Part 5 of: Harry and Y/N are neighbors (ft. delusion and accidental sex toy acquisition) (Patreon)

HIIIII :D SOMEONE REQUESTED THIS IN THE GOOGLE FORMS!!! I had forgotten about these guys, and it's been over a year since I wrote for them, so I'm sorry if they were some of your favorites!! BUT HERE THEY AREEEEE HEHEHE

OKAY LOVE YOUUU!!!

part 1

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(2.8k+ words)

v.

Y/N has got to stop falling asleep in Harry’s studio.

She can’t help it! Seriously, there’s something that’s just so cozy about how he’s made it. The atmosphere is less “place of work” and more “snuggle into this couch with the big knit throw and fall asleep to the sound of keyboard clicks”. He keeps the lighting warm, with lamps and string lights rather than the abrasive overhead. There was a dial inside the room that controlled the temperature so they could have it as toasty as they (she) wanted it. He had bought a blanket that was knit and soft after she started coming by more often, so now she had something to cuddle up in. Typically, he has her fed before she comes to visit, but he keeps snacks easily accessible and cans of soda and bottles of water in the fridge. He’s got a candle that he lights sometimes, but for the most part it smells like lavender bean from a Glade Plug-in fixed to the wall.

Everything about the area screamed for her to sleep almost as soon as she stepped inside it. It was warm and cozy, and Harry always talked in this smooth, low, buttery voice like he wanted her to fall asleep. She thinks he might be pumping Benadryl through the vents or something. 

For whatever reason, Y/N had accidentally become his little studio helper. He’ll invite her over frequently to listen to something he’s working on, or she’ll get a text that says Come with me today so I’m not boredddddd and Y/N just can’t say no to that. Not that she’d want to say no to that — someone thinking she’s the cure to their boredom has always made her soft. Even though there’s zero way she could be the cure for his boredom, because she passes out like an hour or two in without fail. 

And he’s never mad at her for it. He always just says something like, “You must have needed it,” when he wakes her up, and she starts apologizing. If she doesn’t wake up by herself, then Harry is always coaxing her back to consciousness with soft, gentle hands. Sometimes they’re just resting on her shoulder and squeezing until she stirs. Other times she’s felt him carefully brush the hair from her face, murmuring sweetly. There have been a few times when she thinks he’s trying to keep her asleep, actually. She’ll be in that in-between state where she’s sort of awake but not really, and she feels him readjusting the blanket so it’s more secure around her shoulders. 

It’s nice, even though she feels bad for it. It’d been so long since she’d slept with anyone, even close to her (if she isn’t counting her and Harry’s practical sleepovers with how thin the walls in their flats were). Y/N had forgotten how nice it was to rest with another person in the room. She thinks it must be some weird, instinctual need that’s ingrained in her from caveman days. Like there was comfort in someone being there to protect her while she rested, or something – she doesn’t know. Plus, Harry just all around takes care of her when she’s there, and that fulfills a need that she hasn’t had fulfilled in a very long time. Not that she needed anyone to take care of her – it was just nice, sometimes, is all. 

So, on a Friday, Harry messages with impeccable timing after she’d finished tidying up her flat after work. Her phone chimed in her earbuds and yanked her away from wiping down her kitchen counters. 

Are you busy tonight? 

Go ahead and tell me when i’m ever busy on a Friday 

Shhhh 

Do you want to come with me to the studio? We can get a treat on the wayyyyy

Y/N’s response was to gather her things, kiss Plum on the head, and pop out of her flat to walk three steps right and end up at his. She knocked on the door, and as always, Harry never left her waiting at the door for long. He clicked it open and smiled at her, dimples and all. “Yay,” he cheered, his keys already in his hand, his satchel with his laptop tucked away in it, looped over his shoulder, “There’s like a French cafe that just opened up on the way. I went there three days ago, and there was this cream-filled pastry I think you’ll really like.” 

“Maybe it will give me a sugar rush, and I can actually stay awake this time.” She took a step back to give him room, but Harry took another step forward, closing in again, and they headed toward the elevator. “Are you working on something fun today?” The last time she was with him, he was working on a slower song; the melody played in her head like a lullaby and sent her straight to sleep, which – apparently was the point of the song, so that worked out. 

