finger sucking!!!! harrys fingers constantly in yns mouth!!! because shes a teething vampire!!!!!!!!
AHHHHHH! Yes yes yes. I made it smutty though 😜
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Warnings- vampires, blood and blood drinking, biting, some manhandling, unprotected sex, finger sucking
The new vampire's teeth sank into Harry's finger abruptly, making him hiss in surprise. His other hand instantly grabbed her hair gently but firmly to stop the biting- it would make him cum too quickly. Blood trickled down his finger as he pulled it out of her mouth despite her whine when he pulled it away. Red dribbled down his knuckle as she watched it with wide, blown out crimson eyes.
"Careful, little one..." He sighed. Vampires were always bloody messy when they were new, but he had never expected to have to work through a new blood stage with his girl. She’d been a human when they met. “You can’t be so greedy. Already have my cock in you like y’were begging for, and you drank plenty from me earlier. Gentle with your teeth if you want my fingers in your mouth.”
Y/N moaned, her teeth retracting slowly as she released his finger with a little pout. She had no control over herself right now, and he had been trying to help her through it but it was tough. Neither of them expected it to be easy, but Y/N had underestimated just how much she had would feel like she would feel like she was crawling out of her own skin when she didn’t get what she wanted.
New vampires were wild, unhinged, bloodthirsty, and horny as hell- and she was no different. Her thighs spread wider over his hips as she rode him slowly, rubbing her swollen clit over the base of his cock with a pant. It was wet from her, the third orgasm doing little to tame her. She was making him a sticky, creamy mess, drenching his poor cock and sac and inner thighs with a mix of them but she couldn’t stop.
She knew she was being a lot, but this was something she needed.
"Harry..." She whined, trying to get more of his fingers back in her mouth. She wanted to bite down, wanted to taste blood again. She was addicted. “M’sorry. Can’t I… just a little more? Please baby? Please? I’m so thirsty, my throat burns.”
A low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he watched her struggle with her vampire instincts. The laugh wasn’t to be cruel, no, but he could remembered his own struggle with the shift. The burning, the hormones, the frantic need to get what she needed, it wasn’t so unfamiliar to him. Though, it was 300 years ago and probably less complicated (and dire) than her own need to control herself. It was far easier to accidentally snap and drain someone dry when he could run off and not have to worry about camera phones or the doorbells recording things.
He may be able to glamour someone into giving him money, clothes, anything else- but he wasn’t all that good with tech.
One hand tangled in her hair while the other brought his bleeding finger to her lips. "Open- Ah, slow.” He commanded softly, waiting for her to restrain herself the best she could before he allowed his thumb to press against her bottom lip. When she obeyed, he fed her his bitten finger slowly. "Suck. Clean it off before it heals." He added, pressing the wound against her tongue deliberately. His hips lifted to meet her slow ride. The desperate suckling of his digit had his cock twitching inside of her. “Now can you be gentle with my fingers?”
Apparently not.
His pretty little mate and newly turned vampire was still struggling with her self control, it seemed.
Harry's eyes darkened as he felt her teeth sink into his finger again, this time harder and more insistent. She was losing control rapidly, the instinct and bloodlust overriding any semblance of restraint she might have had moments ago. Blood flowed freely from the new wound as she sucked greedily on his digit, the prior one closing up. His other hand gripped her hip tightly to stabilize her riding motion while he tried to gentle her down from the bloodlust peak she was hitting. “Stop… Stop biting.” He growled lowly, tugging hard at her hair. “Let go of my fingers, you fuckin’ needy brat.”
She ignored his growled command entirely, too lost in her bloodthirsty haze to heed his warning. Her smaller hands suddenly grabbed his wrist forced the digits deeper into her mouth, biting down harder on both fingers simultaneously. She was growling lowly in her throat as he yanked her hair, her instincts telling her that the more blood she drank, the stronger she would get- and that was true, but Harry wasn’t human either. He was her boyfriend who also happened to be a vampire, and he had a limited source for her to have.
That didn’t seem to click in her brain though. All that mattered in the current moment was blood and sex, and she had both. Her riding became erratic as she humped him desperately, making a further mess of him as the slick sound of wet skin rubbing against one another filled his ears, whining as he released her hair to press on the hinge of her jaw to finally force it open.
With a snarl, Harry pulled his fingers from her mouth, the abrupt action paired with her saliva causing the bloody mix to drip onto her tongue and down her chin. Before she could react or snap her mouth closed to bite again, he flipped their positions swiftly, pinning her beneath him with an iron grip on her wrists. His eyes flashed with anger and something completely and utterly primal as he held her down.
"Enough." He hissed, his voice barely recognizable through clenched teeth and extended fangs. "If you can't control yourself, I'll just have to fuck it out of you."
"You're so fucking greedy." He growled lowly, his hips rocking into hers. His thick, long, cock hit right into that sensitive spot inside her, and he knew how to get it. He would be making sure of it. "You're a greedy little thing, aren’t you? Can't even control yourself around blood and dick." He sneered, his hands squeezing her wrists as she gnashed her teeth at him, pussy clenching around him.
"You’re gonna take it until you’re nice n’tired out- or remember to keep your fangs out of me. Whichever comes first."
The Night He Stayed- Vampire!harry styles x reader
Word Count: 6.7 K
Warnings: Fingering, p in v, degradation, praising, blood feeding, biting, nipple play.
Synopsis: A jaded vampire. A heartbroken bartender. One Halloween night that blurs the line between hunger and love, and changes everything.
“You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”
Harry stared at her, genuinely startled. No scream. No panic. Just that calm, matter-of-fact tone, like she’d just asked if he wanted another drink.
He let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re… not afraid?”
She smiled faintly, though her voice was soft. “Should I be?”
He looked at her for a long moment. This maddening, fearless woman who had turned his entire night, maybe his entire existence, inside out and something inside him shifted.
“No,” he said finally, voice low, reverent. “Not you.”
__________________________
The night was cold enough to make mortals shiver, but Harry Styles didn’t feel it. He hadn’t felt the cold in centuries. Not since warmth had become something he only stole from others.
Still, he appreciated Halloween, the one night a year he could roam freely, without having to hide what he was. Or rather, what he wasn’t.
Humans called it the season of fear. To him, it was amateur hour.
He strolled down the busy London street, hands tucked in the pockets of his black coat, the air thick with the scent of cheap rum, face paint, and mortal ignorance. All around him were vampires or, at least, people who thought they were. Pale faces dusted with white powder, plastic fangs glinting under streetlights, and fake blood dripping down chins in glorified drool trails.
He slowed to watch one of them, a man wearing a crushed velvet cape and eyeliner that had clearly been applied in a moving vehicle. The guy hissed at a passing group of witches, baring his store-bought teeth.
Harry smirked. “Terrifying.” he muttered under his breath, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, I tremble.”
A woman passed by with a glass of red wine, sloshing it dramatically. “O-positive.” she giggled to her friends.
Harry rolled his eyes. If only they knew how metallic it really tastes, he thought. And how quickly it clots if you don’t drink it fresh.
A couple dressed as matching skeletons stumbled past him, laughing, bumping into his shoulder. “Sorry, mate!” one slurred.
He gave them a polite smile, all teeth, no warmth and continued on his way. Their heartbeats thumped behind him, loud and inviting. He could taste them in the air if he wanted to.
But not tonight. Not yet.
Tonight, he was looking for something... different.
The humans had their little masquerade, and he had his hunger. The irony wasn’t lost on him. He’d lived long enough to find their fear of monsters both amusing and endearing. After all, what was scarier than a creature that could walk among them unnoticed dressed in nothing but mortal skin and good manners?
A group of college kids sprinted past, one yelling, “Nice costume, mate!”
Harry glanced down at himself. Plain black trousers, boots, a dark shirt, a few silver rings. No cape. No makeup. No need.
He smirked again. “Thanks,” he said under his breath, voice carrying just enough of a grin to make it dangerous. “It’s one of a kind.”
Ahead, neon lights bled across the pavement. A club pulsing with bass, laughter, and the faintest scent of adrenaline. Perfect.
Harry stopped outside the club, the thrum of bass vibrating through the pavement like a heartbeat.
How poetic, he thought, lips curling faintly. A room full of living, breathing pulse points.
Feeding nights were usually easy. Predictable. He’d perfected the routine centuries ago. Walk in, find someone alone and looking for danger, seduce them just enough to make them follow. Humans were remarkably good at mistaking hunger for attraction. He never took more than he needed, never left a mess. Just enough to keep the edge off the craving.
It was all a game now. A dull, repetitive one. Seduction had become muscle memory; pleasure, an imitation. Nothing ever stuck.
Harry stepped forward, the club doors parting like an invitation. The air inside was warm, electric, perfume, sweat, and cheap liquor blending into a haze of mortal excess. The lights flashed crimson and violet across faces painted to look monstrous, none of them realizing that the real one had just walked in.
A few heads turned as he made his way to the bar, they always did. Something about him drew attention, even when he wasn’t trying. Maybe it was his eyes. Green, sharp, faintly amused, or the quiet confidence of someone who’d seen more centuries than he cared to count.
He slid into a seat at the counter, planning to survey the room. A blonde at the far end caught his eye, already giving him that come talk to me look. Easy prey. He could be done by midnight if he wanted.
But then,
He saw her.
Behind the bar.
And suddenly, every well-rehearsed plan evaporated.
She wasn’t like the rest.
Her costume, if it could be called that, clung to her in ways that demanded attention. It was classic, red and black. But the top barely held her perfectly curved breasts, and her skirt was short enough that if she’d bend, her ass would be on display. Shiny makeup, perfect red lips, making her stand out. But it wasn’t just that. It was the way she moved, quick, sure, effortless. She was flipping bottles, pouring drinks with the precision of someone who owned the room, tossing back sarcastic comments at flirty customers without missing a beat.
Her laughter cut through the music, low and magnetic.
And Harry, who’d lived long enough to think he’d seen every kind of beauty the world could offer, forgot himself for a moment.
His hunger quieted.
Not gone, just... pushed aside, like it knew it wasn’t the only craving now.
He leaned on the bar, lips twitching into a small, intrigued smile as she turned toward him.
“Can I get you something?” she asked, voice teasing, confident.
Oh, he could think of a few things. But for now,
“Something strong,” he said, eyes never leaving hers. “I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”
Harry had been alive long enough to recognize beauty in all its forms. The fleeting, the fragile, the dangerous. But this one was something else.
He couldn’t quite decide what drew him more, her smile or the fact that it wasn’t directed at him.
She was working the bar like a performer on her own stage. Glasses clinked, music pulsed, people shouted orders over the noise. She barely looked flustered, tossing her hair out of her face and flashing an effortless grin at the next customer.
When she finally came back to him, he leaned forward slightly, resting an elbow on the counter.
“Still here?” she asked, teasing, wiping down the surface between them.
“Planning to be,” he replied smoothly. “Unless you plan to throw me out.”
She quirked a brow. “Depends. You gonna order something, or just stare at me all night?”
“Can’t I do both?” His smile was slow, deliberate, the kind that usually melted resistance in seconds.
But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t even blush.
Instead, she laughed, short and genuine. “You can try, pretty boy. What’ll it be?”
Harry blinked, momentarily thrown off. Pretty boy? No one had called him that in… well, centuries. Most people couldn’t even look him in the eye long enough to get that comfortable.
He recovered with a smirk, giving her the same answer he had earlier. “Surprise me. Something strong.”
“Strong, huh?” she mused, eyeing him like she was assessing a challenge. “You look like a whiskey type. Maybe bourbon. Definitely someone who thinks they’re tougher than they are.”
His brows lifted, amused. “You think you’ve got me figured out?”
“Please,” she said, already pouring. “I’ve been bartending for five years. I can smell the overconfidence from here.”
She slid the drink toward him, amber liquid catching the neon light. He took a sip, smooth, smoky, warm. Not bad for human alcohol.
He hummed approvingly. “You might be right about the bourbon. But the confidence?” He leaned in slightly, voice dropping into something darker, teasing. “That’s not an act.”
She met his gaze evenly. “Confidence and arrogance are cousins, you know. One’s just louder.”
He laughed. A low, surprised sound that earned a few curious glances from nearby patrons.
Maybe it was the centuries of predictable human behavior, or maybe it was the way she wasn’t bending to him, but something about her defiance was addictive.
So he stayed.
Drink after drink, round after round, he found excuses to keep talking to her. Each time, he ordered something different. A gin martini, a rum cocktail, something with fire and flair just to see how she’d make it.
She did it all without missing a beat, even doing little tricks now and then, flipping bottles, catching them, the crowd cheering.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her.
At one point, between customers, she glanced at him again. “You sure you can handle another one? You’ve had, what, four?”
“Five.”, he corrected with a grin. “And I assure you, love, I’ve got a remarkable tolerance.”
“Right,” she said, smirking. “That’s what they all say before I’m hauling them off the floor.”
“You can try hauling me,” he murmured, his tone suggestive enough to make her snort.
“Charming,” she deadpanned, reaching for another glass. “You really think that line works on women?”
He tilted his head, studying her. “Usually.”
“Well,” she said with a teasing smile, “congratulations. You’ve met your exception.”
He grinned, biting back a laugh. For once, someone had cracked through his well-practiced façade, not with awe, but with sarcasm.
And the worst part? He loved it.
________________________________
Hours had a strange way of slipping past in that club, lights flickering, glasses clinking, the same songs looping like spells meant to make people forget time.
Harry hadn’t moved from his spot at the bar. He was sitting there with one elbow propped lazily on the counter, chin resting against his hand, eyes fixed on her like she was the only thing in motion.
She noticed, of course. Hard not to, when a man like that was watching you.
He wasn’t the usual kind of drunk who flirted between slurred words and bad jokes. No, this one had a certain calm to him, that unnerving quiet confidence that made her pulse jump for reasons she didn’t want to admit.
“Another one?” she asked when she came over, though her shift was almost done.
Harry smiled, slow, disarming. “Only if you’re making it, love.”
That word again. Love. The way he said it, smooth, low, like it was both an endearment and a challenge, made her fingers pause for half a second on the shaker. She hated that it made her stomach flutter.
He leaned in slightly as she worked, voice barely audible over the music. “You always this good at pretending everything’s fine?”
That caught her off guard. She glanced up, meeting those impossibly green eyes, and for a moment, forgot how to breathe.
“What makes you think I’m pretending?” she asked, forcing a light tone.
