#vampire!harry
Text
praise
in which y/n notices something isn't quite right with her professor, and harry loves chasing this little bunny
word count: 5.5k
pairing: vamp!h and y/n (but really it's more like professor!h with a side of vampire)
warnings: this fic contains graphic depictions of sex and blood.
author's note: happy late halloween!
When y/n was little, her mother always told her to stay inside on Halloween.
She never got to go trick-o-treating like the other kids because of this, not until she was old enough to pay for her own costume, but by that time it was too late because trick-o-treating turned into bar hopping and candy turned into drinks. She took part in these activities for as long as it took for her to figure out that she didn't like alcohol or big crowds or dressing up.
Also by that time, many of the holidays took place around the time that she was stressing about papers and exams and midterms and other deadlines a college students faces around the end of the semester. She was a dedicated, busy little bee with few friends that knew her enough to know that when she's focused, theres no getting her to come out for anything, so they didn't even extend invites.
Which is why she finds herself inside, at the library, on Halloween night. She has a little ear worm of Linus writing his letter to the great pumpkin running around in her brain, but that's as far as her spooky spirit goes. The rest of it is consumed in her paper about sublime notions of nature in the latest gothic novel assigned by her literature professor, Mr. Styles.
Had it been any other teacher, she wouldn't have lingered so much on grammar, word choice, or reading her paper over and over again so that her ideas were clear and concise, but... but there was something about him. She can't really but her finger on it, but a big part of it is fear. Intimidation. He's so... commanding in the way that he carries himself. Almost menancing, his figure carrying the threat of punishment.
He walked into the lecture hall everyday dressed like a model from a vintage academia magazine. Tweed bottoms. Button up shirts. Loafers. Sleek black shoes. A pristine silver watch on his wrist. A golden chain that twinkled on his neck and disappeared into the collars of his shirts like a shooting star. Slicked back chocolate brown hair from which a single curl sometimes escaped and swayed on his forehead like the hooked tail of a monkey. Tailored pants that accentuated the litheness of his hips perfectly so, making her wonder if he had them altered to fit him exactly. A badge on a simple, black attachment pinned on his hip spelled his name underneath a coyly smirking ID picture of his face; Harry Styles.
So y/n had a little crush.
A silly little bundle of love-misted roses perched in her heart with a ribbon and a name tag that had her English professor’s name on it.
She tried to tell herself that it was a school girl’s crush (it literally was), but it was hard to keep her daydreams cemented underneath the rounded realm of reality when her heart kept reading into every single little interaction she had with him, knowing that all her fantasies would only ever exist in her dreams because he was an employee. He was older than her. He would never be interested in a girl, a student, like her. His serious disposition did nothing to quell her.
In fact, it almost egged her on. The perfectionist in her wanted to be perfect for him, so be praised by him for her hard work. She wanted so badly to be his teacher's pet that it reflected in her work ethic. Every paper she turned in was better than her last, she paid rapt attention in class, took the most intricate care in her notes. She always looked her best on the days she had his class- black ballet flats with black skirts, frilly socks, cardigans and collared blouses- ever the neat student. She's every professor's wet dream, she knows this.
Yet, the approval and validation that she craved. No, needed. The validation she needed from him was never given to her, no matter how hard she worked. The notes on her paper were always asking for more, she could do better, she could be more clear, she wasn't quite*getting it. And he always left a note that she should see him in his office hours.
But she couldn't.
Y/n was sure that she would spontaneously combust is she was in an enclosed one-on-one space with him. Which was funny because many of the female students fought for that time with him. One time she heard a few girls in her class say that they tried to call him by his first name and he told them that "it was Professor Styles or Sir to them". Just listening to it second hand was enough to have her squirming. The though it, to have his striking green eyes on only her, his gravely, accented voice directed at her. It was an intoxicating though.
She could imagine it.
He would sit on the other side of his desk in that suave way of his, ankle crossed at his knee, one hand resting on the arm of his chair while the other props his chin up as his finger taps against his sharp cheekbone. He would watch her with an unwavering, predatory gaze, like he's waiting for her to make a mistake to step in and correct her. Y/n would sit in the seat across from him, her hands under her thighs to keep from fidgeting, her lips wet with her spit from how much she'd chew on them, her eyes unfocused and struggling to keep contact with him. The silence in the room would probably be filled with her 'umm's and 'like'. She'd be so nervous, and he would see right through her, and all her hard work would be diminished to nothing.
And then she would probably cry and Professor Styles doesn't really look like the type to console his students, so y/n would just embarrass herself.
So she settles for putting her all into her work, tweaking what he's made notes on from previous papers, and hoping that it's enough, that one of these days she'll she exclamation points at the end of praise instead of at the end of 'explain this'.
With a weepy, overwhelmed sigh, y/n rubbed her fists into her eyes and ran words over and over again in her head. She was the last one in the library, the light from the lamp at her desk was the only source of illumination in her little study corner. This late into the semester the school didn't close libraries, opting to not get in the way of students and their work. It was nearing midnight, and she was getting tired, but this paper was due in two days and she wanted at least one to edit it.
A little delirious from lack of sleep and anger from how difficult this was all turning out to be, y/n blinked back tears. She was a little cold and she was hungry. But she was not going to leave until this paper was finished.
She would however close her eyes, just for a little while. Y/n put her head down on the desk, telling herself that she would only rest her eyes for a few minutes, that she was not going to fall asleep.
But like every college student that snoozes their alarm twenty million times because they're just going to rest their eyes for a few more minutes, she falls asleep.
She startles awake in the dark at the sound of a chair scraping against the floor.
When she jerks upright, Professor Styles is sitting across from her, reading her paper.
***
Harry is so fucking hungry, and he's looking for a snack. Maybe even a meal if he can get away with it.
He hasn't fed in nearly a month, and normally even two weeks is pushing it. But it was the month of October, and as the holidays neared and the parties increased, so did security and people's guard. It was extra hard to find a bite now, not the kind he liked.
Sweet, pure, and innocent. Untainted flavor.
A few days ago he managed to snag a few blood bags from the campus' blood drive center, but it wasn't enough. He craved the puncture, the warmth of a body in his arms, the fresh throb of a pulse underneath his tongue. He wanted the erotic writhing of struggle and submission against his body. Many of his kind didn't share their fondness for this part, but he loved taking care of them afterwards. Making sure they were okay, steady. Sated in the same ways he was. Being a vampire came with the ability of glamour, a bit of mind influencing, so that he was able to make the situation a little more favorable on his end.
He had decided to go for a stroll, having been caught up late in his office grading papers, when he caught a hint of something sweet and familiar in the night air.
It reminded him of one his students, y/n.
She always sat in the middle of the third row with perfect posture, listened to his lectures as if he was God. Her eyes would get mooney, and if he listened hard enough (which to him wasn't really that hard because he was a vampire, he had super human hearing) he could hear her heart beat faster in the seconds that his eyes held contact with her as he talked, delicate and quick like the wings of a hummingbird. Everything she turned in was perfect. She was smart but not pretentious in her way of writing, and something about the way she wrote reminded him about the tender inside of a wrist. Her wrist.
But Harry was mean, and he liked to tease, and he could tell that y/n was waiting. She was sitting on a precipice, hanging on to his very word, her body strung taught and stressed. She was waiting on him. He was going to make her wait until he did as he asked. He wanted one on one time with her, and until then, he wouldn't give her what she wanted.
Whether she realized it or not, she was teasing him, too. In ways that y/n probably wasn't even aware of. The way she bit her lips so they were bright with her blood right underneath the surface, the promise of her heat with every exaggerated sigh she let out as she walked out of his lecture hall. Her clothes, god they killed him.
She wore these black kitten heels once, and they drove him crazy.
Now, he knows his place as Professor, and he didn't just get this job to fuck around. He enjoyed teaching and knowing secretly that he knew first had about the things he was talking about. He loved seeing how his life was absorbed by the younger faces (not that he looked old, he would forever appear to be 23). He respected others, their will, their purpose, and only went as far as his moral compass would let him to take care of his needs.
But he was a man, and he could be brought to his knees by a pretty thing like y/n.
Harry remembers that day, how his trousers were uncomfortable and he had to spend the whole time behind his podium. How he needed to slyly inch a calculating hand to the ever-growing uncomfortable center of his groin and tug the snug fabric away from their vacuum-sealed hold on his hips. It was maddening for him, but uncomfortable for her (he thinks). She never wore them again, and he suspects they may have hurt her delicate feet if the way she kept shifting was anything to go by.
Not that he noticed.
Harry most definitely did not notice that the tip of her toes kept tittering tenderly up and around in slow, hypnotizing circles, meant to relieve pent up tension. He most definitely did not notice that the way her frilly white socks kept sliding down the slope of her ankle with every movement. Or the tantalizing trekk of her delicate fingers against the curve of her thigh, behind her knee, and a little further where the pads of her lucky fingers dug into the soft, aching- he assumed- flesh of her calves. He didn’t fucking hold his breath and become stiller than a statue to try and to hear the sweet, breathy sighs of relief that left her parted lips. No, he did not. That would be a violation of the contract he signed upon assuming his position. It would be betraying the trust of the snarky, reluctant, port-belly head of academics that judged his ambiguous resume with reluctance.
Of course he didn’t. And he wasn’t the slightest bit disappointed that he never saw them again.
This student of his had captured his attention this semester, almost distracting him. Her smell, from what he knows the few times he caught a whiff of it amongst all the others, was sweet, yet not overwhelmingly so. It was mellowed out and warm, and the closest thing he could compare it to from the food he had as a human, was apple pie. She was warm, sweet, honeyed, with the zest of cinnamon.
He wanted to taste her so fucking badly.
Harry doesn't know if it's because he's so hungry that he's smelling her now.
Trailing after the scent with his nose leading the way like a drooling dog, he wonders- no, he knows that he won't be able to fight the urge to taste her if it's really her he finds at the end of the line.
It gets stronger in the library, but from the looks of it, it's dark and empty. From the looks of it, but Harry knows better. He can hear better and smells better, and he knows she's in here. The swift intake of her breath rings in the silence, his ears picking up on the only human sound in the buildings. The near-silent whines that sit at the base of her throat and die before they exit through her nose.
Her hearbeat.
Calm. Steady. Alive.
It sounds like a drum, low and pounding and it thrills him.
He wants to hear it beat faster and faster, like a bunny when it's being chased. He wants to hear the even paced breaths become rapid and disorganized with heightened emotion.
He can smell her, too, the delightful aroma making his fangs itch and his loins ache. Walking further into the library, the stacks of books growing dense with sharp corners and cozy study nooks, he can trace the direct path she took to her spot- the table in the corner with the lamp still on. She has her head resting on her arms, hair haphazardly strewn across the wooden table and some papers, a pencil between her fingers still.
She probably set her head down after saying she was only gong to rest her eyes. She's probably been here for a really long time, he can hear her stomach growling. Shaking his head in disbelief, he pulls the chair back with a motion that's sure to wake her up at the same time that he pinches the paper with two fingers and begins to read.
Waking with a little gasp, y/n straightened. He could pinpoint the exact moment she became fully cognizant of what was happening because her heartbeat picked up in a way that concerned him, and she became utterly still. From the corner of his eye (Harry was reading her paper, a really good paper, and hadn't looked at her. Not even once) he could see her mouth open and close a few times, words escaping her. Y/n rolled the pencil between hands that had begin to perspire and began to chew on her bottom lip.
Internally, Harry groaned. He needed to get her to stop doing that because he was imagining things that no person is his position of power needed to be imagining and his cock was fattening against his thigh. He was hungry in more ways than one for her. A part of him wanted to mark her up like he was a dog and she was his chew toy, licking and sucking and biting on the sweetest parts of her to suckle on her blood; everywhere. The other wanted to do all of those things, and not just for her blood.
He had to get her to speak.
The paper that he held in his hands was probably the best that he was going to get from her class, or maybe all of them put together. The ideas were fresh with just the perfect amount of information from his lectured tossed in for a response to the prompt on the book they were currently discussing. But he had to keep playing his game with her, he had to see her fold like a ragdoll. He wasn't going to tell her what he truly thought about it, how it was so good, how she was such a good student, how she made him so proud. How she was a good girl.
Instead he put the paper down in front of her, crossed his arms and spread his legs in the chair to give his swollen dick some room and said, "you should go home. Have a meal. Go to sleep.”
At this her shoulders sagged, and it was like watching dominoes fall against each other to release different triggers, Her lips crumpled, her chin wobbled, and her eyes blinked away a sea of crystalline tears.
Y/n stared at him, a wet look that punched his gut at the same time that it made his gums salivate and his hips itch to thrust up against the desk like a thing in heat. He looked back at her, his head tipping slowly to the side to track her gaze as it dropped. Like a predatory, he observed her with the kind of stillness that promised a charge of action. That promised death in the maw of a killer.
Her mouth did that thing where it opened and closed again, sounds that came before actual words coming out of her, but never intelligible sentences. Her heart was racing, but her lungs were doing a weird thing. Like they weren't getting enough oxygen.
"Why don't you take a deep breath , hmm? And we can talk about what's going on here," he got up from his chair and stood at the side of his desk, arms crossed and feet spread shoulder width apart, formidable. If she looked closely enough, she would be able to see a thick bulge at his crotch.
But she didn't have a reason to look. He wasn't adjusting himself. He didn't even look like it bothered him.
In fact, he looked almost... mad.
Y/n looked at him straight in the eyes, and her's went doe-like, everything in her stilling like the fawn-like creature in the way of an oncoming vehicle.
Everything, including her breathing.
He wasn't going to have her passed out before all the fun began. Needing to get a grip on her, he took a few heavy steps foward, and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger, the other hand tucking into his pocket to actually adjust himself this time because it was starting to get uncomfortable.
Tilting her face up and closer to him, he bent forward so that their noses were barely touching. Her warm breath huffed against his nose, and he had to fight the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head.
"Breathe, y/n. You can do it," peering down at her with his jack slightly slack and his eyes at half mast, he imitated inhaling deeply, and she mimicked his motions. Her lungs expanded, and her heart slowed slightly. "That's it, darling. Again."
She gulped and her hands squeezed the fabric of the plaid tennis skirt she was wearing, bringing the hem up slightly so the thinner skin on the inside of her thighs gleamed at Harry.
Then he smelled it, and this time he didn't fight the shiver that ran through him. She was wetHis eyes closed, and a groan rolled deep in his chest. His body tensed and relaxed at the same time, like a transformation.
And when he opened his eyes, he was a different version of himself.
One that didn't give a fuck that he was a professor and she was his student.
This version only had one goal in mind: to consume her in every way he could until y/n went limp in his arms.
"Now what's the matter, little bunny?"
***
Y/n didn't know what was happening, only that something had... changed.
She might have been a quivering mess for him, but she felt the shift in him. The edge to him. The gleam in his eye. She had seen his body shiver at the same time she felt her pussy clench at his words. That's it, darling. Again. Little bunny.
He was encouraging her, not far off from what she wanted to hear from him. It stroked her muddled brain and made her feel fuzzy all over. Some of what he was saying was very inappropriate. But she could care less.
“W-what?” she mumbled, confused. She blinked so that a few tears ran down her face, and she couldn't even feel embarrassed about it.
“Y’heard me loud and clear, darling. Don’t make me repeat myself," her professor tutted.
"i'm sorry, sir. It's just that... I need to work on my paper." And she mumbled something afterwards. Low enough that he wouldn't have been able hear if he was a human. But he wasn't. That didn't mean he couldn't play with her.
"Speak up, y/n. Good girls don't mumble." His tongue was like a lashing, a reprimand, and she felt the scolding everywhere.
"It needs to be better for you, sir." Gulping, she rubbed her thighs together and shuffled in her seat. Y/n was finally one-on-one with him, and she thought she knew what it would feel like.
She was wrong.
Everything was sensitive. Hot. Cold. She was twitchy and there was this squirrley, jumpy feeling inside her. She wanted to run away like a little mouse, but she also wanted to be warmed in his hands. By his words. She wanted to hear the praise come from him so that she could stop feeling so desperate.
Y/n got like this sometimes. Whiny. Insatiable. But no one ever knew how to handle her, when to realize that she was finally full. So she was always... hungry. Like something inside her needed to be stuffed. Abused a little, maybe. She wanted to be handled and then petted. Fucked and kissed and then held. She wanted to be good.
And being like this with him, in a position that made it seem like that was possible, y/n thrummed.
Humming in realization, he stroked his knuckles down the side of her face in a caress, "and what makes you think it isn't already good?"
She leaned into his touch without realizing it, nuzzling into his hand. All she had to do now was purr. Y/n shut her eyes before speaking, "Y-you... you never-"
"Open your eyes and look at me when you're speaking, bunny." Again, the stern, scolding tone. This time it made her flinch and whimper. Her hips rocked in the chair, and he tracked the movement like a leopard in the trees ready to pounce. Y/n knew that he saw, and her face bloomed with heat.
In a breathy, chocked string of words, "you never leave nice notes on my papers, sir. All the others do, but there never any on mine and I just thought... that I n-needed to work harder to be b-better."
She shuffled again in her seat, and her professor's eyes pinched. His had trailed down to her throat, and he squeezed to hold her still.
“Stop squirming, y/n. You want to be better? Stop fucking squirming," and he released her with a small pulse at the base of her neck. He could feel his teeth bulging under his upper lip, the thrum of her life under his fingers enticing him further. Every bit of reason was escaping him. He was going to lose control. Decades of practice, of edging on months of hunger, were nothing to her allure.
He stepped back at the same time that he realized they weren't close enough.
"Stand up," he told her. He watched as she pushed the chair back and stood on wobbly knees, her gaze still searching for recognition that he had heard what she had said, that he had read between the lines and realized what she needed. "Sit on the edge of the table, facing me so we can speak properly."
When she was seated and her hands began to fiddle in her lap, he stepped close enough that her knees were almost touching his hips. And she couldn't miss it this time. The thick length of him, hard against his hip.
"S-sir?" she prompted meekly.
"You want me to leave nice notes on your papers, y/n?" He asked, settling his hands on either side of her and haunching over her so they were nose-to-nose. She could smell him, strong masculine scents of vintage leather and tobacco and bergamot.
Nodding eagerly like a dog, "mhm. Yes, sir."
"Then why didn't you come see me like I asked on every single one of those papers? You didn't listen to me, so why should I reward you?" He mouthed the words against her skin, trailing them down her jaw to her throat where he teased the skin with the tip of his nose.
The area around her neck felt scorching hot, his lips trailing searingly against her. She couldn't hide how desperate she was anymore. She arched, her body was taught, fighting the urge to wriggle because she couldn't decide if she wanted to get away from him or have more of him, and she needed to be good. He had told her to stop squirming.
"I'm sorry, Professor."
Y/n closed her eyes and tentatively braced herself against him. Trembling hands settled on his arms, thick with deceptive muscle. She could feel the strength hiding beneath the surface, tense like a snake preparing to strike. A strong hand settled at her waist, clamping like iron, and another on cupped her jaw tenderly. It was a dichotomy of treatment. Rough and tender at the same time.
"You were a bad girl, y/n."
Then she felt it, a sharp sting where her throat met her shoulder, where Harry was biting her, and licking her, and suckling at her all at the same time. A mixture of a squeal and a moan jumped out of her, and she dug her fingers into his arms, frozen. Whatever he was doing to her hurt. But it hurt in a good way. A way that made her ache with that need to be filled.
She cried out, "I'm sorry, sir." A wet apology that bared how anguished she was.
His hot tongue flattened against her, and she she vibrated in the place where he left his heavy pant, "are you going to be good for me, bunny?"
"Yes, sir. I wanna be good, please," her head was bobbing in that earnest way again, but with his head in the crook of her neck he could only feel the movement against his hair.
He suckled a little more at bite that was already beginning to close, kissing it tenderly, "gonna be my good little bunny?"
Y/n was huffing, not even bothering to hide that she was horny, “please, p-please- I need-”
“Tell me exactly what you need. C'mon, you can do it,” he coaxed her. The hand at her hip molded the flesh there, pulling her closer to him so she was sitting just at the edge, and her knees were pressed into his dick with the lightest pressure. He bucked against her, a slow roll of his groin against her delicate bare knee.
“I need to cum, sir. I need-”
“Don’t-” he pinched her hip roughing, his thick eyebrows furowing in disapproval, “forget your manners, little bunny. Rude darlings don’t get to cum.”
"Please let me cum, Professor," she repeated, eyes glossy but no longer with tears. This was something else. Something needy. Y/n could feel her slick juices seeping through her panties and making the insides of her thighs sticker. The triangle of cloth was sticking to her, and the tight feeling of it against her clit made her want to scream. It was just barely pushing, a teasing sensation that was driving her crazy.
She wanted him to touch her. To rub her swollen clit until she drenched hand in her cum, and then to- to-
"I'm not sure I should, y/n. You didn't listen to me. Didn't come to my office. Instead I had to come find you here. What about me, hmm? What if I need something from you?" Harry leaned back, letting his hands run down so they rested on her knees and his fingers could play with the hem of her skirt.
"Whatever you need, sir. Please." Y/n was beginning to sound a little broken. Her hips struggled to stay planted on the desk and her knuckled turned white from how hard she gripped the edge of the wood. She would much rather touch him, but he was too far away and she didn't want to upset him. She stared at him, silently pleading for his hands to creep up and shove into her panties, to play with her hole.
"Right now I need to eat you, little bunny. Are you going to let me?" He tilted his head at her again, calculating. Waiting, observing.
"Yes!" Y/n shrieked, her thighs trembling.
"Spead these pretty thighs, darling. Let me have a taste," he crooned down at her as she opened up, her skirting riding so he could see her panties, how wet they were, nearly transparent with her arousal. With a deft finger, he pulled the gusset of her panties to the side and dropped to his knees.
Y/n whined at the look on his face. Mouth parted, eyes half-lidded and downturned. He looked hungry. Desperate.
Without warning he leaned forward and covered her with his mouth, his tongue licking her and then dipping into her pussy to collect what had pooled at her opening, his teeth lighting tapping against her clit. He thrusted his tongue into her once, twice, three times, and that was all it took. A gush of wetness coated his tongue, and her tremors pulsed against his lips.
He leaned back and slapped her cunt with an angry growl, and then shoved two fingers into her, fucking her roughly so his fingers got wet with her, "seriously, y/n? Did I give you permission to cum?"
"N-no, sir," as she sat hunched over his kneeling form still twitching, Harry shoved his fingers into his mouth to lick them clean of her, and then stood up, not even bothering to lay her panties right before yanking her to stand.
"Get up. We're going to walk to my rooms. Your'e doing to do so quietly, and when we get there, you're going to take your punishment like a good girl, do you understand me?" With a single finger pointed at her, y/n understand she was in for it. Her hands flew to pick up her things, showing her papers into her bag and looping it on her shoulder so she was ready to go.
"I understand, Professor"
He took the bag off her shoulder and laid a hand on her lower back, keeping her at his side as he led her out of the library and into the night, "that's better. Come this way. The night is still young, bunny, and we're both in for a treat."
*****
happy halloweenie!! hoped u liked this heehee. missed mr. vamp. lmk ur thoughts!!!
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Bite Me*
Summary: Part of Halloween Kinktober, Freaky Fun
The one where your boyfriend, Harry, is a vampire.
And you wish you could feel what he felt.
Word Count: 3.2k
*Contains Mature and Explicit content! Please only consume what you feel comfortable with!💞You are so much more important!*
“Easy…easy, sweet dove. Need to relax for me. Can smell how nervous you are. Take a deep breath, hm?”
Shaky fingers gather in front of your stomach as you nod nervously. Staring up at your boyfriend with anticipation and remorse. “Sorry, I just…I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nothing,” he says quickly, reaching up to brush some hair behind your ear. “There is nothing wrong with you, darling. It’s chemical. You’re meant to feel nervous around me. It’s nature’s design. To keep you safe.”
You nod again, catching a glimmer of light from the sharp tooth peeking out from behind his lip. “I know, I just…I wish it would stop. I wish we could just be, you know? Without me being so…”
He studies you for a moment, a look of adoration on his face as he hums again and cups your cheek. “I know.”
You nestle into his touch rather contently before he begins to smile, now dipping down to nudge his nose with yours.
“If you want…I can make the bad feeling go away,” he whispers with a slight purr. “Can make it all better again.”
Hopeful, your lashes flutter. “Really?”
He nods once. “Mhm. Just wanna help you, dove. Want you to feel good.”
And now you understand what he means, the thought sending a spark down to your toes. It’s rare he feeds from you. After all, he considers the act to be degrading and disrespectful. He only ever feeds from animals or blood bags unless you’ve specifically asked.
But the truth is, you love when he feeds from you. For a plethora of reasons, one of which being the overwhelming sense of need and dependance on him that follows. Or the way his eyes grow darker and his entire demeanor changes. How much stronger he becomes feeding on human blood, specifically the blood of someone he loves.
But another reason lies with his fangs. The venom that becomes injected into your bloodstream, forcing you to feel whatever emotion or desire he feels.
It’s a trick used to lure and calm his prey into submission while he feeds, but you find another use for it. Because if he’s filled with serenity or anger or lust…you feel it, too. You feel him. Only him.
And it’s your absolute favorite feeling in the world.
His other hand now reaches for your neck, fingers gently tapping the sides of your throat. “Just say the word, darling. And I’ll give you anything you want.”
You feel your chest deflate, all the air evaporating from your lungs as he slowly urges you back against the wall. Bracing you there as he awaits your decision.
He knows what you want. And he knows that you’d tell him otherwise.
Your fingers tangle in the dark shirt on his chest, desperate to keep him near you. “Do it. Please.”
He tilts your head back, letting his lip curl up until his fang is revealed. “Are you sure, my dove?”
Another fervent nod. “Yes. Please, Har…please, need to feel it. Need to feel you.”
He leans closer, letting the tips of his sharp teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your throat. Right above your pulse point. “Gotta be really sure, darling. Don’t want to hurt you. Or lose control.”
“You won’t,” you exhale, feeling more confident than you sound. “Know you won’t.”
Truth be told, you wouldn’t mind if he did. Even in his darkest moments, he remains your fiercest protector. Never allowing anyone to hurt you.
Not even himself.
You feel him breathe against your neck, perhaps preparing himself for what he’s about to do. Or maybe he’s indulging in your smell. Reveling in the realization of what he’s about to do. What he’s about to taste.
Then, almost as if overcome with a surge of confidence, he bites down – hard. Enough to break the skin and allow his venom to travel into your system.
It’s instantaneous, the feeling. The way your muscles dissolve into jelly, the way your mind fills with a certain haze, and the way your stomach begins to coil.
It’s overwhelming, but it’s him. And you whimper as his other hand falls to your hip to keep you steady, making sure you remain upright and in his arms.
He waits a moment or two to make sure the venom has taken effect before he slowly retracts his fangs and pulls away. You know if he’d punctured you any deeper or kept the sharp teeth inside of you any longer, the taste of your blood would have driven him mad. Tempting him beyond reason until he began to lose control.
But he knows his limits by now. Knows exactly how far he can push himself around you, and you admire him for it.
Your legs shake as you slump against the wall, held up by his grip as he studies you carefully. Looking for signs of remorse or panic.
He’s learned a trick for sucking a majority of the poison out of your system – if it were to come to that. And while it’s tricky and tedious, you know he’d do it in a heartbeat if he felt you were in danger or if you regretted your choice.
Instead, you simply smile at him, and nod languidly. “M’good, Har,” you assure him. “M’so good.”
He seems to exhale a grateful breath, thumb stroking your cheek gently as he now glances over your wound. “I need to clean it—"
“No,” you whimper, keeping him close. “Not yet. Don’t go yet.”
He chuckles, the corner of his mouth curling into a smirk. “All right, dove. I’m here. How do you feel, hm? You feel calm yet?”
You nod again before your lashes flutter. “Yeah. Calm, and…and happy, I think?”
He hums. “I imagine. You do make me happy.”
“It’s strange, though,” you admit, brows furrowing in thought. “Feels…heightened. Or more potent. There’s this…this yearning. This need for something.”
He regards you for a moment more. Curious and seemingly amused by your confusion before suddenly, your eyes snap to his.
You suck in a sharp inhale – something akin to a gasp. “Are you…are you horny?”
You expect his surprise, but all you find is smug fascination. “Well,” he begins slowly, letting his knuckles graze delicately beneath your jaw, “the term horny is a little juvenile. And it could never even begin to describe what I feel for you.”
He steps closer, lips ghosting just above yours while you feel your breath hitch.
“But…yes,” he whispers, glancing down at your mouth with a smile. “I suppose I am. Can’t exactly help it, darling, can I? When you look…and taste…and smell so goddamn divine.”
Another whimper bleeds from your throat as he begins to guide you away from the wall and toward the bed just to the left of you.
“Tell me…how does it feel, dove, hm?” he murmurs, touch strong yet determined. “Do you feel me? Feel how much I need you?”
This nod is quick and zealous. Because you do. It’s all you feel. This desire to have – to take and ruin. In the best possible way. It’s a similar sensation to the lust you already feel for him. Your hunger to explore the dangerous but loving man you call your own.
