#I watched midsommar a few days ago

[karvakera]

jumpscares you with my ocs

the first one was done today to keep my attention on the stream I was watching,,, I physically can not watch something if I dont draw at the same time.

the mermaid one was done a while ago but I wanted to share it since its dear to me (despite the godawful mistakes in anatomy and angles). I usually struggle with backrounds but I think it turned out fine there,, also something about its vibe is special to me,,, feels somewhat nostalgic

[tellmeallaboutit]

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 2, In Which You Meet A Tall Dark Stranger 

Chapter 1

SUMMARY: Careful which mods you install for BG3. Did you read the terms and conditions carefully?

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 2

The next day, during your lunch break, you made another attempt to persuade Raphael to take his clothes off. The clock struck noon; your private laptop was on the right side of your desk, while your work laptop was on the left, Teams open and your mouse ready to show signs of activity from time to time.

The sun was shining through the wide open window, children playing outside. Idyllic. Nothing sinister could be happening in broad daylight with those happy sounds in the background. The horror movies told you so. Except for Midsommar.

Well, screw Midsommar, then. This isn’t Sweden.

"All right, I'm going to set some ground rules here," you said to the loading screen. "I can be as creepy as I want to be to you, because you're just a bunch of pixels, but you can't do anything creepy to me, because I'm a human being. Got that? Good."

The sound of your voice made you feel braver.

As you heard the familiar sinister 'you-let-the-villain-win-bad-player' music in the background, you covered your eyes with your hands and peered through splayed fingers.

Then he appeared. Just as you had wished. Perfectly naked, with a stereotypical video game six-pack and just the right amount of body hair. The orange lighting made his skin glow, and his flaccid penis, like that of the game's generic male model, vanished from sight as he strode closer.

Your ears pricked up to listen to the scripted monologue you knew by heart, watching (waiting?) for any hiccups or new animations, the YouTube app on your phone playing the identical scene for comparison.

Everything happened exactly as it should, word for word, save for the speaker’s nudity.

All good. You breathed a sigh of relief and spread your fingers wider to admire Raphael a little better. 

Same as always. Handsome and charming and completely imaginary, which, now that you thought about it, was the biggest part of his charm. 

"Ta-ta... for now," Raphael's signature line echoed through the room.

"Bravo, Raphael," you praised the screen. "You've done nothing creepy. You have earned your title of Archdevil Supreme."

After waiting for a response that never came, you laughed off your silliness and shook your head. Your laptop was overheating, giving off a slight synthetic smell. Should have upgraded a long time ago. Just need to put enough money aside.

"OK, screenshots," you said. "I wanted to take some screenshots. Do you mind, Raphael? Can I have your consent? They’ll help recruit more followers for you, my liege."

Your phone vibrated. The FaceID gave you a preview of the Discord messages from Queen-of-the-Bored, one of the few Raphaelites you'd actually spoken to directly and felt like you kinda sorta knew.

queen-of-the-bored: ngl that was some really funny joke, we spent the whole night trying to recreate it :-D queen-of-the-bored: you sounded legit worried over that voice message tho haha you: it was legit. check the reddit thread queen-of-the-bored: which thread

Ok, let me google that for you. You typed in the same search words as yesterday, "Raphael naked mod April prank," clicked on the thread from yesterday, and skimmed through the comments.

“nah not joking there is this naked mod for teenage mutant ninja""

“all dongs appeared MASSIVE on April’s first”

Scrolling further, you realized that was not the correct Raphael - it's Raphael the Turtle, not Raphael the Devil. Why was there so much NSFW content about him? What did people see in turtles?

You quickly corrected your search to "Raphael BG3 naked mod April prank," but it didn’t bring back any relevant results. So, you changed it to "last twenty four hours" just to be thorough.

Didn’t help. Nothing. You were the only to be called a naughty little mouse. The special one.

queen-of-the-bored: which thread dude??? you: my bad it was the turtle queen-of-the-bored: ??? queen-of-the-bored: I am slowly getting worried about you haha

Next step? Contact the mod developer directly? What if they have no idea what you're talking about?

Then what? What were the alternative theories? You've been hacked and doxxed to madness for that one Twitter post that got people waving pitchforks at you? 

There you go, you were scared again. Daytime, sun shining and children playing outside, but there you were, alone in your flat, scared again.

You took a deep breath and looked at the screen. "All right, I understand, Mr Archdevil Supreme. No screenshots. I'll uninstall the mod and I apologise for my disrespectful behaviour."

You couldn't bear to see Raphael's face on the screen again so you hit ctrl alt delete instead of Escape and stared blankly at the Task Manager.

Next, you uninstalled the mod that had caused all this trouble. Then you went to Tumblr and removed the reblog of Raphael in a cat playsuit with the tag "my poor miau miau". Then you deleted your bookmarks on AO3. Your Twitter account was beyond repair, so you deleted it altogether.

None of these actions made you feel any better. You grabbed a quick cup of shrimp noodles, but eating it only made you feel worse. As you tasted the sodium on your tongue, you came to a realisation: what you needed was to go the fuck outside.

You had been stuck in your flat and home office since the start of the pandemic, chronically online. Online work, online colleagues, online friends, who was the last real person you saw, talked to and hugged?

Your mum, probably. 

Oh yes, no wonder you were going mad. You need to get out there and meet some real people. You opened Discord, quickly scrolled past the sketch of Tav giving Raphael head, and typed a message: you needed to touch grass.

queen-of-the-bored: well there is Comic-Con this weekend  you: this is NOT touching grass, this is burning it queen-of-the-bored: true you: besides not going alone queen-of-the-bored: maybe Raph will keep you company 😈 

What? Such a strange thing to say. Or was it? Who the hell was that behind the screen anyway? Apparently someone called Sammy from Ohio. Supposedly. Wasn’t she the one who recommended this mod?

She was.

Come on, you're just letting your paranoia get the best of you.

queen-of-the-bored: oh BTW I found THE hottest Raph smut  queen-of-the-bored: mind the tags it's so hot but soooooo fucked up queen-of-the-bored: just read it trust me thank me later

Who the hell were you, Sammy from Ohio, Korilla? You put the phone down and started pacing around your small flat. It was not much to pace around, only forty-two square meters. 

At least you rent a flat in a building with other people and not some house at the edge of the forest. Strangers live below you, above you and on either side of you. They don't know you and you don't know them... but they were there, just in case...

Just in case.

"You know what?" you said to your computer. "I need a break. I need to focus on my mental health. Self-care, Raphael. I'm not playing with you. For now".

The moment you finished speaking, your phone lit up again with another notification. This time it was an email. You made a mental note to start managing your notifications better.

Did you enjoy your Devil Dick © - Natural Red experience? We know you will be back for more 😈 Check out the new...

What the fuck? Oh no, no, click away and make a mental note to never order from Bad Dragon again with customer satisfaction emails like this. It's borderline harassment. You ordered from them ONCE, as a joke, just to see what ridges might feel like.

Not as good as the smut had promised you,

Private. Private stuff. Between you and your bed drawer. Between you and your browser. God, how much stuff you have in your browser history. You should have used incognito mode more often.

Would that have helped? 

"That was low, Raphael," you muttered. "Or is it Haarlep today?"

You glanced around your room before angling your computer screen towards the wall, then retrieved the Devil Dick © from its hideaway in your bedside drawer. Your fingers grazed over the silicon ridges as you swiftly stashed it away in a box beneath the bed.

"If you must know, it was too big for me. Flattered?"

Crawling out from under the dusty bed, you looked up and realized for the first time that anyone in the building could easily peep into the flat if they tried hard enough or cared enough to do so.

Enough is enough.

You need to hydrate, you need to eat some vegetables, you need to start jogging again and you definitely... you definitely need to go out and talk to some real people. Maybe it's time to get back on Bumble and try your luck again. Who knows, it might actually work this time.

He wouldn't like that.

Where did that thought just come from? He wouldn't like it, who the hell cares what some imaginary devil thinks.

Standing up straight, you pointed a finger at the screen in front of you.

"Raphael, just so we are clear, you and I: I really like you. I do PR for you every day for free. You don't have to scare me to get my attention. You should appreciate me and be nice to me. I'm the best agent you'll ever have.”

Having made your point, you put on your running shoes and AirPods. It brought back memories of all the times you had jogged through the nearby park. Afterwards you'd sit on the bench and eat an ice-cream, watching couples, happy and glowing, watching families with children, happy and stressed, watching people living their lives in a reality parallel to yours, and then you'd come home and go into a reality parallel to theirs.

The AirPods picked up right where they left off last time.

I want to hold you close, soft breasts, beating heart, as I whisper in your ear

I wanna fucking tear you apart

You removed the AirPods from your earlobes and exhaled. This wasn’t Raphael's fault. This is She Wants Revenge, you have listened to it a thousand times. You knew the lyrics, they hadn't changed. 

You can't even listen to music anymore. Pull yourself together. 

Get some vitamins from the pharmacy.

Touch some goddamn grass.

***

You stuck to your digital and physical diet until the weekend, and as a reward, nothing happened. No oddly timed emails, no strange messages, no random phone calls. Maybe it was your pitch talk or the vitamins you started taking, but either way, Raphael was on his best behavior, and so were you. 

No Tumblr, no AO3. Didn't even touch Steam. Got into a highbrow podcast about the Roman Empire.

You set a new personal record for days without 'self-indulgence', as Raphael would put it, although that wasn't really the intention. Something always seemed to interrupt - whether it was the loud hum of the fridge (which was always obnoxious) or the flickering light in the hallway (which had been broken for over a week). 

By Friday, you had finally finished the work projects you had been putting off for months. The job wasn't too bad, but it hadn't been any fun for years, if it ever had been. You did the bare minimum to get the paycheck and keep the job, and your employer kept the paycheck at the bare minimum to keep you. If there was anything else you could do, you would do something else.

Still, this was probably the most productive week you had in years. You scrubbed your flat from top to bottom twice and cleared your wardrobe of clothes that no longer fit.

You were proud of yourself.

Gradually your sense of security began to return. You tried not to dwell too much on the incident with the naughty little mouse; if you didn't think about it, it almost felt like it hadn't happened.

On Friday, you plucked up the courage to play BG3 again, wandered through Baldur's Gate, avoiding the House of Hope for the time being, had a few fights, played the graveyard scene with Astarion (daring, but a small part of you hoped it would make Raphael jealous enough to come out again), and shut it down. 

Nothing out of the ordinary.

You hadn't planned to go to Comic-Con. For one thing, it was on the other side of the city, in the business district of the convention centre, so it would take at least an hour to get there. Secondly, going alone just felt... weird.

It was not until Friday night that a little voice in your head started to whisper, "Why not? Maybe you'll meet some like-minded people”. Make some friends you can actually touch (not in a creepy way). 

It's a better chance than endlessly swiping on Bumble.

Maybe you'll meet...

Neil Newbon. If you can get past the hordes of fangirls. Andrew Wincott. No, Andrew Wincott wouldn't be there; you'd checked beforehand. To be honest, hearing his voice might have been too much for your psyche at that moment.

So you decided to go. You went, and it was as fun as you had imagined it would be - that is, hardly any. The convention hall was huge and crowded, rows and rows of stalls, crowds and crowds of people. Live panel discussions, cosplayers, flashing lights, bright colors, chatter, laughter, very loud, very lively.

Raphael wouldn't last a minute in that chaos.

"Hell is other people," you thought to yourself, quoting Sartre. If you ever met Raphael, you'd quote Sartre to him too. He must know that you read intelligent books and not just fanfiction. 

Some people might be comfortable going to events and eating alone in restaurants, but not you. It's even worse being the odd one out in a group of odd ones. How come all the others had someone to take along? Where did they find all those people in this godforsaken city?

You talked to a few people and a few people talked to you. Nothing really took off. Your mind was elsewhere, to be fair. You were looking for something in the crowd. 

Someone.

It was absurd, yes, but so was what happened this week with the mod. You had met a few Raphael cosplayers, three at least, but they were...

Well, of course they weren't him. But they did a great job with the clothes and the hair and the make-up, and one had really great prosthetic horns, and you touched them and admired them and praised that particular Raphael for all his hard work in creating them.

They were real people, not video game characters that had come to life, and neither were you. You looked down at your jeans, at your thighs, and thought you should start jogging again, and felt even less comfortable in your own skin. 

Then Neil Newbon came along and things quickly became too chaotic for you.

You decided to take a break and walked down the street until you came across a cosy café - none of that generic chain stuff, but something that tried hard to be authentic with pretty flowers in the windows.

Sitting alone at a table for two, you looked down at your phone and opened the Discord chat because you came here to talk to some real people.

In the main chat, there was a heated debate about whether devils are allowed to torture mortals into signing contracts. Both sides presented arguments based on lore, edition contradictions, past precedents and personal conviction. 

A man's voice interrupted you as you typed your own very elaborated opinion of hellish law. "Excuse me, may I?" he asked, his words slightly muffled by the AirPods.

"Sure," you replied with practiced friendliness, not even looking up. That was always your default answer. It's not like you can say no to this kind of request anyway. 

People ask and do a lot of things out of politeness. That was precisely why you took the AirPods out of your ears.

The moment you lifted your eyes to meet the man's, you learned the true meaning of the word 'jumpscare'. Your body jerked upwards, the table shook and the coffee cup tumbled - narrowly missing Raphael.

Raphael. 

Not a man who looked like Raphael, not a man who was dressed like him - Raphael. 

You weren't sure if you made any sound or uttered any words. You probably yelped.

What you did do for sure was gawk.

His skin tone identical; hair slicked back just right; eyes uncannily accurate in hue and shape - down to every wrinkle. A perfectly realistic rendering. Not the uncanny valley type, no, perfectly believable. This is exactly what he would look like if he were real and swapped his fantasy clothes for a business suit.

So this is what it feels like to go completely insane.

Very banal, actually. You are having a psychotic breakdown and no one is even looking at you, except for an imaginary devil.

"Oh my, my apologies," Raphael said as he quickly grabbed napkins to mop up the spreading lake of coffee on the table. "I did not mean to scare you."

Oh, but he did, very much. You could not breathe, your chest encased in an iron brace of fear. It's you who needs to apologise, and apologise fast, and apologise a lot, and beg for mercy. Especially for liking the Twitter art of him being spit-roasted between Yurgir and Haarlep. 

If you only knew... you would never have clicked on it... absolutely never... all those posts you wrote... 

"Raphael?" you managed to squeak out. “I didn’t mean it, I swear.”

This must be how a deer feels in the headlights of an oncoming truck.

He looked at you, very sincere confusion etched across his handsome face. "Excuse me?"

You drew in a shaky breath, your nostrils flaring as you tried to catch a whiff of cherries under the aroma of fresh coffee, not caring how absurd you appeared. Yes? No? Or was that strawberry jam on his croissant? Have your senses gone haywire? Your mind certainly has.

"You're... you're here to cosplay Raphael?" 

The thought tumbled out of your mouth before it had time to fully form in your head. It was the only explanation that made sense... It didn't, but it made more sense than all the others put together.

Raphael moved closer, pulled up a chair and asked, amused: "I beg your pardon, I'm here to do what to whom?"

The voice. The voice was the same. Andrew Wincott's voice. The man had simply stolen his voice. Or had the man stolen it from him? The movements, the mannerisms, the facial expressions. This man could not be Raphael because...

Well, because this man was real. As real as you were. 

"Raphael," you explained. "From the video game. Are you here to cosplay... to play... Raphael?"

The man gave you a look as if questioning your sanity, and rightfully so. You were also sweating bullets - could he see the damp patches under your hoodie? You pressed your arms against your sides; wouldn't want him noticing.

"I'm hardly an actor," Raphael replied with a polite smile, "although there was a time in my youth when I entertained such ambitions."

He chuckled lightly and took a leisurely sip of his coffee. 

"I'm here to enjoy my espresso, nothing more. I... have never been particularly fond of..." he added with the disdain of a typical middle-aged man, "... video games.”

You had no response for that because Raphael wouldn't be into video games either; that much was believable.

"My office is across the street," he said, pointing towards the office complex opposite you. "Precisely there."

The golden sign on the building across from you, d'Avergni & Partners, told you nothing, except that Raphael had an office job and an office space and a desk and all the things that the devil shouldn’t have because the devil invented them to torture the others.

Raphael was dressed like he had just stepped out of a board meeting. A three-piece slate gray tailored suit, white shirt peeking out from underneath, silk tie and matching pocket square. Of all the modern Raphael AUs, you preferred the Professor one, you voted for it, you had Sucharide’s fic bookmarked. The Professor was more, ugh...

Safe.

As for you, you were wearing a hoodie with your university on it. A clean hoodie, but a hoodie nonetheless. What the hell else would you be wearing to Comic Con? You didn't do your hair. Well, putting it in a ponytail is not doing your hair. Why did you not do your hair? 

"I know, I know, you must be wondering why anyone would toil on a weekend," Raphael continued. That was the last thing you were wondering. "Alas, no rest for the wicked."

"Wicked?" you echoed. You looked at the people in the cafe, sure they were staring at the both of you, but they weren't.

"Oh," he chuckled lightly, "it's just an expression – 'No rest for the wicked.' You've never heard it before?"

"Of course I have," you said, momentarily embarrassed. "Never mind...sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," Raphael raised his eyebrows. "In fact, I should be the one to apologise for startling you. May I offer you another cup of... ah, what was that... cappuccino? After twelve? Tsk-tsk, young lady".

Not a single modern man could ever manage to say the words "tsk-tsk, young lady" as charmingly. That was Raphael.

"No bother, I can get one myself," you said quickly, about to stand up. 

He raised his hand slightly and put it down to halt your movement, and for a second you thought he was going to touch you, and if he had, if you had felt the skin of his skin, he would have felt more real and you would have died on the spot from a bursting heart.

"I have no doubt about that. But may I treat you? It would be my absolute pleasure”.

Pleasure. The way he said the word was straight obscene. You couldn't handle the word 'pleasure' coming from a man who had been responsible for more than half your orgasms in the last few months.

So in your daze, you mumbled: "Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Raphael stood up and walked over to the barista. She acknowledged him, so that's one point for him being real and you not hallucinating. Not only did she acknowledge him but she flashed him a goofy grin - clearly smitten.

Of course she is.

You have to take a picture of him. How do you take a picture of someone without their consent without being a total creep?

You don't. It's in the fucking definition; you can't. But you should. Maybe you'll open your camera roll and see someone completely different, and then you'll know it's time to call for mental health services.

Your phone was buzzing with messages, which you quickly swiped away and went straight to the camera. You took a picture of him from behind while he ordered you a coffee. The barista gave you a “fucking weirdo” look. 

Fuck you, you thought, you have no idea what I am going through right now. Then you switched to the camera roll and checked to see if the photo reflected what you saw.

A broad, fit back of a very attractive middle-aged man with lush brown hair, paying for coffee with cash.

You couldn't decide whether this made you feel better or worse.

When Raphael returned with your cup, you had something for him too. "This is the character I was talking about," you said, a screenshot of virtual Raphael ready on your screen.

Anyone who saw the screenshot would say, "Who motion-captured me?" 

Not Raphael. He barely glanced before shrugging and handing your phone back. "Hmm, I see some resemblance, I guess."

Resemblance? What fucking resemblance? There was no resemblance; he WAS Raphael! You were about to argue but he beat you to it: "Why? Were you hoping to meet this...Raphael?" 

His voice dropped an octave and he looked at you intently. He was flirting - openly, unashamedly.

"I...I was," you stammered out. "He's my favourite character."

Brilliant, brilliant line. Dear diary, today I wanted to meet Raphael, my favourite character from my favourite game. So much for quoting Sartre.

"Well now, I'm flattered," Raphael purred, causing you to wriggle uncomfortably in your seat. "I do bear some physical likeness."

That was a massive understatement. 

The man had a disarmingly charming smile. You tried to remember if Raphael had ever smiled like that in the game. It was mostly scowls and grins and smirks, but this kind of smile? You didn't think so. You caught a glimpse of yourself in his hazel eyes, and that was not Tav; that was you. Just you.

Not that you were unattractive or anything. Average. Maybe even a little pretty on a good day. You didn't like yourself very much. Then again, most people don't. That's how the beauty industry makes its money. 

You got your share of attention, some, nothing to brag about. Had two boyfriends, it didn't work out, you used to care, now you don't. Certainly never got any attention from men who looked like him.

Why should this man be interested in you, why? Ah, yes. Your soul. He probably wants your soul. Is it worth much at all? Is it worth coming all the way to Earth? You wanted to apologize to him for going through all this trouble just for you.

"So this event in the convention hall down the street..." he snapped his fingers as if trying to recall a forgotten name.

"Comic-Con 2024," you supplied. "It's huge in fandom culture. TV shows, video games, that sort of stuff.”

"Ah. Not my kind of entertainment - or my kind of audience, for that matter," Raphael said with a slightly raised eyebrow, eyeing the “Astarion approves” badge on your backpack.  "It does remind me of a deal I signed recently."

"Deal?" you asked in a weak voice. He nodded. "What deal? With who?"

"With who? No, I meant the Microsoft-Blizzard acquisition". 

Ah, that kind of deal. The words felt so reassuring, so real, the acquisition. Raphael would have no idea about these words. Raphael wouldn't say "Microsoft". You mean the real Raphael. What the hell is a 'real' Raphael again?

For the first time, you let go of a little tension. You took a first sip of your coffee and leaned back slightly in your chair. 

"Actually, I think these acquisitions are really harmful for the industry," you said. 

Why did you have to be so confrontational? You didn't have anything clever to say about such things, so you spoke the truth instead. Bad idea.

"How candid of you to say that. Well, I’ll be just as candid with you: I am indeed a villain." Raphael grinned. "I hope you can forgive me." 

There went your short-lived relaxation, which lasted less than a minute.  Raphael had just looked at you and said "I am a villain". Challenge him. Tell him it's him because, well, it's him. It can only be him. Tell him you know it's him, and then...

And then what?

"Everybody's got a job to do, I guess", you managed to utter the most generic phrase in existence.

