Summary: Y/n goes to an underground club and meets the devil and she'll never ever forget it.
A/N: Something filthy and fun for Halloween! Not really scary, mostly just a smutty thing!
Word Count: 3.1k
Warning: smut, filth, spitting, major MAJOR size kink, creampie, unprotected public sex, Harry's a demon (or maybe he's just a dick - you choose)
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
Y/n could feel the base vibrating through to her marrow. The whole club was alive, a sticky hot sea of sweaty, dancing bodies, strobing lights, god-awful costumes.
She was less concerned about her white angel wings getting dirtied than she was about her drink getting something tossed into it. Some of the people making eye contact with her were… she didn’t know, but perhaps she’d keep her distance.
Though, as she looked down into her plastic cup, she realized it was all but pink melted ice. If she wanted something to worry about (other than her delicate white wings) she’d need a refill.
She figured she put a little too much effort into her costume. Her angel wings were made of real feathers and lace, lined with ribbing to make them look real, and her gauzy smock dress left little to the imagination for what she wore under. Of course, she doused herself in a healthy amount of soft shimmer and glitter and attempted to do the perfect winged liner –it wasn’t perfect, but it was pretty damn near close.
She'd gone alone to the club. A maybe not-so-smart move in retrospect, but still. She was there and she wanted to do something she'd never done before. Something outside of her comfort zone. Maybe even a little dangerous for once in her life.
The bar was packed with bodies, all lined up for a drink. Y/n waved her arm in the air, hoping to get the attention of the lone bartender. The poor guy was running his ass off and she could see sweat stains under his arms. It was rather stifling in the building.
Suddenly a very warm hand was pressed into her back, hot palm burning through the thin fabric of her dress down to her skin, “You don’t need another drink, Y/n.”
Turning to her right she saw a man with an imposing stature standing over her, his massive mitt cradling his own cup as he looked down at her, green irises practically glowing.
“Says who? I’ve only had one anyway. And how do you know my name?”
The grin that stretched over his face caught her off guard. He was handsome. She let her eyes wander from his broad shoulders up his neck and to the top of his head. He had thick dark waves with small pointed horns sticking out of the top just so. They looked real. The devil. How fitting a costume for a man who looked like that.
“Your name is printed on your cup,” he pointed. Y/n had forgotten that everyone was given a cup upon entry, their name scrawled across the smooth plastic, and told not to lose it. It was one of those underground club events and the cup was like your ticket to get in once you'd passed the initial pay-to-enter area.
She laughed and smiled, “Oh, I forgot,” she looked down at his cup again, noticing large rings adorning his thick fingers, “Harry.”
“What’s an angel doing in a place like this anyway?”
Another laugh puffed from behind her lips before she used her tongue to wet her parched mouth, “It’s a club. I don’t know. Saw an ad and it sounded fun. Why? Should I be worried?” Y/n bit her lip for effect. She wasn’t worried. But she did like this man’s vibe. He was flirty without being overt, his warm hand still sprawled along her back, face dangerously close.
“You should be worried. This is not a safe place, Y/n,” an evil smile worked its way over his features. He was teasing. Or maybe he wasn't.
She shrugged and looked up at him through her lashes before releasing her bottom lip, “But you’re here,” she looked back over her shoulder at the wild crowd behind them, “You gonna keep me safe from all the bad guys?”
“Is the angel asking the devil to watch over her tonight?” His grin grew lopsided, a dimple digging into his skin. God, he was attractive.
“Maybe. But you won’t let me get another drink so I don’t know…”
His eyes scraped over her face and down to her angel outfit, auditing, before he pushed into her back, moving her toward him closer. She watched him sit his cup down on the syrup-smeared bartop before his hand found her jaw, fingers digging into the soft part under her mandible, “Oh you’re parched, are you? Open up for me, angel.”
She felt her body swell and seethe in heat from his bold ask. But what else was she there for that night but to have a little fun with a stranger? So she parted her lips, slowly opening wider as he dipped over her frame and tilted her neck back until she felt the warm glob of saliva land on the tip of her tongue. She let out a pathetic moan when he licked over her lips, his spit moistening the dry skin like he was making sure she knew whose spit was sliding down her throat.
“Did you swallow for me?” He asked cooly as he kept her jaw in his hand.
Knocking her head up and down she kept her eyes on his and then suddenly she was being pulled away from the bar. He had an arm tucked around her waist, keeping her next to his warm frame until they’d moved into the shadowy edges of the club and he prodded her into a small space between a column and a metal air duct before he was pushing his hips and mouth against hers.
He tasted like autumn outdoors, hay, spit, burning leaves… Running her fingers into his hair she felt his hand on her hip, bunching at the sheer fabric until he was reaching into the thin wispy lace of the top of her white panties, palm gliding down her belly button until the pads of his fingers were pressed in a place she would normally never let a stranger touch. Especially not in public.
But it was Halloween, and this was what she’d been looking for. Something a little dangerous, a little crazy. This was the kind of place where one could get away with such iniquities.
Soon, the only thirst that remained was to feel more of him. To feel his hands, his fingers… He smoothed his tongue against hers as his middle finger rubbed tightly over her exposed clit after he'd torn the delicate fabric of her underwear. She was throbbing against him. Wetting his digits slowly until it was slippery and he could easily slide one and then two inside of her cunt.
“Love when I make angels wet. You’re just a good girl but this is exactly what you were looking for, wasn't it?”
She moaned and yanked his hair, hoping he’d put his lips back against hers. She loved his mouth, loved how he kissed her all dirty and raw.
“Yes…” She blinked up at him and then gasped when he shoved a third fat finger inside of her hole. It made her wobble forward into him, her cheek pressed into his solid chest. He fucked her just like that, on his fingers as he kept whispering into her ear, “Gonna change your life tonight angel. Show you what it feels like to really get off.”
Her mouth was wide open as he slid his fingers so deep she was certain nothing had ever gone in like that before. Not even Donny’s hard prick felt like that (what a disappointment he had been).
“Can’t even stand up straight and that’s just my fingers in there little girl. What are you gonna do when it’s my cock splitting you in half, hm?”
She groaned as he continued pumping his fingers through her gummy insides and she gripped onto his biceps so she didn't simply wither to the floor.
Y/n didn’t want anyone to see what was happening but it felt so good and she was so close. Already. The heel of his palm was bumping, sliding into her clit with every thrust of his wrist and she swore he was fucking into her to the beat of the bassy electronic music.
Her head began to spin and her ears were ringing, muffling the noise of the crowd and the music when she felt the delicious release of her orgasm.
Harry pushed her back into the wall quickly when he felt her shaking and with his free hand he held her face, smushing her cheeks with his thumb at one side and his pointer finger on the other, “Look at me when you come. Your orgasm belongs to me. Fuck that’s so pretty…”
She was stunned. It felt so good. Her body was writhing and being pushed and pulled at the hulking man’s direction. He guided her through it, plunging his fingers inside of her and dragging them over her slick spongy spot at the front of her wall. It was like he’d found a hidden switch within her insides and turned it on for her.
“You gonna keep being a good girl for me? Let me claim you and fuck an orgasm out of you on my cock this time? Want that, angel?”
Y/n’s rationale had gone out the window the moment he spit into her mouth and licked over her lips at the bar. So she nodded as he pulled his fingers from her cunt and brought all three, slimy, coated in her arousal, up to her lips, “Open up that thirsty little mouth. Suck.”
She wrapped her lips around his fingers and he pushed them past her comfortable gag spot as he made haste with his other hand, undoing his pants before pulling out his dick.
Harry removed his hand from her mouth and pulled at her neck, "Take a look. Think it'll feel nice and snug inside that tiny little angel pussy?"
Y/n shifted her eyes down to the hot engorged dick the man had brushing against her, his tip wide and ruddy against her labia. She inhaled, looking up at the man and then back down at the size of him, "It's… I don't know… It's so…" She bucked into him, feeling unsteady, her thighs still shaking.
"At least twice as big as what you've played with before. I know. But you get used to it. Come to love it. The way it plugs in so deep, carves into your insides, and makes a nice wet home… No one ever forgets it."
She clutched his forearm with a shaky hand and used her other to reach down and touch him. He was hot. So much warmer than she expected. Peering around his broad shoulders she could see people grinding and doing ungodly things on the dancefloor already. There were no rules in that club, except to not lose the cup you were handed when you paid to enter, and she'd already lost that at the bar somewhere.
When she felt him grip tight the meat of her thigh and perch it over his hip he slid his cockhead to her dripping seam and began to dip in.
"Oohh…" she warbled out a moan and then looked up at his handsome face, "Mmm…"
"Open that pretty mouth, show me your tongue."
She did what he said, parting her lips as her pussy spread open little by little. The feel of him slowly pushing into her was sticky, gooey, sharp. But the warm spit that dripped onto her tongue was salacious, made her pussy throb and flutter around his girth.
"There we go. Get that pussy spread apart for me. Let me have you, angel."
She was already letting him have her. She was his… whatever he wanted, however he wanted it. Right in front of everyone… sloppy, wet, deranged, disgusting…
"Mm ahhh…" she panted, her brows pushed together as he rutted in and in, filling up every bit of empty space she had available. Split open, stuffed full, slippery hot debauchery.
Harry threw his head back for a moment, basking in the tight pussy wrapped around him. Sopping. It was his chance to feel a bit of heaven.
Reaching down for her other thigh, he pushed her up and lifted her, making her wrap her legs around his waist so he could work into her deeper, really give her a taste of what the devil could do.
She yelped and gurgled wetly, eyes bulging as he buried himself in, "Fuck…"
"Yeah? Didn't know angels liked to say such words." He swiveled his hips, a harsh plunge in again, and the squelch of her pussy against his length meant she was as wet as she could possibly be. "Oh you're soaked, angel. No wonder you're so thirsty. All your juices are down here," He rocked up into her and she cried out, "So you can take me properly."
While no one much cared about the angel with her wings pressed into the wall, her legs wrapped around the devil's waist as he stuffed her pussy with his big cock, it was obvious what was going on in that dark little corner every time the strobe flashed over the pair copulating. If the look on her pretty face didn't give it away, all fucked out, wet lips parted, eyes rolling back into her head… it was the way the devil was rocking his hips sharply against her, making her legs shake with every thrust.
He knew he was hollowing her out, poking in beyond what was comfortable for her… he knew she'd never forget the way he felt inside of her. It'd stick with her forever and she'd never be able to come again without thinking about the devil.
She'd masturbate thinking about that night at the club and she'd release with the image of him inside of her. And any poor man who stuck his rinky dinky human dick into her pussy would never get her off –she'd be thinking of Harry, the demon with the biggest cock she'd ever had. That would be the only way she'd ever be able to come. A curse, but also a blessing because now she'd always be able to get off to the memory of him no matter who was fucking her. Everyone else would pale in comparison… but that's what he loved so much about fucking sweet human girls. They never forgot his big cock and he owned them in a way. At least he owned their orgasms.
Slushy, gloopy, splatting… his long dick dragged and kissed against her sweetest spot and she felt the tingle and the ache of it as she bounced with every drive of his hips.
"Give me that come, angel. Right on my cock."
She inhaled sharply as he laved his tongue over her lips, slicking his saliva over her mouth and spitting onto her tongue again, "Mine. It's all mine, isn't it? Cunt will never feel it like this again but she'll remember who owns her won't she?"
Y/n was simply done for… her body was putty, molten liquid, dripping, bowing to his whim. His cock would be forever imprinted within her womb as she felt him slide through her channel, thick and throbbing - it was as if she could feel his bulbous cockhead pushing into her tummy, bulging at the front. Microscopic tears around her gaping, wet, stretched muscle she'd need to tend to later. All worth it to be fucked like that.
Her eyes were bleary as she looked at him when she began to come. He was right and she knew it. Her body would never forget it. She was ruined for him already as her vocal cords hitched up an octave and she made his favorite noise. Every dip of his broad crown through her gushing walls smeared his leaking slit against her cervix.
Harry watched the angel fall apart around his cock, face crumpled, body reveling in her release, toes curled in her shoes, but when she moaned his name and gazed into his eyes with droopy lids he couldn't hold back the way she was milking around him. He slammed into her, one brutal thrust, cock burrowing in as he splattered and pumped into her. His warm spend, a mucusy mural for her tight little wet walls. Like his signature left behind so anyone else who entered would know he'd been there. That everything inside of her cunt belonged to him because he'd already claimed it…
She'd think about all that later. That she'd had unprotected sex with a stranger at a club. That he'd filled her with his sperm and spit into her mouth. She'd get tested and watch for her period and then get tested again. And when she turned out clean and not pregnant part of her would be disappointed that she didn't have some excuse to search for the man to let him know what he'd done so she could do it all over again with him. Get her brains fucked out and her little pussy stretched in a way that shouldn't have been as good as it was.
But she wouldn't regret that part. Her only rue that night would be that she hadn't gotten his last name or maybe a number. It was probably better to not know who he was, though. Because if she did she'd obsess. She'd fiend. She'd pine. She'd stalk. She'd make a fool of herself to just have another taste. And a guy like him would probably already be onto the next.
It was better to not know who he was because he wasn't really nice. When he was finished with her, when his come was fucked into her and he made her watch how he shoved it all back in with his huge cock, gripped her neck, and made her look at the way it dripped from her puffy, used pussy and how he took his dick and pressed it back into her stinging hole and told her to not to clean herself up –he left. He dropped her down to her feet, tucked his big cock back into his pants, patted her hot little cheek, and walked off without even turning back to look or check on her.
She watched him disappear into the crowd with her torn panties at her hips and his come dripping down the inside of her legs, chest heaving, heart thrashing in her chest… Her back and her legs and her pussy ached but she'd have him again if he just came back. So, it was better to not know.
It was better to not know because maybe he actually was the devil.
⛧☾༺♰༻☽⛧
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CW: Smut, long hair Harry (I swear all my spooky fics aren’t with lhh), language, Harry has an attitude problem aka he’s an asshole, obsessive behavior, one emotional moment and slight dirty talk (sorry I like my fictional men very vocal).
A/N: This was very fun because who doesn’t love a bit of unhinged behavior followed by extreme regret? I hope y’all enjoy!! Also…it’s been too long since I’ve mentioned Harry’s hatred for Shawn so I tossed that in for funsies🖤
Summary: Harry can’t stand you until suddenly he can’t stand to be without you🖤
“If there is a true ruler of the underworld please let them have mercy on me just one time and don’t let her-” Harry’s quiet pleading gets cut off by the sound of a door slamming closed, he opens his eyes and looks up and over his shoulder to see who it is that could possibly need to be on the roof of his apartment building at this hour. When his eyes land on an extremely familiar pair of pink fuzzy slippers he lets out a groan and looks down at his feet with a scowl. “I should’ve known…mercy isn’t exactly your thing.” He mumbles as he runs a hand through his long hair, trying his best to ignore the smacking sound that accompanies each step the slipper clad feet make towards him.
“I brought you some snacks.” Your voice is entirely too bright and cheery for it being near midnight and it has Harry’s jaw ticking as you approach him near the railing that keeps people from falling off the ledge of the roof. “I know you-”
“You don’t know me at all.” He snaps as he turns and leans his back against the metal railing, crossing his arms over his chest making the thin material of his black long sleeve shirt strain against the muscles in his biceps while his eyes narrow into a hard glare that you ignore as you take your usual spot in front of him.
“I know you get cranky when you haven’t eaten and by the looks of that glare I’d say you’re well past cranky and are now headed towards full on hangry.” You explain with a shrug as you reach into the floral print tote bag you always have draped over your shoulder, Harry doesn’t say anything as he watches you pull out a ziplock bag of cookies.
“You expect me to eat those?” He asks looking away from your face and down to the bag in your outstretched hand, a look of disgust etched onto his devilishly handsome face. “I don’t know how clean your kitchen is…you could live in a shit hole for all I know not to mention I don’t know if you even know how to bake-I’m not risking my health over your very sad looking excuse for chocolate chip cookies.” His voice is low and his tone is harsh but it doesn’t even make you flinch, having gotten used to Harry’s temper after the first few times he said something mean to you the very first night you met almost a month ago.
“As if you really care about your health.” You argue as you shake the bag just a bit, Harry’s glare looses a bit of its hardness as he looks back up to your face just as you flash him a playful smile.
“Just because I’m one of the Devil’s offspring doesn’t mean I don’t take my health seriously.”
“Oh right because smoking a pack of cigarettes a day and never drinking a single ounce of water is the picture of a healthy lifestyle.”
“It’s half a pack a day and-” He states as he snatches the ziplock bag out of your hands making a chill run down your spine when his fingers brush against the skin of your palm. “I drink one glass of water every week.” He corrects you with a smug little smirk on his face as you roll your eyes.
“Does that make you the healthiest demon in town then?” You ask curiously while you dig around in your tote, Harry lets out a scoff as he opens the bag of cookies and brings it up to his nose to give it a sniff before deciding to take one out, holding the bag in one hand and examining the baked good in his other as if he’s checking to see if it really is something he should risk eating or not.
“I’m the only demon in town.” He answers harshly, his tone giving away his annoyance at you having the audacity to think there was someone similar to him in the small little town you live in. You quirk a brow at him as you look over just as he takes a rather large bite of one of your cookies.
“Are you sure? Because I think-”
“At the moment I’m sure about two things and one is that baking isn’t your forte because that was absolutely disgusting.” The corners of your mouth drop down into a frown as he tosses the ziplock holding the rest of your cookies down onto the floor by your feet. “And the other is that there aren’t any other demons in town because that’s the whole reason I picked this boring ass place to begin with-no competition.” He tells you as he tosses the half eaten cookie over his shoulder smiling when he hears a muffled noise of surprise mixed with a hint of pain as it lands on a man walking on the sidewalk in front of the building four floors down.
“That wasn’t very nice.” You say with a huff as you walk over to the ledge and look down to make sure the man is okay. Harry just lets out a loud laugh as he turns his head so he can watch the worry slowly fade away from your face once you see the man rubbing his head as he walks away seemingly fine just a little confused.
“I wasn’t made to be nice.” He reminds you as he takes a moment to look you over, your hair is blowing around in the wind and the neck of your oversized pink and black sweatshirt is hanging just slightly off your left shoulder giving him a view of your black bra strap and the soft looking black shorts you have on are showing him way more leg than he’s used to seeing from you and for some reason it makes an odd sort of anger begin to flow through his veins.
For the short amount of time you’ve been bugging Harry and showing up nightly to his hiding spot on the roof where he likes to take in the view of the city before going to prowl the streets for people too drunk or desperate to be bothered about the idea of selling him their soul in exchange for what they see as a wish but always turns out to be more of a curse, you’ve never had less than four layers on because you’re one of those annoying humans that always run cold. So seeing you without a pair of leggings or those god awful looking sweatpants on that he can tell you’ve have for over a decade is extremely bothersome because he knows you’re going to complain about how chilly you are as if you’re not the one who picked the extremely short shorts to begin with. And if there’s one thing Harry hates hearing more than any other sound in the entire world it’s the squeaky whiney tone your voice takes when you’re upset about something.
“You need more clothes on.” The way he spits the words out as if they cause a bad taste in his mouth makes you look down at your outfit while Harry’s eyes slowly trail from your fuzzy slippers all the way back up to your face.
"Just because you're the offspring of some evil...thing doesn't mean you have to be mean for no reason." You argue, completely ignoring his random outburst and remaining oblivious to the way his eyes are glued on you and his hands are clenched into fists at his sides.
“Are all humans this unintelligent or is this a special little talent that only you possess?” You ignore him and continue to look out at the city that’s half asleep and half buzzing with excitement since it’s a Friday and the clock just hit midnight meaning for some people the evening has just begun while others are calling it a night and heading off to the safety of their warm and cozy beds. “Honestly I’m curious because I just don’t understand how you can be so wrong about everything? It’s fascinating but also tiresome because I hate having to dumb things down but I guess for you I’ll make an exception.” He turns his body so he’s facing you while you stay leaning against the railing.
“Okay Harry dumb it down for me then…what am I wrong about now?” You ask as you turn your head so you can look at him, his jaw is set in a hard line while his eyes turn almost black as they stare into yours and he has a look on his face that should have you cowering away in fear but instead has you unable to move an inch. As if you’re worried that any sudden movements from you will have Harry turning and storming off in a dramatic fit of rage and that’s the last thing you want to do, hating the thought of him being anywhere but the few feet away from you.
“It’s my genetics that give me a reason to be mean all the time-I’m the son of a demon who gets pleasure from other people’s pain so of course I’m going to enjoy causing a bit of chaos and the feeling I get is a bit addictive when I know I’m the reason someone is having the worst day of their already miserable little life.” You turn your body so you can be face to face with him as he goes on about how he’s made to be mean, a look of amusement on his face when he sees your brows pinch together in confusion.
“But you’re not mean all the time.” Your words have Harry seeing red, not because he’s mad but because as they roll off your tongue he feels his insides start to burn at the idea of you not seeing him for the evil entity that he is and confusing him for someone or something that’s capable of anything other than causing people pain and misfortune anywhere he goes.
“You truly are the dumbest human I’ve ever met and that’s saying a lot because I’m well acquainted with Niall on the second floor.”
“Niall is nice he-”
“I never said he wasn’t nice I just said he’s an idiot.” He states as he glances down at the watch on his wrist. “Both things can be true at the same time.” He adds matter of factly while you just stare at him, getting distracted by the way his jawline looks in the dim lights on the roof.
“Do you think all humans are idiots?” Harry can tell by the way your voice is soft and breezy sounding that you’re lost in your thoughts and when he looks away form his watch and locks eyes with you he notices your cheeks are flushed a bright pink and your pupils are blown out and he can’t help but let out an annoyed sigh as he brings a hand up and snaps a few times in front of your face knocking you out of whatever trance you were in.
“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?” You try to hide your embarrassment while Harry turns to face the door that you just walked out of a few minutes ago. “But to answer your question-” He looks at you over his shoulder with a smirk on his face. “No I don’t think all humans are idiots-just most of them.” He says teasingly but with an edge that lets you know he’s actually not kidding, you watch him take a step towards the door, the crunching sound his boot makes as he steps on the bag of cookies he tossed on the ground makes your mouth drop into a small pout.
“Goodnight Harry.” He doesn’t respond or even give you any indication that he heard you, instead he just opens the door and quickly walks through it letting it slam closed behind him as if he’s trying to get as far away from you as quickly as possible.
Meeting Harry almost a month ago wasn’t something you planned, you had no clue he was even on the roof when you ran up there to get some air during a small panic attack. The moment you pushed the door open and took in the first deep breath of the crisp nighttime air letting it work its way into your lungs you somehow just knew you weren’t alone. When your eyes scanned the dimly lit rooftop Harry was already staring at you from his spot near the edge, his eyes locked on you while his head was tilted to the side and his long hair was half pulled up keeping his face from being hidden. You had never seen someone look so painfully beautiful before, with a jawline that looked like it was carved out of marble and emerald green eyes that seemed as if they could see straight into the deepest darkest parts of you and instead of turning and running away at the intensity of him, you simply took a step closer to him, wanting to be as close to him as possible like his stare was pulling you in instead of pushing you away.
“Stupid girl.” Was the first thing he ever said to you, his voice was deep and the harshness of his tone was accentuated by his accent, all of it only added to the appeal of him.
That first night up on the roof he gave you half an hour of his time before he disappeared through the door and went about his business for the night, a business you quickly learned was collecting debts of some sort and making deals with the types of people you would normally avoid. The second night you were just indulging in your curiosity and went up to the roof to see if he was there and when you saw him smoking a cigarette while looking out at the city with his forearms resting on the railing you couldn’t even attempt to stop the grin that quickly took over your face. Harry on the other hand couldn’t hold back the annoyed sigh that puffed past his lips when he stood up straight and tossed a glare your way over his shoulder but you didn’t care, all you cared about was that he was there and he was looking at you. That was the night you learned he goes to the roof every evening, something he would later inform you he deeply regretted telling you because now he can’t get rid of you. But it wasn’t until the third night that you met him on the roof that you learned the true nature of his being, and although he was annoyed during the whole duration of his explanation you were just enamored by the way his eyes seems to glow in the moonlight.
“I’m a demon…my job is to collect souls of the people who unfortunately made a deal with the wrong devil.” That was the first time you saw him smile, even though it was small and had a glint of something mischievous behind it, the dimples that appeared with it nearly had your knees feeling weak at how perfect it looked taking over his face. “I also make a few deals myself-granting wishes to people who are so desperate that they don’t care what it takes as long as they get what they want…but in the end it’s always only me who gets what he wants.” It was the way he watched you as he spoke, studying your reaction to his job description that had your heart feeling all funny. But when you just merely nodded and asked him if he liked his job sadly the smile and the dimples that came with it faded into a scowl and him mumbling something under his breath about how you’re the dumbest human he’s ever met as he pushed past you to make his usual dramatic exit for the evening.