He tilted his head, studying her like she was a riddle. “You’ve got that look. The one people get when they smile too hard.”
She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “You’re observant for someone who’s had six drinks.”
“Seven,” he corrected with a grin. “And I’ve been told I’m very good at paying attention.”
She should’ve brushed him off. Should’ve rolled her eyes and walked away. But something in his tone, the quiet sincerity under the arrogance, made her pause.
Maybe it was the way the night had been going. Maybe it was the way his eyes seemed to see past her armor. Or maybe it was the fact that he was a stranger, one she’d likely never see again after tonight.
So she exhaled softly and said, “Fine. You really want to know? I just got out of a relationship. Messy ending. The kind that makes you wish people came with warning labels.”
He didn’t flinch, didn’t look smug for prying it out of her. Instead, his expression softened, just a fraction. “Someone was stupid enough to let you go?”
She let out a dry laugh. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t need to,” he said, eyes glinting. “Sometimes it’s obvious when something good’s been wasted.”
Her pulse skipped, and she quickly busied herself cleaning the counter. “You always this smooth, or is it just the whiskey talking?”
“Oh, I’m smooth even when sober,” he said, smirking.
“Good to know you’re humble too.”
“I have my moments,” he replied, flashing that grin that could make saints sin.
She tried not to look at him too long but it was impossible not to notice the tattoos curling up his forearms, the glint of his silver rings catching the bar lights, or the easy way he carried himself, like the night itself bent to his pace.
It wasn’t fair, really. Men like him weren’t supposed to look that good, or sound that enticing when they said your name because he did say it, a few minutes later, when she introduced herself properly. And when he said it, it somehow sounded like it meant something.
She told herself not to get attached. He was just a stranger in a bar. Someone passing through her night like the rest of them.
But she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something different about him. Something that made her want to know what he was hiding behind that lazy grin.
He sat at the bar still as she was closing up, ready to end her shift.
She glanced up once, catching his stare. “Why're you still here?”
His lazy smile suggested he hadn’t even considered leaving. “Didn’t want to leave without saying goodnight.”
“Goodnight?” she echoed, lips twitching. “You make it sound like this is some kind of date.”
“Maybe it could be,” he said, voice low. “Next time you’re not working.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite hide the smirk that tugged at her mouth. “You don’t give up, do you?”
“Never saw the point,” he replied, leaning back, his gaze dragging over her just long enough to make her skin prickle. “Besides, I’ve had worse hobbies than trying to make a beautiful woman smile.”
Her breath caught before she could stop it. God, he was shameless. And worse, he was good at it. Too good.
“You’ve got a dangerous mouth,” she said finally, voice half amused, half warning.
He grinned. “Depends who you ask.”
She shook her head, pretending to be unaffected, but the warmth creeping up her neck betrayed her. “You should go before I start charging you rent for that barstool.”
“Tell you what,” he said, standing. “I’ll go… if you walk me out.”
She laughed. “You’re impossible.”
“Persistent,” he corrected, flashing her that grin again.
Something in the way he said it, that mix of arrogance and something darker, made her pulse skip. Against her better judgment, she found herself nodding. “Fine. I’m locking up anyway.”
He followed her as she moved through the side corridor toward the staff exit. The hallway was dimly lit, quiet, the bass from the club now a distant echo. She could feel him behind her, tall, silent, radiating warmth she shouldn’t have noticed.
She pushed open the back door, the chill of the night brushing her skin. He was close enough that when she turned, she nearly collided with him.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke. The air between them shifted, heavier, charged, alive.
He looked down at her, green eyes glinting under the flickering light. “You sure you want to call it a night, love?”
Her chest rose with a shaky breath. “You always call women that?”
“Only the ones I can’t stop thinking about.”
She hated how easily her pulse betrayed her. “You really think that line’s gonna work?”
“I don’t think,” he murmured, stepping closer, his voice a velvet promise. “I know.”
She laughed, soft, nervous, and wanting. “You’re so-”
“-cocky?” he supplied with a smirk.
“Exactly.”
Their eyes locked again, and something inside her snapped. Maybe it was the alcohol in the air, or the exhaustion, or the fact that for once, she didn’t want to think. She just wanted to feel something good.
So she did the first thing that felt right.
She grabbed his shirt collar, pulled him through the half-open staff door, and let it swing shut behind them. Harry grinned against her lips, one hand going to her hip to steady her, other cupping her jaw as he tilted her face upwards for a better angle.
“Knew you’d get there.”, he mumbles out of breath.
“Shut up.”, she mumbles back, raising up on her tiptoes. She’d kissed men before. Flings, mistakes, forgettable faces, but this was different. There was a pull here, something deeper than attraction, as though his very presence was rewriting the rhythm of her heartbeat.
And when he deepened the kiss, she let him. Completely.
Her mind was a blur, but she noticed things, the faint scent of cedar and smoke clinging to him, the cool brush of his rings against her skin, the way he made even the air around them feel electric.
It felt so good, and it was just a kiss. After weeks of heartbreak and noise, here was a man who looked at her like she wasn’t broken, just… alive.
Maybe it was reckless. Maybe it was exactly what she needed.
“My flat’s just around the corner,” she said, the words slipping out before she could second-guess them.
Harry’s lips curved into that devastating smile again. “Lead the way, love.”
She didn’t know why her pulse jumped at the sound of that word again. Maybe because of the way he said it, like he meant it. She didn’t look back to see the flicker in his eyes as he followed her, a flash of hunger, darker and older than anything.
Her flat wasn’t far. A narrow staircase, a squeaky door, a space that smelled faintly of vanilla candles and coffee. Warm, lived-in, safe. It felt like a place he shouldn’t belong in.
They stumbled inside between breathless kisses, the kind that were more about relief than haste, two people trying to forget the rest of the world.
He pressed her against the closed door, one hand braced beside her head, the other tracing the line of her jaw. Her hands tangle in his hair, moaning softly as his lips leave hers and move to the skin of her jaw and down her chin.
It should’ve felt routine to him. He’d been here before, countless times across countless decades, but it didn’t. There was something different about this.
About her.
“What about you? Messy breakup too?”, she asks breathlessly, as one of his hands squeeze her hip and trails down over her short skirt.
“Nothing in particular.”, he says, not giving her a lot. He palms her ass over her skirt. “You do know this little piece of clothing barely covers your ass?”
“I know, and I don’t care. Got you in my flat, didn’t it?”, she replies back and he chuckles, hand going under her skirt.
“I was more curious to see what you were wearing under it.”, he says, fingers grazing her thin cotton panties.
“Take a look, then.”, she flutters her eyelashes, heart thumping with adrenaline.
“I’m the one usually giving instructions, love.”, he says, nipping at her neck, making her moan. “You put up this act, but I know you just want to be taken care of. Just want to feel good. Isn’t that right love?”
His fingers press onto her clit over her panties and her breath hitches, wanting more. “I’m not giving you more until you answer.”, he says calmly.
“Mm, please. Make me feel good.”, she says softly, and he smirks, hands going to her hips, pulling her towards him. “Oh I will. More than that shitty ex boyfriend of yours ever could. Now, take off these little pieces of clothing that stop me from seeing you completely.”
She obeys, his commands making her feel like giving up all control already. She tugs down her zipper and slides her short skirt down her hips, then her top, left with only underwear.
“Beautiful tits you got there, love. Go on, get them out.”, he eyes her, stepping her closer.
She does, unhooking her bra, and she’s left with her upper half fully exposed. Harry cups her right breast, and attaches his lips around the nipple of her left breast, making her gasp and hold onto him.
He’s then moving her to the couch, making her lay down so he has better access, connecting their lips again. His fingers play with her breasts, palming them, cupping them, tugging on her nipples making her gasp into the kiss. When she broke away just long enough to look up at him, her lips swollen and eyes bright, he thought that he could live off that sight alone.
“Harry,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady.
He answered with a hum, brushing a kiss to her neck, and then froze.
Her pulse fluttered beneath his lips, steady, strong, alive. And suddenly the hunger he’d been suppressing all night surged to the surface, sharp and undeniable.
His breath hitched. He felt his fangs press against his lower lip before he could stop them. Instinct, ancient and uncontrollable.
He turned his head away, jaw tight, eyes darkening as he forced himself to step back. “I-”
She blinked, chest rising and falling quickly. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said too quickly, his voice rough. “I just… need a second.”
And then she saw it, the faint gleam of his teeth when the light hit them just right. Not normal teeth. Not even close.
For a heartbeat, the room was utterly still.
Then, instead of fear, she tilted her head slightly, curiosity flickering behind her eyes. “You’re a vampire, aren’t you?”
Harry stared at her, genuinely startled. No scream. No panic. Just that calm, matter-of-fact tone, like she’d just asked if he wanted another drink.
He let out a quiet, incredulous laugh, shaking his head. “You’re… not afraid?”
She smiled faintly, though her voice was soft. “Should I be?”
He looked at her for a long moment. This maddening, fearless woman who had turned his entire night, maybe his entire existence, inside out and something inside him shifted.
“No,” he said finally, voice low, reverent. “Not you.”
Her smile widens, as she tugs him by his shirt so he’s back over her. “Don’t fight it then. I don’t mind, I just want to feel good.”
“You’re really one of a kind, y/n.”, he says, tossing his shirt away, and she grins, running her hands over him as he leaves little bites and kisses over her skin. He could hear the blood flowing through her arteries and veins, he could hear the thump of her heart, he could see the way her skin rose rhythmically at her pulse points. But he was hesitant to feed on her, he’d never been like that before.
“Oh!” Her breath hitches as his fingers graze over her folds, her panties had been gone long ago. The moisture glazed his fingers.
“You’re so wet, love. Tell me, what got you so wet?”, he prompts, spreading her knees apart with one hand, other still over her pussy.
“You. Want you to..” she’s cut off by a moan as he begins circling his thumb around her clit, lips attaching to her nipple again.
“Want me to what, love?”, he asks innocently, teeth nipping the sensitive skin around her nipple making her squeak.
“Use your fingers, mouth, anything, please.”, she begs.
He eases the sting with his tongue. “You like that?”
“Uh huh.” Two of his fingers slip into her hole and her back arches, lips opening into an inaudible gasp.
“I want you to be loud, okay? Let me hear those sweet sounds.”, he says, giving her another bite near her nipple making her moan.
“Hm, just like that.”, he confirms, and as he’s getting more aroused, so is his need to feed. His sharp ears hear the gush of her blood flowing, drowning her moans, and his hand that was laying over her hip was close to her femoral artery, his thumb laying just over it.
“Fuck.”, he curses, but continues to pump his fingers in and out of her. “I need to feed on you.”
His fingers curl upwards and deeper, hitting her g-spot making her moan loudly, inching her body upwards. “You need to-what?”, she can barely understand him, overwhelmed by pleasure.
“I’ll fix you right up, don’t worry. It’ll feel good.”, he promises, and he’s tilting her neck for more exposure, fingers continuing to pleasure her, scissoring in and out of her.
He had promised her she had nothing to be afraid of, so she finds herself agreeing as his eyes meet hers like he was asking for permission. Harry didn’t know why he did that.
“Okay.” She didn’t protest as his teeth sank into her skin. Besides, she was too wrapped up in pleasure. And she actually wanted to feel a bit of pain. She can feel a sharp sting as his fangs break her skin, but as his lips wrap around her the spot and starts sucking her blood, it turns into pleasure.
“I’m gonna cum..” Her moans get louder and her body shakes slightly as he moves his fingers at a faster pace, other hand holding her still.
It wasn’t just the taste for Harry, it was her. The warmth of her blood, steady and alive, carried all the vitality of a human heart beating in rhythm with its desires. It was intoxicating, electric, more addictive than anything he’d felt in decades.
Every nerve in his body seemed to ignite. He felt alive in a way he hadn’t in years, every sense magnified. The scent of her skin, the soft pulse beneath his lips, even the faint tremble of her breath, it was all part of the experience, overwhelming and intimate. He carries her through her orgasm, listening to the beautiful sounds she made, it only making him crave her more.
When he drew back, it wasn’t with emptiness, but with satisfaction. Not just for the thirst he’d finally quenched, but for the trust she’d given him. She’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling from the after effects of her orgasm. She’s slightly dazed, blinking as her vision’s a bit blurry.
“That was..woah.”, she pants, trying to look at her neck as he pulled back, blood still gushing out of her wound. It wasn’t too big, Harry was careful and normally he wouldn’t care, but he didn’t want y/n having to deal with that wound, so he bites his own wrist, drawing some blood and brings it up to her lips.
“Drink.”
Her eyebrows raise in question, and he nods, nudging his wrist closer. “My blood will heal the wound, make it better.”
She doesn’t know what this night has gotten into but she listens, letting the metallic taste of his blood touch her tongue too. Harry’s green eyes so deep she thought he could stare into her soul kept eye contact with her the whole while. She had questions for him, too many. But at the moment, she just wanted to drink. It was weirdly intimate, him giving her his blood. But it didn’t go on for long. His eyes flick to the side of her neck, seeing that his fang marks have disappeared and he pulls his wrist away.
“It’s really gone huh?”, she touches the spot.
He smirks. “Like magic.”
She smiled, pulling him down again, locking lips. “I liked that, it was really hot.”
“You’re a naughty girl.”
Her hands move down towards his pants, palming the bulge she could clearly feel.
“Vampires get hard ons too?”, she teases.
He growls against her lips, hands squeezing her lips. “What are you going to do about it?”
“Whatever you want me to do.”, she says, tracing her finger down his abs.
“What if I said I wanted to fuck you senseless?”, he asks, biting her bottom lip softly.
“I’d say yes..please.”, she adds. He groans, getting up to slide his pants down. “You’re driving me crazy, little human.”
She grins, then it slowly fades as she sees the size of his dick. “Holy shit.”
“What? Was your boyfriend’s at least half of mine?”, Harry asks cockily as he palms his length. She ignores his comment. “You said you’d make me feel better than he did, show me.”
“I’ll be happy too. Spread them.”, he pats her thigh, and she opens her legs. “Does it have healing properties too?”, she asks.
“What?”
“Your cum. You do cum, right?”
He’s scoffing, not wasting any more time as he’s pushing into her, all at once. “I do. And about the healing properties, let’s find out, shall we?”
She’s biting back a scream as he fills her up, and he pinches her nipple making her let that out. “I said I wanted to hear you, didn’t I?”