"Isn't that so..." Raphael replied, pausing for a moment before finishing the sentence with your name.

You did not introduce yourself to him. You were sure of it. Absolutely sure. 

"How do you know my name?" you asked, half rising from your chair, raising your voice and quickly lowering it again. "I didn't tell you my name. How do you know it?"

Raphael gestured to your phone, which lay on the table screen between the two of you. Your work ID card was tucked away in its transparent case - something you hadn't needed for a while.

It had your first and last name on it.

"I saw it right before my eyes," he explained. "I thought it was a hint."

"It wasn't," you said.

"Oh, another faux pas on my part then," he said. "At this rate, I owe you something to make up for all my many transgressions. Perhaps dinner?"

You let out a nervous chuckle. One of your popular Tumblr posts had been an impassioned rant about how Raphael had promised a similar in-game offer but failed to deliver despite the many times you gave him the Crown.

"I seem to have absolutely terrified you, and that was not my intention. I insist on making it up to you. If you allow me, of course. I don't want to impose. Would you allow me to?"

He looked at you with the intensity of a man admiring a beautiful woman, his shoulders back and chin slightly up, trying to present himself from his best angle - something you've seen men do before, but rarely (if ever) to you. It was as if he could hang on every word that came out of your mouth, simply because he enjoyed watching your lips move. Raphael looked like he was in love, for Christ's sake.

Your cheeks grew warm. 

"Yes," you replied.

He kept silent for a bit, savouring your answer. 

"Splendid. Where might I collect you?"

It took you a moment to realise that he was asking for your address. Your personal address. Shouldn't he know it already, if he was Raphael? You replied as nonchalantly as possible:

"Why don't I give you my number and we can arrange to meet at the center?"

His expression darkened slightly; you've seen this look in the game before.

No, you shouldn't have said that. You wanted him to like you. 

Desperately.

"You don't trust me?" Raphael's voice dropped an octave or two, playful and just a little threatening.

You felt his breath on your face (cherries?) and the next second you stopped feeling your legs. The attraction that had been simmering inside you for months started boiling over.

Breathe. Pretend it's not Raphael. A man came up to you in a coffee shop and asked you if you trusted him in that kind of tone, leaning in like that. You know what the sensible thing to do would be - get up and walk away. And if it really was Raphael, get up and run away. 

You remained seated and stayed. 

"Just, ugh..." was all you managed to get out of the jumbled thoughts in your head; two coherent sentences so far into the conversation, and both of them made you sound like an absolute madwoman. 

Raphael laughed.

"Of course you don't trust me, that's only prudent, and you seem to be quite an intelligent young lady. But just so we are clear, you and I: you have nothing to fear from me. What is that number of yours?"

Quite an intelligent young lady, the words echoed in your mind and you remembered your naughty anonymous Tumblr confession: I would suck every last drop of cum out of him as long as he kept praising me.

God, everything you've read with him in the main role. Double penetration, double vaginal penetration, pet play... you weren't even into half of it. You hoped Raphael didn’t think you actually wanted him to do all of the things you read with you.

You just liked clicking on random links.

"Do you need something to write it down or...?" you asked hesitantly.

"I will remember," he said curtly. “I do not forget things easily”.

You realised that there was something far more frightening than anything that had happened before: that he wouldn't remember, that he would never call you, and that this conversation and this meeting would end there. 

So you carefully enunciated each number, then took a pen from your pocket and wrote it down on a napkin: it seemed romantic in the movies, but your handwriting and the coffee stain made it look like a secret message from the madhouse.

He grinned and tucked the napkin into the pocket of his suit.

He took the last sip of coffee and then took your hand in his. He touched you. His skin was warm and real and soft and everything you had ever imagined, his touch surprisingly tender. 

Your whole body responded to that tiny crumb of affection, viscerally. You hadn't realized how famished you were for a touch until that moment.

He lifted your hand to his lips and pressed them against yours. His lips were soft too, slightly damp from the coffee.

"I am looking forward to our rendezvous," Raphael murmured against your palm. "Ver much so."

Rendezvous.

In any other situation, a middle-aged man kissing your hand would be downright creepy. But this... this was a fever dream, an illusion, anything but reality. Because there was no way this madness could actually be happening to you.

Was it a bad thing? Was reality ever... this? So unpredictable? So exciting? 

You only snapped out of it when the door closed behind him, but you snapped out hard. You practically threw yourself at the next table, where a group of guys were sitting, their appearance screaming video games - backpacks and scruffy beards, Warhammer-emblazoned T-shirts. 

You grabbed one by the shoulder and hissed urgently: "Guys-guys-guys-guys." Your words came like rapid fire. "Tell me that guy doesn't look exactly like Raphael from Baldur's Gate? That one? On the street behind the window?" 

Damn, you sounded desperate.

"Ah, sorry, never played it," came the nonchalant reply before he turned back to his friends' conversation.

"Baldur's Gate," chimed in another, his face lighting up. "Amazing game. Looks like who?"

"Raphael," you said. "The devil."

The guy laughed, but didn't even look where you were pointing.

"Ah, the two-pump chump?"

You shot a quick glance at Raphael. His eyes met yours through the glass window, and they were cold now; his smile was gone. 

I didn't say that, you pleaded with him in your thoughts. That guy said that. That guy over there. I would never say that.

Your defence of his bed skills stretched from Reddit to Tumblr threads, you argued that Haarlep was slandering him, that Raphael was the best fuck there ever was and you personally vouched for that because you fucked him a thousand times in your head.

"Don't call him that, please," you whispered to the guy. He gave you a confused look when you pointed at Raphael again: "Look at him. The one staring at us. Does he look like him?

Is he real? Do you see him too?

"Ah yes," he admitted with a grin on his face, raising the cup of coffee to his lips, "he sort of does. Yes, he does! Well, I hope he doesn't...oh shit! FUCK!".

The guy's face contorted in pain as he clutched his mouth, jumping, cursing, tears streaming down his face. You could see the skin on his lips reddening and blistering.

"What the fuck?! It's fucking boiling! FUCK! "

The barista rushed over to him, spewing apologies as she tried to handle the situation. You took a step back and glanced at Raphael whose lips were moving subtly - two syllables that matched rhythmically: 'bye-bye' or maybe 'ciao-ciao'. 

It didn't have to be 'ta-ta'. He waved nonchalantly at you.

You waved back.

NEXT: Chapter 3, In Which Larian Introduces The Raphael Romance

[soupbtch]

15 QUESTIONS FOR 15 FRIENDS

Tagged by @blakbonnet my beloved 💖

ARE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? my parents picked my legal name out of a baby book published the year I was born which was great for me because it meant there were several other people at school who had the same name as me growing up and that definitely wasn't confusing and didn't lead me to hate my legal name at all :)))

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME YOU CRIED? I don't cry much tbh so I'm really not sure? I come close to crying a lot, though. like yesterday I was at work and some of ed's lines in the gravy basket popped in my head randomly and I had to put my face in my hands for a second there als;kdjf

DO YOU HAVE KIDS? no, not for me, don't want any

WHAT SPORTS DO YOU PLAY/HAVE YOU PLAYED? I was a competitive gymnast growing up and I hated it so much by the end that it kinda soured sports in general for me

DO YOU USE SARCASM? no

WHAT IS THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE? eyes, I think? height, too.

WHAT'S YOUR EYE COLOUR? hazel 😌

SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? I'm a complete wuss about horror. like some friends wanted to watch midsommar a few years ago and I had to look up the entire plot online before we watched it because I didn't want to get too scared lmfao so happy endings for sure!

ANY TALENTS? I'm a decent cook! got really into it during the dark times and I've come to be pretty skilled at it

WHERE WERE YOU BORN? california

WHAT ARE YOUR HOBBIES? cooking, writing, crochet, watching the same media over and over again, occasionally I play video games

DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS? yes! my puppy girl ava 🥹

HOW TALL ARE YOU? 5'3" (short king)

FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL? english and theatre! deep down I am musical theatre trash

DREAM JOB? honestly anything that keeps me engaged and challenges me every day. what I'm doing now is pretty good because I get to be very analytical and my boss is the best at helping me grow in my career, just wish it was a different industry because banking is absolutely toxic 🤷

no pressure tagging @sleepystede @spirker @gentlebeardsbarngrill @ofmd-ann @gentlebeard and anyone else who'd like to join! 🫶

[amandav09]

Hi! I was wondering, how would Candyman be with a ghost reader who loves plants and horror movies?

Thank you for reading and I hope you have a good day/night 💜

-PhantomCat

Hi, thank you ^^ I hope you like what I did

Summary : You are a ghost who loves plants and horror movies

Warning: death,decaying body, under the guise of domestic violance

Word count: 5,6 k

Gif not mine - English it’s not my language of birth

The first time Candyman saw you, he didn’t believe his eyes, he knew other ghosts that he would roam the world, but you were the first one he’d ever met. Your meeting had been purely coincidental. Someone had summoned it and then fled it throughout the house. But no one escapes the famous Candyman. The chase ended in the living room, his new victim lying on the cold ground. As he was about to turn around, he noticed a shadow in the garden. As he approached the glass door overlooking the outer courtyard, he could see a person crouching, his gaze was not even directed towards the house, but more towards a lavender bush. He might have thought you had a connection to the dead man, but the energy you were releasing was similar and yet very different from his. Out of curiosity, he opened the door to be able to get closer, at the same time being careful not to get you out of your daydream. "Did you know that Lavender had medicinal properties?" Did you then ask that he was only a few steps away? «From what I heard it helps to fight against certain infections» He had already painted these plants in the past, and out of curiosity, he went to inquire The phantom in front of him gently unhooked a rod and then rose «I like lavender, it is a symbol of tenderness» You turned to him, reducing the distance between you two. «I heard about you Candyman» You gently stretched the rod towards him. "What about your name?" "Y/N" Astonishment for him, he did not hesitate to take it, examined the bluish color and the reflections of the moon on it, and when he raised his head, he was welcomed only from the void

The next time he saw you, you were sitting on the couch of the same house, he had gone back there hoping to see you, and he was pleasantly surprised to see you with your eyes fixed on the TV screen, all your attention pointing to a winnie the pooh badly done. "What is it?" Could he not stop himself from asking Come and sit down! It’s so funny how they tried to turn Winnie the Pooh into a horror movie.” Your playful and inviting way dragged him to you, and as he tried his hand by your side, he could notice your eyes filled with some malice. “Normally I prefer good old slashers, but I was curious.” He took his eyes off you for a few seconds to fix the screen, Daniel was an old man and this kind of distraction was slightly incomprehensible to him. But he comes to imagine spending hours watching horror movies with you by his side The scene before his eyes was of a person who was spanking himself butchered, and he could understand why you didn’t like that one too much. «In movies feel that are good there is Midsommar, I will show you one day if you want» Candyman nods, but a question burns his lips "Is there a special reason why you should stay here?" He asked this question because this place didn’t matter when they met, it could very well have met him in different places, but you seemed to have a connection to this house. And he realized he was just aiming for your smile to weaken a little.

«I died three months ago, at last what it looks like» You let go of a quick look at the decomposing body that had remained in the same place since the last time. The lack of family or close friends of the man being the reason why his body had not yet been discovered Inside, you thanked yourself for being a ghost so you didn’t have to put up with the smell. “I was dating the man you killed, he’s the one who caused my loss.” "What has he done with your body?"

You think for a few seconds, you tried to forget where he put it, so as not to hang on to an old life. But it’s not like you could go anywhere but this house, you lived there for years, even before that son of a bitch came into your life. “He put it in the basement.” Candyman stood up gently without looking at you and went outside. This action disturbed you a little. If he had gone to the basement, it would have made more sense, even if you didn’t see why he wanted to see your body that was probably in a much worse state than your ex. He returns a few minutes later, this time if really heading towards the cellar. You did not dare to stand up to the actions of man. When he came up, he was holding a sheet covering what was left of your body This time, you followed him outside, there in the middle of the plants was a hole of human size, and this allowed you very quickly to understand his actions. He gently placed the body he was holding in his arms in the hole and began to plug it, not without difficulty with his hook.

«What good is it?» You asked You don’t deserve to rot in this cellar, you deserve to rest among the flowers you love so much His gesture touched you, and when he had finished leaned towards the lavender, took one, and positioned himself before you to tender it to you. “Lavender also has a regenerative benefit and perhaps a sign of loyalty… Come with me Y/N, you have so many horror movies and plants to show me. And like him, last time, you didn’t hesitate to take the rod he held out The last time he saw you, you laid a kiss on his cheek before he spoke because of someone who summoned him, but he knew that when he came back, you were there waiting for him.

[purplesurveys]

1727

Did you get enough rest last night?  I really didn't. I slept at 5 AM thinking that would surely let me sleep in the entire morning, but my body still automatically woke me up at 9 and didn't let sleep again by then.

What was the last thing that kept you awake?  That would be right now – I finished off the entire first season of D.P. which I ended at around half past midnight, and now I'm back in my room downing the rest of my coffee with no intention to sleep yet, even with just four hours of rest haha.

If you have pets, do they sleep in your bedroom at night?  No, they have their own corner in the living room.

Can you sleep with background noise or does it keep you up?  It helps me fall asleep as the light noise gives me a sense of security, so I kind of need it.

Do you ever take naps? Do you take long naps or little power naps?  Occasionally. I can never do power naps as they always end up feeling super insufficient for me, and I prefer having 3-4 hour naps.

What helps when you have trouble sleeping?  I'd need to go through my phone and watch a lot of videos since that quickly gets the job done.

Who was the last person to cook you a meal? What did they make?  My mom made pasta for sharing a few days ago.

Who was the last person you cooked a meal for? What did you make?  I don't cook for anyone, because I don't cook.

Who is your female celeb crush? (If applicable)  Song Hye Kyo, Park Jihyo.

Who is your male celeb crush? (If applicable)  RM of BTS.

Tell me about an interesting article you’ve read recently.  Andi shared a pretty unique piece with me this morning which was basically a personal essay of why McDonald's' Coke seems to taste better than Coke literally anywhere else. It was silly yet insightful, mundane yet so weirdly intriguing and fascinating. For somebody who doesn't even like soda, I found myself reading until the very end. I liked it a lot and subscribed to that author right away lol.

Do you have a favorite Marvel character?  I'm not into anything superhero.

Favorite DC character?  Yeah, no.

Do you read comic books?  I tried getting into them but I got tired of faking it LOL so I just accepted that comic books and superheroes and I will never mix.

Has a horror film ever actually scared you? Which one(s)?  I found Paranormal Activity to be a refreshing horror concept for its time and it successfully gave me the creeps, especially with the multiple endings. The sequels unsurprisingly didn't hold up the same magic but I'm very much willing to defend the first movie to my grave haha. OH Midsommar was also super freaky. I nearly refused to drive home that night because I was afraid of seeing the trees in the neighborhood suddenly pulsating.

What was the last horror movie you saw? The Menu counts as horror-ish, no?

What was the first horror movie you remember seeing? What did you think of it?  The Exorcist. I was 12 and immediately downloaded a torrent when a quick "what's the scariest movie ever" Google search led me to that movie. In hindsight, though, because I already had expectations of how scary it is, I think that sort of pre-conditioned me to be more sensitive to the jump scares and all the freaky shit that happened in the movie – so 13 years ago, I was definitely spooked.

Realistically though, I feel if I watched it again now at 25 I'd probably find some of the effects more comedic than scary, BUT one thing I'll never get over are *those* demonic images that pop up like three times across the movie. Regardless of how old I get I feel like I'll always look away from those lol.

Name a few historical figures you find interesting. Why?  I recently learned about Herbert K. Pililaau, the US soldier who fought off Korean soldiers on his own while the rest of his crew? platoon? (idk terms) had been assigned somewhere else at the time. Fucking dude kept firing until he was out of ammunition; then switched to grenades; then when he ran out of those too, ended up with knife in one hand, fist in the other to fight the best and longest he could before he was finished off; when he was found, he was surrounded by more or less 40 soldiers he managed to kill. Obviously I don't support war and this is a shitty story all around, but this scenario is straight out of a movie.

What is your favorite historical film and why?  Gone with the Wind. I have yet to understand the complexities and deeper contexts behind the Civil War and all other questions related toit; and when I say it's my favorite it's largely because of the production value and how unprecedented such a movie was to have come out at the time it did.

Do you usually enjoy historical films?  Yes, as long as they don't extremely deviate from or betray things that actually happened, especially if we're covering atrocities or human right violations.

Name a sequel film (any franchise) you like better than the first film. Why is that?  Shrek 2. It's the Shrek movie I grew up with so I'll always be biased towards it.

Which do you find most interesting: Greek, Roman, or Norse mythology? Why?  Eugh, I really dislike mythology haha.

Which tale from whichever mythology you listed above do you find most interesting?  I read Percy Jackson and that's the most I'll read as far as mythology.

Do you collect anything? What was the last item you added to that collection?  Just BTS merch. Last things that arrived were my copies of D-Day and Face, but I'm expecting my orders of Jack in the Box and Layover to arrive October latest.

Do you have any houseplants?  We do, but it's my mom who takes care of them.

How do you like your tea?  As coffee.

Who is your favorite Muppet?  Wasn't really raised on Muppets.

What is your favorite type of bird?  Penguins. < Yes.

Which streaming platform do you use the most, if any?  Spotify.

What is a skill or useful piece of knowledge you wish you’d learned sooner?  How to pack smart.

What is your favorite vampire movie?  TWILIGHT SAGA ALWAYS AND FOREVER

Your favorite fictional couple?  Chandler and Monica from Friends; Glenn and Maggie from The Walking Dead; Mark and Joanna from Two for the Road.

Do you have a favorite historical couple?  Not really, no.

Have you received any good news recently?  Nah.

Have you learned anything new recently?  I took the 16 personalities test earlier for my ~annual check-in and found out I've switched from an ESFJ to an ESTJ. No big change other than the fact that I apparently think more with my head now hah.

[agentnico]

Beau Is Afraid (2023) Review

A few days ago I read an article that proclaimed Beau Is Afraid to be a 3 hour long anxiety attack. So naturally I thought - that sounds fun, I want to go see that. So here I am.

Plot: Following the sudden death of his mother, a mild-mannered but anxiety-ridden man confronts his darkest fears as he embarks on an epic, Kafkaesque odyssey back home.

I have had mixed opinions on Ari Aster’s previous films, as Hereditary was a mediocre horror film with one memorable sequence involving a certain decapitation, and Midsommar was basically a modern day take on The Wicker Man. But I also appreciate their existence now more than ever, as were it not for the critical and financial success of those movies, A24 would have never justified giving Ari Aster a $30 million budget to make a film like Beau Is Afraid. For this movie is absolutely bonkers insane! This is sorely Ari Aster’s unique vision, and one that you’re either willing to jump on the ride with, or you won’t get it and find it pretentious and ridiculous. 

This is a movie that demands a lot from its viewers. What starts as a simple premise with Beau planning to go visit his mother after not seeing her for a while becomes this overlong surreal, grotesque and unpredictable odyssey and very much an interpretive challenge as it is shown through the eyes of the titular Beau. However Beau struggles from multiple anxiety disorders, as such everything he sees, hears or feels is always under question of what is reality and what isn’t. Beau is what I’d call an unreliable narrator. You know that feeling when you’re anxious about some worst case scenario happening that you’ve built up in your head, but then reality strikes and it’s never anything as bad as you brain expected it to be? Well for Beau every craziest scenario that his brain assumes becomes reality, as such everything around Beau is very over the top and macabre mad. Especially since all of Beau’s thoughts and insecurities stem from his very dysfunctional relationship with his mother, and as such everything Beau does is an attempt to emancipate himself from this toxic connection. The result? Well the result is one really weird f-ed up movie!

Joaquin Phoenix is perfectly cast as the broken and lost Beau. Phoenix is able to deliver so much with his eyes and expression, showing off Beau’s desperation to get out of this hell that consistently finds himself in, and all he wants is to be left alone. Yet as befit of the Kafkaesque reference in the synopsis, Beau simply cannot ever catch a break. He’s like the cockroach from the famous Kafka short story Metamorphosis, that is stuck in a room, not being able to get out of it. Beau’s life is one big messed up nightmare. And during this nightmare journey that is split into these episodes of sort, Beau meets a whole array of colourful characters, which I won’t spoil, but I will say that the whole cast in this movie do a fantastic job of embracing Aster’s mentality. The likes of Nathan Lane, Amy Ryan, Parker Posey, Richard Kind, Stephen McKinley Henderson are just a few examples, each bringing in their own peculiarities. Zoe Lister-Jones and Patti LuPone both a responsible for bringing to life the younger and older version of Beau’s mum, and both are very great at delivering one super manipulative and deranged creation. 

From a technical standpoint this movie is a pure filmmaking dream. Ari Aster definitely took advantage of A24′s big pay-check by creating some really trippy sequences, ones that are definitely inspired by the absurdist takes of David Lynch. A highlight it a scene where Beau is watching a theatre performance, and mentally puts himself into it, and we are then treated to a most beautifully bizarre semi-animated sequence. Beau is whisked into the on-set scene and then proceeds to traipse through fable-like villages, living out a long imagined life full of pure love and abject terror. It’s delicate movie art rendered as psychological weaponry. It’s a visually stunning piece, and one that only adds to the questions of what the hell we are watching. Another example is closer to the end of the film where Beau is forced to go up into this mysterious attic he’s been avoiding all his life, and what he sees there is something so random and twisted, yet at the same time a great use of practical effects and once again an example of Ari Aster’s willingness to create something truly different.