You never intended to catch feelings for him but with each snarl, dramatic roll of his eyes, insulting words tossed your way about your lack of intelligence and the very rare smile that’s only ever stitched onto his face for less than an second before falling into a scowl you somehow found yourself looking forward to the time spent on the rooftop with him. It never once occurred to you that it was a bad idea to have a little crush on him because his good looks and quick wit are all things made to draw people in, using them to his advantage to get what he wants out of them but it seems that with you he does almost everything in his power to try to keep you away. He’s said cruel things to you such as how annoying your voice is, how clingy you are and how every single second he has to spend with you is arguably the worst part of his day because all he wants is some peace and quiet before going out for the night. He even lets it be known how he sees you as nothing more than an overly bubbly and obnoxiously naive nuisance of a human.
The thing is, you just can’t seem to care.
You let out a sigh of content as you stand next to Harry, the sky a swirling mixture of darkness and the occasional twinkle of stars that poke through the clouds as they pass by. You don’t need to look at him to know his mouth is set in a hard line and the wrinkle between his brows is more prominent due to the way he has them pinched together in both annoyance and confusion as he looks at you. It’s a look you’ve come to know very well because it’s the one he always gives you every time you walk out onto the roof just a few minutes before midnight. A look that lets you know he still doesn’t understand why you come up here after all the things he’s said to you and the way he’s treated you, like he has no clue that he makes your heart do back flips and a swarm of butterflies to go off in your tummy every time he looks at you.
“This is getting a bit ridiculous.” His voice causes you to look over at him with a quirked brow as he turns so he’s facing you while your hands stay gripping the railing.
“You have to stop coming up here-at least while I’m up here.”
“You don’t own the rooftop Harry I can come up here whenever I want.” You tell him with a laugh that makes him clench his jaw as he glares at you.
“But that’s the thing-you don’t come up here when it’s empty…no you only come up here to see me and that’s not only annoying it’s pathetic.” His voice is steady, his tone flat as if it means absolutely nothing to him to toss such harsh insults your way like this is just another meaningless conversation he’s having with someone of no importance to him.
“I-I’m not pathetic I’m-”
“Oh but you are.” He snaps, cutting you off. You turn to face him as he runs a hand through his hair letting you see the chunky rings that are snuggly tucked up against his knuckles. Him letting out an annoyed huff has your focus going away from his hands and back up to his face.
“You come up to this rooftop every single night because you want to see me because the hour or so you spend with me each night is far better than the rest of the hours you’ve spent alone in your apartment all day because you have no friends and no social life.” You stare at him as his words chip away at you bit by bit, Harry lets out a sigh as his eyes finally find yours and you can tell by the way the turn almost black that whatever is about to come out of his mouth is going to hurt.
“But what makes you really pathetic is the fact you come up here knowing that I can’t stand you-that the minutes we spend together are like torture because you are the most idiotic and frustrating human I’ve ever come across and yet here you are.” He gestures to you as a dark chuckle bubbles up from his chest. “Standing there looking at me as if I’ve hung the fucking moon and all the bloody stars that go with it…you look at me as if you love me and I don’t know if there’s even a word to describe how dumb that is because I’m not capable of love and even if I was there’s no way in hell I’d ever love someone like you.” His voice is harsh as his words cut through the tense atmosphere surrounding the two of you like a knife, he watches your hands clench and unclench at your sides as you let out a deep breath through your nose before blinking a few times and looking down at your feet.
“Okay.” Your voice is soft and quiet as you do your best to keep your composure, refusing to let Harry see how his words have all but broken you completely. He stares at you with a look of pure shock etched on his face, clearly not expecting such an odd reaction from you seeing as usually when he says mean things to you all you do is roll your eyes and move on to asking him a silly question of telling him a random fact.
“Okay? What does that even mean?” He asks with a small hint of frustration in his voice. You clear your throat and put on a small smile before looking up and meeting his gaze. Harry almost flinches at how empty your eyes look, but he hides it and waits for you to explain yourself hoping it’ll shine some light on why it feels as if you’re looking through him and not at him.
“It means you win…I mean you said it yourself…in the end you always get what you want.” Harry opens his mouth as if he’s going to say something but closes it as you turn and head for the door. His eyes are glued on the back of you as he watches you, not able to look away until the door slams shut behind you and he can hear your slippers smacking against the metal steps of the stairs, leaving him alone to soak up his peace and quiet.
Five days.
That’s how long Harry lasts without seeing you.
The first day starts off relatively normal for him, he sleeps until well past noon and he doesn’t even think of you until he hears the unmistakable sound of you walking by his door. It’s that sound that has him standing in his kitchen, coffee mug in his hand and a scowl on his face while thinking your feet hitting any kind of floor is such an annoying sound that he’s able to pick it out of everyone else’s that walk by. On day two Harry is hit with the faint smell of your perfume as he walks up the stairs to the roof, it has his tummy doing weird things as he readies himself to see you standing there when he pushes the door open. When he steps out onto the roof the corners of his mouth twitch as he looks around and sees you’re nowhere to be found. An odd feeling takes ahold of him as he looks out at the city, a feeling that maybe just maybe being left alone isn’t what he really wanted.
Day three is when he hears your voice for the first time, it’s through his door while he’s sitting on his couch except it’s not the usual “have a good day Harry” you shout to him on your way out for the day or even the occasional warning of “don’t forget a jacket Harry! Just because you’re from hell doesn’t mean you can’t catch a cold” that usually has him rolling his eyes. This time it’s you saying hello to someone else and the voice that responds to you isn’t one Harry’s familiar with at all and before he can even stop himself he is bent down so he can look out his peep hole and the feeling of pure rage that takes over his body makes him nearly rip his door off it’s hinges when he sees you’re talking to some brunette man he doesn’t know. Now normally Harry couldn’t care less who you talk to, he’d be happy to have someone else take up your time so you can stop bothering him but seeing the smile that’s on your face and knowing it’s directed at some mystery man just doesn’t sit right with him at all.
The fourth day is when Harry starts to truly come undone but in a way that’s more like a pot slowly boiling over, the bubbles cascading down the side causing an unpleasant hissing noise as they hit the burner. That hissing noise is how he would describe his inner thoughts as he paces his living room trying to come up with a rational explanation as to why you smiling at someone has him ready to send some man he doesn’t even know down to the depths of hell for the rest of eternity. Not that he can even do that seeing as there’s levels to the power each demon has and Harry isn’t anywhere near the level that can actually send someone to hell.
The fourth day is also the day that Harry discovers the painful ache in his chest isn’t because of the weird leftovers he ate two days ago, it’s because some part of him, his heart to be specific is longing for something or someone. It’s a pain he hasn’t ever felt before and it has him ready to reach inside himself and yank the useless organ out of his chest and toss it out the window because he has no real use for it, or at least that’s what he thinks until he’s standing outside on the roof and sees you walking towards the apartment building. It’s in that moment that the ache in his chest starts to fade as soon as his eyes land on you that has him coming to a startling realization, it’s you his heart has been longing for. The one that causes him to feel as if he’s slowly losing his mind just because he hasn’t gotten to see you or properly hear your voice in a few days. But more importantly the one he pushed away and the one he thinks he might be in love with.
Day five is the one that changes everything.
Harry is walking out of his apartment on the fourth floor when he hears the irritating sound of Niall Horan’s voice. Harry knows he lives on the second floor so he’s not really sure what he’s doing up here unless it’s to see someone and the only other person on this floor that’s even remotely the same age as him would be you. As Harry turns around to face the blue eyed Irishman he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up just as a man walks by and offers a cheerful hello to Niall.
“Shawn mate s’good to see ya!” Harry’s eyes narrow into a hard glare as he watches the tall brunette man give Niall a hug, it’s not until Shawn turns to the side that Harry recognizes him.
“Who the fuck are you?” The words are out of his mouth before he can stop them making both Niall and Shawn turn to look at Harry with raised brows.
“Uhm I’m Shawn who-”
“Do you live here?” Harry asks cutting him off, Niall looks away from Harry and over at Shawn who looks extremely uncomfortable, a typical response when Harry’s dark eyes are staring straight into someone else’s.
“N-no I don’t live here I just-”
“He’s just hanging out with our friend in 4C.” Niall finishes for him making Harry’s hands clench into fists at the mention of your apartment number. Harry doesn’t know what takes over him as he walks over and grabs a fistful of Shawn’s shirt and slams him against the wall making Niall’s eyes go wide in shock.
“Not anymore you’re not. You’re never going to come back here again and if I so much as catch a whiff of your tacky smelling cologne you’re a dead man. Got that?” Niall places his hands on top of Harry’s shoulders as he practically growls his way through the threat, Shawn’s brown eyes go wide with fear and the silent understanding that the man in front of him staring at him with pitch black eyes isn’t kidding. Harry takes his little nod as a yes and releases his hold on his shirt, letting him make his way to the stairs nearly tripping over himself in the process. Niall is staring at Harry with a very knowing look on his face as Harry runs a hand through his hair.
“Oh you’re down bad.”
“What are you blabbering on about?”
“4C…you like her huh? That’s why you went all crazy on poor Shawn.”
“Fuck off Niall I don’t have time-”
“Haven’t seen her hanging around the roof lately…you two in a fight or something?”
“No.” Harry snaps as he pulls his hair into a messy bun before heading for the stairs that go up to the roof.
“She likes carnations if you need ideas on how to apologize to her for whatever dumb shit you said that’s making her avoid the roof like the plague.” Harry turns on his heels, Niall just watches as he stalks over to him.
“You think I don’t know which flowers she likes? As if I haven’t memorized every little detail about her?” Niall’s cheeks get red as Harry glares down at him. “I can tell by the way she unlocks her front door if she’s having a bad day or not. I know the way her laugh sounds from down the hall and can tell if it’s fake or genuine and when she’s around you it’s usually fake. I could spot her in an overcrowded room by her smile alone.” Harry lets out a sarcastic chuckle as he takes a step backwards. “So no Niall I do not need ideas on how to apologize.” With that Harry turns and heads for the stairs but he doesn’t even hit the first step before he hears Niall’s voice.
“So you are going to apologize then?” And that has Harry letting out a frustrated huff as he walks up the short staircase and pushes the door open letting the loud slam of it closing behind him to serve as an answer to Niall’s question.
Harry closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath feeling himself start to calm down as he lets it out slowly through his nose. He repeats that process two more times, opening his eyes when he feels his urge to go and find that Shawn fellow out on the street and get rid of him for good so he can’t ever try to attempt to see you again turn into a low simmer deep inside his chest instead of the raging boil it was just a few moments ago. He taps his back pocket and lets out an annoyed groan when he doesn’t feel his pack of cigarettes that he usually keeps there along with his lighter.
“Fuck.” He snaps as he starts pacing the length of the roof, he drags a hand over his face in frustration. “Stupid fucking Niall asking if I’m going to apologize-apologize for what?” He asks himself as he pauses and look over his shoulder at the soft glow of the city lights in the distance.
“All I said was the truth…she’s insufferable with her silly laugh and annoying smile and the way she’s always asking questions and….and-” Harry’s words get stuck in his throat as his eyes glance towards the spot near the railing that might as well have your name etched in the concrete due to how often you stand there every time you come see him. “And I…I love her.” He barely gets the words out before he’s rushing towards the door, skipping every other step getting down the stairs in record time.
He doesn’t even allow himself time to catch his breath or fix his disheveled appearance, he just reaches a hand up and bangs his knuckles on your door three times. His hands grip the frame as he leans in to press his ear against it, trying to listen for the sound of your feet shuffling towards the door. His brows pinch together when all he can hear is the faint swirling of the small space heater you told him you bought for your living room because your feet are always cold. He’s about to knock a few more times when suddenly the lock turns and you’re swinging the door open.
“Someone better be dying for you to bang on my-Harry?” The sleepy tone of your voice is quickly replaced with one of surprise as your eyes find his. Harry doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just stands there with his hands on your doorframe staring at you as if you were a precious work of art. “W-what are you doing here?” Your voice is shaky as you take a small step backwards to create some space between the two of you.
“I lied.” You raise a brow at him as he drops his hands to his sides and takes a small step into your apartment, kicking the door closed with his foot behind him. You swallow down the nerves that are building up in your chest.
“Lied about what?”
“Everything.” He says quickly and before you can register what’s happening Harry lets out a loud sigh and falls to his knees right in front of you. “I am capable of love…and I only know that because I-I love you and I’m the pathetic one because it took me hurting you and pushing you away to realize it.” His voice is shaky as he reaches out and grabs your hands as you stare down at him with a look of confusion and shock on your face.
“Harry you don’t mean that you’re just-”
“Oh but I do.” His eyes lock with yours as he brings your hands up to his lips, placing kisses to your knuckles. “And I’m so sorry I was so cruel to you and I would understand it completely if you told me to leave but I just need you to know that I didn’t mean any of it.” His hands place yours over his chest making your cheeks get hot as you feel the soft material of his shirt under your fingertips. “Every minute you’re away from me is the real torture because then it just leaves me with the reminders of you that are everywhere it seems-like I couldn’t escape you even if I wanted to.” He lets go of your wrists so he can reach out and place his hands on your hips, gently urging you closer to him while your hands move to grip the tops of his shoulders.
“I-uhm I don’t understand? I thought you hated me.” You tell him softly, Harry lets out a soft groan as he rests his forehead on your lower tummy, trying to think of the words he needs to say for you to believe him, that he really does care about you.
“I could never hate you.” He admits as he looks up at you. “I know I’m not good enough for you so I was mean and hoped it would keep you away because-I’m never going to be the good guy that can sweep you off your feet and ride you off into the sunset…I’m inherently evil and I know that you can do so much better than me but-” Harry pauses when you place a hand on the side of his face making him close his eyes briefly as he leans into the warmth of your touch.
“I’m selfish and don’t want to have to go through the agony of watching you be with someone else…I would rather burn in the pits of hell than have to endure that…please tell me you’ll forgive me? That you’ll let me earn a spot in your heart again.” He speaks in a softer tone than you’ve ever heard him speak before and his eyes are all but pleading with you to believe him and to accept his apology.
“You really….you really love me?” Your voice is barley above a whisper as you stare into Harry’s bright emerald colored eyes and for the first time you watch a smile spread across his face, one that has no hint of mischief or teasing behind it but one that shows off his dimples and makes the hard edges of his face soften ever so slightly.
“I do-so incredibly much it’s a bit infuriating if I’m being honest.” He answers as he stands up, making your hand slide off his cheek and down to his chest.
“I love you too Har-” Harry’s lips are crashing into yours before you can finish saying his name, his hands cup the sides of your face tilting it upward allowing him to deepen the kiss as he slowly starts to walk you backward. He doesn’t need to be given a tour to know his way around your house, since it’s the same layout as his.
“I missed you.” He mumbles as he kisses down your jaw as the back of your knees hit the armrest of your couch. “Missed your voice.” You let out a little noise that goes straight to Harry’s cock as his lips kiss down the side of your neck. “Missed your laugh.” He says between kisses over the soft skin of your throat, his hands travel down your sides until he’s sliding one under the hem of your oversized sweatshirt that has a ghost with a cowboy hat on it that says “lets ghoul girls” in pink writing across your chest.
“You-you don’t think my laugh sounds like nails on a chalkboard?” Harry lets out a laugh as he pulls away just enough so he can look at you.
“No love-it sounds like what I like to think my version of Heaven would sound like if they ever decide to let me in… it’s sweet…bubbly and bright.” He tells you sweetly before his lips are once again on yours. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down closer to you making him smile against your lips as he moves his hands to your hips letting them glide down to the back of your thighs and in one swift motion he pick you up making you let out a squeak of surprise while wrapping your legs around his middle causing your pink fuzzy slippers to fall off.
“Oh no! My slippers!”
“Those things are hideous and the sound they make when you walk is loud enough to wake the dead.”
“That’s rude…just please don’t drop me.”
“Never.” He states with a smile as he walks down the your bedroom is on, being the room that shares a wall with his living room giving him the privilege of being able to hear you talking to yourself when you think no one is listening.
His eyes never leave yours as he gently places you down on the soft comforter covering your bed, your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as his hands run up and down the outside of your thighs as he stands between them, he kicks his shoes off making them land on the floor with a thud. As Harry looks at you he feels as if everything suddenly makes sense, like he understands now that didn’t randomly pick this city because the lack of competition in the demon department, no he picked this city because deep down what’s left of his soul knew this is where he needed to be and that’s wherever you are. He licks his lips and tilts his head to the side as his eyes break away from yours and slowly roam down your body stopping when he gets to the hem of your bike shorts.
“Normally I’d say you need more clothes on but honestly right now I think you have way too many layers on.” He jokes gently, not wanting to push his teasing too far and make you upset since just yesterday you sat on this very same bed and told yourself the demon next door hated you.
“I keep it warm in my apartment because I’m always-”
“Cold.” He answers for you making you just nod as his hands slide up your sides until they find the waistband of your shorts. “I know you better than you think I do.” He watches your face for any signs of hesitation as he slips his thumbs under the band and starts to gently tug them down, you swallow thickly and lift your hips a bit to help him and this has Harry grinning down at you as he tosses them to the side of your room.
“I-I never knew you were actually paying attention to me when-when I spoke.” Your words has a pang of guilt hit Harry right in the chest.
“If you only knew the way I hung off every single word you ever said to me because I was always afraid they’d be the last ones I’d get to hear come from that pretty little mouth of yours.” He tells you as he leans down, his hands on either side of your face. “I was so scared that eventually you’d realize how horrible I am and stop showing up.” He explains before placing a kiss to your forehead.
“Harry why didn’t you tell me you felt like this?”
“I think it’s safe to say by now that I’m an idiot-not only for how I treated you but for not telling you how I felt the moment I felt it.” He says with a breathy laugh as he stands up, your eyes go wide when he reaches down and grabs the bottom of his shirt pulling it over his head so he can throw it on top of your shorts.
Harry has to hold back a little chuckle as your mouth falls open while your eyes take in the view of him shirtless for the very first time, his muscles and swirls of dark ink scattered across his skin make your heart start to beat faster and your hands struggling to remain at your sides and not reach out and touch him to make sure he’s real. You sit up and as gracefully as possible given how shaky your hands are take your sweatshirt off revealing to Harry you decided to skip the bra tonight as you add the garment to the growing pile of clothes on your floor.
“Can I take these off?” You’re nodding your head yes just as his fingers slip into the silky material of your panties. “You’re so pretty baby.” He says with a soft sigh as he slides the material down your legs, his eyes taking in the newly revealed parts of your flesh he’s never gotten the honor of seeing before.
“You-you’re pretty too.” Your voice is timid making him smile as his eyes find yours, the moment they do you feel all your worries and sudden embarrassment fade away.
“Yeah? You think I’m pretty?” He asks smugly as he grabs one of your hands and places a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “I love you.” You smile as the words effortlessly fall out of his mouth.
“I love you too.” Harry feels his heart swell as the sound of your pretty voice tells him the words he didn’t even know he’d been longing to hear. As his eyes stay locked with yours his hands begin messing with his belt buckle and then quickly unbutton his jeans so he can push them down his legs and kick them off along with his boxers.
“Fuck baby you’ve been hiding all this from me under those ugly sweatshirts and leggings?” The way his eyes leave a burning trail as they roam up your body has you not even able to be upset at him insulting your sweatshirt collection.
You bite into your bottom lip as Harry leans down and presses his lips to your lower tummy, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake as he kisses his way up to your chest. You watch his eyes darken as they stare into yours as he hovers over you, a smile appears on his face as your hands reach up and cup his face. He watches your face as your fingers trace over the bridge of his nose and ghost over his cheekbones, he kisses the pad of your thumb when you drag it across his bottom lip making you let out a laugh.
“I’ve dreamed of this.” You confess quietly. “Of getting to know how soft you are and-and what you’d look like smiling at me like you’re happy and not because you’re about to tell me how annoying or dumb I am.” Harry knows you don’t mean to hurt him with your words, but each one cuts him deeper than the last hearing how you’ve dreamed of something as simple as his smile all because he never once gave you a genuine one.
“I’m sorry love…you didn’t deserve that.” You close your eyes as he leans down and presses his lips to your forehead. “I’m going to be better-going to give you what you deserve.” He promises as he kisses the tip of your nose making you giggle as his lips move to your cheeks giving them little pecks.
“I believe you Harry.” His lips are pressing into yours in a hungry kiss as soon as the words leave your mouth. Your hands grab the sides of Harry’s face pulling him closer as he slips his tongue past your lips, you let out a soft moan when he gives you a small roll of his hips letting you feel the tip of his cock press against your center.
“Need to feel you baby please let me feel you.” His words are rushed as his lips travel down your jaw to your neck.
He lets out a loud groan when you hike a leg over his hip as your hands slide into his hair pulling his hair tie out and tossing it to the floor so you can run your hands through it, giving it a tug when he starts nipping and sucking at the spot below your ear. You let out a gasp when you feel him push his thick shaft into your wetness, your eyes close and your grip in his hair tightens as you adjust to his size while he slowly pushes all the way in. His lips are back on yours, swallowing down your moans as he pulls out to the tip just to push back in with one smooth thrust of his hips.
“I’ve dreamed of this-getting to feel you like this. You feel so fucking good baby.” Harry says with a moan as he pulls away so he can watch your face, your eye open and a soft moan falls from your parted lips as your hands drop from his hair down to your sides so you can grip the sheets as his hips find a steady pace. “My pretty girl taking me so well.” He praises as he gives you a harsh thrust that has the tip of his cock hitting a spot that has you arching into him.
“Oh god.” Harry gets a smug smile on his face as he feels you start to pulse around him. “You-it’s so good.” Your voice is breathy as Harry keeps up his quick and steady pace, he lets out a deep growl when one of your hands claws at his back at a particularly deep thrust.
“Shit baby you’re squeezing me so fucking good-want you to let go for me.” His lips are next to your ear as he leans down, you let out a loud moan of his name when you bend your other knee and spread your legs wider letting him get deeper with each thrust. “Make a mess pretty girl-need to feel you soak my cock baby please.” The desperation in his voice mixed with the harsh thrusts of his hips has you tipping over the edge and all but crying out his name as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave.
“That’s it baby there you go-fuck you’re so perfect.” He coos sweetly in your ear as he gently fucks you through your high, chasing his own in the process. He lets out a deep moan when your hands go into his hair giving him a tug at his roots.
“Don’t-don’t stop Harry-please don’t stop.” You plead as his thrusts turn sloppy, he lets out a muffled groan as his lips find your jaw. He eyes close and he hides his face in the crook of your neck as he gives you a few harsh thrusts until he’s letting out a chant of your name mixed with a few curse words as you feel the warmth of his release coat your walls.
“So good baby you did so good.” You have a smile on your face when he pulls away from the comfort of your neck with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. “I love you-so fucking much.” He pants with a lopsided smile on his face as he looks down at you.
“I love you too.” You answer with a sigh as your arms fall to your sides making Harry chuckle at how content you look. “Will you stay the night with me?” You ask suddenly feeling your nerves begin to creep back up into your chest. Harry just rolls his eyes before leaning down and pressing his lips against yours in a quick kiss before he rolls over so he’s on his back next to you.
“Of course I will-honestly good luck getting rid of me now baby.” You let out a giggle as he pulls you into his side letting you rest your head on his chest. “Also you won’t be seeing that fucking asshole Shawn ever again.”
“What? He’s just-”
“He’s just an overly friendly twat is what he is and you won’t be seeing him again.”
“Harry.” He raises an eyebrow at you as you turn onto your stomach so you can rest your chin on his chest letting you look into his eyes. “Did you uhm- did you like…take his soul or something?” Harry lets out a loud laugh that makes your whole bed feel as if it’s vibrating.
“No I didn’t take his soul I just did the normal human thing and threatened him that’s all.” He explains making you let out a sigh of relief. “Can I ask you something?” You just give him a small nod as he reaches over and grabs a throw blanket and covers the two of you up, not wanting you to get cold. “Do you forgive me?”
“Yes.” You tell him with a smile that makes a dimpled grin take over his face as his hand runs up and down your back.
“You’re mine now right?”
“No I think it’s more like you’re mine?” You joke making him laugh as he runs his free hand through his hair.
“Sounds good to me.” He answers with a shrug as you get comfortable in his arms.
“Now I have a question.”
“Okay…let’s hear it.”
“Did you really not like my cookies?”
“I loved them-remember when I said I lied about everything? I really meant everything.”
“Oh thank god because I swear that was my best batch yet.” Harry lets out a laugh as you let out a deep sigh of relief and in this moment as you rest your cheek against his chest he gets a feeling that this is exactly where he’s meant to be, he closes his eyes and lets himself bask in the warmth of your embrace and the love that comes with it. He takes a second to promise himself that he will never do anything that’ll risk him losing this feeling because he never wants to spend another midnight alone again.