“Yeah?” He’s grinning like a mad man at the way you so quickly fall apart. “Can I tell you a secret, darling?”
You whimper pitfully as you gaze up at him.
Lowering his voice, he tightens his grip. “When I’m with you…I always feel like this.”
With that, he nudges you down to sit on the mattress before surging forward to press his lips to yours. Kissing you so hard, you feel dizzy. It’s perfection. Like quenching a burning flame. Like taking that first drink of water on a hot day. Fixing a desperate need – succumbing to a craving.
And it feels as though this kiss fixes every one of your problems. Because it does – he does. Breaks you and puts you back together again all in the same moment. It’s almost addicting. You feel insatiable, hands disappearing into his curls as you yank him down until his chest is flush with yours.
The two of you roll and writhe around on the bed for a minute or two before he leans back to offer you air. He knows you won’t take a moment to breathe otherwise, and his smug smirk merely worsens the ache between your thighs.
“Not so nervous now, hm?” he muses.
You hook your leg around his hip and attempt to grind yourself against his thigh. “Please…”
“Please what, dove?” He presses his lips to the base of your throat, trailing them down your sternum and toward your chest. “What’s it feel like, what do you need?”
But you don’t have any answer for him. Instead, all you can do is stare at the stunningly generous man as he works his way down your body. As he unbuttons your shirt and kisses over the swell of your breast.
The stain of your blood from his lips smears across your nipple before he takes it into his mouth. Sucking and licking at the tender skin while he kneads the other one in his palm.
You arch from the mattress, desperate to disappear into his strong frame while he chuckles darkly and allows his fangs to reemerge.
He uses them sparingly – not as a weapon but as a toy. A tool in the game of your lust.
The sharp edge pricks your skin, enough to make you gasp his name and tug on him harder. He smiles a bit bigger and carries on with his quest. Moving down your stomach and toward the waistband of your pants.
Cold, nimble fingers pop the buttons free and tug the fabric down your legs. Revealing your trembling thighs to his hungry gaze. He looks at you like you’ve been served to him on a platter. But not in the way another vampire might.
No, Harry’s look of mesmeric adoration lies in the idea of your body. In the warmth of your cunt and the soft skin of your legs. In the way you draw him in, the way you hold him, clench around him.
It’s hard for him to feel most things these days.
But he always feels you.
He settles his body near your ankles, providing him the right angle and amount of space to spread you open and study you.
His thumb reaches for you. Pushes into your clit before dragging down between your folds as you gasp.
His expression reveals nothing. No inkling as to what he’s thinking but you know his mind is running wild with ideas.
He finds your soaked little hole, circling it once before dragging the wet substance back up and through.
“Shh,” he coos, taming your desolate cries. “It’s okay, dove. I’ve got you.”
“Har,” you whimper, fingers itching to reach for him as he settles onto his stomach. “Please…”
You can see the reflection of light on his fangs. The way they extend past his red, swollen lips and ghost above your skin.
He nips at your hip a time or two – a slight sting that dissolves into something excruciatingly pleasurable – before he dances his mouth down. Torturing you with what’s to come instead of simply giving it to you.
“You smell divine, darling,” he purrs, groaning deep within the back of his throat. “Just might kill me again.”
You’d laugh if you had the strength, instead peering down your body at him with a desperate need. “H, I need…need—”
“Need me, hm?” He exhales a gentle breath across your clit and it’s so very cold. But it makes you jump, a new wave of arousal seeming to soak the sheets beneath. “Need me to make it better, yeah?”
You nod swiftly. “Yes…yeah. Hurts, Har.”
“Hurts?” he repeats with faux sympathy. “Oh, dove. Bet it does. Bet it’s all achy.”
Your head moves on its own accord, and you feel your stomach quiver when his cool hands curl around your thighs, keeping them spread.
“I imagine,” he whispers, returning his eyes to your pussy. “Cause I know how much it aches for me.”
He dives in, tongue lapping at your warmth and wetness without mercy as you cling to the sheets and arch from the bed.
His arms fold over your hips, keeping you pressed down and pliable to his intentions as he begins. Licking, sucking, and nibbling at certain spots – but never the spot you need him most.
The tantalizing edge of his fang grazes your soft, sensitive cunt. Sometimes harder, sometimes softer. But always impatient, desperate to feel you anyway he can.
Truth be told, you suppose he enjoys feeding on you this way just as much. In fact, this is what he claims is his nourishment whenever he’s feeling weak and unwell. One taste of your pussy and he’s a changed man.
He has you every day. Makes sure you’re at his beck and call – which you already are, anyway.
If he’s working, if he’s cooking, if he’s reading. He merely gives you a look and calls you by that familiarly loving nickname, and next thing you know, you’re sitting on his face.
The stretch of your muscles is almost distracting, but not nearly as distracting as his groans of pleasure. The way he curses to himself as he swallows you down. Nudging at your cunt with his mouth like you’re the best meal he’s ever had.
And then…those perfect lips find your clit. He sucks, and moans, and you cry out his name. Grasping onto his hair in a futile attempt at stability and more.
He lets you tug him closer. You imagine – if he were still alive – he’d be suffocated by your pussy. Which…he’d probably enjoy.
As it is, he continues his ministrations almost mercilessly while you squirm beneath him and attempt to buck up against his tongue.
“I know,” he whispers, almost soothingly, and it feels like a vast contrast to the way he forces you into so much pleasure. “Know, darling. Can hear your pretty, little heart racing. Try to breathe, yeah? While you still can.”
You suck in a greedy gasp, eager to obey, as you focus on the sounds coming from between your thighs. It’s sinful and sensual and it echoes around the room until it’s all you hear.
“Doing so good, babydove,” he murmurs, glancing up just long enough to see the first tear slip from your eye. “It’s a lot right now, I know. I know, but you can take it. Always do so good for me. Let me see you cum, yeah? Let me see this pretty pussy cum for me.”
And you want to more than anything. Chasing the need in your own belly along with the need from his venom. The combined rush of ecstasy that makes stars explode across your eyelids as more destitute sounds fall from your tongue.
His hands suddenly slip beneath your back, forcing you from the bed as he repositions you and nearly pulls you right through him.
Large fingers grope the tender flesh of your ass as he holds you against his mouth and sucks the sensitive nerves between puckered lips.
“Tell me,” he ushers softly, a golden hue to those vivid eyes watching you closely. “Tell me how bad I need you. Tell me how much I love you—”
“Har,” you gasp, trembling in his touch. “Can’t…can’t…m’gonna cum, I…please—”
“Try. Tell me. Tell me that you feel me—”
“I do,” you whine. “I do, I feel you. Feel you, Har. So good. It’s so good, please—”
“All right, darling. You gonna let me taste you? Need to taste you, darling. Can’t live without it—”
“Harry—”
He pulls away just enough to raise his hand and smack it down your cunt. The cold metal of his ring catching your clit before two more spanks are laid in succession.
You moan loudly – almost undone by the eroticism itself – before he dips back down, and grazes the delicate bud with the edge of his fang.
You feel him slip a finger inside. Pumping you once – twice – before he adds a second. Wanting to fill you and finger-fuck you to the edge as quickly as possible.
It hits you then. Overpowers you and knocks the wind from your lungs.
You fall apart in his hands, against his tongue. Moaning and whimpering as your toes curl and your eyes roll to the back of your head. It feels as though you cum twice as hard – perhaps a result of the venom or the symbolism of his need for you. The way your taste has satisfied his thirst.
“Yes, yes…there you go, that’s my fucking girl.” His tone is rough but riddled with lust. He groans like he’s never been filled with so much devotion. An anxious almost obsessed sound that drags your orgasm on at least a few seconds longer. “Give it to me, dove…fucking give it to me—”
“Harry—” You gasp his name like it’s the last sound you’ll ever make. Tears building in your eyes before they cascade down your warm cheeks.
Ever the sadist, Harry works you through until your cunt is throbbing and far too sensitive to the touch. Despite your cries and whimpers for mercy, he carries on. Thrusting, licking, and sucking until you can hardly breathe.
Eventually he releases you and leans back. Perhaps able to hear the erratic racing of your pulse beneath your chest as he now works to hush your anxious mewling.
Crawling up your body with care, his fangs retract, and he buries his face in your neck to keep you still. Pressing his chest to yours in an effort to help calm you.
“It’s okay,” he whispers, lips grazing your skin as he speaks. “It’s okay, dove. You’re okay. God, did so fucking good for me, darling. Always taste so good, make me so happy.”
You tiredly grasp onto his arms, needing to hold onto him just as tightly as he’s holding onto you. Wanting to share in this moment as he smirks against your throat.
“You okay?” he asks you now. “You’re nervous again.”
“No, I’m…I’m okay,” you assure him through a pant. “I just…it feels so good. So…heavy, you know? Overwhelming.”
He chuckles softly and pushes up onto his elbows to get a good look at you. Thumb finding your cheekbone as he traces the delicate curve of your face with great adoration. “Are you saying I overwhelm you?”
You nod, smiling giddily as you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. “In the best possible way.”
Grinning himself, he leans down to capture your lips with his. And it’s soft and slow and an oddly angelic end to such a devilish evening.
“Har?” you whisper, lashes fluttering shut as you nose your way under his jaw.
“Yes, dove?”
Your kisses trail below his ear, making his fingers flex. “You know what I think?”
“What's that, darling?”
You begin to smirk wickedly as you slip your hand around the back of his neck and tug him closer. Allowing the edge of your teeth to finally make contact with his skin.
He stills.
“I think it’s my turn now.”
Just wanna put in a quick note and clarify that even though she was feeling a bit of his horniness and desire, she was still very much horny all on her own HAHAHA this was 1000000% consented to from beginning to end from both parties!
Also vampire!harry is so fun?? And I loved this?? WHAT IS HAPPENING TO ME??
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A Wet Dream Just Dangling
Summary : vampire harry wants to eat you out.
TW : smut, period sex, oral (f receiving)
Word Count : 1.5k
“c’mon, darling,” harry coos, laying in bed, tangled up with you, using the softness of your tummy as a pillow. “don’t have to be shy with me.”
“harry,” you giggle, biting your lip, “never in a million years would i have thought of doing this.”
“hmm, i could wait a million years, but i’d really rather not,” he grumbles, fingertips gently stroking your skin. “you know it’ll make you feel better, my love.”
“s’embarrassing. and really awkward,” you groan, stuffing your face in a pillow, fingers carding through your boyfriend’s hair.
“nothing to be embarrassed about. totally normal thing,” he turns his head, chin pressed into your skin, peering up at you. “besides, s’not like it’s my first time.”
“that doesn’t exactly make me feel better,” you giggle.
when you met harry, and inevitably fell deeply in love, you knew there would be a learning curve to dating him. the whole vampire thing being a bit of an adjustment for you.
in the last 6 months, you’d gotten used to the feeding part of dating him. a weekly, sometimes twice a week, occurrence, that you’d grown to honestly be excited for. the intimate part of it all wasn’t lost on you. if anything, it made you feel closer to him.
so far, the idea of period sex hadn’t come up. that is, until today. your cramps were a little worse than usual, and although you know that sex has helped to alleviate them, you also know that he’s not just asking for sex. he’s asking to eat you out.
“beautiful girl, you’ll love it,” he hums, pecking over your stomach, tongue darting to take a few tentative licks of your skin.
your taste invades his senses immediately, fangs poking out on their own accord, gently scraping against you, just enough to make a trail of goosebumps follow their path.
“harry,” you whine softly. he knows that whine, knows that what he’s doing is working. and the lower he makes his way down your stomach, kissing, sucking, licking, tasting, the more he can smell you. smell the blood, smell the arousal mixing in. his mind starts going hazy, only able to focus on blood, blood, blood. but more specifically your blood.
“please,” he mutters so softly you barely caught it, fingertips dancing by the waistband of your sweatpants, lips and tongue and fuck, so much harry, ghosting over your hips. “please, will you let me, my love ?” little puffs of warm air tickling your skin.
“do it,” you sigh contently, setting your reservations aside at the pure desperate neediness to his tone. you’re not sure you could have ever imagined your big scary vampire to sound so soft and small, it made you give into him even quicker than usual.
the next moment flies by in a flash, your pants ripped clean off you, legs spread wide, thighs held open with his hands, an animalistic growl echoing from harry’s chest, fangs on full display, dropping down to breathe you in.
“fuck, fuck,” harry groans, his temple resting against your inner thigh, eyes locked on your cunt. you were absolutely soaked. your hormones on overdrive from your period, plus well, day 2 of your period, he doesn’t remember the last time he’s seen something so fucking beautiful.
his tongue tentatively pokes out, taking a lick at your sopping folds, harry’s eyes rolling back. “fucking christ, my beautiful girl, can’t-“ he shakes his head, taking another lick, “can’t hold myself back. stop me if it’s too much.”
and with that, he delves in. face instantly pressing into your cunt, tongue darting into you, licking at your inner walls with purpose.
you struggle to keep up with the quickness of it all, your body reacting to harry before your brain has a chance to keep up. with your back arching, a loud moan echoing through the room, you grip into his hair, pressing yourself more into his face.
you can feel the vibration from his groan, your pussy clenching on his lapping tongue. you can feel the bluntness of his fangs encompassing your heat, a slight sting from time to time, when they scrape particularly roughly. you can feel the nipping of his nails in your skin, thighs aching from his strength holding you spread open.
with your period long forgotten, cramps seemingly swept away with the flick of harry’s tongue, you keep rolling your hips into his face, causing his moans to increase.
harry’s mind is reeling, so far gone, overtaken with the continuous flow of blood. he doesn’t have to pace himself, doesn’t have to worry about taking too much. he can slurp up as much as he likes. add in the sweet taste of your arousal, and all he can focus on is more, more, more.
his eyes flick up to meet yours, the darkest crimson you think you’ve ever seen looking back at you. you note the deep red smeared over his pale porcelain skin, and you feel yourself tug on his hair harder, the sight making your skin prickle. you weren’t sure how this scene could ever be so beautiful, but here it was. and it made your stomach clench.
you can see the moment harry knows you’re going to cum, his eyes looking at you in recognition, cunt throbbing on his tongue, his mouth moving north for a moment to suck and flick at your clit. instantly, your orgasm crashes over you, back arching, legs trembling against his hold.
and harry’s ecstatic to lick you through it, scooping up the bubbles of blood, a guttural moan vibrating from the depths of his chest, his tongue migrating south again, face following suit.
without a moment to breathe, harry being hyper focused on blood, languidly stroking his tongue up and down and up and down through your slit, from entrance to clit, lapping up the blood, the arousal, the overwhelming sense of you, you, you.
“harry,” you whimper breathily, trying to compose yourself post orgasm, all while still having his tongue scooping from deep inside you. you couldn’t budge your legs at all, no matter how hard you tried to close them, your entire body prickling with heat every time he’d stroke your sweet spot.
your whines fall on deaf ears, harry much too busy with his face buried in your cunt. it was moments like these where he loves that breathing isn’t a problem he needs to worry about anymore.
so he continues on, sucking and slurping, getting completely lost in the seemingly endless supply of sustenance. so much so, that you’re almost certain he’s completely missed the fact that you’re cumming again.
your moans had gotten increasingly loud, body trembling and wracking in his hands, fingers pulling tight on his hair. your cunt was clenched hard around his tongue, but his muscles were strong, and it didn’t stop him one bit. growling pants coming from between your legs, he flicked his tongue over and over and over against your inner walls.
body covered in a sheen of sweat, you were panting, whining, so fucking overstimulated. and yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to stop him. even with your third orgasm looming, the coil in your stomach tighter than it’s been all night, almost painfully so, you could not stop.
your hips try to lift off the bed, muscles stretching and tensing all at once, an explosion of heat and tingles spreads through you, your cunt at the centre of the storm.
harry groans happily, his mouth working you through your third orgasm, hands sliding from your inner thighs, around to the small of your back, holding you.
instantly, your legs close on his head, a moan vibrating from harry’s mouth, his hold leaving your back, sliding over your bum, up the back of your thighs, to press your knees into your chest.
and for the first moment since his escapade began, he pulls his mouth away from your pussy, looking at it, admiring his beautiful girl’s most intimate parts. he knows he’s pushed you to a limit, doesn’t have to ask, he absolutely knows you well enough by now.
he still, however, unable to help himself, takes a gentle lick all the way up your slit, your body flinching in response. “m’sorry, darling. just so pretty.”
heat rises to your cheeks, wiggling your hips, trying to get away from him, as embarrassment, shyness creeps up on you.
and again, knowing you so well, harry notices, shaking his head, pecking against the back of your thigh, knees still pressed to your chest. he takes another gentle lick up your cunt, groaning, “don’t know why you even bother with pads and tampons. fuckin waste of money, if you ask me.”
……
Masterlist
tags : @gorlsinmultifandoms @cc-horan
#harry styles#harryween#halloween#harry styles fic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles blurb#harry styles one shot#harry styles imagine#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles smut#smut#vamprry#vampire!harry#harry styles masterlist#harry styles writing#writings#justmeinatree
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FICTOBER DAY 21- I Still Feel Your Lips
FICTOBER
Patreon
Warnings- cockwarming, vampire!h, blood mention
——-
“I still feel your lips, no matter how far away you are.” Harry whispered into her chest, nuzzled into it as he laid on top of her.
Returning from a trip, he had fallen right back into his lover's arms. As much as Y/N understood that the vampire had to delegate his tasks, she didn’t like being held alone in their room at the castle. He had been gone for just a fortnight and she had been feeling thoroughly neglected when he barged into her room. He’d left early, crawling into bed with his human and smattering kissing all over the skin her nightgown left exposed. As soon as she was in his arms again, she gave in. sighing happily as his cool mouth nipped and kissed and licked her skin, all the way up to her neck which she promptly nodded at him to get him to feed. He hadn’t since he left.
Feeding was intimate, it was something the vampire used to despise before he had Y/N. His skin used to crawl as he had to seduce and glamour the humans into giving him a bite, compelling them to forget all about him as soon as he left the dingy alleys or pubs or parties he would find his prey at. Having a feeder, a dedicated human to provide such a thing had never been his initial plan- but Y/N seemed to his exception to everything.
Her head was still buzzing and floaty from the bite, the warm feeling cocooning her as his caresses and close proximity grounded her, tethering her to the plush bed he had dubbed as their own. While most did not sleep in the same room as their feeders, Y/N had pushed that boundary of his until it was ground into dust. He couldn’t rest without knowing she was sleeping soundly in his arms. Lips brushed her throat, making sure she was clean of her own blood before they moved to connect to her sleepy ones. Harry had arrived in the middle of the night, but she was happy to be awoken by his minty, parchment scent. He’d stripped of everything but his briefs, pulling the blankets on top of them and let the candles stay lit.
“Please.” She whispered, curling her leg around him. “I don’t sleep well without you inside me.” It felt pathetic to beg for, but he’d gotten her into the habit. Tucking his hard prick inside of her and let her feel full as he rubbed her slippery clit to orgasm, letting her fall asleep with him safely inside of her and waking her the next day with his slow thrusts. Harry had made her addicted to him, but when he whispered to her about how she must have been made for him- she had the mind to agree with him.
“Oh, my sweet. M’sorry.” He cooed. “M’sorry. I know, my poor thing.” His croon made her shiver, feeling his hand slip between them to pull the fabric covering him away. “I was so focused on your taste. I missed you so…” Her heat was almost too much, making his teeth clench and nostrils flare as he smelled her musky sweetness. She had been waiting for him, his precious human girl. There was little time wasted before he slipped the tip inside, hissing quietly at the feel of her heat trying to take him in.
“Yes-Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She babbled, only quiet when his mouth covered hers and he slowly filled her up to the brim. She could feel him stretching her just as her body craved, every ridge and vein falling back to the place it needed to be. It took a few moments, heavy balls tucked snug against her ass as he let his weight lay on her and his cock fill her in the way he knew she needed so badly. His thumb stayed connected between them, rubbing tender circles on her swollen clit as her breathing picked up.
“You’re welcome. I missed this.” He sighed, the click of their lips connecting and pulling apart sounding again. “Missed you dearly. They offered me one of their feeders but.. I said no. No one else tastes as good, feels as good as you. I felt revolted at the idea.” His words made her whine, which he promptly shushed. “No, my sweet. You are the only one who I want. Taste divine, keep my cock warm and wet… No one else could ever compare. I counted the minutes until I could return to our bed.” His thumb rubbing back and forth made her toes curl, head tilting back and baring her neck for him all over again. She loved feeling him bite her, even not being fed from. The pinpricks from his teeth, the marks they left. She loved being owned by him. She’d been scared when he had originally brought up the proposition, but couldn’t imagine herself anywhere else.
The vampire knew what she was asking for, biting down over the columb of her throat and feeling her tighten up on him as her clit throbbed against his wet thumb, her arms tight around his neck. This was the euphoria both of them had become completely and utterly addicted to. Neither could see it ending. “Come on now, darling. Soak me and close those pretty eyes. You’ve not slept well.. I will take you fully in the morning, but you need release, and then rest.” He purred. Let me take care of you, as you do to me.”
#fictober#jarofstyles fictober#jarofstyles fictober 23#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#vampirry#vamprry#vampire!harry styles#harry styles vampire#vampire!harry#vampire harry#Harry smut#Harry styles angst#Harry styles fluff#harry angst#harry fluff#Harry styles Halloween
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A Love Beyond Time.
fictober masterlist || ask me anything <3
authors note - this one is my personal favourite hence why i saved it for last, this is heavily tvd inspired so enjoy!
word count - 19.5k (core blimey…🫣)
in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved husband. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your husbands lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.
trigger warnings: vampires, mentions of death, blood, and panic attacks, and lots of flashbacks.
trope: vampire!harry
The year was 1864.
You were running through a dense forest, heart pounding with fear and determination. The moon casts an eerie glow, illuminating the path ahead as you desperately seek your husband.
The events that led you here began when your peaceful town of Holmes Chapel came under attack during the night. A sudden intrusion into your shared bedroom left you in shock as masked assailants dragged your husband away to defend the town.
With your lantern held tightly, you forge ahead, leaves crunching beneath your boots. The forest whispers with the secrets of the night, but your thoughts are solely on your husband's safety. The echoes of distant gunshots pierce the air, driving you to move faster.
Time blurs as you push deeper into the woods, clutching the locket he gave you on your wedding day. It's a beacon of hope in the darkness, a reminder of the love that propels you forward. Branches claw at your dress as if trying to halt your progress, but you press on.
The forest seems to come alive with eerie sounds, but you remain undeterred. Your mind races with memories of your life together. You recall the way he looked when he first kissed you, promising to always protect you. Now it's your turn to protect him.
The adrenaline was coursing through your veins is your only guiding light. The eerie shadows cast by moonlight make it difficult to see, and your heart is pounding with the urgency of finding your husband. With each step, you feel your breath quicken and the weight of worry pressing upon you.
Amidst the chaos of your pursuit, your foot suddenly catches on a hidden rock. Time slows for an instant as you stumble forward, unable to maintain your balance. You crash to the ground with a sharp gasp, and the pain in your knee shoots through your body like a lightning bolt.
The forest floor is unforgiving, and you scramble to your knees, wincing in pain. A searing sensation courses through your leg as you assess the damage. Moonlight reveals the crimson stain of your blood on your torn dress, a stark reminder of your fall. Your trembling fingers press against the wounded knee, and you hiss in pain.
Seated on the forest floor, the pain in your injured knee sends sharp jolts of agony through your body. The wound on your leg continues to bleed, a painful reminder of your fall. Breathing heavily, you clench your teeth to stifle the pain, still fixated on the task at hand—finding your husband.
In the oppressive silence of the night, a gunshot shatters the stillness, echoing through the trees.
Your head snaps in the direction of the sound, dread seizing your heart.
The forest seems to hold its breath, and in the pale moonlight, you catch a nightmarish glimpse of your husband's body falling to the ground in the distance.
Time itself seems to freeze as you watch in disbelief. Your heart, already heavy with fear and worry, now carries the unbearable weight of witnessing his lifeless form crumple to the forest floor.
A haunting numbness washes over you, and you can't believe what your eyes have just witnessed.
Your husband's stillness in the moonlight is a stark contrast to the vibrant and caring man you know.
He lies motionless, and you can't tear your eyes away from him. The forest, which once felt full of life, now feels like a desolate and eerie place, bearing witness to a tragedy.
Shock paralyzes you, keeping you rooted to the ground where you sit, knees trembling. The wound on your leg goes unnoticed as your mind grapples with the devastating reality that has unfolded before you.
Every moment feels like an eternity as you struggle to accept what you've seen, unable to comprehend the loss that has befallen you.
Tears well up in your eyes, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your mind races, emotions tangled in a web of grief and disbelief. The forest becomes a haunting backdrop to the pain that now consumes you, as you continue to stare in anguished shock at the lifeless body of the man you love.
As if jolted awake by a cruel nightmare, you suddenly snap out of your daze. The image of your husband's lifeless body lingers in your mind, but there's an urgency now, an unrelenting force pushing you to your feet. Ignoring the searing pain in your wounded knee, you rise unsteadily and turn away from the devastating scene.
Determination courses through you, propelling you forward into the heart of the forest. Every step, though painful, is infused with purpose. The leaves underfoot crunch with a mournful sound, like the breaking of your heart, while twigs snap like the fragile threads of your resolve.
Moonlight filters through the dense canopy, casting ghostly, dancing shadows that accompany you on your desperate journey. The night is filled with the symphony of the forest - the hushed whispers of the wind, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and your own labored breaths.
You press on, driven by the need to understand what happened and to seek justice for your husband. The forest, once a place of serene beauty, has transformed into an ominous labyrinth of uncertainty. Each rustle in the underbrush keeps you on edge, as the sounds of the night seem to conspire against you.
Branches reach out to snatch at your dress, as if attempting to hold you back, but your determination allows no interference. The path you follow is shrouded in darkness, with only the faintest hint of the trail your husband might have taken. Your heart beats like a drum, echoing the urgency of your quest.
The forest around you is now a battleground, the cacophony of gunshots and cries of conflict growing louder as you approach your husband's lifeless form.
You cast aside the fear and pain, crouching down beside him, your hands trembling as they reach out to touch his still-warm cheek.
"H, it's me," you whisper, tears streaming down your face.
"I'm here, love. Everything's going to be okay. Help is coming. You'll be fine." Your voice wavers, but you try to sound strong for him, to provide him with the reassurance he needs.
His breaths are shallow, his eyes half-lidded, but they flicker open as he hears your voice. He manages a faint smile, bloodstained lips trembling as he reaches for your hand. His wedding band rubs against your fingers, a testament to the love you share, and it's a stark reminder of what's at stake.
"I love ‘ye," he rasps, the words barely audible over the chaos that surrounds you. His grip on your hand tightens, and you feel the fleeting warmth of his touch.
Your heart aches with love and grief as you squeeze his hand in response, your voice choked with emotion.
Tears blur your vision, but you lean in closer, desperate to make the most of the precious moments you have left together.
"I love you too, baby. More than anything in this world. We'll get through this together. Just hold on a little longer." Your voice trembles as you speak, your forehead touching his, a gesture of love and connection in this dire moment.
Around you, the battle rages on, but in this fragile bubble of time, it's just you and him. You whisper soothing words, your fingers tracing his cheek, brushing away blood-soaked hair from his forehead.
The forest, once a place of tranquillity, is now the setting of your heart-wrenching farewell.
Harry's breathing becomes more laboured, and his eyes lose focus, but he clings to your hand as if it were his lifeline. He musters a smile, his love and strength shining through even in the face of death.
You can see it in his eyes, in the way he gazes at you, that he's saying goodbye.
With trembling lips, you press a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"You're my everything, Harry. I'll carry you with me always." Your words are tender, a declaration of love and a promise to cherish his memory.
His last breath escapes him, and his hand slowly falls from yours. Your world crumbles in that moment, and you're left alone with the lifeless body of the man you love, in a forest transformed by tragedy.
The forest, once echoing with the sounds of battle, falls silent as you let out a heart-wrenching scream of heartbreak. It's a primal, agonising sound that pierces the night, a cry of loss and despair. Your voice carries your pain to the heavens, but it's met with a cold, uncaring silence.
Tears flow uncontrollably as you lay your head on your husband's motionless torso. His body is still warm, but there's no life left in it. You can feel the rise and fall of his chest no more, and the reality of his absence bears down on you like a crushing weight.
Sobs wrack your body as you clutch his lifeless form, fingers tangled in his blood-stained shirt. The forest watches in mournful silence, the moonlight casting eerie shadows upon your anguished figure.
You sit alone in your dimly lit bedroom, the only source of light being the faint glow of the moon seeping through the curtains. Your eyes are fixed on the calendar hanging on the wall, its pages marked with the passage of time. It’s getting closer and closer to what would have been your husband's birthday, a day that used to be filled with joy and celebration, but now it's a painful reminder of what was lost.
As you trace your fingers over the date, your mind drifts back to that fateful day, fourteen months after your wedding.