She nods, not giving him a verbal reply and he raises his eyebrows, giving her nipple a twist. “You were sharper when you weren’t cock greedy.”
“Yes, you did..ohh..”, she steadies herself as he doesn’t move yet, letting her adjust. “Fuck me. Fuck me good, Harry.”
“You got it, princess.”, he says, and begins moving his hips, thrusting in and out of her. She doesn’t contain her moans, nails digging into his arms as she holds on. His pace was incredible, super human. So fast, and so deep, it was hitting her so deep she didn’t even know it was possible. He lifted her legs up with one hand, pounding into her.
The flat fills with their sounds of pleasure, their moans blending together.
“So? H-He ever fuck you like this?”, he asks, blowing some hair out of his face as he looks down at her.
She couldn’t even form sentences. “No..no..please, oh..harder..”
“Yup, that’s right. I’m not leaving until I fuck you into a sensless toy. You like it though, you’re enjoying it, aren’t you baby?” He grips her jaw, squeezing it, forcing her to look at him.
“Mhmm, yes, oh yes…fuck, bite me again, u-use me...”
He lets out a soft laugh, stroking some of her hair back as he continues his pace. “You’ll be too weak if I drink from you again. But I can give you little love bites.”
She feels the dam ready to burst, that feeling at the bottom of her stomach and when he nips at the soft, delicate skin of her belly, she’s starting to shake.
“You’re gonna cum already?”, he asks, knowing it.
“Please..c-can’t..” She closes her eyes, screaming and gripping his arm tight as he gives her a particularly hard thrust.
“You can cum..eyes on me, I want to see them while you cum. No looking away from me, yeah?” She nods, opening her eyes and he grunts, “Good girl. Got pretty eyes.”
He needs a bit more to get off, humans always reach their climax early. He slows his pace a little as she orgasms, keeps her body down with a hand on her stomach as she shudders. When she’s whimpering from overstimulation, he pulls out.
“You’re not done yet, love. Turn over, come on.” She feels like she’s made of clay, barely able to move and he’s sighing, lifting her up easily and propping her on her hands over the arm rest of the couch and her knees on the cushion, then pressing down lightly on her lower back so it’s arched.
“Gotta do all the work for you. But it’s okay, I don’t mind. Now hold on.”, he warns. He squeezes her ass cheeks before separating them, and pushes his dick inside her pussy again. She moans and feels tears in her eyes, she was too sensitive.
“Harry..it’s too much..”
“You can take it, you’re a little slut who wanted to be fucked good. You’re getting exactly that, don’t complain.”
She holds on the arm rest as her entire body is moving forwards and backwards too as he’s pushing in and out, hands holding her hips. One hand goes to her hair, wrapping it around his hand and tugs her head up. “You’ve got the best fucking pussy, you know that? Prettiest, and so tight.”
She moans, tears of pleasure running down her cheeks. “F-Feels..feels so good.”
“Yeah? You like getting railed by my big cock?”, he asks, groaning as he feels his climax coming on.
“Uh huh, don’t stop..”
He quickens his pace, making her scream. When he’s just about to cum, he turns her over and jerks himself, other hand going to her chin to tug her mouth open. “Open up. It’s going to be a lot, okay? But you’ll swallow every drop.”
She nods obediently, looking up at him with her tear streaked face, makeup ruined and smothered all over her face. But she never looked more attractive to him.
She keeps her mouth open as his cum shoots onto her tongue and she brings her hand up, milking him off. She swallowed it all, noticing that it was not very salty. “You’ll know in the morning if it has healing properties.”, he adds, smirking as he presses a kiss to her lips, closing her jaw.
“Oh god..I-I..I really am crazy, letting a vampire do things to me.”, she murmurs, wiping her eyes.
“Do you regret it?”, Harry asks, cleaning himself up with a cloth laying nearby.
“No.”, she said, then licks her lips as she slowly exhales. “No, it was one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”
He smiles. “I’m glad to hear that. Energy for another round then?”, he asks, wiping off some sweat and she shakes her head, eyes wide. She was too overstimulated, her pussy was starting to hurt.
He laughs, getting off the couch and scooping his arms around her, picking her up easily. “You kept up with me, you did good little human. Where’s your bathroom?”
She pointed which way, and rested her head against his chest as he carried her like a koala bear. She was exhausted. Harry carried her effortlessly, one arm beneath her knees, the other around her back as though she weighed nothing at all, though her warmth pressed against him in a way he couldn’t ignore.
He laid her gently on the edge of the bathtub, hands surprisingly careful as he washed the sweat and remnants of the night from her skin. She hummed softly, half asleep, half aware, and it struck him how utterly unguarded she was with him.
He frowned at himself. Why am I doing this? he thought, lips pressed into a tight line. He had never cared for anyone like this. He had never… fussed, never worried about small comforts, never softened for someone. And yet, here he was.
Once she was clean, he lifted her again, carrying her to her bed. She didn’t protest, didn’t speak just let him do it. He tucked the blankets around her, careful not to wake her fully, and then padded silently to the kitchen.
A glass of water. Some fruit.
He placed them on the bedside table, lingering over her for a moment. She looked peaceful, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, unaware of the turmoil swirling inside him.
He didn’t know why he cared. Never had before. He ran a finger along the rim of the glass, eyes flicking back to her. He wanted to stay, to protect, to hold and he knew that was the dangerous part. Because he wasn’t supposed to care. Not like this.
“Harry?”, she whispers, eyes flutter open just a bit. “Will you stay?”
How could he say no to that?
He gets in the bed beside her in reply, and she turns to cuddle into his chest making him melt into a puddle.
He runs his fingers through her hair, feeling the soft strands between his fingers. “Thank you.”, he murmurs, pressing a kiss against her hair.
“For what?”, she asks, opening her eyes to look at him.
“You knew what I was and you still trusted me. You let me feed too.”, he says.
She shrugs. “I’m not scared of you. You seem like a sweet vampire, just tough on the outside.”
Harry laughs, stroking the soft skin of her cheek with his thumb. “Sweet vampire is the last thing people use to describe me, love. Oh, if you knew. But.. I guess that’s how I am with you.”, he whispers, watching as her eyes closed again and her breathing becomes heavier as she falls asleep. “I’ve never felt like this.”, he whispers, kissing her cheek.
He wasn’t going to sleep. He’d look at her all night long, cause that’s how much time he would be giving himself to be in her presence. He knew what he had to do in the morning.
_____________________________________
The first hint of dawn crept through the thin curtains, pale light tracing across the walls.
Harry sat beside her bed, watching her sleep. She looked impossibly peaceful, the curve of her lips, the slow rhythm of her breathing. So human. So warm.
He shouldn’t still be there. He knew that. Every instinct screamed for him to leave before daylight, before he made the mistake of believing this could ever be more than what it was.
But he couldn’t bring himself to move.
Something about her had cracked through centuries of practiced indifference. She’d made him feel something he thought he’d lost long ago, softness, care, hope.
And that was precisely why he had to go.
His world was too dark, too dangerous. To bring her into it would be to mark her forever, and she deserved better than that.
He leaned forward, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re too precious for this life, love,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Too bright.”
He stood slowly, drawing a single crimson rose from the pocket of his coat. It wasn’t an ordinary one, its petals glowed faintly, pulsing with a vitality that would never fade. It would never wilt, never die, just like him. A piece of the night, left behind.
He placed it on her bedside table, next to the untouched fruit and the glass of water.
When her eyes fluttered open, hazy and confused, he knew there was no more time.
“Harry?” she murmured, voice thick with sleep. “What are you-”
He met her gaze before she could finish. His hands held her cheeks gently as he stared into her beautiful eyes. His eyes glowed faintly green, ancient and hypnotic. She stilled, breath catching as the air between them seemed to hum.
“Listen to me, y/n,” he said softly, his voice wrapping around the room like a lullaby. “You’re going to forget me and all of this. You’re going to forget everything that happened in the last 8 hours. You never met me and nothing happened between us.”
Her brow furrowed faintly, but her gaze stayed locked with his.
“You’ll wake up and remember just peace and calm, no fear.” His voice trembled slightly, centuries of control fracturing under the weight of what he was doing.
“And you’ll know,” he continued, his thumb brushing her cheek, “that you are brilliant. That your ex never deserved you. That you’ll heal, and laugh again, and fill every room with that smile I’ll never forget.”
He leaned forward, pressed a soft kiss to her lips, then her forehead, and whispered one last time, “Whatever you do, be happy.. Now go back to sleep, you’ll wake up in an hour well rested, ready to take on your day.”
Her eyelids fluttered closed again, her breathing even.
Harry stood there for a moment longer, memorizing her face in the pale light, before turning toward the door. He hesitated, the ache in his chest unlike anything he’d felt in centuries, then forced himself to walk away.
Outside, the city was quiet, painted in gold and silver as the sun climbed the horizon. He slipped his sunlight ring onto his finger, the gemstone catching the light, protecting him from what he was never meant to touch.
As he stepped into the empty street, his heart felt heavier than the dawn pressing on his back.
Inside, y/n wakes up after an hour. She blinked, sitting up slowly, eyes sweeping the quiet room. She couldn’t remember why her heart felt strange, or why her throat felt tight, only that it did.
And then she saw it.
A single rose on the bedside table, crimson and perfect, its petals untouched by time.
She reached for it, fingertips brushing the stem, and smiled faintly.
She didn’t know why, but something told her she wasn’t alone.
That maybe, somewhere out there, someone was thinking of her.
And somewhere, on a quiet London street, Harry Styles disappeared into the morning, the ghost of her laughter still echoing in his mind.
______________________________
Author's note- Happy Halloween to my wonderful readers, I hope you guys enjoyed this one! I've always wanted to write a vampire!harry fic and I finally got the time and inspiration. Please do let me know if you liked my work by reblogging, liking and commenting if you want to. Reading those make my day.
CW: Explicit smut, panic attack(Harry is afraid of the dark), minor language, mentions of blood and dirty talk.
Word Count: 8.8K
A/N: This is just a fun little twist on a vampire AU because not all the spooky fics need to be super scary and sometimes we just have to comfort our vampire husband. Hope y’all enjoy!!✨
Summary: During a normal night at home the power goes out and Harry doesn’t handle it well🖤
“Oh shit.” You mumble to yourself as you rush down the hallway, flicking on the lights as you head towards the living room. You glance out the window that shows off the backyard, the dark blues swirling with the gray clouds floating across the sky tucking the moon behind them lets you know you’re running out of time. “Fuck fuck fuck.” You chant as you head into the kitchen, standing in the doorway for only a brief moment to make sure the dimness of the overhead lights are turned all the way up making the room almost seem to glow a bright white as the light bounces off the white marble of the counter tops.
You’re practically tripping over your own two feet as you rush around the house turning on all the lights in every room you enter or pass, so that not even a corner or spare coat closet tucked away in one of the guest bedrooms is cloaked in darkness. You let out a sigh of relief as you round the corner and spot the glow of your husband's nightstand lamp he keeps on while he sleeps pouring out from under your bedroom door letting you know he hasn’t woken up yet. Now this may seem a little odd, turning on all the lights because normally Harry’s kind enjoy the darkness, they thrive in it and use it to their advantage to lure in their prey and cover up their more gruesome acts but not Harry.
He is absolutely terrified of the dark.
That’s why you take it upon yourself to make sure every single room in the house is lit up so that Harry doesn’t have to worry about being surrounded by the very thing that causes him so much distress, especially while you’re asleep and won’t be able to be of much help to him. Harry himself knows his fear of the pitch blackness that comes with the night is far more intense than a human’s version of being afraid of the dark, because a few nightlights and some soothing stories and checking the closet for monsters before bed sadly do very little to ease his anxiousness about being surrounded by darkness.
Because unlike humans or most humans he should say, he knows what lurks in the dark corners of a bedroom, what demons are dancing in the shadows casted on the wall from the flames of a lit candle and the evil that lingers under beds. He knows of all the bad and scary things that walk hand in hand with the dark and even though he’s a blood drinking vampire he refuses to let the darkness force him to become something that’s pure evil, even if it means going against the very nature of his being. So what started off as him just wanting to avoid the dark to preserve what little goodness he still has inside his immortal soul, slowly transformed into Harry being terrified of the pitch blackness that comes with the time of day he is most active due to what he knows it’ll do to him.
Now the only time he is ever surrounded by darkness is in his sleep, but even then he uses the glow of the lamp on his nightstand as a beacon to draw him back into the light where he feels safe if his dreams get to be too much. And after being together for nearly four years, you've managed to somehow get this nightly routine down to only half an hour max and that's usually only if you forget a closet or bathroom light and have to run across the house to go switch them on before scurrying off to the bedroom before Harry wakes up. You always try your best to be there when he wakes up because if you’re not he will search the whole house in a panicked huff until he finds you, normally asleep on the couch in front of the tv or in the study curled up in the arm chair lost in some book.
You try to be as quiet as possible as you enter the bedroom, slowly dragging the dimmer switch all the way to the top letting the room be blanketed in a soft white light. As you look around the room a grin takes over your face when your eyes land on Harry, he is laying on top of the soft sheets on the bed with his eyes closed and a peaceful look on his face, one hand is resting on his bare chest right above his butterfly tattoo while the other is down at his side. You let out a small dreamy sigh as you reluctantly drag your eyes away from your husband so you can walk over to your closet but as you walk past Harry's side of the bed you feel a hand wrap around your wrist stopping you from being able to take another step.
"Now I know my sweet little wife wasn't about to just walk right by me without stopping to give me a kiss." Harry's voice is deep and rough from sleep while his hold on your wrist tightens ever so slightly as he pulls you backwards towards the bed.
"I didn't think you were awake." You explain with pink cheeks as Harry sits up and effortlessly tosses his legs over the bed so he can pull you to stand between them, his hand drops your wrist so he can grip your hips making a small humming noise come from the back of his throat as his thumbs rub over the silky material of your nightgown.
“I woke up when I heard your footsteps coming from the kitchen,” he tells you as he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Sounded like you were in a rush of some sort.” You let out a huff as a smirk slowly works its way onto his face while you run a hand through his hair, pushing it up and out of his face so you can get the perfect view of his emerald colored eyes.
“I may have lost track of time watching-”
“Please tell me it wasn’t that dating show where they get locked in little rooms and talk to a wall.”
