babying rights.

“You’re gonna have to make it up to me.” She reasons, running her touch along the delicate gold chain around his neck.

Harry chews along the inside of his lower lip, lashes fluttering at the current of electricity passing from her fingertips onto his collarbones. He ducks his head a smidge lower, trying to catch her attention. “Yeah? Any ideas?”

Y/N strokes over the inverted cross at the base of his necklace, smiling to herself as she dwells on the significance of the piece. He’d had it for a while as a backhanded joke, but had told her it’d taken on a deeper meaning once they had started going steady. Told her he kept it around so that he could always have a little piece of her with him.

“I don’t know,” she finally pipes up, shrugging her brows sarcastically. “You did the crime, shouldn’t you be the one to come up with a way to pay penance?”

Harry hooks his index and middle finger between her own and the charm hanging from his neck, turning her palm over and bringing her knuckles up to his lips. He maintains eye contact as he rubs them across the back of her hand, irises twinkling. “I’ve got something in mind.”

It’s almost sad how easily he can pull her back under. How he has her at the palm of his hand all over again by simply pressing a kiss to the right spot. She adores the banter they share and how his wit matches hers. How he inches her out of the comfort zone she’d inhabited for over three thousand years and shows her what it’s like to unwind and let down her walls. He makes her life exciting by guiding her through this new unknown territory and by making sure she’s happy and fulfilled at every step; she wouldn’t trade it for the world— the fact that she’s willing to lie to God himself in order to protect her relationship proves that.

All in all, her wandering thoughts are a long-winded explanation as how he so effortlessly manages to get her back into a compromisable position with his tongue down her throat and her hands tangled in his velvet curls.

Harry licks across her top lip, eager to taste as much of her as he can get. One of his hands holds her face firmly as the other coils the fabric of her dark red tee in his grasp, trying to keep himself in check. She drives him fucking mad, that much is obvious, and it takes every fiber of his being to withhold from tearing her clothes off and using his tongue to make her scream. Y/N herself is fantasizing about a similar situation, eyes shut in bliss as he trails down her chin and along the underside of her jaw, suckling bruises into the sensitive flesh of her throat as his whiny sounds of pleasure melt into her bones.

Her head lists forward drunkenly, eyes just barely cracking open and getting a perfect view of his thick thighs in those dark orange patterned trousers. She gawks at his lap without remorse, irises threatening to roll back into her head when Harry bites into the skin beneath her left ear, warm breath frying her nerves. She wills herself to keep conscious, her view blearing as the area between his legs begins to tent the material of his high-waisted designer pants, an evident bulge straining the miniature checkered print.

A small, feathery laugh escapes her swollen lips as she pins her attention upwards onto the staircase across the living room. She’d glue it to Harry if she could, but he’s just out of range, too busy using his lips to tend the racing pulse slamming against her jugular. The words feel heavy and clumsy in her mouth. “Y-You’re hard.”

“Is that a joke?” He pants into her scalding skin, voice on edge. “Of course I’m hard. How could I not be, with such a pretty thing like you whimpering in my ear and wriggling around in my lap?”

His compliment makes her whimper even louder than before, which he responds to by marking another love bite just under the collar of her shirt. “God, you make the hottest little noises. Could listen to them forever.”

Y/N gnaws on the inside of her cheek, preening at the stroke to her ego. She can see why he loves it so much when it’s vis versa. “More.”

“Pardon?”

“Wanna hear more.” She insists, swiveling her hips against the swelling below her crotch. “Please?”

Harry’s clouded gaze flickers between her needy expression and the way she’s riding against him, heat flooding his face. “S’that what you want, then? To hear everything I’m thinking about you right now?”

Y/N bobs her head in a messy, desperate nod.

“Well,” her boyfriend talks between the sloppy pecks he’s wetting across her throat, grinning into them cheekily, “I’m thinking about how amazing you feel rutting against me through my clothes. About how fucking dirty you’re being, letting me mark all over your neck because you want to feel the way it stings afterwards.”

Her fist crumples his shirt harder.

“I’m thinking about how wet you are underneath those leggings. How you probably want me to move your panties to the side and lick into you until you’re shaking and dripping. How I’d ease my fingers inside that tight cunt and play with that sensitive spot at the pit of your tummy. The one that always makes you bite into the pillow and thrust against me.”

Y/N carves the digits of her other hand into the back of his skull, feeling him coast his lips across the subtle dip of her collarbones. Her voice barely passes as a whisper. “Y-You’re so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He runs his top teeth over her clavicle teasingly.

“Yeah— yes. Yes, yes, yes.”

“I’m only this good to you, y’know that? You’re the only one who gets all my attention. The only one who gets to feel my lips against your skin, my fingers between your thighs, my tongue against your clit, and my teeth biting along your chest.”

“Shit, Harry, I...” She struggles, not trusting herself to form coherent sentences.

Harry pauses for an instance, hot breath pooling along the junction at the base of her neck. He gulps heavily, licking his raw lips once before speaking the dirtiest thought running around his mind.

“I want to stretch you out so fucking bad right now, pet. Wanna pound into you until your thighs go sore.”

Y/N stays quiet, but the way the air falters past her nostrils tells him she’s hanging on to every accented syllable.

“Want to lay you out on top of that tapestry and make you feel like you’re back in heaven. Want to have you whining and gasping under me.”

She nearly collapses in his arms. It takes a few seconds to process his confession, feeling him shift around and realizing he’s moving the metal ritual bowl— which had been forgotten until now— away from the pentagram layout. His intentions become clear once he hoists her further up his lap, wrapping an arm around her lower back for support and extending the other along the ground before them. He’s adjusting in order to get her onto her back.

“We—”

A low, throaty moan of, “Christ, you’re gonna make me ruin these pants.” interrupts her as she repositions herself against his groin. Y/N nearly calls a ceasefire on what she was about to say.

She gathers her bearings and tries again.

“We have to stop.”

Harry halts all his actions, gradually pulling away from her tender neck, face and nose flushed a bright cherry red as his eyebrows cinch in disappointed confusion. He gulps down air as if it were about to run out, lean chest heaving and her belly flops at the way his pectoral muscles stretch the cloth of his crimson shirt. He drops his hands away from her body, sitting back on his palms in surrender.

“Do you not…?” His voice comes out raw and hurt, as if he’s scared he had broken a boundary. “Do you not want to? Is it too much? I don’t want you to feel forced—”

“No, no! God, no.” Y/N rattles her head wildly, surging forward and cupping his face gently, pressing a comforting kiss to the tip of his colored nose. She wants to, she really fucking wants to. In fact, how often she wants to is an embarrassing detail she’d never admit aloud. “I just feel that at this rate, if we keep going, you’ll never actually get to do the summoning ritual.”

Harry contemplates her for an elongated heartbeat, then speaks carefully. “Is that the only reason you’re saying no? You’re worried about my dogs?”

She shrugs one shoulder emptily, looking slightly ansty.

He takes on a jesting demeanor to lighten the mood. “‘Cause if so, I promise you they’re fine waiting a bit Ionger. It’s nice and toasty down there— proper holiday.”

Y/N snorts lightly, which he deems a win.

“Now is that really the only reason?” He prods her nose with his own. “You know I can tell when you’re lying to me. You’re pretty shit at it, love. Don’t know how you get away with it back home.”

She picks at her thumbnail— an anxious habit he knows all too well. Her eyes glass over in the manner they do when she’s ambling too deep in her head. “Well…”

Her minimal sentence trails off ominously. Harry gives a two-toned whistle to reign her back, mouth twitching with endearment when she blinks at him, startled as if she’d forgotten he was there.

Y/N’s attitude is one of timid guilt. “Isn’t that tapestry a sacred antique? Wouldn’t it be wrong to…y’know...?”

Harry belts out a disbelieving laugh. “Since when do you care about defiling satanic artifacts? Thought you’d be all for it.”

She scowls. “Won’t Lucifer find out?”

Her boyfriend rolls his eyes haphazardly, waving a hand weakly for emphasis before using it to push his disheveled curls away from his forehead. “I highly doubt it.”

“I feel like he has a way of knowing everything, H.”

“He does, most times. But,” he holds up his pinky symbolically, wiggling it around with a shit-eating grin curving his cupid’s bow, sing-songing. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

She ogles at his incredibly plump lips with greed, her mouth watering without permission as she recalls how they were wheedling sins out of her only a couple minutes prior. Her face does a dire job of hiding her true feelings and Harry’s eyes glint triumphantly in recognition.

“You stubborn little minx….You want to do it.” He marvels aloud, poking fun. “You’re just saying no to try and save your conscience.”

Y/N doesn’t respond, but doesn’t deny it either.

“S’just a quickie, sweetheart,” he moves a smidge and his elegant masculine cologne wafts from his neck, swaying her. “And by the looks of it, you’re already set on a decision.”

Y/N finally breaks her silence, gradually peeling herself away from his lips up to his coy gaze. “You’re a terrible influence.”

And there it is— a green light.

Harry pouts, though it’s jokingly condescending and bears no true regret. “A horrible one.”

He throws his weight forward with her in tow, causing her legs to instinctively clasp fully around his hips to avoid falling out of his lap. She clings to his shoulders for security, grasp tightening at the turbulence that comes when one of his palms hits the ground below, the other tied around her lower spine. She eyes the way his gold necklace drapes off his upper chest, the cross dangling over her face and she can’t help but find the irony in it.

The angel gnaws into her lower lip to muffle a grin. “Absolutely awful.”

Harry begins crawling forward, holding her to his chest as he glimpses up momentarily at his target— the center of the pentagram. “Utterly loathsome.”

“Incredibly atrocious.”

He’s nearly there, excitement starting to toil the pit of his stomach as all of the possibilities of what he could do to her shuffle before his eyes. “Properly despicable.”

“Entirely vile.”

Harry murmurs a minor spell under his breath, the large chunk of apatite rolling a couple feet out of the way. With a gentle hand, he sets Y/N down in the middle of the giant satanic star, admiring the way the golden glint of the aged paint compliments her skin tone so beautifully. He tethers his forearms on either sides of her head for balance as he settles his lower body between her legs, face hovering right above her own, eyes briefly flitting black in amusement at their little game. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were about to break up with me.”

Y/N sputters into a laugh, fingers tracing the collar of his suddenly restricting shirt, toying with his chain. His breathing catches in his throat, Adam’s Apple bobbing thickly as he waits for her to make the first move, wanting to ensure she’s fully committed.

She dances her shiny irises over the peaks of his parted lips and the high points of his cheekbones, absorbing every characteristic of his handsome aspect. The little moles at the right corner of his mouth and the way his nose curves faintly along it’s bridge. The arch of his eyebrows and the length of his lashes. The different shades of green swimming around his pupils and the dusting of pink blossoming along the base of his throat. The slope of his jawline and the way his dark ringlets curl around his small ears and frame his chiseled face. She takes it all in and locks every detail away in her heart for safe-keeping, knowing she’ll reflect on them during a time when she doesn’t have him near.

Y/N loops his necklace around her index finger, giving it a few playful yanks, voice quiet yet confident. “Iustus clausum et irrumabo me.”

Just shut up and fuck me.

She then slowly pulls down and Harry follows, dimples carving awake the instant their itching lips touch, his words sugar and spice against her flesh. “Quod suus mea puella stupri.”

That’s my fucking girl.

Harry loves it when Y/N bosses him around, especially if it’s in Latin. The language is an everyday commodity in his world, considering satanic magic has its basis constructed around Latin roots, but the dialect is a very private, very sanctified part of angelic culture. According to what Y/N has told him, it's only ever really used during important meetings and religious ceremonies. It’s highly respected, therefore highly contained, and the fact that Y/N is so readily sharing it with him hits a special place in his twisted soul. The fact that it is something so secluded, yet she loves and trusts him enough to speak it in his presence, let alone use it in their intimate life...