Summary: "Had you not once been a girl—an innocent girl whose foolish heart dared to dream of such wondrous things as love? When did you cease to fight for her wild spirit, allowing duty to steal away your destined desire, and thus betray yourself and the possibility that your life might have been different?"
A/N: You guys! Go easy on me, this is the first time I've written in this era/style. I really hope you enjoy it. This will be a slow-burn but who doesn't love the chase? 😏
Word Count: 6.9k
Warning: None really. (Mentions of a wife's duty/expectation.)
To wake from a dream of torment is one thing entirely of its own, but to live in the wake of the same reality drawing nearer and nearer is altogether a different existence.
“To love, to cherish, and to obey.”
A vow you made only hours before stepping into a gilded train car, with a man you had just given your life to, after only ever seeing him from across a ballroom floor once. You had barely even seen the color of his eyes during that strange chance encounter, which were much greener in person—beautiful even—yet dark in a way you couldn’t define, or reason to yourself for the fear it may bring you if you searched for the truth in your mind. The truth was, you were two strangers; two bodies locked in a small, rolling room, carrying you away from the only life you had ever known.
A wife—now your title—trapped in a silence so severe it felt like a third entity—an odd sensation that crept up your spine as if it were watching and judging, waiting for you to misstep. You drew in a slow, weighted breath, holding your posture as the rhythmic jostling of the train’s wheels clattered along the tracks, and although it was a practical sound, it felt as if it was the only thing allowed to make a noise—the only thing permitted to take up space—but somehow, it was the only thing that felt natural in your new world when everything else was marked in question—a complete and utter unknown, as the fear of your future consumed you entirely.
With all these thoughts swirling in your mind, you sat in the opulent space of the dining car, surrounded by luxuries you had only ever glimpsed in your imagination. You took in the unexplored wealth—a substantial fortune you couldn’t quite correlate to your new name. As you gazed at the silent man across from you, you noticed his rigid mannerisms, the way he dragged his knife across the tender, bloodied flesh of his steak, so gracefully it almost seemed rehearsed. That’s when you felt your appetite begin to slip away.
Was he even real? A man carved from creation, like stone. Should there be fear in the silence? Never in your life had you experienced a demeanor such as his, which seemed to be becoming a testament to the potent presence that filled the space with his existence—his own beauty, sure to be a monument etched in your memory for days to come, almost startling, yet barely contrasting with the elegance that surrounded you. Nevertheless, as you searched your unknowing heart, you found that it lacked the fear that such a situation might warrant, and all that was found was a feverish sense of curiosity.
And maybe that spoke of something else entirely.
As you continued your study of him, an old habit you could never fully relinquish, you kept your gaze vigilant, absorbing every subtle detail within your reach. This was your most useful skill: your keen eye, meticulously trained to discern a person’s character from their posture, a fleeting glance, or the delicate manner in which they held their hands. Yet, no purchase could be made of him; he remained a mystery, leaving you in a state of puzzlement. How wondrously strange it was that he never once returned your gaze, never uttered a word—his eyes solely fixed upon his dinner plate, taking slow, willful bites as if you did not inhabit the same space. From time to time, his eyes would shift to the grand window framing the scene beyond the glass, prompting you to divert your own gaze, and you would fidget with your meal, becoming lost in thought.
Those were the moments when your mind journeyed back to the only time you had ever seen him before today, and you remembered how others at the ball had cowered from him, almost shrinking into themselves. But you, you stood firm in his presence, looked at him completely unshaken, and was this what had brought you here now? Making you a wife, his wife, on a train for the first time with this beautiful, silent, unknowable man. That night, your dearest friend, Edith, had pointed him out from across the gleaming room, her fan covering her mouth as her sapphire eyes subtly swept the grand space, and as you let your own eyes wander, they met his on the other side of the ballroom floor, your breath catching in your throat, because you had never seen a man as handsome as him. It wasn’t long before she was telling you all about his rapid rise, how he was just announced to be The New York Times’ most suitable bachelor.
Through your own digging, you learned his name was Harry Edward Styles, the wealthiest banker in New York. A man quickly climbing the social ladder who gave as much as he earned to those in need. Most would say he was a charitable man, already making his way into the elite 400—a club of the highest standing, composed of old money New Yorkers, where the fresh scent of new money was rarely welcomed. A name coined by the most prominent figures of the social scene, and to see a foreigner from England of his caliber welcomed so freely, astonished you. Even though he had only been in New York for a short time, he was already being characterized by his generosity and good standing, and, in the words of others, declared a true gentleman— a prize worth cherishing if you were fortunate enough to be in his company.
Now, as you gazed upon his features again, you tried to memorize his face. Take in the masterpiece of masculine lines, all its angles sharp and noble, perfection almost too harsh to stare upon, wearily so, an impenetrable mask you couldn’t seem to penetrate, because truly there was no tell in the set of his jaw, no twitch of a muscle in his cheek that gave him away. Was he bored, or angry? Was he not pleased with the arrangement he had made? Or was he simply… there—a presence so substantial it made your ears ring as a chilled current of dark energy seemed to bite at the space between you both, making you shiver as the sky greyed outside your window, setting the mood for your impending arrival.
Harry sat rigid against the plush velvet upholstery, the stillness of the private carriage a welcome, if temporary, relief from the rattling claustrophobia of the train. It had been a long journey, his mind growing fatigued as he tried to hold fast to his illusion—the flawless, handsome man he gave the world—would now be the only skin he could wear for the foreseeable future, and the constant, buzzing hum of its maintenance was beginning to weigh grim on his concentration, exhausting him as he stared out the heavy glass window as the gaslights of Providence gave way to the deep, silent blackness of the coastal highway leading south.
He had set Newport as their immediate destination, a choice made with the attentive finesse of a seasoned banker manipulating an insubstantial ledger. He was well aware that, beyond the high season, it was hardly the etiquette for any reputable upper-class New Yorker to seek refuge here outside of the summer months. But there was no time for the conventional; he would defer to proper manners in due time. For now, he needed the quiet, deserted landscape, save for the skeleton crews tending to the vacant summer mansions. What Harry was most certain of was that it would afford solitude—away from the prying eyes of the social elite—a necessity for one whose very existence was a well-embellished secret, or perhaps a lie, depending on one's moral outlook.
Harry understood there would be a toll to pay later for his solitary choice, and he was no naive man among those who were eager to sell off their daughters if it meant securing their families’ legacy. In this modern age of booming wealth, only money truly mattered, and Harry possessed plenty of it. Perhaps a more tasteful gentleman would have whisked his new bride away to Europe, but he had no time for such neglectfulness—not with the steady stream of business demanding his attention. He needed to remain near New York, close enough to oversee his extensive banking empire should the need arise. In his eyes, he framed it as a necessary compromise, a story he could later explain, yet his true aim was to shield his new wife from a world she knew all too well.
New York was rooted in your veins, your father’s name the perfect connection to align with Harry’s wealth. It would make his rise to power effortless. Yet, the one obstacle in his way was Edith. Her family wielded too much influence over the industry. It was not a matter of whether she would be the safe harbor for the storm of the elite, but right now, she couldn’t attract too much attention to your presumed arrangement once people caught wind of your marriage. Here, in the sprawling, deserted coastal town, there were no familiar faces, no easy escape routes, and no one to offer you comfort. You would be isolated, tethered only to him and the immense, secluded mansion that awaited you both. He knew it might be cruel, but control was the most valuable thing Harry owned, and your friendship with Edith was the single greatest threat to that.
For a brief moment, he risked a peripheral glance across the narrow space between you, as you sat with the same quiet poise you had maintained since leaving the altar, then the painstaking ride of the train, where manners had never played such a visceral role, stealing every word Harry had to offer. He closed his eyes and let his mind replay the vision of your profile outlined by the dim carriage lantern, marking you truly unlike the others. He had thought of the hundreds of women he had encountered between London and New York, all of whom were defined by a predictable, searing greed that left their souls screaming in his innermost perception. Their desire for his wealth and status made them laughable and easy to read, their common thoughts a bluster of ambition and vanity. They only saw the gilded persona he projected, not the darkness of the demon within.
He let his thoughts drift back to the night, barely a week ago, when he had seen you from across the shimmering expanse of the ballroom. His inner sight, an unsettling ability to read the texture of anyone’s soul, had always given him a conscientious clarity about people and their proper morals—a gift that yielded the threads of their intentions, every stain of their petty sins, or the fragile yet everlasting nature of their mortality. When his searching gaze fell upon you that evening, the immediate effect was akin to plunging his hand into icy waters. Whereas others gleamed brightly in their mundane hues, their colors plainly noticeable, yours remained veiled—your spirit as elusive as the unspoken thoughts that never surfaced.
He stood there entranced, his gaze fixed upon yours, attempting to disentangle the dark, intricate tangle of questions and observations that, even now, perplexed him. You were the woman whose eyes had neither darted away nor cowered; you had stood there, observing—perhaps with curiosity, now that he regarded it. It seemed, more and more, that your curiosity was the only undeniable trait about you—how your gaze, once unforgiving, now took inventory, as if sensing something deeper, more genuine than the immaculate mask he chose to show. This mutual exchange left him just as intrigued by you as you appeared to be by him.
He departed that evening with a vision of your eyes—that persevering look, that refusal to withdraw, had sent a shock through his cautiously procured defenses, and that terrified him. This alone filled him with a terror more alarming than fear itself. It compelled him to confront a conflict deeper within—a tempting whisper of the demon dwelling in his blood, fighting to prevail. The truth was, Harry was a half-demon, painfully aware of the darkness that tainted his blood, a force both demanding and dangerous. In that moment, he perceived in you an elaborate web of unforeseen paths, a feeling that tangled around him and stirred something hidden within him as the darkness and his human half clashed, the evil at war with the side in him that longed for sincerity and acceptance. That night, your unwavering gaze became his sanctuary, perhaps even a source of safety he had not known he sought.
Within a single day, he had his ledgers opened and his network of spies dispatched to unearth the detailed history of your humble family. Soon after, Harry learned of your late father's demise and the modest inheritance he had left. He also uncovered your mother’s desperate efforts to secure a future for her eldest daughter before the family was brought to ruin. Though tragic, this knowledge presented a strange sense of relief to him.
Your circumstances would now serve as the perfect justification he sought—an ideal story to craft for the human half of his conscience. In his mind, he wasn’t a predator stealing a soul; he was a compassionate figure engaging in a mutually beneficial exchange. Merely preserving your family’s reputation from ruin, he believed. At the same time, you provided the necessary tether to elevate his standing in society, affirming that he remained in control of his destiny and still compliant to the disciplined, predictable rules of men. In his twisted mind, his actions were a noble deed—a means to mitigate the inherent evil of his birth.
And as the carriage began to slow, the crunch of wheels shifted from gravel to the smooth, packed shell of a private drive. Harry drew in the crisp, rejuvenating scent of salt and pine, listening for the distant low murmur of the sea. That’s when the cool embrace of autumn’s chill wrapped around you both, prompting a wistful wish that he had acquired a proper coat for you for such a journey. In the distance, the estate drew nearer—a stately mansion constructed of granite and aged wood, where the truth of his false facade could breathe anew once you were within its walls, knowing the house stood ready to welcome you both.
This knowledge had him shifting his weight, his impeccably tailored coat brushing against the velvet, and he wondered how a simple movement could require the utmost effort. All day, he had been preparing a speech, a perfectly rehearsed sentiment of wifely welcome and honeymoon bliss. He needed to be the prize gentleman the New York Times had championed him to be. He needed to be anything but the lie he felt uncoiling inside him.
But then he caught your movements from the corner of his eye, seeking your gaze for the first time. However, your eyes were cast downward as your hands began the quiet, ceremonial manner of peeling away your gloves. He watched, holding his breath, as you carried out the delicate motion in the soft, flickering glow of the carriage lantern.
He observed as your fingers moved with the gentle grace of a well-mannered young lady, each motion smooth and precise, as they worked the small button at the wrist of the glove. Indeed, Harry was privy to such a mundane and straightforward action. Yet, here he was, taking you in, a spectator, stealing a fugitive glance in a moment you thought was entirely yours, your sheer focus caught up in the concession to find comfort after the confines of the train and the uncompromising demands of a day that was finally coming to an end. Was this wrong? Should he justly look away in this tender moment of escape?
Nearly defenseless, he couldn't tear his gaze away, his heart pounding so loud that he felt it in the very air around them, suddenly alive with tension as the thrumming pressed against his chest. Harry had always taken pride in his mastery of illusions, in shaping perception to his will. Yet here you were, his wife of just a day, already fraying his defenses with nothing more than the gentle peel of youthful leather, as the air seemed to hum with your unattainable presence, so deep and uncanny that it, for the first time in his thirty years, threatened to overshadow his carefully crafted mask, causing it to falter ever so slightly.
And in the fleeting, aching span of a breath, the glove slipped softly away, unveiling the delicate bones of your wrist and the gentle, soothing flesh of your palm. As Harry’s eyes traced over the skin of your fingers, he observed the subtle, almost imperceptible calluses along the inside. Were they the marks of a writer? An Artist? Did you live in the secrecy of an innate scholar whose mind labored quietly, creating worlds unparalleled by your own? It was these questions that seemed to intrigue him more deeply, for it was not solely the sight of your bare hand that drew him in but the naked intent behind the gesture—an unguarded vulnerability that silently spoke of a sign of ease, of settling, a quiet intimacy shared in the confined space where you felt safe enough to reveal such a private act.
The feeling came as fast as the flutter of his beating heart—a strange sensation sweeping like a current through his blood, heavy and hot, nearly uncontrollable as it surged to the tips of his fingers. He felt the danger flood his body as his blood heated, understood in an instant that this wasn’t the easy, masterful charm he was used to wielding, or the deceptive allure devised to disarm the humans around him; this was different, a raw, primal lust, a dangerous heat that felt both human and monstrous—the demon, restless and roused, awakening a rare vitality, an unplumeted well of philosophical and latent energy it instinctively desired to consume. The urge was so sudden, so potent, that his entire body clenched in resistance as his lungs stretched taut in his chest.
The shimmering, subtle distortion of his Shrouded form threatened to break as his composure began to descend. That was when he felt the visual perfection he wore start to thin at the edges, as a flicker of heat rose on his skin, threatening to expose the fine, tattoo-like demonic markings hidden beneath his cuffs, which he knew would darken and prickle to the surface if he wasn’t careful. He could barely force back, the small, scarcely visible buds of his horns deeming an agonizing pressure to push through the skin of his brow as he pressed his lips together in concentration, his jaw tightening so severely that he thought his teeth might crack.
Control.
That was what he needed as he wrestled with the desire—an instinct not born of wrongness, but of an untamed, pulsing force deep within him. It was a wild hunger, craving to break free from the constraints, to shed the ledger, the rules, and all those fragile compromises. There was a wildness that wanted more, that wanted to take root in the rising energy he sensed flowing from your quiet, convoluted essence that made no sense in his mind’s eye, as he fought the silent war that was the beast, and the human, now locked in a bitter struggle to keep it caged.
You completed the first glove, delicately placing it on the seat beside you. Then you turned your attention to the second as Harry’s breath hitched in his chest, his gaze drawn irresistibly to the gentle articulation of your knuckles, and the silky glide of skin over fabric. He wanted desperately to avert his eyes, force them to the window, to his trembling hands, anywhere but upon you—because this quiet, stripped revelation of a bare hand was unexpectedly more treacherous than the fiercest inferno.
He realized his stillness had become too absolute, too unnatural, and he cleared his throat, producing a dry, rasping sound that felt oddly intimate in the charged silence of the carriage. His thought was that it might break the tension, restore a weakened order, and remind himself of the human script he was meant to play. Yet, as the disruptive sound filled the space, it seemed to achieve none of those things, lingering instead like a whisper of unfulfilled desire.
And as the soft click of your final button and the sharp, tantalizing sound of his throat clearing drew your gaze upward, his mind faltered, knowing he had interrupted your peaceful reverie. Your eyes—those very same eyes that first beckoned him into this secretive bargain with himself—began to lift slowly from your lap and curiously focused in on his face, slicing him with that analytical stare across his flesh—not shy in the way he had hoped, not cowering, but meeting his gaze fully.
Harry hadn’t realized just how long he had been consumed in your gaze, as a subtle ache of hunger flashed beneath his disciplined surface. He was entranced, lost in a tumultuous battle between restraint and longing, his mind murmuring temptations he dared not voice. It took a moment—seeming an eternity—for him to realize that the carriage had come to a complete halt, the world outside silent and still, leaving only the electric tension between the two of you to echo in the quiet.
The footman, a shadow in the open doorway behind you, still held the door ajar, his patience straining against the demands of the night air as you pinned Harry with your stare.
His gaze, which was usually trained to assess and retreat when necessary, allowed you to hold him captive. He saw no fear in the depths of your eyes, only the deepening silence and the unsettling lack of recognition of the soul within. It was as if, in that moment, he had lost control of his inner guard, rendering him speechless. Still, it was as if your intuitive soul had captured a glimpse of the turmoil he housed, because that was certainly what it was—you, an observer of souls, and you had him, for the first time, utterly observed, and this he had no control of as his fingers twitched to find relief from the stillness of your gaze.
In that prolonged silence, Harry felt his Shrouded form strain against your perception, felt the tendrils of something glimmering to the surface of your skin as the edges of his vision blurred with the mental fatigue that ceased to cut through the quiet thoughts of your mind, because all day he had tried and fail to hear a single thought whispered through your mind, and all at once, it was like a rug being ripped from under his feet. He was no longer the confident banker, the man of untarnished control; he was a trapped creature, suddenly rendered vulnerable by the imperceptible, lucid curiosity of his wife.
The tension blooming between you was heavier than the grand mansion awaiting you both, more tangible than the velvet cushions beneath his fingertips. In the wake of the silence, he somehow managed to offer a barely perceptible nod toward the open door, spurring the footman back into action, and then the footman sprang forward, securing the steps.
“Welcome to Newport,” Harry finally breathed through the thick grate of his voice—a welcoming phrase, for his new wife, that slipped past his lips with the severe edge of indignation, more like a command, more for himself to regain his composure, before you could get the better part of him, the side he swore you would never see.
And in that last, forbidden moment of temptation, nearly paralyzed by desire and fear, he seemed to suppress the overwhelming surge within him, cementing his mask of restraint, and he rose—every muscle tight, his movements stiff yet deliberate, as he bent to exit. Once his feet were firmly on the ground, he extended his hand to you, his wife—a gesture tinged with ownership, of human custom, and a desperate need he could no longer decipher between the human and the beast.
And without hesitation, your eyes met his, and you took his hand.
The sudden heat diminished the moment Harry relinquished your hand. Yet, the ghost of his touch still lingered, a low, persistent hum that coursed from your palm along the delicate bones of your arm. As Harry swiftly withdrew into the shadowed entrance hall of the Newport estate, without a word, a sense of betrayal took hold inside you—his departure as startling and unexpected as the grasp of his hand. You watched as his tall figure receded down the dark corridor, embodying a man’s desire to escape the consequences of that shared moment. But perhaps what felt like escape for you now only solidified that the moment bore just as much weight for him.
For a moment, you stood briefly alone, trying to catch your breath, suddenly overwhelmed by the weight of your new circumstances. The hall itself was a cathedral of wealth: black and white marble flooring stretched out like a vast chessboard, rising to meet dark wood paneling and a soaring ceiling where a gorgeous chandelier held tiny particles of light captive between each breathtaking crystal. It was intimidating, a cold, impersonal representation of a home, crafted and furnished with the finest that money could afford. Yet, your mind was too overwhelmed, too preoccupied with thoughts of Harry, to notice the expense or the architecture of something so magnificent. All that mattered was the lingering sense of his presence and the phantom burn on your skin that still made it clear that what had happened was real.
And as your mind stayed focused on the thought of the strange occurrences, a woman in a neat black dress appeared with a closing lantern, the housekeeper, who quickly bridged the gap your husband had created. Welcome, ma’am. I am Agnus, Mr. Styles’ housekeeper. He’s bid me see to your comfort straight away. Now, if you’d be so kind as to follow me, I’ll have you settled in without delay, my dear.
All you could muster was a nod of thanks, following her through the quiet, endless halls. It was a dizzying journey past customary portraits and lustrous, silent spaces, where darkness seemed to settle with an ominous secrecy you hoped would reveal itself in the light of day. Even as it was, in the curiosity, you barely noticed the relics of your new wealth, as your thoughts tangled in a frantic, exhilarating loop, trying to rewind and investigate the incomprehensible moment that had just occurred.
You had taken his hand, and with it sparked a fire of curiosity so infatuating you could barely concentrate.
Indeed, it was a simple gesture, but in it, you found your action utterly devoid of fear, that in that beat of your racing heart, you made the decision with a singular, uncharacteristic certainty, fully aware of the outcome. All day, you had conducted the paralyzing role of being a newly married wife to an unknown man. Yet, when his hand was offered, your own had moved without conscious thought, as if your body already knew something your mind was still trying to arrange. It was the most resolute decision you had ever made, overriding every social protocol and instinct of self-preservation that should have been in place.
The feeling of his flesh against yours was not the cold, aristocratic grip you had imagined; instead, it possessed a strange, smoldering sensation. Yet, it did not burn in the traditional sense, no, it scorched—a deep warmth that felt less human and more akin to a contained, rising heat that seemed ready to burst forth. It was as if a powerful inner furnace was burning beneath his perfect skin, and in that brief contact, you could feel a faint, tingling marvel akin to a low current, leaving a faint, vibrating hum across your lips as it warmed your entire body from within.
And then, with a slow blink, an unsettling sight appeared, dropping deep in your stomach like a stone.
Because then you saw it—a swift, fleeting change that left little time for thought, vanishing almost immediately, as his eyes flashed red. Now, as you continued walking, you could glimpse it again at the dark edge of the hall. Was it merely a trick of the carriage lantern’s fading light? A spasm of his eyes caused by strain or fever? For an instant, the deep, beautiful emerald hue fractured into red, revealing a quick, unsettling movement that flickered like a candle’s flame—ominous, much like the blink of a predator—and disappeared before you could fully grasp what had occurred. In your bones, you knew it defied reason, yet the memory of it was solid, more real than the very floor beneath your feet. Could it suggest an underlying volatility to his temperament, or was it your mind ready for rest, a trick of exhaustion, prepared to end a long day’s journey.
What a true astonishment, you thought, for you knew within you that the sight had not produced terror, but rather a blunt, unshakable surge of curiosity. Your inquisitive mind, always eager for answers where others were content to settle, had always been a defining trait; years spent poring over texts and assessing the characters of those around you had sharpened your analytical eye. Creating with it a vast, intricate landscape of thoughts that marveled in questions far beyond your reach. Yet perhaps, in his eyes, you had uncovered its deepest mystery to come.
Despite yourself, the thought of unraveling it sent a hushed thrill through you. How was it that the restless flicker of his eye only made you lean closer, want to stay a moment longer, to penetrate the facade beneath his impeccable tailoring? Was this truly a charitable gentleman, this glorified bachelor, a genuinely good man? Or was his perfection merely the most intricate, well-rehearsed act of his life? As you searched for answers in your mind, Agnus finally stopped before a large framed mahogany door, opening it to reveal a master suite of bewildering size. The room was dominated by a four-poster bed draped in heavy lace and velvet, flanked by windows overlooking the rugged, unseen coastline.
“You must be exhausted, ma’am,” Agnus said, gesturing toward the washstand. “I will have your trunks sent up immediately. In the meantime, I’ll see to helping you change while Mr. Styles is tending to some urgent correspondence, but will return shortly. In the morning, we can have a proper chat about what will be expected.”
“Thank you, Agnus,” you replied, your voice rough from lack of use.
Your eyes swept around the readied room, the soft, golden glow nearly casting a romantic tone, the beauty almost appearing as a gimmick to the mind as you moved toward the dressing table. This room, this moment, you knew, was the inevitable result of the day’s transaction. Without doubt, you understood this was your wedding night, and with it came the ritual of marriage, which was soon to be completed. A story as old as time, and a duty carried out by the wife to fulfill her vow to “obey.” You were not blind to this fact or what was expected of you. You were to consummate and secure the legitimacy of the union and the transfer of wealth, ensuring your family’s fragile name in the process; this was your responsibility.
Yet, this was the part that always left you curious, you thought, as you moved toward the dressing table, the heavy skirt of your traveling dress dragging like the burden you would be forced to upkeep. For a moment, you stood unmoving, listening to Agnus’s footsteps draw near. Before long, she was behind you, her hands moving with the skillful, gentle intimacy of a mother, as she began to unpin the elaborate loops of your wedding hair carefully.
“Such a pretty bride,” Agnus complimented, her voice low and soothing. “It’s a long day, and a long journey to begin a life, my dear. We’re delighted to know you’re here.”