“They don’t get locked in the pods Harry they can leave whenever they want.” You argue making him let out a laugh as his hands slowly slide down the side of your legs until he finds the hem of your nightgown. “And they don’t just talk to a wall-they are talking to the person behind the wall and they do that so their physical appearances doesn’t get in the way of them being a good match if they are compatible on every other level.” You explain confidently, Harry just nods as his hands slide under your nightgown and when his hands move upward he finds himself having to hold back a groan when he feels the soft skin of your ass under his palms.
“Ah yes because waiting to find out what your partner looks like until after you propose is the true key to a happy marriage isn’t it?” He asks playfully making you roll your eyes as he grabs at the soft flesh of your backside causing you to let out a small noise of surprise that has Harry’s eyes darkening. “I missed you.” He whispers as he leans in and places a kiss to the center of your chest over your nightgown.
“I missed you too.” Harry lets out a little hum in response as his hands not so subtlety start to slide back down to the hem of your nightgown and begin pushing it upwards. “Did you have a good rest?” You ask as you place your hands on the tops of his shoulders, as your eyes stare into his he just smiles and nods as his hands continue to slowly push the silky material up.
“Want to know what really woke me up?” He asks with a hint of desire laced in his voice, when you nod in response he smiles as he slides your nightgown up and over your ass making you let out a soft gasp as the cool air hits your bare flesh. Harry doesn’t look away from you as he gently pushes you backwards just enough so he can sink to his knees in front of you, his hands holding the material of your nightgown up as yours stay gripping his shoulders.
“I could smell you from all the way across the house.” He tells you with a smile as he leans in so his face is only a breath away from the wet mess between your thighs, you feel a shiver run down your spine when he takes in a big inhale through his nose causing a deep moan to fall out of his mouth. “God you smell like heaven with a bit of-” he pauses to take another deep inhale making his eyes roll back as he lets out a deep throaty groan. “Honey and I need to have it on my tongue before I go mad.”
You don’t get time to respond before he ducks down while one of his strong hands is maneuvering your left leg over his shoulder making you have no other choice but to place a hand in his hair while the other tightens its hold on his shoulder. Your mouth falls open and your eyes snap shut as Harry dives his tongue into your soaked cunt without any warning, the tip of his nose bumps your clit with each swirling movement he makes inside you. A low almost growl sound comes from deep within Harry’s chest as you give his hair a harsh tug when you feel him flick your clit with his tongue a few times before licking a warm wet stripe up your center. You let out a moan as your hips move to match the pace of Harry’s tongue as he dips it in and out of your wetness, his hold on your hips turns bruising as his eyes lock with yours making a surge of pleasure rush through you at the intensity and heat of his stare.
“Oh yes yes just like that.” You say with a moan as Harry swirls his tongue around inside you a few times before pulling out and flicking your sensitive clit. After being together for so long Harry can tell by the way you’re gripping his hair and digging your nails into the flesh of his shoulder that you’re dangerously close to making a beautiful mess for him to lick clean. Wanting to help you tip over the edge and fall into the blissful pool of your climax Harry continues to fuck you with his tongue but he slows the pace down to almost teasingly slow, sliding out until he can flick the tip of his tongue at your needy entrance before slowly diving back in.
“Oh god-so good oh shit.” If he wasn’t so busy making you come undone on his tongue he would smile, instead he lets out a moan that sends a vibration through you causing the pressure in your lower tummy to snap and his name to fall out of your mouth over and over again like you’re reciting a prayer. Harry feels a proud sense of satisfaction wash over him as he laps up all your juices not letting a single drop go to waste by dripping down your thigh or his chin, his tongue expertly licks you until you’re giving his head just the smallest of shoves when he bumps his nose into your clit making you let out a small hiss.
“I could have you as my first meal everyday and never get bored of it.” He confesses softly as he places kisses to the inside of your thigh before he helps move your leg from over his shoulder. You let out a small giggle that has a smile spreading across his face, his hands once again find your hips after he stands up. “What did you do today love? Anything interesting?” He asks as he reaches for the hem of your nightgown and drags it upwards, you just give him a shrug before lifting your arms so he can easily get the silky garment over your head letting him toss it to the floor next to his feet.
“I finished my book and-”
“Did you like the ending? I know you were worried one of them was going to die.” You smile up at him as you watch his eyes roam over your body, drinking you in as if he hasn’t seen you in years when it’s just been a few hours.
“No one died thank goodness.” You tell him with a sense of relief evident in your voice. “But Garth did end up divorcing his wife to be with his young lover in the city.” You explain making Harry let out a laugh as his eyes finally find yours and his hands reach out and cup your face.
“What an asshole.” He teases as he leans down and nudges the tip of your nose with his. “I love you.” You smile as your arms loop around his neck.
“I love you too Harry.” With that Harry’s lips are on yours in a kiss that starts off sweet, one of his hands slides down to the side of your neck while your mouths move against each others. But then it turns hungry and heated as Harry nibbles on your bottom lip before slipping his tongue into your mouth earning him a small little moan that he just swallows down. You slowly drag a hand down to the top of Harry’s shoulder and then down his chest causing the muscles in his stomach to tighten under the warmth of your touch on his much cooler skin, Harry pulls away just as your hand slides under the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Do you need something sweetheart?” He asks between kisses down your jaw while one of his hands slides down and cups one of your breasts making you let out a soft moan. “You know I’ll give you what you need baby you just have to ask for it.” He reminds you as he moves his lips to the side of your neck, licking at the spot below your ear.
“I-I need-” Your words get caught in your throat as you feel the light sting that comes with Harry biting into your flesh, the soft skin on your neck and the plush flesh on inside of your thigh being his preferred spots. Harry uses this moment to give your breast a soft squeeze before releasing it and bringing his hand over to cover yours that’s in his sweatpants so he can guide it upwards until it’s resting on his chest.
“You taste so good.” He mumbles against your neck before he gently licks any last droplets of blood off your skin, he hears you let out a quiet gasp at the sensation making him smile against your skin.
“Harry.” Your voice is whiney causing Harry to let out a dark chuckle as he grabs your hips and gently turns the two of you around.
“What’s wrong baby?” He asks with mock sympathy as he pulls away from the comfort of your neck while he walks you a few steps backwards until the back of your knees hit the mattress.
“You…I just need-” You let out a huff as his hands give your hips a squeeze, you close you eyes and try to gather yourself up enough to get the words out without getting distracted.
“That’s it sweetheart use your words and tell me what you need.” His voice is reassuring but holds a slight teasing undertone as he watches you open your eyes and stare up at him.
“I need you to-” Harry gives you a small smile and a nod of encouragement as you let out a deep breath having never been good at vocalizing what exactly you want or need from Harry because normally he already knows and tonight is no different except tonight he just really wants to hear you say it. “I n-need you to…fuck me…please.” Your cheeks turn pink as the words slip out of your mouth and Harry has a proud grin on his face as he cups your cheeks in his hands.
“Okay baby.” He coos sweetly as he leans down and places a kiss to your forehead before bringing his lips right up to your ear. “I’ll fuck you.” You feel a burning flame of desire ignite in your tummy when you feel his breath on your neck as he whispers in your ear before placing a kiss to the side of your face.
“Turn around and get on the bed.” He tells you as he gives your ass a smack before backing up letting you have some space to do as he says.
You feel a mixture of excitement and anticipation begin to bubble up in your chest as you turn so you’re facing Harry’s side of the bed, he gives you a smile and a wink when you look at him over your shoulder before you climb onto the bed. Harry’s eyes darken into an inky black shade as he watches you get situated on the bed, he licks his lips as he feels an uncontrollable need take over him when you get on your knees and bend over to press your chest down into the mattress with your arms stretched out in front of you giving him the perfect view of your ass and glistening cunt. In one swift motion he pulls his sweatpants down and kicks them to the side near your nightgown, he lets out a low groan as he wraps a hand around his hard shaft giving himself a few slow pumps getting a small sense of relief at the feeling but he knows there’s only one thing that can really give him the relief he needs.
“You look absolutely beautiful like this baby.” He says sweetly as he takes a step forward so he can reach his hands out and grab the soft flesh of your ass, you turn your head and press your cheek into the soft sheets letting him hear the soft sigh you let out at the feeling of his hands on you. “Is this all mine?” He asks as his hands slide up the sides of your thighs all the way up to your hips so he can pull you closer to the edge of the bed. You try your best to nod in response making him let out a chuckle as his eyes roam over your backside.
“This pretty ass and these perfect thighs are all mine.” He says with a groan as he slowly drags his middle and index finger up and down your slick folds, you let out a low moan as you push your hips back trying to get his long thick fingers where you want them the most. Harry lets out a tsk and gives your ass a smack with his free hand making you let out a small yelp. “Be patient baby or you won’t get anything and I’ll make you go to bed with a drippy and needy mess between your legs.” He threatens as he leans over you so his lips are close to your ear.
“S-sorry.”
“Just be a good girl now and take what I give you-can you do that for me?”
“Yes I-I can do that.” Harry smiles as he leaves little kisses down your back making a shiver run down your spine.
“Good.” His voice is gentle making you smile, Harry lets out a satisfied hum as he circles his middle finger around your entrance letting him feel how wet you’ve gotten for him. “So perfect.” He sighs as he finally slips his two fingers into your wetness making a moan slip past your parted lips. “This what you needed baby? Needed my fingers fucking your tight little cunt?” There’s a slight tease to his voice because he knows this isn’t what you really meant when you told him you needed him to fuck you but he also knows you’re far too polite to tell him, especially since you enjoy having him knuckles deep inside of you anyway.
“After I get you off like this you’ll be ready for bed hmmm?” He asks after a few moments of the only sound in the room being the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of your soaked cunt. “Don’t need anything else from me?” This has you letting out a small whine as Harry starts to do small slow circles on your clit with the pad of his thumb.
“No-no I need more.” You manage to get out between little moans as Harry quickens the pace of his fingers.
“More than this?” He says as he curls his fingers as they plunge deep inside you letting him hit the spot that has your back arching and your hips trying to match his pace. “That seems a little greedy baby…are my fingers not good enough for you?” Harry can’t fight the smile that forms on his face as he watches his fingers disappear into your perfect cunt and he’d do a little more teasing if his cock wasn’t so painfully hard, begging to be what’s getting thrusted in and out of your needy hole instead of his fingers.
“P-please Harry need m-more.” Your voice is full of desperation as your hands grip the sheets, Harry lets out a groan as he slowly pulls his fingers from your wetness bringing them up to his mouth so he can lick them clean making him moan at the taste of your arousal on his tongue.
Harry doesn’t let you feel empty for more than a few moments before he’s gripping his cock and lining it up at your entrance and with one harsh thrust has you letting out a choked moan of his name as you feel the familiar stretch of your walls trying to adjust to his thick shaft. His hands grip your hips as he pushes all the way in, letting out a deep guttural moan as he finally feels the sense of relief he’s been needing ever since he woke up to the smell of your arousal that had him hardening in his sweatpants before you even walked into the room. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head as Harry’s hips find a quick and harsh pace, his grip tightens on your hips guiding them to meet his letting his cock go deeper with each thrust.
“How’s this baby? This what you needed?” He asks as his hands slide down and grab at your ass cheeks spreading them just enough to let him see how perfectly snug his cock looks as he pulls out to the tip and slides it fully back into your needy cunt. “It’s exactly what I needed.” He tells you with a grunt as he gives you a particularly harsh thrust. “Been needing to fuck this pretty pussy with my big cock since that heavenly smell of yours floated into the room-shit baby you don’t even understand how good this feels.” You feel yourself slipping closer to the edge of your release with each word out of his mouth that’s punctuated with a thrust of his hips letting the tip of his cock hit that spongy spot deep inside you.
“Yes needed this-so so good Harry you feel s-so good.” You stutter as you white knuckle the sheets and sloppily try to meet Harry’s thrusts with your hips.
“Your pussy was made for my cock baby.” Harry’s voice is low and deep as he feels your walls start to pulse around his shaft. “Takes me so well every time.” He praises as he leans over so he can slide a hand to your front until he can feel your puffy bundle of nerves under the pad of his index finger.
“I know you want me to fill you up until I’m dripping all down your thighs.” You let out a cry of his name as he rubs tight circles over your clit making him smile before he presses a few sloppy kisses to your back. “But you know I can’t do that until you let go for me baby.” He reminds you softly as his pace quickens making your mouth open and your vision to go white as you practically see stars when the pressure finally snaps the thin strand that was keeping you held together and you get hit with an intense wave of pleasure.
“There she is-that’s my good girl.” You can barely form any words minus Harry’s name that you repeat over and over as your climax crashes down on you like a ton of bricks making Harry let out a deep groan as you begin to pulse and squeeze him as your release soaks his throbbing cock. He moves his index finger away from your clit and grabs your hips so tightly he knows you’ll have bruises in the shape of his fingertips by the end of the night.
“So messy for me sweetheart just the way I like it.” He tells you as he looks down at where the two of you are connected, his cock is slick with your release as he continues to fuck into you at a brutal pace, wanting to drain every ounce of pleasure from you he can. You feel your legs get shaky as Harry pounds into you, chasing his own release. The sound of his thick cock sliding in and out of your wet cunt sends a little shiver down your spine making you try to clench your thighs together but Harry just lets out a little chuckle before he gives you a light smack to your bottom.
“Shit baby I could fuck this tight cunt all night-make you sleep with me tucked deep inside you filling you up over and over again.” The thought of him being inside of you all night nearly sends Harry over the edge making your name fall from his lips with a deep moan. “One day you’ll let me do that won’t you baby?” He asks but he knows you’re in no shape to respond so he just leans down and kisses your spine. “Yeah you’ll let me do that-it’s my pussy anyway isn’t it baby? Can do whatever I want with it-fuck I’m so close I’m gonna fill you up nice and good baby just the way you like.” You feel one of his hands grab at the flesh of your ass as his thrusts turn harsher and more determined letting you know he’s only moments away from spilling his warm load deep inside you.
“N-need it so bad Harry please give it to me.” You pant as you struggle to catch your breath with the way his thrusts have you being shoved into the mattress.