Tears well up in your eyes as you remember his warm smile and the touch of his hand. He was your rock, your confidant, and your soulmate. The love you shared was profound and unbreakable, and his loss left a void that no one could fill.
But there's something different about you, something that sets you apart from the rest of humanity. It's the reason you sit here tonight, 159 years later, in a world that has long moved on without you. You hadn't died with your husband because of a twist of fate. It was a vampire's bite that had saved you from death's grasp that day, turning you into a creature of the night.
In the stillness of the night, you can feel the ancient power coursing through your veins. The thirst for blood is a constant reminder of your new existence, and the conflict between your longing for humanity and the supernatural urges that consume you is a torment that never fades. The isolation you've felt for over a century is crushing, but it's nothing compared to the loneliness of losing your beloved husband.
You reach for your left hand, where a delicate silver band still rests on your finger. It's your wedding ring, and you've worn it every day since that fateful day in 1864. The memories of your wedding day flood back—the vows you exchanged, the laughter, and the love that was so pure and genuine.
As you sit in the darkness, the anguish of your existence as an immortal being intensifies. The passing years have done nothing to ease the pain of your husband's absence. You've watched the world change, evolve, and progress, all while you remain locked in the past, bound by your unending love and grief.
The calendar on the wall stands as a cruel reminder of the passage of time, and each passing day only deepens the chasm in your heart. You know that you can never truly move on, but you continue to exist, trapped between two worlds, clinging to the memories of a life that was taken from you too soon.
you carefully pull out a small, weathered box from under the bed. It's where you've kept the cherished notes you and your husband used to exchange, fragile pieces of the past that still hold the warmth of his words.
The first note you pick up is a simple, heartfelt one.
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑒, 𝓊𝓃𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈. 𝒜𝓁𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊'𝓇𝑒 𝒿𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓃𝑒𝓍𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝑜𝓇, 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓃𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈 𝓊𝓈 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝓂. 𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝒹 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝒹𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓉𝒽, 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒶𝓃 𝒾𝒸𝓎 𝓋𝑜𝒾𝒹. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽. 𝒯𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝒶𝓅 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓃 𝓊𝓈, 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓇𝓎𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓊𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝑜𝓁𝒶𝒸𝑒 𝒷𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓈𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓈.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝑔𝓊𝒾𝒹𝒾𝓃���� 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓊𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝓀𝓎.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈,
𝐻.
A bittersweet smile tugs at your lips as you remember the nights you spent wrapped in each other's embrace.
The next note brings back memories of a time when your husband fell ill. In his distinctive handwriting,
It reads,
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝐼 𝒽𝑜𝓅𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓁𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓃 𝑔𝑜𝑜𝒹 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒾𝑔𝒽 𝓈𝓅𝒾𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓈, 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝑔𝓇𝑒𝓉𝒻𝓊𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒾𝓃𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓂 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝒹𝒶𝓎. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝑒𝓁𝓁𝓉𝒶𝓁𝑒 𝓈𝒾𝑔𝓃𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒻𝓁𝓊 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝒹𝑒𝓈𝒸𝑒𝓃𝒹𝑒𝒹 𝓊𝓅𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒, 𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓂𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝒶 𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓈𝒸𝑜𝓂𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒻𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑔𝓊𝑒.
𝐼 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓋𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝒶𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓅𝓁𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑒𝒹. 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝒾𝓁𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝒶𝑔𝒾𝑜𝓊𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓃𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝑜 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒶𝓈 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝒸𝒶𝓃𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓊𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓊𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑔.
𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓊𝓃𝒹𝑒𝓇𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝒶𝒾𝓃𝓈 𝒶𝓈 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒾𝓉 𝒾𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓊𝓉𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝓃 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁-𝒷𝑒𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓈 𝓇𝑒𝓆𝓊𝑒𝓈𝓉. 𝑅𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝒶𝓈𝓈𝓊𝓇𝑒𝒹, 𝐼 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝒹𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝓌𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓁𝓎, 𝓈𝑜 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝑜𝓃 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓉𝑒𝒹 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒶𝓃𝓎 𝓇𝒾𝓈𝓀 𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓉𝒽.
𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓃, 𝓂𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓈 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝓌𝑒 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝒹𝑜𝓌 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓁𝓁𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓊𝓈.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒,
𝐻.
With a delicate touch, you unfold the last note, which is filled with affectionate words.
𝑀𝓎 𝒟𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉 (𝒴/𝒩),
𝒜𝓈 𝐼 𝓈𝒾𝓉 𝒹𝑜𝓌𝓃 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓅𝑒𝓃 𝒾𝓃 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝓋𝑒𝓇𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝒻𝒻𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃, 𝐼 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹𝓁𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝐼 𝒻𝑒𝑒𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊. 𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓅𝒶𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒹𝒶𝓎, 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅𝑒𝓃𝓈, 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒 𝒶 𝓇𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝓋𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝓅𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒹𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁.
𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 ��𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝒸𝑜𝓃 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒾𝓃 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓇𝓀𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓈𝓂𝒾𝓁𝑒 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈. 𝒲𝒽𝑒𝓃 𝐼 𝑔𝒶𝓏𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓉𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝑒𝓎𝑒𝓈, 𝐼 𝓈𝑒𝑒 𝒶 𝓊𝓃𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑒𝒶𝓊𝓉𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓀𝒾𝓃𝒹𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓉𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒷𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓌𝒶𝓎.
𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝓈𝑜 𝒾𝓃𝒸𝓇𝑒𝒹𝒾𝒷𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝓉𝓊𝓃𝒶𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝑜 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝓎 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝒾𝒹𝑒, 𝓉𝑜 𝒸𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝒾𝓃𝑒. 𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒶𝓊𝑔𝒽𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓌𝑒𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝓂𝓊𝓈𝒾𝒸, 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓉𝑜𝓊𝒸𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓉, 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉𝑒𝓈𝓉 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉 𝐼 𝒽𝒶𝓋𝑒 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓇𝑒𝒸𝑒𝒾𝓋𝑒𝒹.
𝐼 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝓇𝒾𝓈𝒽 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝑜𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝑒 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓆𝓊𝒾𝑒𝓉 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓈𝒶𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓈𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓃 𝑔𝓁𝒶𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓈, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓂 𝑒𝓂𝒷𝓇𝒶𝒸𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓈𝓅𝑒𝒶𝓀 𝑜𝒻 𝒶 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝑜𝒻𝓉𝑒𝓃 𝒻𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝒽𝑜𝓇𝓉. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝓁𝒹, 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓅𝒾𝑒𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓈 𝓂𝒶𝒹𝑒 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒 𝒸𝑜𝓂𝓅𝓁𝑒𝓉𝑒.
𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓎, 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓃 𝒶𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝓈. 𝑀𝓎 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒾𝓈 𝒶 𝒻𝓁𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒷𝓊𝓇𝓃𝓈 𝑒𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎, 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝒸𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒸𝒶𝓃 𝑒𝓍𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓊𝒾𝓈𝒽. 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝓂𝓎 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒, 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓂 𝒻𝑜𝓇𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝒻𝓊𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓅𝓇𝑒𝓈𝑒𝓃𝒸𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉.
𝒲𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶𝓁𝓁 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝓈𝑜𝓊𝓁,
𝐻.
The room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
he room is filled with a mixture of emotions as you read through these notes. You can almost hear his voice in your mind, feel his presence in the room, as though he's still with you. The memories of your time together, both the joyful and the challenging, flood your mind.
As you continue to flip through the notes, a sense of nostalgia washes over you. Each piece of paper tells a story of your love, a love that transcends time and space. These tangible remnants of your past are a lifeline to the happiness and connection you shared.
You can't help but hold the notes to your chest, as if doing so will bring him back, if only for a moment. The handwritten words become a connection to a love that remains eternally alive in your heart.
As you are in your trance, the door to your bedroom creaks open. Your best friend, Zayn, your steadfast companion in this new world of immortality, enters the room.
His vampire senses allow him to sense your emotional state even before he takes in the scene.
Zayn's eyes meet yours, and he can see the raw emotions that you've been holding back. He knows that this time of year is always difficult for you, a reminder of the love and loss that defines your existence. Without a word, he moves closer and takes a seat beside you on the bed.
Gently, Zayn wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. His touch, cold yet reassuring, provides a sense of comfort that only someone who shares your immortal life can offer.
He doesn't need to speak, for he understands the depth of your pain and the heaviness of your heart.
Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, the only sound in the room being the soft rustle of the notes you're clutching. Zayn's presence is a soothing balm to your aching soul, a reminder that you're not alone in this eternity.
You lean into his embrace, finding solace in the silent companionship that has defined your centuries together.
The room is bathed in the soft, silvery glow of the moon, casting a gentle light upon the two of you. Zayn's immortal eyes reflect a profound empathy as he gazes at you.
He may not share your specific pain, but he comprehends the depth of your sorrow, and his unwavering support is a testament to the strength of your friendship.
You feel a sense of unity in this quiet moment, connected by the unspoken understanding of your shared existence. Zayn's presence, like the memories in those letters, is a constant in your life, a source of reassurance that you cling to when the weight of your solitude becomes unbearable.
Zayn's fingers brush gently against the back of your hand, an unspoken gesture of sympathy and empathy.
As the night unfolds around you, you find comfort in the silence, in the shared understanding between two immortals whose lives are forever marked by the passage of time and the enduring power of love.
The minutes tick by, but in the arms of your friend, time loses its urgency. You don't need words to communicate your pain, for Zayn's presence is a reminder that, in this unending night, you have someone who stands by your side, even when the memories of your husband's birthday bring waves of sorrow.
Zayn eventually breaks the stillness.
He clears his throat softly, turning his gaze to you, his vampire eyes expressing concern.
"Are you ready to get going soon?" he asks, his voice a gentle yet encouraging nudge.
You release a soft sigh, nodding your head slowly, and your voice trembles slightly as you reply, "Just a few more things to pack, and then I'll be ready."
Zayn senses the fragility of your emotions and offers his support, asking, "Can I help you with anything?"
He watches you idly fiddling with the bracelet around your wrist.
Noticing your restlessness, he reaches out to softly hold your hands, halting your nervous actions. Concern etched on his face, he asks, "What's wrong?"
Your eyes meet his, and you hesitate for a moment before finally voicing your uncertainty.
"Do we really have to go there today?" you inquire, your tone tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Zayn's grip on your hand tightens, not in a romantic manner, but to convey his steadfast support.
In a comforting tone, he begins to explain, "You know we go every year. It's a tradition. It helps you remember and honour the past, and it always seems to make you feel better."
His words are laced with a sense of understanding, a reminder that he has been with you through many of these anniversaries.
You contemplate his words, the weight of your annual pilgrimage tugging at your heart. The place you're about to visit holds bittersweet memories, a reminder of the life you once shared with your husband.
Each year, you return there to pay your respects and keep his memory alive.
Zayn's grip on your hand offers reassurance, a silent pledge that he'll be there with you, providing the strength and support you need. The drive ahead is long, but it's a journey you make together, year after year, as a testament to your enduring bond.
As you begin to pack your belongings, you can't help but wonder about the emotional rollercoaster that lies ahead. The memories that await at your destination are a mix of joy, love, and sorrow, and you find solace in the fact that Zayn is there to accompany you on this annual journey.
The room slowly fills with the soft rustling of your belongings, a tangible representation of the steps you take to prepare for this day. Zayn doesn't need to say much more; his presence and unwavering support are all the encouragement you require.
In the year 1865, the world outside was marred by the horrors of war, but your own battle was one fought against a relentless adversary: cholera. It was a wretched disease that had laid its icy grip upon you, and the diagnosis had been grim.
You had been confined to your bed, frail and weak, under strict orders not to venture out. The days had blurred into one another, marked by the agonising pain that twisted your body.
As night descended upon your small, dimly lit room, you found yourself unable to bear the separation any longer.
Weak limbs, trembling with fever, carried you out of the house, driven by an insatiable yearning to be close to your husband's resting place.
He had been taken from you too soon, a victim of the brutality, and the thought of joining him beyond the mortal coil was a solace that beckoned you.
The moon's pale glow guided your unsteady steps as you stumbled through the darkness, clutching at the fragile shreds of your existence.
Tears rolled down your cheeks, mingling with the dirt on your face as you reached your husband's grave.
The earth beneath you was cold and unforgiving, much like your fate, and you could hardly breathe as your vision blurred.
In the silence of the night, you lay there, your life slipping away like grains of sand through your fingertips.
It was then that Zayn, a lone vampire with a heart that had not yet been completely hardened by the centuries, stumbled across your frail form. His immortal eyes, adapted to the darkness, were drawn to your prone figure, wracked with pain and suffering.
Zayn had seen countless lives extinguished by cholera, innocent humans who met a cruel fate. He couldn't stand the thought of witnessing yet another life claimed by the merciless disease.
The decision was made in an instant; he would not allow you to die alone in the dirt.
Biting into his wrist, he let his own blood flow freely, a crimson elixir that held the power to grant life beyond the brink of death. Gently, he brought his wrist to your lips, the metallic taste of his blood mixing with the dirt on your tongue.
As the tears continued to roll down your cheeks, you accepted the gift, and as your world faded to black, you knew that you would wake once more.
When you did awaken, it was with a newfound strength, but also with the realisation that you were no longer the same. You had been turned into a creature of the night, a vampire like Zayn.
You could feel the ancient power coursing through your veins, and you knew that you had been given a second chance at life.
Zayn, ever the silent guardian, watched over you as you adjusted to your new existence. He had saved you from the clutches of cholera and given you a gift that had bound you together for eternity.
The pain of your past remained, but it was now mingled with the promise of a future, one that would be marked by a different kind of immortality.
The moon that had witnessed your despair now bore witness to your rebirth, casting a silvery light upon the world. Your husband's grave, the place where you had once sought solace in death, became a reminder of the choices that had brought you back to life. In the embrace of the night, you and Zayn forged a bond that would endure through the ages, a bond forged in the crucible of darkness and the unyielding desire to protect a fragile, mortal soul.
The day of your husband's funeral is shrouded in a thick blanket of gray clouds, a reflection of the somber mood that hangs in the air.
You stand at the front of the gathering, holding the hands of your husband's sister, Gemma, and his mother, Anne. You are positioned in the center, a symbol of the family's strength, while the world grieves around you.
Harry, your husband, remains hidden in the shadows of a nearby bush, concealed by the dense foliage.
His heart aches as he watches the mourners, his loved ones, weeping for him. The weight of his decision to become a vampire bears down on him heavily, and guilt gnaws at his conscience.
He longs to step out from the darkness, to hold you in his arms and console his grieving family, but he knows the consequences would be dire.
The insatiable bloodlust that courses through him is a risk he can't take.
Liam, the one who turned Harry into a vampire, stands beside him, aware of Harry's internal turmoil. As the mourners begin to weep more openly, and your tears flow, Harry's eyes glisten with unshed tears.
He is desperate to be by your side, to share in your pain, to say his final goodbyes. But Liam knows that he's not ready to control his primal instincts, and he grabs Harry's arm, holding him back.
Harry's eyes lock with Liam's, and there's a silent understanding between them. Liam's grip tightens, and he speaks softly, a voice only Harry can hear.
"You can't go over there, Harry," Liam insists. "Your thirst will be uncontrollable. You need training, discipline. You're not ready to face them without putting them in danger."
Harry's heart aches with the truth of Liam's words. He knows he's not in control of his newfound vampiric instincts, and the potential harm he could cause to those he loves weighs heavily on his conscience. A tear escapes his eye, rolling down his cheek as he gazes at you and his family from the shadows.
In the distance, Gemma sobs quietly, her shoulders trembling. Anne clings to you, her grief profound and palpable. Harry's anguish deepens as he realizes he can't comfort them, can't wipe away their tears. He wants nothing more than to hold you all, to whisper words of love and reassurance, but the consequences of his presence are too dire.
Harry clenches his jaw and nods slowly, his eyes never leaving yours. He understands that he must control the beast within him, no matter how much it pains him to stay away. He watches as the mourners continue to grieve, knowing that he must focus on his training to become a responsible vampire, even if it means sacrificing his desire to be with you one last time.
Harry's memories of those early days with you were etched into his heart, timeless and evergreen. The two of you had been young, so young that it felt like you both had the world at your feet.
It was the norm back then to marry young, and so you had, vowing to spend a lifetime together.
At the tender age of seventeen, the two of you had become husband and wife, and Harry had been just eighteen when he was taken from you.
The day you said your vows had been a blur of emotions, a whirlwind of love and promises.
The sun had shone brightly, casting a golden hue on the small chapel where you had gathered with their families and friends.
Harry couldn't have been more proud or more in love as he watched you walk down the aisle, a vision of grace and beauty.
The year that followed had been filled with joy, adventure, and love. You had faced the world hand in hand, growing together as you navigated the challenges and joys that life presented.
Harry's love for you had only deepened with time, and he couldn't imagine a life without you by his side.
The night he was dragged out of bed to defend the town had been a harrowing one.
The chaos of the attack had thrust him into the front lines, where he had fought valiantly to protect his home and loved ones.
In the midst of the battle, he had been taken from you leaving your heart with a void that could never be filled.
Harry found himself back in his hometown in the year 2023. It had been a long and winding journey that had brought him here, to the place where he and you had once shared a life together. The memories of your youth had been a bittersweet comfort, and he couldn't resist the pull of returning to the town you had both had once called home.
A year had passed since his return, and Harry had settled into the rhythm of everyday life in the town.
His immortality was a secret he guarded closely, and only told a certain group of people, but to fit in with the world around him, he had made the decision to attend the local high school.
His appearance, frozen in time, allowed him to blend in as an eighteen-year-old, a senior in high school.
The hallways of the school were bustling with youthful energy, and Harry navigated them with a sense of nostalgia. The students around him were so different from the world he had once known, but their dreams and aspirations remained the same. It was a peculiar feeling to be an immortal amidst those who still had their entire lives ahead of them.
Harry stood by his locker, surrounded by the familiar sights and sounds of the high school. He was in the process of organizing his books for his next lesson when he felt a presence approach.
Turning around, he was greeted by the smiling faces of his two closest friends, Sarah and Mitch, who were dating.
They had been his unwavering support since his return to this town, and they were among the few who knew his secret.
Sarah and Mitch shared an unbreakable bond, one that had grown even stronger with the knowledge of Harry's true nature. They had embraced him with open arms, offering friendship and a sense of belonging that he had desperately missed.
"Hey, Haz," Sarah chimed, her warm smile lighting up the hallway. "You coming to the Grove later?"
The Chapel Grove.
A local hangout spot for the families of Holmes Chapel, they sold food such as greasy burgers, loaded fries and even served drinks such as Milkshakes and of the alcoholic kind.
Mitch nodded in agreement, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Yeah, It was Ricky’s idea."
Harry, still playing with his books, shrugged his shoulders. He let out a sigh, his voice tinged with a hint of regret. "M’not sure, v’ got a ton of homework t’do. Y’know how it is."
His two friends exchanged knowing glances. They understood that Harry's commitment to his studies was both genuine and a cover for the reality of his existence. They respected his choices, knowing that the weight of his immortality was a burden he carried alone.
Sarah reached out and gently placed a hand on Harry's shoulder.
He watched as Sarah and Mitch walked away, their laughter fading into the distance.
It was a bittersweet moment, a reminder of the normal life he had once shared with you and the sacrifices he now made to honour her memory.
Harry turned his attention back to his locker. As he opened the door, he was met with the image of a photograph hanging on the inside.
It was a picture of you, a snapshot taken in the year 1864, the year you had become his beloved wife.
The sepia-toned photograph had faded with time, but the memories it held were as vivid as ever.
Harry's fingers traced a delicate path along the edges of the photograph, a gesture born out of love and longing.
He couldn't help but marvel at your image, at the way your eyes sparkled with joy and your smile radiates warmth. It was a portrait of a life that had once been filled with hope, dreams, and love.
He was transported back in time, to the days when the two of you had been inseparable. The image before him held the essence of the happiness you had shared, a happiness that had been taken from him too soon.
As he gazed at your face, he fought to hold back the tears that threatened to escape.
The wedding ring he still wore on his finger served as a constant reminder of the love that had transcended time and space. He had never taken it off, a symbol of his eternal devotion to you.
As he looked at the photograph, his heart ached with the weight of your absence, a pain that had not diminished over the years.
In the hushed stillness of the hallway, Harry found himself caught in a silent moment of reflection.
He knew that you were gone, that he could never hold you again in the same way, but the photograph served as a lifeline to the love and memories that continued to endure.
With great care, he closed the locker door, leaving the photograph of you hanging there. It was a bittersweet reminder of the life he had once known, the life that had been stolen from him.
You're seated in Zayn's car, the soothing hum of the engine merging with the rhythmic patterns of the road.
It's been four long hours of cruising from London to Manchester, a journey you've made year after year, a pilgrimage to Holmes Chapel.
The miles seem to stretch on endlessly, and your thoughts are a chaotic whirlwind, just as they always are on this annual trip. Memories, emotions, and longings intermingle, creating a storm within your mind.
Traffic comes and goes, a constant ebb and flow of vehicles on the motorway. The occasional slowdowns test your patience, but you find solace in the companionship of Zayn and the knowledge that the destination is worth the journey.
Zayn pulls the car to the side of the road, when the two of you are driving through the last bit of the journey, through a nice little down adjacent to Holmes Chapel, the two of you hadn’t fed before leaving.
Rookie mistake on your part.
And now, your mouth was dry and you desperately needed something to refresh it.
The oblivious passerby, a stranger to you, continues on their path, unknowingly approaching the enigmatic pair standing by the roadside.
In a carefully orchestrated dance, you and Zayn approach the passerby, a swift and silent exchange between predator and prey, and walk with him to a secluded alleyway.
The "snack" begins, a feeding that is essential for your survival. Your senses sharpen as you draw from your chosen source, the warmth of their life pulsing beneath their skin.
The passerby remains blissfully unaware, their consciousness undisturbed as you and Zayn fulfil your needs.
You both take only what you require, leaving no lasting harm, and then compel them to forget the encounter.
And so, you continue your journey.
The landscape outside the car window changes gradually as you travel. The urban sprawl of London gives way to the open countryside.
Fields stretch to the horizon, painted in shades of green and gold. It's a serene contrast to the chaotic thoughts that whirl within your mind.
The journey continues, and the passing scenery carries with it a sense of nostalgia. The familiar landmarks along the way bring back memories of years gone by, each one tinged with the bittersweet remembrance of the life you once shared with your beloved.
As you approach Holmes Chapel, your heart quickens, and the sense of longing intensifies. The town's quaint streets and charming houses feel like a trip back in time, a reminder of the life you once knew.
The car glides into Holmes Chapel, and you can almost hear the echoes of your past. The weight of your annual pilgrimage rests heavily upon your shoulders, a testament to the enduring love that has never dimmed.
Zayn expertly guided the car into the driveway of the house that had once belonged to your parents back in 1864.
It was a place steeped in history, a relic of a time long past, and it had become yours after your parents' passing in 1895, after sneaking back into the town and compelling your way to be the owner.
For nearly 130 years, this house had been a silent witness to your existence, a sanctuary where you and Zayn retreated to every year.
The exterior of the house retained the charm of another era. It was a grand Victorian home, adorned with intricate wooden details and gabled roofs. The red brick façade bore the marks of time, and the lush ivy that crept up the walls had woven its own stories.
The front garden was a riot of colour , with flowers in full bloom. The fragrant scent of roses, lilacs, and lavender filled the air, a testament to the diligent care you had taken to preserve the beauty of the landscape.
The path leading to the front door was lined with cobblestones, their edges softened by the passage of countless seasons.
As the car came to a stop, the familiar sight of the house, with its large bay windows and wrought-iron balconies, stirred a sense of nostalgia within you.
The years had passed, but the house remained a time capsule, preserving the memories of a bygone era.
You and Zayn stepped out of the car, and the front porch welcomed you with open arms. The old oak door, with its ornate brass knocker, felt like an old friend.
You had kept everything inside the house unchanged, maintaining the decor of another centuryc and wanting to keep your parents' memories alive. The rooms were filled with antique furniture, tapestries, and framed photographs of family members long gone.
The fireplace in the living room, where you and Zayn had shared countless conversations, was a focal point. The mantel held a collection of aged books and trinkets, each with its own story to tell. The ticking of an antique clock on the wall served as a reminder that time had, in some ways, stood still here.
The past clung to the house's very walls, an unspoken testament to the enduring love and memories that you had carried throughout the ages. As you stepped inside, the echoes of your footsteps were met with a quiet sense of reverence, a recognition of the bond you shared with this place.
Within the house, amidst the antique furnishings and treasured memories, there was a room that held a special place in your heart. It was a room where time seemed to stand still, a room that honoured both the past and the present.
On one wall, there hung a meticulously painted portrait of you and Harry on your wedding day in 1864. The image captured a moment of pure happiness, the two of you standing side by side, radiating love and promise.
The colours were vivid, as if the artist had painstakingly tried to preserve the very essence of that day.
Beside it, you had placed a modern touch, a photograph of you and Zayn. It was a selfie taken during a visit to the Colosseum in Rome, a few years ago.
The picture was a snapshot of friendship, of laughter and shared experiences, and it served as a tribute to the bond you and Zayn had forged over the centuries.
The juxtaposition of the two images on the same wall was a reflection of the passage of time, a reminder that love and connection endured even as life moved forward.
The painted portrait of your wedding day was a testament to the love that had once defined your existence, while the photograph of you and Zayn symbolised the friendship that had evolved to fill the void left by Harry's untimely departure.
It was the very same house where Harry had asked you on your first date, a memory etched into the very walls of the building.
The familiarity of the place had been the perfect backdrop for that special moment. It was here, within the walls of this house, that Harry had shown the first signs of his affections for you.
The room, adorned with vintage decor and an antique chandelier, had been bathed in the warm glow of candlelight, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and romance.
You stood in the modest kitchen of your family home, the warm and comforting heart of the house. The scent of freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of the stew that simmered on the stove.
It was a simple yet fulfilling meal that you were preparing, a meal that would soon be shared by your mother, your father, and you.
The kitchen was a cosy space, with worn wooden counters and shelves lined with jars of preserved fruits and vegetables.
Sunlight streamed through the small, lace-curtained window, casting a soft, golden glow on the room. The sounds of your mother's apron softly brushing against her dress and the rhythmic chopping of vegetables filled the room.
You worked alongside your mother, your hands expertly kneading the dough for the bread. The flour dusted your fingers, creating a playful mess that made you both smile.
The warmth of the hearth, with its crackling fire, chased away the chill of the approaching winter.
The two of you shared a quiet understanding as you moved in synchrony, the bond between mother and child woven into the very fabric of the kitchen.
The wooden table, which had seen countless meals and conversations, stood as a witness to the love and care that went into each dish.
As you stirred the stew, the rich aroma filled your senses, a comforting reassurance that the family would soon be gathered around the table, sharing not only a meal but also the love and connection that made your home a sanctuary.
The rhythmic sound of chopping vegetables continued, the sharp knife slicing through them with precision.
The knock that sounded throughout the house was unexpected, and you glanced towards your mother as she wiped her flour-covered hands against the countertop, her footsteps echoing in the kitchen as she went to answer it.
You continued your culinary task, focused on the rhythmic motion of the knife, when your mother returned to the kitchen, a look of curiosity in her eyes.
"It's for you," she said, her voice carrying a hint of mystery.
She gestured towards the visitor waiting by the door, and you turned around to see Harry standing there.
Wiping your hands against your apron, you approached him, a smile spreading across your face. It was a pleasant surprise to see him, and you greeted him warmly. "Harry, what brings you here?"
He returned your smile, his eyes reflecting a mixture of excitement and sincerity. "I was wondering if I could talk to you, if possible.”
You nodded and led Harry into the living room, explaining to your mother that you'd be back soon.
With you leading Harry into the living room, you both found a quiet corner, away from the bustling sounds of the kitchen. He looked at you with a hint of anticipation, and after a brief pause, he spoke, his words soft and filled with sincerity.
“So what did you want to talk about?” You question, head tilted to the side as you toyed with the strings on your apron.
There was a pregnant pause before he began speaking.
Harry's voice trembled as he gathered the courage to speak.
"S’wondering if, um... would y’possibly like t’go on a date one day this week?" His words were hesitant, and his hands shook with nervousness.
You met his gaze, your heart warmed by his vulnerability.
A soft smile formed on your lips, and you replied, "Yes, Harry, I'd love to."
His eyes widened in pleasant surprise, but his hands still trembled from the jitters.
"Really?" he asked, seeking confirmation.
You could see the genuine nervousness in his eyes, and you decided to ease his worries.
With a gentle touch, you reached out, taking his hands into yours, your fingers gently entwining with his. His hands stilled under your reassuring touch.
You leaned in and pressed a tender kiss to his cheek.
"Definitely," you whispered, your words carrying a promise.
After a long day at school, Harry's footsteps carried him up the driveway of the house he had called home for so many years.
It was a place where memories of you still lingered, the house that you had lived in during your one year of marriage, an old Victorian house with an enduring charm.
The memories within those walls were a bittersweet comfort.
He had invited Niall over after school, a friend who had practically been a brother to him since they had met in the early 1900s.
Their friendship had grown strong over the years, and they shared a bond that transcended time.
As he approached the front of the house, he couldn't help but notice a car parked in the driveway of what had once been your parents' house.
It was a sight he had expected, knowing that someone would eventually move in.
He sighed and shook his head, the changes around him a reminder of the passage of time.