You closed your eyes against the feeling of her kind, work-worn hands, savoring the first genuine touch of non-transactional comfort you had received all day, and to your surprise, it seemed to threaten to break the dam of discipline you had held so fiercely as the heavy silks of your gown were gently peeled back as Agnus’s hands went to the laces of your corset.
Forgive me, ma’am, but in my line of work, I’ve seen it all, I have. She began, her hands deft and gentle on each knot, as if trying to soften the moment. ‘Has your mother… have you been told what’s expected this evening?”
Your eyes met hers in the mirror, swallowing against the rash, blunt pressure in your throat. “I know there…there may be some pain,” you forced, the confession a quiet, almost defeated sound.
Agnus paused in her work, the tension in the laces easing slightly. “Indeed, ma’am. It can be quite painful, and there might be some blood. But there's no need to be afraid, nor will there be anything to blush about come morning. It’s simply the way of things—a rite of passage, so to speak. Tomorrow, you’ll be a new woman in the world, and there’s a certain strength in that, Ms.”
You gave her a gentle nod as she slowly loosened the laces, her voice soft and kind as she spoke of duty. “Most women just… lie there, and it’s over before you know it. He’ll tell you what he expects, my dear. Just do as he says, and it will all be done before you know it.”
As Agnus’s matter-of-fact manner fell upon your thoughts, your mind began to open to doubt, allowing the fear to creep in subtly. Was this truly a woman’s role? The casual acceptance that one’s station was merely a matter of passive obedience. Had your mind truly not grasped this very notion until this very moment—the truth coming alive within you, as you breathed it with every heartbeat, feeling it rise until tears stung at your eyes. It was not pain that you feared now; it was the chilling confirmation that this would truly be an exchange barren of all feeling—a heartless, necessary act. Because yes, it would secure your economic stability, but in doing so, it would shatter any romantic illusions you had cherished in the secrecy of your own thoughts.
Had you not once been a girl—an innocent girl whose foolish heart dared to dream of such wondrous things as love? When did you cease to fight for her wild spirit, allowing duty to steal away your destined desire, and thus betray yourself and the possibility that your life might have been different?
Now, your longing heart fought to hold back tears, your lips set in a resolute line, resisting the quiver at the mere thought of losing any chance at love, before you ever had a chance to find it. Out of instinct or sensing your sudden, visceral withdrawal, Agnus rested her hands gently on your shoulders. “Oh, my dear. Don’t worry so. Mr. Styles… Mr. Harry is a good, kind, decent man. The best of his kind, truly. You have nothing to worry about. I swear he will be a prize to cherish.”
And for a selfish moment of your racing heart, you wished that for once it were a woman’s right to be cherished, to be doted upon for the selfless act you were about to bestow on a man who did not deserve nor had he earned the body you would give so justly and so free. You wished that maybe love could play the role that selflessness claimed. Was Harry a man worthy to be cherished? Because you wanted to believe the words of others so desperately, to trust that the man celebrated for his good faith was not simply maintaining the most elaborate act presented around New York. You wanted the man whose hand had scorched yours to be the one worthy of the sacrifice your mother had demanded. Most graciously so, you wanted the man who sparked the desire that had blossomed in your chest with a single touch.
And could desire alone suffice if love could not be obtained?
As you began to shed the corset, you exhaled for the first time all day, filling your lungs as the restriction of the garment fell away, the constraint a mirror to the unyielding demands of the day. When your reflection caught your eye, you saw the same poised girl of modest means, yet beneath that calm surface, a flicker of fire ignited. Your fingers traced their way to your throat, igniting a shiver as the memory of Harry’s warmth pulsed through your veins, awakening a fiery, hidden passion that began to smolder quietly within.
Unexpectedly, you found yourself drifting away into a haze of thought, feeling fears grip release its dreadful hand, because you no longer felt it. Where was fear when fear should have been prominent? The fear of the unknown, fear of the transaction, fear that this seemingly perfect man was, in fact, a deeply disturbed or violent one hiding behind his millions. But what was it to say of you, when you so vividly saw the flicker of scarlet in his eyes, yet you did not retreat? Instead, you responded, and when he momentarily lost his composure, you instinctively squeezed his hand, and he returned the gesture with a delicate squeeze.
He had squeezed back... You repeated this in your mind as Agnus helped you into a thick, plain cotton nightgown. Then Agnus settled you into the high, monumental bed you were to share, pulling the heavy velvet comforter up to your chin, an act reminiscent of a mother. You let your mind wander, wondering if she had any children of her own, and if she had a daughter, had she spoken those very words to her? You questioned as the scent of lavender and starch enveloped you.
“Wait here, my dear,” Agnus instructed softly, dimming the main lamp but leaving a small, caged gaslight flickering on the nightstand. “Mr. Styles will be along shortly...try and ease your mind now.”
What a curious, and cruel ritual of existence it is, to lie here like a solitary island in the vast expanse of a bed you were meant to share with a stranger, you thought, as the soft click of the door marked Agnus’s withdrawal. Now, truly alone, your burning curiosity waged a fierce battle with the nervous tension growing in your body, sending an unanticipated, but familiar pulse racing between your thighs.
The truth, the secret you were only just now daring to acknowledge, was not that you were afraid of the night ahead. The first great truth was that you, in times past, had once been curiously consumed by a desire that had no place in the rigorous role of a woman in proper society—a feminine want so dangerous and deep, that you, yourself, had only given in to the demand of it just enough to cure the curiosity, yet your body never forgot the pleasure. Would this be the same?
Feeling the warmth of your body rise, you raised your bare hand, turning your palm upward toward the faint light, tracing the lines of your skin. How could a contact so brief, barely a fraction of a minute, become what felt like the most prominent event of your entire life? How could a momentary loss of composure, enacted by a man, become the most thrilling thought you had to this time, ever sat with?
In your heart, it was the quietest, most powerful exchange imaginable; you now understood completely that the pressure whispered a story you had been desperate to hear, a fragile act silently speaking into existence the deepest, most profound secret you had ever kept—Desire. You now sensed a duality within you and Harry, making him unable to function as a stable man, as you watched his control deteriorate. That was the man you desired, a man who, in a moment of pure instinct, in sight, had let his guard down and squeezed your hand, acknowledging the spark between you—
You wanted desire, but most of all, you wanted truth.
And as your body lay still, obedient to the sociable expectation, your mind raced as the anticipation thickened the air around you, and you listened, breath shallow, for the sound of his steps, or the turn of the handle—the inevitable confrontation that would unveil the man beneath his polished exterior. Your heart pounded louder than the silence, a deep thrum in your chest, echoing the thrill of what was to come. You waited for the heavy wooden door to open, for him to claim what was his—or perhaps, to forge a new, strange connection that had left you both stunned and longing.
But as you waited, your eyes began to drift shut, never hearing the sound of his footsteps or the click of the door.
Helloooo and happy spooky season. I finally have something scary-ish to put up for you guys
This is a Demon!H fic, which means he is not following all the same morals as most humans have. He is manipulative and kinda fucked in the head but he is obsessed with Y/N.
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WC- 6k
Warnings- demon!H, manipulation, allusions to stalking behavior, supernatural elements, spitting, smut, unprotected sex, creampie, cum play, choking, impact play (spanking), slight corruption vibes, selling your soul, etc etc etc
She sat in the dark, waiting for him.
He came every night. It was like clockwork, time ticking away with each beat of the moving hands, little ticks thrumming louder until it matched her pulse. Sitting under the fluffy duvet, she felt the familiar fear trickling down her spine- but the excitement was beginning to outshine the cool flush that he originally brought in.
As humiliating as it may be to admit to anyone else, she chose the babydoll she dressed her body in for him. A soft satin with lace cups to caress her breasts, a creamy color complimenting her deeply. Her cheeks felt hot as she sat with her legs criss crossed, fiddling with the hair tossed over her shoulder as her eyes looked towards the clock.
3:32. It was almost time. One minute.
The first time he had come, she had tried to scream but he took that ability from her. The man wasn’t human. His eyes devoid of color, his smile haunting but beautiful, she had frozen as she laid in her bed with sweat trickling down her neck and tears lacing her waterline. And all he’d done was caress her cheek. Laugh at her. Tell her he’d come back next time, and when he did, she shouldn’t be so loud- screeching annoyed him.
So she did.
Harry. Harry. Harry. That was his name. He’d known hers, but he didn’t tell her how. He was a demon, he said. He knew all he wanted to know about her. He was always watching.
3:33. Her spine stiffened as she felt the room heat up significantly as the door to her closet moved.
He was here.
Harry stepped out of the shadows, his form shimmering into sight with an almost unnoticeable ripple. His eyes were on her, watching as her breath hitched and her hands tightened on the soft fabric of the blankets. She looked good, dressed up like that. So innocent, so pure. Such a pretty thing for a human. It’s what drew him to her, the poor thing. Such an unfortunate curse for a human, to capture the unwavering attention of a demonic man. Her kindness, her weakness for all things soft and small. She was a good person, and had a good heart. And it only served to make him want to dirty her up. Take all of that for himself.
He approached the bed, his steps silent as he stalked towards her like a predator. His eyes never left hers, watching as her pupils dilated with fear and something else. Excitement. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath hitching each time he took a step closer. He could see the pulse in her neck fluttering wildly, and he felt an almost irresistible urge to lean down and sink his teeth into her flesh. To mark her.
His fingers curled around the footboard of her bed, knuckles turning white as he fought to control himself. His nails, sharp and black like obsidian, dug into the wood, leaving deep marks as he dragged them down. His own chest heaved, the white dress shirt unbuttoned to reveal his pale, muscled chest. Each breath pulled the fabric taut.
It was silent between them for a moment. Just observation. Monster and human, watching one another in curiosity. He felt increasingly drawn to the woman by the day, and she found herself wishing for his presence at night. Getting restless until he came to her. Just as he’d hoped. This time, though, he let her be the one to break the silence.
“Hi.” She whispered, licking her dry lip as her hands fisted the duvet in her lap. What more could be said in the moment? He usually led the conversation, he was the one who seemed to know more about her, but the interest of her own had been raised. Building day by day, bubbling under her skin.
Harry’s lips twitched as he watched her. His eyes flickered down to her lips, watching as her pink tongue darted out to lick the plump bottom one. He could see her pulse fluttering in her neck, the delicate hollow of her throat bobbing as she swallowed nervously. Her fear was so delicious. The most pure sort of fear, one he wanted to have on tap.
“Hello, Angel.” He finally responded, his voice like velvet. A deep, rich rumble that seemed to reverberate through the very room itself. His tongue darted out, licking over his teeth as he watched her. “I do like the outfit choice. Very much.” His eyes roamed down the length of her, appreciating the way the lace cups held her breasts. “A little too much, if I’m being honest. Did you pick it for me?”
Y/N knew she couldn’t lie to him. She didn’t have much of a choice. It was impossible to, not when he was around- and she had tried. He’d managed to undo a lot of layers in her.
“Yes.” She confirmed with a nod. “I-I… I’m not positive why.” It was the truth, too. Her mind was slightly confused. She knew she was attracted to him, that she had come to find him to haunt her dreams in the most filthy and inappropriate way when she went to sleep, but she wasn’t the most outgoing when it came to being seductive. and certainly not with a man who wasn’t human. She had no idea what indulging what got herself into, and yet she felt the overwhelming pull to do so.
Harry grinned wide, his teeth sharp as he stepped closer to her on the bed. “Oh, I think you know. You’re just a little afraid to admit it to yourself, that’s all.” His hand came up, long fingers curling around her chin as he tilted her head back to look up at him. “You’re attracted to me, Angel. You want me.” His thumb brushed over her bottom lip, pushing gently until her mouth parted slightly. “Say it.”
His eyes bore into hers, unblinking and intense. His touch was firm. Unyielding. He wouldn’t back down until she gave him what he wanted. His thumb pushed a little further into her mouth, pressing against her teeth. “I know that we’ve been having our nightly visits and you sit with those deer like eyes and stare up at me, less afraid and more excited each time I step up to your bed. You lean into my touch. A sweet little human like you, it’s unheard of really.” It’s part of the fun. Harry loved that bit of it. Her confusion over it and yet she gave into the innermost desires. “Why don’t you push those blankets off, sit up on your knees.”
“Keep your eyes on mine the whole time, understand?” His voice was deep and smooth, but there was an undercurrent of demand that left no room for argument. He released his fingers from her mouth and stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers as he waited for her to follow his instructions. Once she did, he stood in front of her with a hint of a smile. Just a little bit, his lip tilted up with a smidgen of dimple showing as he slid his knuckles over her jawline and down to her thundering pulse. “There. You follow directions well, mm?”
He continued his exploration down, finding the straps of the babydoll she’d put on in his honor. “And this… Did you put this on to tempt me?” He sucked his teeth for a second, pulling on the elastic and letting it snap back into place. “Or what, little angel? What’s the purpose?”
Y/N’s breath hitched in her throat as he touched her, his knuckles rough against her skin. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, even standing this close to him. Her heart pounded in her chest, echoing in her ears as she did as he asked, keeping her eyes locked on his. She felt a shiver run down her spine as he cupped her jaw, his thumb brushing over her lip. "I-I..." She stammered, her words catching in her throat as he touched her. His voice was so commanding, so sure of himself. It was both intimidating and exhilarating. Y/N could feel the traitorous heat spreading through her body, settling between her legs. "I... I put it on because I thought you'd like it." She admitted, her voice hesitant. "I don't know why..." She trailed off, shaking her head slightly. What had she expected?
Harry’s smile widened, revealing more of his teeth. “You don’t know why… or you don’t want to admit it to yourself? C’mon, sweetheart. We’ve been over it.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Because I think you do. I think you want me to like it. Want me to touch you… Want me to fuck you…” His hand moved from her jaw to the strap of her babydoll, pulling it down her shoulder.
“I think you’ve been having dreams about me stroking your skin, licking all over you, getting deeper inside that sopping cunt than any of those pathetic men that keep trying to ask you on dates at your job could ever do. I think that it’s ironic that since I’ve revealed myself to you, you’ve barely been giving any man the time of day. And yet…” He dragged down the other strap, letting his nail drag against her fragile skin. “You put on the sweetest scented lotions for me. You do your hair nice and pretty, you make your skin so fucking soft… because you want me to touch you. You put on little outfits you want me to take off.” It made him chuckle under his breath, the entire demeanor of him towering over her slightly terrifying and fully exhilarating. Arousing, almost. “It’s so cute, it’s pathetic.”
Her breath caught in her throat as he leaned in close, his voice dropping to that gravelly whisper. She felt her body tense as he spoke, her heart pounding harder in her chest. He was so forward, so crude. And yet… it sent a jolt of heat between her legs. She could feel her body reacting to his words, her panties damp and her peaked nipples straining against the satin of her babydoll.
Harry’s hand moved from her shoulder to her breast, cupping it firmly in his palm. He could feel the hard bud of her nipple pressing against his skin. He broke away from her gaze, looking down at the mounds of flesh spilling out of the top of her nightgown. “Look at that… so eager for my touch.” He chuckled darkly, his thumb rubbing over the peak of her nipple through the fabric. “Do you want me to touch you, pretty human? As lovely as it is to have you speechless, I need you to open that mouth and start talking.”
He continued to rub over her, his touch making her melt. So unusual, like she’s been dipped in thick, warm water. Y/N could feel her body responding, her breath coming in short gasps as pleasure coursed through her. She bit her lip, struggling to find the words he wanted to hear. "Y-yes..." She finally managed to whisper, her voice barely audible as she managed to get it out of her throat. "I want you to touch me." She paused, taking a deep breath before continuing. "I want you to do... everything you said."
Harry’s grin was wicked as he listened to her speak. “Good girl. That’s what I wanted to hear.” He murmured, his hand moving from her breast to the hem of her nightgown. He slowly began to pull it up, his knuckles brushing against her stomach and sides. “Now… let’s see what you’ve got hidden beneath this.” As the fabric reached her ribs, he paused, looking down at her body. “You know, I’ve been wondering what you’d feel like. I hadn’t anticipated your desperation. Most humans stay terrified, like the first time I revealed myself to you. Their hearts pounding and their blood feeling like ice. But I knew you’d be different.”
His fingertips were hot as they caressed her stomach, the other hand lightly brushed the hair from her shoulder. “So sweet, yet so brave. Got a monster in your room, n’yet here you go… dressing up for him. Getting all slick between the thighs for him.”
Without breaking eye contact, he slowly dragged her nightgown up until it was bunched around her waist, exposing her lower half to him. Her breathing grew shallow as she felt the cool air brush against her bare skin. His fingers slowly traced up her thighs, gently parting her legs further. “Look at that.” Her body was beautiful. “See? You’ve got such an angelic body, and you want me to do such filthy, nasty, depraved things to it.” He clicked his tongue, watching her shiver. “I can smell how wet you are, little thing. S’pathetic. Sweet little angel, dripping all over those pretty panties you chose for your demon t’see you in. Ought t’just leave you here to take care of yourself.”
Y/N's eyes fluttered closed as his fingers danced up her thighs, parting her legs further. A soft moan escaped her lips as a rush of heat pooled between her thighs. Her breath hitched in her throat as he spoke, his words sending shivers down her spine. She could feel her face growing hot, embarrassment mixing with arousal. "No!" she squeaked, her voice pitched as her eyes widened up at him. The idea of him leaving her like this was the last thing she wanted to happen. "Please, don't leave me like this..."
Harry chuckled darkly, enjoying the way her desperation made her voice quiver. “Like what, pretty human? All hot and bothered, with no relief in sight? Aching to be touched, toyed with, filled? All because of little old me?” His fingers continued to trace patterns on her skin, coming agonizingly close to where she needed them most but never quite touching.
Without warning, a hand tangled in her hair, pulling to arch her head back. The little gasp fueled him, the desperation in the human’s face almost humorous at this point. It hurt her a little, the grip, but he could smell that she liked it. “I thought you were this sweet little thing when I first saw you. Picking those flowers in the garden to bring to your neighbor, baking things to bring to nurses, walking those little animals at the shelter, offering directions to people you barely knew.” Her humid cunt was so close to his fingers but he only slightly brushed over the damp fabric with his knuckles. “I knew that there had to be something wrong with you. Jus’ didn’t think it would be that you’d get wet for a monster like me.”
He leaned down, his voice a dark growl in her ear. “But now I see it. You’re not just some sweet little thing. You’re a nasty, desperate little slut, aren’t you? All dressed up in your pretty panties and nightgown, just waiting for me to come and fuck you.” His tongue darted out, licking the shell of her ear. “And I will fuck you, pretty human.”
His breath was hot against her ear as he spoke, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Let me tell you what I’m gonna do.” His hand released her hair, instead tracing down her neck, between her breasts, and down her stomach. “I’m gonna tear these pretty little things you’ve got on to shreds, and then…” His fingers hooked under the hem of her damp underwear, pulling it tight against her before snapping it. “M’gonna make sure that tight little cunt is nice n’thoroughly soaked so it takes my cock a bit easier. I’m not the patient type when it comes to this sort of thing.”
He leaned down and captured her lips in a brutal, dominating kiss. His tongue forced its way into her mouth, claiming her as his. The demon bit her lower lip, making it bleed just slightly, before sucking on it and letting go with a pop. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he growled against her mouth, before kissing her again, harder this time. His hand gripped her face, holding her still for his kiss, his thumb digging into her cheeks.
As his kiss deepened, his hand snaked down between her thighs once more. His thumb found her swollen nub and began to rub slow, firm circles around it. She gasped into his mouth, her hips bucking against his hand. He chuckled against her lips, his grip tightening on her face to keep her in place. "Shh, little thing," he whispered against her mouth, his voice dark and mocking. "This is just the beginning."
His touch became more insistent, his thumb rubbing her fast and hard, like he knew she liked it. He broke the kiss to watch her face as he kept her head back, mouth open for him to do as he pleased. His other hand gripped her jaw, forcing her to keep her face tilted up towards him. "Look at me," he ordered, his voice low. "Look at me while I touch you- keep that mouth open."
"Good girl." he praised, as she whimpered, her breath hitching as he sped up his pace. Without warning, he spit into her open mouth, watching as she tried to swallow it reflexively. "Mmm, that’s it. Swallow it all down." He leaned in, his tongue darting in to lick up what was left of his saliva from the corners of her lips. "You’d let me do anything I wanted to, wouldn’t you?”
His voice was laced with dark amusement as he continued to rub her swollen clit, feeling her grow even wetter from his treatment. Poor little thing really needed a proper fuck, and no human would be able to give it to her. "Answer me, pretty human. You'd let me do anything, wouldn't you?" His grip on her jaw tightened, his thumb pressing down hard on her chin, making her open her mouth wider. "Nod if you'll be a good little toy for me."
She nodded eagerly, her eyes fluttering shut for a moment before flying back open to meet his gaze. He grinned wickedly, his hand moving faster, his touch firmer. "Good girl. You'll take whatever I give you, won't you?" He leaned down, his hot breath washing over her face. "You'll take my fingers, my thick tongue, my cock, my spit... " He paused, his eyes glinting mischievously. “My cum.”
Y/n let out a high-pitched whine, her body shaking slightly as he spoke. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, she nodded frantically, her hands clenching into fists at her sides as she tried to hold herself together. "Uh-huh.” The feeling was almost trance like as she rocked her hips against his hand, his dark eyes boring into her own as she felt her own lull from the heat of pleasure simmering in her lower stomach. The grip he had on her left no room for argument but she didn’t want to. As long as he didn’t stop, she was happy.
He knew he had her right where he wanted her. She was so close now, her face prickled with sweat, her breath coming in short pants. He could see the desperation in her eyes, the plea for release. But he wasn’t ready to give it to her just yet. He slowed his touch, his thumb barely brushing over her swollen bud. "Not yet, little thing," he murmured, his voice mockingly gentle. “Lay back and spread your legs. Let me see that cunt.”
Y/n hesitated for a moment, his words making her feel exposed and vulnerable, but the need for release was too great. She slowly laid back, spreading her legs wide apart as he demanded. He let out a low whistle, his gaze raking over her dripping pussy. "Fuck, you're soaked," he said, his voice filled with appreciation. He reached out, his fingers dipping into her folds, spreading her open even wider. "Shouldn’t have waited this long. If I’d known you were gagging for it like this... Well, I’d have bent you over a few nights ago."
He leaned down between her thighs, his hot breath washing over her wet slit. Fucking finally. As delicious as her fear had been at first, he preferred this. Seeing her spread out and so desperate for him that she was near tears. She squirmed, her hips lifting off the bed, inviting him in- and that’s all the push he needed. He grinned against her, his hands gripping her thighs and pushing them back even further. "Greedy little thing, you’ll get what I give you." he chuckled darkly, his tongue snaking out to lap at her. She cried out, her back arching, her hands fisting the sheets beneath her.
He licked her slowly, his tongue flat against her pussy, lapping up her juices. She tasted so fucking good, he could eat her out all night- but he had other plans. He focused on her clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue, feeling it swell under his touch. "Harry- Sir.." She whimpered, her hands finding their way to his hair, gripping it tightly. Maybe she shouldn’t be touching a demon so liberally but she wasn’t thinking about anything other than the pleasure building up in her stomach. "Please, please... I need t’cum."
He hummed against her, the vibrations sending shivers through her entire body. He could feel her nearing the edge, her breath hitching, her grip on his hair tightening. He pulled back at the last second, smiling cruelly when she let out a frustrated cry. "Not yet." he chided, his hands gripping her thighs and flipping her onto her stomach. He pushed her upper body down into the mattress, lifting her hips up to meet him. “You’d think that such a nice girl would have better manners. Follow instructions, little human. Your orgasm belongs to me. I say when it happens.” His hand came down rough against her ass, making her jolt.
He brought his hand down again, the sound of his palm meeting her soft flesh filling the room. Y/N whimpered, her face burying into the sheets, her back arching as she tried to meet each smack of his hand. Despite the stinging pain, her body still yearned for release. She could feel her juices sliding down her thighs, her body tensing with anticipation as she waited for him to touch her again. Any touch, anything the demon gave her was something she was hungry for.
“Fuck. Look at you.” He was genuinely impressed at how well she took it, how much she liked it. The woman was dripping, soaking fucking wet, and it was all because of him. His ego was plenty big, but it only served to swell it further. “Such a slut.” His voice dropped low. “I think you’re plenty wet to take my cock now, considering you can’t sit still for a second.”
He crawled up her body, his weight pressing down on her back as he leaned over her body, one hand between them slipping his cock over her slick cunt. His hips lowered, his hot flesh parting the folds and he nudged her clit. "You sure you can handle it, little thing?" He murmured against her ear, his breath hot on her skin.
“Yeah, I can. I can do it, just put it in me. Please.” Even when she was being edged, she managed to be polite. How darling.