“Okay baby since you asked so nicely.” He teases as he gives you a few more harsh thrusts before he pulls your hips so your ass is flush against him, your name tumbles out of his mouth as you feel him coat your walls with his release. “Fuck.” He groans as he looks down at his cock as he slowly fucks his release back into you, the sight making him have to fight off the urge to pound you into the mattress until you’re a blubbering mess that can’t take anymore. But he knows by the way your mouth is hanging open with a little drool coming down the corner and the tears in your eyes that you’ve reached your limit for the night, so he just gives your hips a loving squeeze as he slowly pulls out. His eyes watch the mixture of your releases drip down the back of your legs and he can’t help himself as he reaches and gathers some on his index finger.
“Holy fuck.” You pant as you lift your head and look over your shoulder at Harry who has his eye closed as he sucks on his thick digit. “Harry?” The slight roughness of your voice has his eyes snapping open and in one smooth movement you’re rolling over to your back and Harry is hovering over you with a hand on either side of your head.
“Hi baby.” His dimples pop as a grin spreads across his face while he looks down at you with nothing but a look of pure love in his eyes that are fading back to their natural emerald color. “You okay?” He asks tenderly, you just smile and nod as you reach your hands up and cup his face.
“I’m great.” You reassure him making him let out a laugh as he leans down and captures your lips in a sweet kiss. “I love you.” Harry smiles as he pulls away and rolls over so he’s laying next to you, letting you roll onto your side so you can curl up into him and rest your head on his chest as his hand runs soothingly up and down your back.
“I love you too sweetheart.”
“Baby we’ve talked about this.” Harry says with a sigh as he runs a hand down his face as he sits on the edge of the tub while you take a bubble bath filled with your favorite bath salts and relaxing bath oils that will help ease some of the soreness that he knows you’re going to be feeling tomorrow. “I don’t want to dress up as a pirate for Halloween.”
“But I like the way the earring and the hat look on you.” Harry quirks a brow and then rolls his eyes when he looks at you and sees your bottom lip poking out in a dramatic pout.
“Sweetheart I’m literally a monster I don’t need a costume.”
“Harry Styles you are not a monster you take that back right now.” He has to keep himself from laughing as he looks over at you, his sweet loving wife who is glaring at him while neck deep in bubbles. He leans over and grips the back of the tub with one hand so he can press his lips to yours in a quick little kiss that has a smile forming on your face when he pulls away.
“Well then what would you call someone who drinks blood and sleeps during the day?” He questions as he stands up and walks over to the back of the bathroom door to grab your fluffy robe. “Because that sounds pretty monstrous to me.” He adds as he tosses the garment into the towel warmer so it’ll be perfectly toasty for when you’re ready to exit the bath tub.
“My husband. That’s what I call you.” You answer without missing a beat making Harry bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from grinning at how adorable you look arguing with him over if he’s a monster or not just to end it by calling him your husband with such a strong sense of pride evident in your voice.
“You don’t mind being married to someone who can’t ever go to the beach on a warm sunny day with you?” He asks as he leans against the counter his sink is on and crosses his arms over his chest.
“I don’t like sand.”
“What about never getting to watch a sunrise with you?”
“Sunrises are overrated and if you want to watch one together I’m sure there’s videos on YouTube we could watch.”
“I can’t eat garlic.”
“That’s a myth and you know it.”
“So you really don’t think you’re missing out being with me instead of one of those other dudes who have fully functioning hearts and don’t drink people?” You turn your head to look at him as the beeping of the towel warmer goes off making him push off the counter so he can grab it, you stand up letting the water and bubbles drip down your body as he stands at the foot of the tub with your robe open and waiting for you.
“I know I’m not missing out on anything.” You answer him as you carefully step out of the tub and let him help you put your robe on smiling to yourself when Harry’s arms wrap around your middle so he can tie the robe closed, the short sleeves of his t shirt letting you see all the random doodles of ink that cover his skin. “Do you think you’re missing out being stuck with me instead of-”
“I’m not stuck with you baby.” He corrects you as you turn around in his hold, his hands come up to cup your cheeks as he looks down at you. “I love you so much I can’t imagine ever being with anyone else.”
“But-I-I’m going to die eventually and you’ll have to move on.” You remind him but Harry just shakes his head as he leans down and kisses the tip of your nose making a small smile take over your face.
“There’s no moving on from you sweetheart.” He tells you before he presses his lips to your forehead. “Because the love I have for you is far too great for just one lifetime so while I’m destined to live this life forever as a blood sucker I’ll just make sure I find you and love you in all of yours.” He says it like a promise, as if he’s already gotten a look at the future and knows the two of you will have a love story that’s woven through time leaving you no room to doubt or question him so you just smile and accept his comforting words as he pulls you into his chest. “And don’t worry I will always be able to find you.” He whispers as you wrap your arms around him and rest your cheek against the soft fabric of his shirt.
“So you really won’t be a pirate?” You ask trying to hide the emotion in your voice, Harry just laughs and kisses the top of your head before pulling away so he can go into your closet and grab you a new nightgown.
“I’ll wear the earring and the vest but I’m not walking around with a cheap plastic sword.” He answers as he walks out of the closet with a soft black nightgown with little pumpkins all over it in one hand making you grin as you turn and head back into the bedroom while Harry reaches into the tub with his free hand and pulls out the drain before joining you near the bed.
“What if it’s a real sword would that change your mind?” His glare is all the answer you need as he stands in front of you and tosses your nightgown onto the bed before he starts to undo your robe. “Will you at least wear the hat? Please?” You plead with him as the robe drops to your feet and you turn around so he can inspect your backside for bruises and any signs of discomfort.
“Are you going to make me wear one with a feather in it?” He asks with a sigh as his hands reach out and gently run over the small red marks his smacks have left on your bottom, the corners of his mouth drop down into a frown when you flinch as his thumb softly goes over a few bruises on your hips. “I’m sorry baby-I’ll be gentle with you next time.” He says softly as he kneels down so he can place feather light kisses over each one.
“I don’t mind-I like being able to feel you the next day it reminds me of how lucky I am to have a husband who knows how to give me exactly what I want.” Your answer would have Harry’s heart swelling if he still had one, so instead it has him letting out a small hum of appreciation as he kisses his way up your back.
“I’m the lucky one.” He softly corrects you as he stands up and reaches around you for your nightgown. “I’ll wear the hat.” He whispers in your ear as you raise your arms and let him help you slip the nightgown over your head.
“You’re going to look so sexy as a pirate.” Harry laughs as you spin around and wrap your arms around his neck while his hands rest on your waist.
“Yeah? So sexy you’ll want to walk my plank?” You stare at him for a few moments after the words leave his mouth before you erupt in a fit of laughter at his sad attempt at a joke.
“Oh my god that was so bad it was almost good.” Harry smiles as you reach up on your tiptoes and place a kiss to his lips before releasing your arms from his neck so you can climb into the freshly changed sheets and get comfortable on your side of the bed.
“Don’t go and forget about me while you’re off in dreamland okay?” He teases as he walks over to your side of the bed so he can get your sleep mask from your nightstand. “I mean it baby don’t go dreaming of your little fictional boyfriends while off in a realm I can’t fight for you in.” You let out a sarcastic laugh as he stands over you and slips the silky fabric over your head so it’s resting on your forehead.
“All my dreams are of you don’t worry.” You tell him with a wink as you reach up and give his cheek a small pat. “I love you-I’ll see you when I wake up.”
“I love you too sweetheart.” He says softly as he leans down and places a kiss to your lips. “Sweet dreams baby.” You blow him a kiss before you reach up and pull the silky soft sleep mask over your eyes so it can block out the brightly lit room enough for you to be able to fall into a deep comfortable sleep.
Harry stands in the doorway of the bedroom and watches you for a few minutes to make sure you’re comfortable and are actually in the process of falling asleep, he does this by listening to your heartbeat and the sound of your breathing. Once he hears them start to even out he smiles and closes the door before heading down the hallway towards the kitchen to make himself a little snack.
“I really don’t know how she watches this.” He mumbles as he looks over at the small tv in the kitchen that’s playing your current favorite reality dating show on it. “All these guys are douchebags.” He states as he reaches for his mug that has his first meal in it, a half packet of room temperature blood that you so sweetly volunteer to give him twice a month letting him have the privilege of only drinking from you which he prefers because he swears you just taste the best. He takes a few sips as his brows furrow when one of the men ask a girl if he would be able to pick her up, a clear workaround for him to get an idea of her weight.
“What a prick.” With that he reaches over for the remote and shuts the television off not wanting to waste any more of his day on watching such a horrible show. He grabs his mug and gets two steps out of the kitchen and into the living room when the lights flicker making his grip on the handle of the mug tighten to a point he nearly breaks it off.
“It’s fine flickering is normal when it’s windy outside.” He mutters to himself as he takes a seat on the couch after placing his mug on the coffee table. Harry feels a chill run down his spine as the lights flicker once more but this time joined with a low whisper saying his name that he knows didn’t come from anyone in the house seeing as the only one here besides him is you and he can hear the evenness of your heartbeat letting him know you’re still asleep. He closes his eyes and takes a few deep breaths trying to calm his overactive mind down but when he opens them again the lights don’t just flicker they completely turn off.
“Five minutes Harry just five minutes and the generator will turn on it’s going to be okay.” He tells himself as he grips the tops of his thighs, the soft fabric of his sweatpants helping him relax just the smallest bit. “Five minutes that’s-” Harry’s words of reassurance are cut short by a beeping sound coming from outside and it has his stomach dropping because he knows exactly what that beep means.
The generator is out.
“Okay-okay it’s fine I’m fine there’s nothing to be afraid of.” His words are barely above a whisper as his eyes dart around the living room, trying not to notice the movements he sees on the wall from the shadows of the trees blowing around in the wind outside. “Candles-yes yes just lights some candles Harry.” He tells himself as he stands up and rushes to the cabinet under the tv that you keep all your candles in, grabbing a few random ones and placing them on the coffee table but before he can even attempt to use his stare to ignite them he feels what he swears is a hand wrap around his ankle from under the couch.
Your eyes snap open and you’re shoving your sleep mask up and off your head as the sound of Harry letting out a shriek hits your ears. You blink a few times trying to adjust to the darkness that’s surrounding you and as soon as you realize all the lights in the bedroom are off you toss the covers off and climb out of bed. Your heart is beating a mile a minute as you rush to the bedroom door and fling it open, you’re halfway down the hallway when you hear Harry’s voice shouting and it has your heart wanting to crack open at how distraught he sounds.
“Harry?” You shout trying to get a better idea of where he’s at in the house and when you hear his trembling voice say your name in response you know exactly where he is, the living room. “Harry honey I’m right here.” You say softly as you enter the living room, trying not to startle him.
The light of the moon shinning through the windows helps you be able to see just enough to find Harry with his knees tucked to his chest shoved in the corner of the couch with his back leaning against the armrest. You rush over to him, grabbing the lighter off the end of the coffee table trying your hardest to light each of the candles you can tell Harry grabbed in an attempt to add some form of light to the room as quickly as possible.
“Harry I’m here.” You tell him as the glow of the candles lights up the room enough for you to see him better. He doesn’t move as you sit next to him on the couch, you let out a small sigh as you reach your hands out and place them over his that are gripping the tops of his knees keeping his legs securely pressed against his chest while his forehead is resting on top of them. “Honey it’s okay you’re okay the lights will come back on in a few min-”
“Th-the generator is-is out.” He says between shaky breaths refusing to lift his head up to look at you. You nod your head and grab his hands interlocking your fingers with his so he can feel the soothing warmth of them, something you know helps him calm down just a bit.
“Can you look at me?” You ask sweetly and Harry slowly lifts his head up and you smile when he eventually opens his eyes, the glow from the candles making them look darker than they really are. “There he is-hi honey.” Harry doesn’t say or do anything as you give his hands a squeeze, when his eyes dart around the room you let go of his hands and reach out to cup his face as you move to sit on your knees so you can face him fully.
“No no look at me okay? Focus on me.” He does what you say as your thumbs run over the smoothness of his cheekbones. “You’re okay there’s no one here besides us and-”
“Heard m-m-my name some-something said my n-name.”
“No baby that was just the wind. There’s nothing in here that can hurt you.”
“I-I saw eyes in th-the corner an-and something gra-grabbed my ankle.”
“It was just the heater remember the vents in the floor tickle your ankles when they come on.” Your hands never leave his face making him look at you the whole time he’s speaking and you smile at him when you feel him lean into your touch ever so slightly.
“The heater?” He asks with a small tremble to his voice that has you wanting to pull him into your chest but you don’t, you go at his pace in moments like this where he feels scared and anxious.
“Yes.” You answer gently as you move so you can be between his legs. “You’re safe.” You tell him softly and you smile when he places his hands over yours that are still on his face.
“I’m safe.” He repeats making you nod as he slowly lowers his legs letting you climb into his lap, your knees hitting the cushions of the couch on either side of his thighs. “No one i-is here…just us.” You give him another nod as his hands fall to your hips, the soft material of your nightgown under his fingers has him letting out a small sigh of relief as if his mind is just now accepting the fact you’re in front of him and he’s not in the dark living room all alone anymore.
“That’s right it’s just us.” You say in the soft and sweet voice that you save just for moments like these. Your hands slide down the sides of his neck to the tops of his shoulders and then down to his chest leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. “It’s just you-” your hands slide further down his chest as his eyes stare into yours. “And me.” You say reassuring him, his hands move from your hips to the tops of your thighs running up and down them a few times as he leans in and rests his forehead against the top of your shoulder.
You let him sit like that for a few minutes before you rest your hands on the sides of his face so you can pull his head away from your shoulder. His eyes lock with yours and before you can think twice you lean in and press your lips against his. The kiss is soft and sweet as you move your mouth against his, you feel his hands slide up to your hips pulling you closer making you smile against his lips. Your hands drop to his chest as you kiss your way down his jaw, Harry closes his eyes as your hands make their way down to the waistband of his sweatpants letting out a small sigh when you slide a hand down the front of them.
“You okay honey?” You ask sweetly against the smooth skin of his neck as your hand wraps around his already hardened cock.
“Y-yes.” He stutters as you give him a slow pump, a soft whine bubbles up from his chest and he opens his eyes when you remove your hand. You give him a reassuring smile as you pull away from his neck and Harry has to hold back a moan as he watches you gather some saliva in your mouth before spitting it into your palm.
“Don’t worry baby I’m going to take care of you.” Harry just stares at you in awe as your hand once again finds its way down his pants and wrapped around his cock.
“Fuck.” He says with a low groan as you give him a few pumps, a shiver goes down his spine when your thumb runs over the sensitive head of his shaft. “Y-you feel s-so good.” He manages to get out between deep breaths as he leans his head back to rest it on the armrest of the couch.
