Harry is scared of horror films (Patreon)

FIRST HALLOWEEN BLURB OF THE SEASON :D I HOPE YOU ENJOY!! 

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Harry hated horror films. 

He loathed them; hated the tension, the screams, the screeching violins building up to the monster/killer/ghost/whatever it was that was tormenting the group of people, the blood, the gore. . .literally every bit of it. The prospects of him picking up the movie cover that is tinted various hues of blacks, greys, and blood red, rather than something with the two leads staring at each other lovingly -- are little. Harry would love to cuddle close and watch two star crossed lovers sort things out than watch a ton of teens get plucked off one by one at a college. 

But his girl. . .is soft, gentle, loving Y/N, who made him feel warm and gooey and gave him all the love that he could think to want -- she loves them! Absolutely, positively loves them, and will watch them without flinching, laughing at what she deems stupid, and spends just as much as time coddling his trembling form after a particularly loud burst of music or if someone he liked got murdered, as she did attempting to watch the film. And while he loved being babied, he hated watching the scary movie simultaneously. 

When he tells his mates about it as a passing mention, they wonder why she keeps forcing him to watch them if he hates them so much. “Can’t she tell you’re miserable during them?” They ask him, “Does she not care?” 

What Harry then has to tell them, is that she doesn’t particularly know. 

It had been a year ago when Y/N had first propositioned that they watch a scary movie together. The Descent she had more or less raved about, said it was a proper good one that actually scared her and it was rare that a horror movie did nowadays. She was so excited about it. . .so completely invigorated and elated that he hadn’t yet watched it. . .he didn’t know how to tell her that he hadn’t watched it not because he hadn’t gotten around to it, but because he loathed scary movies. 

And he liked to see his girl happy, so he kept his mouth shut, wrapped up in one of their thicker blankets and shielded his eyes from the terrible creatures. Y/N asked if he wanted her to turn it off but he shook his head adamantly, and merely requested that they cuddle while they watched the rest, so Y/N spread her legs and let him wriggle his way in between them, and while he laid his head on her chest she played with his hair. She had accounted this to just being the scariest movie he had ever seen, because it was one that really dug its way into her bones as well. 

Throughout the year, they usually watch horror films few and far in between. Not every day or week does she want to sit still and pay attention to a movie, and the event that one comes out in theatres that sparks her interest only comes around once every blue moon. He found solace in this, meaning he only had to watch them once or twice every two weeks or so -- he could deal with that. 

However, when the weather shifted from sun filled days to chilled breezes and cold rains, October slithering its slicked tendrils around the Earth, Harry knew what was to come. A list of horror films that Y/N wanted to sift through close to each night, and while some she would do by herself (the ones she thinks he might find little interest in), the others she includes him in if she thinks he’ll like them. So there’s a respective Y/N list and with Harry list that she goes through the process of sifting through these movies, their reviews, and their summaries in order to make sure he was having a good time. 

“I know everyone isn’t a horror fanatic, so I save some of the particularly gory ones for me and Gumdrop.” 

Y/N and Gumdrop the cat can sit and watch all those tortue porn-esque films for hours at a time, days straight, and Harry could barely sit through a slow paced psychological horror without his skin practically crawling. It was moments like those that he knew he was a huge baby. . .an incredibly pronounced, and critically acclaimed, little wuss. If the girl who had won him over with yellow frosted cookies garnished with rabbits and kisses that taste like strawberry flavored chapstick could sit through a movie and be able to detach herself from it to understand it was fake -- Harry should be able to. All covered in tattoos, a piercing that decorates his lip, a style that had been ripped straight from a grung-y kids’ closet in the 90s. . .everything about him screamed that he was something of a “bad boy”, including the motorcycle, the times he’s decided to use dark liner on his waterline, the music that he blasts in the car with his mates on the way to hole in the wall clubs. 

But Harry had his soft spots too! They were hidden from the world, visible to him and his walls alone as he curled up with mugs of cocoa and listened to Stevie Nicks croon while he studied for a midterm. The only person who had been let in on a moment like that had been Y/N, who had ambushed him once when his door was unlocked because she left her pants at his place. 

(The best part about Y/N was that she hadn’t mentioned it -- had only plucked her pants up from where they’d been folded on his couch, given him a big kiss right on his mouth, and told him she would see him tomorrow but she’s got a four page paper to write and he was too big a distraction. It was then that he had decided he adored this girl, and would be taking her to dinner somewhere smarmy and nice that weekend.) 