That’s what Beau Is Afraid is - different. Every viewer will leave having a different interpretation, but there is no doubting that this is Ari Aster’s very own distinct director vision, and one that feels like you’re being thrown face first into someone’s deep subconscious. It’s a truly exhilarating viewing experience. Do I get all of it? No, but I don’t think I need to. Some things are meant to be misunderstood. Is the movie a bit long? I mean yeah, it’s three bloody hours! Though that may tread a bit into the element of self indulgency from Aster, I still can say with certainty that this was a strangely enjoyable watch, and also surprisingly funny too. In a twisted way, Beau Is Afraid is a hilarious comedy of errors. And by gosh go see it on the big screen at the cinema. This movie deserves your undivided attention, don’t wait for it to go to streaming. Cinema is where it’s at, even if at my screening there was this very annoying fly that kept flying from the projector to the screen, making the in-movie anxiety correlate pretty effectively with my anxiety of that stupid damn fly!!

Overall score: 9/10

[salonnierealexis]

Brooke sees the change as starting in our interpersonal relationships – by seeking to understand our individual blindspots and biases, learning to relate to others without negating ourselves, and speaking our mind thoughtfully, with care and conviction. And in the event that we are called out for being ignorant, insensitive or offensive, we can try to resist the impulse to either defiantly double down or instantly apologise, and instead parse the feedback for what we can learn and how we might do better in future. Some comfort with difficult conversations is necessary if we’re ever to achieve transformative change, Brooke points out: “A lot of this is about being willing to take emotional and conversational risks – because that’s what creates intimacy and understanding.” Now, when posting on social media, Brooke ascertains her motive or goal: “Is it just to get this thought out there, or to further a conversation, to change someone’s mind, or to reach more people?” That clarity makes it easier to weather disagreement, she says – or to direct your energy elsewhere.

Everyone’s so intolerant online. Am I right to stay silent?

Elle HuntWed 22 May 2024 08.00 EDTShare

A few years ago, I found myself in an unexpected debate.

My date and I had been talking about horror films. I’d always enjoyed them; he wasn’t a fan. He liked Alien, though.

My response was immediate: “Alien’s not a horror film.”

Horror films, I said, reflect the everyday: Rosemary’s Baby (pregnancy), Hereditary (grief), Midsommar (a semester abroad). Alien, being set in space, was sci-fi.

It was typical pub chat, my conviction proportional to the one and a half glasses of wine I’d drunk. But I wanted to settle the debate, so I posted a poll to Twitter.

Within less than 24 hours, it had received 120,000 votes, overwhelmingly concluding that Alien was a horror film – and vitriolic messages were pouring in.

Online, people held me up as an example of everything wrong with journalism, scouring my work for further evidence of my idiocy, and CCing my editors to demand I be fired (I’m self-employed – but believe me, at that moment, I’d have fired myself if I could).

Scorn, rage and abuse ran rampant in my replies and DMs – much of it sexist, some violent. Entire episodes of film podcasts were dedicated to explaining why I was so wrong.

The scale and feeling of the response was shocking, unpleasant and hard to brush off. For months, I second-guessed every published sentence, trying to anticipate bad-faith interpretations.

Since then, I’ve been more circumspect about what I post – and have watched, with mounting unease, as countless more people have been thrust into the punitive spotlight.

There was the woman who tweeted about enjoying her morning routine of having coffee with her husband in their backyard. The New Yorker whose joke about impulse-buying candy at the bodega drew 40,000 responses, most of them scathing. The woman whose “motherly urge” to make chilli for her young neighbours was shouted down by strangers.

All, like me, hold the dubious honour of having been Twitter’s “main character”. Our inflammatory tweets might have been ripe for ridicule and perhaps ill-judged – but online pile-ons can have huge potential for harm.

The effect? It’s no longer just people like me, who have been burned by the spotlight, who are sensitive about sharing online; it’s everyone watching on, too.

When I asked friends and followers if they fear backlash on social media, I’m surprised by who the question resonates with. They’re not journalists, experts or people with large followings. They’re just individuals on the internet.

“I don’t fear ‘cancellation’, per se, but being aggressively misunderstood,” says one.

One gen Z friend tells me they worry about being called out for posting the wrong thing – or not posting enough of the right things. Several say they edit their posts and hold off on sharing jokes for fear of inadvertently causing offence.

“The ferocity of backlash these days feels much worse than it was even a few years ago,” says one friend. A 2021 YouGov survey found that nearly 60% of Britons have “at least sometimes” stopped themselves from expressing political and social views for fear of judgment or negative responses from others – a majority view among Conservative and Labour voters alike.

The same year, a study by Pew of 10,000 US adults found “a public deeply divided” about “call-out culture” online. What some saw as people experiencing the consequences of their actions, others saw as unjust punishment.

The perception of an ‘external’ mob can create an internalised one

Africa Brooke

“You don’t even need to be someone who’s hyper-visible to be experiencing these things, the spillover into our offline lives is so profound,” says Africa Brooke, when I reach her by Zoom in New York.

Brooke’s book The Third Perspective: Brave Expression in the Age of Intolerance is a guide for how to navigate online hostility, informed by her experience as a Black woman engaged in the social justice sector, and insights from people who fear or have experienced backlash.

The online climate is intolerant of human complexity, Brooke argues, allowing no room for people “to stumble, fuck up, learn and grow”. Users treat each other as public figures who must be “held to account” and an online profile constitutes a “platform” you are obligated to use – despite the costs of misspeaking, revealing your ignorance or even holding a different opinion.

As a result, many are learning to stay silent. “The perception of an ‘external’ mob can create an internalised one,” she writes. It can stoke self-doubt, anxiety and fear of judgment.

View image in fullscreenAfrica Brooke is the author of The Third Perspective. Composite: Africa Brooke

Brooke’s frustrations came to a head in 2020, when – tired of having identity politics and labels thrust upon her as a female entrepreneur – she published an open letter, expressing her fears of “a world that forces me to submit to an ideology without question”.

The title, “Why I’m leaving the cult of anti-wokeness”, was provocative, she says, aiming to ruffle feathers on the left and the right to highlight their similar close-mindedness – and it struck a chord, accumulating 20m views.

Brooke describes her own politics as left-leaning, with “values that align with feminism” – though she doesn’t call herself a feminist. “I’m from Zimbabwe, where we haven’t used that language … we don’t wear those same labels as the west.” More important than how we phrase or identify our politics and values, Brooke suggests, is how we enact them.

She emphasises that people should generally be mindful of others, question their biases and strive for inclusivity: “You need to read the room, and understand the people you’re speaking to.”skip past newsletter promotion

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But she stresses the difference between social filtering driven by discernment and “self-censoring” out of fear, “where there’s a very real concern that the truth is going to lead to punishment”. Whether we’re second-guessing our own online presence or policing others’, “there is that culture of surveillance”.

In The Third Perspective, Brooke sets out how our innate desire to belong to “the in-group” combines with the structural design of online platforms to perpetuate pile-ons. They are dehumanising by nature, leading you to think of yourself as an “employee of Instagram”, obliged to contribute your thoughts, opinions and anger – and to manage others you see as letting the side down.

Opting out altogether is not always possible, with people increasingly obliged to maintain digital presences for their work and relationships. But what’s at stake with this febrile, suppressive climate is more than just the freedom to express ourselves online.

A 2020 study found that social media was contributing to widespread dehumanisation by stoking the perception of threat, locking people into their positions and distorting their worldview to create what researchers termed an “intractable conflict”.https://interactive.guim.co.uk/uploader/embed/2023/10/archive-zip/giv-13425WMrLo2pc9VIk/

Brooke is concerned that the often highly academic, note-perfect politics preached in particular within corners of the left might be pushing people towards apathy, hopelessness or more entrenched bigotry. “I don’t think we should go to the other end of saying ‘Fuck this’ – but I worry that we are pushing people in that direction.”

Brooke and I agree that the term “cancel culture” is counterproductive, being widely and haphazardly applied to furores with different stakes, harms and outcomes – and often weaponised disingenuously by those who seek to profit from it.

Brooke prefers to speak of “collective self-sabotage”, whereby people might speak out or stay silent in a way that works against our best interests and progress as a society.

Many people feel like they’re walking a tightrope: wanting to express themselves online or feeling social pressure to post, at the same time fearing to put a foot wrong. It’s no wonder they might stick to sharing pictures of cats – though I was once lovingly told by a friend that I was posting mine too much.

“It’s a very anti-intimacy culture we’re creating,” says Brooke – not in the context of romantic love (though dating apps have made us more brittle and prescriptive there, too), but in the sense of being open to others’ experience, self-expression and humanity. After nearly 10 years of this exhausting cycle, there’s increasing desire for “common sense”, Brooke says. “People are fed up.”

She advocates gaining an awareness of how social media pits us against each other and reflecting on how we want to participate in the public sphere. Online activism plays an important part in raising awareness of crises and causes, but it’s not the only way to make ourselves heard. “We have an assumption that to undo self-censorship and speak bravely, we need to be brave online, but that’s not the case,” says Brooke.

A lot of this is about being willing to take emotional and conversational risks – because that’s what creates intimacy and understanding

Africa Brooke

We might decide to post less, but protest, write to politicians and donate more – and try to engage others in person.

The best way to build confidence expressing yourself is “moment to moment”, Brooke says, increasing your self-awareness and tolerance for debate. “Social media should not be the training ground for any of this … It has to be a byproduct of the work you’re doing offline.”

Brooke sees the change as starting in our interpersonal relationships – by seeking to understand our individual blindspots and biases, learning to relate to others without negating ourselves, and speaking our mind thoughtfully, with care and conviction.

And in the event that we are called out for being ignorant, insensitive or offensive, we can try to resist the impulse to either defiantly double down or instantly apologise, and instead parse the feedback for what we can learn and how we might do better in future.

Some comfort with difficult conversations is necessary if we’re ever to achieve transformative change, Brooke points out: “A lot of this is about being willing to take emotional and conversational risks – because that’s what creates intimacy and understanding.”

Now, when posting on social media, Brooke ascertains her motive or goal: “Is it just to get this thought out there, or to further a conversation, to change someone’s mind, or to reach more people?” That clarity makes it easier to weather disagreement, she says – or to direct your energy elsewhere.

Since Alien-gate, I’ve shared less on social media – but I’ve tried to be more thoughtful.

I’ve often wondered, of the people who pilloried me for my provocative opinion, how they would have reacted had they been my date. They might not have wanted to see me again – but I like to think that they might not have called me stupid and complained to my bosses.

Years later, my definition of horror is less rigid. I hope they have changed, too.

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[penguicorns-are-cool]

update on this

A24 has complied with all union demands and have quite a few movies that will be released soon. One of their movies, Talk to Me, actually got released a few days ago. It's a horror film, and while I personally won't be watching cause I don't like horror, I've heard good things.

here's a list of all their movies including upcoming movies

I don't think enough people realize that new movies and shows will still be made. Not everything gets made by hollywood, that's the cultural imperialism talking. There are many many other countries who also create media and independent creators and small studios in the US who will also still be creating media.

[declanowo]

31 Days of Horror - Day 27 - The Wicker Man

27/10/23

Roughly a week ago, I stumbled across a physical copy of The Wickerman - its iconic crisp poster is bared across the front, and inside are packed three DVDs. Despite finding a few others I wanted while out with my friend - notably Candyman: Day of the Dead - I only picked this one up, and ever since I’ve been waiting for the right day to watch it! I had heard that thematically, it was similar to Midsommar, which has become one of my favourite films, in part because of the way I watched it! Because of this, I saved watching The Wickerman for a daytime I was free, ideally it would be warm, but then again, it’s autumn, so finding a day like this was improbable. Yet, as I sat down to watch the film, sun peered through my window, gleaming off the screen. Yet, the poster misled me, the film I watched was not bright and overexposed, but washed out and mostly gloomy. To match, halfway through the film, rain began pouring against my window.

The Wickerman follows Sergeant Neil Howie, a policeman, as he travels to an island village in search of a missing girl. I love a lot about this film: its peculiar cast of characters, how scary it is scary, it’s filled to the brim with fun themes and packed with gorgeous cinematography - so much of this was a joy to watch. 

I guess I’ll start with my biggest negative before divulging into the good of this film, that being our protagonist. Despite him being played perfectly by Edward Woodward, I couldn’t help but find him grating at times. While his disregard for the pagan religion that those who live on the island follow is deeply intentional, at times he grew too much for me. It was rare, and in retrospect, I do not mind this so much, but it is the biggest factor holding me back from loving it! It becomes so difficult to root for a character like him - I find myself having the same trouble with Deep Red, another film I adore, but the protagonist puts me in a shaky position about jumping to watch it again! However, this film has such a fun cast of characters, that it is rare that Neil can turn me off what is happening entirely! Really, this feels so minor as I write this, but while watching it was a bigger problem, and once again, I think that comes down to this film's perfect ending. 

While I’m talking about characters, I want to say that I loved every single other one. Each is played to be so interesting and unique, no two characters feel the same, and they all feel somewhat off, of course, by the end we know why, but watching the film unfold with the mystery of the missing person, the unease the characters instil is a perfect compliment to its tone and atmosphere. The three main characters that stick in my mind are Willow, Lord Summerisle and the Librarian, played by Britt Ekland, Christopher Lee and Ingrid Pitt respectively. All of these characters I am still thinking about, their charismatic and offbeat performances add to the eerie and unsettlingness of the film. Willow was my favourite I think, her song is amazing, and to begin with, the purpose of the scene had me deeply confused - her later appearances are amazing too! 

While at face value, this isn’t the scariest film, especially to a modern audience, I feel like the atmosphere it builds, and the eventual ending (which is where many find it to be terrifying) are haunting. Maybe it feels less scary as a result of our protagonist, who appears fearless throughout, although his final fear does create a terrifying image. Yet, the horror of being trapped in a new place itself is a terrifying thought, although this only develops further when the intent of those living here is revealed. Of course, the ending is terrifying, as we watch Neil cry out for God, praying as he burns inside the titular Wicker Man, all while we watch the islanders dance and sing for their festival. 

Thematically, I enjoy the contrast between Christianity and Paganism, the former is presented as pure and correct, meanwhile Neil shuns the pagans for their beliefs, which in his eyes go against everything he believes in and stands for. Yet, I can never side with him, he is abrash and downright cruel to these people, which provides a catharsis by the end. In a sense, he arrives in someone else's home, tells them he hates their decor and every person who lives there, and is shocked when they throw him out. Through it all, he is the oppressor, he others this community in his conquest, which is a just cause, but it highlights his desire for power, his need to be more than these people who don’t follow the divine path in life he has. The conflict of culture is shown excellently through this film's use of music, which many consider to make this film a musical. Every song is great, yet, Neil is always against them, he pointedly hates when they sing, and is afraid of the nudity that flourishes on the island. At no point do we see anyone getting hurt, in fact, the whole missing person case is a ruse, and while it makes sense for him to suspect something is off, much of his investigation is steeped in a prejudice he collects from witnessing a life different from his. 

The cinematography at the end of this film is especially amazing! Several long shots are used to demonstrate how many people are attending the festival, and we feel a sense that as the audience, we are trapped inside of it, unable to find a place to escape. My favourite of these is at the end, when Neil looks up the hill to see everyone awaiting him. 

Finally, I want to mention how much I love the costuming! Especially during the festival - the animal masks and white gowns are beautiful, and I got incredibly excited when they appeared. Everyone feels at home here. 

Ever since finishing it, The Wicker Man has been stuck in my mind. This is one I will think about for a while I think, and I’m so very excited to watch the director's cut that came with my DVD. Maybe the scariest part of this film is how easily I have been influenced to visit Scotland - it just looked so pretty! Maybe I’ll wait until May though.

9/10

[tierneysodegaard]

Dirty Secrets - Pierre Gasly x Reader - Part Five

Read Part Four here

Pierre Gasly x female!reader

Summary: Being the golden girl of Mercedes was easy when your dad was Toto Wolff. You’d been his Personal Assistant for a while with no problems until Pierre Gasly started to sneak around with you. Toto would kill him if he found out he was sleeping around with his daughter. Let’s just hope you have a good concealer to hide those marks Pierre leaves on your neck every night.

Word Count: 3K

Warnings: Fluff, cocky Pierre??? Smut18+++ (wrap it before you tap it kids), swearing

—-

The last person you expected to see outside your door was Pierre, then again you should have you have put two and two together? Probably. It made perfect sense, the time he’d ignored you was the length of the flight and journey to yours from the airport, he also had your address and evidently wasn’t afraid to use it to his own advantage. 

“Is your Dad still here?” He quietly asked as you were still yet to say anything. Looking at his icy eyes it was the first time you saw genuine fear in his eyes at the mention of your Dad. 

“No he left hours ago… why are you here?”

“Was me saying ‘I didn’t want you to be lonely’ not enough of an explanation for you?” The fear vanished from him and now the sly glint in his eyes returned. 

“You have a point…”

“Can I come in?” 

You opened the door wider for him, stepping back so he could enter your shared family home. Pierre lugged his things through the door before closing your front door and looking around. “You have a nice house…”

“Thank you, maybe one day I’ll move out of it.” You grinned. 

A smirk appeared on Pierre’s lips as he spoke. “You think you’d survive on your own?” 

“Definitely got more survival skills than you Gasly, bet you can’t cook.” 

“I can actually, rather well. My Mum taught me.”

“Poor woman.” You teased. “What can you cook? Frozen Pizza doesn’t count.”

“I can cook any dish you name y/n.” 

“Prove it.” 

“Alright, when does your Dad get back?” 

“In five days.”

“Well then tomorrow you and I will stay in and cook all day, you name me anything and I’ll make it. All you have to do is eat and help me clean up.” His smirk stayed planted on his face. “Deal?” 

“Deal.” You shared his cocky expression. “But right now I’m going to order in and watch a film if you’d like to join me.” 

“I’d love to.” He discarded his suitcase to the side, following you to the sofa before planting himself next to you, watching you scroll through every place that was open on Uber Eats. 

You and Pierre spent the night watching shitty films and eating just as equally shitty food. Pierre had clearly become relaxed knowing that Toto was far away from the pair of you. He was laying in your lap, letting you play with his hair as you continued to watch Midsommar with him. 

“This film is pretty fucked up…” He watched as the film began to unfold. 

“It’s folk horror, it’s supposed to be.” You smiled down at him. “Arguably one of the best film genres ever created.”

“So all the films are just based around folk tales?”

“With all that knowledge you should be a teacher Pierre.” You mocked him ass he huffed, turning his attention back to the screen. “You’re right though, basically anything like a cult or witches or even things like demon dogs can be seen as folk horror.”

“I love it when you talk.” 

“Surprised you aren’t sick of it.”

“Could never get sick of hearing you talk.” 

You couldn’t help but be warm to his words. In the past few months you’d gotten to know a different side of Pierre, he wasn’t always cocky and arrogant all of the time in fact most of the time that he was with you he was sweet and wanted ti be around you just for company, sure the sex was apart of it but part of you started to wonder if you wanted him around for just sex anymore. 

“Such a charmer Gasly.” 

“I do try.”

“No, you don’t.” He shifted so he could look up at you as you spoke those words. “You do it effortlessly.” 

He laughed at your words, his hands reaching up to cup your jaw as he pulled himself up and planted a shirt yet sweet kiss onto your lips before he fell back down onto your lap. “Glad you think so.” You went to speak when the sudden ring of your phone grabbed your attention. “Who’s that?” Pierre asked. 

“My Dad.” You picked your phone up. “Don’t say a word.” You warned him as you answered the phone. “Hey Dad, how are you?” 

“Hello love, yes I’m fine. How’s being in the house on your own? Have you locked the doors? Are the windows shut?” 

“Yes, Dad everywhere is locked up. I’m fine.” 

As you spoke to Toto, Pierre had a wicked idea. An evil smile appeared on his face as he rolled off your lap and onto the floor, he knelt down before you and let his hands run up your legs until they reached the tops of your trousers. Pulling as hard as he could he removed your trousers in one quick motion making you yelp. 

“Are you okay?” Toto sudden asked at your reaction. 

“Yes!” You spoke perhaps a little too loud. “Yes sorry I’m fine I just slipped in the kitchen, think I split some water when I filled a vase up earlier.”

“A vase? Did you get some flowers?”

“Yeah, I headed to the farmers market when you left…” You lied, trying to keep your voice steady as Pierre started to nip at your underwear. 

“What flowers did you get?”

“I got white roses…” As you spoke Pierre pulled your underwear down slowly as you tried to push him away but he wasn’t having any of it. 

“Oh they’re pretty.”

“Yes they are…” Pierre whispered, overhearing your conversation as he discarded your underwear to the side before using both hands to push your legs apart. His eyes lit up, seeing how wet you already were at just his small light advances. 

Pierre didn’t waste a second. He ducked his head down, kissing your upper thighs as his hands trailed up and down the tops of your thighs. He slowly started to hover where you needed him the most. 

“They are Dad yes.” You tried to play things off but you desperately needed Pierre to do something. 

“Should be calling me Daddy.” Pierre smirked from in-between your thighs. You gently kicked him with your thigh, giving him a glare before returning to the conversation was Toto. 

“How was the journey there?”

“It was good thank you, Jack slept most of the way which is a pain considering he’s full of life now he needs to sleep.”

“Bless him, you know Jack though, he’ll crash eventually.” 

“I know, hopefully, he’ll fall asleep soon.”

“I’m sure he will- fuck!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes fine, I just walked into the edge of the counter, sorry I wasn’t paying attention.”

The reality was you hadn’t walked into the kitchen counter, Pierre had latched his lips onto your clit. Pierre smirked against your skin at your reaction, only convincing him to suck harder. He let one of his hands move to your entrance, slowly pushing inside of you. He made a becoming motion as he added a second finger, speeding his rhythm as you kept speaking. 

“Don’t stay up too late, we have a busy two weeks coming up.”

“Yeah I know…” Your voice trembled as Pierre moaned against your clit. “I’ll be going to bed soon anyway.”

“With me…” Pierre groaned against your skin as his tongue started to devour your pussy, his fingers helping bring you closer to the edge. 

“I’m really tired actually so I am going to head off if that’s okay with you.” 

“Of course, I’ll call you again tomorrow if that’s okay.”

“Yeah that’s fine.” You threw your head back as Pierre continued to enjoy your state. “I’ll talk to you then.”

“No worries darling, I love you.”

“I love you too Dad, I’ll speak to you tomorrow.”