His fingers instinctively brushed against the wedding ring on his finger, His friends, Niall included, didn't question his marital status, as they were all privy to his secret.
They had secrets of their own, secrets that bound them together.
Penny, Logan, Daniel, Toby, Ricky – they were all werewolves, their fates intertwined with the lunar cycles.
And Brooke was a witch, her magic a well-guarded treasure.
Their supernatural natures were shared with an unspoken understanding, a bond that went beyond the boundaries of the ordinary.
As he entered the house, with Niall by his side, the memories of the past and the secrets of the present coexisted in the space around them
You sit alone in the garden, the air tinged with the scents of flowers and the distant echoes of life in the town.
Your journal rests open on your lap, and the inked words spill onto the pages as you reflect on the passing of time and the season that has come around once more.
It's that time of year again, the time when you return to the town that has brought you so much misery and yet holds a powerful grip on your heart.
The memories of days long past and the ache of what was lost permeate your thoughts.
The garden, once vibrant and filled with life, now stands as a silent testament to the years that have passed.
The flowers you once tended with care bloom without your touch, a reminder that life continues, even in the face of heartache.
The journal in your hands is a chronicle of your existence, the pages filled with the hopes, dreams, and heartaches that have defined your immortal life.
It is a mirror to your soul, a place where you pour out the emotions that you can never truly share with anyone else.
As the pen moves across the pages, the memories of the town come rushing back. The streets, the houses, and the people who once filled your life with joy and sorrow, they are all here, etched in the recesses of your mind.
As you sit in the garden, tears silently cascade down your cheeks. The memories and emotions of this time of year have caught up to you, and you're trying your best to keep your crying from alerting Zayn inside the house.
You wipe away the tears, but more continue to fall, a relentless stream of anguish.
You know that if Zayn hears you sniffling, he'll be out in an instant, concerned for your well-being. And while you appreciate his care, you're not ready to discuss the depth of your sorrow.
Just when it feels like your heart can't bear any more, you notice a presence at the fence of the house next door.
A boy with vibrant blue eyes and blonde hair is leaning over, peering at you with a curious expression. It's someone you've never seen before, and the sight of a stranger surprises you.
He tilts his head to the side and gently drums his fingers against the fence, a gesture of concern.
"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice soft and filled with empathy.
You hastily wipe away the evidence of your tears and give him a small, trembling smile.
"Yeah, just feeling a bit emotional today," you admit, not wanting to go into too much detail with someone you've just met.
Niall nods his head in understanding, his eyes reflecting kindness.
"I'm live opposite, I’m not breaking into someone’s house, promise, this is me mates house, if you ever want to talk," he offers, his sincerity evident in his words. "I'm a good listener, and sometimes sharing with a stranger can help."
You appreciate his gesture and nod in response, feeling a strange sense of comfort in the presence of this kind-hearted stranger.
As Niall walks away, you find yourself leaning against the tree once more, your heart a little lighter with the knowledge that there's someone nearby who is willing to lend an understanding ear.
You and Harry found yourselves in the shade of the very same tree you now sat under, the same oak tree that had watched over the passage of time.
The leaves rustled in the gentle breeze, and the sunlight filtered through, casting dappled patterns on the grass below.
You were nestled comfortably in the crook of Harry's arm, your head resting in his lap.
He held a book in one hand, the pages filled with words that transported you to far-off places and into the world of imagination.
Harry's voice was a soft, melodic cadence as he read aloud, each word falling from his lips like a soothing lullaby.
His free hand played with a strand of your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. The strands of your hair slipped through his fingers like silk, and he couldn't help but smile as he continued to read.
As you lay there, the world around you faded into the background.
The characters from the book came to life in your mind, and the only reality that mattered was the bond you shared with Harry.
His voice, the rhythm of his breathing, and the touch of his hand were the only things that existed in that moment.
The two of you had shared many quiet afternoons like this, escaping into the world of literature and into each other's presence.
It was a sanctuary, a place where time seemed to stand still, and the troubles of the world could not reach you.
February 1, 2023.
The next day, as the sun broke through the morning clouds and painted the world outside in hues of gold, Harry entered his classroom.
The usually vibrant features that adorned his face had now transformed into a pale, tired countenance.
His exhaustion was palpable, and the faint shadows beneath his eyes bespoke of a restless night.
For Harry, the morning had not begun like that of his fellow classmates. He hadn't woken up to the smell of breakfast, nor had he enjoyed a hearty meal with his family.
Instead, he had reluctantly skipped his morning feed, a vital part of his daily routine. The reason was simple: he had to make an early visit to the hospital to replenish his supply of blood bags, a ritual he had kept hidden from the people around him, only his close friends knew.
As he stepped into the classroom, he hoped to remain unnoticed, to blend into the sea of students and escape their inquisitive glances.
They were unaware of the struggles he faced each day to maintain his facade of normalcy. They didn't know the secret he carried, the very essence of his existence as a creature of the night.
Mr. Addams, the teacher, was a kind and observant man who had developed a certain fondness for Harry.
As Harry entered, Mr. Addams couldn't help but notice the stark contrast between the bright morning sunlight and the dull pallor of Harry's skin.
Concern etched his features, and he couldn't ignore the evident weariness that clung to his student.
"Is everything okay, Harry?" Mr. Addams inquired, his voice laced with genuine worry.
His intuition was often a strength, and he couldn't ignore the visible signs of distress.
Harry's throat constricted, and he struggled to uphold the facade that he had carefully constructed.
"Jus’didn't get much sleep last night," he replied, his voice trembling as he stuck to his story.
He didn't want to reveal the true reason behind his tiredness, the missed morning feed, and the ensuing visit to the hospital to restock his supply of blood bags.
Mr. Addams, understanding and respecting Harry's privacy, nodded sympathetically.
"I hope you find some rest soon. If you need any help or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask," he offered, his words brimming with warmth and support.
Harry took a seat next to his friend, Daniel, whose knowing glance acknowledged the truth hidden beneath the surface.
Daniel was one of the few people who were privy to Harry's secret, and he leaned over, whispering softly, "You okay, mate? Need anything?"
Harry gave his friend a faint, grateful smile but shook his head, not wanting to involve Daniel further in his complex situation.
"I'll be fine, jus’a rough night," he murmured back.
After Mr. Addams had expressed his concern and Harry had responded with a somewhat convincing explanation, the teacher proceeded with the lesson.
He launched into the day's subject matter, his voice clear and engaging, filling the classroom with knowledge and enthusiasm.
Harry did his best to stay focused, his eyes fixed on the board as he diligently transcribed the notes.
With every stroke of the pen, he tried to divert his mind away from the gnawing hunger that simmered within him.
The lesson was essential, and he couldn't afford to let his cravings distract him from his studies, even though he had done the exact same lesson plenty of times before, he still liked to brush up on his knowledge.
As the minutes passed, the thirst grew more insistent, like a relentless drumbeat in the background.
Harry took frequent sips from his water bottle, the cool liquid helping to quell the ever-present desire. The sensation of quenching his thirst was a brief respite from the yearning for something more potent, for blood.
The classroom was filled with the rustle of paper and the scratch of pens on notebooks, the students engrossed in their work.
Harry, however, struggled to ignore the tantalising aroma of his classmates, the rhythmic beating of their hearts, and the temptation that surrounded him.
The battle within him was a quiet one, an internal struggle he had grown accustomed to over the years.
He knew that his need for blood could not be satisfied during the school day, and he was determined to endure until he could seek solace in the hospital.
In the midst of a history lesson, Mr. Addams posed a question to the class, inquiring if anyone knew the date of a particular historical event. There was a collective silence as the students exchanged glances, their minds drawing a blank.
Amid the hush that enveloped the classroom, Harry raised his hand, offering a tentative, “M’think I know, sir."
Mr. Addams, intrigued, nodded and invited Harry to share his answer.
Harry responded confidently, "The event y’referring t’happened in 1066, sir, the Battle of Hastings."
The teacher was impressed and decided to take it a step further.
"You have quite a knack for history, Harry," he remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "How about a quick quiz? Let's see if you can recall the years for a few more events."
With a twinkle of curiosity in his eye, Mr. Addams began to fire off random historical events, challenging Harry's memory and knowledge.
"The signing of the Magna Carta?"
"1215," Harry replied without hesitation.
"The American Declaration of Independence?"
"1776."
The classroom buzzed with admiration for Harry's extensive knowledge, and Mr. Addams continued to test him, event after event.
Harry answered each question with unwavering confidence and accuracy, displaying a remarkable understanding of history that fascinated both his classmates and teacher.
As Harry confidently and accurately answered each historical question, the class sat in collective astonishment.
Their eyes were wide, jaws slightly agape, as they gawked at him in disbelief. The room was filled with a sense of awe and wonder, a profound appreciation for the depth of Harry's knowledge.
Harry's classmates were left both amazed and somewhat envious of his remarkable grasp of history.
He sat there, a slight, knowing smirk gracing his lips, his expression a testament to the satisfaction he derived from outshining their expectations.
You walk into the kitchen, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafting through the air. Zayn leans against the kitchen island, a cup of coffee in his hand, his morning ritual.
The sun filters through the windows, casting a warm glow over the room, making it the perfect morning to go for a run.
You're dressed in exercise leggings and a cropped sports bra, even though your body shape will never change.
It's a habit that makes you feel better about yourself, a semblance of normalcy in an otherwise extraordinary existence.
Zayn looks up as you enter, his gaze lingering on your attire.
"Morning," he greets, a hint of curiosity in his eyes.
You offer a warm smile and respond, "Hey. I thought I'd go for a run this morning."
He takes a sip of his coffee, nodding in understanding.
Zayn knows today is Harry's birthday, and he can sense that you're trying to distract yourself from the inevitable visit to Harry's grave. But he doesn't press the issue.
"Sounds like a good idea," he comments.
As you pour yourself a cup of coffee, Zayn leans against the island and says, "You know, it's okay to take some time for yourself today. If you want to go visit Harry's grave, I'll understand."
You appreciate his understanding and consider his words. "I know, Z. I just... I need this run right now. It helps clear my head."
He nods in agreement, his support unwavering. "Take all the time you need. I’ll be here when you get back."
You nod your head in response to Zayn's understanding and head toward the fruit bowl, where your AirPods are nestled among the colourful array of fruit.
You pick them up and slip them into your ears, the familiar feeling of music bringing you comfort and distraction.
Walking out of the kitchen and through the front door, you take a deep breath of the fresh morning air.
The sun shines brightly, casting long shadows on the path ahead. As you begin to jog, the rhythm of your steps aligns with the beat of the music, creating a comforting synchrony.
Your run takes you past the old streets you once walked along to get home, streets that have seen a world of change since 1864.
The buildings have evolved, and the town has grown in ways you could never have imagined back then.
Though the surroundings have transformed, the nostalgia lingers. Memories of a bygone era rush back, and you can't help but reminisce as you jog past familiar landmarks.
The echoes of time blend with the music in your ears, and it feels like a journey through the pages of history.
The town that you once knew so well is a blend of the past and present, a testament to the inexorable march of time.
Your run becomes a meditative experience, allowing you to process your emotions and escape from the complexities of the day.
As you continue your jog, the music in your AirPods becomes the soundtrack to your thoughts.
The collision with the girl was unexpected, and even though your enhanced hearing usually keeps you aware of your surroundings, the soothing melodies have drawn you into your own world.
Turning a corner, you suddenly collide with the girl, her ginger hair and freckles prominent features that catch your eye.
The impact is swift, and you quickly come to a halt, the surprise evident on your face.
You offer a quick apology, realising that the music in your ears prevented you from hearing her approach.
The girl, on the other hand, is struck by recognition.
Her gaze locks onto your face, and her freckled cheeks flush with a mix of surprise and nervousness. It's clear she recognizes you, but she remains silent, her words stumbling as she tries to regain her composure.
She stammers, "Oh, s-sorry, I didn't mean to... I mean, it was my fault too."
Her voice quivers with a hint of unease.
You appreciate her acknowledgment, and when you see her favoring one ankle, you instinctively reach out to steady her.
You grab her arm gently, preventing her from toppling over from the sudden collision. In this moment, you connect in a way that goes beyond words.
That's when something extraordinary occurs. As you hold onto her, your connection seems to transcend the physical realm.
A vision unexpectedly floods your mind, and you're pulled back in time to the year 1864.
Her ancestor was someone you once knew.
Your head tilts back, and you're briefly lost within the vision.
A chilling night had fallen over the quiet town. Your husband had been dragged from your shared bed, called upon to defend the town against an unexpected attack.
As you lay in the dark, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, you couldn't bear to stay inside.
Quietly, you slipped out of your house, the wooden door creaking softly as you closed it behind you.
The dim moonlight illuminated the cobblestone streets, casting eerie shadows as you began your walk.
You needed the solace of the night air, the stars above providing the only comfort in these tumultuous times.
As you strolled through the quiet town, you noticed a familiar face watching from a window of the house opposite yours.
Jane, a neighbour you knew well, had her gaze fixed on you, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. She leaned out of the window and called out to you, her voice laced with worry.
"What are you doing, dear?" Jane's voice rang out in the still night.
You hesitated for a moment, her question hanging in the air. Then, you replied, "Just getting some fresh air."
Jane raised an eyebrow, scepticism written across her features. "Fresh air? When the town is under attack? You should be seeking shelter, not strolling the streets."
A sigh escaped your lips, your shoulders deflating under the weight of her words. You continued walking, ignoring her pleas for you to return to the safety of your home.
You choose not to reveal the contents of the vision to the girl.
Instead, you offer her a sheepish smile, releasing your grip on her arm, allowing her to regain her balance.
For a brief moment, you both stand there, the connection between you now a complex tapestry of unspoken understanding.
Your thoughts are filled with the vision you've just witnessed, and it lingers in your mind, a fragment of a distant past that somehow intertwines with the present.
With a polite nod and a brief farewell, you resume your jog.
You cast a final glance over your shoulder, curious to find the girl still standing there, her eyes following you.
As the bell for the end of the lesson rang, the classroom filled with the collective sound of chairs scraping against the floor and students shuffling in their seats.
Harry, like the rest of his classmates, gathered up his books and swiftly began to place them into his backpack.
The air in the room was filled with an anticipatory energy as students prepared to leave the classroom.
Harry's movements were efficient, his hands deftly organising his materials. He carefully slid his textbooks into the main compartment of his backpack, the pages neatly aligned. His notebooks followed suit, each fitting perfectly into their designated space.
With a practised ease, Harry zipped up his backpack, ensuring that everything was secure.
He slung the bag over his shoulder, feeling the weight of the books against his back.
As he stood up from his desk, he joined the stream of students heading for the exit, ready to move on to the next part of the day.
As the two friends, Harry and Logan, walked out of the classroom together, they joined the bustling flow of students in the hallway.
All around them, people were coming out of their own classes, talking and laughing as they headed to their lockers to prepare for the next lesson.
The school day was in full swing, and the energy in the hallway was palpable.
Logan, genuinely curious, turned to Harry. "Mate, what's the plan for your birthday tonight?"
Harry's response was a nonchalant shrug. "Not much, Lo. S’just another day, really."
Logan, determined to see his friend enjoy his special day, was relentless. "Come on, Haz, you can't just let it pass by like any other day."
Harry's smile was a mixture of sarcasm and resignation. "Logan, birthdays stopped mattering to me a long time ago."
Unwilling to give up, Logan clasped a hand on Harry's shoulder, his voice earnest. "We want to make it matter, Haz. We want to see you happy."
Harry let out a sigh, his gaze focused on the linoleum floor. "V’not been truly happy since 1864."
With genuine concern, Logan gave Harry's shoulder a reassuring squeeze.
He met his friend's eyes and spoke with conviction. "That's why we're having a small get-together at Chapel Grove later. We really want you to be there."
As they navigated the hallway's hustle and bustle, the invitation hung in the air, a chance for Harry to embrace a moment of joy and connection with his friends.
The vibrant energy of the school seemed to underscore the significance of the celebration, offering a glimmer of hope amid the weight of Harry's long, complex existence.
Harry, although deeply touched by his friend's determination, couldn't help but maintain a sense of reservation. "M’appreciate it, Lo, I really do. But birthdays ‘ave just become another reminder f’how much time ‘as passed."
Logan's expression softened with empathy as they reached the entrance to the boys' bathroom.
He leaned against the tiled wall, still focused on his friend. "We understand, Haz, but that doesn't mean we should stop celebrating your existence. You mean a lot to all of us."
Harry, while genuinely grateful for his friends' loyalty, couldn't help but express the unspoken burdens he bore. "Logan, y’guys mean the world t’me. I just... sometimes s’hard t’feel like I belong."
Logan nodded in understanding, offering a warm smile. "You'll always belong with us, mate. Your past doesn't define who you are now. We're your family."
Harry's eyes met Logan's, a complex blend of emotions within them. "I'll think about it, Lo. Maybe I'll stop by f’a little while."
Logan's face brightened with hope, and he clapped Harry on the shoulder. "That's all we're asking for, mate. It'll be good to see you there."
As they stood by their lockers and went about their business, the weight of the invitation and the potential for a night of camaraderie hung in the air.
Harry and Logan stood side by side at their lockers, an everyday occurrence in their high school lives.
The lockers were nestled close together, their shared space where they stored their books, sports equipment, and the remnants of their shared experiences.
Logan, while absentmindedly organising his books, couldn't help but steal glances at the photo Harry kept inside his locker.
His friend had positioned the photograph with utmost care, the image of you from a time long past.
He stared at the frozen moment in time, where happiness radiated from the smiles on both of your faces.
A sigh escaped Logan's lips as he realised the depth of Harry's love for you. It was a love that had spanned generations, enduring through hardships and transcending the boundaries of life and death.
Logan knew that your absence weighed heavily on Harry's heart, and he understood the profound sense of loss that his friend carried with him.
Harry, unaware of Logan's quiet reflection, continued to look at the photo, lost in his thoughts.
He traced his fingers over the image, his eyes filled with a longing that Logan knew all too well. It was in this moment, by their lockers, that Logan recognized the magnitude of Harry's enduring love for you.
A profound sadness settled over Logan as he realised that, perhaps, his friend might never truly find happiness again.
The love that bound Harry to you was a force of nature, a connection that had persisted through centuries and across lifetimes.
Logan couldn't help but wonder if anyone could truly fill the void left by your absence in Harry's life.
With a heavy heart, Logan closed his locker, the weight of his friend's unending love and the complex emotions it carried lingering in the air.
He was determined to be the support that Harry needed, but he also knew that some wounds were so deep that they might never fully heal.
Two weeks after you and Harry had exchanged your vows and embarked on your journey as a married couple, a photograph was taken that would forever capture the warmth of your love.
The setting was the quaint parlour room of your shared house, a cosy and intimate space where the walls bore witness to your growing bond.
Harry, the ever-doting husband, stood behind a large wooden camera, his steady hands adjusting the focus and angle.
He was a man of few words but abundant actions, and his choice to capture this moment was a testament to his enduring affection for you.
You, the picture of grace and elegance, sat on a plush, tufted sofa, your wedding attire still adorned as a symbol of the promises you'd made to each other.
Your eyes sparkled with the thrill of your new life together, and your radiant smile spoke volumes about the happiness that had taken root in your heart.
The room was bathed in soft, diffused light from the lace-curtained windows, casting a gentle glow upon your features.
The flickering flames in the fireplace added an inviting warmth to the scene, illuminating the tender connection you shared.
As Harry focused the camera and adjusted the settings, the two of you communicated without words, a silent understanding that transcended the need for speech.
The air was filled with love, tenderness, and a profound sense of commitment that emanated from the very core of your beings.
As the camera's shutter clicked and captured the image for posterity, you and Harry tried valiantly to maintain an air of stoicism, a facade of solemnity befitting a formal photograph.
But the sheer absurdity of the situation, sitting so still and holding expressions that were foreign to your otherwise joyful selves, proved too much to bear.
Your eyes met, and the spark of laughter that had been simmering beneath the surface suddenly bubbled up.
A smile tugged at the corners of your lips, and the restrained giggles escaped from both of you.
"Y’doing great, m’sun," Harry said, his voice laced with a hint of mirth.
Your response was a chuckle, the sound bursting forth like a long-held secret. "And you, my love, look positively dashing in your stern photographer pose."
Harry's own laughter joined yours, filling the room with a joyous sound that mirrored the happiness you both felt. The absurdity of the moment, the irony of trying to remain composed when you were anything but, was simply too amusing to resist.
"Alrigh’, one more time," Harry declared, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he prepared to take another shot.
You nodded, still unable to suppress your laughter.
It was a shared, spontaneous moment of pure delight, a testament to the deep connection you shared and the unwavering happiness that had bloomed in your hearts since the day you said "I do."
You walk into The Chapel Grove, your steps reluctant as Zayn had practically pulled you out of the house.
He insisted that you shouldn't be a loner, especially on a day like this. The town had seen so many changes over the years, and you had watched it all from the shadows.
As you step inside the cosy establishment, the familiar scent of aged wood and warm hearth greets you.
The patrons seated around the room, sipping on their drinks and engaging in quiet conversations, all turn their heads to look at the two of you.
Your arrival, so unexpected in a town that rarely saw newcomers, had drawn their attention.
Their stares bore into you, curious and contemplative. They weren't used to strangers in Holmes Chapel, especially those who had an air of mystery about them.
You can feel the weight of their collective gaze as you navigate the room, trying to remain composed despite the discomfort of being the centre of attention.
The ambiance of The Chapel Grove is timeless, much like the town itself. The worn wooden tables and antique décor create an atmosphere steeped in history, a place where stories were told and secrets were shared.
You can't help but feel like an intruder in a world that was so familiar to its regular patrons.
You turn to Zayn and offer a half-hearted smile, your voice low as you speak. "I just need to use the bathroom. I won't be long."
He nods in understanding, sensing your unease. "Take your time. I'll be right here."
As you step into the dimly lit bathroom, you immediately head for a stall, your hands trembling as you lock the door behind you.
The walls seem to close in around you, and the weight of the unfamiliar world outside becomes almost suffocating. In moments like these, you realise just how much you relied on your husband in the past to help you navigate such situations.
You sit on the closed toilet lid, attempting to regulate your emotions. The sound of your own breathing fills the small space, each inhale and exhale a reminder of the isolation you feel. It's not that you don't have Zayn; he's a dear friend and confidant.
But he's not Harry, the one person who could always get into your head and reassure you that everything would be okay.
The pressure of the unfamiliar world outside bears down on you, and your chest tightens with anxiety.
You remember how, in the past, you would lean into Harry's comforting presence, his calm words of reassurance soothing your troubled soul.
Now, you find yourself yearning for that same sense of security and understanding that only he could provide.
Your home was filled with tension. You and Harry had found yourselves entangled in a heated argument, the kind that made your hearts ache and your words sting.
"Harry, I hardly ever see you anymore," you lamented, your voice fraught with loneliness. "You're always cooped up in that office, and it feels like you've forgotten about me."
He shot back, his own voice rising in frustration, "Well, maybe I would ‘ave more time if I didn't ‘ave t’ come home t’constant nagging!"
The argument had been building for days, fueled by your sense of abandonment and his feeling of being trapped by responsibility.
Harry's harsh words were like a dagger through your heart, and he instantly regretted them when he saw your face pale.
His anger was replaced with regret, and he stammered, "I didn't mean that, (Y/N). M’jus’ overwhelmed lately, and I took it out on ye’. M’sorry."
But in that heated moment, you weren't ready to hear apologies. Hurt and vulnerable, you turned away, unable to hold back the tears.
His regret was genuine, but the pain was still raw.
As the argument reached its peak, his temper flared, and he stormed out of the living room, his heavy footsteps thudding up the stairs.
You, lost in the heat of the moment, believed he had gone outside, that he had actually left you, not realising he had gone upstairs.
"Harry!" you cried out, running to the door. But he was nowhere to be found, and the anguish of thinking he had left you alone in the house was almost unbearable.
As the echoes of the argument with Harry still resounded in your mind, you sank down onto the floor, your back against the wall.
Your heart raced, and panic set in, a suffocating sensation that tightened its grip on your chest.
The world around you seemed to blur, and your breaths grew rapid and shallow.
Tears welled up in your eyes, blurring your vision, as the fear of Harry actually leaving overwhelmed you.
The room felt like it was closing in, and the walls seemed to press closer. It was the fear of abandonment, the thought of being left behind, that haunted your thoughts.
Every second felt like an eternity, as you clutched at your chest, trying to slow the pounding of your heart.
Your mind raced with scenarios, none of them comforting. The idea that he might never come back hung heavy in the air.
Your throat constricted, and your sobs grew more pronounced as you battled with the intensity of the panic attack. It was a storm of emotions that had been building over time, now unleashed in a torrent of tears and despair.
But deep down, a part of you still held on to hope, a hope that Harry's anger and frustration would pass, and he would come back to you. You clung to that hope, a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness of your panic.
As you sat on the floor, vulnerable and scared, you whispered to yourself,
"He'll come back, he has to."
It was the lifeline you desperately needed in that moment of despair, the belief that your love was stronger than any argument.
In the throes of your panic attack, your trembling hands reached out, inadvertently knocking a small vase from a nearby table. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the room, intensifying your fear and confusion.
Upstairs, Harry had heard the crash, and his heart sank. He assumed you had escalated your anger to smashing things in frustration. He rushed downstairs, fear and worry gnawing at him.
Instead, the sight that met him was you, huddled on the floor, overwhelmed by your panic.
"God, S’happened?" Harry exclaimed, his initial worry turning into a desperate concern. He approached you cautiously, uncertain about the best way to help.
You, lost in your panic, barely noticed his arrival. Your voice trembled as you repeated, "Don't leave me, Harry. Please, don't leave me."
His heart ached at your words, and he knelt beside you, his voice gentle and reassuring. "M’right ‘ere, m’sun. M’not going anywhere. I promise. Y’safe."
But in the grip of your panic, it was hard to believe those words. You stared at him with wide, tear-filled eyes, as if questioning his presence.
"Look at me, (Y/N)," Harry implored, his voice unwavering. "M’not leaving ye’. We'll get through this together, okay? Just focus on y’breathing."
His hands gently touched your face, urging you to make eye contact with him. The warmth of his touch and the sincerity in his eyes began to break through the layers of your panic.
As you slowly locked eyes with him, his face came into focus, and the realisation that he was indeed there with you started to sink in.
"Harry?" you whispered, your voice still shaky.
He nodded, offering a small, reassuring smile. "S’right. M’right ‘ere."
With his comforting presence, the grip of panic began to loosen. Your breathing gradually steadied, and your sobs turned into quiet sniffles.
Harry continued to speak softly, "Y’doing great, (Y/N) Jus’keep taking deep breaths. M’not going anywhere, I promise."
As the minutes passed, the chaos in your mind began to subside. The shattered vase remained on the floor, forgotten for the moment, as your focus shifted to the security of Harry's embrace and the reassurance that he wasn't leaving you, not now, not ever.
Through whispered words and steady embraces, the panic attack slowly lost its grip, and the room filled with a sense of calm. You clung to Harry, grateful for his unwavering support during your darkest moments.
In the present moment, you snapped out of your daze, realising that you were still inside the bathroom.
You flushed the toilet, an attempt to cover the time you'd spent in silent reflection. The sound of rushing water filled the room momentarily.
Moving to the sink, you stared at your reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror. The exhaustion in your eyes was evident, a testament to the emotional turmoil you had experienced earlier.
It was a stark reminder of the weight of your past, a past that felt both distant and eternally present.
You turned on the tap, allowing the water to flow over your hands. The cool liquid was refreshing, and you splashed some onto your face, hoping it would wash away the lingering traces of anxiety and sadness.
It was a brief respite, a moment of self-care in a life that often felt too long.
As you dried your face, you couldn't ignore the gnawing hunger that had been growing within you. It was a reminder of your unending need for sustenance.
The reality of your existence as a creature of the night was undeniable, and your hunt for sustenance was a constant, ever-present part of your life.
You walked out of the dimly lit bathroom and made your way back to the bar where Zayn was still seated.
With a subtle nod, you leaned in close to him and muttered,
"I'm going outside for a smoke."
It was your secret code, a discreet way to convey that you were heading out to satisfy your unique appetite.
Zayn, who understood the hidden meaning behind your words, simply nodded in acknowledgment, concern etched in his expression.
He knew that this part of your existence was both a necessity and a burden, and he respected your privacy.
As you turned to leave, he called after you,
"What drink do you want?" His voice was gentle, and it carried an underlying understanding of your needs.
You paused, glancing back at him, a hint of gratitude in your eyes.
"Malibu and Coke," you replied, a hint of a smile tugging at your lips.
Zayn signalled to the bartender, ordering the drink you'd requested, before turning his attention back to the bar.
You stepped out of Chapel Grove, the warm afternoon sun casting long shadows on the street. Leaning against a nearby wall, you scanned the area, looking for the perfect taste tester.
The hunger gnawed at you, urging you to satisfy your insatiable appetite.