The pleasure it brings him is indescribable. Her filthy words radiate deep in his chest and trickle down into the bottom of his tummy, the fire in his abdomen rising a few notches in intensity. The weight against his inner thighs grows heavier, the dull ache upping itself into a sharp throb. He needs this now.

One of his hands leaves its post besides his girlfriend’s head, reaching down to fumble with the belt around his high-waisted trousers, struggling to get it loose. His brows scrunch down angrily, a desperate little grunt vibrating into their heated kiss as he wrestles with the issue. Y/N’s amused smile spreads along his lips, her hands dragging from around his strained neck down to his rapidly rising chest, hooking around his own and giving a squeeze. The way her eyes glimmer up at him makes his spine shiver, her whisper soft and sultry. “I’ve got it.”

Harry returns his arm to its previous position, tilting his sight downwards to get a view of what she’s doing, his chin pressing into the dip between his defined collarbones.

It shouldn’t be so erotic, but it is. He watches in a numb stupor as Y/N undoes the buckle around his slender waist, delicate fingers easily drawing out the loop. She tampers with the button of his pants, unclasping it in one swift move and the relief that floods between his clammy thighs is almost shameful.

The demon slowly raises his attention back to her face, only to find that Y/N had been carefully studying his during the entire ordeal. She has her bottom lip tugged between her teeth and a white iridescent glint washing over her irises, curious excitement evident in her features. The hand perched at the waistband of his copper-tinted bottoms begins to crawl lower, wandering further down until it covers the obvious bump in his black Calvin Klein briefs.

The oxygen in Harry’s lungs chars, his breathing stilled by the suspense. The discipline it takes to wait for her to continue is insane.

Y/N's left eyebrow jumps upwards ever so slightly in a smug question, his only response being the veins along his neck becoming prominent. She gradually begins to palm him through his underwear, moaning softly at how heavy he feels in her hand.

His entire nervous system breaks into blissful flames, strong back flexing as his fingers tighten into fists against the cloth beneath their bodies. “Fucking hell.”

Her hand rocks harder against his cock, giving a particularly deep grope while somehow maintaining her shy pace. A hiss streams through his gritted teeth, the beginnings of a whimper following suit. Y/N feels as if electricity were coursing through her limbs, the power she has over him fluffing her esteem. He just looks so hot right now, slightly damp curls falling across his striking jawline and decorating his heavy lashes, an alluring shade of raspberry spilling into his cheeks as his swollen lips quiver. She could stare at him for hours— keep him on edge like this just to see him slowly split at the seams, begging for more.

Her voice comes out awed and airy. “You look so pretty, Har.”

His cheeks dye brighter, tongue wetting his dry lips. “You like seeing me come undone for you?”

Y/N hums quietly in agreement, wrapping her grasp around the back of his neck, pulling him dangerously close until their mouths are barely a centimeter apart. “And I like feeling you get hard in my hand.”

His hips give a rough buck in reply, head falling into her throat, eyes screwing shut as colors pop across his vision. He starts to thrust against her palm, weaning out as much pleasure as he can from what she’s offering. His whine is warm and sticky against her sleek skin. “I love it when you touch me like this, baby. Love showing how worked up you get me.”

Y/N speeds up just a hair, matching his movements and swimming in the bundle of broken sounds that resonate from in his chest. Her breathing stutters as he pastes sloppy kisses along the pulse thundering in her throat, her thoughts slipping reality at the sensation of precum wetting the length of her fingers. The nails of her free hand rake underneath the cotton of his shirt, carving along the back of his shoulder and along his upper spine, leaving vicious marks that she knows will be gone in a matter of hours.

Y/N jolts when she feels the warmth of his digits coasting just beneath the hem of her tee, the pads brushing her love handles and thumbing at the dimples along her waist. She doesn’t want it to stop and Harry doesn’t intend to, the chill of his chunky rings running up the expanse of her torso, bringing fabric along with it. He pushes the material over her floral baby blue lace bra, folding it over onto her upper chest, humming appreciatively at how gorgeous she looks in the see-through piece. The tiny flowers are a perfect decoration for what lies below.

Harry’s messy pecks drift down to the swell of her breasts as he shifts his mass onto one forearm, his graze streaming up along the crest of her belly button, the center valley of her cleavage, and beneath one of the lingerie straps. He fiddles it between his thumb and forefinger, looking up at her with lust dilating the amber droplets around his pupils, teeth gently bearing down onto her skin and staining it dark purple.

The grip below his belt hardens as a result, the whites of his eyes spilling black, accompanied by a provocative grin flickering the corners of his mouth. He tugs the strap of her bra lower just until her chest is fully bare, his mouth descending the same route as the cloth. He softly nestles at her pebbled nipple with the tip of his nose, circling it with a sprinkling of kisses, the silver hoop at the right corner of his mouth catching on the bud.

Y/N wriths under the teasing, mewling a wispy, “Please, Harry...please.” into the tense ambience surrounding them. Her head falls back against the ground and she is so lost in the moment, she doesn’t realize the tapestry has started to burn against her. The object seems to be rejecting her touch, well aware of what she is and that she shouldn’t be anywhere near its proximity, yet she chooses to ignore it. It isn’t anything major— just a light prickling— and it only feeds the appeal of what they’re doing.

Her boyfriend’s deep, garbled voice ropes her. “Look at me.”

“Hm?”

“Look at me, darling. Wanna show you something.”

Y/N obliges, using the small amount of self-control she has left.

There is barely any light in the room given that rituals normally take place in dim settings, the only source being the faded rays spilling in from the kitchen. Harry’s murky gaze shines under that scarce amount, and it’s enough for her to see the black veins mazing their way down from his eyes and across his cheekbones. The first time she had ever seen his transformation, it had scared the living grace out of her. But now, it was one of those traits she had become accustomed to and had even grown fond of. It was odd, and she knows that, but it made him more attractive in a nature she can’t quite explain.

Once Harry sees he has her undivided attention, he murmurs a vaguely familiar spell against the skin of her breast. “Incendia.”

A spontaneous gleam fills the room, the candles placed around the corners of the tapestry igniting to life. The warmth of the flames wash their bodies, melting over Harry’s tanned figure and bouncing shadows across the walls of the room. He looks incredible in this lighting, his skin seeming to glow under the buttery orange hues as the tattoos on his arms stand out more evidently than usual, matte and dark against the backdrop of his smooth, lean arms. The faint stubble along his jaw shines faintly, ringlets and lashes undergoing the same fate, looking silky with a gorgeous sheen. Every detail is highlighted and she can’t seem to tear herself away.

As his large silhouette casts over Y/N while she stares up at him with admiration, he is doing the same exact thing— basking in her beauty within this unique moment. However, Harry manages to take it a bit further.

“Can you see yourself?” He whispers, breath fanning over her pert chest, making the knobs of her spine jolt.

“What do you mean?”

“Can you see?” Harry implores.

Y/N begins to ask once again what he’s getting at, but then it dawns on her. Her reflection braces the darkness washing his gaze black and she understands what he means. She can see herself in his eyes— quite literally.

“Y-Yeah, I can. Why?”

Harry licks his lips almost nervously, reaching his free hand up and running a knuckle across her twitching cheek. “Want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

Y/N’s heart softens into a lovesick puddle, his sweet words pouring heat into her ears. What he’s doing is meaningful to her— taking something she had been shaped to despise and showing her how it can be used for good.

She cups his jaw with her unbusy hand, rubbing her thumb over his lower lip and releasing a timid giggle. “Only you would get all sappy while I have my hand down your pants in the middle of a satanic ritual mat.”

Harry breaks into a dorky grin, snorting softly as the ink recedes from his irises. “Wowww. What was that you said earlier? Oh, yeah! Way to ruin the moment.”

Y/N crinkles her nose with fake disgust, pretending to gag. “It was gross, anyways. Very chick-flick cliche on your part.”

“Heyyyyy!” Harry bites into her thumb, causing her to yelp out and retract. “You’re pretty fucking ungrateful for an angel, y’know that?”

“Was I wrong, though?”

“I’m never being romantic with you ever again.”

“Oh, don’t mope. What was that you said? Oh, yeah!” Y/N mimics his voice, dropping in pitch and crossing her eyes into a silly expression, exaggerating a British accent. “Was just teasing, yeah?”

“Look who’s annoying now.”

She beams at him snidely. “Love you!”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry grumbles, slapping his hand down against the floor to once again use it as support. “Whatever.”

He returns his focus to the naked side of Y/N’s chest, sticking his tongue out completely and giving the sensitive bud a gradual lap. That one action is enough to silence her permanently. That is, until he takes her nipple fully into his mouth and starts flicking at it eagerly. Then she can’t keep her mouth shut.

“Oh—Oh my God.” Her back arches up sharply, the hand she has below his waist forgetting its purpose, instead jetting upwards to join its companion within the damp roots of his hair. “That feels— oh!”

Harry smirks around his occupied tongue, putting more force behind his suckling, hollowing out his cheeks and purring in self-assured content when Y/N’s head falls back onto the tapestry. His other arm shifts closer to her body, hand blindly searching for the leftover bra strap, grabbing at it and yanking down wildly. He switches sides, settling for using his thumb to toy at the wet, bruised nipple as he paints a matching hickey on its partner, the ruby stud imbedded in his tongue cold and rough to the touch.

Y/N knots his hair into the cracks of her shaky fingers, holding his head in place as her shattered whines ring across the air. “That feels so good, H, I— you’re just— fuck.”

Harry pulls back with a damp pop, licking at his stinging lips as he surveys his work with a certain slyness quirking his mouth, absentmindedly already tampering with her leggings. His voice has dropped a few octaves, coming out thick and scratchy. “They look so pretty like that.”

Y/N has trouble swallowing, glancing down at her hastily unclothed breasts, delicate bra reduced to a crumpled mess beneath them. There are teeth prints scattered over the supple area, the raw nubs aching from the air-conditioning draft. She doesn’t disagree; there’s something so satisfying of seeing where he marked her. Her thoughts come out half-conscious and dazed, slightly teasing. “Thanks for not ripping this bra open like the others. I really like the color. And it was fifty dollars.”

“I know.” Her boyfriend huffs, hauling himself onto his knees and jerking the cotton tights down her legs in the process, casually tossing them over his shoulder. “I was the one that bought it.”

Harry bends forward and starts coasting his lips down the center of her upper tummy, leaving a wet trail of pecks in his wake and blowing a raspberry onto her belly button, which she responds to by almost kicking him in the groin. She claims it’s an accident but he can see her mouth trying not to twist into a smile.

Y/N’s hips lift a bit once he arrives at her lower abdomen, anticipating him in a much needier spot. He rests his stomach onto the ground for a more formidable position, swiftly separating her clasped thighs with his palms, peering up at her suggestively through his lashes.

In the back of her mind, she fantasizes about taking a picture to commemorate this specific shot, but she knows it’s a risk having it on her phone. Her friends have a knack for stealing it as a prank and the last thing she needs is them finding a photo of her with her legs spread open across a pentagram rug, a heavily tattooed demon laying between them and grinning up at the camera. She’d willingly kick herself out of heaven if that happened.

Instead, she just indulges a quivering exhale, watching as Harry takes turns gluing open-mouthed kisses along the slope of both her inner thighs, dragging the band hooked into his bottom lip along the plush area. His tongue peeks out to savor the velvety skin, a wispy mumble feathering across his lips. “So soft.”

He slowly treds closer and closer to her panties and she tries her best to keep still to avoid any mishaps. She wants to be able to see everything he’s doing— watching him work her over gives just as much bliss as the actual actions. Harry reaches her crotch, playfully running his nose across the elastic band of her undies, pressing his lips lazily right over her clothed clit. She bites into the inside of her cheek to stifle a whimper, eyeing him with enough lust to damn multiple souls.