“Speak to you then, goodbye.”

“Bye!” You quickly hung up the phone, throwing it aside as Pierre spoke. 

“Such a slut, talking to your Dad as I make you cum… couldn’t even wait, you were already soaked.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Pierre.” You begged, not caring about pride anymore. His cocky expression grew at how easily he’d made you comply with his wishes. 

“As you wish my love.” Pierre took his shirt off effortsl before removing his jeans, leaving him in his boxers. You followed suit with his actions, removing your shirt and bra as you kept your legs spread apiary for him. “Such a pretty plaything, aren’t you?” His hands toyed with your entrances, letting his fingers swipe your wetness onto his fingers and taking them in his mouth. “You taste so sweet…”

“Stop teasing me…” 

“It’s hard not to…” He pulled you up, pulling you into the kitchen before picking you up and placing you on the counter. “When you sound so pathetic begging for me…”

“It’s pathetic that you’re not fucking me now.” 

“Yeah?” He pushed himself into you, his hands gripping your waist so you couldn't squirm away from him. “So needy for it…”

“Please…” You begged him one last time and that’s all he needed. Pierre pulled you towards him, allowing his cock to thrust deep inside of you. He grabbed your neck, forcing you to look at him as he quickened his pace. He knew you weren’t going to last long, not after what he’d put you through whilst you were on the phone. “Fuck Pierre…” You moaned. You could be as loud as you wanted as it was your own place, not having to worry if passers-by were going to hear you scream his name. 

“I swear every time I fuck you, you just get wetter.” He moaned in the crook of your neck as he quickened his pace, sweat already glistening on his forehead. He moved the hand from your neck to your clit, circling it and adding pressure as he fucked you faster. 

“Please Pierre…”

“Please what?” He tilted his head to the side, a sly smirk on his face as he watched you struggle to get your words out. “Come on mon amour, use your words.”

“Please can I cum?”

“Asking permission now are we? Such a good girl, learning so well for me… yes you can cum.” Pierre continued to quicken his pace, adding more pressure onto your clit as he felt you tighten around him. As you came Pierre kept fucking you through your high, making you hold onto his arms to steady yourself. 

“Fuck you feel so good cumming around my cock…” He moaned into your neck before biting down on your skin to stifle his moans as he came inside of you, riding out his high as he made a new red mark on your neck. “God, you’re perfect…” He pushed back, looking down at your neck before meeting your gaze. “Nice mark.”

“Yet another one for me to cover up…” You huffed, your hand cupping his jaw as you gazed back at him. 

“All you have to say is stop and I’ll never leave another mark on your neck again.”

“Never, I like them.”

“Good.” He leaned into your touch. “Because I want your neck to be covered in them one day and I don’t want you to cover them up, I want the world to know who you belong to.” 

“We’ll see Gasly.” You leant forward and placed a kiss on his lips. “Maybe one day.”

“I hope so…” He whispered. 

You fell asleep in Pierre’s arms without the worry of waking up early and having to sneak back to your hotel room. Everything just seemed so different, so peaceful when you were around him. Little things like work stress or the odd spot of anxiety never got to you as much when he was around, he found a way to make you relax and not just with sex. You laughed more when you were around him, you smiled more and everything just seemed to work with him. 

That morning you woke up and Pierre wasn’t beside you. Your frowned at the sight of an empty bed. Sitting up you went to find him but your door suddenly opened. Pierre walked in carrying a tray of food and drinks for you both. 

“Sorry I didn’t want to wake you.” He smiled setting the food down. “Told you I could cook.” He winked before climbing back into bed with you and handing you a glass of juice. 

“I must say, Pierre…” You looked down at the food he set down. The tray was full of fruits and fresh pastries. “I am impressed.”

He leaned over and planted a kiss on your forehead. “Told you I could cook.” 

Pierre started to talk you through the food in front of you, assuring you that he wouldn’t poison you which only made you laugh. Your day was supposed to be full of baking but that never happened, the two of you got so lost in conversation with one another that the day just passed by faster than you could have imagined so when the two of you finally woke up the next day you decided to cook for one another, better late than never. 

“We might need to go and get a few things down at the market first.” You scanned through the fridge and cupboard and saw the lack of food. “Trust Toto to forget to go shopping before he ran off…” 

“That’s fine by me.” Pierre smiled. 

“We’ll head to the farmer's markets, there’s always stalls open every day.” You grabbed your things and Pierre’s hand before pulling him out the door and down your driveway. 

Your hand never left his as you walked down the countryside lanes, admiring all of the animals you passed. Pierre watched as a horse appreciated you both at a fence, leaning his head towards you both to smell you. Laughing at the animal you gently ran your hand down his nose, smiling as he was clearly enjoying the attention. 

Pierre pulled his phone out, secretly taking a photo of you as you smiled with the horse. He studied the photos whilst your attention was away from him. His heart ached at the sight before him, the way you smiled so brightly at the animal like you had no care in the world and how equally happy the animal seemed to be. 

“He’s so sweet.” You gave him a final stroke before turning back to Pierre. “Isn’t he?”

“He is.” He smiled. “You know you hardly get to experience this side of life anymore, everything on the track is so full-on.” He took your hand in his as you continued to walk. “It’s just nice to be able to escape everything.”

“Well you’re welcome here anytime. Sure my Dad might not like you being here but I’m sure he can come around to it, eventually.”

“I’ll just have to impress him on the track, then he’ll have to invite me over.” 

“Oh yeah I’m sure that’ll do it Gasly.” You smiled as the pair of you continued to walk. 

You’d never seen someone in such awe. Pierre loved walking around the markets, he watched as you smiled and spoke to the farmers like they were family. He loved the way everyone interacted with one another like it was a large family that knew and loved one another. He always missed his family when he was away, sure they came to watch him race but not as much as some of the other lad's parents. 

Perhaps that’s why he was glad he had you always watching over him. To him, you were the angel that picked him up in his lowest moments and that angel that had stayed by his side, the one who would never leave. 

Once you had everything you needed, you both headed back to yours and started baking. You unpacked everything whilst Pierre grabbed everything you needed. The pair of you decided that you would both attempt to make a cake together. Pierre would decorate one side and you would do the other. The pair of you would then send it to Lewis (as he was the only one who knew about you both) and let him judge who wins. 

Pierre started to measure the flour, clearly concentrating whilst you messed around, grabbing a small handful and blowing it into his face. “y/n!” He huffed clearly trying to concentrate on what he was doing. “You’ll mess up my cake.”

“My cake?” You teased, pecking his cheek before grabbing a bowl. “Think you’ll find that it's our cake.”

“Would be our cake if you didn’t mess it up.” He smiled down at you as he watched you combine the sugar and butter together. 

“I wouldn’t sabotage myself Gasly.” 

“Wouldn’t put it past you.” He winked as he slowly began to tip the ingredients into the bowl as you started to mix. He cracked the eggs and whisked them for you before taking over the mixing process whilst you prepared the baking tins. “We should do this more often…”

“What bake?” You asked as he poured the mixture into each tin. “Rather hard when we basically live in hotels for most of the year.”

“I know but not just this, like spending time like this together.” 

“Like we did in the office?”

“Yes.” He smiled, placing the tins in the oven. “Look y/n I… I just enjoy your company and not just when it comes to sex. Everything just seems -” Before Pierre could continue the sound of a key unlocking your front door grabbed both yours and his attention. 

“y/n?” The familiar sound of Toto’s voice filled the air. “We’re back early, Jack wasn’t feeling so good and…” His voice dropped when he caught sight of you and Pierre standing in his kitchen. 

“Shit…” Pierre whispered at the sight of the man before him. 

You were fucked. 

—

Taglist: @honeybadger03​ @unicornfairytail​ @iamasimpingh0e​ @katcontrreras​ @ferraribarca @peakywitch​ @teamspideyman

[jeyramarie]

Hi! If requests are open could you do a Florence x reader(female) maybe they were together since Florence did Midsommar and maybe they are staring in a movie together and maybe the interviewer is just gushing about them like maybe they both have a habit of wearing each other’s clothes the whole time and they put up a photo of it and maybe it’s just R gushing about Florence in general and maybe they show them a YouTube video like “R and Florence being Adorable for 10 minutes straight” or something?

Of course it’s A okay if you aren’t taking requests thanks for reading have a lovely day/Night!

love this idea!! instead of clothes i’m gonna use jewelry cause it’s more neutral :)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After finishing Midsommar, Florence and I became inseparable. We have a great bond. She would sleepover at my place and vice versa. And we also shared everything, specially jewelry. And fans had a tendency to know when we would share it. They would notice if I was wearing some of her rings or if she was wearing my earrings. They always knew. 

So I posted a photo about it. It was a bit old from a few months ago. Florence was over at my house with her sister, Raffie, when she started to raid my jewelry drawer. I was sitting on the bed, staring at Flo while her back was facing me and Raffie snapped a picture (without either of us knowing). Then I stood up and walked towards her as she put on some earrings, which made me stare at her lovingly. Raffie took a picture of that too. 

It was no secret that I was in love with Florence. Everyone noticed. The fans, her family, my family, all of our friends. Everyone except her. So when Florence and Raffie left my house, the youngest Pugh sent me the pictures with ‘I wish she could notice how you look at her xo.’  And lucky for me, she will. 

After I posted the pictures, fans went insane. They were all commenting on how I looked at her. They brought up old interviews from the Midsommar press tour and Insta stories that Flo had posted while filming our new movie. Which is why we’re currently in an interview in the middle of our press tour. And of course, they brought up the pictures. 

“So, you guys already know each other from working together in Midsommar, which is the complete opposite of this new film. What was it like to see each other tackle this new characters?” The lovely interviewer asked and crossed her legs as she held her index cards tightly in her hands. 

“It was fun.” I smile and looked at Flo. “It was definitely interesting to see Florence go from a hysterical traumatized woman to this kind passionate character. Her range is amazing, really. I’m always impressed.” 

“You’re too kind.” Florence said, tilting her head towards me, causing me to chuckle. “But it was certainly interesting. Watching Y/n go from some creepy psycho lady..” She chuckled. “..to a very vulnerable woman who is so in love, it was incredible.” 

“That sounds amazing!” The interviewer smiled before someone from her crew gave her an iPad. “Okay well, I know that you both have a lot of love for each other and you’re each other’s biggest fan. Of course, the fans go insane with you both and there’s many many edits and YouTube videos. Have you seen any of them?” 

“I have seen a few tiktoks but no videos.” I replied, tucking a piece of hair before turning to Flo.

“I have not seen a thing.” 

“Really?” The interviewer and I asked simultaneously as she shook her head. 

“Well I want to show you guys this video put together by a fan.” She continued, handing us the iPad. I took it from her hands and it read ‘Y/n being in love with Florence for 10 minutes straight’. 

My hands started to shake and I was scared to look at her so I hid it all under a smile while playing the video. It started with the first interview we ever had for Midsommar, which is when I started to realize that I liked her as much more than a friend. 

The video later changed and it showed bits of a ‘Cooking with Flo’ segment that I had joined while filming our new movie. We stayed at the same apartment throughout production. It was like a sleepover everyday. Which made my feelings for her grow stronger. 

The clips kept changing and out of the corner of my eye I could see Florence’s eyes change. She hid it pretty well but I could tell and that made me start fidgeting with my rings. I got nervous, anxious even. I didn’t know how she would react to it after the interview was over. Would she talk to me? Would she ignore it? 

“Oh that was so cute.” Florence giggled, breaking my trance as she handed the iPad back to the interviewer. 

“Yeah, it was adorable.” I said, following her lead. “Fans are so talented.” 

“They really are and they love you guys.” The interviewer smiled as Florence and I chuckled. She asked three more questions before the interview as over and we said our goodbyes. 

I got up from my chair and was about to walk away when a hand grabbed my wrist, making me turn around to see Florence. “Can we talk?” She asked and I nodded. 

She gripped my hand and pulled me a bit far from where the interviews were being held. It was a dark corner, no one really did anything there, not even walk past it. “Are you alright?” I asked, watching as she took a deep breathe. 

“I know you’re in love with me.” Florence muttered, looking down at the floor and then looking up at me. 

“I- umm.” I stuttered, looking at her in fear as my hands shook. “I-I’m so sorry, I-”

“I love you too.” She almost whispered, cutting me off as she walked closer to me. “I have loved you ever since we did Midsommar... and we spent all that time together...” 

“Y-you have?” I whispered, feeling as if my heart was gonna jump out of my chest as she nodded with a smile. 

“I have.” Florence whispered, now standing right in front of me. She placed her hands on my cheeks and I immediately grabbed her wrists while she leaned forward, finally connecting our lips together.  

[metropoliswhite]

Thank u for tagging me!

Favorite color: Red

Last song : Mad As a Hatter by Larkin Poe

Last Movie : I rewatched Midsommar a few days ago

Currently reading : The Bloody Chambers and Other Stories by Angela Carter

Currently watching : I'm not watching anything at the moment

Currently craving : goat cheese

Coffee or Tea : Tea, I love coffee but my tummy doesn't 😔

tagging my mutuals who (I think?) haven't been tagged before @justalilguyoops @quick-catton @ib3li3v3you @eggytugboat @darknessanddistance @w-hikarin @heart0fclay and anyone else who wants to do it, other mutuals have already been tagged I believe 💕💕

rules: answer + tag 9 people you want to get to know better and/or catch up with!

favorite color: green

last song: good luck, babe! by chappell roan

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[jawllines]

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

or

Harry still doesn’t like the other camp counsellors but Y/N’s an exception 

part 1

(tw: mentions of suicide) 

ii.

Psst. 

Harry was typically a heavy sleeper. When he was younger his mum used to joke that he could sleep through an earthquake-induced tsunami if someone allowed him to. An alarm would have to be pretty loud to stir him from his slumber, and unless he was on edge, a mere call of his name would not drag him from whatever dreamland he’d submerged himself within.

Psst. 

There had only been two things before that could notably wake him. His mum, who was the sweetest person on this planet yet managed to be the cruelest being on earth when he needed to be up for something, and his childhood cat Molly, who sits on his chest and makes it hard to breathe (which, from what he’s learned, encourages his brain to panic and wake him up so he could fix it). Other than that, he was blissfully unaware of the world for hours at a time. 

Yet, there was something stirring him now.  A low sound that puzzles him as he toes the line between consciousness and his dreams, aware of the blankets that cover him but still dancing on a stage with his limbs thrashing wildly and people shouting his name. 

Psst. 

Was it an insect? Maybe he was performing outside then -- a crowd of thousands in an outdoor field to see him for... .what was it that he did again?

Psst. 

Oh, he’s dreaming, isn’t he? How deep in his dream is he? He thinks this is the first time he’s ever been asleep and realized that he was asleep...he could probably conjure something up, right? Manifest something that he’s always wanted, try his hand in lucid dreaming. If only he could focus apart from the insect zipping past his eardrum. 

Harry, please wake up, we’re being haunted -- or murdered, or something. 

Harry’s eyelids flutter like swallowtail wings, his gaze blurry and unfocused as he comes to. He’s confused, piecing together the puzzle that always presents to him when he’s just woken up and has to readjust to the world around him. The whole process of it took nothing more than 10 seconds, maybe 15 if he’s really out of it, but that’s only because thoughts run through his mind at a hundred miles a minute. 

 What time is it? The room around him his pitch-black apart from a very small amount of light illuminating beneath the curtain covering the window he’s beneath, so it couldn’t be morning. Potentially early morning, but he would say that would be 3-4 AM. Did he need to be up? He didn’t think so, actually, because there’s no alarm buzzing him awake and as far as he’s concerned, he hadn’t signed up for any early morning shifts at the bookstore as of late. The last time he went in at 5 to open up shop while the owner was on vacation and Harry was more or less ran down by a mother raccoon when he’d stumbled upon her babies after getting out of his car -- Harry had been reluctant to go before sunrise since. 

Where was he? He knows he’s not at home, that’s for sure. The sheets smell like him but not him enough to be at his own place -- and the bedding isn’t as soft either. He knows he hasn’t passed out at someone’s house because he only does that if the person is close enough to him that he would recognize their scent, or if he was too drunk to get home, but that was usually accompanied by a wicked headache and a sour stomach. No, where he was smelled like wood and generic fabric softener. There was an air conditioning unit that rattled and rumbled from where it was fixed to the wall, he felt a tension in his neck that he only experienced at one place and, yeah, he was at the camp. 

He was at camp, in a cabin with Y/N, who slept with the lamp on because she hated the dark, was the owner of the voice that had woken him up in the inky black room. 

“Hm?” He hums, brows pinching as he lets his eyes shut again, only to open them a few seconds later, “Wha’s wrong? Why is your light off?” 

“I don’t know,” her voice is still just a bit over a whisper, and Harry wonders why she doesn’t just speak up now that she knows he’s awake, “I woke up a little bit ago and thought maybe there was a storm that knocked the power out or something, but I checked the weather and it’s been clear skies all night. I think our power line was cut which is like -- straight out of a horror film.” 

Harry sighs, a bit of him regretting the number of horror movies they’ve been watching once they finally got to watch Midsommar (in three days, they’d sifted through six different movies -- two movies a night and each one managed to horrify Y/N more than the last). He begins to press himself from the bed, his eyes adjusting to the dark around them, making out slivers of shadows, “I’ll go check --” 

“No! Are you crazy?” He hears her bed frameshift with her as she moves, “That’s just asking for a maniac to come for us. Plus I keep hearing noises and I can’t tell if it’s like...like little raccoon feet or a one-armed hook man.” 

“Alright, then go back to bed.” Harry begins to lower back down to the mattress but a sharp whine leaves her throat, “It’s dark when you close your eyes.” It’s silent for a moment, but then Harry feels a bead of guilt dribble through his body. He sighs, reaching up and wiping his hand down his face, “What do you want to do, yeah? If you don’t want me to go out there. Do you want to stay up?” 

She’s quiet, Harry is straying further and further from the state he would’ve been in to fall right back into his dreams but he tries to wipe away the irritation the best he could. What he reminds himself is that four days prior, Y/N had trekked out in the forest toward a lake despite her unremitting distaste for the woods in the dark and slapped Jack clean across the face because he was being rude to him. And he was going to ignore her? Fall asleep while she’s frightened? Harry could be a prick, but he wasn’t the bleeding antichrist. 

“I...um, well, I don’t want us to stay up, no, we’ll be so cranky tomorrow,” she shuffles in the sheets, “I dunno’, I’m sorry, you can go back to bed, I’ll be okay.” 

Harry isn’t sure what to do but in his half-awake state, the next few words that leave his mouth seem like just the temporary fix necessary for them to get the last few hours of sleep that they can, “Do you want me to read you a story or summat?” 

She giggles quietly, “No, it’s okay, really, go back to sleep, okay?” 

What Harry could have said was I can’t now, knowing that you’re awake and scared, but instead he utters a simple, “No.” He sits back up, patting blindly for his phone in his sheets, slipping his fingers around it, and tapping it awake. His screen blinds him with its brightness, so he lowers it before finding the flashlight. It lights up the floor at his feet and subsequently at its edges, he can make out Y/N’s shadowy figure. She’s sat up, curled in her blanket, wrapped around her head, and giving her a pseudo-nun appearance. She waves at him lamely and he struggles not to roll his eyes, “Maniac be damned, I’m gonna go out there and look for the breaker. Maybe the arseholes broke their vow of integrity.” 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Jack or one of the others came around and switched the breaker off, just to be inconvenient for the morning. They’d left them alone for four days sure, but Harry figures that it’s not so much four days of silent reflection and questioning why they feel the need to be such pricks to him, and more so four days for their anger to fester and brew. If not for the fact that Y/N slapped him then made him find laundry detergent and commanded the others to go get his clothes, then for the way she acted like nothing had happened the day prior. Jack’s cheek was still a stingy, red splotch, Oliver and Brandon were straight-faced looking irritated, and Y/N -- well, Y/N had never been more content with her day. She was having a blast with her kids playing bean bag toss, they did their little dance when one of them got it in the hole of the board, and when they were all getting drinks, Y/N offered to grab Harry his. He watched as she went to the cooler around the same time Jack did, they both reached for the last Dr. Pepper, and Y/N plucked it up and handed it to him before grabbing both her, Harry, and Mitch’s lemonades. 

He thinks it’s the sincerity that she holds, that would aggravate him had he been in their shoes. Y/N was completely unbothered by the night prior and Harry could tell, just like when he doesn’t reciprocate their maleficent tendencies towards them -- it was digging under their skin.

(She makes Harry laugh when she comes back with their lemonades, handing him one and uttering, “I let the prick have the last Dr. Pepper, and I’m regretting it.”) 

And while he’s hoping that they haven’t turned their target to her out of spite, he wouldn’t change what had happened for the world. It had made the two of them that much closer, and in the following day’s Harry had poked and prodded Y/N’s brain a bit more. Especially after what he’d seen on her page, he was intrigued by her. Intrigued by how she saw life, why she came at things the way she did, what built her up to be the person that she was in these very moments that he’s speaking to her. Harry hasn’t asked her about her old college roommate and he doesn’t plan on it either -- he doesn’t feel like he could, or he should. 

Harry has lost people before and he thinks the worst thing someone could do was to bring it up unprompted. He knows that it’s probably always on her mind but even then, maybe it isn’t at the forefront of it. Maybe she’s just trying to have a good few weeks, separate herself from the real world for a while, and he would be cruel to dig up something that she may not be ready to just up and chat about. No matter how curious he is about the whole situation, and no matter how much he wonders if she treats him the way she does because of what happened. If the topic was brought up by her he would openly and freely discuss it as long as she was comfortable, but he wouldn’t give her the third degree. 

So he minds his business and focuses on trying to get to know her better instead. 

He can’t say that it doesn’t change how he treats her a bit though. Harry is much. . .gentler, than he had been. He tries to be less critical of her unwavering optimism and seeks to understand where it was coming from instead. If he’s in the right mood he’ll attempt to match it, which makes for a good day with their groups, who he finds -- despite the small age gap -- have begun to kindle very close friendships. Mrs. Graham had even commented on it one of the days after they had a riveting game of balloon tennis. 