He snorted, “I do have something kind of loud. I was told to think ‘club scene, 2000s, horror’-esque, which is something I’ve never tried before.” 

“Like Blade?” Y/N inquired, “That sounds like the vampire club scene in Blade.” 

Harry tilted his head, “Blade? I’ve never heard of that.” 

“What?” 

Y/N promptly showed him the scene before he started to drive, which got them on the topic of vampiric media, and this is where Y/N finds out that Harry was always more drawn to werewolves than he was to vampires. In turn, Y/N groaned, “So you would’ve been Team Jacob,” she complained, shaking her head.

“You know, I think I watched a think piece about why people love vampires so much,” Harry noted, “But from what I gathered, it was because they were sensual and strong or something like that. Is that really the only draw?” 

“I mean, I love werewolves as much as the next guy, but you have to admit there’s something like – undeniably hot and horny about vampires, right?” Harry snorted, “Like, getting your neck bit is pretty intimate. All the vampires in movies are usually pretty seductive and flirty. There’s this one version of Dracula I’ve thought about for months, but I’ve never actually watched the movie; I just saw a clip of it, and I needed him immediately.” Y/N sighed, “And who doesn’t love a man who yearns for you for hundreds of years or whatever?” 

Harry smiled, his face a little pink, but they had just been in the icy cold air for a while, so she thought nothing of it. He always turned a pretty, rosy color after they’d been in the chilled outside – a flush that Y/N wanted to poke her fingers into and watch the skin blanch. The French cafe was cute inside; it was warm, and the sun was going down, though it wasn’t very sunny today, so it got dark quickly. It smelled like espresso and coffee that would probably be bitter on her tongue, but she ordered one anyway, with the cream-filled pastry Harry had seen and suggested to her.  

Walking into his studio felt like walking into her room at this point, as she kicked off her shoes and slipped on the house shoes/slippers that he has at the door (he used to only have a pair for him, but then one day Y/N turned up and there was a second set in her size by the door – she asked, “Whoaa, did you have your girlfriend over?” and Harry said, “Huh? I bought those for you.”). She dropped her purse in front of the couch, but instead of plopping down on the sofa, she sat on the chair that was beside his. Y/N typically starts here to listen and watch what he’s doing. 

Harry was really good at catching the vibe; it turned out. The artist he was working with had given him those few notes and some lyrics, so Harry was doing what he could with what little he was given. Y/N enjoyed it, at least – she thought it sounded good. It was something that she’d definitely listen to on the way to the club to get hyped, and if she was at the club when it came on, she’d make her way to the dance floor. It was the sort of close your eyes and jump kind of song. 

He layers, adds sounds, pulls out a guitar, hooks it to the computer, and starts strumming. Y/N is always enamored by how he works and what he does – what he’s able to do. To create something out of nothing is always beautiful to her, she thinks. It makes him 1000 times hotter than he already was, which she didn’t think was possible, but he continues to shock her. 

Y/N had completely forgotten about the vampire conversation until Harry brought it up again. 

“So. . .you’re telling me, if a vampire came to your window and was like, ‘I’m going to bite your neck, ' you’d be into that?” 

Y/N, who had been staring at him and zoning out, sat up a little straighter when she realized he was speaking to her and not just murmuring music things to himself. 

“Oh, um, are they obsessed with me?”

Harry shrugged, “Yeah, more or less,” he agreed. 

“Then, yeah, I’d be super into that.” 

“Really?” He turned to look at her, “The obsessed part is doing something for you?” 

“I mean, it’d help if they were obsessed and in love with me, A. Because love the yearning, and B. Then they’d be less likely to, like, accidentally eat me up.” 

Harry hummed softly, nodding, “I can see the appeal?” 

Y/N rocks back and forth on the chair she’s on, “Why? Do you want a sexy werewolf to mount you?” 

“What? Oh god, no –” 

“In human form!” Y/N continues, “What if I were a sexy werewolf trying to mount you?” 

Harry huffed a laugh, mouth falling open like he was struggling with the words to say, “I mean – I mean, okay, yeah?” 

This does intrigue Y/N, who did expect him to blow her off and tell her to shut up, not actually answer. She leaned forward, “Wait, like you’d be into it if they were in human form, or me mounting you as a sexy werewolf in human form?” 