He gently hoists one of her legs over his shoulder, socked heel thudding against the sturdy muscle, toes curling. He loops his arm around her outer thigh, splaying his fingers across her lower stomach while wriggling his thumb below the center of the matching lace set.

Harry pins it to the side, away from his area of interest, his confidence drinking up the way she’s already dripping. “If I’d known you were already this wet, I would’ve skipped the foreplay.”

Y/N shakes her head half-heartedly, too engrossed in how his warm breath feels across the pooling in her center. “I like foreplay.”

Harry sticks the flat of his tongue onto her exposed clit, giving one leisurely lick. “Obviously.”

The fingers in his curls— which had hung on loosely for the trek downwards— suddenly tighten so hard he sees stars blot his vision. Y/N doesn’t make a sound, but her ragged breathing speaks volumes.

Harry kisses along the lips on either sides, dimples winking awake at how her body gives tiny jolts. “Someone’s sensitive, huh?”

Y/N’s heel digs deeper into his back, his scalp prickling under her strength. “Need more.”

“More what, dove?” He knows exactly what she’s pleading for, but he wants to hear her confess it.

“Need—” A cracked mewl interrupts her sentence, a direct reaction to Harry blowing over her cunt softly, edging her on purpose.

“Use your words.” He mocks, continuing his torture.

Y/N manages to squeeze out what he’s bargaining, amidst holding in a scream. “Need more of your mouth— of your tongue.”

Harry halts himself, raising an eyebrow and blinking up at her with fake innocence. “What, this mouth?”

He runs his cupid’s bow messily across the thick of her clit, getting her excitement all over the lower half of his face. The stimulation it brings has Y/N squirming against him, nodding her head frantically.

He stops what he’s doing, tutting. “What did I say about using your—?”

“Yes!” Y/N growls in frustration, belly clenching. “That mouth, yes.”

A conceited hum runs along the back of his throat. “And what tongue? This one?”

He begins to give her small kitten licks, the red jewel on his tongue heightening the experience as his head bobs lightly between her thighs. He flicks his piercing against her clit with concentrated strokes, smirking when he feels a sudden warmth flush his face, letting him know he’s doing a more than adequate job.

The view above him unarguably belongs in a museum.

Y/N just looks so gorgeous with her unsteady legs opened wide for him to have his way, her chest spilling out of her clothes as her back caves off the floor, heaving under his influence. Her mouth is shamelessly agape, the noises she’s making sounding nothing short of a melody to his ears. Her hands fidget around his hair, one ending up perched at the crown of his head with the palm pressed between his brows, the other knitted along the spiral where his curls stem. She’s cemented him into place, her hips bucking upwards against his face, riding against his skilled tongue in a manner that makes his cock ache in his trousers.

Unintentionally and unbeknownst to him, he starts grinding against the ground, trying to calm the raging along the underside of his balls. He needs some type of relief— as minimal as it may be— or else he’s going to make a complete mess without even being between her legs. He has to pace himself.

“Who’s tongue is it, hm?” He’s muffled by a full mouth, but that’s never stopped him before and certainly won’t stop him now. “Who’s the one that gets you this fucking desperate?”

“You, Harry, you.” The angel is nearly sobbing, water blearing her vision as pleasure fogs her mind. “Y-You’re the only one that can make me feel like this.”

“Yeah?” His eyes flicker between black and their usual emerald hue, his rhythm quickening as spasms begin to wring down her body, his piercing prodding her sensitive clit with more excitement. “Just me? Nobody else ever could, right?”

“No one. Ever.”

“Damn straight.” Harry buries his face deeper between her legs, eyes rolling into the back of his head at the feeble moan that streams from a few feet above. “Nobody knows my girl the way I do. Shit, you’re so fucking sweet. Your mouth, your skin, between your thighs— everywhere.”

She’s getting close— he’s done this enough times to spot the tell-tale signs. The way her grip strains, how she snaps her jaw shut in order to chew into her cheek, the way her tummy jumps, and how she’s forfeited the ability to even try to speak words. He wants to make her cum like this so fucking bad— wants to feel her spill across his tongue so he can lick up every drop until she goes limp— but he wants to feel her unravel while he’s balls-deep even more. Wants to fill her up and taste his name in one of those pretty whines she’s so keen on making.

Harry draws back, lips and eyes glistening in the candlelight, teeth buzzing and cheeks hot. “Not yet.”

Y/N’s pent up body slowly ebbs onto the tapestry, the orgasm he’d been kindling flowing its way out of her system. She’s not upset in any way, she just feels empty and needier than before. But she knows it’ll be worth it— it always is.

“Not yet, I know…” She recites back, fingers ruffling his locks lightly, throat barren as she fights moisture down its path. A bit of praise escapes her as an afterthought, quiet and revelling. “You’re amazing.”

“So are you.” Harry returns without missing a beat, carefully propping himself up onto his elbows, wiping his mouth down with the side of his hand. His tone is groggy and distant, yet assured. “And you taste so fucking incredible. Like candy and champagne.”

Y/N rests her head against one of the golden lines that form the pentagram, eyes lulling closed as she tries to get her spastic breathing under reign. The cloth below her shifts as a result of sudden movements, the origin being Harry gently setting her leg down from his shoulder. He slowly crawls his way on top of her, palms flat besides the curves of her sweaty neck.

He levels their faces, head listing a smidge to the side as he admires the expression of sheer rapture still present on her features. He leans down and buttons their lips, the kiss chaste compared to the ones prior. He anchors onto his forearms like he had initially, moving strands of hair away from her cheeks as her weak fists find comfort against his chest.

“Need a minute?” His comment doesn’t carry his usual vanity, but is rather concerned and understanding. He wants to make sure she’s alright.

“I’m fine.” She swallows, eyelids blinking open, the intensity present behind them striking him by surprise. “What I need is for you to work me over until I can barely stand.”

Harry’s cock twitches, the wet patch in his briefs growing. He poses his forehead to hers, gnawing on his bottom lip. “Bold words for such a delicate little thing.”

“I’m not delicate.” Y/N’s irises give a faint angelic glow, waringingly playful.

He sighs thoughtfully through his nose, a simper stringing his pursed mouth. “You’re right. You just look like it. Makes me forget how much of slut you can be.”

His girlfriend’s eyes burn brighter and he knows he’s hit a nerve. Out of all the kinks he could have ever imagine an angel would possess, degradation would have never crossed his mind.

Harry’s grin widens. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

Y/N doesn’t even flinch.

He begins to push his pants down his thighs, bringing his underwear down with it. He doesn’t rid them all the way, but just enough to fish himself out. There’s a delicious type of desperateness to fucking half-clothed; it paints the image of two people so gone for each other that they do the bare minimum when it comes to preparations, all in order to feel one another as quickly as possible. And, fuck, does he need her so bad right now. The last thing on his mind is handling his trousers.

Y/N looks down at what he’s doing over the crests of her cheeks, biting back a groan when she sees him entirely bare. Though Harry’s cock is the only one she’s ever had, she knows for a fact it’s above average not only in size, but in looks. It’s just pretty, she can’t really explain it; he takes care of himself so well, says he wants to keep presentable for her.

There’s something extremely attractive about a man tailoring to his girlfriend’s desires. The hair around the area always remains neatly trimmed and he keeps his happy trail thicker— it’s one of her preferences, he’s learned. He makes sure to regularly keep up to par because there’s nothing that quite inflates his pride like watching her ease down his pants and lick her lips with a hungry hint in her eyes as soon as she sees him fully naked.

He spots that same starved quality glint around her pupils now as he cups his prick, giving himself a few rough tugs for good measure, squeezing the head until precum bubbles out. He can feel her forehead crease against his, her impatience obvious.

“You like this, too?” He murmurs against her parted mouth, taking her bottom lip between his teeth. “Like watching me touch myself for you?”

She glances up at him through her heavy lashes, giving the slightest nod. It’s cute how shy she can be despite the situation.

“That’s pretty filthy, Y/N.” He gives a harder stroke, eye contact stagnant even as he chokes out a broken gasp. “Makes you my proper little...”

He trails off on purpose, dangling the possibility over her head.

She speaks up, somehow timid and adamant all at once. “Say it.”

“Say what?” The demon taunts, working his palm down to the base of his cock and giving another squeeze, to which she winces lightly. It seems to be impacting her more than him.

“Say I’m your...” Y/N’s hands curl tighter in anticipation against his pectorals.

“What are you, darling? Why don’t you spell it out for me? You know how simple-minded demons can be.”

“Harry— just please.” The way her voice breaks feeds his mildly sadistic tendencies.

“‘I’m your little…’” The forefinger of his free hand traces the word over her cheek letter by letter. “Go on.”

His girlfriend sniffles, gathering herself. “I’m...I’m your little whore.”

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Harry grasps her jaw lightly, planting a kiss at the right corner of her mouth. “Say it again. Who’s?”

“Yours.”

The hand that had been playing with himself comes up before her face, fingers coated with precum. Her first instinct is to reach forward and lick them clean, craving his taste.

Harry jerks back, scolding her. “Mm-mm. You want it in your mouth, you’re gonna have to say it all.”

Y/N hesitates. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, but it’s always been difficult given her background. “I said it, I said I’m yours.”

He rests his wet digits against the center of her lips as an incentive, warning her not to take a taste. “Who’s?”

A familiar sparkle casts across his eyes and she knows exactly what he wants to hear.

“Daddy’s. I’m daddy’s little whore.”

Harry’s shoulders shiver at the way the statement sounds coming from her mouth— so dirty, but in such an innocent tone. “There it is. Go ahead.”

Y/N eagerly sucks every last trace of him off his digits, licking her lips with finality. He always tastes so fucking good— salty but somehow sweet.

Her eyes are glossier than he’s ever seen them, staring at him hazily. After a minute of contemplating, she makes a demand in a voice steady as can be.

“I want you to fuck me hard.”

Harry starts to arrange himself into place, balancing forward on his knees and throwing both of her legs around his hips. He spits into his palm— which shouldn’t be hot, but it is— and reaches down to prep himself, aura as cocky as ever, which somehow manages to cover up the tremor in his voice. “Is that so?”

Y/N can feel the tip of his prick sliding between her folds, nudging at the hood of her clit and bumping along the rim of her entrance. She snaps at him, knowing that this is exactly what he was aiming towards— for her to be dominant, as short-lived as it may be. “Stop being such a tease and make me cum.”

Her boyfriend chuckles onto her tongue, grabbing at her wrists and nailing them to either sides of her head. “You’re so hot when you’re assertive.”

She bites his lower lip in a flare of confidence, huffing shakily when she feels him start fitting his cock into her slowly, leaning forward inside her at a patient stride. “Finish what you promised me earlier.”

She’s referring to when he had spoken all of his fantasies and his eyes momentarily go dark in a symbolic fashion, the figures of the ritual candles reflecting off the surface. “My pleasure, sweetheart. You know demons never break a promise.”

Harry’s hips give a harsh thrust forward, filling her up in one swift motion, causing her to cry out as searing pleasure rips across the pit of her tummy.

Y/N’s hands wriggle around in his grasp, thighs clamping around his waist as he stretches her out into a whimpering, trembling mess. He grinds to a halt once he bottoms out, keeping himself tucked inside for a couple of seconds, allowing her to get accustomed to his girth. He dusts soft, sloppy kisses onto the curve of her jaw and along her throat, her heartbeat pounding beyond humanly possible. If she wasn’t a higher being, it would have surely burst from her chest by now.

He rubs the tip of his tinted nose underneath her chin. “Doing okay?”

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N pants into his ear, his back tightening due to the warm air caressing the shell. “You’re just— it’s just...big.”

“Feels good, though?” Harry’s tongue tends the alcove of her juglar, drawing a stripe upwards until he’s at her lips once more. “Not too hard?”

She rattles her head, bumping his mouth with her own and giving him a testing look. “Harder.”

