“It was an angel, I really saw an angel”
requested // yes
requests are open // request here
AN // I’m so sorry this took so long, it’s been a weird week.
TW // smut, profanity
It was an angel, I really saw an angel
The most beautiful things are found where you least expect them. He found her sat on the pavement outside a liquor store in a skirt short enough to make even an atheist mother clutch a cross but she had eyes that could make flowers grow from places in you that you thought were long dead. Walking over and sitting next to her was almost instinct, like she was an old friend or a lost child, but talking to her until sunrise? Well that was just because her voice was like violins and it made him forget about time. She’s not left his side since you know, like he needs her with him constantly just to be sure she’s real. She’s his saving grace, she’s an earthbound angel and she doesn’t know it. She doesn’t believe in angels. But he does. He believes in her. Demons are so shy around her, other men stutter when she looks them in the eye and he can’t believe she’s his.
He catches himself staring at her a lot but he can’t help it, watching her do anything makes him feel like he can do everything, and he can’t help but mirror her smile when she catches him too because I swear when that girl smiles so does the entire goddamn universe and her laugh could make him forgive her for thing she hasn’t even done yet. She would never confess, in her fine world, that she really preferred chaos but he knew and he thinks that’s why she’s with him. He’s sure she’s an angel and he doesn’t plan on letting her go because God has a whole choir and Harry only has her.
He’s her favourite sin, the only one who could get her on her knees with her wrists tied behind her back and her swollen cunt making unseemly suggestions. She’s his good girl and oh how he loves to ruin her, the image of tears and mascara running down her cheeks as she begs him to fuck her is constantly on repeat in his mind like his favourite movie scene. Touching her feels like euphoria. The arch in her back could cause a holy catastrophe and the only thing reassuring the devil of her angel stance in moments where she’s writhing is the chant of God and Harry’s name falling from her pretty lips. He never knows what he’s saying when he’s moaning into her mouth. Is it her name? Is it gospel? He’s not entirely sure what the difference is but he is sure that the only heaven he wants to be in is her. He always has love dripping from him in everything he does with her, like when he kisses her wrists before he pins them above her head. The ecstasy they feel with one another is hedonistic and it’s nights like these, when she lays exhausted and filled with him on his chest, that he sings her to sleep just so she’ll dream about slow dancing with him. She’s an angel, his only angel.