“I’m glad…I wanna make you feel good.” You tell him with a smile as your lips attach themselves to his jaw. “Your cock is so thick baby I can barely fit my hand around it.” Your words have Harry’s hips jerking as you tighten your hold on him just a little while giving him long slow pumps.
“Oh god.” He moans as you nip and lick at his jaw while his hands slip under the hem of your nightgown, you give his neck a little bite when you feel his hands getting closer to your core.
“Behave.” You whisper into his ear making him growl under his breath as his hands stop their roaming and go back to gripping your hips. “Focus on me and how good my hand feels.” You tell him as your movements turn more determined making a small desperate groan fall out of his mouth. “I know you want to make a mess on my hand-know you like to get messy.”
“Oh shit.” You smile when Harry’s hips jerk upward meeting the pace of your hand, you can tell by the way his eyes darken and his head falls backwards as he grits his teeth that he’s close to his release. “So good-you’re so perfect baby.” He says between moans and after a few more pumps you hear your name fall from his mouth over and over as the first spurt of his release hits your hands, his hips continue to jerk as you keep up your movements wanting to drain him off all he’s willing to give you.
“So messy and warm.” Your voice is soft as you press your lips to the spot below his ear making his grip on your hips tighten. “Did so good for me.” Your praise has a small smile work its way across Harry’s face, you slowly move your hand from being tucked inside his pants and Harry’s eyes are glued on you as you bring your hand up to your mouth and lick his release off your knuckles and palm.
“Jesus.” He mumbles as he watches you lick your hand clean and it’s not until he looks away from you and over to the coffee table that he realizes the lights have come back on.
“They turned on a few minutes ago.” You tell him answering the question that was floating around in his head. “You okay?” You ask as you place your hands on top of his on your hips.
“I’m perfect.” He answers with a smile as he leans in and presses his lips against yours in a quick kiss. “Thank you baby-for everything.”
“You don’t have to thank me you know I’ll always be here when you need me.” You tell him with a small yawn making Harry let out a laugh.
“Let’s get you back to bed.” With that he is effortlessly moving so he can stand up with you in his arms and walking down the hallway towards the bedroom.
“I love you.” You say with a sleepy smile as he tucks you into bed and fixes your eye mask.
“I love you too sweetheart I’ll see you when you wake up.” He promises as you lower the mask down over your eyes with a smile. Harry lets out a sigh and runs a hand through his hair as he turns and heads for the bathroom to take a shower, something he knows will help him feel better and relax even more after the events he just went through. A grin takes over his face when the faint smell of all the oils and bubbles from your bath hits his nostrils.
“I’m really going to have to dress up as a pirate now…” he says to himself with a chuckle as he climbs into the shower. “Sword and everything.” He adds with a smile, and the thing is he will because your happiness means the world to him and if all it takes for you to be happy is for him to wear a tacky Halloween costume then so be it, it’s the least he can do in exchange for everything you do for him.
𝐂𝐖: fem!reader, blood+blood drinking (bro is literally a vampire there's going to be blood) 1700s!harry, mentions of death
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: approx 7.3k
❏ yall this excruciatingly long so i just figured it was better to split this into four parts. it starts off kinda slow i knowwww but i feel like it fits his character. anyway I hope u will like. mwah :* also YES his heart beats idk i took creative liberty in assuming the blood he drinks would give him some sort of circulation and YES i drew inspo from tvd i like their vamp lore the most ok bye
Fourth of November, 1701
The English flag thrashed wildly in the biting wind, its edges snapping above the clank of chains and the groan of wood as boats were fastened to the harbor. Hooves clattered against the cobblestone, mingling with the grumble of cart wheels as townsfolk hurried homeward, eager to escape the deepening chill of evening.
Winter crept in with an ill-fated air, a shadow over the town. The fishermen’s hauls dwindled to nearly nothing, their nets coming up bare. Squash and pumpkins, once abundant, softened and rotted on their vines before they could be harvested. Livestock, struck by a strange sickness, perished too soon, their spoiled meat no longer fit to eat. Lately the townsfolk scraped by on what little they could hunt—rabbits, mostly—a meager fare that barely stretched to sustain a family for more than a few days.
YN stood at the end of the dock, the sea’s bitter wind pulling at her hair. A basket woven by her mother dangled from her arm, half-covered by a cloth beneath which a few herbs and stunted vegetables peeked through. She waited for Niall, a fisherman she’d known since childhood, to come ashore. His face was grim, his knuckles pale as he secured his boat. “Any luck?” She asked over the wind, though she already knew the answer.
His mouth twisted into a scowl as he wiped his hands on his trousers and approached her. “Lucks got nothin’ to do with it. s’the new king, swear it. God turned his back on us ‘cause of him.”
She winced and swatted his arm lightly as they started toward the stone walls encircling the town. “Don’t say such things, not out loud.” She kept her voice low, though she too had her doubts about the new ruler. “Best not to tempt fate with those words.”
He rolled his eyes and took the basket from her arm, letting it hang from his own so she could tuck her hands into her sleeves. “You agree with such things. S’pose God does as well from the lack of bloody fish.”
They passed under the worn stone archway marking the entrance to town, their footsteps echoing against the ancient stones. Dover was nestled between the English Channel and rolling green hills, hemmed in by rocky shores and the stark rise of the cliffs, standing watch like grim sentinels over the troubled little town.
As YN and Niall made their way up the winding path from the square, the quiet crept in around them, settling like a thin mist. The evening was thick and gray, heavy clouds stretching over Dover and flattening the light into a cool, uneasy dusk.
Each face they passed, they recognized. it was impossible not to, in a town so small. There was old mrs. Harris, hunched beneath a weathered shawl, who gave them a knowing nod as they went by, as if she alone were privy to the day’s secrets. And mr. James, pulling his cart toward home, who offered a quick tip of his hat, but avoided meeting their eyes too long, as if a weight hung over all of them that no one cared to mention.
Niall, walking beside her, held his silence longer than usual, and there was a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes when he finally turned her way. “You’re still makin’ that stew, yeah?” He hummed, nodding toward the basket swinging lightly in his hand. His tone was casual, almost lazy, yet she sensed something else beneath it, like he was testing the waters of a conversation he couldn’t quite bring himself to start.
“Mum has already started it,” YN replied, keeping her voice as light as his. “Cabbage, onion, bit of thyme. barely a stew, more a broth.” She cast a sideways glance his way, catching the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth.
“No doubt you’ll have your sister servin’ it, then?” He asked, as though it were an afterthought. “I hear she has a way of makin’ anything taste finer.”
YN’s lips twitched, a hint of humor flickering in her eyes. She knew well enough where this was going, but she didn’t indulge him outright. “Oh, she has her charms, but she’s picky ‘bout who gets to see ‘em.”
He laughed quietly, a low sound that seemed to carry on the breeze, soft and uncertain. “She's got the whole town near dreamin’ of her, from what I hear. never seen her eye stray toward anyone, though.”
YN glanced away, her gaze drifting over the clustered rooftops, the narrow chimneys stretching into the dimming sky like spindly fingers. “You’d need more than a bowl of stew to catch her fancy, Niall. You’d best hope for a rich merchant or a duke comin’ ashore.”
His chuckle died off, and for a few quiet moments, they simply walked, the soft scuff of their shoes blending with the distant murmur of the sea. Yet something hung between them, unspoken, like the faintest shadow shifting at the edges of their conversation.
It was Niall who broke the silence, his voice lower this time, his words careful. “Have you heard the talk? About the old watchtower?”
YN’s gaze drifted to the far side of town, where the dense stretch of forest gave way to a steep rise, the silhouette of the abandoned tower just barely visible through the trees. “Folk say all sorts of things,” She muttered, almost to herself. “Been empty as long as I can remember.”
Niall’s eyes narrowed as he looked out toward the darkening line of trees, his jaw set. “Empty, maybe, but someone’s taken to hauntin’ it now. The lads swear they’ve seen a figure up there at night, just a shadow movin’ about, like he’s watchin’ the town from that high window.”
She felt a faint chill that wasn’t from the cold, and she pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “They say a lot of things,” she repeated, her tone steady but soft. “Could be nothin’ but the wind playin’ with shadows.”
He tilted his head, the edge of a smirk softening his face. “Aye, that’s what I'd think, too. But seems each person’s got a different tale to tell. Some say he’s a protector, sent to keep us safe.” He shrugged, his gaze still fixed on the distant woods. “Others say it’s somethin’ darker—maybe one of the king’s men, sent to spy on anyone who dares breathe a word against him.”
YN’s lips parted, but she hesitated, the words hanging unspoken as her gaze lingered on the watchtower. Her grandmother had told her stories of that tower once, years ago, when she was still young enough to believe in the old tales without question. But she’d since brushed them off as the ramblings of an old woman long passed. Now, though, the stories flickered back to her, sharp and vivid as they’d once been.
“I heard some folk say it’s not a man at all,” She murmured, so quietly that her voice nearly vanished into the chill air. “Gran said it’s a spirit—a demon.” she let out a breathy laugh, sending a glance his way. “You believe my ol’gran true?”
Niall made a sound, halfway between a scoff and a chuckle, though he didn’t argue with her. “You don’t seem the sort to believe in demons,YN.”
She didn’t answer him, and for a moment, they stood in the gathering dusk, looking out toward the distant, looming shape of the tower, as if something there had caught them both in its thrall. A strange, unsettling weight hung in the air, pressing down around them, and neither seemed willing to break it.
The faint toll of the chapel bell echoed across the town, marking the evening hour. The sound seemed hollow, almost mournful, as it resonated through the narrow streets, slipping into every crack and crevice, lingering like a warning in the growing dark.
The path wound through the clustered homes of their town, each one narrow and stacked close beside the other, the rooftops tilting like old friends leaning together to brace against the coming winter. Flickers of candlelight peeked through small, thick-paned windows, casting brief glows over doorsteps worn smooth by years of footsteps. Voices drifted out faintly as neighbors settled in for the night, the low buzz of comfort after a long day’s labor.
As they neared her door, YN glanced sideways at Niall, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, no use lettin’ the stew go to waste with just me. You might as well come in and help make somethin’ decent out of it. And,” she added, with a playful glint, “my sister will be there, too. Might be the only chance you get to impress her.”
Niall feigned indifference, though she caught the hint of a flush in his cheeks beneath the dimming light. “Well, if it’s to spare you from that sorry excuse of a stew, I s’pose I could lend a hand,” he said with mock reluctance, yet his steps quickened as they approached the small wooden door.
Inside, the house was simple and small, with a low ceiling that sloped slightly, forcing even YN to duck beneath the beams as she led him in. A narrow hearth crackled with a weak but steady fire, casting warm shadows across the modest room, which served as both kitchen and living space. The scent of herbs, drying in bunches along the walls, mingled with the faint tang of smoke from the hearth. A single table stood in the center, its edges worn smooth, surrounded by a handful of mismatched stools and chairs, each one slightly wobbly but bearing the marks of care and countless meals.
“Is that you, YN?” Her mother’s voice came from the corner, where she was bent over a pot, stirring with steady, practiced hands. She looked up with a gentle smile, her face flushed from the warmth of the fire. “And Niall too! Just in time. I was about to send Arthur to fetch you, but he’s off fiddlin’ with somethin’ in the corner.”
Ten-year-old Arthur looked up at the mention of his name, a wide grin splitting his face when he spotted the blonde. “Niall!” He called, scrambling to his feet and darting over, a wooden sword in hand. “You’ll stay for supper, won’t you?”
He placed the basket next to the older woman before he tousled the boy’s hair, giving a wink to YN. “That depends—will your sister cook, or will your ma have mercy on me?”
YN rolled her eyes as her mother chuckled, stirring the stew with a knowing look. “I'll make sure to keep it fit for eatin’. Now, why don’t you both make yourselves useful and set the table?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Niall replied with a quick bow, flashing his best charming smile, though his eyes lingered on the slender figure by the fire.
YN’s older sister, Ella, sat with her needlework in hand, her fingers nimble as she embroidered a delicate pattern into the edge of a linen cloth. She looked up as Niall approached, offering him a nod and a faint, polite smile, though a flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.
“Ella,” Niall greeted, taking the opportunity to lean a bit too casually against the edge of the table. “Now there’s a sight finer than any supper, if I may say.”
“Oh, you may say.” Ella sighed, her tone as mild as her smile. “But sayin’ doesn’t make it so, does it?” Her eyes sparkled with a touch of mischief, and she kept her gaze on her stitching as if he hadn’t said a word.
YN snorted, reaching past Niall to set the bowls on the table. “She’ll need more than empty flattery to be wooed, Niall. You’ll be talkin’ all night before she so much as bats an eye.”
“Empty flattery?” he echoed, feigning shock as he helped with the cups, placing them with exaggerated care. “This is pure honesty, YN. Your sister’s a vision, though I'm not sure she sees it herself.”
Ella finally looked up, one eyebrow arched. “Perhaps that’s ‘cause it’s hard to see with all the bluster in here. Is it flattery or just another of your tales, Ni?”
Arthur laughed as he climbed onto his chair, his wooden sword clattering to the floor. “Tell a tale, Niall!” He urged, his eyes bright.
He obliged with a grand sweep of his arm. “Ah, tales are easy to tell when the company’s fine.” His gaze drifted meaningfully to Ella, who only smirked, clearly unbothered.
“Enough of your foolishness, Horan.” YN’s mother cut in, though her tone was warm as she dished the stew into the bowls. “There'll be time for tales when your stomach’s full. Now, all of you—sit, before this stew turns cold.”
They settled around the table, the simple meal set before them steaming in the flickering firelight. YN ladled out servings, keeping her own expression solemn as she dished out the rather grayish stew. Niall took a tentative sip, raising his brows in mock surprise.
“Well, I'll be,” he declared, setting his bowl down as if astonished. “Tastes just like stew!”
YN kicked him under the table, rolling her eyes. “Don’t sound so shocked, else we’ll make you eat the scraps.”
Ella, watching them from across the table, hid a smile behind her hand. “It's better than you deserve,” she teased, offering Niall a faintly teasing look that sent Arthur into a fit of giggles.
As they settled into their meal, the conversation turned to the familiar rhythms of the day—the fish hauls, the scarcities at the market, the latest mischief Arthur had managed, and the townsfolk they’d seen along the way. Laughter bubbled up around the table, filling the small room with warmth as the stew slowly disappeared, their bowls clinking softly with each spoonful.