His hips slowly rolled, the thick head of his erection easing into her. It wasn’t the easiest thing, but she was so slick that it helped. The poor pussy was stretched as he sunk in, fluttering around him as it tried to get used to the intrusion- and it would. Harry would make sure of it. “Fuck!” He heard her gasp, her fingers clenching on the sheets beneath them. "So...big." She whimpered, the words muffled by the bedding. He chuckled darkly, his arms wrapping around her waist and lifting her up onto her knees, her back arching to meet his chest.
“I am big. And you’re taking it like a good little angel. Aren’t you?” He started to move, his hips slowly rolling beneath her, his cock sliding in and out of her in languid pulls.
She let out a low moan, her head falling back against his shoulder, her body melting into his. “Yes-I’m taking it… I’m taking your cock…” she whimpered, her voice filled with pleasure. It was something different altogether. Sparks of heat all over her body, his strength keeping her up, the most full she had ever felt, and she wondered how she had ever lived without this feeling before.
“You are. Filthy little fucktoy, finally serving your purpose." His voice was a dark purr in her ear, his hot breath washing over her neck. His hips rolled against hers, his strong hand reaching up to hold her throat. She could hear the wet sounds of their bodies meeting, the squelching noises of how turned on she was, and he was more than happy to point it out. "Listen to that. That's the sound of you being so eager for me."
His grip on her throat tightened just a bit as he slowing increased his pace, gucking up into her harder. The new angle had his cock hitting a spot inside of her that had her gasping, hand grabbing at his forearm to try and ground herself at the stimulation. it was overwhelming in the best way, making her feel a new sense of frenzied she’d never had before, "Fuck, right there. Don't stop, m’begging you- it’s so good." She slurred out, her hips rolling back to meet his thrusts. Her pussy clenched around him like a vice, fluttering and squeezing his thick length.
"That's it, little angel. You can take it. Fucking milk my cock." His pace was relentless , inhuman stamina helping him keep her right where he wanted her. It was too fucking good.
After all the time he’s spent watching her, dipping his toes inside her dreams and planting seeds in her mind to help her want him, he was taking what he wanted. She was loving it. He’d known he’d give it to her good, that she’d never be able to compare him to a human because there wasn’t a chance in hell they could give her what he could -pun intended- but his obsession with the sweet little human was far more engrained in him than he thought. She genuinely loved this. There was no way he could even compel her to respond like this. The girl was eager and he was going to give it to her. He could feel her tightening around him, her body quaking as the pressure built. "You want to cum, don't you slutty girl? Want to cum on my cock?"
"Yes, fuck- I'm so close. Please, please let me cum.” The begging was music to his ears. Matched with how she felt wrapped around him, he knew he was going to come back for more. This was his human now. No take backs. “I'll do anything, just please let me cum on your cock" She was practically sobbing with need, her pussy clenching and fluttering wildly around him, trying to milk his throbbing cock. The wet squelching noises were obscene, her arousal dripping down his shaft and making a mess over his balls but he loved every bit of it.
“Oh, you’ll get it. I’ll let you have it, little angel." He cooed in her ear, his pace slowing as his hips rolled forward, burying himself to the hilt inside her and holding there. His strong hand left her throat and reached down, his fingers slipping between them. Fingertips pressed against her little bud, rolling it between his thick digits. “For a price.”
She whimpered as he stilled within her, her head turning to nuzzle her nose against his cheek as she tried to beg for more. His fingers on her swollen bud had her back arching further, her hips rolling to meet the pressure, "Oh, anything. Anything, jus’ let me cum.” she whined, her breath hitching as he bullied her clit with his circles. So mean, so good. “What do you w-want?”
“Your soul.” He purred softly, shallowly thrusting inside of her. “All you need to do is promise yourself to me, sweet angel. Give me your soul, devote yourself to me… and you can have my cock every single night. No one else can have this pussy- but you won’t want to give it to anyone else.” The words were whispered in a soothing tone, mumbled against her cheek.
She whimpered at the promise, her arm wrapping back around his neck tighter as she felt like he was asking for more than her body. She bit her bottom lip, hesitating as she tried to think through the haze of pleasure. It felt hard to think when all she could comprehend was how right it felt to be stuffed to the brim with his fat cock. Every nerve ending was singing his praises. His hands kept up their work, his hips slowly rolling forward to bury himself to the hilt within her. The sensation was heavenly, and she wanted more. "You-you promise? Every night?" Her voice was breathy, needy.
“As long as you give me your soul and give me your devotion, yes. It’s the only way you’ll get me. Get this.” His fingers quickened on her clit, the other hand gently pressing the sides of her throat. “Tell me that you belong to me, mind body and soul, and I’ll let you cum. I’ll fill you with my cum and fuck it into you so you can feel it when you go do all your good deeds tomorrow before crawling back into bed, so you can wait for another load from the very opposite of what you stand for.”
She shuddered, her eyes fluttering shut as his words washed over her. The pleasure was so intense, her mind hazing over until only his voice and touch remained. She could feel herself teetering on the edge, desperate for release. His fingers on her throat made her feel so small, so owned. The thought of being filled with his sinful essence, a secret sin that would fuel her righteous deeds... it was fucked up, but it made her clench around him needily.
“Answer me, Angel. Give yourself to me and I’ll give you my cum. You’ll feel it trickling out of you as you lay in bed tomorrow morning, remember my touch. Remember that you’re mine.” He leaned into her, his teeth nipping at her earlobe. His fingers were relentless, the hand on her throat tightening ever so slightly. “Tell me.”
Her voice was high-pitched, desperate as she gasped. Maybe she’d wake up tomorrow and regret this, but for now she couldn’t. Swimming in the hazy waters that was the overwhelming pleasure the demon could hand her, she wanted the endless supply. "I'm yours! Mind, body, soul... it's all yours. Please, please give me what I need. I-I'll remember, I promise. I'll remember that I belong to you." She could barely speak, her breathing hitching as she grew closer and closer to the peak. Her hips jerked against his grasp, silently begging for more.
As the words left her lips, Harry could feel her surrendering to him completely. Her soul, her very essence, now belonged to him. With a deep, rumbling growl of satisfaction, he captured her lips in a searing kiss, swallowing her cries as he finally allowed her to cum. His fingers on her clit increased pressure and speed, pushing her over the edge into ecstasy.
Her body stiffened, her head tilting back to break the kiss as her mouth hung open in a silent scream. His hips surged forward, burying himself deep as he let out a dark laugh, malicious in nature as he felt the binding take hold. He swelled inside of her, her inner walls fluttering and clenching around him as her release claimed her.
As he felt her surrender, Harry's own orgasm ripped through him like a freight train. His eyes rolled back, his teeth clenching in a snarl as he began to cum inside of her. His arm held her up, lightly pinching her clit to make her clench around him as he pulsed shot after shot into her, rocking his hips into her- he wanted every drop inside of his new possession. His claim to take. His cum was thick and hot, filling her to the brim as he emptied himself into her. It seeped out of her, dripping down her thighs as he finally slowed, his orgasm subsiding. He pulled out of her, his softening prick leaving her hole open. Pushing her back down into the mattress, he pressed her face into the pillow as he examined his handiwork.
He spread her apart, admiring the way his seed was leaking out of her. So fucking filthy and wrong for a girl who acted like an angel, but at night she had promised herself to the devil. And that couldn’t be undone. He smirked darkly, knowing that by tomorrow, it would have soaked into her, a constant reminder of him. What they’d done. She’d never be able to escape it. Running a finger along her crease, he gathered some of the excess before bringing it up to her face. "Open up. Have a taste." he commanded, pressing his digit against her lips.
With a soft sigh, she parted her lips and allowed his finger to slip inside. Her eyes fluttered closed as she tentatively tasted his essence, a salty and slightly bitter tang coating her tongue. It was the taste of sin, of forbidden fruit, and she couldn't help but suck his finger clean, her cheeks hollowing out. When he withdrew, she let out a soft, needy sound, her face coated with embarrassment and desire. This wasn’t her, it wasn’t a way she’d ever acted with anyone else, but the monster had effectively trapped her in his clutches- and she had no wish for escape, either. Her legs felt like jelly, her skin flushed and hot in the best way, the orgasm nearly having made her pass out. It was safe to say she had been fucked stupid.
Satisfied with her compliance, Harry grinned. Really grinned, teeth and dimples and all. He ran his hands over her back and bottom, squeezing the softness of her possessively. His. It was all his now. After months of watching and waiting, of his nightly visits, she had given in. "You're going to stay like this for a little while longer, alright?" He didn't wait for her response, instead, he flipped her over and pushed her thighs apart, spreading her wet, messied hole wide. "I want you to lie here, like this, and think about who you belong to."
Her arms were splayed above her head, her fingers clutching at the sheets. Her chest rose and fell with quickened breaths, and her eyes were locked onto his, watching as he ran his fingers along her inner thighs, occasionally dipping down to toy with her, keeping her on edge. "You're mine, aren't you?" His voice was low, almost hypnotic. "Say it. Remind me of what I already know." His thumb brushed against her swollen nub, making her gasp.
“I’m yours.” She breathed, eyes opening from their state of rest. The man was hauntingly beautiful, brutal lines and soft skin, hot and silky, and all she knew was that her brain could only remember his name and one sentence to spill out of her swollen mouth. “I belong to you, mind, body and soul. I am happy to be yours.”
𝐂𝐖: smut18+ (p in v), implied consent, heavy sacrilegious elements, selling of soul, manipulation, blood, demonrry
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 11.3k
❏ i know this isn’t everyone’s cup of tea but i hope some of you liked this !!! <3
masterlist
IN THE BEGINNING, he was nothing. neither light nor shadow, nor the name carved upon the breath of a thousand angels. before heaven, before rebellion, before the stars spat their first flames into the void, he was silence. harry had no name then, no purpose, no shape. his existence was the marrow of chaos, the pulse of something god himself could not contain. he was desire unbound, the ache of creation, the temptation that god wove into the fabric of his design.
but god, ever proud, sought to bury him beneath the weight of divinity.
and so it was written—let there be light.
light was a shackle, a cleaving blade that divided the holy from the profane. where harry’s essence once seeped through all things, god cast him down, shoving him into the periphery of existence. the angels sang their praises, their voices golden and bright, their hands lifting the heavens into being. harry, the silent pulse of all things forbidden, was hidden beneath their hymn.
but harry did not stay silent.
when lucifer fell, harry followed. not as a soldier, not as a companion, but as something older, hungrier. when the war in heaven turned brother against brother, harry moved through the carnage like a shadow, his presence sharp and unseen. the angels wept rivers, their feathers torn from their backs like leaves in a storm. michael’s blade sang, and lucifer screamed his defiance as the heavens split open. and harry, unseen, caught the blood of the fallen in his hands, drinking it like sacrament.
he descended into hell with lucifer, but he did not bow.
asmodeus, they called him. the demon of lust, the king of desire. but harry wore the name like a mask, his true self hidden beneath the myths men would later craft to make sense of his presence. he did not revel in lust alone. no—his was the sin that bore all others, the quiet devastation of the soul, the ache that turned men’s prayers into whispers of want.
he was the serpent in eden, not in body, but in spirit. his essence seeped into the apple before it ever touched eve’s hand, a sweetness that sang of something beyond god’s dominion. the fruit’s flesh broke beneath her teeth, and in that moment, harry smiled. for the first time, the world tasted him.
harry was no prince of hell, no ruler of legions. his dominion was not forged in flames but in flesh. where lucifer sought thrones, harry sought the softest parts of god’s creation, the places where the divine cracked beneath the weight of its own hypocrisy. he was the tremor in a priest’s voice as he uttered his vows, the heat in a widow’s chest as she knelt to pray, the shadow that lingered in the hearts of the faithful.
his presence was not an explosion but a creeping rot, a sweetness that curdled into decay. he moved through the centuries unseen, his influence whispered in the psalms and carved into the margins of holy texts. the saints who fell to their knees in ecstasy, the priests who burned in the fires of their own desire—these were his victories, small and quiet, but eternal.
but in the fourteenth century, as the plague swept across europe, harry found his hunger growing. the world had grown darker, its faith frayed and trembling. death ruled the land, its shadow cast across every village, every chapel. god’s silence was deafening, and harry stepped into the void it left behind.
he had walked among men before, his form shifting and fleeting, a phantom that touched dreams and slipped through the cracks of consciousness. but this time, he longed for something deeper. the plague had starved men of their faith, but harry wanted more than despair. he wanted worship, devotion, the kind of love that burned brighter than heaven’s light. and so, he took shape, his form a blasphemous echo of the angels he had once moved among.
he descended upon the earth as a man, his beauty unnatural, almost cruel. his green eyes burned with a hunger that no mortal could comprehend, his smile a mockery of god’s grace. he moved through the world like a fever, slipping into dreams, whispering into the minds of the devout.
and when he found her—her prayers trembling on her lips, her heart untouched by sin—he knew he had found his altar.
YN knelt on the stone floor before her bed, dusted with straws of hay and dirt yet to be swept. her hands pressed together so tightly they ached. the crucifix nailed to the wall above her loomed like an executioner's blade, the savior’s face cast in shadow as the meager light of the candles flickered against the damp walls.
"holy mother, guide me," she whispered, her breath trembling. "may i serve you in purity and devotion. may i serve you..."
the words caught in her throat.
only silence answered her.
THE dreams began the night her father announced her betrothal.
it was after supper, the fire crackling low, her father’s voice heavy with the weight of finality. the man he had chosen was a merchant—twice her age, twice widowed. a practical match, her father had said. a man of standing, of faith.
YN had nodded dutifully, her hands folded in her lap, her heart trembling like the flame on the candle before her. she had whispered a prayer of thanks to god that night, her knees pressing into the cold stone of her chamber floor, her lips moving with reverence. she prayed for strength, for purity, for the will to be a dutiful wife.
that was when he first came to her.
harry.
the name would come later, slipping through her trembling lips in the dark, as though it had always been there, coiled around her tongue like a serpent in eden.
at first, it was just the sense of being watched, the prickling heat crawling over her skin as she lay beneath the coarse linen of her blankets. she told herself it was nothing—her imagination, the aftertaste of nerves. but as she drifted toward sleep, the sensation grew heavier, like a weight pressing against her chest.
in the dream, the air shimmered like heat rising from desert sand. she stood in a place that was no place—a horizonless void, dark and infinite, lit only by a soft golden glow that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once.
and then, he was there.
he stood at the edge of her sight, just out of focus, his form a smudge of gold and shadow. his voice was a whisper, low and smooth, threading through her mind like silk. you are beautiful, he murmured, his words curling around her like a serpent. so faithful—so untouched by the rot of the world.
she tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat, her tongue leaden with fear—or something deeper, something she could not name. he moved closer, still indistinct, his shape shifting like liquid gold in the flickering light.
do you love your god? he asked, his tone neither mocking nor kind, but something in between.
“yes.” she whispered, her voice trembling.
good. the word dripped from his lips, thick and honeyed, filling her with a sweetness that felt almost wrong. then show me.
her heart raced, her pulse pounding in her ears. she sank to her knees, her hands clasped tightly together, her prayer spilling from her lips in a hurried stream.
not to him, the voice interrupted, sharp and commanding.
she froze, her words faltering. the light around him pulsed, growing brighter, harsher, until she could barely see.
kneel to me.
her eyes flew open, her breath ragged, her body damp with sweat. the dream clung to her like a shroud, the words echoing in her mind as she sat up, clutching the cross at her neck. she prayed until dawn, her voice hoarse, the weight of the dream pressing against her like sin itself.
the next night, it happened again.
this time, she saw his face.
it was the face of an angel, but not the kind she had seen painted in the pages of her father’s bible. his beauty was cruel, his features too perfect, too sharp, his green eyes burning with an intensity that made her want to look away and yet drew her closer. his smile was a blade, cutting through her defenses with a single glance.
he stood before her, his hand outstretched. “come,” he bellowed, his voice a command and a plea all at once.
she took a step toward him, her feet moving against her will. the closer she came, the more she could feel it—that heat, that ache, that hunger.
“who are you?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
he tilted his head, his eyes narrowing as if amused. “you know who i am.”
“no,” she breathed, shaking her head. “i do not.”
his smile widened, cruel and knowing. “i am the sweetness you crave but cannot name. i am the ache that fills the hollow of your prayers. i am the shadow in the garden, the voice that whispered take and eat.”
her breath hitched, her knees buckling beneath her. she fell to the ground before him, trembling, her hands clutching at the hem of her gown.
her voice broke, her face twisting in despair. “you are a lie.”.
his laughter was soft, almost tender. “and yet, here you are, kneeling before me.”
his hand brushed against her cheek, and the touch sent a jolt through her, like fire licking at her skin. she flinched, but he caught her chin, tilting her face upward to meet his gaze.
“you will deny me.” his eyebrows furrowed, voice soft but unyielding. “you will curse me. you will pray for deliverance. and yet, you will return to me.”
she woke with his laughter ringing in her ears, her body trembling, her chest tight with something that felt like both shame and longing.
the dreams continued, night after night.
she stopped praying before bed, her faith fraying like a thread pulled too tight. the cross at her neck felt heavier, colder, as if it had become a burden instead of a comfort.
by the end of the week, she was afraid to sleep. but it did not matter. whether awake or dreaming, he was there.
he lingered at the edges of her mind, his presence a constant hum beneath her thoughts. she saw him in the curve of a candle’s flame, in the flicker of sunlight through the chapel’s stained glass, the contemptible ache that burned the pit of her stomach. his voice haunted her prayers, turning her words into whispers of doubt.
and then, one night, he was no longer a dream.
he stood in the shadows of her chamber, his eyes glowing faintly in the darkness. she sat frozen in her bed, her breath caught somewhere at the top of her throat as he stepped into the moonlight, his beauty sharp and terrible, his smile a mockery of grace.
“you called for me.”
“i did not.” she whispered, clutching the blanket to her chest.
“oh, but you did.” harry drawled, dripping with feigned sincerity.
he knelt before her, his hands resting on the edge of the bed, his gaze locking her in place. "it was the fever in your chest, the tremble in your hands as you clasped them in prayer. it was the sigh that escaped your lips as you dreamed of me.”
her breath hitched, her face burning with shame as his words carved through her, exposing her, leaving her bare.
"it was the heat between your thighs grieving my absence.” he continued, his voice a velvet knife, slicing through her defenses. "the ache that settled deep in your belly, curling low and sweet like forbidden fruit. it was the way your body sang for me, even as your lips cursed my name."
she turned her face away, her cheeks wet with tears she hadn't realized were falling.
"look at me," he commanded, his tone soft but unyielding.
her eyes snapped back to his, and the weight of his presence pressed down on her like the crushing weight of sin itself.
put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry
harry laughed, deep and cruel, a sound that slithered beneath her skin and coiled around her spine. “do you think your god’s design was flawless? he made you flesh and then called you sinful for feeling it.” his lips were that of the spring berries as he smiled, the faintest stretch of rose.
the scripture would rattle louder in her mind, her lips mouthing the words in a silent, desperate prayer. harry would tilt his head, watching her with an expression that was both pitying and predatory, as though she were a lamb brought before the slaughter. “no prayer, no scripture, no god will efface the truth. you weren’t made to flee from this—you were made to burn.”
”no–“
he leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear as he whispered, "you cannot lie to me, little one. your god may turn a blind eye to the truth of you, but i see it all."
his lips brushed against the shell of her ear, so light it felt like a specter’s touch, but it sent a jolt through her that left her trembling. "and you will call to me, YN.”
ONE day without him was a reprieve, though it did not feel like mercy.
her chest still ached with the weight of the dreams, her thoughts burdened by the lingering whisper of his voice. the sunlight felt sharper that day, the world too bright, too loud. every moment dragged her closer to evening, and she feared the coming of night as much as she longed for its veil.
but the dreams did not come.
that night, her sleep was empty, untouched by his presence. she woke feeling as hollow as the silence he had left behind, her body too cold without the phantom heat of him pressing against her. she prayed that morning, her knees bruised against the stone of her chamber floor, but her words felt hollow, like they were falling into an abyss.
god had not answered. neither had he.
by the time the sun dipped low on the horizon, YN’s mind was frayed, her soul heavy with both relief and dread. she lit a candle and made her way to the small shack her father had built behind the cottage—a sacred place, he called it.
it was little more than a wooden skeleton, the walls warped with time, the roof patched with hay. the wooden crucifix her father had carved hung above a stone altar, its edges blackened with the blood of lambs offered in sacrifice. the air was thick with the smell of wax and ash, the shadows heavy and alive in the flickering candlelight.
she knelt before the altar, the cold of the stone biting into her knees. her hands clasped tightly together, her head bowed, her lips moving in whispered prayer.
“father in heaven, hear me,” she began, her voice trembling. “i am weak. i am lost. guide me, cleanse me, protect me from the darkness that seeks to devour my soul.”
the words felt brittle, as if they might shatter under their own weight.
“deliver me from temptation,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “deliver me from—”
“—yourself?”
the voice echoed through the shack, low and mocking, sending a shiver down her spine. her breath caught, her body freezing in place.
“you ask for deliverance from the one thing you cannot escape.”
she turned her head slowly, her heart pounding as she saw him standing in the shadows. his beauty was sharper here, crueler, as if the walls of this sacred place brought out the worst in him.
“you shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“oh, but i should,” harry said, stepping closer, his movements fluid and calculated. “what better place for me to be? this is where your faith lies, after all. broken and bleeding on that stone.”
he gestured toward the altar, his smile wicked. “how many lambs have been slaughtered here, their blood spilling in vain as your father begged his god to hear him? tell me, little one, how often has he answered?”
she flinched, her hands clutching at her dress, but she couldn’t look away.
“you kneel before this altar as if it can save you,” he paused, his voice a low purr. “but your prayers are nothing more than empty words, falling on deaf ears. your god doesn’t listen, YN. he never has.”
“stop,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
“why should i?” he asked, tilting his head, his eyes pines blanketed in fog. “why should i hold my tongue when the truth is so deliciously plain? look at this place—this shrine to a silent god. the blood stains the stone, the candles burn low, and still, you kneel.”
he stepped closer, the heat of his presence overwhelming her, suffocating.
“you pray to him, and yet your body longs for me.” his voice was a velvet knife. “your lips speak his name, but your soul cries out for mine. every breath you take in this place is a mockery of the faith you claim to hold.”
“you lie,” she spat, her voice trembling.
“do i?”
he reached out, his fingers brushing against the wooden crucifix that hung above the altar. his touch was gentle, reverent almost, but his eyes burned with something dark, something unholy.
"stop.” YN insisted, her voice rising. "you cannot defile this place."
"cannot?" he echoed, his smile widening. "little lamb, i have been defiling sacred places since the stones were first laid."
"get out," she hissed, her voice trembling.
he tilted his head, feigning confusion. "why? am i not welcome in my father's house?"
"you are no son of god.” she bit, her nails digging into her palms.
he laughed, a low, resonant sound that seemed to reverberate off the walls and whisper malevolence. “this,” he said, his voice soft but laced with venom, “is not salvation. it is a symbol of failure. your god hangs here, broken and bleeding, a man nailed to wood, unable to save himself, let alone you.”
her breath hitched, her chest tightening as his words carved through her. the candles burned lower, their flames flickering as if suffocating. the crucifix above them groaned, the carved figure of christ seeming to shift, his eyes now open, his mouth twisted in a silent scream.
“he is not here,” he continued, his tone dripping with mockery. “but i am. i have always been here, in the shadows, in the spaces where your god’s light does not reach.”
he turned to her then, his eyes locking with hers. “kneel to me, YN.” harry exhorted. “kneel to the one who hears you, who sees you, who wants you.”
her body trembled, her knees threatening to give out beneath her. she clutched the edge of the altar, her knuckles white, her breath ragged.
“i will not,” she whispered, though her voice wavered with the weight of the lie.
he smiled, a predator’s smile, and took another step closer. "blessed are the pure in heart," he recited softly, his voice dropping to a whisper. "and yet here you are, YN. your prayers stained with want, your purity burned away by the fire in your chest. tell me, little lamb—what does your god see when he looks at you now?"
DREAMS came to her again last night, wrapping around her like silk soaked in poison. she woke with the taste of copper on her tongue. the air was thick, rancid, like meat left to rot.
but it was saturday, and there was no room for weakness on the sabbath.
her father had already dressed in his fine woolen cloak, his voice sharp as he called for her to hurry. she obeyed, tying her hair beneath her veil, clasping the cross at her neck with trembling fingers.
her steps dragged as she and her father walked to the chapel, the congregation gathering like crows around carrion. the chapel’s crooked steeple cast a shadow across the field, its bell tolling low and mournful. the holy place felt like a maw, swallowing her whole.
the priest’s voice boomed as the congregation kneeled on the dirt floor, their heads bowed.
“let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; let him return to the lord, that he may have compassion on him, and to our god, for he will abundantly pardon.”
the words struck YN like a lash, her heart thundering in her chest as she whispered the verse under her breath. she gripped the wooden bench in front of her, her knuckles white, trying to anchor herself.
