angel!y/n and demon!h
Y/N accuses him of getting upset at things that happen to be blatantly unreasonable, yet here she is turned away from him for the first time ever in their bed. The lamp on her side is shut and the curtains are pulled together, yet her spread wings illuminate around her body. The delicate feathers in case her body and hide her from any wandering hands that prefer to be wrapped around her waist to keep her back tight against a sturdy chest.
He's annoyed, of course, staring at her figure with his lip tucked between his teeth and eyebrows pulled together as if they belong there.
Her wings flutter once, as if teasing him, and a couple feathers shed. One lands under his eye and nearly melts on his skin. He enjoys the feeling of her feathers. There's nothing more satisfying in the world than burying his face in her white feathers, inhaling the sweet scent of her body, kissing up and down her neck... But right now? Right now he wants the putrid wings tucked back between her shoulder blades so he can see her face and assess the damage properly.
"So," he spits, "you're just not going to speak to me, hmm?"
She shakes her wings in response.
He growls. "You've got to be kidding me."
She sends him a half-assed shrug without glancing back at him. "You disregarded my feelings, I'm going to ignore yours."
He resists the urge to roll his eyes. "Your feelings?" The words are coming out clearly strained and forced. "Sweetheart, my world revolves around your feelings."
"Did your world decide to pause for a week?"
He throws his head back onto his pillow. "I was busy!"
"Yeah, busy terrorizing people while I played wife." She shifts a little in her spot on the edge of the mattress and he thinks she's shuffled an inch further from him.
"I was doing my job."
"You know, decorating the apartment by myself isn't exactly my job." Y/N takes an audible breath and spends a few extra seconds releasing the air from her mouth. "Goodnight, asshole."
Asshole? That's a new one. Harry pushes himself up to his elbow. Irritation runs through his veins, not an ounce of understanding in his body. Perhaps it's because he's never encountered an angry girlfriend, or maybe it's because he's confused as to what he's said wrong. Regardless, he knows he's upset at the fight and will not be going to sleep feeling so negative. He knows his girlfriend better than anyone and the icky feeling inside his body is amplified in hers. She resembles love and happiness. The anger she's feeling must make her heart feel as heavy as a rock.
He takes a couple deep breaths himself before licking his lips and sliding closer to her.
Without asking for her permission, he places a warm hand on the back of her neck, just above her wings, and begins to gently massage. There's a small mark under her ear that reminds him of the last time he'd heard her moan and arch her back and how she'd dug her nails into his chest. One week ago.
As he continues to massage the area, he notices goosebumps arising under his fingers, and her feathers begin to rustle as if she's shivering.
"Hey," he cooes, trailing his fingers up to her hair. "Love, c'mon. Talk to me. You shouldn't go to bed so angry."
"Shouldn't have made me angry."
He sighs. "I'm sorry. Let me hold you."
She shrugs his hand off. It hurts his heart to get rejected like this. He sits up a bit more to hopefully peer at her face, but her wings hide her. It's frustrating not to see her expression.