It wasn't until they’d nearly finished eating that YN’s mother’s voice turned low, a faint shadow crossing her face as she glanced at arthur. “Arthur,” she said gently, “I don't want to hear any more of you playin’ outside the town walls.”
The boy frowned, his spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “But ma, I’m careful,” he protested, glancing between her and YN as if hoping for support.
“She's right,” Ella added, her voice calm but firm. “The woods aren’t safe, especially with winter comin’ on.”
He looked to Niall, his face a mask of confusion and a bit of defiance. “Niall plays near the woods, don’t you?”
He shifted in his seat, his smile fading just slightly as he glanced at YN. “Aye, lad, but it’s different. I'm older, and I keep my wits about me. Besides,” he added lightly, though his voice held a trace of something darker, “there’s been talk of someone wanderin’ near the old watchtower.”
YN’s mother sighed, folding her hands on the table. “Too much talk.” She said quietly, her gaze drifting toward the narrow window. “I don’t care if s’only lore, you’ll be safe rather than sorry.”
A hush fell over the table, and Arthur's wide eyes darted from face to face. “Who is it, then?” He whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “A man?”
Ella reached over to ruffle his hair, her voice soft. “No one knows. could be a man, could be no more than shadows. But some say it’s best not to linger too close to it, just in case.”
Niall, watching Arthur's reaction, leaned in with a grin. “There now, it’s probably nothin’ more than a lonely ol’ fox. But best stick close to home, eh? Can’t have you disappearin’ on us.”
YN tried to keep her voice light as she chimed in, though she felt the faintest prickling unease beneath the laughter. “You heard him, Arthur. best keep to the town, else you might end up a story yourself.”
The boy’s eyes grew even wider, and he gulped, glancing nervously toward the window as if expecting to see the mysterious figure standing just beyond. He fidgeted, his hand reaching instinctively for his wooden sword on the floor beside him.
With a faint, tired sigh, YN’s mother rose and began clearing the table, signaling the end of the meal. The warm glow of the evening seemed to have dimmed, and even Niall’s usual cheer was muted as he helped gather the bowls, his gaze drifting back to the light flickering along the walls.
Outside, the wind picked up, brushing against the windows and rattling the latch ever so slightly, a whisper against the warmth of the firelight. The small house was silent for a long moment, each of them lost in thought, each glancing occasionally toward the dark window where the night gathered, close and watchful.
Morning seeped slowly into Dover, pale and cool, bringing with it the damp scent of the sea and the faint call of gulls overhead. YN was awake early, as was her habit, slipping quietly out of bed while the house still lingered in the soft dimness of dawn. The fire in the hearth had died to embers, and a chill clung to the air, but she moved quickly, tucking a shawl around her shoulders as she crossed the small room.
Arthur, already up and dressed, was tugging at the latch on the back door, eager to start his morning chores. He looked back when he heard her steps, his face lighting up with a grin. “Thought you’d sleep through it, lazybones.” He teased, though his eyes sparkled with mischief.
She snorted softly, pinching his cheek as she passed him. “Cheeky lad,” she muttered. “Come on, then. Let's get to it.”
They stepped out into the brisk morning, their breath puffing in the cold, and began making their way down the narrow stone path that wound through the small patch of yard behind their home. Frost clung to the grass, glinting in the pale light, and the chickens shuffled restlessly in their pen as Arthur went to check on them.
“Careful now.”
He bent down next to them to scatter their feed. The hens fluffed their feathers, clucking contentedly as they pecked at the ground, and Arthur kept one eye on the rooster, who strutted about with his chest puffed, keeping watch over his domain.
“Look at him,” he whispered, stifling a laugh as he threw a handful of seed. “Thinks he’s king of all creation, that one.”
She grinned, crouching beside him. “Well, he’s a rooster. not much else to do but look important, is there?”
The boy giggled, tossing a bit of feed toward the rooster, who eyed him warily before puffing up even further. YN kept watch as he finished the feeding, carefully securing the pen’s latch when he was done.
They moved on to check the small patch of herbs and vegetables that clung to life in the early cold, though the frost had already done its damage. The leaves hung limp and dark, and YN frowned, brushing a thin layer of frost from a withered cabbage leaf.
“S’not lookin’ good, is it?” Arthur said, his voice dropping to a murmur as he followed her gaze.
“No,” she replied softly, her fingers brushing over the leaves. “But we’ll manage. Always do.”
He gave her a solemn nod, but she could see the worry in his eyes, the way he seemed to glance toward the woods, as if he might glimpse the shadowed figure their mother had warned him about the night before. She reached over and squeezed his shoulder, offering a smile.
“No need for lookin’ so glum, Arthur,” she said, keeping her tone light. “We've plenty to keep us busy, and I'll wager you’ll see that rooster crowned king before anything happens to us.”
He managed a faint smile, his spirits lifting just enough to reassure her. They finished up quickly, making their way back inside, where the warmth of the house greeted them. YN set about preparing a quick meal for Arthur and her mother, who was just beginning to stir, her tired eyes softening at the sight of her children.
Once breakfast was sorted, YN returned to her small room to ready herself for the day. She tugged off her worn nightdress, slipping into the fresh linen undergarments she’d set aside, and carefully pulled on a plain woolen dress that hung neatly from a peg beside her bed. It was a simple dress, but a neat one, its modest collar and long sleeves making it suitable for the chilly weather. she straightened the fabric, adjusting the waist so that it lay just right, and wrapped her shawl back over her shoulders, pinning it at the front with an old, weathered brooch that had once belonged to her grandmother.
She caught her reflection in the small, scratched mirror by the window—a young woman with steady eyes and a hint of determination in her gaze, her hair braided behind her, a few strands slipping free to frame her face. After a moment, she tucked a few stray wisps behind her ear and gave herself a brisk nod, turning to head out.
The streets were beginning to stir as she made her way down to the docks, the early morning light casting a soft, muted glow over the cobblestone. A few shopkeepers were already sweeping their doorsteps, preparing for the day’s trade, and a handful of townsfolk passed by, nodding their greetings as she walked.
When she reached the docks, she found Niall already there, standing by his boat, his hands working quickly to secure the ropes. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, and his hair was tousled from the morning breeze, but there was a contented look in his eyes as he glanced up and saw her approach.
“Well, if it isn’t the queen of the cabbage patch,” he greeted her, a grin breaking across his face. “Come to see if I've hauled in a king’s feast for ye?”
YN rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she stopped a few feet away from him. “I wouldn't go that far. but I'll settle for a decent fish, if you’ve managed one.”
He laughed, giving the rope a final tug before stepping back, wiping his hands on his trousers. “Oh, a decent fish, she says. Well, lucky for you, I've got just that.” He reached into a small wooden crate and held up a plump haddock, its scales glinting in the early light. “Not a king’s ransom, but it’ll do for stew, won’t it?”
She eyed the fish, unable to suppress a smile. “Aye, it’ll do. Might even save us from havin’ to wrangle another cabbage.”
Niall chuckled, tucking the fish back into the crate. “Couldn’t have that, now, could we? I’m doin’ my part to keep your cookin’ passable.”
“Passable?” She laughed, nudging him lightly as she stepped up beside him to peer into the crate. “You’re just glad to have an excuse to come round, steal our bread, and charm my sister.”
He gave her a mock-offended look, though his eyes glinted with humor. “Now, that’s hurtful, YN. I'm here for the food and the fine company, naturally. If your sister happens to be nearby, well, that’s not my fault, is it?”
She rolled her eyes, unable to help the small laugh that escaped. “Poor Ella’ll need more than a fish to be impressed. Best not get your hopes up too high.”
“Aye, she’s a hard one to please,” he admitted, a faint, wistful smile crossing his face. “But I'll manage somehow. or at least, I'll keep tryin’.”
They both fell silent, their gazes drifting out over the water, where a thin mist clung to the surface, casting an eerie calm over the harbor. The other boats rocked gently in the quiet, and the gulls called out above them, their cries echoing faintly across the empty stretch of sea. Together they turned back toward the town, the mist curling softly around them as they walked, side by side, in the quiet of the morning.
The midday lull brought a hush over the town, as folk took their brief respite between the day’s labors. The soft light of afternoon slipped over the rooftops, and YN found herself winding her way down one of the quieter streets toward Maura’s, a modest little cottage that doubled as the gathering place for the women in town. Here, around a crowded table of mismatched cups and chipped saucers, town gossip simmered as steadily as the tea.
Maura's door was open, the sound of voices spilling out into the cobbled lane, and YN slipped in quietly, greeting the women with a polite nod before finding a seat near the end of the table. The familiar faces of neighbors turned to greet her—Maura herself, with her cheeks flushed from the warmth of the kitchen, mrs. Harris with her ever-watchful eyes, and a handful of others who paused only long enough to give YN a quick nod before returning to the subject that had clearly held their interest long before she arrived.
“I'm tellin’ you,” mrs. Harris was saying, her voice low and edged with certainty. “There's somethin’ in that tower. maybe it’s a spy, maybe it’s worse.”
Maura scoffed, shaking her head. “If it were a spy, we’d know by now, wouldn’t we? why bother lurkin’ about if there’s nothin’ worth seein’ here?”
“There’s plenty to see, Maura,” the older woman sighed, leaning forward, her teacup nearly sloshing over the rim as she gestured toward the window. “Who’s to say he hasn’t been watchin’ us all along, takin’ note of who’s loyal to the new king and who’s not?”
Maura snorted, but one of the other women, Anna, leaned in, her voice barely a whisper. “or worse—what if it’s no man at all?” Her gaze darted to the others, her eyes wide with a kind of fearful excitement. “There are tales, you know. Of things that wander the woods. Spirits that linger in dark places, things that only come out when the days grow short.”
Mrs. Harris crossed herself, nodding solemnly. “Aye. folk say it’s a night creature—a demon, even.“
YN listened quietly, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup, but she held back a smile. as the women exchanged anxious looks, she leaned back, sipping her tea, the warmth of it calming her nerves. To her, the stories felt like little more than old wives’ tales—a way for folk to pass the time when the days grew cold and bleak. A lonely man, perhaps, who’d taken to the tower for solitude, a soul with nowhere else to go. Nothing so sinister as the women here believed.
“You've a skeptical look about you, dear” Maura said, catching her eye with a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you’d walk up to that tower yourself, would you?”
She met her gaze calmly, setting her cup down. “I'd sooner believe it’s a wanderer, Maura. Maybe one who wants peace more than anything else. Don’t see why we should fear him.”
“Peace, or no peace, he’s still up there, watchin’ us all.”
YN didn’t reply, only nodded politely as the conversation swirled on, the voices around her swelling in speculation and rumor. After a while, she quietly rose, setting her cup aside and offering Maura a grateful nod before slipping out the door and into the fresh air.
The chatter of the women faded behind her, and she took a deep breath, the cool air filling her lungs and clearing her thoughts. She knew she was unlikely to shake their unease or convince them of her view, but as she thought of the lonely figure up in the tower, something tugged at her—a kind of curiosity that gnawed gently at the back of her mind.
Without a second thought, she made her way home, moving quickly and quietly, her mind already set. She slipped through the door, pausing only to grab her small woven basket from its hook. Her mother glanced up, but YN offered her a calm smile, murmuring something vague about a quick errand before supper.
IN the small corner of their kitchen where they kept their stores, she selected a handful of berries from the last of their foraging, a few slightly bruised carrots, and a small bunch of herbs tied with a thin scrap of cloth. Modest offerings, but enough, she hoped, to serve as a token of peace, a sign that she meant no harm.
She took a deep breath and headed toward the edge of town, her footsteps light as she made her way past the familiar lanes and toward the narrow path that led up to the old watchtower.
The path leading to the watchtower was narrow, winding its way up the hillside in gentle, uneven curves. YN had walked these woods many times before, though never with the purpose she had now. Above her, the sky was beginning to darken, clouds gathering in ominous clumps, casting long shadows across the land as the sun slipped lower.
Her heart thudded in her chest, not from fear, but from a strange mixture of curiosity and anticipation. The stories she’d heard that morning lingered in her mind like faint echoes, each warning a small reminder of the mystery ahead. But she felt something else too—a quiet resolve, an odd certainty that she had to see this figure, whoever he might be, with her own eyes.
The watchtower loomed before her, its crumbling stone walls climbing into the sky, weather-worn and scarred by time. She could see now why the townsfolk feared it; it looked like a relic from another era, half-hidden by the dense growth of ivy and the creeping fog that clung to the base of its walls. It was silent here, too silent, as if even the birds dared not sing in the shadow of the old tower.
Steeling herself, she moved forward, her footsteps muffled by the damp earth. The closer she got, the more the watchtower’s age showed itself in cracked stones and vines, a darkness that seemed to pool between the stones, deepening the gray of the twilight. At the base of the tower, a narrow door sat slightly ajar, barely wide enough for her to slip through. She paused there, glancing up, feeling an odd twinge of nervousness as her gaze drifted to the upper windows, dark and empty.
Drawing a deep breath, she pushed the door open, stepping into the dim interior.
The inside of the tower was colder, the air thick and still. Faint light seeped through cracks in the walls, just enough to reveal the sparse furnishings—a wooden table, books, a chair beside the hearth, long since gone cold. Dust motes hung in the air, catching the dim light like fragments of stars, and a faint, earthy smell lingered in the space, as though the room hadn’t seen another soul in years.
Yet something else lingered too, something that made the hair on the back of her neck prickle—a sense that she wasn’t alone.
A figure stepped forward from behind a wall, emerging so quietly she almost missed it. He was tall, with dark curls that tumbled around his face, shadows clinging to his features as though he belonged to the darkness itself. His eyes met hers, a piercing green that seemed to hold an entire century’s worth of secrets, and for a brief, unsettling moment, she felt as though he could see straight through her.
“What brings you here?” His voice was low, quiet, each word clipped and precise, yet holding a softness that surprised her.
YN swallowed, her hand instinctively tightening around the basket she held. “I–I thought you might be hungry,” she stammered, offering the basket forward with a hesitant smile. “Folk talk of you up here, you know. Thought it might be nice to see if you wanted some company.”
He raised a brow, a faint trace of amusement softening his gaze. He didn’t reach for the basket, but instead continued to watch her, as though trying to make sense of why she would come here, alone, to his solitary refuge.