As you observed the passing crowd, your eyes fell on a perky girl with obviously dyed green hair. She seemed carefree and lost in her own world, the daylight concealing your supernatural nature. It was the perfect opportunity.
With quiet determination, you approached her, your eyes locking onto hers.
Compelling her to follow your commands, you exerted your supernatural influence, making her believe that following you was the most natural thing in the world.
Her gaze glazed over, and she nodded obediently as you led her away from the bustling street, into a secluded corner where no one would witness the act that was about to unfold.
In a soft, persuasive tone, you said, "Come with me. You trust me completely."
The girl replied in a trance, "I trust you completely."
In that quiet corner, you could feel your fangs elongate, your senses sharpening as the anticipation grew.
With a quick, fluid motion, you bit into her neck, and she murmured, "I trust you."
As you fed, your eyes closed in ecstasy, the taste of her blood unlike anything else. It was a mixture of fear and excitement, vulnerability and surrender.
It was a dark pleasure, a forbidden indulgence that coursed through your veins.
The girl in your grasp remained lost in a trance, her voice murmuring softly, "I trust you."
But even as you indulged in this dark act, a sense of guilt gnawed at the edges of your consciousness.
You were a creature of the night, bound by your need for blood, but it came at the cost of another's innocence.
Finally, you pulled away, your lips stained with crimson.
The girl remained in a trance, her memory clouded. She gazed at you, her voice still murmuring, "I trust you."
As you watched her stumble away, you felt the weight of your existence, the eternal struggle between your nature and your humanity.
The hunger had been momentarily sated, but the guilt and the darkness that came with it lingered, a constant reminder of the price you paid for immortality in the afternoon sun.
You headed back inside Chapel Grove and spotted Zayn seated at a table next to a group of high schoolers.
With a nod of acknowledgment, you walked over and took the seat opposite him. The dim lighting of the place masked the remnants of your recent escapade.
Zayn glanced at you, a knowing look in his eyes.
"How was your smoke?" he asked with a hint of amusement.
You let out a small laugh and picked up your drink.
"Oh, it hit the spot," you replied, taking a sip and savouring the familiar taste of your Malibu and Coke.
As you settled into the conversation, Zayn asked, "What's on your mind, my friend? Anything special you'd like to do when we get back to London?"
You leaned back in your chair, considering the options.
"Well, I've been thinking about that new art exhibition at the Tate Modern," you said thoughtfully. "I've heard it's incredible, and I wouldn't mind spending an afternoon exploring the world of art."
Zayn nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fantastic. Art has a way of stirring the soul. Anything else on your list?"
You tapped your fingers on the table, pondering. "How about a night at that jazz club we used to frequent? The live music there always hits the right notes."
Zayn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, and he smiled. "I'm in. A bit of jazz, good company, and some fine wine. It's a perfect plan."
You paused for a moment and then said, "Actually, I was thinking, what if we took a little holiday? Maybe Spain? It's meant to be really nice this time of year."
Zayn's eyes widened in excitement. "Spain? That sounds incredible! I'm in immediately. A holiday is just what we need."
As the conversation about Spain continued, you both delved into the details of the trip. The destinations, the activities, the relaxation.
Planning a getaway rekindled a sense of adventure that had been somewhat dormant.
"I've always wanted to explore the historic streets of Seville," you mentioned. "And then there's the beauty of Barcelona, the beaches in Costa del Sol, and the vibrant culture of Madrid."
Zayn nodded eagerly. "All of that sounds amazing. Let's make sure to experience it all. It's been too long since we had a proper adventure."
Zayn mentioned, "We should also talk about when you'd like to visit the grave."
You glanced at your watch and replied, "I'll head there right after this. It's his birthday, and I want to pay my respects."
Zayn had been trying his best to be a comforting presence for you, offering distractions and support as you dealt with the emotional weight of the day. He brought you out for a quick drink to help you focus on something other than the memories of your late husband's birthday.
Zayn nodded, understanding the significance of the day. "Of course, I'll be here if you need anything. Just take your time, and when you're ready, you can head over to the grave."
He never came with you, he always wanted you to go by yourself, so the two of you could have a moment together.
You offered a small, grateful smile. "Thank you, Z. Your support means the world to me."
As you continued your conversation, you took comfort in the presence of your friend, appreciating how he had been trying to distract you from the weight of your late husband's birthday. The evening offered a brief respite from the emotions that had been haunting you.
As you engaged in conversation with Zayn about your upcoming plans, you couldn't help but notice the group of high schoolers at the adjacent table.
Their curious glances and hushed whispers did not go unnoticed, thanks to your keen vampire hearing. You exchanged a quick, amused look with Zayn, acknowledging the attention.
The teenagers were clearly intrigued by your presence, and their chatter focused on you, not Zayn. Your enhanced senses allowed you to catch snippets of their conversation.
They speculated about your age, your appearance, and what might have brought you to Chapel Grove.
Zayn, who was well aware of the situation, tried to steer the conversation back to your holiday plans. However, you couldn't help but be amused by the curiosity of the young onlookers.
You exchanged a playful grin with Zayn and decided to let them wonder a bit longer.
As the group of high schoolers continued to whisper and speculate about you, their curious glances and hushed remarks grew increasingly irritating. You were trying to enjoy your evening out and discuss your plans with Zayn, and their relentless scrutiny was getting on your nerves.
Feeling the frustration building, you couldn't help but let out a small, exasperated sigh. You turned your attention toward them and asked with a hint of annoyance, "Is there something you're all looking at?"
For a moment, they remained silent, their expressions frozen in surprise. It was only when you glanced closer that you recognized one of the girls – the same ginger-haired one you had accidentally bumped into during your run earlier in the day.
A hush fell over their group as they realised you had noticed their focus. It didn't take long for you to piece together the reason behind their stares.
They recognized you from the picture of you in Harry's house, the same photo that they had seen when visiting with Harry.
You sighed and rolled your eyes, unimpressed by their attention.
You exchanged a knowing look with Zayn, who had been aware of the situation all along. It was clear that these young locals had discovered your connection to Harry and were now watching you with a mix of curiosity and recognition.
With a final, dismissive glance at the group, you decided it was time to leave. Downing the remainder of your drink, you stood up from the table, Zayn following suit.
You didn't want to engage with strangers who were more interested in your past than the enjoyable evening you had planned.
Together, you and Zayn walked out of Chapel Grove, leaving the high schoolers behind in their hushed discussions.
Walking away from the restaurant, you were deep in conversation about your plans for the future, oblivious to the door on the other side of the establishment.
On the other side of the door, Harry and Niall entered the restaurant, their timing almost perfectly synchronised.
Harry, had been hesitant about going out in, but Niall had convinced him to join for a brief visit.
If he had arrived just a second earlier, your paths would have crossed, and you would have seen each other.
Harry made his way to the table where his friends were gathered, the anticipation of their usual camaraderie evident on his face.
He looked forward to spending his evening with his closest companions, especially on his birthday, he may have been reluctant to come but now that he was here he was in the celebrating spirit.
As he approached the table, however, he immediately sensed that something was amiss. The atmosphere was heavy with tension, and his friends' expressions were not as cheerful as he had expected.
Harry stood next to Toby, a sense of unease gnawing at him.
Normally, on his birthday, they would greet him with cheerful exclamations of "Happy Birthday!" and share a toast in his honour.
But this time, there was a palpable awkwardness in the air, as if they were all tiptoeing around a subject they were hesitant to broach.
Harry couldn't help but feel that there was something unsaid, a looming question that hung in the air.
Harry's growing impatience was evident as he looked around at his friends, who all appeared rather sheepish.
He couldn't understand why their usual camaraderie had taken such an awkward turn on his birthday.
His curiosity and concern had reached a tipping point, and he finally blurted out, "S’the matter, guys? S’everyone acting so strange tonight?"
A silence settled over the table, and Harry's friends exchanged hesitant glances.
Growing increasingly impatient and concerned about his friends' strange behavior, Harry couldn't contain himself any longer.
He leaned forward, looked at each of them, and asked once more, "Seriously, S’wrong, guys? Y’acting like something big s’going on. Y’can't keep m’in the dark like this."
The awkward silence at the table continued, and his friends exchanged nervous glances. Harry was determined to get to the bottom of this sudden change in atmosphere, and he wasn't going to let it ruin what was supposed to be a celebratory evening.
The girl in their group who Harry was closest to, Penny, apart from Niall and Logan, finally broke the silence.
She met Harry's gaze with a mixture of sympathy and apprehension. She took a deep breath and said, "Harry, you might want to sit down for this."
Harry's heart began to race as he listened to her words. His friends had always been open and supportive, and this sudden change in their demeanour had him genuinely worried. He quickly found an empty seat, his mind racing with all the possible scenarios for the unexpected revelation that was about to come.
She chose her words carefully, looking into Harry's eyes, and said, "Harry, something... something has come up, and it's not easy for us to say. It's about... well, it's about her."
Penny continued, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and concern, "Harry, we were sitting at the table right next to ours, and we're one hundred percent sure it was her. Everyone here recognized her, and there's no mistaking it."
Harry's confusion deepened, and he shook his head in disbelief. He exhaled heavily and said, "S’impossible, Pen. She... she died over a hundred years ago. S’no way it could ‘ave been ‘er sitting there."
The news was so baffling and contradictory to everything he knew that Harry couldn't wrap his mind around it. He looked at his friends, hoping they would provide some clarification or a reasonable explanation for the impossible scenario they were describing.
Penny saw the disbelief in Harry's eyes and realized that her words were hard to digest. She took a deep breath and elaborated further, "Harry, I know it sounds impossible, but we're all certain. She was sitting there, just a few feet away. It was her face, her eyes... Even the way she moved, it was like... like you were seeing a ghost."
The gravity of the situation began to sink in for Harry, and he leaned in, his brow furrowing as he asked, "Y’absolutely sure it was ‘er? S’no way it could ‘ave been someone who jus’ looks remarkably like ‘er?"
Penny nodded, her voice resolute, "Harry, I wish it was that simple, but there's no mistaking it. It was her. The way she looked, her expressions, everything. It was as if she'd walked straight out of the past and into this bar. "
Harry couldn't deny the unease that crept over him. It defied all logic and reason. The love of his life had died over a century ago, and now, he was confronted with the inexplicable notion that she had reappeared in this world.
Brooke let out a heavy sigh and further perplexed Harry by adding, "I even saw her earlier today on my way to school. She was jogging, and I accidentally bumped into her. She probably didn't even notice me, but it was definitely her."
Harry's confusion deepened even more. The last time he had been in your presence was when he had silently entered your bedroom, a week after his "death," to see you one last time before leaving for good.
The circumstances surrounding their separation had been heartbreaking, and the notion of seeing you once more was something he could never have expected.
He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling a mixture of emotions swirling within him. The situation was surreal, and he couldn't fathom how you could possibly be here, in this town, in this century.
With silent steps, he entered your bedroom, and there you were, asleep, lost in dreams that he could never share with you again. Harry approached your bed, his heart heavy, and sat down on the edge. He gazed upon your peaceful face, the face he had once woken up to every morning.
In a hushed voice, he began to speak to your sleeping form, as if you could hear him in your dreams.
"M’wish I could hold y’one more time, m’sun," he whispered, his voice trembling with emotion. "M’wish I could tell y’how much I love ‘ye and how much it pains m’t’leave. But this is the only way, the only way t’protect ‘ye."
He reached out and tenderly brushed a strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing the contours of your features, memorizing every detail. "Y’the most beautiful thing in m’life, and I'll carry y’with me in m’heart, always. I just hope you can find happiness and peace without me."
He continued to pour out his heart, knowing this would be the last time he could express his love for you. "M’never thought I'd have t’say goodbye like this, m’dearest. But I promise, even though M’not by y’side, I'll always watch over ‘ye, protect y’from the shadows, and love y’with all m’being."
The room was bathed in a soft, warm glow from the moonlight filtering through the curtains.
Harry's voice was barely above a whisper as he confessed, "I wish we could have had more time together, more days f’laughter, and more nights f’love. But fate ‘as different plans, and I must follow s’path."
He traced the outline of your lips with his fingertip, almost expecting a response, a sign that you could hear his words in your dreams. "I'll carry the memory of y’smile with me, and I'll cherish every moment we spent together, every stolen kiss, and every shared secret."
Tears welled up in his eyes, threatening to spill onto your pillow. "I don't know when, or if, we'll ever meet again, but know that I'll be waiting for that day. Until then, m’sun, be happy, be safe, and know that y’were the best part of m’life."
Harry leaned down, his lips brushing against your forehead once more, as he whispered his final goodbye. "Goodbye, m’sun. I'll always love ‘ye, no matter where I am or what time separates us."
With that, he silently left the room, leaving you to your dreams, unaware of his tearful farewell.
Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of agitation. He turned to Brooke, his expression a mix of confusion and frustration, and asked, "Y’were with me at lunch, and y’didn't even mention anything? Y’knew it was her, and y’kept it to yourself?"
Brooke shifted uncomfortably in her seat, realizing the implications of her silence. She stammered, "I... I didn't know what to say. It was just so bizarre. I mean, how could it be her, right?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, trying to wrap his head around the situation. "Brooke, she's supposed t’be long gone, over a century ago. If S’really ‘er, I need to find out how this is possible. I need to know."
He couldn't hide the urgency in his voice.
Ricky spoke up, "I did see her wearing a wedding ring. Toby's right; there's a high chance that it was her. If you want to find her, you'll likely find her at the cemetery."
Harry's heart raced, his emotions spiralling into chaos. The thought of seeing you, after all these years, overwhelmed him. He knew he needed to find you, but the uncertainty of what to say or how you would react left him paralyzed.
Toby's voice was gentle as he offered his advice. "Harry, if it's really her, just tell her that you love her. She must have so many questions as well, and love is a good place to start."
Harry nodded, his mind a whirlwind of emotions and doubts.
As Niall returned with the drinks, Harry's face was a mix of turmoil and disbelief. Without a word, he abruptly pushed his chair back and bolted from the table.
His friends watched in surprise as he dashed out of The Chapel Grove, leaving them all bewildered.
Niall’s eyes widened and his mouth was agape as he stared at his friends body that had just ran out of the door.
Penny let out a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair. "It's a long story,"
You walk through the ornate iron gates of the cemetery, your steps slow and measured, as if each one carries the weight of a lifetime.
In your hand, you cradle a bouquet of geraniums, their vivid hues contrasting with the sombre surroundings.
These were Harry's favourite flowers, the ones you picked for him on your very first date all those years ago.
The geraniums are fresh, plucked from your garden this very morning. For 159 years, you've nurtured these vibrant blooms, tending to them year-round.
They've become a symbol of your love, a living reminder of the bond you shared.
And every time you visit this place, they grace his final resting place, an offering of love from a heart that can never forget.
The graveyard is serene, bathed in a soft, golden glow of the setting sun. The world seems to stand still here, as if time itself hesitates to intrude on the sacredness of this space.
Your presence here is a ritual, a pilgrimage to the past that you continue year after year.
The gravestones stand tall and silent, each one a marker of stories untold. As you navigate the narrow paths, you eventually reach the familiar spot, marked by a weathered headstone.
The engraved letters spell out his name and the years he walked this Earth.
𝙸𝙽 𝙼𝙴𝙼𝙾𝚁𝚈
𝙾𝙵
𝙷𝙰𝚁𝚁𝚈 𝙴𝙳𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂
𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙻𝙸𝙵𝙴
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝟸𝟻. 𝚂𝙴𝙿𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝟷𝟾𝟼𝟺.
𝙰𝙶𝙴𝙳 𝟷𝟾 𝚈𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚂.
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝙾𝙽 𝙾𝙵 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙼𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙰𝙽𝙳
𝙰𝙽𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝚃𝚈𝙻𝙴𝚂,
𝙷𝚄𝚂𝙱𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝙾𝙵 (𝚈/𝙽).
Standing before his grave, your emotions surge like a relentless tide.
The floodgates of grief open, and tears well up in your eyes, betraying the ache in your heart. The weight of memories and longing bears down on you, just as it does every year when you come here.
The tombstone before you remains steadfast, an enduring monument to the love you once shared.
The chiselled letters and numbers on the stone serve as a stark reminder of time's passage, a relentless march that has left you on this side of the grave.
The world around you fades into insignificance, and it's just you and the memory of him.
His laughter, his smile, the touch of his hand, they all come flooding back, as vivid and poignant as if they happened yesterday.
The breeze stirs the flowers in your hand, the geraniums swaying gently as if to offer solace. In this sacred space, you're allowed to mourn, to let your grief wash over you like a cleansing rain, purging the pain of his absence.
You stand before his grave, your voice quivering as you whisper, "Happy birthday, Harry."
Although, he wasn’t just Harry to her.
He was her sunshine, her darling boy, her angel sent from heaven, he was her everything and more.
The words hang in the air, heavy with emotion. The bouquet of geraniums trembles in your hands as you continue, the tears welling up in your eyes.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you confess, your voice choked with sorrow. "Every moment, every heartbeat, it's all filled with thoughts of you."
The weight of your grief becomes palpable, pressing down on you as you speak to the headstone before you.
"Life moves on, but I can't help but feel stuck in this moment, in this longing for you," you admit, the tears streaming down your cheeks. "There's a void in my heart that will never be filled. It's as if you took a piece of me with you, and it can never be replaced."
As you share your feelings, you feel a connection to him, as if he can hear your words from beyond.
It's a bittersweet solace, knowing that even though he's gone, you can still speak to him, even if only in your heart.
With your birthday wishes and your confessions hanging in the air, you take a deep breath, as if sharing your pain has lightened the burden, if only just a little.
Your voice trembles with emotion as you share your words, tears streaming down your face.
"I miss you more with each passing day," you manage to say before your voice breaks, your sobbing making it impossible to continue.
The weight of your grief bears down on you, and you lean forward to place the geraniums gently on his grave.
With your fingers, you press a loving kiss to his name engraved on the stone.
It's a silent declaration of your undying love and an unspoken promise that, even in death, you will remain connected.
The sobs shake your body, and you find solace in the simple act of being here, in this moment of remembrance.
The cemetery is quiet, and your heartache reverberates through the stillness.
Harry's heart raced as he sprinted through the gates of the cemetery.
His friends had told him you'd be here, and he couldn't bear the thought of missing the chance to see you.
He kept his pace steady, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention.
The graves of countless people passed by him as he ran, their stories and lives unknown to him. The cemetery was a place of quiet reflection, a sanctuary for the departed, but today it held a special significance for him.
His mind raced with a whirlwind of emotions. He didn't know what to expect when he saw you, and the uncertainty gnawed at him.
He had fantasised this moment countless times.
As Harry ran past the silent graves, his mind was filled with thoughts of what he might say to you. He pondered on the possibility that you might be there, that this wasn't a dream or a figment of his imagination.
What if you were really there?
His heart raced with a mixture of hope and trepidation.
After all, he hadn't seen you in over a century, and time had changed them both in many ways.
He wondered if you would recognize him, if you'd even remember the promise he had made to you all those years ago.
The weight of his emotions pressed on him, but he couldn't afford to hesitate. He was determined to reach you and, if it truly was you, to let you know that he was here, that he had come back to the place where it all began.
With each step, his resolve grew stronger, and he whispered to himself the words he had rehearsed for this moment, words of love and longing, words he hoped would reach you if you were indeed there.
Harry came to a stop a few metres behind you, his heart aching as he saw your shoulders shake with the weight of your grief.
He watched in silence, as you stood in front of his grave.
Your tears fell freely as you whispered words of love and longing, words that were meant for him but felt distant and unreachable.
His own emotions swirled within him, an overwhelming mix of joy at seeing you and pain at the knowledge that he couldn't comfort you in the way he wanted to.
“(Y/N)?”
Harry couldn't contain his overwhelming desire to reach out to you any longer. He called out your name, his voice trembling with a mix of love and sorrow.
But when you heard your name on the wind, you froze, your heart pounding in your chest.
A part of you wanted to believe it was real, that Harry was truly here, but another part feared that it might be a cruel trick of your imagination, a manifestation of your grief.
Your feet felt heavy as you dared not turn around, as if doing so might shatter the fragile hope that had ignited within you.
At the sound of his voice calling your name, you snapped your head around, not daring to believe your ears.
And there he was, standing just a few metres away, tears glistening in his eyes as he looked at you with an intensity that reached deep into your soul.
The shock, the joy, the disbelief, all of it hit you like a tidal wave, and your legs could no longer support your quivering body.
You sank to your knees on the dirt-covered ground of the cemetery, your heart pounding as tears flowed freely from your eyes.
It was a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, as you wept tears of joy and sorrow, the pain of separation, and the sheer happiness of seeing him again.
The second he saw you crumble to your knees, his heart ached in sympathy, and without a second thought, he surged toward you with the swiftness of a vampire.
He wrapped his arms around you as you both sat on the gritty cemetery ground. His arms held you with the same tenderness and longing he'd felt for hundreds of years, as if he was never willing to let you go again.
Both of you were now shedding tears, the emotions too overwhelming to contain.
As you wept, you inhaled the familiar scent of vanilla that had always clung to him, and he, in turn, breathed in your delicate lavender scent, a fragrance etched into his memory.
The world around you faded into obscurity, and the reality of your reunion enveloped you like a protective cocoon. It was a moment of reconnection, an embrace that transcended time itself.
You didn't need words to express the depth of your feelings; the tears streaming from your eyes were eloquent enough.
Harry's hand gently cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing away your tears as if to erase the years of sorrow that had separated you.
You leaned into his touch, absorbing the warmth and reassurance it offered.
You and Harry sat in the very same spot that was now a cemetery. Back then, it had been a lush flower field, vibrant colours stretching as far as the eye could see.
You'd decided to celebrate your first wedding anniversary amid this picturesque beauty. It was the perfect setting for a picnic, and the Geraniums you'd gathered were scattered around you.
Sitting side by side, you were dressed in a white lace dress, your hair crowned with a simple wreath of wildflowers.
Harry, in his best suit, looked at you with the same adoration he held in his eyes now, though both of you were just a year into your marriage.
Amid the colourful blooms, you shared a simple meal, strawberries and a loaf of bread. You fed each other, laughing at the sweetness of the berries, your hands touching with affection.
The bright sun bathed you in a warm, golden glow. You leaned against Harry's shoulder as he read poetry to you. The verses sounded like music as they filled the air, mingling with the scent of the wildflowers that surrounded you.
Harry's hand played with a strand of your hair as he recited lines of love. The gentle touch and the softness of your laughter mingled with the harmonious symphony of your hearts.
You marvelled at your incredible fortune in having found such a deep connection, an everlasting love.
Harry took your hand in his and looked into your eyes with a loving smile.
"Y’know," he began, his voice tender, "M’can't wait f’the day we start a family f’our own."
Your heart skipped a beat at the thought of children, and your eyes sparkled with excitement. "Oh, H, I can't wait either. I imagine our children playing in fields like this, laughing, and picking flowers."
Harry's thumb gently brushed against your hand as he nodded. "And I can see us growing old together, watching them grow and flourish."
You shared a dreamy smile, leaning in closer. "I can't imagine a more beautiful future, Harry. I just want us to always be together, no matter what life throws our way."
He pulled you into a warm, affectionate embrace. "Together, forever. We'll build our family, create our memories, and keep celebrating our love."
Harry's fingers gently toyed with a strand of your hair.
Your tears still fell, the overwhelming emotions of the past colliding with the present.
With a trembling voice, Harry asked, "Are y’real?"
You nodded your head against his, your tears landing on his shoulder as silent sobs racked your body.
Harry dared not let his thoughts drift too far. Instead, he reached for your left hand, his fingers gently brushing over your wedding ring, a small smile tugging at his lips.
The familiar band, a symbol of your love, was still there, as if time had stood still.
You, in turn, took his left hand, your thumb tracing the contours of his wedding ring.
The smooth metal beneath your touch was a testament to the love you shared, a love that had transcended the boundaries of time.
Harry's gaze never wavered from your tear-filled eyes. The years apart had only deepened the connection between you. He gently whispered,
"Can I kiss ‘ye?"
You let out a tender sniffle, the raw emotions still swirling within you.
With a soft smile, you wrapped your arms around his neck, drawing him closer.
He leaned in, and as your lips met, it was as if the world had melted away.
The kiss was a testament to the love that time had only fortified.
Your heart swelled as the moment lingered, filled with warmth and affection. In that simple yet profound gesture, you both found solace and a renewed sense of hope.
Time had played its tricks, but love had prevailed.
The two of you shared a soft, tender kiss, surrounded by the serenity of the cemetery and the golden leaves that fluttered around you.
“M’love you, m’sun.”
That nickname. The only pet name he had ever called you, it was a nickname only you would allow him to call you.
You were his sun, and he was your light.
You played with the peach fuzz at the back of his neck, locking eyes with his green eyes that you had wished to see for 178 years.
And now that has finally come true, the puzzle pieces of your heart had finally been fixed and you felt like you could finally breath again.
“I love you, my light, always and forever.”
Your love really was A Love Beyond Time.
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Kiss Me Deadly
SUMMARY: The annual Halloween party at the local pub has Y/N excited when she decides to invite her boss at the University, Mr. Styles. But she soon begins to second guess her decision when Harry starts acting odd. Is Harry Styles really who she thinks he is? Will this Halloween be a fantasy come true…or the kiss of death?
WARNINGS: mentions of blood (I mean, it's a vampire fic lol), smut (oral - female receiving).
WORD COUNT: 6.4k
A/N: Happy Halloween! Sorry for the delay of this story. I had hoped to get it out last week, but I had some weird life-altering things happen that have occupied my mind. Hope you enjoy. FEEDBACK IS LOVE.
Harry removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, shutting the large book on his desk. Rising from his chair, he called out to his assistant.
“Time to lock up, Y/N. I wanna get out of here before eight o’clock.”
“No problem, Mr. Styles,” she said, closing your own book in front of her.
Pursing his lips, Harry shook his head. Y/N knew what the look was for. For weeks now he’d been insisting she call him by his first name. But being his assistant, it felt odd to her, unnatural.
Not to mention the horrible crush she had on him. Truth be told, Y/N had a massive crush on him long before she ever took the position as his assistant. But up until then, he’d only been Mr. Styles to her, the attractive English TA with a British accent.
When Mr. Styles and Dr. Osborne had initially told Y/N about the position and that she’d be perfect for it, she’d been completely surprised. Teacher’s Assistants didn’t usually have their own assistants. But the university had a large English department, and Dr. Osborne insisted that more help was needed. Therefore, Y/N had been spending Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings this semester assisting Mr. Styles, and in turn, assisting Dr. Osborne.
“How many times is that now?” asked Harry, sliding his glasses back onto his face.
“Times?”
“Times I’ve told you to just call me Harry,” he commented with a frown. “Mr. Styles makes me feel so old.”
Y/N chuckled, “You’re not old.”
“‘Course not. I’ve barely got a few years on you.”
Trying not to blush, Y/N took the stack of books in her arms and turned toward the shelves to put them away.
“So why are you closing up early tonight? Hot date?” she joked.
Y/N heard Harry snort before she turned around and saw the strange look on his face. Embarrassment? Had she pried where she shouldn’t have?
“Not exactly.”
“Oh.”
“I have plans…but I wouldn’t exactly call it a date,” he added.
“Ah. I see.” Although she didn’t.
Y/N didn’t know much about Harry Styles outside of his job at the university. She always wondered who or what he went home to every night. Didn’t know if he had any social life, anything about his likes or dislikes that weren’t English related. He seemed to keep to himself, and Y/N respected that. But it didn’t mean she didn’t fantasize sometimes…
“Y/N,” she heard him say, breaking her from her reverie.
“Oh, um, yes?”
Harry chuckled. “Wow, you were zoned out. I asked if you were ready to go. I’ll walk you out.”
“Oh. Yeah!” Y/N stammered. “Hang on, just have two more books to put away.”
Shelving the last book in her hands, Y/N grabbed the two on her table and quickly put them in their places. Walking past Harry to the coat rack, she grabbed her jacket, getting a whiff of his delicious cologne. Y/N wasn’t sure what it was, and was always afraid to ask him. But every single day he smelled divine. Nothing like the boys in college.
“Ready,” she announced, slipping her arms into her sleeves and grabbing her shoulder bag.
Y/N followed Harry down the steps to the entrance of the English building. Spotting her friend Lauren across the pavement coming out of the library, she waved and called her name.
“Have a good night, Mr. Styles,” Y/N paused, “I mean, Harry.”
She caught the twitch of his lips underneath the dim campus light before he said, “You too, Y/N.”
“That guy you work with is so hot,” remarked Lauren after she and Y/N had both ordered drinks at their favorite local pub.
“Who?” Y/N asked, accepting her beer from the bartender, “Harry?”
“You call him Harry?”
“He asked me to,” she said. “But I still call him Mr. Styles.”
“Jesus, that’s even hotter!”
Y/N laughed, nearly knocking over her glass. “Well, you’re not wrong. He is hot. But he’s very reserved.”
“Ooh the nerdy, quiet type! I like! Maybe you need to pull him out of his shell.”
“I dunno,” Y/N smirked with a shrug.