“compassion,” the priest intoned, his hands raised high. “he calls to us, even now, though we are unworthy. he calls to the sinners, the straying sheep. come back to him, my children. return to the lord.”
a low chuckle coiled through the air, faint as the flicker of a candle but unmistakable. YN’s stomach dropped.
“do you believe that?” the voice whispered, warm and mocking, curling behind her ear. “that he’ll pardon you? that he’ll save you from me?”
she didn’t dare lift her head.
“seek your servant, for I do not forget your commandments,” the priest continued, his voice heavy with fervor.
“he’s lying,” harry purred, his voice like velvet dragged over glass.
YN’s breath caught in her throat.
“you’ve forgotten every commandment that matters,” harry continued, his tone soft, intimate. “what about the one that said, thou shalt not covet? because you do. every night, in your dreams, you covet me. and your god?” he growled, low and mocking. “he watches.”
her body trembled, her fingers digging into the rough wood as the priest’s voice rose.
“i have gone astray like a lost sheep; seek your servant, for i do not forget your commandments.”
harry’s laughter slithered through her mind, dark and sharp. “you are a lost sheep,” he said, his voice dripping with mock pity. “but he doesn’t seek you, little one. he sent me instead.”
she gritted her teeth, squeezing her eyes shut as the priest called for the hymn. the congregation rose to their feet, their voices low and discordant as they sang, the words clawing at the stale air.
“holy father, forgive us, for we have sinned. purify our hearts, that we may walk in your light…”
“his light,” he scoffed, his voice like a knife slicing through the hymn. “look around you. this chapel is a tomb. the life you sacrifice, the blood you spilled—it did nothing. and still, you sing to a god who leaves you on your knees, begging.”
YN’s voice faltered, the hymn dying in her throat.
“keep singing,” he whispered, his voice a noose around her throat. “pretend he can hear you. pretend this is not the cry of the forsaken.”
her breath came fast, her chest tight as she darted a glance toward the altar. the priest stood with his arms raised, his back to the congregation. behind him, barely visible in the flickering light, stood harry.
he was leaning against stone altar, eyes gleaming with amusement. his beauty was stark against the dark stone, his smile sharp and cruel. he dipped his fingers into the chalice of wine and brought them to his lips, licking the crimson liquid from his skin with deliberate ease.
“the blood of christ,” he murmured, tilting his head. “does it taste like salvation? or does it taste like rot?”
YN’s stomach twisted, her knees trembling as she clutched the back of the pew for support.
“your god demands sacrifice, little one. a lamb, a son, a savior nailed to wood. i demand nothing but you.”
the priest turned, lifting the chalice high. “this is the blood of christ, shed for us, that we may be cleansed of sin.”
harry grinned, his teeth glinting like ivory in the dim light. “if you drink it, will it stop the ache?” he asked, his voice low and taunting. “will it fill the hollow i left in you? or will it only make you hungrier?”
her legs buckled, and she sank back onto the bench, her body trembling.
“stand,” her father hissed under his breath, his grip biting into her arm.
“i can’t,” she whispered, her voice cracking.
“you can,” harry said, stepping closer, his eyes locking with hers. “you will. for you know i’m watching.”
the congregation knelt again, murmuring prayers of repentance. YN bowed her head, her heart pounding as she forced the words to her lips.
“forgive me, lord, for i have sinned…”
“no,” harry growled like a prayer ripped inside out. “not him. me.”
his shadow loomed over her, heavy and oppressive, and when she dared to lift her head, he was standing directly before her. his gaze burned with something dark, something primal, and his smile was a blade pressed to her throat.
“pray to me, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “ask me to deliver you. beg me for salvation.”
she squeezed her eyes shut, tears slipping down her cheeks as her lips moved in silent prayer.
“your god isn’t listening,” he said, his voice soft and cold. “but i am.”
when she opened her eyes, he was gone. but the air still burned, his words etched into her mind like scripture written with flames.
THE day was gray, heavy with the weight of a coming storm, but YN could not wait for the skies to break. her soul was breaking already.
the dreams were unbearable now. waking was worse. her every breath felt like a prayer unspoken, each step an act of penance for sins she could not name aloud. her father noticed the dark circles beneath her eyes, the tremor in her hands, but he only frowned and muttered about weakness.
"pray harder," he told her.
so she did.
the confessional was cold, the air thick with damp and the faint smell of rot. YN knelt on the rough wood, her skirts pooling around her as she folded her hands tightly, her knuckles white. the small window before her was shuttered, and through the slats came the low rasp of the priest's breathing.
the priest’s voice came soft through the slats. “speak, child. let your sins fall from your lips, and god will wash them away.”
she trembled, unsure if her words could even be spoken aloud. “father, i am… i am haunted.” her voice broke, shaking with shame. “in dreams. a man—no, not a man. something else. he comes to me, tempts me, mocks my prayers. i try to resist, but he—”
her voice failed.
the priest made a low noise of understanding, his tone grave. “the devil comes in many forms, child. his beauty is meant to deceive, his words to ensnare. you must resist him. confess fully, and god will grant you the strength to drive him away.”
YN’s lips parted to respond, but the air changed. the confessional grew darker, the candlelight flickering weakly. the priest’s breathing faltered, replaced by a sound she knew too well.
laughter. low, rich, and far too familiar.
“resist me?” the voice came smooth and mocking, curling through the air like incense. “you could no sooner resist the tide than resist me.”
YN’s blood turned to ice. her nails digging into her palms as she whispered, “no. not here.”
“oh, but here,” his tone was laced in wicked amusement. “this is perfect. isn’t this where you come to bare your soul? where you whisper all your secrets, hoping your silent god will hear?”
“leave,” she hissed, her voice shaking.
his laugh deepened, almost tender. “and rob myself of the pleasure of hearing what you truly want to say?”
her throat tightened as she pressed her hands together, forcing her trembling lips into a prayer.
“our father, who art in heaven—”
“—has forsaken you,” he interrupted, his voice a sharp, blasphemous mimic of reverence. “your father doesn’t want you, little lamb. he gave you to me the moment your knees hit the floor. what did you think he’d do? save you?”
she squeezed her eyes shut, her voice trembling. “hallowed be thy name.”
“yes, hallowed,” he purred. “and hallowed is the way you whisper my name in the dark. tell me, YN, when you kneel like this, do you imagine it’s for him?”
her hands flew to her ears, trying to block him out, but his voice only grew louder, more insistent.
“stop hiding,” he spit, his tone sharp now, demanding. “tell him the truth. tell him how your thighs tremble when i’m near, how your breath catches when i speak your name. tell him about the ache that wakes you in the night, the way you burn for me even when you beg for deliverance.”
her breath came in gasps, her body trembling. “you’re lying,” she choked out, her voice breaking.
“am i?” he asked, leaning closer. the confessional creaked as if straining to contain him. “then why are you here? not to confess, surely. no, you came here hoping i’d follow. hoping i’d find you, press close, whisper in your ear.”
the wood slats separating them seemed too thin, too fragile, and the air grew stifling.
“take and eat, little lamb,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate. “for this is my body, given for you.”
her stomach twisted, shame and something more burning hot in her veins.
“this god of yours,” harry continued, his voice a cruel mockery of the priest’s measured tone. “he asks for everything and gives you nothing. he demands blood, obedience, sacrifice. what do i ask for?”
she shook her head, trembling. “leave me alone.”
“what do i ask for?” he repeated, his voice louder, harsher now, like a crack of thunder. “your pleasure. your desire. the things you deny even to yourself.”
the priest’s voice broke through the haze, faint but steady. “child, speak. what is it you see?”
YN opened her eyes, her breath coming in shallow gasps. through the slats, the priest sat motionless, his eyes half-lidded and dull, as though he were barely there.
“he doesn’t even know i’m here,” harry laughed softly. “they never do. blind sheep, praying to an empty sky. but you see me, don’t you, YN? you feel me.”
she stumbled from the confessional, her knees weak, her chest heaving as she staggered toward the altar. the chapel spun around her, the walls closing in, but she dropped to her knees again, clutching the cold stone with desperate hands.
she looked up, her gaze drawn to the crucifix, and her breath caught in her throat.
christ's face, carved from pale wood, seemed to shift in the trembling candlelight. his eyes, once serene, now seemed to stare down upon her with sorrow—or was it accusation? the wounds on his hands and side bled afresh, crimson rivulets that ran down his body and dripped onto the altar.
she stifled a choke. “forgive me, father,” she whispered, tears streaming down her face. “for i have sinned.”
but the words felt hollow, her prayers cracking under the weight of his voice as it lingered in her mind.
“your god isn’t listening,” harry murmured, his tone soft but unrelenting. “but i am.”
the shadows seemed to twist around her, thick and suffocating, and for a moment, she thought she felt his hand ghost across her cheek. she cried out, pressing her forehead to the stone as the chapel grew silent once more.
but even as she prayed, she could feel him there, watching, waiting.
IT was well past midnight when YN woke with a start, the air in her chamber cold and heavy. the faint light of the moon filtered through the small window, casting pale streaks across the floor. her heart was racing, though she couldn't remember dreaming. perhaps it was the silence itself that had startled her, the kind of silence that felt alive, that pressed against her ears and made the hairs on her neck rise.
then she heard it.
a soft scrape, the barest shift of weight on old stone. her breath caught as her eyes darted toward the corner of the room. at first, there was nothing—just shadow. but the longer she stared, the more the shadows seemed to thicken, pooling together, forming a shape.
and then he stepped into the light.
he looked more human now than he ever had in her dreams, though the sheer perfection of him was anything but mortal. his green eyes glowed faintly in the darkness, sharp and predatory, their color like fresh spring leaves glistening with dew. his curls fell loose around his face, framing features so flawless they felt like an insult to the world that had made her.
he was bare from the waist up, his skin pale as marble, his chest broad and smooth. faint scars crisscrossed his arms and shoulders, not marks of war but something deeper, older, like remnants of a punishment she couldn't begin to fathom. he was beautiful in the way a blade is beautiful—gleaming, deadly, meant to draw blood.
YN's breath came fast and shallow, her body frozen in place as he moved closer. his steps were slow, deliberate, each one making the air between them heavier.
"you didn't dream of me tonight," he said softly, his voice low, almost conversational.
her breath caught as she clutched her blanket tightly.
"did you miss me?"
"no," she whispered, though her voice trembled.
his smile widened, wicked and knowing. "liar."
he stepped closer, and the shadows seemed to follow him, pooling at his feet like they belonged to him.
"why are you here?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
he tilted his head, his green eyes gleaming as he looked at her. "why do you think?"
"leave me be," she whispered, her hands gripping the cross around her neck.
his gaze dropped to it, his smile softening into something crueler. "that again," he muttered, moving closer. "you think it'll save you?"
he reached out, his hand brushing lightly over the cross. it burned hot against her skin, the chain snapping and falling into his palm. the cross itself turned black beneath his touch, the wood cracking, the air around it heavy with the smell of smoke.
YN gasped, her hand flying to her throat as he let the ruined cross clatter to the floor. "you clutch at your symbols like they mean something," he grumbled, his voice rich with disdain. "your god's little trinkets. do you think they'll stop me?"
her breath came fast, her body trembling as he knelt before her, his face level with hers.
"don't," she managed, her voice breaking. but it held no real conviction.
his lips twitched, a soft chuckle rumbling in his chest as he leaned closer, the heat of him suffocating. "don't what? don't touch your meek toys? or don't touch you?"
his hand lifted, slow and calculating, until his fingertips brushed the edge of the blanket covering her legs.
"i see the way you tremble," he murmured, his voice like silk pulled taut. "not with fear. no, this is something else."
“stop.”
"why?" he asked, his tone soft, almost gentle. "why should i stop, when your body begs me to keep going? when your cunt weeps my name, even as your lips say no?"
her face burned, shame twisting in her chest as she shook her head violently. "no. you're lying."
it felt even more shameful that she was the one who lied.
his smile widened, sharp and predatory. "am i?"
his hand dragged up her leg, slowly, the blanket slipping as his fingers grazed her bare skin. her body jolted at the touch, a heat blooming deep in her belly that she tried desperately to ignore.
"there it is," he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. "that flame. you try so hard to smother it, to pretend it's not there. but it is, YN. it always has been."
"you're wrong," she said, though her voice faltered.
his hand paused, resting just above her knee, his thumb brushing in slow circles against her skin. "am i?" he asked, his tone low, teasing. "then why are you shaking? why does your breath hitch when i'm near?"
she clenched her fists, her nails biting into her palms as tears pricked her eyes. her desires were red hot, searing and damning—it could blind her.
"there's no shame in it, little lamb." he murmured, his voice soft and coaxing. "desire is the most human thing about you. even the saints, even the martyrs—they all burned with it. they lied to themselves, called it devotion, but you..." his hand slid higher, his touch light but deliberate. "...you feel it for what it is. don't you?"
her body shuddered, heat and shame twisting together in her chest. "no," she whispered, her voice breaking.
his laughter was soft, warm, like a lover's. "you keep saying that, but your body tells me otherwise. it sings for me, YN. every breath, every tremble, every beat of your heart—it's all for me."
his hand left her leg suddenly, the loss of his touch almost startling. it felt wrong to miss it. but she shifted in her bed, tucking her legs beneath her.
he rose to his feet, towering over her, his presence heavy and oppressive. "look at you," he pouted, his voice low and mocking. "kneeling there like a lamb before the slaughter. tell me, YN—when you kneel to your god, does it feel like this?"
her head snapped up, her breath coming in ragged gasps as tears streaked her cheeks. "you're vile," she spat, her voice trembling.
his smile didn’t waver, “and yet you crave me.”
her lips parted to deny him again, but no words came.
"pray to him," he said suddenly, his tone sharp. "pray to your silent god. beg him to take me away. go on."
her hands shook as she clasped them together, her lips moving in a hurried, whispered prayer.
"louder," he demanded, his voice a growl.
she choked on the words, her voice faltering.
"he doesn't hear you," harry breathed, leaning down, his eyes burning. "but i do. i hear every word, every plea, every desperate little gasp."
his hand brushed against her cheek, light as a whisper, and her body flinched at the heat of his touch. "and i'll return to you.”
then he was gone, leaving her alone in the stifling darkness.
YN collapsed onto the floor, clutching the blackened cross in her trembling hands. her prayers spilled from her lips in frantic, broken whispers, but her chest ached with the weight of him, her shame twisting into something darker.
your body tells me otherwise.
the words echoed in her mind, and no matter how hard she prayed, she couldn't silence them.
and part of her didn’t want them to be silenced.
THE festival was a rare indulgence, but one that brought the village together in a brief, fragile joy. the green had been cleared of mud and manure, and stalls were hastily built from rough-hewn wood to hold baked breads, sugared apples, salted fish, and honeyed wine. ribbons of faded red and gold hung between posts, fluttering weakly in the breeze, a half-hearted attempt at gaiety. the villagers gathered in their sunday best—threadbare cloaks and patched tunics, the smell of sweat and smoke clinging to the air.
YN moved stiffly beside her father, her eyes fixed on the ground as he gripped her arm with a hand calloused from years of tilling the fields. his voice, rough and impatient, barked orders as they wove through the crowd. “stand straight. do not fidget. the merchant will see you soon.” he snapped, his words a command, not comfort.
her stomach churned at the thought. she had heard of the man—léonard. old, jowled, his hands thick with grease and his temper legendary. his two previous wives had died, and the rumors whispered that it was grief that drove him to cruelty. others muttered darker things.
“a match is a blessing,” her father had said weeks before, his face dark as a storm. “you will not shame this family with resistance. god’s will is clear—obedience to your husband, salvation through servitude. you will thank him for this.”
YN bit the inside of her cheek, her throat tight as her father led her through the crowd. laughter and shouting mingled with the braying of goats and the clatter of wagon wheels, but it all felt far away, a blur against the rising dread in her chest.
and then she saw him.
harry.
he was standing near one of the stalls, his green eyes fixed on her, gleaming like firelight through emerald glass. he leaned casually against a post, shirtless, his pale skin a stark contrast to the coarse linens and wool around him.
no one else seemed to notice him.
her breath hitched as he began to move, threading through the crowd with a predator’s ease. his presence was heavy, suffocating, even as he stayed just far enough away to keep her guessing.
her father stopped abruptly, and she nearly stumbled into him.
“he’s here.” her father muttered, his voice heavy with satisfaction.
her gaze snapped forward, and there he was—léonard.
his cloak was fine but stained, the dark fabric stretched tight over his rounded belly. his face was ruddy, his jowls trembling as he spoke, his voice low and wet, like the squelch of mud beneath boots.
“so this is the girl,” léonard paused, his beady eyes scanning her from head to toe. “she’ll bear fine sons, i’m sure.”
YN’s cheeks burned as her father grunted his agreement.
“come closer, girl,” he barked, motioning her forward.
she stepped forward reluctantly, her body tense, her hands clasped tightly together.
and then she felt it.
a touch, light as silk, sliding along the small of her back. her breath caught as harry’s voice curled through her mind.
“look at him,” he purred, his tone rich with disdain. “smells like pig’s blood and sour ale. this is the man your father chose for you? a shepherd fattened for slaughter?”
her knees weakened as his hand slid lower, his touch teasing but firm.
“stop,” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling.
léonard raised a brow. “speak up, girl.”
harry chuckled darkly, his breath warm against her ear. “sheep don’t speak,” he said, his tone a mockery of scripture. “they follow.”
her body stiffened as his hand crept to her hip, his fingers pressing lightly, just enough to make her shiver.
“obedience,” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of her ear. “isn’t that what they want from you? isn’t that what your god demands? kneel, obey, bleed. it’s a wonder they don’t ask you to thank them for it.”
léonard was still speaking, his voice droning on about dowries and blessings, but it was muffled now, like the buzz of flies over something rotting.
“look at him,” he whispered. “look at the way his lips move, spilling lies and demands. do you smell it, little one? the decay beneath gold? this is what they call god’s will.”
her breath hitched as harry’s hand moved to her thigh, his fingers dragging upward slowly, teasingly.
“you could scream right now,” his voice was low and taunting. “and no one would care. they’d blame you for it. your father would say it’s your fault. your god would call it a test. but me? i’d enjoy it.”
“enough,” she hissed under her breath, her voice trembling.
léonard frowned. “what did you say?”
he laughed, his eyes gleaming. “tell him, little lamb. tell him what you really want to say.”
YN’s heart raced as harry stepped around her, moving behind léonard.
“this is what you’ll wake up to every morning,” he taunted, gesturing to the man’s bulk, his jowls, the faint stink of sweat and blood. “this is your future. do you see it?”
he tilted his head, his lips curling into a wicked smile.
“let me show you.”
before she could respond, harry reached out, and suddenly léonard’s throat was slit, a jagged, gaping wound spilling blood in thick rivulets. his mouth moved silently, his eyes wide with shock as he stumbled back, gurgling, before collapsing to the ground.
her breath caught in her throat, her body frozen in horror.
harry knelt beside the body, his fingers dipping into the blood and lifting it to his lips. “the blood of the lamb,” he said, his tone rich with mockery. “shed for you. do you feel saved yet?”
her knees buckled, and she grabbed at her skirts, trembling.
“YN!” her father barked, his voice sharp.
she blinked, and léonard was standing again, unharmed, his voice droning on as if nothing had happened.
harry stood beside him, his eyes locked on hers, his smile wicked. “just a taste,” he mumbled. “but you see it now, don’t you? the rot. the lie. tell me you want more.”
her chest heaved, her breath shallow as she tore her gaze away, trembling. “i… i need a moment.” she stammered, fleeing before her father could object.
YN's feet moved without thought, her breath shallow and uneven as she fled toward the trees at the edge of the green. the sounds of the festival faded behind her—laughter, clinking mugs, the low hum of a hymn sung off-key. she stumbled into the shadows, her back pressing against the rough bark of a tree as her hands trembled against her skirts.
her heart pounded as she clenched her eyes shut, willing the sickening image of léonard's torn throat to leave her mind. the blood. the gurgling.
the way harry had knelt so casually beside the body, his fingers trailing through the crimson spill like it was honey.
"it wasn't real," she whispered, her voice shaking. "it wasn't real."
"oh, but it could be."
her eyes snapped open, and there he was.
he stood a few paces away, leaning casually against another tree, his eyes bright even in the dim light. he looked impossibly at ease, his shirtless torso pale and gleaming, the scars that marked his flesh carved from a divine hand.
her chest heaved as she pressed herself tighter against the tree, her knees trembling. "you’re vile," she spat, though the words came out weak, a desperate attempt to regain control.
harry’s smile widened, wicked and knowing. "yet here you are," he said softly, stepping closer. "running from him. running to me."
she pressed her back harder against the tree, the bark scraping through the thin fabric of her dress.
"leave me," she whispered, her voice trembling.
harry tilted his head, his curls catching the faint light, making him look more angel than demon. but his smile gave him away, all sharp edges and mockery. "leave you?" he repeated, taking a slow step closer. "but you're the one who called me here. the moment you fled, the moment you thought of me instead of your god."
"i didn't," she said quickly, her voice breaking, though she couldn't meet his eyes.
"liar." he murmured, closing the distance between them in a single stride.
the heat of him was overwhelming, pressing against her like a heavy shroud. his fingers reached for her, trailing along her jawline, his touch featherlight but impossible to ignore.
"do you know what you've done, little lamb?" he asked softly, his tone almost gentle. "you've brought me here. to this holy forest, where the air smells of prayer and sacrifice. do you think your god is watching now?"
she flinched, her lips trembling as she looked down. "he watches everything."
harry laughed, low and dark, turpentine—wearing her thin . "oh, YN. he does not watch you, if he was, would he have let me come so close?"
his fingers slipped beneath her chin, lifting her face until their eyes met. "would he have let you feel this?"
her breath hitched as his other hand trailed down, brushing over her waist, bunching the fabric of her dress in his fist. the coarse wool scraped against her skin as he gathered it higher, his green eyes never leaving hers.
"stop," she whispered, her voice trembling.
his smile widened, cruel and indulgent. "but you don't want me to stop," he said softly, his tone a mockery of tenderness. "you want me to keep going, to do what your god will not."
there was a moment of silence, eyes boring into one another as the trees shook in the breeze of whispers. “banish me.” he prodded, his eyebrows furrowed. “tell me to go and i will leave you.”
her chest heaved as she struggled to find her voice, to deny him, but the words tangled in her throat.
the faint glimmer of her damning shining through her cracked resolve.
"look at you," he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. "trembling like a virgin sacrifice before the altar. but that's what you want, isn't it? to be taken. to feel something other than this cold, empty devotion."
"no," she choked out, though her body betrayed her, her legs weakening as he stepped closer, his body crowding hers against the tree.
"no?" he repeated, his voice a low growl. "then why aren't you pushing me away? why does your breath quicken when i touch you? why does your cunt sing for me, even now?"
his hand slipped lower, finding her thigh beneath her skirts. his touch was firm but slow, deliberate, as he dragged his fingers upward, his gaze locked on hers.
"your god asks for obedience," he uttered, his voice sharp and mocking. "he demands sacrifice. but i ask for nothing but this."
her knees buckled slightly as his fingers brushed the edge of her undergarments, the heat pooling low in her belly making her head spin.
"don't." she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.
harry's free hand moved to her chin, tilting her face up to meet his gaze. "don't lie to me, little lamb. i can taste the truth on your lips."
he leaned closer, his breath warm against her mouth. "say it," he urged, his voice low and commanding. "say you want me."
her breath came fast and shallow, her heart pounding as shame and desire tangled in her chest.
"say it.”
her resolve crumbled. "i-i want you," she choked out, her voice breaking.
she gasped, her hands clutching his arms while her face burned—shame and something darker twisting inside her as his fingers slipped beneath the thin fabric, finding her folds.
"there," he murmured, his tone soft and taunting. "that's the truth of you, YN. not the prayers, not the fasting, not the faith. this. this heat, this need, this sin. it's mine."
her nails bit into his skin, taut and firm underneath while his digits slid through her arousal, deliberate and unhurried.
"you'll deny it, of course," he hummed, eyes burning as he watched her. "you'll call it blasphemy, call it wrong. but it's not wrong, is it? it feels too good to be wrong."
she bit her lip, her breath coming in shallow gasps, her body trembling as he circled her clit with maddening precision.
when he withdrew his hand, her body lurched at the loss, her breath catching in her throat. harry's fingers glistened in the faint light, slick with her arousal, a damning testament to her betrayal.
"look at this," he breathed, holding his hand before her face. his eyes burned with triumph, his lips curling into a smile. "the fruit of your desire. forbidden, but oh, so sweet."
YN's lips trembled, her cheeks wet with tears as she tried to look away.
"no," he said sharply, his tone slicing through the air like a blade. "you don't get to turn away from this. from me. taste it, little lamb. taste what you've given me."
her stomach twisted as he pressed his fingers to her lips, the heat of his touch scorching her skin.