Didn’t seem exactly the safest thing.
“People rarely visit me,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur, as though he were speaking more to himself than to her. “Especially not with offerings.”
“Well, it’s no great feast,” she laughed breathily—nervous, setting the basket down on the table. “But it’s enough for a quiet meal.”
He looked down at the basket, his expression unreadable. The shadows seemed to deepen around him, and for a brief moment, she wondered if he would turn her away. But then his gaze shifted back to her, gentle, as though something in her gesture had reached him in a way she couldn’t quite understand.
“I don’t need much,” he breathed, finally stepping closer, his movements careful, almost tentative. “But thank you.”
The silence stretched between them as Harry’s eyes lingered on her, his regard tracing every movement of her face, the subtle rise and fall of her shoulders, the way her lips pressed together as if searching for words. He could feel it—her pulse thrumming in her neck, the warmth radiating from her skin, the soft, steady rhythm of blood rushing through her veins. It was maddening. The sound alone clawed at the quiet corners of his mind, stirring that old, cursed hunger he’d worked so hard to bury.
But he couldn’t let her see that. Couldn’t let even a flicker of it touch his face.
With a composed nod, he turned his attention to the basket, using the small action to steady himself, to pull his focus away from her and fix it on the modest offering she’d brought. Herbs and roots, earthy and clean, none of it touched by blood. He forced his breath to steady, aware of her watchful eyes on him as he sorted through the items, careful to keep his hands stable.
“Are you here… often?” She asked softly, breaking the silence in a voice that felt almost hesitant, as though unsure whether it was allowed. Her gaze darted around the room, taking in the sparse surroundings, the thick shadows that crept into every corner.
Harry let his fingers linger on a sprig of thyme, keeping his voice level as he answered. “Yes,” he confided simply, his tone giving nothing away. “I find it… peaceful.”
“Peaceful,” she echoed, a faint smile touching her lips as she looked back at him. “It doesn’t frighten you, being all alone up here?”
He allowed himself the smallest of smiles—him—frightened? How sweetly ironic. “Sometimes solitude is easier than the alternative.”
She studied him, and he could feel the weight of her eyes, searching for something beneath his answer. Her heartbeat quickened just a bit, a small, steady thump that seemed to reach straight through him, its warmth coiling like a spark inside his chest. He could almost taste it—the sweet, heady pull of her pulse.
But he forced the thought down, burying it beneath years of restraint. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, redirecting the focus onto her. “And what about you?” he asked, his tone soft but steady. “Doesn’t it frighten you to come all this way, alone?”
She gave a small laugh, shrugging one shoulder. “Maybe it should. But I suppose I don’t scare easily.” She paused, her gaze slipping to the narrow window where the trees outside swayed gently in the wind. “It’s quiet here, almost like a different world. Sometimes it feels like our town is shrinking, like it’s closing in. Out here, it’s–it’s freer.”
Harry’s gaze softened, though he said nothing. There was something in her words he understood, something that echoed faintly in his own memories of why he’d chosen this place—this forgotten, lonely tower—to escape. A life he could no longer live, a curse he couldn’t risk unleashing.
She looked back at him, curiosity bright in her eyes. “People say you’ve been here a long time—I mean, they say the tower’s been abandoned forever. But you don’t seem…” She trailed off, biting her lip as though she didn’t quite know how to finish.
“Don’t seem what?” he asked, his voice low, inviting her to continue.
She waited, and he watched her carotid flicker in her throat as she searched for her words. “You don’t seem like someone who belongs in a place like this,” she murmured. “Like you’ve got more in you than—than just seclusion.”
He felt a tug deep in his chest at her words, something he hadn’t felt in a long, long time—a faint longing, a half-forgotten ache for a life he’d once dreamed of. But that life was gone. He’d buried it the night he’d been turned, when the world as he knew it had collapsed into a semblance of hell.
“It’s strange,” he replied carefully, his eyes drifting toward the flickering shadows on the wall. The hunger gnawed at him, unrelenting, every second reminding him of how close he was to her. She was standing barely a foot away, her warmth filling the small space, her heartbeat a steady, maddening drumbeat that drew him closer, closer…
He straightened slightly, pulling himself back. “Solitude,” he said quietly, almost as if reminding himself, “sometimes feels simpler.”
She nodded slowly, but her eyes stayed on him, and he could see the spark of curiosity still there, unquenched. She was brave, this girl. Far braver than most. And something about that bravery—the quiet way she stood her ground in the face of shadows and rumors, in the presence of a stranger—intrigued him. She wasn’t running away. And a part of him, despite everything, wanted her to stay.
“Thank you,” he mumbled—almost a dismissal, gesturing to the basket, his voice softened with a touch of genuine gratitude. “Not many would bring gifts to a stranger. Especially not one so isolated.”
She smiled, her cheeks flushing faintly in the dim light. “Well, maybe I’ll bring something better next time,” she replied with a small laugh. “If you’d want that.”
He paused, her words lingering in the air between them. Next time. It felt dangerous, allowing the thought of it, letting her return. But as she looked at him, her smile warm and unguarded, he found himself nodding almost without thinking.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I’d like that.”
But even as he spoke, he felt the old thirst stir beneath his words, a dark reminder that she was flesh and blood, and he was anything but.
Harry watched her retreating figure until the last of her shadow disappeared down the winding path. The silence settled thick around him once more, yet it felt different now, charged with the lingering warmth of her presence. The faint echo of her heartbeat still pulsed in his mind, like a phantom drum that refused to fade. He drew in a slow, deliberate breath, pushing down the hunger that had clawed so violently to the surface, fighting a void that had nearly overpowered him the entire time she’d stood there.
He had always been a weak man for the living.
Turning back into the tower, he closed the door and leaned against it, his hand flexing as he grappled with that old, familiar agony, the ache that thrummed through his veins whenever he was near a human. After all these years, after countless nights spent mastering his restraint, he still struggled. The curse was unrelenting—an obstinate thirst that he could never truly silence, only suppress.
Memories rose in him unbidden, dark and sharp, clawing their way out of the places he kept them buried. He could still recall the crisp air of that autumn night in 1601, back when he was alive, when he’d believed his life was bound for something beautiful. He’d been a poet then, a young man enamored with language, eager to make something of himself. He’d had dreams of attending university, of pursuing a life dedicated to literature and ideas, a life where he could spend his days wrapped in thought and art.
But all of that had been shattered in a single night. He had been walking back from a small tavern in London, tipsy and laughing, still reciting lines of poetry in his head, the night air filling him with a light, exhilarating hope. He remembered it so clearly—the dimly lit street, the damp chill creeping into his coat, the rough hand that had seized him by the throat and dragged him into an alley. He’d thought it was a robber at first, maybe a cutthroat from the docks looking for a quick coin.
But then he’d seen his attacker’s face.
The man’s eyes were inhuman, glinting with a feral hunger, and his skin was pale, almost translucent in the moonlight. Harry had fought, struggling against the impossible strength of those arms, but it had been useless. The man had pinned him down with a brutal ease, baring his teeth—a flash of something razor-sharp, malevolent—before sinking them deep into Harry’s throat. The pain had been excruciating, and then everything had gone dark, his life draining away into a cold, endless void.
He hadn’t known what had happened to him for days afterward. He’d awoken alone, hidden in the dark recesses of a forgotten basement, his body shuddering with an unholy thirst that tore through him like wildfire. The transformation had left him a half-mad, hollow shell, consumed by an insatiable need he didn’t understand. He’d stumbled through the streets, eyes wild, hunting without even knowing what he was hunting for. And when he’d finally cornered a man in the dead of night, tearing into his throat with a frenzy he could barely comprehend, he’d learned what he had become.
The first months were a blur of blood and horror, a nightmare he hadn’t known how to escape. He had been controlled by an ache, a greed—enslaved by it, a wretched creature lost to bloodlust. He’d fought it as best he could, but each time he tried to resist, the thirst only grew stronger, until he was reduced to a brutal, savage need that erased everything else.
It had been a year later, in 1602, when he encountered another vampire. His name was Thomas, a wily, unrepentant creature who fed freely and without remorse. Thomas had found Harry alone and ravenous, nearly mad from weeks of starvation in an attempt to restrain himself. He’d taken Harry under his wing, teaching him how to survive in this new, cursed life, how to hunt, how to kill cleanly. But while Harry had been grateful for the guidance, he quickly saw that Thomas reveled in the whispers of the devil, that he viewed humanity as little more than prey. He was malignant.
His own heart was too soft for such cruelty. He’d hated the feel of human flesh beneath his hands, the way his victims’ eyes widened in terror as he held them down, the way their life drained away in his grasp. He hadn’t wanted this life. But the need was too powerful, too all-consuming, and he had been too weak to fight it.
And then, in 1643, came the night that shattered him completely.
Her name had been Beatrice—a young woman from Manchester, one of the few souls who’d looked past his oddity, his quiet reserve, and seen something in him worth knowing. She’d been kind, curious, always showing up at his door with a warm smile, her laughter lighting up his otherwise bleak existence. For months, she’d been a balm to him, her presence a brief reprieve from the loneliness that gnawed at him. He’d been so careful around her, so painfully restrained, never allowing himself to get too close. But one night, after days of starvation, he had faltered. She’d come to visit him, concern etched on her face, her hand reaching out to touch his cheek.
And in that moment, he’d lost himself.
The memory of that night was burned into him like a scar, the scent of her blood, the warmth of it cascading from his lips and developing him whole— the sound of her heart slowing as he drank from her—all of it haunted him, even now, decades later. He had tried to pull away, tried to stop himself, but the hunger had overpowered him, consuming her life, taking everything she had. When he finally came to his senses, she lay cold and pale in his arms, her eyes staring up at him, empty and accusing.
After that, he’d fled, haunted by the horror of what he’d done, determined never to let it happen again. He’d hidden himself away in this tower, learning to feed from the animals that roamed the forest, forcing himself to endure the hunger rather than inflict his curse on another innocent soul. He would never again allow himself to feel that agony, that terrible loss.
And yet tonight, with her presence in his small, empty world, something had stirred in him, a strange, aching reminder of what it meant to be human, to crave connection, companionship. It was dangerous, foolish to even entertain such thoughts, yet he couldn’t deny the faint spark she had left behind.
He closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe slowly, steadying the wild, restless energy that surged in him. She couldn’t come back. He couldn’t risk it. He would have to find a way to make her think the tower was haunted, or evil—something to scare her off for good. Because he knew himself, knew that he was a creature of hunger, bound to a curse he couldn’t escape.
And if she returned—he wasn’t sure how long he could resist.
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!!!
Series Summary: Count Styles lives on an island you’ll not find on any map. He’s lived in relative solitude for ages and is happy to have the rare occasional guest who accidentally runs into his small slice of the world, though they may not be as thrilled by his intentions once they find out what he is.
When Y/n's weather vessel crashes into his island one stormy night he greets her and offers her shelter in his castle while she waits for someone to help repair her boat. She soon comes to adore the strange and charming man and grows a worrying attachment. But she cannot help herself. No matter how much she learns about the Count and how strange her world has become she cannot seem to pull herself out of the haze of his alluring spell.
Even when her life depends on it.
..
Short preview below.
NOTE: this preview is from part 2
. . .
Pressing her ear closer to the door she closed her eyes and there was a distinct male voice, a sobbed moan that, after a loud thud, turned into something like a pitiful crying. But then she heard another voice and there was something familiar in the way it cooed and teased almost. She could not make out words but the sentiment was clear. There were two people in that room having sex and one of them was Harry. The other sounded to be a man.
Stepping back from the door she realized her mouth was hung open in surprise. Perhaps the Count was into men. Well, he was quite pretty. She could imagine that she supposed. Before she could even turn around the sounds behind the door stopped and the silence that suddenly surrounded her had her heart picking up a beat. Had she made a noise?
She swallowed and turned her head to see her door open down the hallway and wondered if she could make it quickly before anyone knew that she’d been listening in.
But the moment that thought popped into her head the door opened up and there was Harry in a long white cotton pijama, the top unbuttoned and nearly draped off his shoulder. She glanced over his frame and back up to his eyes but he was different. His irises were almost black and his mouth was set strangely, like he had swollen gums, “Would you like something, Y/n?”
Shaking her head she stepped back, “No. Sorry. I… heard something… nothing. I’m going back to bed. Sorry!”
She turned to move away but he stopped her, his hand wrapped around her upper arm, making her twist back to face him, “Are you sure don’t want anything?”
She darted her eyes behind him to the room he’d been in and it appeared to be lit by a fireplace. She saw something move across the doorway but couldn’t make out what (or who) it was.
“I’m sorry for disturbing you. That… I was just worried…”
He smiled, his lips covering his teeth as he closed the door behind him and stepped in dangerously close, holding her arm to keep her from inching away. He looked down at the dirtied material tucked under her arm and he grunted softly, “Oh my. What is this?”
Letting go of her arm he plucked the defiled sheets and nightgown from her and dropped the sheet to the floor, his hands crumpling around the white fabric, thumb dragging into the slippery wetness where her arousal had dripped.
She felt herself flush hot with embarrassment as she watched the Count inspect the damage she’d done to her nightgown. It was obvious what it was he was looking at.
“Poor, Y/n,” his dark eyes met hers as he lifted his thumb to his mouth and ran the pad of his digit against his tongue, eyes fluttering closed when he swallowed.
All of the breath in her lungs was caught and now the flush of heat was forming in her tummy as she watched him enjoy the taste. Her taste.
His jaw clenched as he opened his eyes and looked down at her, dark irises raking over her frame and then back up to her face, a deep exhale escaping his chest, “We’re all carnal beings, Y/n. There’s no shame in the body’s natural reaction to an arousing dream. All you have to do is call for me next time and I’ll make the emptiness go away. I’ll do whatever you ask.”
She couldn’t blink or look away from him. She was trapped by his haunting gaze as he drew a finger from her jaw up to her temple and then back down until he’d gently scraped his nail over her pulse point, pressing in just enough to make a small indent bite into her flesh, before lifting and pushing his nail in crosswise against the same spot.
“X marks the spot. Doesn’t it, Y/n?”
She gulped, “What’s that mean?”
Harry lowered his face close to hers. He was so close she could feel his breath on her cheek, “If you ask politely,” he wrapped his hand around the side of her neck, thumb dragging against her jaw, “I’ll show you what it means.”
. . .
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