“You two make a good team -- putting all these other counselors to shame. And to think you were pouty about having to share a cabin.” 

It was true, they did make a good team. Harry thinks that them sparking a friendship had made the whole experience much more enjoyable for everyone involved. 

All of this together gives insight into why Harry is willing to stuff on his shoes at 3 AM and go out in the dark, muggy night to check and potentially fix a breaker. And no matter the number of times he assures her she does not have to come out there with him, she keeps hold of her ‘no man left behind’ mentality, pulls on a pair of flip flops, and pads out after him. 

Had they been in any other cabin, finding the breaker would have been much easier. They’re typically on the backside in the upper right corner, surrounded by a little cage with a lock similar to that of an animal crate. The struggle with their cabin was that the backside was basically in the woods, so he had to dodge low hanging branches and tangles of ivy to get even remotely near it. He hands Y/N his phone and she shines the light over the metal box, her hand steady despite how she looks back and forth and all around them like she’s making sure there are no red eyes glowing at them. The world around them is silent apart from the chirp and groan of insects, the scutter of an animal somewhere in the far distance makes Y/N huff a weary sigh but otherwise, nothing comes out to attack them. Harry restarts the breaker, they go back inside, and the lamp on its dimmest setting is switched on how they had fallen asleep with it. 

They both breath out in relief, Y/N dives back into her bed and Harry flops down atop of his covers, giving himself a second to feel the cool air from the conditioner fan over him. 

“Theoretically,” Y/N begins as Harry lets his eyes fall shut, “If there were some creature in the forest --”

“There’s no creature in the forest.” 

“I know, but theoretically --” She continues again, but Harry is quick to cut her off once more. 

“I wouldn’t let anything happen to you,” he tells her, “Go to sleep.”  

Once more, Y/N falls silent, but a quiet, “Thank you,” was the only thing to leave her mouth. 

                                                      .                               .                              .

A summer thunderstorm wasn’t abnormal during camp, which is why the recreation center and the art building are beneficial. It keeps everyone preoccupied and entertained with well-insulated walls to mute whatever carnage is taking place outside, which makes for less frightened children and an easier time for everyone involved. Harry liked being active and running around with his campers, sure, but he also really enjoyed a nice, calm, relaxing day trying his hand at DIY projects and abstract paintings. Plus it gave him the chance to wear the camp hoodie that he had spent a pretty penny purchasing, which was made of the softest fabric he’s ever felt and was far more comfortable than the t-shirts that they normally wear.

Y/N had also bought the hoodie, Harry saw as she stepped out in it after her shower this morning, and she seemed to be drowning in it but in the best way. The fabric pools off of her, but she looks cozy, and well-rested despite them waking in the middle of the night. He thinks she looks pretty cute, but he kept the thought to himself and instead asked her if she wanted his extra granola bar for breakfast. 

They alternate throughout the day, between the rec center and art building, and on the schedule, it appears that most the day he would be with Y/N’s group (which he prefers) and a few times he’s even with Mitch as well, which is nice. Mitch doesn’t grow to like many people, but he liked Y/N well enough -- he thought she was oddly entertaining (or so he’s told, Harry) and good for a chat. The only times he and Y/N were not with each other were when the activities were age-specific, but even then, it wasn’t like anyone was in a different room. They were all just at different stations within a big room in the art building and the recreation center was more or less free for all. 

Harry wondered when he started basing whether or not a day was going to be good by whether or not he and Y/N were able to be around each other, but he decided not to think about it too much. Lately, he’d been a little more on edge with whether they were together, simply because of Jack and the others. He didn’t want them fucking with her, and even though she’d proven that she was more than capable of taking care of herself, he still worried, especially knowing he would be the cause of it. 

Y/N doesn’t seem the least bit distressed about it, or as far as she was letting on -- she’d not expressed any thoughts or concerns that they would be spiteful towards her. Hell, the only thing she had told him the night after was that she hoped she didn’t make things worse for him. For him. Why was she so willing to defend him? What did she get out of being so kind? 

He’s too far in thought, he realizes, when Ellie comes and waves her hand in his face, “Are you okay?” She asks quietly, eyes wide as saucers, “Maisey said you look like her aunt when she zones out and she’s depressed.” 

Harry huffs out a laugh, one that expels the air from his lungs as he nods, “Yes, Ellie, I’m okay. What’ve you painted, hm? Can I see it?” She grins, her cheeks pudgy and rosy as she runs back to her seat and picks up the canvas she’d been working on. It’s a sun and a moon, both with rather cryptic looking faces on them, and Harry had never so perfectly had to manage his poker face, “Whoa!” 

“I think that might just be the coolest thing I’ve seen in my entire life,” Y/N appears behind him, Oliver more or less clung to her pant leg as she’s reaching over his body to set a box of juice down on the oak table for him to disperse among his campers, while holding her hand out for the canvas, “May I see it, Miss. Ellie Bellie?” 

Ellie smiles shyly at her — she always got so shy around Y/N, but never in the way where you would think she’s nervous. No, she gets shy the way you might when meeting an older sibling’s friend and wanting to desperately try to impress them. Harry knew as much, considering he would attempt to perform for each and every single one of his sister’s friends growing up (and each time, Gemma would make a few colorful threats to deter him). No matter how quiet Ellie gets with her though, she’s always the first to ask if they got to play with Y/N that day. 

“I especially like how multidimensional it is — purple and pink stars? Beautiful, I love those two colors together,” she places her hand on Oliver’s head, and it’s then that Harry notices he’s holding something, “Harry, Oliver here wanted you to see the flower he drew because I told him how much you like lilies.” As bashful as he always is, he holds out the paper toward Harry. It was cute — a singular, yellow lily and he could tell that Y/N helped him draw it, but the paint and crayon marks all over the page suggested she left the color duties up to him. 

“Oh my goodness,” Harry gasps, looking at the painting, flipping it to Oliver and pointing at it, “You did this?” Oliver nodded excitedly, “It’s gorgeous.” 

“I think our groups are the best artists,” Y/N motions to her table, only a meter away from them all working diligently on their projects, “Charlotte is over there doing an artistic interpretation of the both of us, we are not allowed to see it until she’s finished. Mikey is doing his own rendition of Disney world, I see Maisey is creating a beautiful tree  -- Noah is that a cowboy you’re drawing?” 

Noah barely looks up from his paper, very carefully dragging the tip of the marker in a circle, “Yes.” 

“And Noah is drawing a cowboy! Modern-day Van Gogh’s, all of them.” Harry smiles as Y/N drags a stool up beside him, positioning it in a way so that she could watch both her kids and speak with him, “I heard they’re having one of them party things tonight, I didn’t know if you wanted to go or not.” 

“Hm, I dunno,” his brows knit together as he lightly scratches a mosquito bite on the inside of his forearm, “Do you feel comfortable with going after what happened last time?” 

She suckles her bottom lip into her mouth, gnawing on it as she nods her head, “Mhm,” she looks around them for a second, making sure that none of the kids are paying attention to them before she lowers her voice, “Mitch said that you used to go to all of them last year, and would like -- have a good time. I hope that I’m not ruining that for you.” 

“How would you be ruining it for me?” It’s true, Harry hasn’t gone to any of the parties that they’ve been doing since the very first one he’d escorted Y/N away from. Not for any other reason apart from he was just spending time and hanging out with Y/N, or he’d be too knackered to even think about leaving the nice, cool setting of their cabin to be in the muggy heat with drunk college students. He had much more fun not attending, and other nights Mitch would come around and chill with them too. . .he had all he needed then. Didn’t need the booze for a good time. 

“I don’t know, I just didn’t know if you weren’t going ‘cos of what happened the first time and you felt like you couldn’t leave me out or. . or something like that.” 

Harry shook his head, “No,” he answers, “We can go tonight if you would like, but it’s unnecessary for me. I’m good either way.” 

Although Y/N appears unconvinced, they have little time to go further into the topic because Charlotte is running up to them, a big grin on her face, “I finished!” 

“Well give it here,” Harry holds out his hand, waving her over, “Let’s see it.” 

On the paper are stick figure versions of he and Y/N, with big grins and 12 other little stick figures surrounding them. Above Harry’s stick figure, there’s a pink arrow and a very five-year-old esque writing of HUSBAD (Harry presumes it’s supposed to be husband), and above Y/N’s in the same fashion, she’s written WYFE. It’s then Harry realizes that Y/N’s figure has a veil on and Harry’s has a bowtie, “This is for you twos wedding! So thens when they take pictures you can has this one.” Charlotte chirps brightly and Y/N and Harry both cast each other a disbelieving glance. 

“Whoaaaaa,” Y/N is the first to break their silence, a smile pulling at her lips, “This is really good Charlotte! I didn’t know Harry and I were getting married, though.” 

Charlotte nods quickly, still grinning at them, her bottom canine missing as she gleams, “Me n’ Mikey thinks you should!” 

Y/N turns toward him, nodding toward Charlotte, “Well, the god’s have spoken. Where’s my ring?”

Harry coughs on a laugh as he hands the paper back to Charlotte, “This is really good, Bug. Why don’t you and Oliver go help Josie finish her coloring pages, hm?” 

The both of them head the short way back to their table, hiking up on the small stools and Harry makes sure they’re all settled before he turned back to face Y/N, who was biting down on a grin, “Don’t start --” he began but she’s already started, shaking her head. 

“Listen, it’s okay to be in love with me, but you should really try to tone it down. . .the kids are starting to notice.” 

Harry scoffs before he proceeds to tease her,, “How d’ya know they aren’t basing it off your actions, huh? Giving me love eyes every couple minutes like nobody would see.” 

Y/N mocks offense to his words and he tries to keep up the facade, but his sheer delight for getting in a teasing match with her overcomes him and he can’t help his smile. Harry loved teasing people -- loved making them flustered or reducing them to a bashful mess by his words alone. Y/N, however, was much less into flustered gazes and sheepish tendencies, and more so ready and willing to give him it right back. He’d met his match -- if he teases her she’s teasing right back (if she hadn’t started it in the first place), and both of them found mutual pleasure in it. 

“You can’t use my love eyes against me, I can’t help but give them to everyone I’ve ever met” she tells him, feigning sincerity before an additional anecdote, “You know my college roomie always told me they’d get me in trouble one day, and she had never been more right, ‘cos they did once at a party. She wouldn’t shut up about it weeks after it’d happened.” 

Harry feels his body tense just a bit at the mention of her, and he tries not to let it show on his face that he’s surprised how she so casually brought her up, “Yeah? What’s the story?” 

“The little ears around us suggest that I tell that story later,” she checks her watch, before looking back up at him, “Oi, we’ve got five minutes until we’re in the rec center. You get to pick what we all do since I picked the last rotation.” 

                                                             .                           .                          .

This time when they’re on their way to the party, Harry lets Y/N walk in front of him as he directs where she was to go. Opposed to when they had first made this journey together, Harry feels far more protective of her than he originally had. Plus, he’d seen how clumsy she could be and after the earlier storm, the softened dirt and broken off tree branches from the billows of wind made for a much harder terrain to navigate, so he felt more comfortable being able to reach out to catch her if need be. 

Harry was wary of going to the party tonight but Y/N had been borderline insistent that they attend, “Mitch says he misses you at these things and Niall told me he could only stand Shaun theorizing about the universe and us not being the only life form so many times before he snaps. I say we’re needed.” Harry never minded free drinks, and a potential fuck at the end of the night, so he wasn’t all too worried that he would be having a good time. He just hoped that the others would allow Y/N to have a good time. And he knows he’s being paranoid, because they hadn’t necessarily targeted her for anything prior to or after the lake incident, but he still worries. . .he can’t help but worry.  

But he wouldn’t hover. Once they got to the clearing, he helped Y/N get her drink and she sought off after Niall while Harry went over to Mitch, the two of them promising to meet up again in a little bit. He didn’t hover, but he did watch semi-closely, eyeballing Jack and the others, making sure they were staying away from her. Apart from a few less than friendly looks thrown in his direction though, they seemed to be keeping to themselves which Harry was ultimately very thankful for. 

The night goes by as these nights usually do -- he and Mitch drank, had a laugh, gabbed about music for a while, some of the drama going on around the camp (Y/N had an ear for gossip and eyes that could make anyone tell her anything, so Harry’s had a door to all the melodramatic events happening throughout the counsellors). It was a bit weird when Stacey -- one of the counsellors he’d only ever briefly spoken to --  had come up to them, and a little weirder when she borderline propositioned him for something more than a chat in the woods, but Harry politely declined. Told her that he was pretty exhausted after a long day and was probably just going to have a few more beers and retreat back to his cabin. 

He passes it off as a fluke. . .maybe he’d been making eyes at her and hadn’t realized it. But then Mia makes her way toward him and Mitch, and this time Harry’s brows furrow when she starts chatting him up. This one he entertains for a little while before eventually ebbs away from the conversation, because he and Mia had a fling once, but Jack convinced her and the free world that he was a prick, so she called it off. He didn’t necessarily understand why she would want to start that up again, or what “little birdie” put a bug in her ear that he still thought about her (as she said one did). 

It was after Cara had finally left after coming around to chat with him, that Mitch began to chuckle lowly at his side, shaking his head slowly, “Jesus Christ,” he tilts the nozzle of his beer against his mouth, and when he pulls it away, his lips are shiny from the liquid, “She really is working hard.” 

“Huh?” Harry feels desperate for an explanation as to why three times he felt as if he were being propositioned for a romp in the woods when he was not actively pursuing one. He had a feeling that it was the others trying to get him alone so they could enact some sort of piss poor attempt at fucking with him without Y/N spotting and tearing them a new one over it, “Are you in on something that I’m not, ‘cos m’feeling pretty fucking lost here, man.” 

Mitch nods his head, and Harry follows his gaze to Y/N, who is speaking with her brows dipped inward to Cara, “A few days ago she’d been asking me and Niall what you were like last year, and we told her just the same, jus’ a lot more ‘fornication’ is how Niall put it,” he smirks softly with a shake of his head, “And she seemed all concerned, asking us if we thought she was holdin’ you back or something. Personally, I told her if you wanted to sleep with someone you would have whether she were around or not but she didn’t seem very convinced.” A snort leaves him as he motions towards her again, still as amused by her ideas as he had been when she’d first explained them,  “Guess she’s trying to set you up.” 

“Oh fuck me,”  he exhales so forcefully, it whips the delicate plumes of smoke from Mitch’s cigarette into a misshapen huff. Why was she so concerned with it? Harry hadn’t once expressed any avidity in needing to spend time with someone in that manner -- he could go without sex for three weeks. . .did she not think he could? Was he exuding nymphomaniac tendencies? He surely hadn’t thought he was -- a few quick handies in his nightly showers typically tide him over just nicely for a bit of a dry spell. And what was her business that he hadn’t slept with anyone since they’ve gotten here? Why was she speaking about him with the others what she could as easily ask him? What she had as easily spoken with him about, albeit leaving out a pretty large portion of it. 

For the first time since they had begun getting along, Harry was irritated with her. He’d never been one to brood, however. He liked things to be up front and honest as soon as possible if the situation allowed for it, to stop his mind from taking an idea and running away with it. He held little interest in playing mind games with people. 

Which is why he hands Mitch the rest of his drink, fixes his heavy cardigan around his shoulder, and sets off in her direction. He dodges many bodies, avoids an empty cup on the ground beside what he could only presume to be a sticky puddle of liquor, and narrowly makes it past a playful fight between Oliver and Brandon who were wrestling one another. Y/N doesn’t realize that he’s making his way to her until he’s just a meter or so away, when Niall catches a glimpse of him and attempts to be inconspicuous in the way he pinches her side. She gasps from the way his nails had accidentally bit into her skin, flinching from the pain before her gaze had settled on him, “Harry!” She cheered but his face doesn’t soften as it usually does when they see one another, which alerts her to his disapproving gaze, “Oh, what’s wrong?” 

“Can I speak with you for a moment?” He inquires, motioning out past the trees. Enough trust had been built into the foundation of their friendship for her to not question him. Instead, she passes her drink off to Niall and follows Harry into the woods -- he wouldn’t go so far that they wouldn’t be able to see one another from beneath the curtain of leaves shielding away the moon, but just far enough that nobody would be eavesdropping. In any other situation he might wait to bring this up until they’ve made it back to the cabin, but Y/N’s intentions had been clear that the person he was taking home tonight wasn't supposed to be her. 

She pauses with him at a particularly thick tree trunk, and places the arch of her foot against one of the jagged roots that carved its way through the earth, “Is everything okay?” She balances herself with a hand against the bark, wincing when it jabs into her skin, “I was keeping an eye on Jack n’ them I thought so they wouldn’t try messing with you, but did they say something?” 

That does melt him some, Harry was strong enough to admit that. Just as he had been concerned with her wellbeing, she was just as much concerned for him, and he appreciated that. And while it does threaten to soften him down to his core, he still had questions that needed answers, and he wouldn’t let up until she responded to them. 

“Why are you sending girls over to me?” 

Her brows raise, but less in shock of learning the information, and more so with wonder how he’d found out she was the one sending them their way. The surprise dissolves into embarrassment quickly, her shoulders slump and she casts her gaze deeper into the forest, “Dammit,” she doesn’t hide her disappointment from being caught, or even feign confusion to try and pass the blame off coincidence that every girl who had come up to him had subsequently talked to her prior, “I was hoping you would be less observant.” 

“Y/N.” He says her name sternly, and her shoulders drop dramatically further as she steps down from the tree root. 

“Listen, in my defense I just felt awful!” She admits, waving her hand toward the party, “Jack had tried telling me a few times about how you just fuck people and leave them, blah, blah, blah, right? And I wasn’t paying any attention to him, but it made me curious to what you were like last year, so I asked Mitch and Niall. You came to these things all the time and you had fun -- then I come ‘round, ruin the first one, and you’ve been hanging out with me since. I just. . . I wanted you to be able to have fun and not feel like you have to worry about me, y’know?” 

A ‘v’ sits between Harry’s brows, “What is it your business what I’m doing, hm?” He fixes his cardigan from where it slumps off his shoulder once more, “If I wanted to sleep with someone then I would. Do you think I can’t set something up myself?” 

“No, of course not, I just thought --” 

“You didn’t think,” he cuts her off, and Y/N’s arms curl over herself instinctively when a cold brush of air rolls past them, “You should have just came to speak with me about it, I could have told you that I didn’t need anything like that, and that would have been that. Don’t go behind my back trying to orchestrate things for me, okay?” 

He wanted to say it -- he needed to say it, because Harry wasn’t some sex driven lecher that everyone at this camp tried to make him out as. He thought Y/N had known that too, but he guesses he was wrong. 

But he wasn’t expecting her to look so fucking defeated by it. A guilt weighs on his being when she nods, tipping her head down, “Okay, yes, I won’t anymore. I’m sorry,” her fingers dig into her bicep, as she breathes out, a shiver rattles through her that she tries to be inconspicuous about it, “I wasn’t thinking -- I wasn’t thinking how it would look.” 

Harry sighs, peeling his cardigan off of his arms, revealing his bare arms to the chill but he ignores it in favor of holding it out to her, “Put this on,” he wiggles it some, “I know you’re cold.” She takes it from him carefully, looking up, brows raised slightly as if to ask if he’s sure, “Go ahead.” 

“I really am sorry,” she tells him, pulling the patchwork cardigan over her arms, it hangs off of her, and Harry swallowed thickly. She’s. . .cute -- Harry had always been able to admit that. Her face is sweet, her eyes exudes nothing but understanding, kindness, and such a soft glow that Harry couldn’t quite explain. He finds that those eyes give him great comfort and warmth, because now when they’re tinged with the contrition she feels and Harry feels cold. 

“I know,” he murmurs, he holds out his hand for her, and very carefully Y/N slides her hand into his own, “Do you want to go get pudding?” 

A small smile pulls at her mouth. 

“Yes please.” 

                                                          .                          .                         .

Niall lets them use the key after a few dozen promises to be careful with it. They trek the familiar way, mindless chatter fills the air around them until they get to the cafeteria and their voices quiet in case the security guard is looping around. Y/N reveals her hand from the shield of his cardigan sleeve, Harry watches as the fabric pools around her arm, toward her elbow, and produces the key (that Niall only trusted her with). They creeped into the kitchen, pulled open the large refrigerator door, and the pudding sat in rows on the bottom shelf. 

They both choose vanilla this time, having tired themselves out on chocolate, and they sit at the spot they had last time, across from one another. He can tell, despite his peace offering, that Y/N still feels upset about what had happened earlier and it sullies his mood. She’s still chatting but not with as much heart as she typically has, and Harry couldn’t stand it. He just wanted her to giggle as she teases him again, without feeling like she’s tip toeing on eggshells around him. 

“Hey,” Harry starts, dragging her attention towards him where it had previously been scooping the sides of her pudding container, “Would you stop being so. . .tense? Is this about earlier?” 

Y/N clears her throat, opening her mouth and furrowing her brows like she was about to deny it, but she relents, shoulders dropping, “A little. I still feel bad about everything,” she shakes her head, dragging the edge of the spoon around the plastic, “About everything, not just that you aren’t able to sleep with someone. I came in late, ruined you having your own cabin, woke you up with my alarm, made you get out of bed ‘cos I’m afraid of the dark and -- I just feel like this massive burden. I feel like this massive burden on everyone.” 

Harry is alarmed by this sudden confession, but his body ultimately rejects the notion that she could ever be a bother, “How are you a burden to anyone?” He inquires, shaking his head, “You’re such a ball of light that just swarms through rooms. The thought of you being a burden is akin to the thought of Satan being a saint. . .it doesn’t sound right.” Harry sets his pudding down, though he keeps his hands fixed around the cup and the spoon, “Don’t know what gave you that idea, but the last thing you are is a burden. Who gave you the impression that you were?” 

She wipes tiredly at her eyes, “Nobody in particular, it's just,” she shakes her head, “Even now, I wanted to make your night good, and then I fucked it, and now you’re here with me instead of having fun at the party. I just feel silly.” 