Those soft spots included an unresolving adoration towards anything furry with a pink nose, and a hatred for anything that made him jump, scared him endlessly, or he had to look away from the screen as to not have nightmares. Hell, after a few of these movies he was too scared to get up and use the bloody toilet on his own! Like some creature was going to reach through the drain of the sink, grab him by the belt, and pull him down. 

He thinks he should consider being an actor though, for how good he is at not letting Y/N on about how scared he could get. Harry made good on hiding trembles and suffocating images of the movie that might keep him awake by snuggling tightly to her, kicking the fan on so that she just thought he was shivering from being cold. This way she would cuddle tighter, warm him from the inside out, and he could sleep a hopefully dreamless sleep. A year of being together and watching these movies and Y/N had been none the wiser. 

Tonight she was meant to come over for a film called Suspiria that they’re meant to watch -- a reboot of the 70s original, that Y/N had heard good things about. He was in the process of baking pumpkin shaped cookies to surprise her with when his mate Jackson called to discuss an assignment in their Cognitive Psychology assignment. They had spent the first ten minutes actually talking about how to do it, before the conversation had tailed off into what either of them were doing tonight, and when Harry admits that he’d be watching a movie with Y/N and specifying which one, Jackson decides it best to warn him. 

“You might want to change the selection Har, that’s a horror movie.” 

Harry snorted, “I know, tha’s kinda the point,” 

“Don’t you hate ‘em though? When we tried getting you to watch The Ring you just about cried, we had to turn it off.” 

Brows furrowed, he slides the oven mitt onto his hand and opens up the oven so he could retrieve the baking sheet, “I didn’t cry you Prat. I just don’t like them, is all, but it makes her happy, so I watch them.” 

It’s when he sets the tray on the stove and twists around as he’s pulling the mitt off, that he sees Y/N standing in the doorway. Her hands hold matching fuzzy socks and a box of popcorn -- her face holds a dejected gaze and a small, pouted frown -- her shoulders are slumped and it looks like he’d just kicked her in the shin, honestly. Stepped on her toes and spat in her face, practically. 

“I’ll talk to you later, J.” He utters before hanging up the phone, his mouth falling open, “Baby --” 

“I thought,” she begins, brows deepened in a furrow, “I thought you liked them, Harry, I didn’t know that -- oh fuck me,” she drops the socks and popcorn on the counter, “M’the worst girlfriend in the world.” 

Harry strides over to her quickly (though it only takes about two long steps before he gets to her, considering the size of his kitchen), “No! No you are not the worst girlfriend, Sweetheart, s’just --” 

“All this time and I thought you were just easily spooked! I didn’t know you hated them, I would have never made you watch any of them, all you -- you could have told me, I wouldn’t have been mad or anything I -- you’ve been miserable on just about a quarter of our nights together!” She’s speaking it in a way that she and he both know she’s being a bit overdramatic, but she’s playing it for laughs even though there is truth felt that she’s laced within her words. 

“Sweetheart I have not been miserable,” he replies with a disbelieving chuckle, a breathy huff as he shakes his head, “Sure, I don’t like them much, but I like that you like ‘em. Don’t mind being a little spooked if it means it’ll make you smile.” 

Her frown is still deep, her lip jutted out in such a prominent pout he wants to bend down and suckle it into his mouth, “You’re not just a little spooked though, they -- you jump so hard and turn away from most of it -- I should have known! I just thought that maybe. . .that maybe you were just a little put off by the blood but -- oh, I’m the worst!” 

He slides his arms around her waist, dragging her closer to him and tilting his chin down, moving to push a kiss at the tip of her nose, “Stop it, Babe, you are not! So what, I get a little scared? I’m a big boy, I get over it.” 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs, dipping her head into his chest. 

“You don’t have to apologize, Love, if it were really that debilitating I would have said something about it before.” 

And that’s true! He is a big baby when it comes to them, and maybe they stick around with him for a few hours after, but by the next day he’s over it. Had they truly affected him that much he would have said something about it. But he traded a few hours of fearing unrealistic scenarios, for his girl to have had a good night, and he’s a hundred percent okay with that. 

She wraps her fingers around his wrists, giving him a tug as she drags him backward with her into his living room, making him follow her to the couch. She makes him spin so his back was facing it, before giving him a small push so he landed on the orange and auburn afghan she crocheted him for the season (which he loved entirely too much, burritoing himself in it felt like being cradled in hours of her love, which he would never say aloud). After he had bounced a considerable amount from the springs of the couch shifting beneath his weight, Y/N sank to her knees before him. 