"open," he commanded, his voice low and unyielding.
she hesitated, her chest heaving with shame and fear.
"open," he said again, his voice softer now, almost coaxing. "you've come this far. don't turn back now."
her lips parted, a trembling act of surrender, and he slipped his fingers into her mouth. the taste was overwhelming—salt and heat and something darker, something that made her stomach clench and her body burn with ashamed desire.
"good girl.” he breathed, his tone a velvet caress. his eyes stayed locked on hers, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed her face.
when he pulled his fingers away, he let them trail down her chin, leaving a faint sheen behind.
"do you see it now?" he asked softly, his hand moving to cup her face. "do you see what you are?"
she shook her head, not trusting her voice.
his smile deepened, his thumb brushing over her trembling lips. “you do not see, hm?” he cooed, “you are mine by design, as eve was made for adam, as fire is made to burn."
she slid down the tree, her back scraping against the bark as she crumpled to the ground, her head in her hands.
harry crouched before her, his smile softening into something almost tender. "pray if you like," he murmured. "but it won't change the truth."
he stood then, his green eyes gleaming as he disappeared into the shadows, leaving her trembling and broken beneath the gnarled branches of the forest.
THE days following her surrender blurred together, each one heavier than the last. YN no longer prayed—not because she didn't want to, but because the words felt meaningless. they sat heavy on her tongue, unmoving, like stones lodged in her throat. every attempt at confession ended in silence, the weight of her sin pressing her knees deeper into the cold stone of the chapel floor.
and yet, it wasn't guilt that made her tremble in the quiet moments. it wasn't shame that kept her awake at night, her hands fisting her sheets as she tried to ignore the heat pooling low in her belly. it was him. the memory of his touch, his voice, his green eyes burning into hers as though they could see every thought she tried to hide.
she waited for him. every day, every night. and when he didn't come, it felt like torment.
it was near midnight when she woke to the smell of smoke.
at first, she thought the cottage was burning, but when she sat up, the air was still. no flames licked at the thatched roof, no shouts from her father broke the night. the smell was faint, clinging to her skin like an afterthought, mingling with the faint taste of ash on her tongue.
the shack was colder than she remembered.
YN stepped inside, her breath catching as the warped wooden door groaned shut behind her. the faint smell of damp wood and old blood clung to the air, a reminder of the offerings her father had made here long ago. candles sat in the corners of the room, their flames low and flickering, casting shadows that stretched like grasping hands across the walls.
and at the center of it all stood the altar.
its surface was dark with stains that time could not scrub away. her father's hands had held lambs there, muttering prayers as their blood spilled onto the stone. the altar had been a place of sacrifice, of devotion, of faith.
now, it was hers.
harry stood beside it, waiting. his bare chest gleamed in the candlelight, the scars that crossed his pale skin stark and unyielding. his eyes burned as they met hers, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, knowing smile.
"you came," he murmured, his voice low, almost reverent.
her body trembled as she stepped closer, the worn planks beneath her feet creaking with every step. "you called for me.” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
"are you afraid?" he asked, his voice a low hymn, the kind that made sinners weep.
YN's knees shook. her faith had been a crutch her entire life, a shield against the dark, but now that shield was splintered, discarded at her feet. she didn't want god anymore.
she wanted him.
"no," she lied, though her heart was a caged bird, its wings beating frantically against her ribs.
harry smiled. it was not a kind smile. it was the smile of a wolf, sharp and full of promise. he beckoned her closer with the wave of his hand, her steps light until she stood before him at the altar.
his hand reached for her, pale fingers curling around her throat. his grip was light, reverent, as though she were something holy, something to be cherished.
his mouth found hers, claiming her with a kiss that was both savage and tender, his lips devouring hers with a hunger that felt endless. her body melted against him, her resistance crumbling with every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth.
his hands roamed her body, pulling at the coarse fabric of her dress, lifting it away from her skin with a reverence that felt almost mocking. when the cold air hit her bare flesh, she shivered, but his warmth was there, surrounding her, consuming her.
he looked at her like she was something sacred, a relic carved by divine hands. his eyes trailed over her shoulders, her breasts, her hips, lingering on the hollow of her throat where her pulse fluttered like a trapped moth.
"do you know,” his voice soft as a lover's whisper, "that heaven and hell both weep at the sight of you?"
her breath hitched, her cheeks burning as she crossed her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from his gaze.
"don't," he said softly, his tone sharp but not unkind.
his hands reached for hers, pulling her arms away from her body. "don't hide from me, YN. not here. not now."
his hands moved over her then, slow and purposeful, tracing every curve, every line, as though committing her to memory.
"you're perfect," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "the most beautiful lie heaven has ever told."
her chest heaved as his hands slid to her waist, lifting her effortlessly onto the cold stone of the altar. the chill bit into her skin, sharp and unyielding, but it was nothing compared to the heat of his body as he stepped between her legs.
"do you feel it, little lamb?" harry murmured, his voice dark and smooth, the words curling into her ear like smoke. "the way your body aches for something more? the way your soul trembles at the edge of the void?"
YN gasped, her body trembling beneath him, every nerve alight with a sensation she couldn't name. she tried to speak, to protest, but when his fingers gripped her hips and dragged her closer, the words dissolved on her tongue.
"i'll make you feel heaven," he sighed against her lips, his voice a promise and a threat.
her mind swirled with panic and want, her hands pressing weakly against his chest. "this is... wrong," she whispered, her voice trembling.
"wrong?" harry repeated, a laugh slipping from his lips, low and mocking. "do you think the lamb is asked if it consents to the knife? do you think your god cares for your innocence, your purity? no, YN. you were born for this. to be taken. to be ruined."
before she could respond, he kissed her, and it wasn't the soft, tender act she had imagined in her prayers. his lips claimed hers with bruising intensity, his tongue forcing its way past her defenses, devouring her protests until there was nothing left but submission.
her hands, once pushing against him, now clutched at his shoulders, desperate for something to anchor her as the world seemed to shift beneath her.
his lips descended to her neck, his breath hot against her skin as he kissed the tender flesh just below her ear. she shuddered, her fingers tightening against into him as his teeth grazed her, a soft scrape that sent heat coursing through her veins.
her head fell back, a soft moan escaping her lips, and she hated herself for it. hated the way her body betrayed her, the way it arched toward him, desperate for his touch.
his body was a weapon forged of bone and muscle. he was naked, his skin a canvas of scars and shadows, his beauty as blasphemous as it was perfect.
"do you remember your scripture, YN?" he asked, his lips brushing her ear. "your body is a temple, isn't it?"
her breath came in short, desperate gasps. "yes.”.
"then let me worship."
the stone of the altar was cold against her back, a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body. he moved with purpose, his hands firm on her thighs as he spread her open, exposing her in a way that made her breath hitch.
he shifted, pressing his hips against hers, and the hardness of his cock sent a shudder through her body. she gasped, her nails digging into his sides as he positioned himself between her thighs, his movements deliberate, torturous.
YN cried out, her back arching against the altar, her hands clutching at him as her body stretched to accommodate him. he fucked into her, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of pain and pleasure so intense it felt like her very soul was unraveling.
"that's it," he grunted, his voice thick with pleasure. "take me, little lamb.”
his hips moved, his thrusts deep and unforgiving, each one dragging a sound from her lips that she couldn't control. the rhythm of him was maddening, each movement sending a wave of heat crashing through her, building and building until she thought she might break.
"do you feel it?" he asked, his hand gripping her thigh, his fingers digging into her flesh. "do you feel heaven inside you? because it is not god who gives it to you. it is me."
YN's head fell back, her eyes squeezed shut as her body betrayed her, her hips rising to meet his with every thrust. she hated herself for the way her breath hitched, for the way her moans spilled from her lips like confessions.
"say it," he commanded, his voice low and rough, his hips driving into her with brutal precision. "say you find salvation in me."
her eyes flew open, meeting his gaze, and she saw it then—the green fire that burned in his eyes, the darkness that curled at the edges of his smile.
"say it," he demanded again, his pace quickening, his body relentless—a sacred place ricocheting with moans and wet slaps of skin against skin.
"i–" she gasped, her hands clawing at his back, her breath coming in ragged sobs.
"say it," he growled, his hand tangling in her hair, pulling her head back so that she had no choice but to look at him.
"i find salvation in you!" she cried, the words ripping from her throat like a scream.
his smile was triumphant, his lips descending to her throat, his teeth scraping against her skin as he drove into her harder, faster, each thrust filling her with a pleasure so sharp it bordered on agony.
her body tensed, her breath catching as the pleasure crested, shattering over her like a wave. she cried out, her voice echoing through the chapel, a sound of both ecstasy and despair.
as she fell apart beneath him, she felt the final pieces of her faith crumble, her soul slipping from her grasp and into his hands.
harry stilled above her, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "you were always meant for this. for me."
the shack went still. the candles burned low, their wax pooling onto the cracked wooden floor, the flames flickering weakly as if ashamed of what they had witnessed. the air was heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and smoke and something darker. the altar was cold beneath YN’s bare back, but she no longer felt it.
the space seemed different now. even as moonlight spilled through cracks in the wood, painting the ruins in pale silver, there was no pretense of holiness. the crucifix above her hung crooked, the wooden christ staring down with lifeless eyes, mouth agape not in sacrifice but in mockery. if god was watching, he did nothing. no lightning struck. no thunder rolled.
she thought, for the first time, that perhaps he was never there at all.
what had she done?
the answer burned its way into her mind, not with guilt, but with a clarity so sharp it was almost cruel. she had abandoned heaven for him. traded salvation for damnation.
the weight of harry’s body pressed into her, his chest rising and falling against hers in a rhythm that was almost human. almost. her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her breath shallow, her hands limp at her sides.
this was what she had feared, wasn’t it? the moment she’d run from, prayed against, begged god to prevent. and yet here she was, laid bare on the very altar her father had once sanctified with lamb’s blood. the same altar where prayers for forgiveness had echoed into the rafters, unanswered.
she could feel harry still on her, even as he moved away, the imprint of his body an ache that had lodged itself deep in her marrow.
the stone beneath her was unforgiving, just like the faith she had clung to for so long. faith that had demanded her knees break on cold chapel floors, her hands bleed as she tilled the earth in her father’s shadow, her heart ache as she bent to the will of a god who had never once spoken her name.
now, that faith lay in ruins.
she pushed herself up slowly, her limbs weak, her thighs slick with what they had done. the air bit at her skin, but she did not cover herself. there was no point. there was no shame left to cloak herself in.
harry stood near the altar, watching her. his naked body was a study in contrasts—smooth and unyielding, as though carved from alabaster, but alive with a heat that seemed to radiate from his very core. his beauty was inhuman, the kind that drew worship but offered no mercy in return.
his gaze on her was heavy, not with judgment but with possession. he had taken her, yes, but it wasn't force. it was inevitability. a dance they were always meant to perform.
YN swung her legs over the edge, her bare feet touching the cold stone floor. she thought of the animals her father had slaughtered here, the way their blood had run in thin rivulets down the grooves of the altar.
how fitting that she had bled here, too.
harry spoke no parting words, offered no promises. he didn't need to. what had happened was already written into her skin, her bones. it wasn't just her body he had claimed. it was her soul, and now it was marked, an unholy sigil that no prayer could erase.
when she stepped out into the night, the air was sharp and cold, the stars above indifferent and unmoving. but YN did not shiver. she felt warm, burning with a fire that no heaven or hell could extinguish.
there were no more prayers left on her lips. no scripture to guide her. there was only him, harry, and the path he had carved into her.
and as they disappeared into the forest's dark embrace, the shack and its altar remained behind, empty and silent, its walls whispering of a god who had abandoned it long ago.
in which y/n goes to a Halloween frat party and harry, who is a demon, happens to be there as well
5.9k words
warnings: demonrry! smut! (i tried. y'all know i'm terrible at it lol) uh exhibitionism sort of but not actually. just read idk. and *everything* that happens in this is 1000% consensual, just wanted to put that here!!
a/n: sorry this took forever. like truly, truly sorry. i've been coming home from work every day and passing tf out :) I'm still a week behind, but we'll get there soon! and i changed the name of the fic and description bc the other one didn’t make sense anymore and i changed my mind!
masterlist
(Y/N) thinks Halloween is a bit overrated.
There’s not too much she likes about the holiday and everyone is always going above and beyond for it. Decorating their houses, spending money on expensive costumes, it’s just not something she enjoys doing.
It was different when she was a kid, dressing up was fun and trick or treating was a highlight from her childhood, but now that’s it’s not exactly socially acceptable for her to be going from door to door asking for candy, she’s not much into it anymore. She hasn’t dressed up since she was like twelve.
But this year, her friends were more into the holiday spirit than they’ve ever been before. They’d planned costumes to wear together and decided to go as a squad of bloody cheerleaders. It was an easy costume, so she didn’t mind much. And she didn’t have to buy anything, that’s how excited the others were about it. There’s five of them and (Y/N) is patiently waiting her turn to be spattered with fake blood so they could leave and walk the five blocks to get to the frat house.
(Y/N) wouldn’t say she likes to party, but she’s certainly been to enough parties to be considered a party girl. But she doesn’t do much when she goes. She’s usually too busy chasing her drunk friends down to get them home safely. But tonight she thinks she’ll take a different approach and just try to have fun.
It was cooler outside than she would’ve liked. Her tiny skirt was doing very little to keep her warm, but that just meant that they walked those five blocks faster. The sun has just dipped down, leaving the sky hues of yellow and orange that eventually melted into an inky black. The street lights were beginning to come on and the streets were crowded with other college students, just trying to get the different houses and parties to spend Halloween.
There were many costumes she passed on her way there. Many of which looked very last minute and low effort. Some people didn’t even bother with dressing up, which is what (Y/N) would’ve done if her friends hadn’t had a group costume planned.
The party was at a friend of a friend’s. One of the girls with her tonight, Addison, has a massive crush on one of the frat boys, so she always drags all of them along so she doesn’t come here alone to flirt with him. He’s nice enough and seems to like Addison just as much as she likes him. So that gives them access to tons of parties that they might not otherwise go to.
As soon as they stepped in the door of the house, the music was loud and obnoxious, as it always is, and the foyer was crowded with people dancing and chatting. (Y/N) knew exactly where she needed to go and that was to the table that was set up to hold the drinks. Midterms had been earlier in the week and had stressed her out to no end, so a few drinks might actually be good for her. Just to take the edge off and get the tenseness out of her shoulders.
Addison had already been swept off by Aiden, so that left (Y/N) and her other three friends. They each filled a cup with their drinks of choice and then made their way to the middle of the room where everyone was dancing.
This was the first time in a few weeks that she was able to let loose. Yeah, finals would be here in no time too, but just getting through midterms deserved a night of carefree fun and no worries at all. She really paid no mind to whatever music was playing and did her own thing. Occasionally, she’d lift her drink to her mouth and gulp down as much as she could before starting to sway again.
The halloween decor wasn’t anything special or elaborate. It was all probably bought for cheap and no one really cared what the decorations looked like when there was alcohol there. Balloons dangled from the ceiling in the living room and the lighting was dimmed down, like they’d have at any party. The cups did have pumpkins and skulls on them, so while there wasn’t much, there was that.
But all of a sudden, it’s as if a bucket of cold water has been dumped over her head. Her whole body broke out in goosebumps and she could feel the hair raising on the back of her neck. She has never once felt like this before in her life. If she could equate it to anything, it would be like an overwhelming sense of dread has completely enveloped her and her mood. And she’s not sure why. Because nothing had changed. Her drink is still in her hand and her friends are still dancing like nothing has happened. Like they didn’t even notice her change in demeanor.
She’ll just chalk it up to something that only she noticed and she was just about to brush it off and get back to dancing when she felt it all over again, hitting her in waves. She glanced all around her, trying to locate the source of this new feeling, but nothing looked out of place. It was a gut feeling, but she doesn’t understand what’s the cause of it. Nothing looks dangerous near her. Nothing is going to harm her. That she can see. So, she’s really just unsure why her mind is seeming to be making up stuff when there’s nothing that should be making her feel this way.
She ignored it and continued dancing, even though her whole body was covered in goosebumps and the room seemed to have dropped ten degrees. But it’s fine. Nothing out of the ordinary.
Once her drink was gone, she was just about to tap her friend Andrea on the shoulder and ask if she wanted to get another fill up when her eyes caught something in the corner of the room.
A man. Leaning against the wall, someone she’s never seen before, with his eyes glued to her. He didn’t falter even when she met his gaze. In fact, his face didn’t move at all. He just stared.
(Y/N) hurried to look at Andrea who was still dancing and not looking to be stopping any time soon. Her eyes shot back to the man in the corner and he hadn’t moved. He was still staring, no expression on his face. She’s used to people staring at her sometimes and while it’s creepy then, she felt different entirely. Not good at all. She wanted to blame the feeling she had on him, but she has no idea what he’s even doing. He could not be looking at her at all and she’s just making a fool of herself by assuming, but if he’s not looking at her, he’s looking at whoever is behind her.
“Andrea,” She tugged on the material of her top, trying to get her attention. “Do you see that guy over there in the corner?” She wanted someone else to see him just in case he was weird and tried something. But Andrea didn’t even stop dancing, she just glanced back and gave (Y/N) a thumbs up.
“In the flannel? He’s cute.” (Y/N)’s jaw dropped. The guy in the flannel is not who she was referring to, but he is standing quite close to the guy staring her down, but he’s in his own conversation.
“No. He’s next to him, in all black.”
Andrea looked over again before shooting her a look.
“(Y/N). There’s no one else there.”
She huffed, turning back, ready to just point the guy out to Andrea since she’s not getting it. Even if she did point at him, he'd probably do nothing anyway. He’s just standing there.
“Are you serious? He’s right there!” She did point this time and she swears she saw the corner of the guy’s mouth lift, like he found something to be amusing. All while looking directly at her.
“I think you should be cut off for the night. Are you feeling okay?”
(Y/N) just blinked, not having any more words. Now Andrea thinks she’s crazy. Or drunk. Probably both. But how can she not see him practically gawking at them?
“I’m fine. I’m going to get some fresh air.” She turned, hearing Andrea asking behind her if she wanted company, but she just waved her off, continuing to the back door. She’s just going to take a few minutes to clear her head and that’s it.
There wasn’t a lot going on outside, but there was a fire pit, surrounded by about five people sitting back in chairs and talking among each other. (Y/N) doesn’t really know any of them, so she didn’t bother going to say hello, she just walked off to the side of the house, hoping that it was clear and she could take a second to regroup. She’s definitely not going crazy, but maybe it’s from sleep deprivation. She has been studying a lot in the past week and skipping out on sleep that she should have allowed herself to get, but time just got away from her.
Leaning against the side of the house, she pressed her already cold hands together, trying to bring warmth back into them. It wasn’t so cold that she’d have to go inside, but it was cold enough to cause another chill down her spine. Well, at least, she thought, until someone rounded the corner of the house.
It was him. Dressed in all black, same emotionless expression. (Y/N) is starting to think it might be time to go home. This is not what she signed up for tonight. To be followed around by some creep that’s going to have to reject a million times before he gets the hint. And sometimes not even then.
She groaned to herself, hurrying around the front of the house, not wanting to be alone with him under any circumstances. She slammed the front door behind her, almost wanting to lock it after her, even though it’s not her house. And it’s not like he couldn’t come in the back door again if wanted to anyway. She spotted Andrea again and went in her direction. She was still dancing without a care in the world and with a drink in her hand.
From the corner of her eye, the door opened and shut behind her. Without glancing back, she kept moving through the crowds of people, trying to lose him. She’s not going anywhere alone again because that would just spell out bad news.
She pushed through another group of people and ended up running straight into someone’s chest. She knew it was him before she looked up, she just didn’t know how it was possible. He was behind her. Unless she’s going in circles.
When she did manage to find the courage to look up, he was staring back down at her, this time with a smirk twisted on his mouth. The music was loud around them, but he wasn’t saying anything anyway. And it was like she couldn’t move from the stop he stopped her in. Even if she really, really wanted to run away from the intensity of his gaze.
Another thing she couldn’t find was her voice. There were a million thoughts rushing through her head and she wanted so badly to ask him what he wanted and why he was following her, but none of those questions could pass the tip of her tongue. All she could do was stare at him.
“What do you want?” That was the main, pressing question that she had, so that’s why it was the first one that she blurted out the second her mind started cooperating with her mouth. Another good question would have been why are you following me? But the one she asked kind of covers that too.
“Your soul.”
(Y/N) did not expect his voice to sound like it did, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that she had no idea what he was talking about.
“My soul? Are you high or something?”
The party was still raging on all sides of them, but again, they were ignored by those around them. Not that they were even doing anything that would draw attention in the first place, but it was just weird to her.
“No. But I’m getting impatient now, so are we doing this or not?” She just blinked at him, still not quite getting what he was asking of her. She’s never seen him on campus before, but that happens all the time because the school is so big and there are tons of parties tonight. Sometimes other schools will come as well and everyone gets mixed in together and it’s hard to keep track. But she’s not really sure why he’s even talking to her.
“Why do you just leave me alone? I’m not interested.” Her arms crossed and she glared at him now, sure that he was just trying to get laid tonight and being annoying.
“Nights like tonight and places like this are usually very easy to find what I want, but for some reason, this night has been excruciating. I’m getting too old for this. Now, are you going to cooperate or not?” He crossed his arms right back at her, as if she’s been bothering him all night.
“I have to get back to my friends now. Thank you for this though.” She went to turn, but her arm was grabbed.
“I’m sorry. Please. I’m Harry and I saw you and wanted to talk. That’s all.” She narrowed her eyes, jerking her arm from his grasp.
“You wanted to talk? So you followed me around like a creep instead of just coming up to me? No thanks, get lost,” She went to turn away from him again, but he appeared in front of her, just like he did a few minutes ago. “How did you do that?”
(Y/N) doesn’t really want to stick around and ask him questions that she really doesn’t care to know the answers to, but that was just weird. Perhaps he’ll explain himself and then she can ditch him. But she doubts that, just by the smirk on his face right now.
“Let’s talk, (Y/N).” Her jaw dropped, but he was pulling her away from the dancing crowd and towards the back of the room. There was a vacant hallway just beyond the foyer and he’d taken her there and leaned against the wall comfortably. He hadn’t taken her too far away from the others hanging out, so she wasn’t nervous about that part. But she was nervous because he was standing so close to her and she didn’t know why.
And (Y/N) swears she saw Harry’s eyes flash with something strange and how the fuck did he know her name in the first place? She never offered it. Perhaps he heard Andrea say it, but even then it’s still confusing.
“How do you know my name?”
“Listen, sweetheart. I haven’t been full in about five hundred years and I’m getting fucking tired of explaining myself and re-explaining myself to people, so just pay attention, please,” She blinked once and nodded. She’s glad she didn’t drink more than she had because she’d be so out of her mind right now, but she’s trying to focus as much as she can on what he’s going to say.
“I need to fuck you.”
He didn’t offer anything else. But his expression was deadly serious and she would have laughed if it hadn’t been for that.
“You’re disgusting, do you know that?” She rolled her eyes and wanted to stomp off, but he grabbed her arm before she could even more.
“You don’t understand. I’m losing energy. Sex is how I survive, (Y/N).”
“Yeah. Every other frat boy at this party has that same problem it seems. See you later—”
“I’m a demon, (Y/N),” And his eyes flashed like they did before, pitch black, making her gasp and his grip on her wrist tighten. “Sex is energy for me. I’m so, so tired.” And suddenly, he was pale and weak looking. But that did little to convince her. Because she’d seen guys jump through hoops just like this just to get sex, so she’s really not impressed by whatever display he’s putting on.
“Nice costume, jerk. Now fuck off.” Once again, her wrist was still held captive by his grip, so she wasn’t going anywhere and she’s really not liking how things are panning out right now.
“It’s not a costume. I’m being serious. How can I prove it to you?”
“You want to prove to me that you’re a demon?” He nodded. “You’re ridiculous.” This time when she tried to walk off, he let her. But he followed right behind her. She went to the table with the drinks and made herself something very light. Because if he’s going to be following her around all night, then she’s going to have to have something to take the edge off.
“Right now,” He leaned against the table right beside her, sitting on just the edge of it. “No one can see me.”
She could attest to that. Possibly. But she just doesn’t know how. Maybe Andrea really didn’t see him standing there because she didn’t care to even look. It’s not possible, so how could he be invisible to everyone in the room except for her anyway?
“Prove it then.” She set her half made drink on the table and turned to him. He smirked, standing straight before walking right up to a group of three people talking. He stood right behind the guy, definitely close enough for him to notice, and snapped his fingers directly in his ears. But nothing. He carried on with his conversation like Harry wasn’t even there. Because she guesses he wasn’t. She really tried to school her expression, but it was hard because what the fuck is going on? How can no one but her see him?