“Don’t.” Harry tells her simply, “I like to spend time with you, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t want to be.” 

The tension in her shoulder releases, “Thank you for this, I’m sorry m’just saying the same thing again and again. Back at home it feels like everyone is just. . .so hyper aware of me -- they’re always being so careful, or overly concerned and I always wonder if it feels like a heavy weight on their shoulders, like I’m forcing a piggyback ride.” She shrugs her own, reaching for the second pudding cup, “It’s just shit, so I overthink everything all the time to try not to be a burden, but I keep making it worse. Or at least that’s how it feels.” 

Harry tilts his head to the side some. He’s not usually someone who pries and probes people for information, but he’s never been more curious about Y/N than in this moment. When he thinks of Y/N at home, he thinks of sunshine pooling in the hallways through casement windows, her spinning around the kitchen in a dainty floral dress that billows around her as she stirs homemade jam. Harry imagines her amongst woodland creatures who coax her to the forest with songs, escorting her there as she gambols freely. 

He could not imagine her going home and feeling like a burden. Hell, he would have thought that she considered everyone else a burden -- that maybe it was draining to be the absolute light of everyone’s life. Yet here she stood, seeming worn, and broken. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, why is everyone hyper aware of you at home? You don’t have to answer if you’re uncomfortable.” He says it delicately -- he means it. . .if she didn’t want to share this with him, then he wouldn’t force her, but he wants to open up the possibility. He wants her to know that he’s an open ear if she so chose to utilize him. 

“Um,” her gaze does shift downward -- she suddenly appears so small, “Are you sure?” 

Harry nods. 

“I just -- it's not that I don’t like bringing it up, I just don’t want you to treat me any differently than you would knowing it, yeah? I think that’s what I hate the most.” She notes, “So do you promise that you won’t -- you won’t start tiptoeing around me?” 

“You’ve got my word.” Harry vows, but he has a feeling he knows what she is to say.

The sleeve of his cardigan covers her hand as she brushes the hair from her face, “In freshman year of UNI, my roommate was Mrs. Graham’s daughter, Penelope.” She straightens out in her seat, “We didn’t like each other much at first but we had grown very close -- um, once she threw away my fruit snacks and so I dunked her toothbrush in the toilet, but I felt guilty and went out to buy her a new toothbrush,” a laugh leaves her at the memory, as she rolls her eyes at herself, “That was what we had going for a while, but a late night heart to heart kind of made us closer. She told me things that. . .she’d been through a lot that nobody should have to go through, you know? She was bullied a lot growing up—in high school it was bad, people used to always gang up on her over stupid shit.” Harry hums, encouraging her to continue, and she stirs the pudding around mindlessly, “And we were just close after that. We had a flat together sophomore year and most of junior year, she’s my best friend,” she swallows thickly, “I didn’t realize how sad she was. . .I didn’t realize what she was still holding onto, and she -- we went home for Christmas break, and she never came back.” 

Harry feels his stomach sour as her eyes bead with unshed tears, “Oh, Y/N,” 

“It’s alright. I’m okay, I’m fine as I can be --  I’ve -- I’m mourning and I miss her, but I’m trying to be strong. Most days I am, but everyone at home just expects me to be this fragile thing, y’know? The days I’m happy, and chatty, they think I’m faking it. And some days I do, yeah, but. . .it’s just disheartening when everyone pretends to know what’s going on in my head.” She plants the pudding directly in the center, leaving it there and retreating her hands to her lap, “Mrs. Graham told me she felt the same. That’s why I came in last minute -- I’ve got all my volunteer hours settled and everything but she said it might be nice to get away.” A slow, easy sigh leaves her lips as she blinks the tears away, not one drop trickled down her cheek, “It is nice, but I still worry that I’m a strain on people around me, even if not for the reason I am at home. And I’m sorry to like, info dump all this on you,” she laughs a little in spite of herself, “You can’t ask me things, unless you want an hour long explanation.”

Harry reaches out his hand for her, for the second time that night, and once again she slowly slips their fingers together, “Thank you for sharing that with me, I know it must have been hard,” he squeezes her hand, “But I understand you a bit more now. I’ll keep my promise, I won’t treat you any differently, but before that --” she blinks at him, waiting, “I think you might just be one of the kindest, strongest, most caring people that I have ever meant. I know you would never do anything to intentionally hurt me or add stress onto my life, so you don’t have to worry about that. You don’t have to try with me. We can just exist together, yeah? We’ll exist without burdens and without worry.”

The look in her eyes, was one that Harry had never seen before. One that makes him melt in her touch. 

“I would like that.” 

                                                             .                                    .                                  .

 “I can’t swim.” 

Harry was crouched down to Maisey’s height, fixing purple mermaid floaties around her arms. The day was not unusually muggy, but there was an additional itch to jump belly first into the cool watered lake. He had woken with a revitalized need to pry a star from the morning sky as it shifted from an inky purple to an early, dusky morning blue -- and give it to Y/N. He had decided after their conversation last night -- after they’d gone to bed and Y/N fell asleep cuddled in his cardigan -- he had an overwhelming, and an all encompassing want to hold her. 

Which made it hard to part ways this morning, but he managed. And maybe he played out an image in his head where he pressed a kiss to Y/N’s cheek before they went to wake their respective cabins, or maybe he didn’t (but if he did that’s his own problem). He is quick to convince himself it was because she’d shared a piece of herself with him that he doesn’t think she lets many people see, and Harry always develops a bit of a platonic crush on his friends at some point or another. He questioned whether or not he was in love with Mitch for a solid four days once. . .sometimes he just let his heart get carried away. 

He had been enmeshed in these thoughts as he got his campers ready for their time in the lake. At first glance, a ton of children in the lake seemed like a horrible, and faulty idea, but they took precautions so that everyone was safe. Every child wore floaties and/or life jackets no matter how proficient their swimming abilities. There was netting about ten meters out so that the children and counsellors couldn’t float out toward the middle, and they worked it so that only three children could be in per counsellor at a time, so that they could keep an eye on everyone. Harry wasn’t so nervous because he was a strong swimmer, and his kids were a little older, but he could tell Y/N had been a little jittery about it. It’s why Harry told her that while she was out in the lake with her little ones to let him know, he would come out with her to bring her some additional comfort that even the floaties could not provide. 

Harry had been pretty sure all of his kids were excited to go to the lake and he was grateful for that, until he looked up to see the nervous, large blue eyes of Jackson, downcast after he had spoken the words. The unprompted admittance confused him as he turned to face him, “That’s okay, buddy, we’ve got floaties for that.” 

Jackson did not seem convinced, shaking his head fiercely, “No, I -- I can’t swim.” 

“J.J. is afraid of the water,” Noah exposes the truth just as easy as he takes a sip from his juice box, equipped with his own blue arm floaties, “He didn’t want to say though ‘cos --” 

“Noah!” Jackson cuts him off, betrayal laced within his features. 

“--’cos he didn’t want to seem like a wimp, but he almost drowned when he was little.” 

Jackson looked as if he could cry, and Harry shook his head quickly, “Hey, hey, hey, c’mere buddy,” he motions him over, and he comes easily, stepping before Harry who had not bothered to leave his already crouched position, “Explain to me what’s going on, yeah?” 

He shifts his weight from foot to foot, a frown prevalent on his mouth, even as he speaks, “When I was little little, my big brother pushed me into the pool and I went under the water and my mom had to come in and get me because I can’t swim good.” 

Harry pulls his lips back, reaching out to squeeze Jackson’s shoulder, “I’m sorry to hear that buddy. I won’t force you to get in the water if you don’t want to, but I do want to tell you that if you feel more comfortable, we could try a life jacket instead of the floaties? It’ll keep you more buoyant -- more bouncy in the water.” 

“Aren’t those for little kids?” Jackson inquires, brows pinched, but Harry shakes his head and points toward Y/N, never more glad in that moment that she had the age group she did, along with her views on not making them do, wear, or say anything that she wouldn’t herself. She’s got the life jacket swung around her arm as she clips Oliver into his own. 

“Y/N’s going to wear one too, and she’s not a little kid. I’ll wear one as well if you’d like.” He promised him. Albeit looking reserved, Jackson nods softly with his hands in little fists, worrying his lip between his teeth. The poor thing, Harry thinks -- he used to be afraid of water too. Nobody wants to conquer that fear suddenly, let alone with a group of people that may or may not poke fun because they’re kids and kids are jerks sometimes. 

Harry finds him a life jacket -- a cute one with a shark on it, that he helps him clip on, and fits it to his body with the straps. Next, he needed to find one for himself, but he wasn’t entirely sure where they kept the counsellor life jackets, so he called for Y/N where she’d been a few meters away and she popped her head up from where she was like a meerkat. Her eyes softened when she realized who had called her, and a gentle smile pulled at her mouth, “Hey hubby,” she greets him, much to the delight of Charlotte, who claps giddily, “What d’ya need?” 

“A life jacket, please. Where’d you get yours?” Harry tries to be decent -- tries desperately to keep his eyes to himself, but he finds that this is surprisingly difficult when Y/N is in her swimsuit. It wasn’t obscene in any sense of the word -- in the pamphlet they get when they sign up, it is very clear that speedos and bikinis were not appropriate, and therefore not allowed. If a child couldn’t wear it, then you shouldn’t bring it -- was the apothegm that they chose to live by in reference to dress code. 

This, however, doesn’t mean that Y/N’s swimsuit didn’t suit her well. It was fitted in a way that wasn’t too tight, yet wasn’t too loose -- like it might have just been made with her in mind. A simple one piece of nylon and lycra colored a powder blue, that barely showed off that much more of what she wears to bed, and yet his mind still flutters elsewhere. To unwise places, that he drags himself from before clearing his throat and forcing himself to look around the lake so it appeared his eyes were just scanning everything. 

“You’re in luck,” Y/N jogged the short way from where they stood, back to where her kids were all gathered, playing happily in the sand. Beneath what Harry had assumed was just a cluster of towels, another life jacket was hidden beneath the fabric. She hands it toward him with a triumphant grin, “This was the last one. I grabbed it for you in case you just wanted to float rather than keep your legs kicking -- you had a big lunch, didn’t want you to get a cramp.” 

Harry hates how his heart balloons in his chest. There was no reason to be a melt because she had thought of him -- that she had him in mind, so she snatched the last life jacket, and hid it beneath towels so nobody else could have it. No reason to feel all mushy from the way that she unfolds it for him, a silent prompt that she’s going to help him pull it on. And there was certainly, absolutely no good reason for how stupidly affectionate he feels when she strokes her finger along the heart tattoo on his forearm mindlessly, before murmuring, “You make me wanna get covered in them. Maybe I’ll just go and get all of yours.” She looks down at the ground, “Maybe not the toe, my feet are ticklish -- think I would kick the artist.” 

He recruits Y/N for the process of easing Jackson into the water -- Noah and Elinor are floating and bobbing about happily at their sides, while Charlotte and Mikey playfully kick and float close to their older counterparts (if not practically on top of them). There was a chill bite to the water when they had first stepped in, but as they walked out further and sunk a bit deeper, the cold eases up. The cool air soothes them from the sharp bite of the scorching sun, Jackson holds his hand so tightly Harry thinks his fingers may go numb, and he figures Y/N is feeling the same way, if her soft, “Loosen your grip up a bit, Sweetheart, you’re gonna take off my hand.” 

Eventually, Jackson relaxes. He finally understands that the life jacket will keep him afloat and holding onto Y/N and Harry wasn’t a necessity. Once the idea of this settles in his brain, he is more willing to let go and enjoy himself. It feels wonderful to see that he’s having fun, and even better when he sees the smile on Y/N’s face from this small victory. Last year, he hadn’t felt this parental over the children last summer, but something had changed. . .something that made him feel like he was a bit of a parent. 

It has to be Y/N. There was something about her that just oozes mother figure for these kids, even if she wasn’t intending to do so. She kissed the bandages over their wounds to take away the hurt, she praised the ground they walked on, picked them up if they asked, danced with them, encouraged them, treated every single child as if they were her own. Harry believes she’ll be a beautiful mother one day, if that’s what she’d like, and whoever the father or mother was she had chosen to spend her life with, they were unbelievably lucky. He just hoped they would understand that. 

Y/N floats into his line of sight, “Are you okay? Ellie said you look like Maisey’s aunt again, whatever that means.” 

Harry snorts, before nodding, “Yeah, I’m fine. A bit tired.” 

An understanding gleam overtakes her, “Y’know, I did think you seemed a bit snoozy,” she reaches out for him, squeezing his shoulder softly, “D’ya want to have a sneaky nap? I could watch the kids.” 

“But I like having you both,” Jackson whined, shaking his head quickly, finding their hands once more, reassuring that his grip was tight as ever, “Please stay.” 

“Yeah,” Noah splashes over to them, sliding his arms around Harry’s neck, wetting his hair with the water clinging to his life jacket, “You two are fun together! We always have so much fun -- Brittany said her counsellor always yells at them when they ask her to play with them.” 

Elinor was quick to add, “And Ro’s counsellor falls asleep during art days! He doesn’t even help them stay in the lines, and they’re little like Oli, and Charlotte.” 

Y/N’s bottom lip juts out in the prettiest little pout -- Harry finds himself wanting to pluck it with the pad of his thumb, “That’s silly, isn’t it? I have so much fun with you guys, I couldn’t imagine not playing. Right Harry?” 

Nodding his assent, he reaches up, settling his hands around Noah’s arms and bring him along with him as he kicks them closer to Y/N and the other three, “It is silly. Some people just aren’t as fun as Y/N and I, Bug, it’s proven fact. They did the scientific method and everything.” 

Oliver gleefully pushes himself up on Y/N’s shoulders, flopping back into the water and bobbing, “I love yous!” He chirped brightly, “Yous guys are my favorites! I love yous.” 

The sight is adorable, especially as Y/N wriggles around and holds her arms out so they could hug, which Oliver happily accepts, “I love yous too, button.” 

They have fun -- for hours, as they switch out which kids are in the water, spend time on the beach with all of them, making sandcastles, burying one another, chatting and playing. It was very freeing; Harry could easily tell that he and the others were having far more fun than any of the other groups were -- Mitch and Niall had gravitated their groups closer to them when Y/N and the kids began to pour sand over the top of him. Even Cassidy came around with her kids after they had heard them all giggling and laughing and wanted to know what was going on. Harry was having fun, and maybe he was just mushy, but he credited it to the joy Y/N was exuding. It was hard not to be in a good mood when he was around her. 

By the time the sun sat a little lower in the sky, casting the shadows of trees over the sand and cooling them to the point of chilling. The kids washed their feet and hands beneath the rush of water from a yard hydrant, wrapped up in towels, and headed toward the dining hall for their dinner. There was a taco bar today, and Harry found that Y/N and he had a mutual love of tacos as a whole. She showed him how she adds feta crumbles, even let him have a bite of hers to see if he would like it so he could decide whether or not to put it on his own (it was delicious, she was right). 

Once dinner was finished, everyone was exhausted. They all gathered around the campfire, one of the counsellors strummed a song on his guitar, they all had s'mores and then they dispersed. Not even the rush of sugar from the chocolate and marshmallow gave any of the children an umph in their step; they were all so sluggish and slow, dragging their feet through the dirt on their way to their cabins. Harry’s group barely kept their eyes open as they stalked to the showers, washing off the lake water and sand that had been clinging to their bodies. After they brushed their teeth, they all but face planted in their beds and snores soon filled the quiet air of the cabin. They only made him realize how exhausted he was from the day spent baking in the sun, floating and kicking in the water. 

He trudges back to his cabin, where he finds Y/N had already showered off. She was face down in her pillow, her back slowly rising and falling with each gentle breath she took. She hadn’t covered in her blankets -- no, instead she used his cardigan as a makeshift cover over her body, and Harry thinks it might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen. The patchwork swallows a good portion of her body, the sleeve flopped limply by her head. . .he could imagine her crawling into bed. Could imagine her putting her knee up first, dragging the cardigan that had been lying limply over the post with her and just letting it drape over her body. She probably wasn’t thinking she would fall asleep. . .probably thought she would just lay there for a minute before gathering the strength to get beneath her covers. 

It’s adorable -- Harry hates how adorable he finds it, actually. If he could crawl in beside her he would, but instead he ambles to the bathroom, starts up the shower, and climbs in. 

The water his hot -- boiling drops pelt his skin, washing away the grime and sweat that felt as if it’d been caked onto his skin. It felt good; to cleanse and scrub himself free of the lake, massage shampoo into his scalp, soften his curls with the conditioner, and just allow himself to revel in the feeling. Showers feel wonderful - a renewal that he deemed necessary by the end of the day. And when he gets the temperature just right, it soothes the aches and soreness in his bones, turning his muscles to softened jello. By the time he slipped out of the shower, he was practically boneless and thought he’d be lucky if he made it to his bed before dropping to the floor and falling asleep. 

He expects Y/N to still be asleep when he leaves the bathroom, but he’s surprised to find her sat up in her bed, his cardigan pooled around her body and a deep frown on her face. 

“Oh!” He’s started some -- he really thought she was out for the night, “Good morning, sleepyhead.” 

“It’s morning?” Her face further turns to that of distress and Harry bites down hard on a chuckle. 

“No,” he responds, “It’s not morning. Only about 10PM, so you’ve got plenty of time to rest still.” She looks around groggily, rubbing at her cheek with one hand while she fisted his cardigan in the other, pulling it closer around her body, “Why don’t you get beneath the covers, Babe?” He asks her, and she’s quiet for a little while. The only inkling Harry receives that she even heard him was how she tries to shuffle and wriggle the covers down with her still stretched out on the bed, stuffing her legs into the blankets first, then sliding the rest of the way smoothly. All the while she clings to the cardigan, holding it tightly, resting her cheek on it. Harry doesn’t know if Y/N’s just far more affectionate than he had even thought prior, or if she was just half awake and doing things she wouldn’t do if she was fully conscious. Vaguely does he remember her saying something about typically cuddling with a teddy at night -- how she stuffs her face against it because it always smells like her fabric softener. 

He wonders if that’s why she snuggles with it -- he wonders if she likes the smell of him, so she buries her nose in the fabric and breathes it in as she rests. 

Harry hates this. He hates how inconceivably soft he’s been feeling, but he can’t help it. Y/N had found him worthy enough to poke inside her brain -- she opened up to him in a way she expressed she’d not been opening up to many people about.  It made him feel closer to her.

But he told her he wouldn’t treat her any differently after finding out. And if he suddenly started expressing more affection, he fears she would think he was only doing it because of what she told him. He just wants to be. . .he just wants to be gentle with her. Doesn’t want her to ever think that she’s a burden to him, because the anecdote had made him question and second guess how he’d been treating her their entire time here. Of course, he was never intentionally cruel, but some of the situations he thinks about the two of them in, and how he responded, makes him cringe. 

He switches off the overhead light, her dimmed bedside lamp and muscle memory guide him to his bed. Harry climbs in, shivers as he adjusts to the warmth beneath his covers, and breathes a soft sigh of relief to have finished with the day. 

“Harry?” Y/N’s voice startles his eyes open, which he’d not been aware he’d closed. 

“Hm?” He hums -- he had thought she’d fallen back asleep already. 

“You’re okay?” 

A soft smile plays at his mouth -- she asks him every night before bed, he’s noticed. 

“Yes, I’m okay. Are you okay?” 

She nods, “You did really good today,” her voice is muffled from her cheek mushed against his cardigan, “The kids had a lot of fun, they were telling me. I had a lot of fun too.” 

“Yeah? Me too,” he reaches to thumb the hairs of his eyebrow down, “And thank you. You always do really well with the kids.” 

She’s quiet for a minute, and once more, Harry thinks she must have fallen asleep, but the shift of the mattress tells him she’s changing position and Harry notices once more that his eyes have closed, “I’m glad you’re my roomie.” 

Harry utters the words, that two weeks ago he thinks he would have spit at. 

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re my roomie too.” 

                                                     .                                   .                              .

Harry was drunk. 

Typically, he didn’t allow himself to get very drunk at these little parties. He trusted the others so little, he had no doubt in his mind that any moment he was slightly impaired in some way they would take it upon themselves to prey on his weakness. This means he only ever gets mildly tipsy -- drinks enough to feel good but caps himself when he thinks he might start stumbling. 

But he just didn’t cap himself today. Not for any reason in particular -- their day hadn’t been difficult. They helped their kids through a mildly strenuous obstacle course throughout the morning, cooled down with them drinking juice boxes and eating popsicles and by 2PM they were inside doing little DIY projects. Harry burned his finger with some hot glue, but otherwise it was a pretty easy smooth kind of day that they didn’t get often. He and Y/N hadn’t gotten to spend much time together, which he wouldn’t admit loudly was a disappointment, but he and his kids had all agreed that they missed her. 

(And when they had seen her and her group walking into the art room, the lot of them had erupted in cheers, Noah, Eli, Maisey being the loudest of them.) 

They had a pasta dinner that was surprisingly filling, they told “spooky” campfire stories and ate s’mores, he got his kids ready for bed and he went off to the cabin. He and Y/N were going to one of the parties tonight, not because they had such spectacular luck with a good time before, but because they were coming up on some of their last nights here at camp. It was a bittersweet feeling -- Harry remembered being more than ready to flee last year, counting down each day, each hour dragging on longer than the last. This time, it felt like it was coming too quick. He would miss the kids, he would miss the busy days some. . .and sure, he was happy to go home and take a shower that stays hot longer than five minutes and rest on his soft, cozy bed, but he would miss not having Y/N right across from him. 

That was what he was having the most trouble coming to terms with, he thinks. The idea of them not having to spend every moment of every day with one another after doing it for three weeks almost sounds wrong. It's the same feeling he gets when  he knew he and Mitch wouldn’t have such easy access to one another once they went back home. Being at this camp sort of felt like being stuck in a time loop where the outside world doesn’t exist, so it’s very easy to forget that they all have lives outside of here. They all go to class, go to work, go home, study, eat and sleep. 

