Angel!Y/N and Demon!Harry
13k words. let's go. as usual, tumblr is: @haryforvogue.tumblr.com x
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Harry was quite literally fucked with this one.
He clearly remembered refusing the invitation to spend the night with his friends who all stated he needed time away room his duties, and while it was evident that tonight was a night to remain in bed, Harry now found himself trudging through the streets with a grimace on his face and blood on his hands. Not only had he been roaming the city with his shitty friends in an area where he shouldn't have been, but he'd also placed himself in deep trouble. His friends had insisted on spending their free Saturdays at a newly opened bar somewhere along the coast of a hometown nobody chose to go to.
Well, nobody Harry knew because he didn't exactly engage with angels. It was forbidden.
Now he was nursing his torn wing in his hand, muttering every swear word he knew, wondering if he walked enough, maybe he'd be able to see someone in the dark of the night. The pain had traveled to his ribs and a fire was lit in his chest. The most tender of touches against his feathers caused him to wince in pain and take a couple deep breaths to steady himself. The blood on his hands was dark and crimson-like due to his anger at not only his friends, but at himself.
Who was he kidding? It was 3 in the morning. All the angels were tucked away in their beds.
The pain in his shoulder was red and growing with every throb. It was as if thousands of angel arrows were hitting his spine and neck, ready to tackle him down. All he needed to do was get back to his neighborhood to wake up somebody -- anybody-- just as long as they were a demon.
Harry groaned aloud when a gust of air blew him off course, the cold wind hitting his wound square where it hurt the most and he doubled over, placing a hand over the torn muscle, a sound similar to a whimper coming out of his mouth. His blood was now scarlett as his anger had died down and the pain worsened. Perhaps he'd black out, he thought bitterly, swearing to break anybody's wing who came near him ever again.
He swore one more time before placing his hands on a nearby apartment wall, squeezing his eyes shut. He concentrated on retracting his wings gently back into him, however the slight brush of the wound on his bare skin made him nearly scream out of pain.
Somewhere within the moans of pain and gruesome thoughts of bleeding down, Harry's acute hearing didn't pick up on the almost inaudible footsteps of the only angel stupid enough to be walking at this time. He was nearly to a bus stop, he thought, wishing they were placed more closely between miles, but granted, he did have wings.
"Are you hurt?"
Harry's defense shot up, anger coursing through his immortal body as he slowly turned around and with piercing black eyes, he glared at the cherubic angel who shyly looked at him with her hands in her pockets. She was cute. Of course she was. All angel were cute.
She looked tired, like she'd been crying, but worried nonetheless.
"Does it look like I'm fuckin' okay?" Harry growled, pupils largening and washing over the whites of his eyes.
She was frightened, eyes widening with fear and a look of regret striking her features. "I'm sorry. I was just going to ask if you needed help or something."
Harry didn't have the strength to answer suddenly. His anger used too much of his remaining energy that the fury he felt in his hands quickly decreased at an alarming rate. He swore one of his wings had crumbled and fallen off by the time he opened his mouth to continue sending scathing words at the even more concerned girl. His breath stuttered and the hand laying on his wound to conceal is was risen, an obvious gasp falling from the white-winged angel.