His brows knit in confusion, “Sweetheart, what’re you --” 

“Apologizing,” she responded, making quick with diligent fingers that go to unloop his belt, “I know you’re saying I don’t have to apologize, but I’ve been scaring you out of your wits for the last year because I like to be scared meself, and a unmutual love for horror has been present, so m’apologizing. Plus you watched it for me even though you hated it and it’s making me love you a lot right now, so I want you to cum down my throat, okay? Every drop of it I want in my mouth.” 

The filth laced in her words make his cock twitch, interested and wanting, as he aids her in lifting his hips up so she can wiggle his jeans down. Again, he gives a disbelieving laugh, “Fucksake,” he can’t help but grin, “How’d I get so lucky to have you, hmm? You know you don’t have to do this right?” 

“I know,” she nods, her fingernails gently grazing the tiger tattoo on his thigh, beckoning goosebumps to dot up his leg, the hair standing as she shuffles closer between his legs, loosely tugging on his boxers and revealing his hardening prick, “I want to though. Wanna make you feel good.” 

Y/N wastes no more time speaking, taking the head of his cock into her mouth and suckling gently at it, like she’s coaxing him to grow harder. A silvery moan slips from Harry’s lips as he tilts his head back some, his eyes fluttering shut as he loses himself in the feeling. There was something so invigorating about stiffening up against Y/N’s tongue -- maybe it was the sheer delight of it felt from her part. She had admitted to him a long while ago that she loved it -- loved knowing that she was the direct cause of it, from beginning to end. Absolutely bristled when she tasted that first little dot of precum. 

Her fingers slide around his shaft once he’s sure all of his blood had left from the rest of his body and engorged his cock. Starting with soft, firm little strokes upward as she tongues at the head, licking at the smooth skin delightfully. When Harry peers down to watch her, he sees that her eyes had long since closed and she had completely lost herself in the feeling. Taking him further into her mouth, she moans around him when he groans and reaches down to tangle his fingers in her hair. “Christ,” he breathes as she slides off, taking a gaspy little breath before she’s leaning back in and pushing open mouth kisses down his shaft, down to his balls. A whimper glitters from his throat when her tongue lays warm, slick strokes against the sensitive skin, “God, baby, if you don’t stop, I’m g’na cum.” 

The battle on Y/N’s face is one he enjoys to view in this context more than he likes most things. On one hand, she wants him to cum. . .she has told him how desperately sometimes she wants for him to let go, feel the hot spurts coat her tongue and swallow them down hot and sticky in her belly. She has gone in great detail the sheer, carnal need for it to slip down her throat and coat her insides. . .how if she were really needy, she would pull out every stop possible to make him cum as quickly as he could. 

On the other hand, she enjoyed herself down between his legs. She liked sucking and suckling, lapping, tugging, and dragging him closer to his orgasm. Loved how he tasted, the noises that he made for her, the way he holds onto her by her hair, and how his hips began to buck idly because it feels so good. And she enjoyed how dizzy and lightheaded she got when she was huffing breaths through her nose but every inhale she was breathing in him. The ache that stirs in her jaw when she’s edging him with the flat of her tongue, because she could spend “forever down here, Harry, I’ve never been happier than with your cock in my mouth.” 

So when he feels that telltale tickle in his abdomen, low and swarming in sparkles that warn him that he’s about to cum -- he warns her. Let’s her decide if she wants to pull back and make him wait or if she wants to go ahead and finish him off. 

Today, Y/N decides she wants to finish him off, and after a moment of contemplation she sinks down on his cock and takes him to the back of her throat. She flutters around his head and as she draws back, the broad of her tongue drags against the shaft and Harry’s cock lurches, throbbing as he begins to shoot into her mouth. She works him through it, sighing, chest heaving as she swallows him down, making a point of lickinig up the bit that slips from her lips and trailing down his prick. 

When she’s finished, she doesn’t bother with helping him into his boxers, but instead crawls up so that her thighs bracket his lap, careful to avoid where he’s now softened and sensitive. She pushes her plushy, swollen lips against his in a soft kiss that makes him melty, before parting with a little frown still dotting her mouth. 

“We’ll watch Twilight or summat instead -- something soft and like. . .and like lovey, n’stuff, yeah? We aren’t watching a horror movie tonight, and now that I think of it, I’ve been in the mood for something soft.” 

“You’re sure?” Harry questions her and she nods once, definitively, and so he nods back, “Okay, Babe, we’ll watch something soft. Twilight is a bit of horror innit? Happy medium?” 

She grins wide, leaning in to place a kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“Alreet then, lemme put my cock away, we’ll ice these cookies, and we’ll have a go at Twilight.”