He gulps down a moan as he tries to keep his composure, but it’s proving difficult as her walls clutch around him. “You sure?”

Y/N nods once, smearing the crescent over her upper lip across his, whisper low but collected. “I can take it.”

The determined shimmer in her irises makes his chest flutter.

Harry draws his hips back slowly, grunting softly at the way she clings to him, vision washing in different shades of electric reds and mellow blues. Fuck, she’s a godsend— literally. No one’s ever fit him so well.

He juts forward, spreading her open again and gauging her reaction. She wavers ever so slightly with a sharp, “mm!” and he instantly regrets it, thinking he might have gone too far, pushed too much on her too soon. But then a floaty, satisfied smile ticks onto the edges of her mouth, the lewd grin widening around her bitten lip. She was right— she wasn’t delicate, and she could definitely take it.

He cradles his face into her neck, words scalding into her flesh. “Want me to fuck you like the darling little slut you’re trying so hard to be?”

Her hips lurch in response, causing him to sink deeper. “Yes, please.”

And with her swollen pouty lips, her calves tied around the backs of his thighs, and the greediness mirroring his...How could he ever turn her down?

Harry’s fingers loosen around her wrists, intertwining between the cracks of her own. The softness of her skin somewhat fastens the last remnants of his self-discipline together, the bridge of his nose burrowing into the spot right below her ear. He snaps his hips forward into her as far as they will go, then recedes, repeating the action over and over and slowly beginning to gain a set rhythm.

Y/N convulses with every stroke, teeny whimpers and gasps strangling from her each time the head of his cock hits the trench of her belly. Harry isn’t much better at controlling his noises, not that he’s really trying. He knows she loves it when he’s vocal, hence why he lets himself go, his frail grunts and whines hot and tacky under her earlobe. The thick cotton material of his fitted t-shirt is sticking to the sweat along his back, his belt buckle slinking along to his strong pace, which is gradually losing its curt rhyme, becoming slack and harsh. His cross necklace dangles above her chest, dabbing across her bruised nipples and sending waves of heat flooding through her stomach.

Y/N’s open mouth flushes against his temple, taking in rattling inhales every time he draws out and exhaling them in the form of a prompt puff when he slams back in. Her fingers curl around his own, nails imprinting into the back of his hands, her mind drunk on the ecstasy he’s feeding into her bit by bit. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, biting down until he shudders above her, lips parting open in a silent moan against the nook of her neck.

“You feel so good, baby. You always feel so good.” Her breathy compliment sends a current racing down his spine, the simple pet name flogging the fire boiling in his stomach.

Harry’s voice doesn’t sound quite his own, but rather a vulnerable, watered-down version. “Love it when you call me that.”

“I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you—” A fractured cry plucks her vocal chords when he gives a particularly intent ram. “Keep going.”

Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to drive into Y/N, her whole body jostling against the ground, wrinkling the cloth of the tapestry and sifting the half-melted candles out of their specifically chosen sites. The intense span of time never sees a quiet moment, instead littered with noises of damp skin connecting and needy sounds of pleasure, which take the shape of half-conscious mewls of approval whispered onto impatient tongues and overzealous lips.

Harry extends her arms further above her head, stretching out her back and chuckling along the pulse in her throat when she gives a curious yawp at the fortified sensations the new position brings. The wider range makes it feel as if he’s touching deeper inside; it translates into a heightened throbbing along her inner thighs and heat flashes pooling at the base of her backbone.

“Better?” He mumbles against her mouth, milling his hips in long circular motions that make her lungs stammer.

“Yes— yes, yes, yes! You have no idea.”

“How about now?” Harry passes both of her wrists into one of his hands, the other one coming down to wrap around her throat. His dark-polished nails catch a firm hold and he can feel her neck straining under his palm. “Like it?”

The constraint of the whole situation makes her go lightheaded, but in the best way possible. It amplifies the ache between her legs and she’s never felt more sinful than now, with a demon’s rings tight around her jugular as he fucks a sixth sense into her system. As much as it shames her to say it, she doesn’t like it, she loves it.

“Y-Yeah.” Y/N croaks out, fingers twisting into feeble fists in his grasp. “Love it.”

“Mm.” Harry hammers into her harder, appreciating the little cries she squeaks out. “Thought you would.”

After a couple more minutes of cramming inside her harshly and delighting himself in watching the way her furrowed, surprised expressions mold into ones of awed sexual relief, he clears his throat softly, hips coming to a still. Her eyes fly open in protest, but the way he’s worrying at the corner of his mouth tells her it’s far from over.

“Want you on top.”

Y/N blinks at him sleepily, swallowing the lump in her throat. “On top?”

Harry’s head gives a small bow of agreement, eyes glazed. “You just look real cute bouncing in my lap.”

“I do?” It’s an honest question; she can barely think straight right now, let alone hold a conversation.

He purrs in confirmation, wincing at how she gives a sudden squeeze around his cock. “At the risk of a cheap joke, the only way I can describe it is by saying that you look like an angel.”

She laughs lightly as she stares up at the ceiling, the shadow of his broad body pictured over its expanse. “You’re lucky I love you and your cheap jokes.”

“My astonishing good looks outweigh the shitty humor.”

“Debatable.”

He lets go of her hands and throat, one of her unfeeling arms coming down to hang across his neck as the other runs the pads of her fingers over his cheekbone affectionately. “You want me to ride you?”

Harry releases a tight breath at her bluntness, his sanity slipping through his fingers. The way she can so easily flip back and forth between her normal tender personality and this unapologetic, sexually confident alter-ego always leaves him shell-shocked. “So fucking bad.”

She nods once feebly, whispering into his ear. “Put me on top, then.”

Harry scoops her fully into his arms and maneuvers accordingly, twisting and turning carefully to assure he doesn’t crush her in the process. After a flurry of limbs and a decent amount of extra wrinkles on the drapery, Y/N ends up in Harry’s lap once again, except this time around they’re wearing way less clothes, are way sweatier, and he’s buried to the hilt.

He sits back onto his palms as she balances her knees on either sides of his bare hips, hooking her socked feet along the inner parts of his knees as she settles herself comfortably against his thick, warm thighs. His belt buckle is cold against her backside but the sensation somehow docks more pleasure. Especially with the way Harry’s mooning at her, almost as if she’d put the stars in the sky.

Y/N remains unmoving for a few seconds, her hands traveling down the extent of his clothed torso, the fabric itchy against her palms. She wanders below the hem of his maroon Mickey Mouse tee, his happy trail bristling the pads of her curious fingertips. She glimpses up at him amidst heavy lashes, gnawing along the inside of her bottom lip. “Want it off.”

Without hesitation, Harry sits forward a bit, lifting his arms above his head obediently. Y/N slowly rides the material up his toned stomach and over the swell of his hard chest, yanking the shirt off and letting it crumple to the ground.

She shamelessly bounces her gaze all around his torso, from the rippling tendons along his shoulders, to the deep creases that separate his pectorals, to the graceful wings of the butterfly tattoo that ink his golden skin. She allows herself to be distracted by the flexing of his large biceps and the veins sculpted along his forearms and the back of his hands, which have found their way onto the subtle dips of her waist.

She traces her digits over each aspect, reveling in how his muscles jolt beneath her feathery touch. She stencils over the skull and boat tattoo on his left arm, following the sharp peaks of the three nails and the tissues of the highly detailed heart. She trails upwards, looping her nail along the cursive “g” he’d had ingrained on behalf of his sister, and along the printed dates that lay in the nooks of his clavicle, which are a tribute to a part of his life she knows little about. Then, she mills down over the feathers of the birds suspended in flight, counting each one.

She soaks up every faint detail painted across his body through the ridges of her fingerprints, admiring him in an instance of raw intimacy that he hadn’t received from anyone else in eons. He studies her with his lips parted in awe, ears tingling at her gentle, affectionate nature, not daring to interrupt.

Y/N descends the dips of his collarbones towards the very center of his torso, winding to a stop when she mounts onto the rough scarring that runs down his stuttering chest. The wounds are old and faded, but even now— centuries later— their appearance communicates the pain they had yielded. The marks are jagged and uneven, obviously left by an animal with no compassion and an intent to kill. Harry’s scars had been a touchy subject for him for a long time— he had been using an illusion spell for decades as a means to cover them up, not trusting anyone to see the leftover strains of his humanity.

All demons have some form of this scar on their bodies, whether it be teeth or claws, and it was purposefully inflicted to stain them for an eternity, as a reminder of who they are and who they belong to. It’s a leash, created to commemorate that he can’t outrun the disgraced identity of what he had become, and that his soul belonged to Lucifer, for as long as it exists.

Due to the heaviness of this reasoning, he had kept them a secret from Y/N even after they had started dating. They were tied to so much emotional turmoil and undealt fear on his part, he had been terrified to bring them into his new budding relationship. He hadn’t revealed their existence until a few months ago, when he had felt comfortable enough to share them, and he was grateful that he had.

She didn’t judge him for his afflictions and took the news rather well— almost too well, which had made him uneasy at first. Harry never would have expected that an angel, of all people, would help him come to terms with such a sensitive topic that had tormented him since he had been released from Hell, but she had taught him that he shouldn’t feel ashamed of something he couldn’t control.

These scars were a part of who he is, and if anything, they were memorabilia of the caring, loving, brave person he once was in a previous life. She put into perspective a view that had never crossed his mind: he should feel proud of the marks, not embarrassed. He had given up his life to protect the people he loved and there was nothing more noble than that. Since then, Harry had taken down the mirage enchantment, and he wore his scars with pride instead of humiliation.

This breakthrough had sunk deeper than just his emotional issues; she had cured him of his physical hesitations, too. Harry had never let anyone knowingly touch the marks until she came along and aided him in ridding his baggage, which goes to show that she truly holds a special place in his heart, despite the fact that it no longer beats.

Y/N does that now, delicately nursing her graze over the healed claw wounds as the candlelight dances across their darkened appearance. She ducks down, pressing a tender kiss over each one, feeling his breathing catch beneath her lips. He takes a penetrating inhale through his nose, letting it out in one long sigh, managing to tame the minute red flag that had instinctively flared in the back of his brain.

Y/N lifts her head back to level with Harry’s, cupping the sides of his neck and pecking at the stud pierced through his left eyebrow. “You okay?”

He clears his throat shakily, nodding passively. “Yeah, m’fine.”

She leans forward and speaks against the shell of his ear, the movement shifting him from within her, the head of his prick pressing deeper and causing a tiny noise to string his lungs.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?”

Harry’s entire face flushes a burning red. He tries to play it off with a boast of humor and a snort. “Well, you sure know how to make a girl blush, don’t you?”

Y/N draws back, clasping his jaw in her palms and urging him to look up. Her irises hold a form of determined sincerity he often sees when she’s talking about something important, their message obvious: Stop deflecting. “I’m serious, H.”

He’s well aware of the basis behind her words— it’s a check-in, of sorts, to make sure his old insecurities aren’t bleeding back into his recovery. On a surface level, he’d claim he doesn’t need his girlfriend treating him like a rehab patient, but below his ego, he’s thankful for her concern.

The corners of his mouth quirk into a tiny reassuring smile, the smugness in his eyes dissolving into genuine affection. “I know. I’m alright, don’t worry.”

“Okay.” Y/N returns slowly, roping one of her arms across the back of his neck, palm flat between his shoulder blades as her other hand stays settled along the curve of his throat. “Just making sure.”

“S’nice of you to do so.” Harry shrugs his brows nonchalantly, squeezing at her hips jestingly, voice ironic. “Especially now, while we’re sitting half-naked on a pentagram and I’m buried up to my balls.”

Y/N sputters into a round of easy giggles, the tension in the atmosphere turning to dust as he breaks out into a shit-eating grin, pinching at her sides playfully.