“C’mon. I bet you’re just the girl to do it,” Lauren insisted.
“And how do I do that, pray tell?”
“Ask him out!”
“I can’t just ask out my boss! There has to be rules against that sort of thing, right?”
“Hmmm,” Lauren nodded, taking a sip from her own beer. “Maybe casually suggest something. Like coffee, or a drink after work. In a social gathering type place, like here. Oh my God!”
“What?”
“The Halloween party! He probably knows about it - he might even already have plans on coming!” squealed Lauren.
“I doubt it,” Y/N shook her head.
“You never know. It’s mostly a school event anyway. You don’t even have to ask him out on a date, just tell him you’ll be there and he should come.”
“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Y/N muttered, chewing her lip.
“I know! I have brilliant ideas,” Lauren declared.
Despite the unusually warm night, Harry could see his breath in front of him, instantly dissipating into the air. He pulled the collar up on his black coat as he continued down the pavement. Stopping at the corner of the pub, he could hear the music and chatter from inside. But there was only one voice he wanted to hear. Only one person whose blood he could already hear pulsing through his eardrums.
The smell was intoxicating - her smell. His mouth began to water as he peeked through the blinds of the old family pub. He found her quickly, sat at the bar with that friend of hers, the one who’d ruined his plan.
He had hoped to follow Y/N home after leaving the English building. Watch her climb the steps to her flat and let herself in. He’d done it a few times before, but he wouldn’t call it stalking. He just enjoyed her aroma, the rushing of her blood through her veins. Then when he was sure she was home safely, he’d turn around and walk home.
This particular night, however, he had thought perhaps he’d get the courage to walk up to her. Maybe act as if it was a coincidence that he was in her part of town. He’d even conjured up a lie, saying his plans for the evening had gotten canceled, if she seemed happy to see him. Then he’d ask her to join him for a drink. A glass of wine perhaps. But not at this noisy pub, no. Somewhere secluded, more…romantic.
Blasted Lauren, or whatever her name was. He reckoned he’d have to wait for another night. But…time was running out…
Lauren and Y/N called it a night after only two beers. Y/N was tired and Lauren had an early shift at the shop where she worked. After giving her friend a farewell hug, Y/N crossed the street and headed for home. She noticed a bit of a fog, thinking it suitable for this time of year. Halloween was only a few days away. She hadn’t originally planned on going to the party at the pub, seeing as Lauren had a date and she didn’t want to be the third wheel. But now the prospect of asking Harry had made her change her mind.
Making a list of possible last-minute costumes in her head, she suddenly heard something behind her. Turning her head, however, she saw nothing but empty pavement. Continuing on her way, she’d almost reached her building when she heard something again. This time, she turned swifty, seeing only a cloud of pillowy smoke. Thinking it odd for the fog to circulate in that manner, she felt a chill run down her spine. Her eyes shifted from side to side as her body stood frozen.
“Hello?” she called out meekly.
When she got no response, she slowly turned back around, only to run into a tall frame of a man. She nearly screamed when two hands grabbed her shoulders, but her words stalled when she looked up into a pair of familiar green eyes.
“Oh! Mr. Sty- Harry,” she breathed. “What…what are you doing here?”
“I’m terribly sorry, Y/N,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Still trembling, her heart beating loudly, Y/N blinked and nodded. “It’s…it’s okay. I thought someone was following me.”
“Oh, well now I do feel terrible.”
“No,” she swallowed, placing a hand over her chest. “Don’t, really. I was probably just paranoid. What with the fog and all.”
“Ah, yes. It is quite a foggy night, isn’t it?” Harry gazed around.
That was when Y/N noticed he wasn’t wearing his glasses. She chuckled nervously as she felt Harry’s hands leave her arms.
“So what are you doing here?” she asked, bracing herself to hear Harry reveal details of his evening.
“Well, I…” he echoed the nervous chuckle, scratching his forehead. “It’s rather embarrassing actually. My plans got canceled.”
“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” Y/N remarked.
“I’m not,” Harry grinned.
Y/N felt the blood rush through her veins at the way he smiled at her. She’d seen him smile many times, but this was different. It was as though a sudden spark had ignited behind his eyes.
“I know there’s a popular pub nearby,” he added. “Fancy a drink?”
Y/N’s eyes widened. Was he seriously asking her? Now?
“Well, I…” she muttered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I um…actually just came from there. Had some drinks with a friend.”
Harry caught himself before saying, “Oh, right.” Don’t be daft, Harry. She can’t know. Not yet. Instead, he cleared his throat. “I see.”
God, you’re a moron, Y/N scolded herself. He’s asking you out and you’re saying no?
“But you know…” Y/N quickly thought on her feet, “I may have a bottle of wine at my place. It’s just up there.”
“Really?” Harry cocked a brow as he turned his head in the direction she pointed.
“Sure. That is, if you’d like to come up.”
Would I? “Um, yeah, that sounds…great,” Harry nodded.
Y/N tried to conceal her delight, giving only a casual grin as she turned toward her building. She could feel Harry’s presence behind her, his shadow taller than hers underneath the streetlamp. It made her feel safe, but at the same time a tiny bit apprehensive. She had never invited Harry - nor anyone from the university for that matter - up to her apartment. She didn’t even think he knew where she lived. And yet…here he was. Just when she’d been thinking of him.
When she reached her front door, she scrambled for her keys, dropping them on the ground.
“Shit,” she cursed, but before she could bend down to retrieve them, another hand held them out in front of her.
“Oh. Thanks,” she whispered, her eyes meeting Harry’s who was already standing beside her, his body so close that she almost gasped.
“You’re welcome.”
Y/N didn’t miss the way his tone was so incredibly low, she felt it vibrate in her chest. She also didn’t miss the way his gaze didn’t leave her face, even when she inserted the key in the door.
“I really need to use the restroom,” she announced as soon as they were inside. “I’m so sorry. That beer I had earlier went right through me.”
“No worries,” Harry chuckled.
“Have a seat,” Y/N gestured with a smile. “I’ll be right back.”
As soon as she had shut the bathroom door, Harry slipped out of his coat, placing it on the armrest of a nearby chair. He then walked casually around the room, inspecting knick knacks and books on the shelves. Spotting a photo in a frame, he picked it up, Y/N’s smile gazing back at him as he felt a sudden rush. As though he’d been shocked with electricity, he quickly set it back on the shelf.
“Sorry about that!” he heard Y/N sing behind him.
He turned with a smile. Somehow in the few seconds she was gone, she had managed to make herself look even more…inviting. She wore an oversized jumper with the University logo on it and a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants. She couldn’t have looked cuter if she had been dolled up for a night out. But as she stepped closer to him, Harry got a massive whiff of her aroma and nearly stumbled backwards.
“So…wine!” she pointed at Harry with a giggle before turning for the kitchen.
“You know,” Harry swallowed, “we could take a raincheck if you like. I know you’re probably tired and…” His words stalled when he saw the disappointed look on her face.
“I just don’t want to put you out,” he finished.
“Oh, you’re not!” Y/N insisted. Then she reached for glasses in the cupboard, softly adding, “I’m actually glad you’re here.”
“You are?”
“Mhm,” she nodded, sucking in her lips. “I wanted to ask you something.”
“Really?” Harry raised a brow.
Y/N felt the color rise on her face as she poured the wine. “I assume you’ve heard of the Halloween party?”
“I have. It’s at that pub, right?”
“Right. Are you going?” Y/N hesitantly handed Harry a glass.
“Thanks,” he said, taking a sip before making eye contact. “Um, hadn’t really thought about it, honestly.”
“Oh.”
“Why? Are you going?”
Y/N sighed as she leaned against the counter. “I wasn’t planning on it, but…my friend Lauren’s going, and her boyfriend Josh. A couple other people I know said they probably will…so…”
“You don’t have a date?”
Y/N stood up straight, her eyes wide. “Oh, it wouldn’t have to be like a date or anything,” she explained hastily. “Just…you know…thought you might like to go.”
“Ah,” a smirk grew on Harry’s handsome face. Damn it.
“I mean, I’ve never really seen you outside of school other than tonight, and…you totally don’t have to-”
“I’d love to,” he interrupted.
A loud exasperated breath blew from between Y/N’s lips. “Really?”
“Yeah,” Harry continued grinning as he walked around the kitchen counter to stand next to Y/N. “I like Halloween. And I like you.”
Y/N’s eyes widened as Harry came closer, his last words hanging in the air. She was almost unsure if she’d heard him correctly. But when he lifted his wine glass to his lips, took a sip and lowered it revealing another smirk, she knew she had.
“You-you do?”
“Of course. I thought I’d made that pretty clear, no?”
“No,” Y/N shook her head, “actually.”
“Shit. I must be terrible at this then.”
Y/N giggled, covering her mouth. “No. I’m horrible at reading signals, I think.”
Harry’s smirk grew into a wide smile. “Well, I reckon that’s out there now. Cheers.”
“Cheers,” Y/N echoed, lifting her glass. When she lowered it, she looked at Harry. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without your glasses.”
“Yeah? Well, I…” he patted his chest, “have them in my pocket. I only really need them for reading.”
“Oh.”
“Of which we do a lot,” he added, wiggling his brows.
“Yeah,” Y/N chuckled through a sigh. “Well, you look nice. But you look nice with them, too.”
“Thank you.”
Y/N gestured toward the couch, and Harry followed, taking a seat next to her. As soon as he sat down, however, he got another intoxicating whiff of her aroma. He could tell she was nervous, her heart pumping fast. Closing his eyes, Harry took a moment to get his bearings.
No, not yet, he thought to himself. It’s not time yet.
“This is pretty good wine,” he heard Y/N say. Opening his eyes, he saw her gazing into her glass. “I’m not an expert, but I saw it at the liquor store and the guy there said it was good.”
“It’s delicious,” Harry agreed. “You made a good choice.”
“I have to watch myself though,” Y/N giggled, sitting back on the sofa. “I could easily get drunk on this.”
“Yeah?” Harry smirked.
“Mmm,” Y/N nodded as she took another sip. “I can already see myself going there, and I haven’t even finished one glass.”
Harry chuckled as he took his own sip, a rather larger one than hers. Then setting his empty glass on the coffee table, he scooted closer to Y/N. He could feel the heat radiating off of her, hear her pulse beating in his ears.
He watched her face as he reached for her wine glass and set it down next to his. Her beautiful, pouty lips matched the crimson shade of the wine, and his urge to taste them amplified. Lifting his hand, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip until she delicately opened her mouth, inviting his thumb to graze her tongue.
The contact nearly had him on his knees, his desire more than he could bear. Running his tongue along his teeth, he could feel his fangs emerging. He had to taste her. Now.
Now! Or get out!
The voice inside was getting louder. So much that he almost didn’t have the nerve to stop it. So he did the only thing he could do. The only thing that could possibly be done in that moment if he didn’t want to expose the truth.
No, not yet!
Snapping his hand back, Harry quickly rose from the sofa.
“I…I should go,” he said, his throat dry and harsh.
“Oh!” Y/N gasped as she looked up at him, ashamed and bewildered. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, don’t be,” Harry shook his head and grabbed his coat. “You did nothing. You’re…you’re enchanting. I just…I have to go. We’ll do this another time, yeah?”
“Okay.”
Y/N followed Harry to the door where he paused for only a moment to look back. She noticed his eyes were glassy, almost clear, bright. She took a step back, astonished.
“I’ll um…see you Monday,” Harry said, lowering his gaze. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
Before she could reply, he was gone, like a cloud of smoke in the night. With a sigh, Y/N shut the door.
What had she done wrong?
Monday afternoon was going by slowly. Y/N looked at the clock. It was barely after five. Harry hadn’t uttered a word about what had happened Friday night. In fact, he was being his old self, very cordial and professional. It was driving Y/N crazy. She snuck a look in his direction as he concentrated on his laptop.
Fuck, Y/N sighed to herself. He’s so sexy with those glasses. And the sweater vest? Kill me now!
Harry suddenly looked up from his computer, his eyes locking with hers as if he had heard her thoughts. His lips began to do that little twitch again as Y/N dropped her pen, an obtrusive clattering sound when it hit the floor.
“What?” Harry finally asked with a smirk.
“Um, nothing,” Y/N scrambled, reaching down for her pen.
God, just ask him! Y/N screamed inwardly. What are you waiting for?
Sitting up at her desk, she noticed Harry had resumed his work, typing on his keyboard. With a sigh, Y/N clicked her pen as she tried to concentrate on something else. Something other than the taste of his stupid thumb on her bottom lip and the way his eyes had gone bright as he’d looked into her soul.
Suddenly, Harry chuckled. The sound was low at first, and Y/N wondered if he was reading something humorous on his laptop. But then the sound grew, and he turned his head to look at her.
“What is it, Y/N?” he asked again.
“What do you mean?” she stared, startled.
“You’re clicking that pen like a mad woman. Something’s up.”
Sitting up straight, Y/N slapped the pen down on the desk. “Sorry. I was just…wondering if you’re okay.”
“Me? I’m not the one acting crazy,” Harry joked.
“I mean…after Friday…”
“Oh…” Harry sighed, sitting back in his chair. Then removing his glasses, he rubbed his eyes. “Yeah, about that, I-”
“It’s okay,” Y/N interrupted, clearing her throat. Though she’d asked the question, she wasn’t sure if she was prepared for an answer. At least not the answer she figured she was about to get. “That was probably a mistake. Mr. Styles.”
“Y/N, no,” he shook his head. Then rising from his chair, he walked toward her, stopping at her desk. “Don’t think that. I just…”
His words trailed off as he surprised Y/N by perching himself on the corner of her desk.
“I like you, Y/N,” he confirmed. “I wasn’t lying about that, and it wasn’t the wine. I just feel the need to…take things slow with you.”
Y/N smiled softly. “I understand.”
“I shouldn’t have run off like that though; that was unfair to you. And I apologize.”
“Apology accepted.”
“Good,” Harry beamed. “So we’re still on for tomorrow?”
“Mhm,” Y/N nodded, biting her lip. “I hope so.”
“Brilliant. I’ll meet you there, yeah?”
Before Y/N could nod again, Harry leaned forward and pinched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. Then he placed a soft kiss on her lips.
“That’s to make up for Friday,” he remarked, his mouth only a whisper away from hers.
“Oh.” Y/N could barely breathe.
“Your lips are delicious. Like that wine.”
Pressing another kiss to her mouth, Harry let out a low, deep groan. Y/N’s chest shook as she was finally able to inhale. When he backed away, she opened her eyes to see his were still closed. She watched as he swallowed hard, his jaw set.
“Harry…” she managed to squeak.
He opened his eyes slowly, and that’s when she noticed. Instead of the glowing crystal shade they had been Friday, they were a deep, dark shade of midnight. Startled once again, she hastily scooted back, her chair scraping against the floor.
“Y/N,” he croaked, slowly blinking. “Please don’t be frightened of me.”
“Your-your eyes!” she gasped. “They k-keep changing.”
“Oh,” Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. They do that sometimes. When I get…excited.”
“Excited?”
“Nothing to worry about, darling,” he reassured her, rising from the desk. “I’m sort of a…freak of nature.”
Y/N could detect the humorous tone in his words. But still, she remained in her seat, a bit frazzled.
“C’mere,” he said, holding out his hand.
Y/N took it hesitantly, allowing Harry to pull her to her feet. Lifting a hand, he lightly brushed her hair from her shoulder. Then she felt him touch her neck, his large hand gliding across it.
“So lovely,” he cooed, his voice just above a whisper. “Delicate, like a China doll.”
When he pulled her closer, she could feel his breath on her cheek. Then he nibbled at her jaw, sending a wave of desire down to her core.
Holy fuck, what is happening?
She gasped when his tongue met her skin, his other hand gripping her waist. She dug her nails into the front of his sweater, not sure how or where to hold on. As he began to suck on her delicate flesh just beneath her ear, she cried out in pleasure.
“Harry…”
Almost instantaneously, Harry pushed her back against the bookshelves. The thud caused a couple of books to fall off and onto the floor, but Harry continued with his seduction. Y/N lifted her leg, wrapping it around Harry’s in order to feel the friction she now so needed. Running her hands through his hair, she heard him growl in her ear.
“Y/N…I need you.”
“Me too,” she gasped.
When she pulled him even closer, tugging on the waistband of his trousers, however, Harry froze. Then he let out a guttural cry, like a wounded animal.
“Aaauuuuggggghhhhhh!” he screamed. “No!”
Pushing himself away from the bookshelf, he stood before Y/N as she remained still, her eyes wide. Harry appeared to be shaking, as though he was willing himself not to go further.
“Harry?” Y/N whispered.
His eyes shut tight, Harry shook his head. Then gritting his teeth, he motioned toward the door. “Go.”
“What?” Y/N asked incredulously.
“Goooo!” Harry shouted.
“Harry, what’s wrong?”
Folded over at his waist, Harry looked like he was trying to catch his breath. Her fear magnified, thinking something was terribly wrong. Y/N stepped forward, reaching for him.
“No!” he cried.
“Harry, you’re scaring me…”
“Just go. Please. You’re dismissed.”
Quickly, Y/N grabbed her jacket and bag and ran for the door. Turning back, she saw Harry, his back to her as he gripped the edge of the bookshelf. She didn’t dare run back to him, though deep inside she wanted to. She was afraid, not for her own safety…but for his.
Y/N stepped out of the English building into the cool evening air. The sun was just beginning to descend. Before making her way to the parking lot, she looked up at the building, to the window she knew was occupied by Dr. Osborne’s department. She saw no sign of Harry. In fact, the lights had been turned off.
Crossing the street, she felt a cold chill down to her bones. What had just happened? Was Harry ill? Or was he really a ‘freak of nature’ like he’d said? Perhaps he was not the sweet, nerdy guy she’d pinned him to be. Maybe he had some serious demons. Though she felt concerned for him, she wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
Harry watched her through the pub window again. She was dressed as an angel, of all things. This was too easy, too perfect.
But he might as well have had his eyes closed. He could hear her blood pumping through the glass. Her pulse was so loud, he could barely contain his excitement.
This was it. This would be the night.
“So you’re sure he’s not coming?” asked Lauren as they sat at the bar.
Y/N wasn’t going to show up herself, but she’d already put together an angel costume that she didn’t want to see go to waste.
“I mean, would you?” Y/N raised a brow.
She’d told her friend about the two episodes with Harry, and how both times he’d backed off. She didn’t go into details, though. Nothing about the eye color changing, or how he’d told her to leave. Some things were better left unsaid.
Lauren shrugged. “You never know. He might still show up.”
Josh returned from playing darts with his friends, declaring a new round of drinks was required.
“I think I might sit this one out,” remarked Y/N.
“No, girl, c’mon!” whined Lauren. “We’re here to have fun tonight. No matter what.”
“Okay, fine,” Y/N rolled her eyes.
“Two kamikazes over here!” her friend called out.
When Lauren swiveled around on her stool, Y/N caught the look of awe on her face. Then with a grin, she poked Y/N in the arm. Turning around, she spotted Harry entering the pub, dressed in black from head to toe.
“Yes, Daddy!” Lauren remarked under her breath.
“Harry!” exclaimed Y/N. “You came!”
“I told you I would,” he declared, stepping forward. “And I intend to keep my promises.”
“Look at you, man,” remarked Josh. “Great vampire costume.”
Harry looked down at his coat. He knew his fangs weren’t showing. Not yet. He checked his nails to be sure. Nope, clean and short. Raising his head, he heard Josh cackle.
“I mean, it’s subtle. But the eyeliner and clear eyes are effective.”
Ah. So it was the eyes. He couldn’t help that much. They had been glowing since he’d smelled Y/N’s blood. He’d let the lad think he was wearing makeup. It was Halloween after all.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” said Y/N, her sweet voice ringing out like the angel that she was.
Harry’s lips curled up in a smile. “Me too. Brilliant costume.”
The sound of Lauren clearing her throat cut through the moment before she handed Y/N her cocktail.
“What are you having, Mr. Styles?” she teased, giving Y/N a wink.
“Harry, please,” he insisted. “A glass of merlot would be divine.”
“Divine? Oooh, listen to this scholar!”
Y/N made a face, then turned back to Harry.
“I wasn’t sure you’d show up. After yesterday.”
“Yeah, I need to talk to you about that,” he said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. “But later, okay? In private?”
“Okay.”
After Harry received his merlot, everyone made a toast. As soon as “Thriller” began to play, Lauren cheered, pulling Josh off his stool to dance with her.
“They had a head start,” Y/N commented with a giggle.
“No, I’m late, and I apologize. But I can catch up,” Harry winked.
The evening progressed, the foursome sharing laughs and cocktails. Some other people from the university recognized Harry and came over to say hello. As the clock ticked on, however, Harry knew his time was getting limited.
“I need to talk to you now,” he told Y/N. “Walk with me?”
“Oh. Okay,” she slipped down from her stool and announced her departure to her friends.
“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Lauren teased before waving goodbye.
“Are you okay to walk?” Harry asked once they were outside.
“I think so,” she smirked. “You may need to carry me.”
“I could probably manage that,” Harry chuckled.
The cool night air seemed to help, however, and by the time they rounded the corner of the pub, the couple was holding hands.
“I had a great time,” declared Y/N. “I’m so glad you came.”
“Me too.”
“So what did you want to tell me?”
“First, I wanna show you something.”
Harry squeezed her hand, guiding her to the left behind the pub. Y/N chuckled to herself as she heard the beat of “Time Warp”, the volume getting lower before she and Harry came to the local park.
Harry gestured toward a bench, taking a seat next to her. Y/N wrapped her arms around herself.
“Are you cold?” asked Harry.
“A little. I didn’t bother with a coat because…you know, wings.”
“You’ll be much warmer soon,” he commented.
Y/N turned to give Harry a look but noticed his eyes were focused on the sky.
“What is it?” Y/N inquired.
“Just looking at the moon,” Harry replied. “It’s mystifying, isn’t it?”
“Yeah…I guess.”
Harry could feel his eyes changing already, his teeth sharpening in his mouth. Running his tongue across them, he swallowed hard.
“Do you ever wonder if you’re destined to be something else?” he suddenly asked.
“Um…yeah,” Y/N blinked. “All the time.”
“What would you do if you were immortal?”
Harry turned his head then, and Y/N noticed his eyes were dark, like they had been in the English office. She instantly scooted back on the bench, nearly falling off.
“Please don’t be frightened, my angel. I mean no harm to you.”
“Harry, what’s….what’s going on?” she croaked, her own eyes unable to tear away from his.
Harry reached his hand out, his nails now long with pointed ends. Y/N gasped, her mouth wide open.
“Let me show you, Y/N,” he coaxed, grabbing her hand. “There’s nothing to be afraid of, my love. It’s our destiny.”
Before Y/N could reply, Harry’s mouth covered hers in a deep kiss. He could feel her struggle to break free for just a split second before she melted into the kiss with him. Cradling the back of her head, he deepened the kiss further, his tongue wrestling with hers. He felt her moan against him, and that pleased him.
She grabbed hold of the lapels on his coat, pulling him closer. Wrapping his other arm around her waist, he held her tight as his mouth continued to devour hers. He heard her start to whimper, and he couldn’t help but chuckle low. His angel. She needed him.
Y/N gasped as Harry’s mouth moved to her neck. She felt him nibble along the delicate flesh, her senses reeling. Suddenly, he groaned in her ear, his voice deep.
“It’s time, my angel.”
Time? Time for what?
Before the words could escape her lips, she felt a sharp sting followed by the most blissful, orgasmic sensation she’d ever experienced. The blood in her veins seemed to rush so rapidly, and so loudly that she could hear it, like waves crashing in her ears. She threw her head back as Harry held onto her, his mouth never leaving her neck.
She thought she called out in ecstasy, though she was unsure if it was only in her mind. She grasped at Harry’s arms, needing to feel him, to hold him for fear of falling.
The pleasure began to heighten even more, Y/N’s nails digging into Harry’s coat until she was suddenly cloaked in darkness, as though the world had gone black.
“Y/N…”
She heard the soft, low coo before she opened her eyes.
“Wake up, angel,” he said.
“Harry…” she whispered, her throat dry. “What…?”
Feeling her tremble, he pulled her close. “Shh, baby. Everything’s okay now. I’m right here.”
“Where are we?” she inquired, gazing around the dark room, filled with lit candles.
“My bed,” Harry grinned.
“Oh.”
And just like that, Y/N didn’t even question it. Being in Harry’s room, with him in his bed felt…natural. Almost like deja vu. Lush linens, the smell of plums and incense. Her warm, naked body next to his. It felt familiar. It was right.
Seeing that Y/N was now content, Harry smiled wide. Then sliding his hand up her side, he cupped her breast. Her eyelids fluttered as she let out a long moan.
“Ah, you’re ultra sensitive now, hmm?” Harry commented as he ran his thumb across her nipple.
“Harry…mmm…”
Rolling onto her side, she pulled him into a kiss, needing to feel him. She sucked on his tongue, grabbed his hard cock. She was hungry with lust.
“Easy, baby,” he panted. “We have all the time in the world.”
“But I need you now,” she explained with a pout.
With a raspy chuckle, Harry laid her back on the bed, hovering over her luscious body.
“I wanna taste you first,” he insisted.
Biting her lip, Y/N nodded. Yes, taste me.
His long body slithered down hers until he was facing her hips and thighs. Her scent permeated the sheets, and he found a moan rising from his throat.
My delicious angel.
Y/N let out a loud cackle when Harry lightly tickled her bare skin along her hips. Harry grinned, knowing her sensitivity was accelerated. But it was not just his touch that had her laughing. It was the mere awareness of everything. Being in the moment. The utter bliss and sexual desire was almost more than her senses could handle.
Harry could hardly contain his desire either. He needed to taste her, to feel her writhing underneath him. But he also wanted to take it slow.
He rutted his head against the inside of her legs, like a dog wanting to be petted. He felt her nails dig into his hair, grabbing his curls just before he began to nibble on her thigh. As her moans got louder, ringing in his ears and throughout the room, Harry wondered how long he could hold out - or better yet, how long she could hold out.
With wild abandon, he let himself be the freak of nature he claimed to be. He heard her squeal before her expletive.
“Holy shit, did you just bite me?”
“Maybe,” he chuckled low. “Did it hurt?”
“Actually…no. Do it again.”
With another grin, Harry ran his thumbs across her bare flesh along her inner thigh.
“I love your skin here,” he commented. “It’s so soft and supple.”
Then lowering his head again, he let his fangs graze down her leg and back up. He felt Y/N tremble beneath him, a small cry rising from her throat. Then very gently, he pressed a little harder, barely piercing the skin.
Y/N moaned in pleasure as Harry licked the area clean, tasting her sweet blood on his tongue. Then he moved his tongue to the task at hand - what he’d come for. Centering his mouth over her mound, he let out a cool breath, tickling her. She squirmed beneath him, her desire silent but apparent. She craved him just as much as he craved her. Then lifting her hips, he brought his tongue to her clit, giving it one quick flick before diving in.
If there was one thing Harry knew he was good at - other than his knowledge of English literature - it was eating pussy. And now that he was a creature of the night, he could do it for hours, for days. Of course, having a sweet angel like Y/N beneath him was all he needed now.
Y/N’s moans began to subside a bit, but Harry knew it was not because she wasn’t enjoying it. On the contrary. She was so enraptured by his talent, she could barely breathe.
Sweet little kitten. He almost felt sorry for her, but not really. He knew this was what she wanted, what she was destined for. He’d felt it the first time they’d met. Her wide-eyed stare when she thought he wasn’t looking. Her cute little shy giggles at every stupid joke he made. The intoxicating aroma of her blood rushing through her veins. And when she’d finally invited him up to her flat…
“Oh my God…” she panted, her nails digging into his head. “Oh!”
Harry hummed against her cunt, tasting her sweet juices. He knew she was close. He’d let her come this time. She needed it. Needed that release. Just this once. Next time he’d make her ride it out longer, because he knew she could.
As his lips took hold of her clit once more, sucking gently, Y/N gasped. Then crying his name, she gushed and came on his tongue, just like he’d wanted.
Her orgasm lasted longer than any she’d had before…not that she could recall even one in that moment. Her chest heaved with breaths as she tried to come down. She felt Harry’s body climb up before he laid down next to her.
“How do you feel, my angel?” Harry cooed.
With a deep, long sigh, Y/N gave a wide grin.
“Perfect. Absolutely perfect,” she replied, fluttering her eyelids open to reveal her crystal clear eyes.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! xo
taglist: @daydreaming-laur, @musicforastylesrestaurant, @lillefroe, @be-with-me-so-happily, @victoria-styles (so sorry if I forgot anyone!!)
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles fic#harry styles smut#harry styles x reader#harry styles one shot#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles x y/n#vampire!harry#vampirerry#vamprry#harry fic#harry smut#harry x reader#harry one shot#harry blurb#harry imagine#harry fanfic#fictober#kinktober#vampire fic#halloween fic
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🤰👶
Different Harry Au reacting to y/n taking a pregnancy test.