He and Y/N live relatively close to one another -- only about a ten minute drive up the street with only one turn and it's into her apartment building -- but he wonders if they’ll utilize it. He wonders if their friendship is tied to this camp and if that’s where it will remain, or if she even wants to be friendly with him after. Harry hadn’t considered that maybe she was only putting up with him because they had to live together and she didn’t want it to be miserable. Had he questioned if he was even enjoyable to be around? How does he ask her that without sounding entirely too desperate or needy?                   

So partially, he drinks to ease some of the worry in his mind. Harry doesn’t think he would “break down” or something like it if they weren’t able to continue being friends -- like a forgotten summer love that he might think about throughout the fall, and message her to see how she was doing -- but he certainly wouldn’t be delighted if that’s how it ended up. Harry thinks there’s so much more to Y/N that he would like to see, and know, and hear. Three weeks isn’t enough time, Harry decided, but in the same breath he wondered if she had thought it was more than enough. 

Harry knows she cares for him, at least a little bit. He knows that he cares for her and her wellbeing; he was fond of her. From what he knew of who she was fundamentally, down to her core, Harry knew she was selfless and kind -- it was hard to find people like that, who were that, without it being cakey or clouded by something else. She was transparent in who she was and her feelings regarding most things, and Harry valued her honesty. 

And she was just so damn fun. Every moment with her he spent, the air filled with laughter; she brought a slice of sun in her pocket wherever she went and Harry was consistently being warmed beneath it. 

The fact of the matter is, Harry doesn’t know how he could meet someone like Y/N, and get used to the idea of her not being in his life after three weeks. If he could refuse it he would, but what was he going to do? Kidnap her and take her home with him? 

He’s sat on the tree root, opposed to standing beside it like he usually is, with his back pressed against the bark of the tree and he ignores the jagged, uneven trunk against his skin. Mitch was beside him, leaning lower than he was with his jacket bundled up and stuffed behind his head, his legs kicked out as far as they would go and because of this, his foot rested against Niall’s lap. Niall was pleasantly gone himself, a bit louder than normal but also zoning out every so often. 

He was a good guy, Niall -- he had good opinions, and he chatted him and Mitch up about guitars often (he was typically the camp’s go to for an acoustic guy if they ever wanted campfire songs). Harry thinks they could probably be really good friends, if not for the fact that Niall was so barefaced in his crush on Y/N. 

It was obvious, Harry thought. He’d thought it was obvious from the first moment he spent a prolonged period of time with both he and Y/N -- his cheeks got rosy when she touched him, he stuttered over his gratitude if she complimented him, and if she went out of her way to do something (like when she’d stuffed her hand into a thorn-bush for his guitar pick that had flung from his fingers, and subsequently got all scratched up), he would look at her how someone might stargaze. 

Harry doesn’t know why he doesn’t just ask her out, if he likes her so much. It almost irritates him how skittish Niall seems to get at the prospect of it; to run away from those warm, nice feelings that she provides is silly. It reminds him entirely too much of himself and he loathes it. 

Tonight had been no different, only Y/N was dancing back and forth between them and a few other counsellors (Harry only recognized one of them , who was called Rosie and had been in his first year maths). Harry watched her most of the night, in the least obnoxious and creepy way he could, just because. . .well, she was nice to look at. He liked how her body animated as she spoke, or how she nodded her head as someone was speaking to her -- it was an encouraging nod, and her eyes locked onto theirs like they might be telling her where the fountain of youth might be located, or the secrets to the universe. 

She was cozy today -- it was cooler out than most of the nights that they had experienced, with a chill breeze that had even stirred goosebumps on Harry’s arms (and he was all but swaddled in his hoodie). Y/N had a light fitted sweater that she sometimes slept in -- not heavy enough to shield her from the icy terrain that winter would provide, but enough to fight past the harsh summer night breeze that threatened to help a storm roll in within the next few hours. Loosely, he let the images of her cuddled close to him invade his brain. What it might feel like, how the knit would brush against his skin, if she would hide her face in his neck or spider around him as the big spoon and burrow against his hair. Y/N struck him as someone who liked to do more of the cuddling than being cuddled herself.

He would miss her when they had to leave. Harry worried who would just exist with her, like they had been doing. He worried about her going back to a place where she felt like a burden -- he would be around, wouldn’t he? If she allowed him to, he could be there for her, but he doesn’t want to seem pushy. By all definitions, they had really just met -- Harry had known Y/N for approximately 17 days, but it felt like so much longer. He wonders if he had known her in a past life, or if it was the fact that they spent almost every day all day with one another for at least 15 of those 17 day -- he finally understands how everyone in the Love Island villa always goes on about how a day in the outside world feels like a week where they are. 

It’s not like he’s professing his love to her, for fuck sake. He just likes her -- whether it be platonic or not, Harry thinks Y/N is just delightful. 

“Your little girlfriend’s not with you?” 

Harry had forgotten how Jack’s voice sounded how grating nails against iron pipes might make someone feel, mostly because they hadn’t spoken in quite a while. After Y/N had slapped him, he had kept to himself, resorting more to disgruntled glares and probably pissy comments he was murmuring to his mates about him. If someone asked Harry, he would say that him and his friends were afraid of Y/N -- she posed a good threat to them. Sure, they hadn’t understood the extent of her words that night (like how and why she knew Miss. Graham), but they were enough to rattle them. No matter being in university, or within the range of 20-23 years old, nobody wanted to be scolded by a woman in her 40s, nor did they want to be kicked out of a camp counsellor position, or to have their volunteer hours revoked. 

So they had left him alone, which Harry thinks may have been such a strain for them he would be surprised if they hadn’t popped a blood vessel. Even if they wanted to, he was always with Y/N -- they never really had the chance, and if they did, they didn’t really take it. 

Which is why he is both surprised and incredibly annoyed with Jack’s sudden appearance. 

“Piss off.” Harry responds, nursing his beer bottle closer to him. 

“You’re always so ill-tempered,” Jack leans up against the tree, “Just wanted to have a chat. Like why Cassidy suddenly wants to break things off after chatting with you and Y/N. Got any ideas?” 

Harry’s brows dipped in confusion, “What? What are you on about?” 

“Don’t act like you don’t fucking know,” Jack rolls his eyes, “Cassidy and I are doing just fucking fine for six months, but we come here, she starts chatting with you and now all the sudden she’s ready to break up. What the fuck did you say, hm?” He nudged Harry’s side with his foot, “Fucking Y/N wasn’t enough, you had to fuck Cassidy too?” He kicked him this time, harder than before.

Harry, who did not take too kindly to being kicked, rolled his eyes and pushed himself to a stand, “Dunno why you’re so fucking insecure that you think me being around has anything to do with Cassidy finally seeing what a prick you are, but this needs to stop,” he handed his bottle to Mitch who took it wordlessly, “I’m not fucking Cassidy, I’ve never fucked Cassidy, so if you could just grow the fuck up and recognize that maybe she broke up with you, because you’re awful to be around, that would be great.”            

Jack, which Harry had expected, took more of a physical approach, giving a shove to Harry’s shoulders, and Harry’s back slams against the tree behind him, “Fuck you,” he spit, “You all holier than thou ‘cos you’re dipping your dick in Miss. Rainbow Bright? What do you know about me, hm? You’re just a dumb fuck who has to be here because you’re a no good druggy fuck with anger issues. How does it feel knowing you’ll amount to nothing after UNI?” 

There isn’t a lot that could get under Harry’s skin. A lot of people could say a lot of shit that he brushes off and lets go, but there are two things that he really just can’t. One of them is when people try to speak poorly of his mum, and the other, was when someone pretends to know his situation when they don’t have a fucking clue. Who was this trust fund bastard to tell him he was a druggy fuck? That he would amount to nothing after UNI? Harry worked two jobs to set himself through school and keep himself fed, with a roof over his head, just so that he could live the life he wanted to after university. 

Maybe it was silly to punch him, but it felt good to. Harry reared back his fist and it collided with his jaw, making Jack stumble backward, his hand flying to his face, “You fucking --” he swung in return, only he catches Harry’s shoulder because Harry moved out of the way in anticipation. Niall narrowly dodged being caught in the crossfire as he rolled out of the way. 

The fight didn’t get too far, however, because when Jack was gearing up to swing again, Y/N appeared and easily wormed her way in between them, “Are you serious right now?” Her brows were furrowed -- she looked legitimately pissed off, and, well. . .it made Harry take a step back at least, “Thought we had a chat about this, hm? You were going to leave him the fuck alone -- no, look at me, not him,” she grabbed at his collar, giving a sharp tug when his angry gaze had flittered back toward Harry, “I’m not an angry person, Jack, I don’t like being mean, or cruel like you seem to be so fond of, but I can and will be if I need to and I promise you that. Don’t you ever speak to someone like that again, yeah? What you were saying was just awful.” She lets go of his collar, taking a step back and sighing in a sharp huff, “I can’t speak for Cassidy, but if I had to guess she probably cut things off because you’re a jealous bastard who questions every interaction with another person and try this alpha male persona to scare other people away. It must be exhausting.” 

Jack shook his head, “We were fine --”

“You thought you were fine. Things aren’t always what they look like, alright? The sooner you understand that, the easier your life will be.” She nods toward the center of the clearing they were in,  “Go get some ice from the cooler, and go the hell back to your cabin. You’re not a fun drunk.” 

Albeit reluctantly, Jack follows her orders and slinks his way to the cooler. The others around them had grown quiet as they had watched the confrontation unfold, but they soon all lost interest once they realized nothing more would happen. Y/N turned to face Harry, the anger on her face immediately dissolving, as she shakes her head, “What a dick. I’m so sorry he spoke to you like that,” she takes ahold of his wrist, the hand that he had punched Jack with, running her thumbs over his reddened knuckles, “I told him -- after the lake, I told him that he needed to leave you alone or I’d do something about it. Dunno what I was gonna do, but I was going to do something -- I will --” 

“Hey, hey,” he cuts her off, “It’s okay -- it’s okay, come on, let’s. . .let’s go to the cabin, yeah? Should we go back to the cabin?” 

Y/N looks at him like he was batty, “No shit we’re going back to the cabin! I’ve got to give you like a full medical look over. He slammed you into the tree, and honestly, you bruise like a peach.” 

They make the trek back to the cabin, relatively quiet, Harry still attempting to process what had happened and what Y/N had said. Had she really spoken to Jack after the fact and threatened him if he messed with Harry again? The softest, probably sweetest person he knows, had taken Jack off to the side and told him if he didn’t leave Harry alone she was going to do something about it. Not only that, she grabbed him by his collar and told him off in front of everyone. It made his heart race, the thought of it, and his cock twitches in his pants at the moment on repeat in his mind. 

Once they get back to the cabin, Y/N has him take his hoodie off with her in the bathroom so she could visualize his back and shoulder. Jack may be short-tempered and smaller than Harry, but his punches still packed a great deal, so a nice, reddening bruise was forming quickly around his shoulder. On his back there were scrapes from the tree bark, Y/N tells him, and a ton of little bruises that had begun to form as well. She makes him stay still as she retrieves the first aid kit from their medicine cabinet. 

“Y/N,” he started, and she hummed to encourage him to continue, “When did you speak with Jack privately?” 

She clears her throat, plopping the first aid kit down on the sink counter and unclipping it open, “The morning after the lake,” she answers without hesitation, “I wasn’t trying to like, fight your battles or anything, but I needed him to know I wasn’t bluffing when I told them I would rat them out, and worse if the situation allowed it. I hate bullies,” she pulls out a small tube of bacitracin, tutting her tongue as she squeezes it out on the tip of her finger, “And I hate how they treat you. I’m sorry if I overstepped.” 

“You didn’t at all,” Harry remarks softly, jolting when her fingers very carefully graze over one of the tender areas on his back, “Thank you, actually, for sticking up for me again.” 

“You don’t have to thank me. I think I’m pretty scrappy when I need to be,” she giggles to herself, “Like, if need be, I would take on the Queen for you. Might be an uneven match though, she’s pushing 100.” 

Harry spins around to face her though, “Y/N, I mean it,” he tells her seriously, their gazes locking, “Thank you for everything. For dealing with my attitude, for sticking up for me, for helping with the kids, for making this experience bearable, for being such a positive light,” he sighs, “You’re amazing, you deserve amazing things.” 

Y/N looks taken by his words -- he wonders if she’s as lost in his eyes as he is in hers. Her mouth falls open gently, like she may be searching for what to say back to him but can’t come up with anything. He worries that he’d said too much -- that he freaked her out or something. He wasn’t trying to, he was just so grateful for her, he didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know how to express it. 

He is about to apologize for being too forward, when Y/N pushes the short distance and connects their lips together. 

Harry’s confused for a moment as his brain registers what’s happening, but when he feels that she might pull away, his body finally seems to wake up. His hands find her face, cradling her jaw in his hands as he reaffirms the kiss and lets the butterflies in his body take over in hoards. He’d given thought to kissing Y/N, sure, but he’d never thought it would happen. Not only that, he’d never thought it would feel this nice. She tastes like the pineapple wine coolers she’d been sipping on that night, her lips still a bit sticky from the residue of the alcohol on her soft lips.

She’s gentle in how she kisses, like Harry would have guessed -- careful too, and cautious with how her lips parted from him only to fix back together. A pool of heat had formed in Harry’s lower belly and rose to his chest, stirring his heart in flutters when her tongue slid into his mouth and met her own. Harry hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to kiss her until their tongues are sliding against one another, and his hands are slipping down from her jaw,  caressing the delicate skin of her throat, skating down her chest to her hips. He squeezes her sides and pulls her closer to him, feeling the knit of her top rub against his bare torso. It was as soft as he’d imagined it’d be. 

Had she been wanting to kiss him for as long as he wanted to kiss her? Normally, Harry could tell how badly someone wanted to kiss him by the act alone, but with Y/N he was so caught up he couldn’t focus. She was calm and soft, but the longer they kissed, the more ardent she became. It was the tiny moan that had left from her mouth into his own, that made him lightheaded. He had to pull away to breathe but his forehead pressed against hers as he breathed in, “Harry?” Her voice is low, she says his name like a secret, “Was that okay?” 

His response is to press their lips back together, but this time only for a moment, before he withdraws. Harry loops his fingers around her wrist and brings her with him back into the main room, flopping onto her bed since it was the closest and urging her to climb into his lap. She straddles him, and just as soon as she’s within reach, he slides his fingers at the nape of her neck and pulls her back to his mouth. 

It was good -- it felt so fucking good, Harry couldn’t begin to describe it. He held her close, and tried as he might to stave off his cock from ruining the moment, the longer they kissed the harder he got. How she was positioned at first made it so she couldn’t really feel him, but when she tried to get closer to him, she scooted her hips forward and rubbed up right against him. A gasp leaves her as she parts from him, looking down, having lifted her hips, “I’m sorry,” she apologizes and Harry gives a startled laugh. 

“I’ve got a stiffy, and you’re apologizing?” He chuckles with a shake of his head, “I’m sorry, Sweetheart. I’ve got a pretty girl in my lap kissing me, s’kind of hard not to get hard. We can stop if you want.” 

“I don’t want to stop,” she answers with no delay nor doubt, as she lowers back down, resting her front on his prick and with this she gives an experimental roll of her hips. Harry hisses in a breath as she does it again, her own little moan slipping from her mouth. She was only in a thin little pair of shorts, and Harry had chosen sweatpants for the night, so there was little fabric truly separating them. Harry was thankful for it as she continued to roll her hips against him, sponging kisses from his mouth, down his jawline, to the curve of his throat. She fixed her lips there, lulling her tongue over the skin before she started suckling at him and Harry’s hands danced along her back, stroking up and down it, feeling her, holding her closer. Each roll of her hips made him harder, and he was desperate to know if she was wet. If he pushed his fingers into her shorts, would they come back slick from her arousal? Would she watch him as he slid them into his mouth to taste her? Would she let him split her thighs and lick straight from the source. 

His mind was overcome with filth, smutty images entangle once innocent thoughts as she brought the blood to the surface of his skin. When one of his hands left where it had latched onto her hip and slowly maneuvered around to her front, she paused, but left her face dipped in his throat, “Are you wet for me?” He asks her quietly and she nods through a little shiver, “Yeah? Bet you soaked through your little panties,” he murmurs as he slides his fingers past the elastic bands of her shorts and underwear, but left his fingers just past them, “Answer me.” 

“Yes,” her voice trembles, she swallows thickly and the muscles in her abdomen contract beneath his fingers. 

Harry hums low, slipping his fingers down further and he dips between her slick folds, “Oh, Sweetheart,” he presses a chaste kiss to the side of her head, “Is this your first time getting wet for me?” She shakes her head, “Hm, really? So you’re like this often? Do you take care of it?” 

“I -- yeah,” she stutters over a moan as the pads of his fingers roll over her swollen clit slowly, feeling it flick beneath them, “At night, sometimes I will in the shower if I can’t. . .if I can’t wait anymore.” 

He feigns a gasp, “Oh my goodness,” he speeds up the slow lull of his fingers, “Your showers are always so fast, doll, you’re really that quick to cum?” 

Harry may not be able to see her face, but he can hear the pout clear in her voice, “It usually isn’t that fast! Just with you, it is -- when I think of you, it’s always quick.” 

He thought it would be impossible for his cock to be harder than it already was, but her words make pre-cum bubble at the tip, and when he dips his fingers back into her slick little hole, he gets even harder. Gliding his fingers from her panties, he draws them up to his mouth and presses them past his lips as he’d wanted to. Y/N has withdrawn from his throat, watching him do it with glassy eyes, her hands resting on his shoulders, digging her fingers into grape sized dents at the muscle. Her mouth falls open as he sucks her juices away, his eyes fluttering and a groan torn from his throat. 

“Get on the bed,” he instructed and Y/N followed without question, crawling from his lap and lying her head on her pillow as Harry stood, and repositioned himself. He takes a hold of shorts and drags them down her legs, wriggling them off her ankle and tossing them elsewhere. His lips finds her ankle first, before he’s peppering and sponging kisses down her leg, the parts that he had tended to throw over his shoulder. When he gets to her thighs, he makes the kisses slower, softer -- he suckles and nips at the supple skin until he’s right before her center, only to switch to her other thigh and push kisses up and down the length of it. 

Y/N’s whole body trembles with each shaky breath she gives. She’d spoken no words until he was positioned right in front of her core, looping his fingers in the waistband of the little cotton pair she had on, pulling them up toward her hips so the fabric stretched out over her. He could see her pussy beneath it, made out the outline of her swollen lips and engorged clit -- it made his mouth water. 

“You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” she tells him, and his gaze is pulled back up to her -- she looks apprehensive. 

“What?” 

She shrugs, “I know some guys don’t really like to so --” 

“Do you want me to eat your pussy?” Harry asks her bluntly, and he revels in the way her eyes widen, and how bashful her face turns as she looks away, “It’s a yes or no question, honey, if you don’t want me to, I can come back up and kiss you while I make you feel good with my fingers. If you do want me to, I’m g’na pull those panties to the side and make you cum on my tongue -- either I’m good with.” 

“I -- yes,” she answers, her voice meek, “Yes I want you to.” 

Harry smiles softly, “Poor thing, How many stupid boys were refusing to eat this sweet little peach?” He runs his thumb up and down her slit, visualizing where the wet spot had grown and soaked her panties so that the fabric thinned. Leaning in, he nosed at her clit and she inhales, “God, I’m so excited — you’re okay with this? You’re okay with me eating this little pussy out? Need you to let me know because once I start sweet girl, I’ll be in heaven.”

“Yes, please, please lick me.”

“So polite,” he suckles a kiss at the very innermost part of her thigh, before licking one, long stripe up her center through the fabric. She moans, pushing her hips down toward his mouth as he drags his tongue over it again, and again, and again. He soaks it with his spit, teasing her — he wanted to pull her panties to the side and suckle and slurp between her lips until she came — but he wants her to beg for him. Wants to hear that she wants him just as much as he wants her. 

He smiles against her as he hears her getting impatient, little huffs between each moan. She whines, her hips bucking up against his tongue — he looks up to her, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly. The fingers of one hand are dug into the sheets beside her, while the others rest between her teeth. Her brows were tilted, lips pouted, whimpers come more frequently the longer he suckles and laps on the fabric, drenching it. 

“Harry,” she finally works out, shivering when he pauses just over her clit and flickers his tongue over the top of it, “Oh, please just -- please.”

“Hm?” He hums against her, jolts, inhaling sharply, “What is it, baby? You’ve got to use your words.” 

“Please stop teasing me,” she tells him, “Please take them off.” 

And Harry may love to tease, but he wasn’t cruel. Wasn’t a bloody monster, was he? So he slides his index and middle finger in between the fabric and her core and tugs them over to the side -- he didn’t want to waste any time wiggling them down her legs. No, instead he dips his tongue in between her lips and slides it flat and straight up to her swollen clit. The groan that leaves her is sinful -- it makes his cock twitch in his pants, his heart slamming against his sternum as he suckles and her fingers find his curls. She digs her fingers within the strands, rocking her hips up to meet his mouth, and for a moment, Harry just leaves his tongue out and flat for her to grind against. Harry thinks, if he could spend the day just strapped to Y/N’s bed, willing, ready, and waiting for her to come use his mouth how she pleased -- he would be inconceivable happy. 

Eventually he wiggles his face back into her, sliding his tongue back and forth before he latches his lips back around her silky folds. The swollen little button crying desperately for his attention was where he spent most of his time, lapping, or lulling his tongue in circles around it. She keens, her heel digs into the mattress and begins to slide down but Harry grabs a hold of her thighs and pushes both of them up, so her knees are to her chest. The new position makes her cry out his name raggedly, and Harry was teeming with carnal desire, and so horny he thinks he would barely have to hump against the mattress to cum. 