“Probably not the best timing.”

“Y’don’t say?” He marvels with an exaggerated expression, doing some boyish giggling of his own.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t pick up right where we left off.” His girlfriend murmurs suggestively, lifting her thighs a few inches and allowing herself to plop back down against his.

The swift action makes his socked toes curl, bliss spiking across his veins, a pained grunt vibrating deep in his stomach. Y/N thumbs across his chin, sewing their lips together as she begins to rock over his cock, swaying her hips in small circles to get him wired up like before. Harry slumps back onto one palm, legs splaying carelessly as the other hand cups the dip of her spine, providing support.

She starts off agonizingly slow, working his length with patient strokes that purposefully tighten when she gets to the top. She teases the tip, swimming in how he bites down onto the edge of her lower lip, brows creasing with intense need as his lashes flutter. He pants a strained, “Fuck.” under his breath, nails digging into the skin of her lower back as he starts to buck upwards ever so slightly, chasing the snug feeling she provides.

Y/N sinks back down at the same gradual pace, gasping at the sensation of him stretching her out as wide as possible, feeling every chisel and bump on his skin grate against her walls. She’s doing this to play with him, but the collateral is that she’s putting off her own climax and it’s difficult to maintain a solid plan when her boyfriend’s angelic face goes slack, his sharp jaw dropping open as his rainforest green irises roll back into his head.

His fluffy, frizzed curls drape over his forehead and stick to the water coating his temples, his chest gleaming with a thin sheet of sweat that he had worked up from before. Veins carve themselves along his neck and above his left eyebrow, his composure coming undone by the bundles and he can’t help the strangled groan that emits from the back of his throat, head falling to dangle between his shoulders.

Y/N glances down to where their bodies connect, nearly drooling at the manner in which his fern tattoos stretch and contract with his clenching tummy, his skin tinging a desperate shade of red beneath the dark ink. She eases into a set medium rhythm, moaning softly every time her clit catches across his pelvis or dabs against the tiger head tattoo on his sticky thigh, leaving damp smears across each. “You’re just s-so fucking big, oh my God.”

Moist sounds jump against the matte walls of the living room, suspending in the heavy air above them and making it hard to breath. Y/N’s nails claw down one of Harry’s pecs, her other forearm bracing against the nape of his neck as she swings her hips back and forth around his prick, both of their orgasms inching closer to completion.

By some miracle, her tee had managed to remain folded over her chest, but the increase in her thrusts gives it away to gravity. The shirt falls loosely down her torso, pooling around her thighs as they slap sloppily against his, the figure of her bouncing breasts imprinting through the fabric. Despite that image being prim and proper in front of his face, Harry barely pays mind to it, much more interested in her facial expressions and the noises she’s trying to stifle. “You like how full I make you feel? Like how I stretch you out? You’re such a snug little thing, darling.”

“I just—I can’t even—”

The palm he has resting on her lower back hikes upwards, his fingers fanning out across the center of her bare spine and pulling her closer until their chests meld. The cotton of her shirt rubs a rash into his skin but he honestly couldn’t care less. She’s close to him and her breath is smoking over his jugular, trickling past the region where a pulse would otherwise be present, his poise going up in flames that burn brighter than the ritual candles. “Never get tired of how well I fit between your thighs. Feels so right.”

Y/N grapples both hands down his strong back, massaging at the taut muscles that convulse with every plunge she gives, her forehead thunking down against the slope of his ticking jaw. Harry wrinkles the tapestry between the cracks of his fingers, using it to keep some type of hold on himself, his mind too occupied on the different shades kaleidoscoping past his faltering eyelids.

Y/N speeds up her grinding, fully bouncing in his lap eagerly, his whole body jolting against the ground at the vigor behind her actions. She seems to be enjoying it way more than she expected, strokes unforgivable and wild. There’s no real rhyme to her movements, any strategy she’d had prior abandoned to pursue the pleasure that is quickly inflating the pit of her belly.

Harry loves it. Y/N had been raised on always having a system of thought— a proposal to follow or rules to bend over backwards for— and the idea that he has her so whipped she’d decided to throw away her agenda and give into carnal desires— it has him twitching inside her. His sweet, pure, soft-spoken angel, so caught up in the heat of the moment that she’d traded in her morals to become a loud, filthy, pleasure-drunken mess. All for him.

Harry cranes his head forward, vision foggy as he stares off into the distance, feeling himself throbbing under her influence. His words are throaty and barely audible. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.”

Y/N mewls softly in response, the vibrations muffled by his neck. His fist curls and releases repeatedly under the material of her shirt, itching to grab onto anything it can get but not wanting to part with the warmth her skin provides. Harry gulps thickly, speaking into the hair glued along her hairline, her sweat the scent of lavender and honey. “Fuck me.”

The angel huffs into his throat, a whimper running along the undercurrent of the bated breath. “I...I am. I think. Am I doing okay?”

He chuckles into her locks, feeling her spasm around his cock at the coyness behind it. “Yeah, princess, you are. You’re doing so fucking good.”

And at this moment, a certain analogy dawns on Harry and he finds it utterly poetic considering the circumstances: Making love to Y/N is like a ritual.

Though it’s a strange comparison, he’s willing to lay down his second life on it; the similarities his brain conjures are too satisfying to pass up. The plants and herbs he uses in his magic are present in her smell— it’s earthy, yet fresh and delicate, like flowers and sunshine and the sensation of a sunrise. The warm surge of power that travels along his blood when he’s casting a spell is depicted by the heat her lips bring, stemming from where they connect at the base of his throat, traveling through every crevice in his body and leaving a glowing comfort in its wake. The beauty of the gemstones he utilizes is in her physique— it’s in the way she smiles against his mouth, and in the way she giggles when he cracks a joke. It’s in the song-like aspect of her moans, and in the gorgeous shade of her skin amidst the lulled candlelight. The beauty is in her caring touch and soft demeanor, in the neediness she channels when she tugs his curls between her fingers, and in the milky suppleness of her chest and thighs. And most prominent, the fulfillment that comes with undergoing an incantation correctly is evident in the way she drives him to finish, the fizzing in his fingertips and the empty content in his belly identical down to the last drop.

Giving Y/N pleasure is a ritual as much as any other he’s ever performed, and it’s one he’s more than happy to provide his whole being to. Harry has bedded a lot of people in his time— that’s not uncommon knowledge; immortality is practically synonymous with a high body count— but no one, human or otherwise, had ever made him spiral the way Y/N does. Not since he was mortal, at least. He’s learned that anyone can find a way to satisfy someone physically, but it takes a rare type of bond to truly satisfy someone down to their soul. That’s what Y/N was to him— that golden commitment that could gratify him down to his core.

That same commitment grabs onto the hair along the back of his head now, nails raking up the middle of his back as she yanks him into another kiss that is full of clacking teeth and feverish tongues, his nose dying a darker shade of crimson. She spills a moan into his mouth and it singes his lungs. “‘I— ‘m close.”

“Yeah?” His teeth catch on her bottom lip, his hold on her body helping her rock against him at a rising flow. “Gonna cum for me?”

Y/N wobbles her head in a tipsy nod, their noses bumping as she rides him messily. “Wanna cum for you so bad.”

Harry grunts into her mouth with every rough pound of her hips, having trouble forming valid sentences when she’s hugging around him so tightly. “Want to see how good I make you feel, baby. Think you can show me?”

“Y-Yeah. It feels so— oh!— so fucking good.” Her forehead collapses onto his, the tip of her nose running along the side of his. “Please, please, please.”

“That’s my fucking girl, hm?” The hand he has on the ground works as reinforcement as he leans against it to throw his hips upwards, meeting her thrusts. “Look at you, taking me so deep and loving every inch.”

Y/N whines brokenly and he knows he’s got her right on the edge.

“Can feel me in your tummy, can’t you? Touching that spot that makes your entire body shiver?”

She sobs into their slack kiss, gripping onto him like a vine.

“Be a good girl and show me just how much you love my cock, hm? Show me how dirty my perfect little angel can be.”

Every nerve in Y/N’s body suddenly bursts, electricity shooting through every bone and concentrating at the bottom of her abdomen. Teeny gasps spurt out from her mouth as she continues rocking over him, the pleasure originating from between her thighs causing every one of her muscles to contract, her head falling backwards to hang off her neck and she’s lucky he has his hand between her shoulder blades or she would have toppled right off. Her thighs grow sore quickly, but she refuses to let her orgasms flush out at the same pace. She rides it out for all it’s worth, bright white lightning webbing across her closed eyelids as Harry tends her dangerously fast pulse with his warm tongue, murmuring encouragement against her sensitive skin. “You look so fucking gorgeous when you cum for me.”

In his opinion, she never looks more heavenly than when she loses herself like this. There’s a certain pureness that comes with dwelling in such a vulnerable state; it makes her skin glow— literally and metaphorically. The veins along her neck and jaw flare faintly, almost as if liquid skylight were pumping through them instead of blood. He watches with wonder as they crawl up along her cheeks and below her waterline, her eyes momentarily brightening below her eyelids.

It’s a view he’s seen a handful of times, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to its beauty.

Y/N’s climax begins to die down along with her irises, the bow in her stomach gradually untangling, and she gives a sudden clench as an aftershock. Harry had failed to realize he’d been teetering over the edge, as well, too caught up in watching her come undone to pay much attention to himself. That one squeeze shoves him over.

A sharp tremor tumbles down his spine, his orgasm starting at the tips of his ears and the heels of his feet, racing up his thighs and down his heaving chest. It plunges into the pit of his belly and along the underside of his prick, radiating deep in his gut to the point where he thinks he might pass out at the intensity. He spurts inside Y/N in messy ribbons, pulling her into his arms and burrowing his face away into the crook of her neck, eyes snapping shut as a gurgled groan tears his throat to shreds. “Christ, that’s it, pet. That’s perfect, just don’t— shit— don’t stop.”

Y/N blindly cradles his head against her upper chest, scratching at the back of his skull and kissing along his hairline, swinging her hips in slow, deep circles to milk him of every last trace of bliss. Her voice is shaky and soft against his prickling scalp. “Love how warm you feel.”

He’s spilling into her to the point where he feels like it’ll never stop, thighs and abdomen flexing as she draws his composure from him. All he feels is satin and all he tastes is her sugary skin as he throws the arm he has as support forward, clasping so tight around her lower back that if she wasn’t supernatural, he’s sure he would have snapped her in half.

“Fuck, you’re so good to me.” He whispers into her throat, feeling the last trickles of ecstasy bead into her from his cock. “You’re fucking magical.”

Y/N gently coaxes his face from her neck, tilting his chin up so that their gazes meet. Their eyes are both groggy with exertion, but the specks of colors around their pupils are shining with a form of fulfillment that they only ever get from each other. She lifts her thighs attentively and he winces at the loss of friction, his cock falling limb against his inner thigh.

Y/N pets at his cheekbone lovingly, moving a stringy curl away from his face and planting a kiss to the corner of his swollen lips. “Love you.”

“Yeah,” Harry clears the gravel from his words, cracking into a weak smile, irises twinkling like a million diamonds. “Love you, too.”

He slowly falls onto his back on the tapestry, bringing Y/N down with him. She lays on top of him for a bit, ear pressed over the vacant area where a heartbeat was present centuries ago, her fingers following the outline of the many tattoos across his flesh. Harry’s own fingertips slink up and down the line of her spine, chalking out random shapes and words over her back, merely for the silky sensation that comes with touching her so gently. They stay like this for a while, bare and dreamy as his digits comb through his tangled curls, her cheek snuggled into his scarred chest as they watch shadows waltz in the buttery dim lighting.

After what feels like decades, Y/N eventually rolls off of him onto the ground, hissing softly at the sting the occult object below angrily delivers.