Dads best friend Harry:
Warnings: age gap (15 years)
Third person pov:
Y/n and Harry quietly walked around Tesco's glad to have a break from dealing with there son and daughter at home. Even if it meant having to do the mundane task of weekly shopping. "H, I'm just gonna go to the baby aisle and get some food for Annabelle, I'll be back in a sec." Pressing a quick kiss to her husbands cheek she's runs off in search for baby food and another item. Y/n's period was 3 weeks late and she was starting to get nauseous at the strangest things. Which are the same symptoms as when she got pregnant with Jamie and then 2 years later Annabelle. Hopping she wasn't pregnant she gingerly grabbed the first test before grabbing the baby food. She had no idea how to tell Harry. Neither of them where expecting to have another child. Especially Harry at the age of 43. Anyway they had their hands full all ready. Harry and y/n had first met when Harry was 37 and she was 22. He was her dads best friend from work and they met at her dads birthday party. From the moment they first lade eyes on each other they both felt an invisible string pulling them together but both tried to ignore it considering he was her dads friend and they were 15 years apart in age. However a few months after they met the pull got to strong to resist and they ended up hooking up. That was the start of their secret affair. Meeting up whenever they could, discrete touches when they were around other people and an insane amount of passionate sex. A year later y/n accidentally ended up pregnant with their first child Jamie. They tried to continue there affair in secret but y/ns dad eventually found out that Harry was the father of his unborn grandson. A huge argument entailed resulting in y/n moving out and never looking back. 2 years later Harry and y/n eloped in the city of Messina, Italy before honeymooning in Paris where y/n fell pregnant with their youngest Annabelle. That was 3 years ago Jamie was now 5 and Annabelle 3, y/n was almost certain she was pregnant again and terrified to tell Harry. Realising she won't be able to sneak the tests in the basket without Harry noticing she decides to just place them in the basket and see what he says. Realising y/n put the pregnancy tests in the basket he lets out a little gasp before turning to meet his lovers eyes. "Really? You think your pregnant again?" She gently nods her head before being pulled into Harry's arms and spun around the basket lying strewn on the floor.
-
When they got home and had put the kids to bed they both rushed up to the bathroom exited to find out. Quickly y/n took the test, set a timer on her phone and went and sat on Harry who was perched on the bathroom counter. "H I'm nervous." "Why baby?" She starts fiddling with the rings on Harry's fingers trying to distract herself. "It's just we've got are hands full already with Jam and Belle and I'm just worrying that another baby will be to much."Gently Harry takes her face in his hands. "Baby listen to me. We managed to get through heaps of judgment because of are relationship, we managed to navigate successful careers while raising two beautiful children. Hell you single handedly managed to organise a school fund raiser while being in premature labour. There's nothing we can't do as long as we have each other and are babies ok?" She nods pressing a passionate, sloppy kiss to his lips. "Love you so much H." "I love you lots to baby." They are interrupted by the timer going of. "Will you look at it please." Harry swiftly jumps of the counter and grabs the test turning it over in his hand so he can read it. "Well what does it say?" Silently he shows his wife, tears of joy streaming down his face.
"We're having another baby."
~
Mafia Harry:
Warnings: mild violence, implied smut,angst, mentions of unwanted pregnancy and abortion. Harry is an absolute dick in this.
Third person pov:
Y/n was terrified. 3 months ago she found out she was pregnant and still hasn't told Harry. He is a big mafia crime boss, the most wanted criminal in Europe and he's said numerous times he never wants to have children. In the first few months she easily managed to hide it but now her tummy was starting to swell. Y/n hid it by wearing lose tops, not letting him touch her middle and not letting him see her naked. But Harry was starting to get suspicious. He wondered why his girlfriend suddenly went from loving it when he tied her up and fucked her hard and rough to barely ever wanting sex and if she did it was very vanilla.
Harry walked through the front door exhausted from having to deal with huge shipments of weapons and drugs. All he wanted to do was find his girlfriend, take her to the bedroom and taste her sweet little pussy. But he new she wouldn't let him. Deciding he was fed up with her strange behaviour Harry goes into the kitchen, where she's making dinner, to confront her. "What the fuck is going on with you darling?" Shocked y/n dropped the wooden spoon and turned around to face her angry boyfriend. "What do you mean H? Nothings wrong." Harry lets out a huff. "Bullshit somethings going on and your going to tell me or else. I've had enough of your strange behaviour." This was it. The moment y/ns
World would full apart. "Are you cheating on me?" Hurt by his accusation she starts to get riled up. "I'm fucking pregnant you dick." Harry's face went blank with shock before contorting into a look of pure anger. "How far along?" Timidly she responds."3 months." Harry looked beyond pissed. His eye brows furrowed and fists clenched. Y/n walks towards him ready to try and calm him down but is stopped in her tracks at his words. "Abort it." Her hand reaches up and smacks him in the face. "How dare you say that Harry. It's my body so I get to decide." Suddenly his hand is wrapped around her neck and she is shoved against a wall. "You listen to me. No one puts their hands on me without a consequence. However since your a girl I'll let it slide this once. Now either you get rid of that thing or get the hell out of my life." Tears stream down her face hurt that Harry would ever do this. "Your not as smart as I thought if you think after you demanded I abort my baby then pin me against a wall that I would ever choose you Harry. I'm done. If you don't want to be in the baby's life fine I'll leave." With that she pushes him of her and runs out of the house.
~
Vampire Harry:
Warnings: mentions of cheating, slight smut.
Harry's pov:
"Harry I'm pregnant." Those were the last words I expected to come out of y/n's mouth when she said she needed to talk. Fuck. This can't be happening. I'm married to one of the most powerful vampires in Europe. My wife suggested that I find a human to feed of when I began to become unsatisfied with blood bags. That's all it was meant to be. Y/n would come over 3 times a week. I would feed of her and make sure she was ok before dismissing her. Which Is what happened for the first week but by the second week she began to get needy while I was feeding and I tired to resist her but one session she was so desperate I ended up unzipping my trousers and letting her keep me warm. Now here we are a few months later. I should of never let her convince me to fuck her because now I'm stuck in a very difficult situation. "You can't be pregnant. We used protection. Fuck the test has to be wrong. I'm booking you a doctors appointment you can't trust those things."
-
Third person pov:
Harry and y/n nervously waited for the doctor to come back with the blood tests wanting to know whether she actually was pregnant." Good news the test was a false positive your not actually pregnant Miss L/n." They both let out a sigh of relief before walking out of the clinic." "I love you baby I promise one day when the time is right I'll divorce my wife and we can start a family." He placed a gentle kiss to her lips before helping her in the car and heading back to her flat.
~
Dadrry:
Warnings: teen pregnancy, mentions of unwanted pregnancy and abortion.
Third person pov:
"Come in."
Harry's study door swung open to reveal his 16 year old daughter with tear stained cheeks picking at her nails. "What's wrong baby?" Y/n knew that she should tell her dad but was absolutely terrified. This is not something most teenage girls would go to their dad about but her mum left when she was 6 months old so he was all she had. "I n-need your help w-with something d-dad." Worried he stands up and walks over to his daughter taking her hands in his. "I-I think I'm p-pregnant." Harry's face falls in shock pulling his baby into his arms when she starts crying. "I-I'm so sorry dad. I'm such a disappointment. It was one time and I thought the guy used a condom but now my periods late and I have no clue why else it would be." "Shhhh baby it's ok we don't know if you are yet. Here's what we'll do, why don't you go curl up on the sofa and try take your mind of it while I go by a test ok?" He gently draws soothing circles on her back as she nods against his chest.
-
"Hey baby I'm back. Are you ready to do this." Knowing it's better just to get this over and done with y/n follows her dad up to his room, takes the test of him and goes into his en-suite while Harry waits in his room. With shaky hands she pees on the stick before placing it face down on the sink, setting a timer and walking out to her dad. They sat in silence just holding each other until the timer went of. Gingerly y/n stood up and went and grabbed the test turning it over, letting out a loud sob at the result.
Harry's instantly pulling her into his chest trying to calm her down. "Oh it's alright baby you have options. If you don't want to keep it there's always abortion or adoption. Just know that whatever you decide to do you will always have my support." Deep down y/n knew that she couldn't get rid of it. This was her baby. Even if she's still young and scared she feels like she can do this. When her sobs have quietened enough she can say a coherent sentence she responds. " I'm not getting rid of it dad. I know I'm young and it sounds a bit crazy but this is my baby and I hate the idea of not keeping it." Harry never thought he'd be a granddad at 35 but he will always support his daughter no matter what.
~
Warnings: throwing up, implied smut.
Mechanic Harry:
Third person pov:
"Babydoll can you hand me my wrench please?" Just as I go to hand Harry the wrench I feel a sudden need to throw up so I drop the wrench and I run into the bathroom just in time to empty my stomach into the toilet. "Woah sugar you ok?" Harry kneels down behind me, holding my hair back and rubbing soothing circles on my back. " Y/n that's the third time this week you've thrown up. I think it's time you get it checked out." "B-but I h-hate the d-doctors. I'm sure it's fine H. Probably just a stomach bug." Harry knew that she would try and argue with him so he had to think of something good to convince her to go. "If you go to the doctors Princess next time we fuck you can be in control. Do anything you want to me." "Anything?" "Yep . Tie me up, choke me, spank me, use toys, fuck my a-." "Ok ok I get the idea Harry. I'll go if you come with me." "Course Darlin wouldn't make you go on your own."
-
Y/ns leg bounced nervously, as they waited for the doctor, no matter how much Harry tried to hold it still. " Y/n Styles?" Harry stands up, pulling her after the doctor. "Did you seriously use your last name even though we aren't married?" "Yea. Wanted to hear what it would sound like coming out of someone else's mouth. And we both know that some day soon that'll be your last name." They both sit down opposite the doctors desk, y/n clinging on to Harry. "So what seems to be the problem y/n?" Taking a deep breath she slowly reply's. "Um I've been throwing up a lot lately." "Ok any other symptoms?" " I've been pretty tired and my boobs have been sore. Oh and I constantly need to pee." "I have an idea of whats going on but just to be sure I have one more question. When was your last period?" Fuck. She'd been so busy helping Harry at the shop that she hasn't had her period for about 2 months. Harry gives y/n a half nervous half hopeful look, realising what the doctor was implying. "It was about 2 months ago. I've been so busy I didn't even realise it was late." "That's ok y/n we can do a quick ultrasound now if you want." Y/n nods her head before following the doctor over to the bed, lying down and Rolling down the waistband of her leggings when instructed to." "Right I'm going to put some gel on your stomach. It will be cold." Harry walks over grabbing his girlfriends hand a gently kissing it. The doctor looks intently at the screen with a frown on his face."What is it doc is there a baby?" "Not baby Mr Styles babies. You and y/n are expecting twins." Y/ns brain immediately panics. Her and Harry had never talked about having a baby yet. Let alone two. Was he going to support her? Did he want this. Thoughts kept running through her head making her panic more and more until she met Harry's joy filled eyes. She knew this was exactly what he wanted. "I can't wait to start are family with you princess."
-
Once Harry and y/n finally stopped crying happy tears the doctor gave her some vitamins and sent them on there way. Before Harry could get in the car he was stopped by y/n pulling him towards her by his belt loops. "Jump in the back H." "Why." She starts to unbuckle his belt. "You said if I went to the doctors I could do whatever I wanted with you. Well I want to fuck your tight little ass in the back of the car." Harry hesitated. "Right here In the car park? There's loads of people around." "Why not adds to the fun and I'm fucking soaked." Harry smirks at her confession . "Did finding out your growing my babies make you wet darling how pathetic." Y/n tsks lightly slapping Harry's chest. "Ah ah ah I'm in charge tonight baby so no degrading me or else your have to be punished ok. Now get in the back of the car and pull your trousers down like the good little boy you are." Without a second thought Harry's quickly pulling his pants and boxers down making sure no one saw before jumping in the back of the car.
~
Warnings: very brief Smut (unprotected sex, breeding kink, daddy kink), angst, mentions of fertility issues.
Footballer Harry:
"Fuck daddy feels so good." The bed creaked as Harry's thrusts grew quicker and deeper. "Fuck gorgeous gonna let daddy fuck a baby into you. Burry my seed deep inside." "Please daddy. Need it so bad." "I know baby." His thrusts start to get sloppy as he nears his high so he reaches a finger down and starts circling her cilt making her scream. "Gonna breed you gorgeous. Knock you up so everyone knows who you belong to." Suddenly she's pushed over the edge, screaming and clenching around Harry's cock triggering his release. "F-fuck daddy fill me up." Harry thrusts his cum nice and deep before pulling out, shoving any cum that escape y/ns sensitive hole back in and props her hips up with a pillow to make sure it all gets in.
-
Y/n walking out of the bathroom with tear stained cheeks is enough for Harry to know that the test was negative but he still asks, holding on to a slither of hope. "Negative." Who knew one word could hurt you so much. Before Harry knew what was happening y/n was snuggled into his chest, sobbing. "Shhh it's ok gorgeous. We'll have a baby eventually." When her cries eventually quieten Harry brings up a subject they have both been avoiding. "Gorgeous maybe it's time we go see a doctor." Reluctantly she agrees before they both curl up in bed, clinging on to one another.
-
"Mr and Mrs Styles I have your test results back." Taking a breath Harry tells the nurse to continue. "I'll start with you Harry. Everything looks good. Your sperm count is very high making you rather fertile. Y/n however I'm very sorry you are suffering from premature ovarian failure, or early menopause which unfortunately makes you infertile." Those words were all it took for her heart to snap in two. The one thing she really wanted more than anything, she couldn't have. Y/n completely zoned out whatever the doctor was saying about hormones to focused on trying not to cry. Harry noticing asks the doctor for a minute alone with his wife. "Oh gorgeous come here. Shhh it's ok." "I-I'm s-so
s-sorry H." Harry recoils from the hug in shock. "What for darling." "My only job as your wife is to give you lots of children and I've failed. My body's failed you." "Y/n" never say that again. Your so much more than a 'thing' to put my children in. Also theirs other ways like surrogacy or adoption." "B-but if we hire a surrogate then are baby will be half you and half some random women and adopting the baby wouldn't be half either of us." "So that doesn't matter. We would still love the baby just as much." "It's just a lot to take in H." "I know gorgeous but we'll work it out together."
~
Singer Harry:
Y/n's pov:
I quickly jumped of the counter when I heard my phone timer go off and turn the tests over. Fuck Harry's going to be so happy.
-
Deciding that I had to tell Harry that he was going to be a dad after so long in a creative way and knowing he would be back from the studio soon wanting food I quickly ordered two pizzas. Pepperoni for Harry and ham and pineapple for me. In the mean time I hid the tests and tidied the house to try and distract myself.
When the pizzas finally arrived I grabbed a sharpie and wrote Harry a message on the inside of the lid.
"Hey flower I'm home. Where are you?" I quickly yell I'm in the kitchen before closing the pizza box lid and carrying them into the living room. "Hey H, brought some dinner. How was your day?" "Mhm so much better now I'm home." He presses a quick kiss to my lips before complaining that he's hungry and opening the box. Harry freezes when he sees the message , re reading it a few times to make sure he's right. "Really? Your pregnant?" Swiftly I run upstairs and grab the tests before giving them to Harry. "We're finally having a baby."
~
Best friend Harry, Wolf Harry and tattoo artist Harry will be posted in a part 2. :)
#harry styles#one direction#harrystyles x reader#harry styles fluff#harry styles x oc#dad!harry#harry styles one shot#dadrry#harry smut#harry styles angst#wolf!harry#bsf Harry#Tattooartist!harry#singerharry#mechanic!harry#footballer!harry#vampire!harry#dads best friend!harry#mafia!harry
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The Poisonous Fangs | Part 1
Summary: A vampire cradles their dying human friend in their arms. They have a limited time to convince them to let them turn them into a vampire
Pairing: Vamp!Harry x Y/N (reader)
Warnings: Vampire stuff (blood, drinking blood, etc.), violence (not till part 4 or 5), smut (will be indicated with a *)
Authors note: Hello all! Sorry for the delay! Here's part 1 of this 10 part series. I've been creating some custom photos, let me know if you like them please and thank you!! I hope you enjoy reading. Again, rusty on the writing! Please be kind, but constructive criticism is welcome and feedback as well!
Word Count: 2300
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[Y/N] hates parties and has never been a partier. However, she loves her boyfriend of 4 years Drew, so she allowed him to drag her to the club. It was October and thus all the bars and clubs had themed party nights, in hopes of throwing their sales through the roof. Tonight's theme was Dracula, so she stood in her cropped white shirt matched with her cherry-printed shirt and a cream-colored cardigan to cover her arms, but a few small tattoos were peeking through the material. Harry clocked [Y/N] the moment she stepped in the door, sensing her discomfort and her awkwardness. Her boyfriend had ditched her a few hours ago now, running off with some brunette to the bathrooms and then slipping out when [Y/N] was at the bar. Harry didn’t take his eyes off the pretty girl as he watched her get slightly sloshed, stumbling around the bar looking for her partner. His disgust for a man he’d never met grew as it dawned on her that she had been left alone, he could sense her discomfort as she approached the bar again. He decided this was his chance, if he had one at all, to introduce himself to the pretty girl and hopefully get her home safely because he had this feeling that he just couldn’t shake. He was sure she probably wasn't in danger, but he’d rather be safe than sorry. He felt this magnetic pull towards the other, which was a big deal considering he’d rather be caught dead than hang around with another girl after what happened with the other one. She looked scared and fragile. He had to swoop in before some creep did.
“Can I get another whiskey neat, and whatever this beauty is having?” Harry called out to the bartender. He noticed that [Y/N] stood there for nearly five minutes, not even bothering to call out to the busy bartender, probably hoping he’d come over on his own accord.
Harry’s assumption was correct, she was waiting for the bartender to recognize that she was there and that her drink was empty. She noticed around an hour ago that she had been ditched, making a mental note to break up with Drew the next day. This wasn't the first time she had been ditched, nor the first time she witnessed him leave the bar with another woman, she was just non-confrontational and rather soft-spoken, so she often walked all over.
She smelled him before she could even hear the British-laced voice call out and instantly grabbed the bartender's attention, who came rushing over with a scared look on his face. The smell of vanilla and lavender invaded her senses, and she could feel his warmth radiating off him.
“Uh.. Vodka Redbull with Cherry Grenadine please.”
She spoke loud enough to be heard, but not outside her little bubble of, the bartender and the mystery man who seemed to pique her interest right away. Still, she was wrestling in her head on whether she should break it off. Drew was always a safe option to her, her parents loved him, and honestly? He kept the weirdos at bay.
She looked over at the mystery man next to her, taking in the way his messy curls were perfectly swept and styled, the tattoos littering his skin and how his jawline was sharp honestly could probably cut something with how intense it looked. Her eyes trailed up and was met with his piercing green eyes and a small smirk plastered on his face. He let her ogle, not wanting to disturb her as she eye fucked him in the bar, hearing her breath hitch at the tattoos and hearing her heartbeat pick up while she took him in. He felt the need to protect her while she felt safe and intimidated but with that look on his face, how could you not?
Harry didn’t want to overwhelm her, letting her do her own thing until he watched her as she watched her boyfriend leave the club with someone else. He was upset with him as he realized that this pretty thing was left alone in a dingy club, where people wore their best vampire outfits and preyed on naive people. It disgusted him really, and he was only there because his friend Niall insisted he get back out there and that he couldn’t mourn Mia forever. Harry disagreed, he had nothing but time and could mourn Mia forever. Yet, here he was, Mia long forgotten in his mind as his eyes swept over [Y/N]’s features.
“My name’s Harry, what's yours?” He spoke first, wanting the awkward tension to disappear as quickly as possible.
“[Y/N]..” She replied softly.
She wasn’t sure if he could hear her and was surprised when Harry responded, he must’ve had really good hearing because the music was blasting and she was never able to be heard, which is why she stayed silent during these nights.
Harry kept the conversation flowing, which [Y/N] was thankful for. She wasn’t great at small talk and often avoided it. He learned a lot about her, they talked for an hour and [Y/N] forgot how Drew left with someone else. Her mind was just focused on Harry and the way his tattooed hand curled around his whiskey neat. She was starting to wonder what it’d look like wrapped around her throat. Though, she’d keep those thoughts to herself. She was still a taken woman. Harry offered to pay and did pay, as she was fumbling through her bag for her wallet and she couldn’t. She offered to pay him back via Venmo or Cashapp but Harry declined, not caring about the money aspect. She had mentioned taking an Uber home, and Harry thought this was his opportunity.
“Uh, I can always take you home. I’ve only had a few drinks and it’s worn off now.”
Harry wanted her to get home safely because he had this feeling creeping up on him that something was watching them and he wanted to make sure she wasn’t harmed. She did stop drinking around 30 minutes ago, only drinking water because Uber’s always freaked her out and she wanted to be somewhat aware of her surroundings, yet here was this handsome man offering her a ride.
She accepted the ride and that’s how she ended up in his blacked-out SUV, light music playing in the background at a tolerable volume. Her strawberry-scented perfume filled the car and was soaked into his seats, he could hear her blood pumping through her veins and every bone in his body wanted to take her back to his place and worship her. He had been so filled with rage still that Drew left her alone. Thankfully, she had given him her number shortly into the conversation. Which was a shock to both of them, because she didn’t seem like the type to do that. However, [Y/N], was just taken by this fascinating human being and how his attention was solely on her. She felt this guy wasn’t a weirdo, giving her address and number over with ease and Harry felt honored that [Y/N] seemed to trust him.
He walked her to her door, kissing her cheek, slightly terrified that it was too much but a blush rose to her lips and he knew deep down it was okay.
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The next morning, [Y/N] woke with a pounding in her head and her memory wasn’t all there, but it was still there. She checked her phone, disappointed that Drew hadn’t even bothered to text or call her, which she half expected. She wanted to end it, but she didn’t want to be a bother. She’d wait until he texted her, her mind was drifting to Harry and she didn’t feel guilty one bit.
After breakfast, a massive bottle of water, and some painkillers, the dull ache in her head had slowed to a halt, and she felt oddly confident. The kiss on her cheek still lingered and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t touch herself last night and wished it was him instead. She was thankful he didn’t come on too strong and genuinely seemed interested in her. If you could gather that from a couple-hour conversation in a dingy nightclub over a few drinks. Over her being ditched which was embarrassing, to say the least. Her phone pinged and she hoped it was Harry, only to be met with Drew asking to meet and talk, she declined and instead texted Harry. She didn’t want to hear any more excuses from Drew, she knew he cheated and that was enough to make up her mind. Sure, there had been rumors but she never believed something without seeing it with her own eyes first.
To: Harry
Hey! Thank you again for the drink and for driving me home. I appreciate it, you’re right Ubers are weird. Are you busy later today?”
She wasn’t sure what took over her, never would she be the one to ask someone else out, yet here she is. Asking a random stranger out over text, while deciding how to break up with her boyfriend of four years.
From: Harry Hey, I made it home thank you. I hope you dumped that loser, by the way, I hope your hangover isn’t too bad. I’m actually at the shop today, I own a mechanic shop. Did you want to stop by? He was surprised by her boldness but rather excited at the same time. She wanted to see him, on her own accord.
To: Harry Getting ready to break up with him now, and then I can swing by if you have an address. She couldn’t help but smile as she texted Drew back, asking him to meet up at their favorite cafe. She didn’t tell Drew that she was going to be breaking it off, because what he had done and had been doing was unacceptable.
Breaking it off with Drew took an hour too long. She listened as he pleaded with her and swore they didn’t do anything, but she knew better. After Drew failed to convince [Y/N], he quickly left the cafe, with tear-stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes. Which she knew he would use to make her the villain, despite the fact that he was the one who cheated. She checked her phone, a smile spreading on her cheeks when she noticed Harry sent over the address.
When she stood, she went to get herself a Matcha for the go, remembering that Harry said he loved Matcha too. She noticed his chocolate brown curls standing in line, raising a brow she approached him and softly called out to him,
“Harry?”
She didn’t know where the confidence she had this morning went, but she envied him when he turned and looked revived, with a matcha in hand and cherry-stained lips. He looked like he had never even taken a sip of alcohol the day before.
“[Y/N]! Hey, fancy seeing you here. This cafe is just down the road from the shop. Come here often?”
Harry took this opportunity to look over her. She was wearing a sage green cardigan, a black crop-top, and adorable cherry-printed jeans.
“Yeah.. I actually just got done uh breaking it off. I come here to study with friends and just relax.”
Harry remembered that she was a college senior, already accepted into a master’s program. She was smart and he was enamored by her. He wanted to know all there was to know about this girl whom he only met a mere 13 hours before.
“Oh.. how did that go? The breakup?”
He noticed her searching through her bag again for her card, noticing she ordered a matcha as well. He slipped his card into the machine instead, wanting to do something nice for her.
“I’ll pay you back for that if you ever send me your Venmo.”
She mumbled. Instead, he declined and offered to walk her back to her apartment. The shop wasn’t busy, and he was on lunch, so he could spare a few hours to spend with her. He had that gut feeling that she wasn’t safe again and he noticed the shift in the air when someone who looked familiar walked in, but he couldn’t place him.
It was a short walk, maybe 5 minutes, and the whole 5 minutes Y/N opened up about how the break up went. Before she knew it they were at her door and she was saying inviting him in. They talked for around an hour before Harry got a text from one of the mechanics saying he needed help. Harry didn’t want to leave and [Y/N] didn’t want him to. Reluctantly, he stood and walked to the door. She leaned up and kissed his cheek, wanting to give Harry something for what she deemed his troubles, despite Harry being more than willing to listen to her ramble all day if she gave him the chance. Harry promised to text her when he made it home, as she watched him walk back down the stairs and seemingly disappear from view.
That’s when Harry’s phone pinged, his eyebrows stitching together in confusion. He just left Y/N, it couldn’t be her. He didn’t really give his number out to others. Only his close friends, all 3 of them, and his family. His face went stone cold as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, reading the sentence on the screen,
“This will end in blood, Styles. You better watch out for who you fuck around with. Would hate for something to happen.”
Harry looked around, he didn’t notice anything out of place. He didn’t recognize the number, but he got that gut feeling again, one he didn’t want to ignore.
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles filth#harry styles smut#harry smut#harry styles x reader#vampire!harry#my writing
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𝐒𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐃
➯ Y/N AND HARRY GO TO A HALLOWEEN PARTY AND HARRY HAS THE PERFECT COSTUME.
✰ vampire!harry small warning for a minor encounter with some gross men. suggestive themes.
𝑤𝑐 4k
Halloween has always been disappointing for Y/N. Every year, the air gets colder and the leaves float down from their branches, and the shops start to stock spooky decorations and pumpkin spice candles. Warm orange and brown hues become the trendy colours and people finally snuggle down in their sweatshirts and jackets that they’ve had stuffed in their wardrobe all year.
It all sounds so perfect, and romantic, and every time October rolls around, Y/N thinks: this year will be better! She pictures herself watching scary movies every night, wrapped in her thickest blanket, with a warm drink and she gets giddy with excitement. And all the hype leading up to Halloween persuades her to stay optimistic. But then the day arrives and her best friend hosts the most amazing party, as always, and Y/N attends in her costume (which she is never completely satisfied with) and leaves inevitably underwhelmed.
Harry, on the other hand, loves Halloween. Well, maybe loves is an exaggeration but he never takes the freedom for granted when the day rolls around. Yet he never relents the rolling of his eyes and the pointing out of all the pathetic ‘vampires’—“We do not look like that,” he would grumble in Y/N’s ear, his mental script of complaints completely memorised in her head.
Of course, he’s never admitted that he doesn’t completely despise the holiday, but Y/N notices the way he ever so slightly lets his excitement show at the fact he doesn’t have to conceal his true self, even if it’s just for one night a year. So since meeting him, her disappointment has subsided; replaced with happiness for her boyfriend, and she’d never take that away.
However, currently, she is really dreading leaving their house, dressed in a costume that she knows is unoriginal. She thinks that’s the worst part of Halloween—the trying so hard to wear something new and cool whilst simultaneously maintaining the ability to blend it. It stresses Y/N out far too much for something that is supposed to be harmless fun. And it’s not like Drew Barrymore in Scream isn’t indisputably iconic, but has it been done too much? She’s staring at herself in the floor-length bedroom mirror, trying not to adjust her blonde wig for the umpteenth time and delaying the completion of the final part of her costume, just in case.
“Love? Are you nearly ready?” Harry pops his head around the door, catching Y/N’s frown before she can hide it. “Oh, you haven’t done the blood yet,” he walks over and stands behind her, brushing his lips along the shell of her ear. “Do you want my help? It’ll be undeniably realistic.” He catches her eyes in the mirror before making a dramatic noise and pretending to bite into her neck, shaking his head with exaggeration.
Y/N releases a stream of giggles and squirms in his grip. “Harry! Drew Barrymore wasn’t bitten by a vampire!” She’s smiling as he stops his relentless tickling and looks at her again, a shameless grin plastered on his face, fangs gleaming proudly.
“I know, but it made you smile,” he places a soft kiss on her neck and rests his chin on her shoulder, squeezing her waist. “Why’re you all pouty, hm?”