“I’m close,” she warns him, mewling, “I’m g’na cum, I’m -- oh, please don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

Harry doesn’t think he’d stop if he was paid to do it. He doubles his efforts, sucking harder, sliding down to tongue at her hole while his fingers wrapped around and spun little circles into her clit. His other hand he reaches up with and slides his thumb into her mouth and she accepts it graciously, as it muted her moans that grew louder and louder the closer she got. 

When she cums, it’s beautiful -- Harry wishes he would be able to see it on repeat, how her back arched upward and her hips bucked loosely as she pulsated around his tongue. Her mouth hangs open around his thumb, her eyes squeezed shut, the fingers in his hair tighten and her other hand wraps around his wrists and holds him tightly. The initial lurch of it subsides and she melts into the mattress, trying to catch her breath, her chest heaving beneath her sweater. 

After he thoroughly cleans her (until she’s twitching and jumping away from his tongue), he crawls up her body, pushing her sweater up over her breasts, “Can I fuck you, Darling?” He asks her, a small smile on his mouth when she leans her chest closer to him so he can reach behind her and unclip her bra. Tugging the cups away, he grabs them carefully, thumbing over her nipple, “If you don’t want to, that’s okay, don’t feel bad about it, just let me know.” 

“I want you to,” she rushes to tell him, nodding, “Do you have a condom?” 

He dips his head against her chest, breathing out a sigh, “Fuck me,” he utters, shaking his head, “No, I don’t. I’m sorry.” 

He usually does -- Harry always keeps a few on him, but he remembers very vividly he and Y/N had blown his last one up just a few nights prior and drawn a face on it. For a moment he feels hopeless, a sad pit forming in his stomach because the thought of fucking Y/N sounded like paradise and he only brought one bloody condom that he wasted. 

“It’s okay, we’ll do it next time then,” she tells him, and Harry feels a joyful spike in his overall demeanor. Next time -- she wanted there to be a next time? And if she wanted there to be a next time, then they would have to see each other after the camp. . .they would spend time together, Harry could learn what she was like in her normal day to day. He was eager and delighted, and not even just at the prospect of pushing into her (which he was also pretty damn excited for), “I mean, if you wanted to do this again, then, yeah -- right? We’ll hang out after camp is through?”

A smile threatens to split his cheeks, “Of course we will,” he tells her, nosing at her jawline, “And not just ‘cos you promised to let me fuck you. I was hoping we would see each other still but was worried that you might be sick of me.” 

Her brows pinch, “Sick of you? Dummy, I thought you would be sick of me!” She shakes her head, rolling her eyes at the both of them, “We’re so stupid, we ought’a communicate better.” Y/N presses at his abdomen, “C’mon then, I’ll spin around and you can fuck between my thighs. I did it once with a boy -- I just shaved in the shower last night too so it should be soft.” 

Y/N flips over, scooting her bum in the air for him as she cuddles a pillow to her face, her ankles locked in place and her thighs squeezed together. Harry wiggles out of his pants and boxers before he lets a glob of spit fall onto his stiff cock that had soundly slapped up against his stomach, slicking it up nice and wet so the glide between her thighs wouldn’t be too dry. One hand he lays palm flat to her bum, stroking the skin there with his thumb while the other hand navigates his prick, tipping it down and fitting it between her warm, soft thighs. 

It felt good; Harry groans wantonly as he pulls out and sinks back in, watching himself disappear between them. She wiggles her bum at him and Harry playfully swats it, chuckling when she squeals and giggles, “You’re so fucking cute,” he coos before bending over, stretching himself over her so his chest was pressed to her back as he started steadily fucking in between her thighs. One hand he uses to cup her breast and tweak at her nipple while the other he slides down to her pussy, finding her swollen little button and rubbing it. 

Harry’s skin prickles as she moans, her legs falling open just slightly but he tuts his tongue, “Keep them nice and tight for me, baby,” he murmurs, and she nods, tightening the channel for him once more. He won’t last long, he knows it -- he can feel that pool of heat crackling in his lower belly. His blood buzzes in his ears as he fucks his hips forward, their skin slapping together sound in their little cabin. Her breasts bounce with each thrust he gives, she’s beginning to cum again from the ministration of his fingers, and Harry’s nearing the end of his rope. 

“You feel so fucking good,” he’s just a breath away from her ear, “You’re gonna make me cum.” 

He nibbles at the shell of her ear and lets his eyes flutter closed, his senses on overload. All he can hear, and taste, and smell, and feel is her. Dizzy and overwhelmed, Harry feels as if he may burst at the seams. 

“Cum,” she murmurs, “Please, I want you to feel good -- I want you to cum.” 

That’s all it takes -- the little push of her words has his hips stuttering as he cums, spurting long stripes between her thighs, some catching her skin, some landing on her sheets below them. His world fizzles out, static splinters through his body as warmth rushes through his veins, and his toes curl hard enough to lock up. As he comes back to, he giggles, the last of his orgasm drooling from the tip as he pushes a kiss to the back of Y/N’s head, “Stay still, lemme go get us a rag.” 

His legs feel like jelly when he stands, fleeing arse naked to the bathroom and returning moments later with warm, wet rags. He cleans her first, careful in how he works her underwear down her legs before he pats gently around her thighs and at her center. She’s sensitive, so a few times she twitches and flinches from him but eventually relaxes as she holds tightly to the pillow. He wipes himself off a bit haphazardly, more concerned with getting Y/N somewhere to lie down as he gently tugs on her arms, “C’mere, poor thing, I came all over your bed.” 

“Yeah, you jerk,” she says puckishly, letting him guide her over to his bed, climbing in and immediately snuggling beneath his covers. Harry is not too far behind her, and at first she snuggles up close to him, she hisses and squeals before trying to shuffle away, “Why are your feet like ice?” She asks him, her words accusing, like he’d come in the bed with intent to freeze her. 

Harry shrugs, “I dunno’ I usually wear socks to bed to keep them warm.” 

“Socks? To sleep?” She slowly wiggles her way closer to him, despite the words that follow, “I don’t think we can share a bed, you’re batty.” 

“Guess you’ll have to go sleep on the jizzy bed then.” 

Y/N laughs, and Harry feels it vibrate through his body as he holds her close to his chest, his arm wrapped around her shoulders. They’re quiet for a moment, as they both settle, taking deep, slow breaths, allowing themselves to slip towards sleep. 

Before Harry could get there, Y/N murmured his name. 

“Thanks for being my camp ‘husbad’.” 

Harry smiled to himself, and held her a little closer before he teased her. 

“You can say thank you next time with an 18 carat diamond.”  

[trs-cpr]

Here’s a request:

Jason and Freddy are watching a horror movie and drinking too much. Y/N is hiding in a closet and secretly filming their drunken reactions to the movie they’re watching.

Freddy Krueger / Jason Voorhees. Drunk horror night.

Freddy Krueger

- NO WAY! Get him big boy! What happened to you? Can't run?!

The piercing sound of a chainsaw and the screeching screams begging for mercy mixed well with the strident laugh of the only, apparent, watcher in the cinema. The Texas Chainsaw Massacre was the movie choice of the day for the date night in the new dream realm that your amusing soulmate made with the excuse of "Hey, we should watch something funny together" that in your mind sounded more like "Hey, there's my attempt of spending time with you. Grab a beer or something!" Well, you were sure that you'll get your fun one way or another.

He groped the comfy seat with his gloved hand and maintained with the other some strong smell substance... Yep, definitely alcohol and you were despising it.

When a loud screak came he would make silly remarks in everyone and everything in the film, pinching the other slashers body in the big screen with his large claws.

- AH! You let another victim escape! THIS IS ALL THAT YOU'VE GOT? MOVE YOUR BIG ASS! You see what I'm doing, Y/N?!

You already left a long time ago with your phone in hand, right behind some dark seats a little far away from Freddy. Clunching your mouth with your hand to prevent your incessant river of laughs you moved to one side to catch better a catch for the video "This better go viral"

"What is this? Why is sticky?" Your eyes catched a glimpse of the liquid below you, all the beer was laying on the floor. Lifting your head you saw the inquisitory stare of Freddy pointing at you with one of the claws faking an even sharper voice.

- What we got here... OH! I KNOW! A sneaky cute thing! You really though that I wouldn't know in my own dream? Ow... POOR YOU

You grinned while glaring at him with the same intensity. This is a game that two could play.

Jason Voorhees

Heavy breathing sounds is the only noise that the legend of Camp Cristal Lake made in a half drunken state in the couch of his cosy cabin. The old TV was still playing the middle of the film, a new type of phsychological movie that moved all the stereotypes of the horror genre.

Midsommar was a good choice in your point of view, he enjoyed aesthetic pleasing movies and you were delighted to bring him company, cuddle sessions and right now a funny memory to see later. Yeah, many would say that you should have been more careful with your bottles of wine laying around the kitchen, but who thought that your parents little gift would have been mistaken for homemade juice by Jason?

You just needed to open the closet and hide with the camera you carried usually around in the woods, this time Jason would be the star of the day.

THUM!

-Tss... That hurt.

Your head hit one of the closet frames with a loud noise that woke up your looking sleepy boyfriend.

Closing the door you began to rub the sore spot where you hit yourself, grabbing with the other hand the camera. "Later we can take care of that"

The show just began.

He lifted himself from the couch to get a better view of the room, Y/N was already gone without a trace. Maybe they went to a walk without him?

This thought of leaving you alone made him cross his arms around his chest while staring intensily at the screen in front of him more than ten minutes without figuring out the plotline of the movie.

A little nod of the head would be made between scenes while he started to lay down again the seat, gripping the machete handle like it was made of the softest sponge, you combined your face reactions in the video along with random thumb ups.

Turning off the camera, you decided to wake him up of his lost expression. Two gente pats on the arm woke him up of his state, and in a few moments you've got a disoriented slasher trying to maintain his balance while making little circles with his hands on your head.

- Circle? Angel circle? You saw it?

He shakes his head, no. And tried again with more effort.

- Head... Hair! No, crown?

By his body expressions that was it! "what's up with that?" Until you remembered it perfectly.

- Do you want a flower crown? Like the one the protagonist wore?

You've got a happy, trippy Jason grabbing you by the hand taking you outside.

[satoriberry]

hi i’m the anon you matched with tsukki a few days ago and omg i luv it <33 BDJWIRJJW ALSO IM OBSESSED WUTH UR HEADCANON THAT HE CAN’T HANDLE HORROR HAHAHWH

HELLO ANON!! I'm so happy you enjoyed your matchup :D!!! Also AHSJSKSHS YES I JUST KNOW HE CANT HANDLE HORROR. HORROR ANYTHING.

books, comics, video games (he hates horror video games the most. the jumpscares and spooky music give him heart attacks), movies, you name it.

movie night? he loves it. you're playing a horror movie? he's leaving.

annabelle? he fucking hates that doll. midsommar? he's gonna die from passing out. saw? he's breaking up with you 😐.

you can convince him to play horror video games if:

1) YOU'RE handling the controller/keyboard. he's sitting next to you just to watch and pretend he's doing something too

2) you let him watch a playthrough video beforehand so he can pinpoint when there's going to be a jumpscare

but even then he's gonna fall for them. he absolutely HATES ddlc, metamorphosis (you pay him to play with you LMAOOO) and close your eyes. those made him jump, yell and shriek so much, you actually felt bad for him.

this one time you were playing baldi's basics and he got so scared after you got all the notebooks (i think baldi's voice changes and everything becomes more hardcore) that he actually hid his face in your shoulder. please just give him a hug, he's mad at you for doing this >:(

he looks like the kind to handle or at least not be fazed by horror media, but believe me, he can't. not at all.

[rextasywrites]

Grab a bite (Lady Dimitrescu x f!Reader)

Hello! This is my first smut fic here on Tumblr. Please enjoy, I tried my very best <3 mostly smut with a hint of plot, maybe i can expand this idea??? have fun!

Warning: period blood kink! smut! don’t like don’t read please!

Find this fic on AO3

 The days in the castle hadn’t been pleasant to you...to say it in a mild way. The three vampire chicks had thrown you into the basement, up to rot along your mates. The first one to go was Mike. He had suffered from a cold before you headed into the mysterious village, and his cold soon turned into pneumonia. There wasn’t anything you could do for him apart from making sure he was as comfortable as he could be.

 The next one to go was Jasmin. In the cells you three (and a corpse) shared were quite a few rusty nails and she had the misfortune of stepping on one. Sepsis took her in less than 24 hours.

 Just a few hours ago, it was James who perished. The food given to you by the vampires was barely edible.. for humans. While you suffered from stomach aches quite a lot, James had a bigger problem. His food allergies were through the roof, and a simple dish with some nuts in it was his last meal on death row. You tried to make a tracheotomy, you really did.

 The vampires kept you in the cage for just a little bit longer. The bodies were taken away by them, but you had no chance of escaping. As you laid on the uncomfortable bed that kind of resembled a murphy bed, your mind went to everything you had left behind. Your family, your friends. All of this for a stupid job and “exploring Romania”. Fuck this shit. Were they looking for you? Were they missing you?

 Your stomach churned at all the anxieties creeping up your throat, making you choke back whatever was trying to come back up. But that wasn’t the only weird feeling in your stomach. While you didn’t know how long you had actually been in this hellhole, you knew your birth control ran out several days ago, and now your body was keen on getting its hormone household back into place.

 As if your uterus called her, one of the vampire ladies stood in front of the cell you were locked in, licking over her lips. You couldn’t tell if the darkness of her lips was from lipstick or the fact that she was a half dead monster. “Lady Dimitrescu awaits you.”, the lady said and unlocked the cage. When you first stood up, you had to press your hand against your stomach, feeling how the cramps were slowly getting worse inside of you. The lady just watched with raised eyebrows - do vampires even get periods?

 She led you through the impressive castle, and you wondered when someone cleaned in here for the last time, spiderwebs and dust were settled on nearly every surface. But boy, if it wasn’t impressive. Bigger than anything you had ever seen in your life. This sentence also was fitting for Lady Dimitrescu, who was sitting on her luxurious bed, covers of satin under her impressive...body.

 “My dear, I knew you would make it alive out of there!”, she gave you her biggest smile, and when she stood up...Jesus, she was taller than anyone you had ever seen, easily reaching 2,5 meters. Absolutely supernatural. But the thing which caught your eyes the most were her huge breasts. They were right at eye height for you, and being killed by massive tits seemed like the most pleasant death in this place. Well, at least better than dying because of a rusty nail.

 Lady Dimitrescu cupped your cheeks, feeling how the past few days had made you visibly lose weight already. “Oh my...if you want to survive the ritual, we have to nourish you. Daniela, please, get us some of the wine. I wouldn’t want my daughter to starve, would I?”

 Daniela came back with a bottle of the wine Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, pouring it into two glasses before handing you one, the other one to her...mentor? Mother? You didn’t know. Lady Dimitrescu made your two glasses click together and took a sip off the exclusive fluid, smiling as it made its way to her stomach. The taste wasn’t unpleasant, not at all. A strong taste of dry wine, but the aftertaste was slightly metallic. “You know you are allowed to speak with me.”, Lady Dimitrescu said as she put her glass on the nightstand, which had looked hilariously small in her hands. “You are part of the family now, dear. There is nothing to hide.”

 “Why me?”, was everything you managed out. Daniela had left the room by now, but that didn’t help to lessen your anxiety.

 Lady Dimitrescu chuckled and took your hand into hers, giving you the gentlest smile a vampire demon whatever the fuck she was could give. “Because you are special. The first moment my daughters spotted you in the village, I knew you’d come here. I knew you’d make it out of there alive. And now, I will prepare you for the ritual.”

 “What kind of ritual?”, the questions were clouding your mind. The last ritual you heard of was from Midsommar, and you had no interest in being burnt alive! As your hands started to shake, Lady Dimitrescu tightened her grip on them.

 “I will make you one of us. But first, you have to show me you can handle this life. That you can handle…”, she got closer to your ear as she whispered into it, “my needs.” Her needs?

 Lady Dimitrescu took the glass from your hands, putting it next to hers. Once her hands were free she placed them on your shoulders, pushing you down into the satin covers of her bed, and once you hit the sheets, your eyes felt so heavy. “Don’t fall asleep little dove!”, Lady Dimitrescu shooed, tapping her long fingers against your skin.

 “We would have started this sooner, but sadly”, Lady Dimitrescu gestured to your pants, “you have used this pill which stopped your period. And I need a good taste of you before we can continue.” What? A good taste?

 “I thought vampires drink blood!”, you bursted out, cupping your mouth once your brain realized what you just said.

 Lady Dimitrescu laughed loudly, giving your thigh a little pat. “Oh, we do, little dove. But I need to taste your innocence.” Your innocence… Her words flew around your brain while her fingers touched your bare skin from the holes in your pants. The bucket of water and the washing cloth might have helped you with feeling filthy, but it didn’t help with any ripped clothes. “It won’t hurt, I promise you. And once you have passed this test, you will be one of us in no time.”

 “...Okay?”

 “Good to hear that you agree with me, little dove!”, Lady Dimitrescu smiled, and her next move shook you to the bone. Out of the fingers of her right hand came claws, something straight out of a Wolverine movie! You froze in shock as she came closer, but instead of hurting you, all she did was slowly ripping the fabric of your clothes - or better said, what was left of them. She hummed at the sight under her, while your face became hotter and hotter. “Do not worry, dove. You will get new costumes when I am done with you. We will burn this trash you called clothes. Cheap trash.”

 Soon you were left in your undergarments, Lady Dimitrescu eyeing you up and down as if you were a piece of meat, ready for the predator to rip into its prey. And it wasn’t that wrong of a thought. In the end, you were at her mercy, but slowly her soft touch made you feel warm on the inside, spreading from your stomach, reaching all the way to your fingers and toes, a warmth you hadn’t felt in days. Was it the wine? Or was it something else?

 Lady Dimitrescu smelt old. But not an unpleasant old smelt, not this smell from nursing homes, where the rotten flesh melted into the seats of the wheelchairs. The smell of old books and knowledge, aged like the fine wine she had just given you.

 As your mind was clouded, Lady Dimitrescu continued to undress you. Your period had started by now, and a single drop of your blood fell on the satin covers under your ass. She chuckled, dipping her finger into the blood, licking it clean. “Have you ever laid with a man before, my dove?”, Lady Dimitrescu asked, to which you were ripped out of your thoughts, your reply a simple nod. You didn’t trust your voice anymore. “That’s good. You are pure. You are innocent. Just perfect for my daughters and me. Oh little dove, we are going to have so much fun together!”, Lady Dimitrescu laughed as she clapped her hands together, giving you her widest smile - and for a moment you could spot her fangs. What a weird turn on all of this was.

 Once her finger was clean, a hunger formed inside of her. Your blood...it tasted so good, so fresh, so healthy. Unlike anything she had eaten in the past 500 years - and she fucking wanted more. “Come here, little dove. Spread your legs for the Lady.”, she said as she grabbed hold of your hips, pulling your middle closer. The claws on her right hand had gone back into her skin, and at this point, you didn’t even want to ask why. At this point, all you needed was her.

 Lady Dimitrescu settled between your legs, “Let’s make this a pleasant experience for the both of us, shall we?”, she smiled as she pulled down her dress, exposing her big breasts. “I noticed your stares.”, and by the gods, they were everything you ever wanted and needed. Big, her dress had held them up, it must have been painful to her. They were saggy, but who didn’t appreciate a great pair of tits? You reached upward, your fingers sinking into the soft flesh as she chuckled. Lady Dimitrescu placed her hand on yours, letting you feel her up as you desired.

 “Come on, little dove”, she smiled after some groping from your side. She couldn’t deny, your eager massages on her breasts had left her wet and ready, but she had to prepare you. Maybe once she managed to spill a sweet orgasm from your lips, maybe then she would engage in some self centered pleasure. But right now, you were her main focus.

 Her fingers dipped a finger between your folds, scooping up your wetness mixed with blood. Lady Dimitrescu hummed in delight as she sucked her fingers clean, happiness clearly evident as she savoured the taste on her tongue. “You want to try it too?”, you shook your head in response, to which she laughed, “Oh, you will appreciate blood soon enough, little dove!”

 You couldn’t gasp when Lady Dimitrescu grabbed your hips, pulling you up against her mouth. With your legs wrapped around her shoulders, she had your pussy right in her face, taking in the sweet smell of your arousal and the metallic undertone of blood. Just how she liked it. Just how she imagined it. “Oh, having to wait for you for so many days was terrible, little dove. But now, you are mine.”, she whispered as she dove her head between your thighs, taking in more and more of you. The moment her tongue hit your folds, a loud gasp escaped your throat, surely the vampires outside of the room would hear you. Lady Dimitrescu just chuckled against your wetness, flicking her tongue over your clit as the sweet taste of your wetness spread all across her mouth.

 Her tongue was in the same proportion as her body, longer and thicker than anything you had ever seen before - or felt before. She slurped up whatever fluid she could reach, humming in delight whenever blood found its way into her mouth. The blood of a healthy and innocent virgin had been her favourite kind for so long, so hard to come by and the resulting fullness lasting for even longer. Maybe she wouldn’t turn you and keep you as her little to-go human. But where would be the fun in that?

 As much as you wished she’d use her fingers too, it was like Lady Dimitrescu was reading your mind. “No penetration for you, little dove. You need to stay pure, untouched.”, but eating your pussy out was fine? Well, you had to play by her rules, not yours. You relaxed further in her grip as Lady Dimitrescu refreshed herself on you, feeling hundreds of years younger.

 Your orgasm came crashing down on you, unexpected but with a force you had never felt before. While you groaned and trashed under Lady Dimitrescu’s grip, she kept her lips on your pussy, taking in all the juices she could get her mouth on, the hint of blood making her moan in delight.

 The next thing you know is that the pain in your abdomen had stopped and Lady Dimitrescu had put clothes on your. You rubbed your eyes, blinking as you made sense of what had happened while you were out. The clothes on your body were dark and silky, just like the dress of Daniela before. The hunger inside of you was burning your stomach down, but it wasn’t just a simple hunger.

 You were lusting for blood. Well, time to find Lady Dimitrescu and tell her about the little changes in your body...