Harry turns his flushed face towards his girlfriend, chin propped on his shoulder and eyebrows jumping up in concern. He sounds raspy and depleted. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think your tapestry likes me very much.” She scoffs, lifting her arm a smidge to show him where a vague burn mark is already fading.

Her boyfriend jerks back in disbelief, narrowing his eyes at the disappearing patch. “Has it been burning you the whole time? Were you planning on telling me?”

Y/N shrugs leisurely, tucking her disheveled hair behind her ears and resting back against the stinging cloth, ignoring it out of stubbornness. “It wasn’t too bad before, but it seems to be grumpier now.”

“Yeah, maybe because you just came all over it.” He quips, laughing childishly when she reaches over and punches him in the shoulder.

“This was your idea, Harry!” She protests, her argument half-aimed at the tapestry, despite the fact that it’s an inanimate object. Mostly.

“Maybe so, but I get home court immunity.” The demon mocks, sticking his tongue out at her and wagging it humorously.

Y/N’s hand lifts up once again to swat him on the head this time, but he catches her wrist and wrestles it towards his mouth, teeth gnashing as if to bite her. His girlfriend wrenches her fingers back, giggling nonstop when he chases after her. He turns entirely onto his side, scooting across the space between their bodies to burying his face into her neck, blowing raspberries where he knows she’s most ticklish.

Y/N pushes against his chest, laughing fully now and smothering his nose with her palm to form a decent barrier. “Okay, enough!”

Harry’s fingers find their way to the sides of her torso, wriggling against her cushiony love handles. “I don’t think so.”

The angel writhes and squeals in his arms, the smile on her face easily outshining the sun. He leans forward and presses a caring kiss between her brows, his digits abandoning their post on her waist and instead tangling with her own. He brings her hand to his mouth, kissing across each knuckle and up the length of each finger, pecking at their pads delicately. The edges of his eyes wrinkle with smile lines, his dimples plucking into place, giving him a wholesome appearance despite the face jewelry and dark tattoos glinting under the candle flames.

Y/N tries to stifle a heartfelt grin, but her mouth refuses to obey, lips pursing into it without her approval. “Pest.”

Harry scoffs, pitching his voice higher for the hell of the joke, the result being a very shitty American accent. “Only for you.”

She leans forward and smears the tip of her nose against his, the gesture small but packed with affection. “Guess I’m just the luckiest person in the world, huh?”

“I’d go as far as to say the luckiest across all worlds, human, demon, and angel alike.” He returns her actions, blinking his sleepy lashes. “But I think that’d make me sound like a bit of a pompous dick.”

“Right. And you’re definitely not arrogant at all.” Y/N remarks, shaking her head with faux exaggerated agreement.

“Exactly!” The snark in his tone is almost palpable.

Y/N snorts at his expense, the couple falling into a comfortable silence afterwards, continuing to play handsies as the clock ticks off a few more minutes. Harry doesn’t seem to be in any hurry and therefore she isn’t either, feeling happy and content within the bubble of domesticity that had submerged around them. It’s an innocent form of love, accompanied by fleeting kisses and chaste touches, too sweet to burst so soon. Harry skims his index nail across the vanishing love bites littered across her neck, his finger hooking into the collar of her t-shirt and pulling back, a quick peek confirming that her chest is undergoing the same fate.

He pouts up at her, grumbling under his breath. “Thought I’d get a picture. For bad days, y’know? But we waited too long.”

Y/N sucks on her teeth with fake sympathy, yanking her shirt out of his grip and letting it fall back against her clavicle. “Sucks. Better luck next time, I suppose.”

Harry rolls his eyes dramatically, blowing air through his lips. “The pain of waiting. It’s worse than Hell. I would know.”

“I think you’ll survive.” She pats his cheek with finality, climbing up onto her forearms with the intention of sitting up. “Now why don’t we get our clothes back on. Can’t do a ritual naked, can we?”

“Well, technically—”

“Shut up and go put on your shirt.”

Y/N busies herself with retrieving her leggings and panties from across the room, where Harry had so kindly tossed them in a fit of disinterest. She shimmies into her pastel blue lace undies and then her bottoms, the abrupt motions causing her to flinch at the ache throbbing deep between her thighs. He’d definitely kept good on his promise.

She pulls her arms into her oversized shirt and fixes her bra back into place below it, well aware that if she lifts it up to get the job done, Harry will surely sprint across the room and offer to help— a cover for some much more lewd motives. She glances over at him as he finishes looping his belt, tucking his fitted tee into the brim of his high-waisted pants and dusting off his thighs. The bruises and teeth marks she had left behind have long faded by now, his skin as flawless as ever. Though the self-healing feature that comes with their supernatural status is handy, she finds herself wishing it acted a little slower at times. She’d just like to be able to admire her hard work.

Harry saunters over the tapestry, stopping midway to set the apatite rock back in its designated spot for the spell, adjusting the candles back into frame and tending to the corners of the large cloth, straightening it out to get rid of the evidence their little escapade had left behind. He slides up beside her, leaning down to fetch the golden ritual bowl from the floor, tucking it between the inside of his elbow and hip. He slinks his head to the side as he watches her brush out the last couple flyaways from her hair, her appearance as pristine as before, not giving away a single clue as to what had unfolded not even twenty minutes prior. She reaches forward, finger-combing his curls into a presentable state and thumbing her tinted lip balm off the edges of his quirking mouth, tugging his inverted cross necklace from under his clothes and laying it against his chest with a content sigh.

Harry lifts his brows up curiously, a certain smugness coating his expression. “All done cleaning up your mess?”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him pointedly, mood deadpan and cool. “Yup. I’ll clean up yours later, which I think we can both agree is way sloppier than mine.”

It takes him a second to understand, but then it hits him. She’s talking about jizz, which is probably pooling in the lace lingerie she has on right now, and for some reason that thought makes his ears and neck tint a bright rose. She muffles a laugh at his fidgeting; it’s so amusing to see Harry—who is normally so calm when it comes to raunchy topics— blushing up a storm. The tables have turned and it feels like solid karma on her part.

“Let me just— uhm...” He stumbles over his words, mumbling them towards his feet as his eyes blink black for a millisecond, fingers fiddling with his lip ring. “I’ll just get the spell going.”

“Mmhm.”

Harry finds himself sitting in the same position as before, cross-legged in front of the giant satanic symbol, the antique pot resting on the floor before him. Y/N finds herself in the same position she’d taken previously as well, standing behind her boyfriend with her arms crossed loosely over her chest, looking over his shoulder with mild interest and a protective undertone. Harry mixes the contents in the bowl slowly with the muddler, whispering lowly what appears to be lines of a preparation enchantment. He’s priming the ingredients for use, making sure once again that all the powdered elements are all blended together well and are connected to all the gemstones loitered around the pentagram. Everything has to run on an identical wavelength for this to work, or else who knows what could crawl out of the gateway he’s about to unlock.

Y/N is at ease— or at least as relaxed as she can be given the circumstances— as she watches Harry spew riddles in Latin and mix the disintegrated plants together, her demeanor soothed since everything seems to be unextreme.

That is, until Harry sets down the basin and pulls his demon blade out of thin air— quite literally. He holds his hand above the dish and swiftly slashes open his palm, the gash spurting a heavy stream of black blood into the herbs. He clasps his fist shut, controlling the flow of liquid so it trickles cleanly instead of splattering, his spoken incantation continuing without a hitch.

Y/N can’t help her reaction. She yelps out in startled fear, surging forward with angered worry flooding her features. “Oh my God, what the fuck, Harry?!”

The dumbfounded look on Harry’s face pricks her nerves. He’s staring at her with crinkled brows and parted lips, communicating that what had just happened isn’t anything out of the ordinary. His voice comes out just as mystified as his physique. “What? What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?!” His girlfriend shrieks, wild gaze bouncing back and forth between his bleeding hand and startled eyes. “I didn’t think— you just— that was—”

Harry continues to stare at her as if she’d sprouted devil horns.

“I thought it’d just be a little blood!” She finally sputters out. “Like maybe you’d prick your finger or something! Not cut your hand open!”

The demon then has the audacity to break into laughter. He looks borderline psychotic, sitting on the ground nonchalantly, cackling as blood overflows from between the cracks of his fingers. “Darling, is that seriously what you expected? Have you not listened to a word I’ve said? Most advanced spells require blood, and when it’s a ritual as tedious as this one, it calls for quite a bit.”

Y/N pushes down the bile threatening to rise up her throat, gawking with obvious disgust as her boyfriend reaches for the dish rag she’d brought him earlier, cradling his spilling hand into it and staining the snowman pattern pitch black. “I’m gonna be sick.”

Harry sucks his teeth at her theatrics, giving her a humorous scowl. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not even that bad. And I’m finished! See!”

He holds up his wrapped hand for emphasis, the blood stain spreading wider over the cloth and Y/N can taste acid in her mouth. “Why isn’t it healing?”

The demon shrugs carelessly, wiping his onyx and diamond embedded knife across a clean patch of fabric on the towel. He tosses it up towards the ceiling, the weapon soundlessly disappearing in midair, back into the magical invisible locker it had come from. “Demon blade cuts take a little longer to heal. I’ll be good in a few minutes.”

“Bullshit.” Y/N grumbles, her concerned girlfriend meter running dangerously high. She crouches down to level with him, taking his enclosed fist into both of her smaller hands. “I’ll handle it.”

Her fingers begin to glow a faint neon blue, a soothing warmth undulating across the wound in his palm, his brows rising as he feels his skin begin to stitch closed. After a couple of seconds, Y/N releases his hand, unwrapping it gently and setting the rag down on the drapery so as to not stain the rug below. He uncoils his fingers and sure enough, the tear is gone.

Harry curls and stretches his digits testingly, a pleasant hum running along the back of his throat. “Wow, that’s pretty neat. Got myself a proper doctor to patch me up after training matches now, huh?”

“Don’t make this a habit.” Y/N warns, pushing herself up by her knees. “And be more specific next time you want me to watch a blood sacrament. I don’t think I’ll be able to control my stomach again.”

Harry looks back down at his concoction, smirking softly. “Yes, ma’am.”

He incorporates the liquid and dry factors together with a patience she oddly admires, the dusted plants dissolving into the blood as the mixture begins to bubble lightly. He’s taken up his satanic prayers once again, reciting the verses evenly as the brew amplifies from an easy simmer to a boil. The stones around the pentagram begin to glow with their corresponding shades— purple, green, amber— as the largest rock in the center washes the room in a hazy blue light, the fire within the candles rising in intensity. The sigils engraved in the metal bowl flare a fiery red, the golden lines of the occult star on the tapestry glowing as bright as its companions.

Y/N begins to drift around the perimeter of the tapestry, drawing her arms across her torso as she rounds the far corner of the lengthy blanket, eyes trained on the shimmering pentagram. The longer she stares at it, the deeper her unsettlement roots. It’s as if the object is daring her to touch it again now that it’s been activated, teeming with power and capable of revenge. It’s tempting, for some unknown reason. The pull is undeniable and her fingertips itch to run across the unexplained dark stains that paint its surface, every cell in her body bending towards its energy and mystique. In order to curve the impulse, she finds herself running her socked foot along its edge, simply to sedate her strange need. As soon as she makes contact with it, it feels like she’s stepped on a bed of nails, the material glowing slightly brighter as if angered.

Y/N jumps back slightly, quickly glimpsing up at Harry to check if he’d seen. To her sheer luck, he’s clueless, too focused on the churning in his bowl to pay her much attention. She goes about her business, pretending it never happened, though it feels as if the artifact is quietly laughing at her.

Once she gets to the opposite side of where Harry is seated, she comes to a slow stop, her sight peeling away from the demented mat and pinning onto her boyfriend. The potion in the bowl is now toiling violently, the carved glyphs shooting off sparks in every direction as the ritual delves into more volatile magic. Harry’s chanting swells to match the enthusiasm of the spell and for the first time since he had started, she is able make out the stanzas he’s quoting. She can’t deny that the words twist her stomach into knots.