“I dunno, I’m just nervous about my costume,” she shrugs, fiddling with the hem of her sweater. “Do I look lame?” Harry lifts his head with a frown of his own.
“No lovie, never. Y’look so pretty, always,” he grabs at her fretting fingers, holding them in his warm palms. “Look at me,” he’s gentle in turning her around, away from the mirror that’s breaking her down. Pulling their joined hands up, Harry dots little pecks on as much of her skin as he can find, manoeuvring her palms open to continue his onslaught of affection.
“Harry—” she starts, watching him with big eyes.
“You look infinitely better than any of the morons that try to dress up like vampires. They’re lame. Your costume is unmistakable, yeah?” He looks at her expectantly, like he does when he wants her to show she’s listening. She nods, turning back around to see herself. “I mean, look at what I’m wearing. I’m not dressed up at all—bet that will really rile some people up,” he boasts, pride in his voice.
“Oh, I’m sure I’ve got a cape in my wardrobe somewhere,” Y/N teases, smiling at Harry’s sudden scowl. Immediately, his hands find her waist and he’s lifting her off the ground easily to turn her around in his arms, eliciting a squeal from Y/N as he trudges to the bathroom and places her on the counter.
“Don’t think I won’t bite you tonight. I’d get away with it,” he taunts, watching as Y/N’s eyes widen momentarily.
She gasps, “But that’s private, Harry! You don’t want anyone seeing me like that, I know you,” chancing her luck.
He only seems encouraged. “You shouldn’t have said that, love, now I’m tempted,” he smiles, pointed canines shining as his irises flood with red. “Come on, let’s get you all bloody,” he reaches for the bottle of fake blood sat next to Y/N. “Where do you want it?”
“Everywhere,” she grins.
ㅤ
Harry is right. His lack of costume does rile some people up… until he bares his teeth, and he’s met with ohh’s and what kind of vampire wears a sweater vest? Y/N thinks he looks perfect, because why would he dress any differently than normal? He was her Harry, in his flared trousers and sweater vests and chunky cardigans. She makes sure to tell him this as soon as the unimpressed crowd disperses. “Think all vampires should dress like you. You’re a fashion pioneer.” He looks down at her, an amused smile on his lips.
“A fashion pioneer? You’re cute,” he coos, as he gives her chin a little squeeze between his thumb. She begs to differ, right now, with the amount of fake blood that is caked in her sweater and up her neck, but she leans into his touch with a smile. “You want a drink?” he asks and she hums in reply, as he intertwines their fingers and walks them in the direction of the kitchen.
The atmosphere is electric, colour changing lights beating in time with the music that seems to be blaring from every corner, as they weave through bodies. Y/N catches a glimpse of the TV playing a horror movie in front of a sofa littered with people not paying it any attention. She’s hyper aware of the lack of recognisable faces, senses heightened with more anxiety than excitement. Harry squeezes her hand, noticing her wandering eyes, face not quite hiding her dazed expression. Her grip tightens in return, looking up at him with a small smile on her face.
“What do you want to drink?” Harry asks once they reach the kitchen, lifting her onto the island and moving to inspect the fridge’s contents.
She hums in brief thought, “Surprise me,” swinging her legs, gazing at her boyfriend’s back like it is the canvas Van Gogh painted The Starry Night on. Harry rolls his eyes at her unhelpful answer, and just pours a vodka lemonade.
“I’m sure you’ll be very surprised by this exotic beverage,” he drawls, handing her the cup and standing in between her legs with his hands on top of her thighs.
Y/N giggles as she takes a sip. “S’yummy though, thank you,” she says. “Gimme kiss.” Her lips form a pout as she tilts her head back expectantly. Harry pulls her to the edge of the counter, arms wrapping her up as he places a peck on her waiting mouth. She kisses back, attempting to suppress her smile and failing miserably. “Another one.”
“Manners, baby,” he teases, nudging her nose with his.
“Please,” she drags out, leaning forward, trying to catch his lips in hers but he doesn’t let her reach. “Harry,” she frowns. He relents and kisses her again as she relaxes in his grip.
“Y/N! You’re here!” The sound has the pair pulling away from each other abruptly, the shrill excitement coming from the lively woman bursting their bubble of contentment. Y/N smiles brightly at Sarah, in her Daphne costume, as she all but bounds up to the island in which she is perched. “And Harry, of course. It’s nice to see you too,” she teases.
“Sarah,” Harry nods, stepping away from his girlfriend’s body to allow her to jump down and greet Sarah as they always do; in a hug that would suggest they hadn’t seen each other in years. Y/N is careful to hold her glass away from Sarah’s back as she sways them from side to side.
“Do you mind if I steal her for a moment?” she asks Harry, arms not breaking the hug. Y/N’s back is facing him but she can almost hear his knowing smile, as if Sarah’s question had needn’t even been asked.
“I think I can allow that.”
“Will you be okay?” Y/N turns around to face him, a look of sincere worry on her face, aware that neither of them really know anyone at this party.
“I’m sure I’ll cope just fine, petal,” he reaches out his fingers to brush lightly against her cheek and she leans into him gently, eyes widening to take in as much as possible of the man in front of her.
“I’ll come back, promise.”
“Promise!” Sarah chimes in, “Promise, I’ll give her back.” She slips her hand into Y/N’s and softly pulls her along as they exit the kitchen. Just as they’re walking under the doorframe, Sarah leans over and whispers, “He’s so sweet to you.”
Y/N can only smile and reply, “I know,” picturing Harry leaning against the counter with a similar expression as he hears the words without even the slightest strain.
ㅤ
Sarah lets go of her hand once they’ve reached upstairs and stopped outside her bedroom door. They’re hardly settled on top of her bed until she’s asking, “So, what’s Harry come as then?”
Y/N smiles to herself, “He’s a vampire.”
“Vampires don’t dress like that,” she says, unconvinced.
“Says who?” Y/N shrugs, “They don’t exist, Sarah.”
“Yeah but—” she sighs, exasperated, “It’s Halloween! There’s nothing scary about a man in jeans and a sweater vest.”
Y/N hums, “I would argue that gives him the element of surprise, no? Looks unassuming so you barely give him a second thought, but then he opens his mouth to reveal rows and rows of razor sharp teeth,” her fingers prod into Sarah’s sides to elicit a squeal. “Pretty effective if you ask me.”
Sarah wiggles away and rolls her eyes, “Whatever. I’m just saying he isn’t winning any prizes for originality.”
Y/N cackles, “And you are?” she waves a hand at her great, but overdone, purple getup.
“Heyyyy,” she whines, swatting at Y/N, “let’s move on.”
ㅤ
About forty minutes and an undetermined number of drinks later, Sarah and Y/N are whirling in giggles, blathering nonsense so jumbled that no one else would even attempt to translate. They have long since caught up on each other’s lives since the last time they’d spoken (which, whilst they do text everyday, they don’t always dive into the details, leaving them with news to share when they finally find time to meet in person) and quickly delved into meaningless chatter which becomes less and less intelligible the more they drink, especially when Sarah remembers the bottle of wine she’s been keeping in her room for emergencies. (Y/N tries to argue that ‘no one keeps wine in their room for emergencies’ but soon ignores the peculiarity of it for the chance to have a nice swig from the bottle.)
They’re both lying on their backs on top of Sarah’s bed and it falls silent for a minute, the alcohol finally making them sleepy, and the lack of conversation to focus on, along with Y/N’s tipsy—bordering on drunk—state, is really making her miss Harry.
“I’m going to find H,” Y/N sits up slowly. Sarah has her eyes closed but she acknowledges her with a hum.
“I think I’ll call Mitch,” she yawns.
“Isn’t he downstairs?”
“Yeah, but I don’t wanna move,” she smiles sleepily, curling into her side and pressing further into her mattress. Y/N only giggles before nudging her phone closer to her idle hands. “I’ll see you before you go, yeah?”
“Of course you will,” Y/N assures, before getting up and shutting the door behind her. She takes the stairs slowly, aware that she is most definitely more drunk than tipsy and hoping that Harry is easy to find.
ㅤ
The crowds haven’t died down in the time that they’ve been upstairs and Y/N is reminded, as she is every year, that Sarah knows how to throw a really good party—which is unfortunate in this moment when Y/N can hardly see through the masses of people.
Deciding to go back to where she last saw Harry, Y/N heads towards the kitchen, blocking out her surroundings as much as possible in order to focus. She has a poor sense of settings when she’s sober, let alone drunk, so she really doesn’t see the footstool as she trips into it, hand shooting out to grab hold of anything that will keep her balanced. What she doesn’t equate for, is the thing she grabs onto being a complete stranger whose cup gets jolted by Y/N’s sudden movement, spilling the near entirety of it down his front.
“What the fuck?” The stranger startles, head whipping towards a very distressed Y/N who has her hands held up in surrender, apologies bubbling out.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” She is merely met with a sneer, the faces of the rest of his group all matching his own expression as he tries to dry his arm off with a shake. Her cheeks are heated, heart thumping with embarrassment.
“Stupid bitch,” he spits. “Drunk girls like you should be more careful.” Y/N’s brows pinch, words slicing deeper than she’d like to admit; the half a dozen men in creepy costumes having their desired effect in making her uncomfortable.
“I—I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to bump into you—”
“No shit,” the man rolls his eyes and some of his friends smirk—stares patronising. “Now fuck off princess,” he pauses and Y/N can see his next words forming before he says them, “before I suggest you apologise some way else.” His friends all smile and Y/N feels her breath catch, foot stepping back and making its way to turn when her back collides with something.
She jolts her head to see and swears her bottom lip wobbles in relief when she finds it’s Harry, immediately melting into his chest as she feels his knuckle stroke her forearm softly.
“And what would you suggest, hm?” Harry asks in a seemingly unbothered tone, but Y/N can only imagine what his eyes are saying. She doesn’t have to imagine the look of regret on the man’s face at his sudden arrival.
He laughs awkwardly, “Ah, come on man, she knocked into me. Reckon you should keep an eye on her.” Y/N wishes she felt angry, but her emotions are frazzled from the alcohol and the way he’s talking about her is so mean and just plain sexist and she wants to leave. But before Y/N can turn around, Harry’s voice drops and he grits out:
“You’re a pig. Apologise to her,” and Y/N knows that voice—knows his pupils have widened and his jaw is clenched. She gasps slightly, surprised by his blatant public display.
The man stutters, face immediately apologetic, “I—I’m sorry,” he stammers, unblinking, but Harry isn’t impressed and he clears his throat, urging him to continue. “You’re not stupid, a—and I was in your way, if anything!” he laughs slightly but his face is void of humour, and Y/N can’t look him in the eyes, knowing they’ll look trapped.
“And you’ll treat women with nothing but the utmost respect, yes?” Harry pushes, fingers sliding down to Y/N’s own, telling her he’s nearly done.
“Yes! Yes, of course,” the man rushes out, head nodding maniacally, and Harry hums, seemingly satisfied before squeezing her hand and pulling them both away from the bemused group and their mesmerised friend. Y/N hears their instant jeers of what the fuck was that, you pussy? and that was weak, man—she’s heavily overwhelmed by the whole thing; Harry rarely displays that in front of her.
ㅤ
He guides her back upstairs but into the spare bedroom this time, before locking the door. Y/N lets go of his hand and immediately crawls onto the bed, flopping onto her stomach. Harry walks around the side and sits down, pulling one knee up onto the mattress. She’s frowning, bottom lip jutted out and eyes red.
“Are you okay, baby?” He brushes her wig away from her face, fingertips tracing the top of her ear.
“I’m drunk,” she blinks at him. “You did your scary vampire voice.”
He frowns, “I didn’t scare you, did I?”
“No silly, you came to my rescue. You always take care of me.” She feels her eyes well up, emotions overwhelming.
“Don’t cry, petal.” Harry cradles her face, leaning down to brush his lips against her cheek, and then his nose against hers. She rolls onto her back and pulls him on top of her with an ease that he makes available only for her. Fingertips digging into his back lets him know she wants his weight on her, as he drops his lower half down to meet hers and leans on his forearms that rest on either side of her head. A single tear escapes her eye and drips down onto the sheet before Harry has the chance to swipe it away with a thumb. She’s got a small smile on her face though, as she takes him in, pupils dilated.
“I love you.” She whispers. How could she not?
Harry’s heart nearly beats then; swear he feels it swell. He would never react any differently to those three words coming from her lips. “I love you too. Make me so happy, you know that?” He moves a hand to hold the top of her head. She nods softly, eyes closing as she feels him scratch lightly through the wig.
“Take it off.” she whispers as he gently pulls, the blonde bob coming away in his hand as Y/N lets out a sigh of relief that turns into a moan when Harry takes away the tie holding her hair in place and continues to massage her scalp. She leans her head into his hands, neck stretching out, and Harry leaves a kiss on his favourite spot. “Will you bite me, H?” His ministrations stutter slightly.
“I was only joking earlier, love.” He angles her head back up. “Look at me,” his voice is so soft it’s melting. She whines at the lack of movement in her hair but opens her eyes to meet his. The sincerity of his gaze would be intense if she didn’t know just how much he cared. “We’ve never done that outside of home before.”
“I know. Want you to. Please?” She knows Harry is questioning her ability to make rational decisions but she’s never been more sure of anything. “Makes me feel better. You make me feel better.” His eyebrows pinch slightly, before he’s dipping his head down to connect their lips. Y/N opens up immediately, making one of the little noises Harry has come to crave so much, pulling him into her—desperately clawing at his back. He pulls away with a quiet smacking sound; she tries to chase him and he can’t help the way his lips curve as he watches her blindly search for him. Her eyes blink open slowly, a faint frown on her face.
“Only a little bite,” his gaze hardens slightly, “okay?” pulling her bottom lip down with his thumb. She nods urgently and Harry can tell she’s one moment away from being unable to effectively communicate. So he complies, cupping her face and pressing a quick but ardent kiss to her mouth before trailing pecks across her cheek and down her jaw. Y/N can’t help but melt into the mattress, letting her brain switch off from any thought that isn’t about Harry and the way he feels against her skin. He is encompassing all of her senses entirely, just the way they both know she loves.
She keens when he nibbles her neck slightly—one hand cradling her jaw with the other one buried in her hair—angling her head the way he likes. When he kisses the spot he wants to mark and licks once, her breath catches in anticipation and he brushes his thumb across her cheek in understanding before sinking his teeth in; inexplicably grateful. Y/N twitches at the contact—much less than she used to when they first started doing this. Still, a fragmented moan gets caught in her throat as she feels his lips suction around the bite, feeding from her—although she feels she gains far more from this than he does, especially in this moment.
The floating feeling that Y/N knows she is safest in, that has slowly been creeping into her head ever since Harry found her downstairs, suddenly hits her full force when he groans into her neck—the weight of his body still comforting her endlessly. Her hands move from his back to grasp onto his hair which only makes him press into her further, heat swarming both of their bodies as they spur each other on.
But he pulls away entirely too soon, licking a fat stripe up her neck where a couple of drops have trickled and placing one last kiss over his tooth marks. Y/N whines, bucking her hips in a plea. Harry pulls away from her neck and she sees his red irises slowly ebb back to their viridescent hue.
“None of that, I told you it would only be a little bite.” He watches her pout, big watery eyes ready to beg. So he changes his tactic, leaning his mouth down to her ear before whispering, “Can’t take care of you properly here, don’t want you getting too worked up, yeah?” He smiles against the shell of her ear when she whines again. But he’s serious, looking at her again in her disheveled state. “And you’re drunk, my love,” but Y/N doesn’t want to hear it, too far gone to accept that he is right, as she tries to pull his head back down to hers. He doesn’t budge, hands firmly planted at either side of her head.
“Please, Harry, please,” her bottom lip wobbles; she hates it when he resists like that, not even letting her pretend she’s strong enough to shift him. “Please.” She feels her eyes well up at his furrowed brows. His thumb brushes across her own eyebrow and then under the eye that a tear escapes from, and he feels very reminiscent of about ten minutes prior. Only this time he can tell there’s something off; she is overwhelmed for a different reason.
“Are you feeling floaty, baby?” he asks, gently stroking her hair. And that’s all it takes for her face to scrunch up and her nodding to shake more tears down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry,” her voice is thick, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry.”
“Shh, don’t apologise. Done nothing wrong, okay?” He kisses her tears away, and then he’s kneeling back, pulling her with him and onto his lap, guiding her legs to cross behind him. “You’re so good.” He tucks her head under his chin and Y/N feels herself melt into him immediately, ear pressed over his heart even though she knows it won’t beat. “Never apologise for feeling floaty.” She nods against his chest and he tightens his grip around her. “How about I take us home and run you a nice bath, yeah? Would you like that?”
Y/N immediately lifts her head up, glistening eyes hopeful. “Yes please,” she stares up at him, “Will you get in with me?”
“Of course I will, darlin’,” Harry traces her features slowly with his forefinger, smiling as her eyes flutter closed and she leans forward slightly. “And I’ll make you feel good in the morning, I promise.” Heat dances across her cheeks, fighting the urge to squirm in his lap—instead pouting her lips and waiting for him to comply. He does and it’s soft, delicate, the most gentle feeling in the world. A kiss to keep her perfectly blurry around the edges as she falls further into the luxury that is someone else’s control. “Let’s go say goodbye,” Harry says into her mouth, standing himself up and letting Y/N stay latched on as they make their way to bid their goodbyes and manoeuvre through the crowds.
ㅤ
She doesn’t bother to hide the bite mark.
#harry styles#harry styles x reader#writing#vampire!harry#fanfic#imagine#blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles blurb#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles smut#vampire#halloween#vamprry
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LOVE AT FIRST BITE*
(A vampire!harry AU by @justlemmeadoreyou)
In which Yn is a journalist, and Harry happens to be at the wrong place at the right time
Part 1 - Bloodbound Desires
In which there's an accident, and your restlessness for the promotion leads you to Harry, an eyewitness from the accident, which will reveal secrets and creatures you had no idea existed.
Part 2 - Burning Attraction
In which you go to Harry’s home to interview him, and the sexual tension between you finally breaks. You end up in his bathroom, with him wiping his cum off your back.
amazing divider by @firefly-graphics
here's my ko-fi
my masterlist
general taglist: @freedomfireflies @gurugirl @thechaoticjoy @styleslover-1994 @gem1712 @ellaorchard @bxbyysstuff @opheliaofficial07 @rafaaoli @tchlamqtsgf @the-mouse27 @indierockgirrl @vrittivsanghavi @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @drewrry @babyiamperfectforyou @avalentina @me-undiscovered @tbsloneely @whoreonmondays @kathb59 @avalentina @kittenhere
#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles smut#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry styles x reader#harry styles imagine#harry styles one shot#harry styles x you#harry styles writing#vampire harry styles#vampire!au#vampire!harry#vampire!harry styles#vampire!harry au#harry au#harry edward styles#harry fic#harry smut#harry styles au#harry styles concept#harry styles fan fiction#harry styles imagines#harry styles masterlist#harry styles fic rec
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✨Gucciforasushirestaurant’s Masterlist✨
Last Updated: 12/3/23 (newest at the top)
Smut 🔥| Fluff 💕| Angst🥺 | Dark Themes 🖤|🤓 author favorite | 🌟fan favorite
- kinkmas 2023 (masterlist)🔥💕
Coming Soon...
#mine#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x reader#harry styles x yn#harry x reader#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles#harry styles fandom#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fiction#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#harry styles smut#harry styles au#vampire!harry#mafia!harry#mob!harry#bad boy!harry#badboy!Harry#harry styels x reader#harry x y/n#harry styels x y/n#harry x yn#harry smut#harry fluff#harry fics#harry styles fics#dark harry
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Concept tropes
Pediatrician!harry
Lawyer!harry
Nanny!harry
Baker!harry
Vampire!harry
Best friends with benefits
Bestfriend!harry
Dadsbestfriend!harry
Sextherapist!harry
Pornstar!Harry and pornstar!y/n @pornstar-harry
Mailman!harry
Camgirl!y/n and bakerboyfriend!harry
Record store!Harry and married!y/n
Ex!harry
Princess!y/n x guard Harry
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Vamp!Harry
erodasfishtacos
[x]
[x]
Honeyskins
Honey and Wildfire
jarofstyles
Beauty and the Beast
[x]
mouthfulloftoothpasterry
[x]
[x]
#Harry Styles Oneshot#Harry Styles Fic#Vampire!Harry#Vamprry#Harry Styles Angst#Harry Styles Fluff#Harry Styles Smut#Vamprry Masterlist#AOKMasterlist#Harry Styles x reader#Harry Styles x you#Harry x reader#Harry Styles Fanfiction#Harry Styles x y/n
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vampire h snippet? 🤪
His other hand reaches for your neck, fingers gently tapping the sides of your throat. “Just say the word, darling. And I’ll give you anything you want.”
You feel your chest deflate, all the air evaporating from your lungs as he slowly urges you back against the wall. Bracing you there as he awaits your decision.
He knows what you want. And he knows that you’d tell him otherwise.
Your fingers tangle in the dark shirt on his chest, desperate to keep him near you. “Do it. Please.”
He tilts your head back, letting his lip curl up until his fang is revealed. “Are you sure, my dove?”
Another fervent nod. “Yes. Please, Har…please, need to feel it. Need to feel you.”
He leans closer, letting the tips of his sharp teeth graze over the sensitive skin of your throat. Right above your pulse point. “Gotta be really sure, darling. Don’t want to hurt you. Or lose control.”
“You won’t,” you exhale, feeling more confident than you sound. “Know you won’t.”
Truth be told, you wouldn’t mind if he did. Even in his darkest moments, he remains your fiercest protector. Never allowing anyone to hurt you.
Not even himself.
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FICTOBER DAY 4- Have You Done This Before?
Helllooo… here is a nice little blurb for today. 🧛🏽♀️
Fictober prompt list/ masterlist
Patreon
Warnings- vampires, talks of blood, murder, etc
———
“Have you done this before?” Harry whispered against her hair as he felt her leaning her head back on to a cool shoulder. He was asking even though he already knew the answer. Foreplay. Flashy red lights lit up the club, the crowd thick and preoccupied. His prize, the pick of the night allowing his hands to wander around her body, the red velvet slip dress making his cock ache.
Y/N knew going to a club known for being a vampire hang out, aka a blood bank, was risky. Some could say she was having a quarter life crisis, some could say she was going through it, but she was tired of sticking to the books and her bed. She’d rarely been one to take a risk, more apt to listening to a raunchy audiobook as she cleaned up from baking her cinnamon rolls to take to work as a treat for her coworkers the next day. Showing up somewhere that had you sign a waiver to get inside to let you know you were responsible for your own safety if you left the premises had been chilling, but she knew that she had to take a shot.
“No.” She whispered, eyes closing as the taller vampire pulled her closer against his body. The frosty tip of his nose ghosted the side of her cheek making her breath catch in her throat, the large hand resting on her hips keeping her pulled up against him as they moved to the music. Harry had zeroed in on her as soon as she walked inside. Most people had been watching, the obvious uptick in her pulse showing her excitement or nerves and the brand new scent intriguing most of them. It was always fun to see a newbie, but this one in particular had his fangs growing without his permission.
Her scent was divine, decadent, every delicious word. Sweet. So, so sweet, like cinnamon and vanilla and a bit of ginger. It wasn’t the artificial type that came with human made perfumes, the kind that made a sticky coating in the back of his throat that he despised. No, she smelled like homemade, fresh sweets. He’d always been known to have a sweet tooth. He’d wasted little time in approaching, not bothering to go with the usual hunt of the prey tactic. It was obvious Y/N was a rare one with that sort of potent, perfect scent, and Harry was selfish. He’d never claim otherwise.
She had been easy to charm once he soothed her worries, explaining how it worked. How people enjoyed the feeling of the venom, like a high. How it was intimate and hot and that’s why there were private areas for bites and the after activities. Harry usually liked that, less of a problem, but tonight? Harry was thinking about getting his food to go.
“Well… Will you let me, sweetness?” He purred, inhaling her scent as his nose dipped into the curve of her jaw. A groan from him vibrated against her back, his words smooth and sultry as he continued. “Let me take you home where I can ravish you. I can smell how wet you’ve been getting for me. I can hear your excitement. The blood is rushing through your veins, your heart is pumping… All for me.” His grip tightened, his length pressing into her ass as she submitted to his movements.
He was thick, impossibly hard and bigger than she had expected. The rumors were true, then. Vampires were more well endowed than humans.. Y/N hadn’t known if she would prove that as a myth tonight, but the thumping between her thighs was making the choice for her.
“A-Are you going to bite me when you’re inside me?” The thought was spilled without her permission, thinking out loud as his lips pressed against her jaw. There was a pause before a soft pained noise left his throat, rubbing himself against the thin material of her dress.
“Yes. I want to taste it. I know you’ll be even sweeter when you’re cumming around my cock.” He breathed. “I’ll give it to you for as long as you can take it, sweet little thing. Have t’make sure you’ll come back to see me, don’t we?” His lips moved further south, her body stiffening momentarily before melting into him once she felt them brush over a specific spot. The vampire could feel her pulse, each woosh of her blood moving in the artery. Such a strong beat, his balls heavy with his arousal as she tilted to the side for him. She was a natural, something not many people were.
With her scent and her body reacting so positively to him, it did make him wonder how she couldn’t have found her way sooner. There was no way she wasn’t fated for a vampire, but he wasn’t going to think much more on it. He was worked up and hungry. For her body and her blood.
“I’ll take you home and get you comfortable… But before we leave, may I have a taste?”
#fictober#jarofstyles fictober#jarofstyles fictober 2023#jarofstyles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles smut#harry writing#harry styles imagine#harry drabble#harry styles blurb#harry styles writing#vampire!harry#vampire!harry styles#vampirry#vampire harry#vampire Harry styles#vamprry#Harry styles fluff#Harry styles angst#Harry styles supernatural#Harry styles au
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Welcome to Fictober!
Get ready for a series of enjoyable stories leading up to Halloween.
Every Saturday, a new story will be released, offering you a dose of Halloween spirit. With a special story posted on Tuesday 31st October.
From nostalgic trick-or-treating to the joy of pumpkin carving and the thrill of watching classic horror films, and even a few different things that you totally won’t be expecting. These fics will capture the essence of the season, offering a few tricks as well as a few treats.
So, mark your calendar and join us on this journey to make your Saturdays a little more special in the run-up to Halloween.
Forever At The Pumpkin Patch. [ 7th October, 2023. ]
in which, your boyfriend knew that halloween was your favourite holiday of the year, you went all out, dressed up in extravagant costumes, decorated your shared house more than you did at christmas and made little goody bags to give out to the children that knocked on your door. after being together for a total of four years, you lover boy organises a candle lit picnic at your favourite spot, the pumpkin patch where he asks you a very important question.
The Masquerade. [ 14th October, 2023. ]
in which, your friend drags you along to a high school reunion halloween party, which you one hundred percent do not feel in the mood to attend, but his nagging doesn't hold off, so being the good friend you are, you give into his nagging. a shocking revelation occurs when your ex walks through the door who you as well as everyone else didn’t expect to turn up leading to a confrontation that's nothing but emotional.
Halloween Movie Marathon. [ 21st October, 202. ]
in which, of your first halloween where all of your children finally understand the concept, after having taken them out trick or treating, the four of you all cuddle up on the sofa, hot coco in one hand whilst your other dips in and out of there sweet bucket, a movie marathon where the films are child friendly halloween films which both you and your husband can’t wait to show your children, creating not only a family tradition but memories to last a lifetime.
The Impossible Miracle. [ 28th October, 2023. ]
in which, what you thought would turn out as a fun filled halloween evening with your fiancé turns out to be anything of the sorts, you collapse in pain, coughing up blood as your body convulses where your rushed to the hospital via your fiancés car where the a trip to the witches inform you of something you never thought would be possible given your lover is a creature of the night.
A Love Beyond Time. [31st October, 2023. ]
in which, in 1864, a serene town was the canvas for your budding love story, as you joyfully prepared for a life together with your beloved fiancé. However, the tranquility shattered in one heart-wrenching moment during an unexpected town assault. Witnessing your fiancé's lifeless body crumple to the ground, your world came crashing down, forever altering the course of your existence. You were left haunted by that fateful day, struggling to piece together a life in the aftermath of the tragedy, while whispers of a supernatural twist and the possibility of a reunion with your once-lost love lingered on the edges of your consciousness, marking the passage of years and bringing an enigmatic undercurrent to your existence.
If you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know, either in through my asks, messages or comments.
Whose ready…?
#musicforastylesrestaurant#fictober23#the halloween chronicles#harry styles#vampire!harry#husband!harry#harry styles angst#harry styles au#harry styles blurb#harry styles fluff#harry styles imagine#harry styles masterlist#harry styles fake ig#harry styles headcanon#harry styles x oc#harrystylesdrabble#harry styles fake social media#harry styles writing#harry styles x reader#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harrystylesxreader#harry styles one shot#harry styles x yn#harry’s house#harrystylesxyn#dad!harry#dadrry
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