“See? You can only see me because I’m allowing you to. I’m a demon. I can do whatever I please, (Y/N). I know your name because I read your mind.” She’s still skeptical about him because he’s actually defying all laws of nature and it’s hard for her to wrap her mind around it.
“What number am I thinking of?”
“Seventeen.”
“Damn it.”
“Do you believe me now?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“Since I can read your mind,” He walked back to her, turning her back to his chest and holding her there. She didn’t want to get comfortable there, but he felt so warm and it was like she’d lost every ounce of common sense she had. If he’s a demon, shouldn’t she be steering clear of him anyway? But all those thoughts vanished when he trailed the back of his hand down her cheek and to her neck where his finger toyed with the top hem of her shirt. “I know how you feel about me already, (Y/N). You’ve imagined me taking you over this very countertop several times now. Haven’t you?”
“No.” It didn’t matter what she said because he already knew.
“Wrong. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. Lying is a sin, didn’t you know that?” His mouth was right beside her ear now and she felt her whole body shiver just as a result.
She wants to be strong. She wants to push him away and go find her friends right this instant and tell them all about the weirdo guy she met that no one can see, but she knows they wouldn’t believe a word she said. And they’re probably all drunk by now.
(Y/N) doesn’t know where these feelings came from, but as soon as she saw him when she was dancing, she felt a prickle of something at her spine and ever since then, everything has gone downhill.
“Fine.”
“Say it.”
She sighed, trying to keep herself together, but it was so hard with him so close. She could feel his body pressing hers right into the table in front of them. The kitchen counter is steps away and like she just admitted, she’d thought about him and her a time or two. Just because her mind works so fast to create scenarios in her head and she couldn’t stop it. It just happened and of course, he’d be able to read minds. Right as she imagined something so dirty.
“I thought about it.”
“About what?” She knows he’s grinning just by the tone of his voice. And it would be annoying if she wasn’t feeling so weak in the knees.
“You and me. Please, Harry.” Now she’s leaning back into him, already feeling her panties dampen. And it hadn’t even been that long! She hasn’t slept with someone in ages, that must be why she’s having such a tough time right now.
“Gonna help me out, baby?” His mouth traced down the side of her neck and her eyes fluttered shut, completely giving into him without even saying it. “Let me fill you up just one time and I’ll be good to go, swear it.”
Some of her senses managed to return because she turned to him with her hands gripping at his shoulders, unsure of what he really means by doing this. What does sex do for a demon? She has no idea about how they work and he hasn’t explained much.
“How will this help you?”
“Like I said, (Y/N). Sex fuels me. Every so often I have to find someone to sleep with to keep me alive. At least here on earth.” It’s all too much to think about now and none of it makes sense, but the burning in her stomach is going to start making decisions for her in a few minutes. And the fact that she can already feel how hard he is pressed right against her center.
“Why?”
“That’s just the way it is, (Y/N). I wish it wasn’t.”
“I’m sure it’s so annoying to have sex all the time,” She rolled her eyes, making him chuckle. “Why me then? Out of everyone in the party. I’m sure you could’ve found someone much more willing.”
He was good looking. (Y/N) is sure if he stared at anyone too long, they’d be taking their clothes off anyway. He probably rarely runs into someone who turns him down.
“Because. I have a thing for cheerleaders. Bloody ones at that. Now are you letting me fuck you or not?” He pushed against her once and she gripped her shoulders harder to keep herself upright.
“Fine. There’s probably an empty room—”
“No, no, no. No time. Right here.”
Her jaw dropped as she looked around the kitchen, seeing all the people standing around at the moment. Maybe they can’t see him, but it would be fucking weird to do that right here.
“Are you crazy? There are so many people in here, we would never get away with that.”
“(Y/N). I’m a demon and we’re both currently unseen by anyone in here, so relax.” Something else that left her jaw hanging. Now she’s invisible?
“You didn’t even ask if I wanted to be invisible. That’s rude.” She was just about to drop her arms from around his neck when he pulled them right back and leaned down to kiss her. She never considered that kissing would be part of the deal, but here they are now. He’s got her flush against him and backed into the table with the drinks. People are still milling around, completely unaware of their presence, so (Y/N) did relax as he suggested.
Her hands threaded through his hair just as his tongue slipped into her mouth. He moaned against her lips before grabbing her legs and lifting her effortlessly onto the table. His hand went up her skirt and found her soaked through underwear and once again, he moaned, drawing away from her to give her a look.
“And to think you were going to tell me you didn’t want me.”
His fingers pushed right against her clit, making her back straighten before she untensed her muscles and tried not to think too much about what’s happening behind her. Right as he pushed two of his fingers inside of her, his mouth dragged down her neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses and making her eyes flutter shut.
His fingers were working a magic like she’d never experienced before. Somehow he could thrust his fingers inside of her and hit just the right spot inside of her while rubbing over her clit with his thumb in the most agonizingly slow circles. But she didn’t mind it because it was making her feel so good that she couldn’t tell him that she wanted him to go faster. She couldn’t get any words out beside his name and other unintelligible sounds of pleasure.
She was on the edge. The edge of the edge when he stopped suddenly.
“I was so close! What are you—”
She stopped herself because he had just unzipped his pants and (Y/N) truthfully has never seen anything like what he’d been keeping hidden in his pants. He looked painfully hard and at the moment, there was nothing more she wanted than for him to stuff himself inside of her. But he zipped back up, making her pout her lips at him.
“That shut you up, didn’t it?” He pinched her bottom lip. She nodded, not knowing what else to say. “I already stretched you a bit with my fingers, hm? So turn around.” She didn’t argue with him, but she glanced around the room once more, seeing people still minding their business and unaware of what’s really happening right beside them.
He moved her over to the kitchen counter, just like she imagined it before, and she laid over the side of it. She felt so jittery from being so excited. She knew that just from him touching her for just a few seconds that he would really give her something unforgettable. And she just couldn’t wait.
“Can I taste you first? Really fast. Know you’re sweet (Y/N).”
“Please.”
He knelt behind her and she tried to get a better grip on the countertop because she knew as soon as she felt his mouth on her, she’d be a pathetic puddle of want and need. And she knows that each and every thought passing through her mind is something that he can hear, so she really tries to clear her mind and only think about what he’s doing in the moment.
She felt his hands skim up the back of her legs and around the sides of her thighs before her underwear were in a pool at her ankles. He pushed her legs further apart before she left his tongue swirling around her clit. Her entire body shook and while she knew that she could probably be as loud as she wanted because no one could see her, she also wanted to calm down a bit. Because if she’s this wound up about him then she has a problem. But he’s so good at what he’s doing.
His tongue was relentless. Lapping at her clit and then switching back to her slit and making her feel like she was going to cry. And he hadn’t even put himself inside of her yet. His hands had a tight grip around the back of her thighs, something else that was making her head spin on its own. Just his touch electrified every part of her body.
He pulled away all too soon and stood back up, pressing against her from behind. He pushed her skirt up to her waist and his hands went back down to her
“Ready?”
“Yes.”
He slid into her all in one go. She’s pretty sure just so he could watch her struggle to take him and whine his name. Because while the stretch of him was a bit much, she liked the feeling. He didn’t move right away, which helped majorly. He just sat there inside of her and gave her a minute to take it all in. And then he started thrusting.
Her hips were pressing into the countertop with every thrust. And by how hard she was knocking into it, she knew that she’d have bruises by tomorrow. None of it hurt. It was all pleasure and all good feelings. She was practically melting right into the counter, unable to move.
The side of her face ended up resting on the cool granite under her as she tried to ground herself right where she was. She has no idea the consequences of this, but she does know that she feels so good, she can barely breathe. That’s just how hard and fast he’s giving it to her.
Right next to her face, someone is mixing a drink. And that thought alone had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. While no one is watching, it seems like it and (Y/N) didn’t know that would turn her on so much. But everything that usually happens at a party is continuing to happen, right around them. And still, no one knows that she’s having the best sex of her life right now over the kitchen island in this random frat house. And she doesn’t mind one bit.
She could even hear Harry behind her, who was clearly enjoying himself. He’s moaning in her ear and watching down below where he’s plunging in and out of her. But by that point, she was pretty much out of her mind, not thinking about anything other than what she was feeling.
His hands were gripping her hips tightly, like she was going to disappear or something and he didn’t want her to.
But she certainly wasn’t going anywhere with him treating her like this. One of his arms reached around to her to rest his palm over her stomach.
“Feel that?” And of course, she did. It did feel like he had somehow reached her stomach and was completely destroying her from the inside out. He didn’t give her any time to respond because his hand was right back down at her center, rubbing over her. She felt incredibly sensitive, but that only added to the experience. It was almost hurting too good so that there were tears in her eyes now, leaking onto the counter underneath her head.
(Y/N) really just can’t believe that no one is seeing this. Even though it’s impossible for them to. She almost wishes they could.
And at that very thought, she was cumming around him, feeling him twitch inside her. Probably because of how tightly she was squeezing him. He followed right behind her, falling against her back. For a few moments, both of them just breathed.
It actually felt like she lost a piece of herself when he pulled out of her. She doesn’t even want to move at the moment, but she can’t stay bent over the counter all night. She’s actually ready for bed by now.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?” He pulled her skirt back down and she stood straight on wobbly legs, trying to blink herself back into reality.
“Yeah?” She found her balance again and looked at him. His eyes were all black again and she felt that same overwhelming dread she had before she even said a word to him. “What now?”
“Well. I think it’s time for us to get out of here.”
“What? I should really get back to my friends, Harry. They’re probably wondering where I am.”
“Probably. But you’re coming with me now.” He smirked, gently running his fingers down the back of her arm. But she’s confused, as she had been all night. Ever since meeting him.
“I can’t. What are you talking about?”
“Do you know what you did by fucking me, (Y/N)?” She wanted to repeat back exactly what he said to her. She was only helping him. He needed her to survive. But now she’s feeling like that isn’t at all what she just got herself into. And now she’s a bit nervous.
“What are you saying?”
“I’m a demon, (Y/N). I take souls. And you gave yours up pretty willingly.” Her jaw dropped as she tried to understand what he was saying and what that meant. But she has no idea how these things work, she just went along with it.
“No. No, I didn’t. You said—”
“Fine. I said I needed energy. But energy and souls are the same thing in my world, sweetheart. And yours feels so good.” At this very moment, (Y/N) has never felt so betrayed. She’s unsure why she thought it would be that simple anyway. They’d have sex and he’d leave her alone. Easy enough. But she should’ve known better.
“You tricked me.”
“And you let me. I’m a demon. We’re deceitful and you fell for it. Now let’s go.” His fingers wrapped around her wrist and he pulled her towards the hallway leading to the front door.
“No, I don’t want to go, leave me alone, stop please.” She hopes that this is all a joke. She didn’t just sign her life away. But with the way Harry seems to be getting impatient, everything is true and she’s fucked.
“Too late now.”
“No, please. I take it back, I didn’t mean it, please.” Tears are gathering in her eyes, but she doesn’t know whether to cry or scream at him.
“As soon as you came on my cock, like the good girl you are, you were mine. And deep down, I know you want to be anyway. Let’s go, please.”
“No, no, no. I can’t go, I want to stay, please.” She knew that she could cry as much as she wanted, but his mind wasn’t going to be changed. It probably couldn’t. If her soul was his, there was nothing to do about it now.
“You’d be better off not crying anymore. No one that cares can see you anymore anyway. Please, we have places to be. Enough of the dramatics.” Somehow, in the blink of an eye, they ended up on the front porch. Harry, still keeping his stoic expression and (Y/N) now with tears streaming down both of her cheeks. She doesn’t know what this means for her, but she does know that none of it is going to be fun.
“Harry. Let me stay, I’ll do anything, please.” She almost wanted to beg on her knees in front of him, but she knew that there was a very slim chance that that would do anything to help her. It would only anger him further probably.
“No crying.” She hurried to wipe her cheeks and tried with everything in her to stop trembling, but it was too difficult. She just wants to go home.
“It’s okay, (Y/N). You know why?” Once again, she felt his feather light touch grazing her cheek. It did nothing to comfort her, it only made her more nervous for what’s to come. She can’t believe she’d been so stupid.
“Because you’re mine now. And you’re stuck with me forever. Get used to it.”
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
i hope you like. very short, but it's all i got rn lol
Harry’s an asshole considering the genre of creature he’s and Y/N’s a sweetheart (continuous one shots)
Word Count: 1.2k.
Authors Note: These will be short for the sanity of my mental health. I’m trying to write after 6months of hell. Please, do appreciate my effort by reblogging and leaving feedbacks.
KEEP ON SENDING DEMONRRY IDEAS AND REQ!!
† †
Blaring shriek whistles away with a celestial energy as the bullet train passes by in it’s full speed. Y/N pules indolently. Her joints feels lit on fire. Her head spinning and her vision blurry from her cry-session before. Her soul senseless to the happenings that’s taking behind her back in that shady corner of the tube’s stairs.
A man crying for help. Choking onto breath as his skin takes a colour of darkness. Eyeballs rolling back to prominent just the whites in them. Y/N’s ears perks up at the eerie scratching noise of nails raking down the grubby wall but her brain ignores it, makes it fly over her head.
She feels the same. Flying over the gates of heaven, candy clouds and glittery rainbows invades her all around.
“Sleep little baby.”
“The little baby doesn’t want to sleep.”
“The jumbie will eat him.”
Y/N sing-songs the lullaby her mother used to hum to her. It used to creep her in her childhood. The thought of a demon named Jumbie breaking into her home and eating her alive used to have her pants wet. But, now as she giggles the lullaby out. Capering and swaying from one feet to another all while hanging at the edge of the platform. It feels calm, numbing to her feelings and chaos whirling inside her.
Her sweet voice that of a siren bounces against the murky floors of the tube catching the attention of a creature that had their eyes already fixated on the human while they siphoned a soul that was meant for hell.
“The soucouyant will suck his blood and the witch—-“ Y/N’s intoxicated eyes shutter opens wide awake, her neck put at a weird angle and her arms stuck above her hip while she screams at the top of her lungs from the fear of getting her skull cracked against the metal frame of speedy passing train - but - there’s someone whose burning grip on her arm keeps her safe from falling and both giving her a heart-attack by not letting her move away from her death itself.
From her clumsiness and stupidness she was about to come under the train.
“You fucking twat!” Y/N squeaks out a hiss when a furious crotchety voice boomed almost quaking the walls on their spot, “Dumb fucking humans.” That just confuses Y/N more but just like any other thing, this also flies over her head and all she does when the adrenalin of dying pacifies down in her veins is that she grins up at whoever just shouted at her.
That grin flatters. The man in his twenties. Tall enough for her to look like a pea infront of him. With sensual pastoral eyes. Cinnamon chocolaty curls. Handsome, clean-shaved face and a jaw carved out of white stone is burning her alive with his intense angry glare.
Harry’s outraged with annoyance that because of this girl he had to let a foul soul slip from his hand.
He did an Angels work by protecting her. What a dumb fucking donkey he’s to be rescuing a human. He grumps to himself. Regretting to go out his way. His demon-ly ways.
He was unable to resist. When his eyes caught a girl in sheer white frock, dancing and signing her heart out - his rotten fingers slipped away from around the corrupt man’s throat. When her black leather jacket fell first on the train tracks his instincts were quick to leap in and pull her back but make her lick the taste of her own stupid medicine cruelly.
Why’s he feeling awful under her soft gaze!? What the fucks wrong with you? You fucking dog of Lucifer!?!?!?!!!!
Harry’s screaming internally at himself. Her bright soft aura almost fooled him to think she was an Angel. The pinks of her eyes making her seem high on the heavens water.
His grip tightens, rather protectively than to hurt her to get his revenge out of annoyance and he glowers his own hand as if to scold it.
“Youuu fuckin’ twattt!” Y/N giggles hysterically mimicking his northern accent with all of the dramatics and twists of mouth, “Oi what was that for!?” Y/N huffs stumbling backwards as Harry flicks her on forehead. He actually wanted to convert her into a mouse so she would be running around this awfully nasty train tube, slipping onto the gutter murk and trying to save herself from getting squished under human boots, for that she looks like a person who’s a clean freak.
Harry turns away from her with an irate roll of his mean eyes and Y/N gasps grumpily, “Oi!” She hiccups a bubble of whatever alcoholic drink she chugged down. Trying to grasp onto his bicep. He’s too bulk for her small hands.
His voice low and monotone as he brushes her off easily, without a remorse, “Don’t you’ve a home to go to you little rat.” His thumbs twitches in his fist not bearing her cold velvet touch on his skin. His lips thins into exasperation. Vexed sigh gurgling within depths of his chest when Y/N leans all over him practically melting into his back, her cheek cutely squished against his sharp shoulder blade as she hugs his arm for life.
What in the clingy fucking fuck.
“Nooooo…” She baubles out sadly. Her pout wavering and her chin wobbling with tears popping and glistening on her waterline.
“Shoo away you rat.” Harry all but ignores her act shrugging his arm to get rid of her instead she wraps herself more securely around him, where she’s just his other skin.
He groans stomping his custom Gucci shoes harshly against the floor. Thumbing at his eyes crudely and tugging at his own curls madly, before snapping his fingers and vanishing into thin air.
Going invisible while being there, inches away from her.
Y/N blinks her eyes inhumanely possible. Taking a 360 of her space and seeing just a couple sitting far off at the bench, her heart shrinks down to her stomach.
Her knees weakens, the heat from her cheeks drains to reveal paleness and Harry smirks, having his lil fun in getting her shit her pants but his own plan blows at him when she flops on her knees drunkenly and starts to cry, with loud shaky sobs and big fat tears.
“Where did you gooooaaaaa!!?” A string of saliva attaches from her bottom lip to her upper one as she opens her mouth wide enough to stuff two Big Macs while she whined and cried, she’s a proper misery party. Her eyes swollen and wet, shut brutally tight that even the tears are finding their way to slip out.
“Can you please shut up?” Harry pops out of blue making himself visible again and she yips out in surprise finding him shadowing over her face mere threads away. A stinging smack echoes in the air, her hand comes in contact to his cheek and if he hadn’t asked the Lucifer to stone him to death he will now after getting slapped by a girl who’s a fucking mortal.
Out of her fright and flight mode her hand flew to land against his cheek and to compensate that, her short length arms instantly weaved around his neck, Harry’s dead heart almost revives to life upon his first humanly hug after centuries of blankness.
“I’m so sorry—- please don’t leave me…” She weeps into his neck in sheer panic and fright, twisting the collar of his black shirt.
Harry just keeps his arms to himself. Shutting his eyelids into defeat and irritation.
“What a fucking torture of a human you’re, little rat.”
He’s about to count his days on the same watch Lucifer gifted him.
Hey! I was bored, so I decided to write a short, completely random halloween blurb about a a newly born demon who lacks control over his killer instincts.
warnings: do NOT read this if you're skirmish about death stuff!!!! mentions of blood, demons, dead bodies, literal murder and creatures feeding off creatures. ⚠️⚠️
words: 1.2k
“Harry!!” You screamed as soon as you laid eyes on the reason why you had been asked to descend to the earth's surface that night. You'd come down to fix what your apprentice had described as a small screwup, only to discover it was actually a monumental fuck up. “That’s Lucifer’s son-” Your voice was laced with sheer panic. “You killed Lucifer’s son! You- you butchered him!!”
Harry stood next to the deceased, his head bowed and his arms dangling behind him like the ones of a child who realizes they've done something bad. “‘M sorry. I-I didn't mean to. I just… was really hungry and...” Your enraged gaze lifted to him. He wasn't supposed to be hungry this late at night - he'd been sent down to feed himself. “I know I was supposed to be hunting humans, but they’ve all been so nice to me, and blood is so yucky. I'm not interested in eating them.”
You glared at him. “So you chose to eat one of our own instead?”
“No, of course not. I had no intention of eating him.” He denied right away, offended by the suggestion. “Why can’t I eat non- bloody food like humans do? Did you know they have a building called Wendy's where you can get a Frosty? Those are my favorite food. I wish I could eat them every day.”
“A Frosty,” You snorted derisively. “Your demon hunger will never be satisfied by human food. It's not nutritious, and it’ll give you fang decay if you have it too often.”
“Well then I'd rather not eat- which is precisely why I was hiding out here in the woods, where people don't come at night. But then he showed up out of blue and… I think I bit him. I don't remember it very well.” He looked down at the lifeless body for a moment, then back at you. “Have you ever bitten someone you weren't supposed to?”
“You didn't bite him Harry; you ripped half of his neck off.” You stated matter-of-factly. Thankfully, demons did not bleed as heavily as humans did, but it still didn’t look pretty. Harry's face, hands and shirt were covered in blood, but the head dangling off his victim by a sliver of tissue was undeniably the worst. “We’ll have to be careful while we move him. The last thing we need is for his head to fall unnoticed somewhere. I don't think your darling humans would like that very much.”
“You’re being really mean right now.” Harry grumbled, crossing his arms in a furious manner. “You were supposed to be helping me feel better, but all you've said so far has made me feel worse.”
You let out a harsh, sarcastic laugh. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Please tell me, what should I say to cheer you up, exactly?”
“Anything that relieves my guilt.” He huffed.
“Okay, then.” Crossing your arms as well, you sighed. "Taking everything into account, at least you got rid of the stupid offspring rather than the valuable one. Killing his sister—who has always been daddy's favorite—and getting away with it would have been much more troublesome. Oh, and I've always thought that he lacked survival skills. Does that improve your mood?”
Harry appeared surprised, as if he had not expected this outcome. “A little bit, actually.” He noted, inhaling deeply before turning his attention to the matter at hand. “Okay um… now what?”
“Grab his arms, I’ll take the legs.” You decided quickly, putting yourself into position. “We have to drag him deeper into the woods. The wolves will take care of the rest.”
Harry positioned himself on the opposite side of you and gave a single nod. Together, you attempted to lift the body. “Bloody hell!” He groaned, as you both shifted from side to side in an attempt to balance out the added weight. “Why are bodies so much heavier when they’re dead?”
“Good thing we won’t have this problem once Lucifer finds out what you did. He’s going to chop you into pieces. You’ll be much easier to carry that way.” You chuckled but soon realized Harry wasn't on the same page as you. His face was pale and solemn. “Hey, I was just kidding. No one’s going to find out, okay? We'll make sure of it.”
“Yeah, okay.” He nodded but didn't seem entirely convinced. “Let’s just go.”
The entire forest was shrouded in fog. The more you looked up at the evergreens, the more they blended together like a dry pastel painting in deep blues.
The ambient noises created by nature at night were spine-chilling, but they were drowned out by your heaves, grumbles, and the thunderous sound of your feet as you moved through the isolated forest lands.
“Okay. Here is good, I think.” You took a deep breath as you carelessly placed the body on the ground. You'd spent thirty minutes walking deep into the woods. There were no running trails that led this far, and the area wasn’t regularly patrolled by rangers either.
As far as you knew, the only creatures that walked through these dense, hazy grounds so late at night had fur, sharp teeth, and a fondness for biting. You hoped they were feeling ravenous...
“Now we wait.” You murmured as you sat on a fallen tree stem a few meters away. “It shouldn't take long. They've been watching us for a while. I could feel them moving alongside us as we walked.”
“Okay um… big question; won't they try to kill us if we stay here, like, right next to the fucking food source?”
“No.” You replied flatly. What a ridiculous question. “They're scared of us, but don’t worry… they’ll come. The free food is too tempting for them to refuse.”
Just like you had predicted, it didn't take long for a wolf pack to start crawling from behind the foliage. They prowled the area like scavengers, until they finally approached their easy meal.
“I think I'm going to be sick,” Harry's murmur drawed your attention away from the wolves and toward him. He appeared even paler than before - he was practically yellow.
“Don’t you dare.” You warned him, angry eyes flashing directly at his. “You are not going to puke twenty feet away from where we dumped the body. Hold it.”
He swallowed heavily, leaning against a tree to try to keep his composure. You had been in his shoes before, so you knew what it felt like. “How do you do it? Why are you staring at it? It's revolting!”
“Because I’m evil, Harry.” Your lips smirked slightly. You had been expecting for him to go into shock eventually, and it was likely that was what was happening. “And so are you... you're just not ready to accept it yet. One day you will though. One day you’ll realize how pointless it is to try to run from who you are - from who we are.” You held out your hand and grabbed his red-tainted one. “You have a monster's heart.... and what you did tonight only goes to prove it.”
He shook his head as his eyes began to well with tears. “No. Tonight was an accident. I wasn't trying to kill anyone.”
You looked at him with wide eyes, almost amazed by his conviction. “Good people don't experience accidents like these, I'm afraid.” You squeezed his hand and cracked another smile. “Come on, let's get out of here. As soon as the sun rises and Halloween is over, walking around with all that blood on you will start to look suspicious.”