“Dico tibi usque ad foveas, ubi damnati habitant, alto in terram ferox canes inferni.”

I call upon the pits where the damned dwell, deep in the earth, unsound hounds of hell.

“Ortum ex sulphure et aeterna flamma, bestiæ gravehill cum tacita nomina.”

Rise from the brimstone and eternal flames, beasts of gravehill with unspoken names.

“Acuta de dente et longa ex ungue, nigro et tunicam et lata bulga.”

Sharp of tooth and long of claw, black of coat and gaping maw.

“Videte mea vocant et calcaneum meum erit, ut vobis notum est ubi habitabant molendinum.”

Heed my call and heel my will, make yourselves known upon the realm where the living mill.

Harry repeats the incantation over and over, each run-through amping in volume and lowering in pitch. With every reiteration, his voice drops another octave and Y/N’s ears pop when he breaches past the human hearing spectrum. It dives into unnatural territory, beginning to sound less and less his own, almost as if an array of spirits were possessing his body and using his tongue as a channel. She listens attentively, noticing that his typical accented drawl has started to split into multiple dark voices, each one a different tone and texture. Some are grating and baritone, while others are raspy with more trill, but the similarity shared among the various articulations is that they’re all religiously spewing the same lines in unison. Collectively, the sound created makes her bones splinter and her blood boil. The event is what she imagines it would be like if all the demons in Hell were to chant all at once. It’s terrifying and mesmerizing in the same breath.

A bizarre fog begins to collect around the center of the pentagram, the smoke from the candles mixing with colored tendrils of vapor that stem from the gemstones, forming a loose spinning cloud around the apatite rock in the middle. The artificial tornado— which stretches up to the ceiling— picks up speed to keep in timing with Harry’s monologue, creating a draft that wafts across the tapestry but doesn’t spill beyond its bounds. Y/N squints, managing to make out the image of her boyfriend from amidst the magical phenomenon. What she sees gives her pause.

The first thing she notices are the veins. The usual black arteries have emerged below his waterline, creeping down his cheekbones and defining the darkness below his lashes. However, they don’t halt at his cheeks. They web across his entire face, down his jaw and up to his ears, licking down his neck and beneath the collar of his shirt. His eyes, which she had expected would ink black due to the situation, catch her ever further off guard. They’re not black at all, but instead a color that for some reason ices her heart: they’re tinted a haunting red. It looks as if human blood had been pumped into his irises and poured over the white area surrounding them, the reflection of the satanic star in front of him seeming crueler upon this shade. Trailing further down, Harry’s soft lips have spread into a wide grin that sends an uncomfortable shiver down her spine. It’s different from his usual smirk, appearing sinister and evilly delighted and she vaguely wonders if sorcery brings any pleasure, or if it hurts.

Y/N had never thought on it before, but now that she's standing here watching the detached smile on Harry’s face grow, it peaks her interest. Or rather, it peaks her concern. She speaks up, soft and scared. “Are you okay?”

Harry’s lips don’t stray from the spell and his eyes don’t wander from the center of the pentagram, simply nodding his head in response as he continues blindly mixing the ingredients below his hand.

The fog has thickened heavily, twisting with more vigor and it eventually becomes so opaque that Y/N can barely make out Harry’s silhouette across the room. The flames of the candles suddenly swell grandly, casting new shadows across the walls of their home and when she focuses on them intently, figures start to form in the images. They’re distinctly humanoid, prancing across the matte surface of their flat, ebbing and flowing to the rhythm of Harry’s hex. An uneasy coldness trickles down the back of her neck and she realizes that what she’s looking at is a portal into Hell— the shadows are the outlines of the souls within the realm.

She thinks she’s gonna be sick.

As she looks on, two of the dark shapes begin to morph before her watering eyes, shrinking down into a form that looks faintly like the body of a hound. Gradually, all of the other figures begin to burst into dust against the walls, disintegrating away one by one as the two main shadows solidify from blurred sketches into hard silhouettes. She can make out their shoulders and lean torsos, limbs dipping and rising as if they were walking towards something.

The hue of the cyclone spontaneously changes from multicolored into a blood red that matches Harry’s eyes, its spinning vapors slowly starting to thin out. The fires surrounding the tapestry begin to die down from their agitated state, the gemstones following their lead. As the smoke and fumes gradually dissolve, the two figures that had been glued to the wall seem to have come unstuck and jumped into the eye of the miniature tornado. Their dark appearance chisels itself into reality and the longer she gawks, the more real they become. A large paw the size of her hand here, a matted patch of black fur there. Claws the size of her fingers and teeth so ghastly white she winces at their brightness. A tattered ear, a huge wet snout, and suddenly two pairs of red beady eyes flash by her vision.

Y/N scrambles back from the edge of the mat, heart lodged in her throat. She’s definitely going to be sick.

Harry’s praying has died down in intensity, as well, lulling back into a barely audible murmur. He slowly stops mixing the muddler, propping it along the side of the metal bowl and setting it down off to the side. As soon as his hands remove themselves from the pot, the glowing sigils extinguish and the satanic star abruptly stops shimmering, the half-melted candles and enchanted rocks blowing out along with them. The demon’s chanting dies off permanently, an eerie silence falling across the living room as the last traces of smoke dissipate.

Standing at the center of the tapestry, looming on all fours and at least five feet in height, are Onyx and Nimbus.

Y/N is relieved to say they’re not as terrifying as what she’d imagined. She thought she was accepting two distorted monsters into her apartment, but in actuality, the two hellhounds look pretty normal. Their coat is coal black, matted in some areas with a dried liquid she really doesn’t want to know the identity of, and they resemble Labradors. Just three times the size and with eyes of burning embers.

She studies them as much as she can from her position behind their backs, noticing that the slightly buffer hound has a jagged scar running across its left eye and a tear in its right ear. She gets the feeling that’s Onyx. Harry had told her that he was the more rash and unhinged of the two, so it makes sense that he's scruffed up. The other dog is slightly more delicate in frame, less bulky and more lean, its figure almost feminine despite the fact that both are males. Without a doubt in her mind, that has to be Nimbus— his name fits his presentation.

In ancient scriptures, nimbuses float above the heads of the divine, but what humans don’t know is that they are actually shape-shifting angelic weapons. Halos look delicate, but are strong and can withstand just about anything since they are created out of pure celestial energy, wielded and harbored into a physical form. They don’t look like much, but are capable of dangerous results, and something tells Y/N that this dog fits that description. He doesn’t seem to have any battle wounds and his coat is cleaner and shinier than his partner’s, giving her the impression that he’s somewhat sane and level-headed. She can already tell she’s going to get along better with Nimbus than Onyx.

Harry and the hellhounds contemplate each other, the veins across her boyfriend’s face fading away into his skin, the red tint retracting from around his pupils. He pushes himself up from the floor with a light grunt, dusting off his lap and rolling out his neck and shoulders as if to relieve tension. He combs his curls back from his forehead, muscular arms crossing over his broad chest, head tilting expectantly at his dogs.

A long moment of silence treds by, and then Onyx’s deep voice booms inside Harry’s head, as sarcastic and sharp-tongued as always.

‘Fucking finally, you prick.’

Harry breaks out into a round of easy laughter, stepping forward with his hands outstretched and Y/N watches in awe as the two humongous beasts cradle their snouts into his palms. “I’m sorry it took a while. Fashionably late and all that.”

Onyx is unrelenting, narrowing his cherry red eyes at Harry. ‘I thought you were gonna keep us waiting for another century. Took your sweet ass time then, didn’t you?’

“It wasn’t on purpose! I got...caught up with something.”

Nimbus’ softer, high-pitched voice chimes inside Harry’s skull, less abrasive than his brother’s but its words pack just as much bite. ‘I thought you’d forgotten about us. Was already daydreaming about what your liver was gonna taste like.’

Harry scoffs in dramatic insult, scratching behind the dogs’ ears gently, thumbing over the rip in Onyx’s cartilage. “I’d never forget about you two! The fact that you thought I would…Hurts my black little heart.”

Nimbus huffs in amusement, shaking his head at his owner’s ironic pout. ‘What heart?’

The demon’s grin widens. “Exactly.”

Y/N watches the whole exchange with confusion pinching her face. From her perspective, as someone who lacks a telepathic connection to the two guests, the whole conversation appears one-sided. Harry is the only one actually talking aloud and though she can keep up with the simplicity of this specific conversation, she can already tell that her inability to communicate with them is going to get annoying. She doesn’t know how to go about introducing herself and she doesn’t want to interrupt their reunion, so instead she keeps her distance, arms tightening around her torso as her fingers squeeze at the inside of her elbows— a nervous mannerism. She’s perfectly fine being an onlooker at the moment.

According to the bits and pieces of the dialogue that Y/N is able to catch from Harry’s behalf, he and his friends seem to be catching up on the last couple of weeks. Most of the subjects mentioned file under harmless gossip about other demons and hellhounds, though Lucifer’s name does pop up here and there. Harry talks about how he’s been rotating stations regularly between combat training and occult practices, and from the way Onyx huffs at certain mentions of magic, Y/N can tell he has more of Harry in him than Nimbus does.

He’s always preferred combat, despite his impressive expertise in sorcery. There’s no invisible trickery in sparring like there is in witchcraft; everything is calculated, from the footwork to the strokes of a blade, and there’s just something so satisfying about taking down an opponent with nothing but physical force of will. Onyx appreciates that, while Nimbus thinks it’s “barbaric” and “outdated.” To each their own, Harry supposes. He gets the feeling Nimbus will get along with Y/N fairly well, once they get past the initial default hatred.

Harry had been so distracted swapping stories and bonding with his hounds for the last few minutes that he almost forgets Y/N is there, standing at the other end of the room using the shadow from the spiral staircase as a hiding place.

He clears his throat softly, sewing his words carefully to try and find a civil way to break the ice about his relationship. “So, I’ve got some news.”

The two dogs blink up at him, eyes shining brighter with curiosity. Onyx’s passively joking voice echoes in his head.

‘Oh, this should be good. Last time you said that, we got the story of how you almost slept with Stevie Nicks.’

Harry’s teeth crunch and he’s thankful Y/N can’t hear the exchange. “Trust me when I say it’s something pretty different from the usual.”

Nimbus sits down casually on top of the tapestry and even in a submissive position, his ears still easily level with Harry’s shoulders. ‘As if we’ve never heard that before.’

Onyx follows his brother’s lead, posture less eloquent, shoulders sagging and back hunched. He takes a small pause, sniffing at the air and then shaking out a harsh sneeze. ‘Before you start, I think something died in your air vent. Can’t you smell it?’

Nimbus nods in agreement, copying the other hound’s gesture and making a hacking sound in the back of his throat. ‘It absolutely stinks in here. Could smell it even before we crossed the threshold.’

‘Yeah.’ The scar-faced dog leans forward and sniffs at his master’s shirt, gagging and grunting. ‘It’s all over you, H.’

Harry immediately knows what they’re referring to: Y/N. Harry had gotten used to the squeaky clean smell that chases angels, due to the fact that they had been living together for months now. But this is the first time Onyx and Nimbus have been exposed to her presence. Their heightened senses don’t help the situation any.

Harry wrings his hands, twirling his ruby ring nervously around his pinky. “That actually has to do with what I wanted to tell—”

Onyx interrupts him, dark eyebrows scrunching as he takes an even deeper whiff than before, snout twitching. ‘It kinda smells like…’

He trails off, looking over at his sibling in bewilderment. Nimbus nods once in confirmation, startled voice resonating in Harry’s head. ‘It does, but that wouldn’t make any sense…’

The demon glances over their heads anxiously, watching his girlfriend shift her footing with unease. She can tell the dogs are sussing her out.

Harry feels Onyx’s eyes bore into the side of his face, following along to his gaze and glancing over his shoulder questioningly. ‘It smells like—’

Harry panics, trying to cause a distraction to buy himself some time to explain. “Well, actually—”

But it’s too late. Onyx’s sight lands on Y/N’s still silhouette across the room, eyes widening in shocked alarm, which immediately molds into burning hatred. Nimbus chases his brother’s view, spotting the girl instantly, as well. His pupils dilate, reflecting the same cruel intentions as his relative. Their voices snarl in unison inside Harry’s brain.

‘Angel.’

Y/N— who has quickly come to terms with being outed into the open— raises one of her hands and waves awkwardly, voice meek and unsure. “Hi.”

Hellhounds are top predators across all the worlds, mortal and supernatural alike, and that’s no secret to anyone aware of their existence. They were created with a purpose to hunt and kill, their characteristics hand-picked to perfection to succeed in their mission. Their reflexes are razor sharp and their physical abilities support their instincts flawlessly, which is why it takes them less than three seconds to spot and recognize an enemy, less than two to hone in, and less than one to pounce. If it wasn’t for the fact that Y/N was made with rivaling skills and celestial impulses, her head would have ended up rolling across the ground before she could bat an eyelash.

She jumps sideways not a second too soon, the two beasts baring down onto the spot she had just been occupying, teeth gnashing and claws scraping against the polished hardwood ground. The angel stumbles back a few feet, horrified beyond what she had expected. They had been so calm not even a minute prior, and now they’re examining her jugular with a type of hostility that sends ice through her blood.

The hellhounds split ranks, circling around her with spit frothing at their maws and penetrating growls scratching at her hot ears. They size her up bitterly and she may not be able to read their minds, but she can read emotions just fine and the murderous intent behind their attitude is unmistakable.

Y/N’s fight or flight mode kicks in, electricity crackling defensively across the tips of her twitching fingers, her irises sparking a bright blue glow in warning. The dogs hesitate, the white hot lightning in her hands mirroring across the glossy surface of their crimson eyes as their claws crunch into the ground below their paws. Not a word is exchanged, but the challenge hangs in the air, heavy as the stench of sulfur that wafts from their fur.

If it wasn’t for Harry’s peace-keeping, the tapestry would have ended up adding some fresh stains to its extensive collection.

The demon scrambles forward, cementing himself between his dangerous girlfriend and his very lethal pets, arms out to block any possible attacks. “Stop!”

The hounds glance up at him momentarily amidst their snarling, catching the way his eyes paint blank, his mood authoritative and serious. “Desino.”

Heel.

Nimbus is the first one to accept the ceasefire, which Harry’s extremely thankful for. For once, he admires the animal’s general distaste towards violence. The dog slowly draws back, the hair sticking up along his spine gradually giving way. He remains standing, but abandons his fighting stance for a less intimidating alternative. However, the glare on his face doesn’t fade.

Harry turns his attention towards Onyx, who is still sneering and baring his fangs, pacing back and forth in barely contained rage. The venom in his voice stings the back of Harry’s skull. ‘Intruder.’

Harry repeats his phrase from before, teeth grating and stare unwavering, establishing dominance over the mutt. He knows how stubborn Onyx can be, but he didn’t spend seven hundred years taming him for nothing. “Desino. Now, Onyx.”

After another round of growling and a few more dirty looks, the broad dog finally retracts, begrudgingly taking the seat next to his brother. He huffs in protest, but bends to Harry’s will nonetheless.

Y/N swallows heavily, the rods of electric current popping across her fingers slowly dying down along with the glowing around her pupils. She clenches her fists at her sides, forcing down her fear until her face shows a stoney facade of indifference. Concealing weakness is something she had been raised on.

Harry releases a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, shoulders slumping and back unknotting. “Thank you.”

The two sides contemplate each other coldly, all the bloodshed avoided concentrated in their gazes instead. Harry’s never been afraid of Y/N in any way— her gentle nature makes it almost impossible— but the look behind her eyes at the moment is enough to make any demon back off. He slowly lowers his arms, glimpsing back and forth between his two friends and his significant other, making sure neither will make a drastic move.

He turns towards his dogs, sighing grandly through his nose before releasing a strained cough. He tries to put humor into his tone, but it proves difficult. “Surprise, I guess.”

Both of his charges snap their head in his direction, their expressions anything but amused. Onyx’s gruff voice yells in his head first.

‘Surprise?! Is this a joke to you? What the fuck is that thing doing here?’

“She,” Harry corrects in a cautionary manner, “is my girlfriend. This is Y/N.”

The hounds break into telepathic screaming chaos.

‘Are you insane? Have you actually lost your fucking mind?’

‘Out of all the demons and humans to ever exist, you pick an angel? You choose one of those brainwashed stuck-up prudes?’

‘Does Lucifer know? Does God know?!’

‘You have a death wish. For fuck’s sake, you genuinely have another death wish.’

‘Now that we know, does that make us accomplices? Would Lucifer kill us, too? There’s no way I’m dying for your hate kink booty-call.’

“Enough!” Harry’s voice booms, loud enough that it echoes across the apartment, stern and unwavering. “She’s my girlfriend and I love her. She’s a part of my life now, just as much as you two are, and you’re going to learn to respect and live with that. Do I make myself clear?”

For the first time since they arrived, radio silence washes across his mind.

Harry’s temper flares and he mumbles a spell beneath his breath, a puff of black smoke enveloping the large monsters. It dissolves as quickly as it had appeared and in their place sit two tiny, caramel brown chihuahuas, yapping and jumping in the air angrily.

Y/N stifles a laugh with the back of her hand.

Harry clears his throat mockingly, crossing his arms over his strong chest and leaning down to their level. “Unless you want to permanently stay in this form, you’re going to agree.”

One of the puppies— probably Onyx— snaps his teeth at the demon’s ankle. Harry grabs his entire snout with his palm, easily wrestling the hyperactive mutt to the ground. Y/N can’t cap her giggle this time.

“Now,” black veins flash under Harry’s eyes for a millisecond, “do I make myself clear?”

Nimbus pipes up quietly, sass evident but not enough to cause concern. ‘Yes.’

Harry turns his focus to Onyx with an expectant aura, waiting for his promise. After a few seconds of headstrong silence and trying to gnaw at his owner’s fingers, the dog’s response comes through, low and relinquished. ‘Yes.’

“Perfect.”

Harry rises up from his knees, snapping his fingers with a happy sigh. Another puff of dark smoke later, two full grown black German Shepherds sit before him and Y/N, eyes the color of rich chocolate and coats black as night, shining like a thousand jewels. Onyx’s scars are nowhere in sight, disguised away along with everything else.

Harry reaches over and tugs Y/N into his side, hanging an arm nonchalantly across her shoulders and planting a sloppy kiss to her temple, which in turn makes her nose wrinkle. “You’re all going to get along great. Just give it a few centuries.”

She shifts on her feet, shrugging one shoulder lightly as she glances at the dogs gingerly, grateful for their more acceptable appearance. A dog whose height reaches mid-thigh is much easier to handle than one who surpasses her neck. “I’ll give it go if they will.”

“See?” Harry squeezes and shakes her playfully. “Baby steps, boys! Baby steps.”

The German Shepherds huff and sneeze and Y/N gets the feeling they’re cursing her out in secret. A look at Harry’s entertained face confirms her suspicions.

Her boyfriend nudges her cheek with the tip of his cold nose. “Could you do me a favor, sweetheart? Could you run upstairs and fetch me those collars I made? I left them on top of the nightstand.”

Harry had bought two chain collars at Petco earlier that week in anticipation for this day, as well as for the fact that the two dogs looked absolutely identical in their mortal-friendly forms. He’d fastened a polished onyx stone to one and a golden metal hoop to the other, corresponding with their given names and giving their personas a bit of extra pizazz. It was better than a regular leash with an embroidered name; the custom collars are a neat way of distinguishing them and frankly, quite the fashion statement, in his opinion. Expensive jewels and gold never go out of style. Plus, it’s going to look great with their dark fur.

Once Y/N’s trotting footsteps are out of earshot, Harry turns to his hellhounds, kinking a brow offhandedly when he catches them staring at him with half-lidded eyes. “What?”

Nimbus scoffs in his mind. ‘I’m just impressed, is all. I never thought I’d see the day you, of all demons, would settle down.’

Harry chuckles softly, tangling his ringed fingers through his roots and tucking curls behind his small ear. “Neither did I, trust me.”

After a pause, the canine speaks up again, all snark replaced by genuine concern. ‘Does she make you happy?

The demon scruffs the tip of his socked foot against the corner of the satanic tapestry, folding and unfolding the edge distractedly. A dreamy smile smudges his dimples across his cheeks. “She makes me really happy, yeah. Haven’t felt like this since I was alive.”

Nimbus rises from his seat, leisurely coming up besides Harry and rubbing up against his leg almost comfortingly. ‘You know we’ll stand by you through any decision you make...but is this really worth the risk, Harry?’

“It is.” His answer is automatic without any hesitation whatsoever. “I don’t have a single doubt about her.”

Nimbus lays down on the drapery, folding his paws over each other and resting his chin on top, eyes softening with empathy. He had always been the understanding one out of the two siblings. ‘You better be careful, then, and keep this under wraps. We’d already heard rumors bouncing around back home. We didn’t think they were true— no one really does— but if you’re not careful, this could blow up in your face.’

Harry exhales, nodding solemnly. “I know.”

Onyx breaks his hiatus, voice piping up from where he’s remained seated. ‘This is stupid. You’re a moron, y’know that?’

The young man gives him a taunting scowl. “Y/N thinks I’m a moron, too. Now you have some common ground to build on, eh?”

His pet doesn’t even blink at the joke. ‘This is gonna come back to bite you in the ass. Even if Lucifer lets it slide, I highly doubt God would be okay with you screwing one of his minions. And once he gets wind, no one’s gonna be able to save you. Not the Boss, not the angel, and not any of your friends. You’re putting everything on the line. Are you prepared to face those consequences?’

Harry sighs in exasperation, shoving his hands in his pockets and tightening his fingers until his rings imprint across his skin. “I know, alright? I’m not a fucking child. I can make my own choices and deal with the aftermath. Just let me be. I deserve a little happiness after everything I’ve been through.”

It goes quiet for a while, the only sound being the thrum of the air conditioning and Y/N rummaging around upstairs. Onyx finally talks once more, mood less harsh and strangely accepting.

‘You’re going soft, H.’

Harry laughs boyishly, looking up at the ceiling and shaking his head in amusement. “Only a bit. Caring for someone tends to do that to you.”

‘Yeah, well, you were definitely caring for her before we got here. Hence why her stench is all over you.’

The demon gifts his hound a deadpan expression. “Bold words from someone who smells like rotting flesh.”

‘That’s a compliment.’ Onyx snuffs sarcastically, finally walking over and taking the spot besides Nimbus on top of the blanket. ‘Her smell really is everywhere, the entire room reeks. Out of all the places, it had to be in the room you used to summon us? Are you serious? Have some respect.’

“If you’re that mad that we had sex in the same room, then I probably shouldn’t tell you exactly where we did it.” He glances down at the tapestry below them suggestively, shrugging his brows smugly.

Both of the German Shepherds copy his action, their dark brown eyes filling with extreme disgust as realization dawns, irises flitting bright red. They both tumble up onto all fours, snorting and snarling in angered disbelief as they bound off the tapestry, pawing and rubbing up against the rug below it as if to clean off whatever they’d just laid in.

Both of the hellhounds’ voices shriek in his ears, so appalled that it sends Harry into a round of evilly delighted, full-bellied laughter.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.’

#demon!harry #harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles imagine #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty imagine #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #1d smut #harry smut #smut #1d fanfiction #harry styles drabble #harry styles dirty fanfiction

2K notes · View notes