His face was red, red, red – “I mean – like. . .I wouldn’t be opposed to it? To either?” 

Y/N blinked at him. 

So he’s into her, right? That means he’s at least kind of into her. Enough that her mounting him isn’t a thought that would turn him off. Honestly, with how red he’s getting and how he readjusts in his seat, she thinks it might be turning him on. This is one of those moments where Y/N could either laugh it off like a joke, or she could seize the moment. 

“So you’d fuck me?” 

She seizes the moment. 

Harry stopped clicking on his keyboard and finally turned to face her some more, “Well. . .yeah,” he cleared his throat, scratching his thigh, “I thought I was. . .I was kind of obvious.” 

“Clearly not obvious enough,” she pulled herself out of the chair and turned him to face her completely. It might have been a little presumptuous to crawl into his lap, but when she looked down and saw that there was a bulge clearly forming (that hadn’t been there before) in his trousers (that hid very little), she felt a little boost of confidence. One that suggested Harry would accept her into his arms and into his lap without even an ounce of hesitation. And she was correct when he immediately spread his legs and opened up his arms for her to get on him: “I would’ve been like – all over you, if it were obvious.” 

“Sorry,” he apologized, sort of meekly, “I just didn’t want you to think I was a creep or anything.”

Y/N cradled his face in her hands, tilting his head up, arousal curling in her belly because when she scooches forward, she meets his cock and he hisses, his eyes flutter, and his mouth falls open a little. His hands grip her sides tightly, sliding down to her hips, and Y/N shivers. 

“Is it alright if we kiss?” Y/N inquired, “I’ve been wanting to kiss you for a –” 

Before she could finish, he responded by leaning forward and smearing their mouths together in something wet and filthy. Y/N isn’t sure what kind of kisser she expected him to be – maybe teasing? When she imagined it, she always imagined him chuckling at her like she was a sad little pet begging for kisses or something (which turned her on). But Harry kisses her like he’s desperate for it. Like he’s desperate for her. His tongue is wet, fluttering into her mouth and sliding against hers. He tastes like the coffee he’d been drinking, sweet from the sugar and cream that they put in it for him. The moan he lets out when their tongues meet is something she wishes she could replay in her head every time she’s trying to get off in her bed, with the toys that he saw she had – the ones that started all of this. 

Despite his tight grip on her hips, Y/N rocks against him. It feels good – the shape of him is stuffed right against her slit, and the seam of her jeans is pressed against her clit in the best way. The denim itself was sort of stiff, sure, but it was hard to worry about that when it felt like her hips had a mind of their own. Chasing what feels good mindlessly, swallowing his pretty little moans down into her belly. 

Dry humping feels really good. Y/N loves dry humping, actually, and she thinks there’s a lost art in it, especially dry humping and filthy kissing like this. It gets her more worked up than any other sort of foreplay, she thinks, and her panties feel sticky and wet with how she’s spreading her juices everywhere. Y/N wishes her jeans were thinner so she could feel him get harder against her, or the heat of him. The warmth she’s sure is radiating off of his body, and the throb of his cock. If she was feeling a little riskier, she would strip off her jeans and press against him in just her panties. 

But she doesn’t – this feels amazing too, and Y/N is more than a little shocked when there’s a burn in her lower belly that she recognizes. Hot and warm, the boil of feeling like something was coming. Was she really going to cum just from a little grinding? She speeds up her movements, even though her hips burn, and it’s when she feels Harry twitch up against her, meeting her thrusts, that she starts to shake. Trembling through an orgasm that hits her out suddenly and intensely, her tongue and lips become useless against his. Harry keeps kissing her, moving around her tongue, before he splits away from her. 

“Did you –” he starts when Y/N’s hips slow, and she’s sensitive, jumping when he accidentally moves her, “Fuck, baby, did you just cum?” 

Y/N, breathless, pouts a little before nodding, “Y-yes.” She swallows hard, feeling a little embarrassed. “Sorry, it felt really good.” 

Harry stares at her, like she might have hung the moon and stars for him, “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he murmurs, “Can I – can I just –” he tests the waters, rocking up into her once, and Y/N jumps, sucks in a breath, then moans, nodding. 

“Yeah, please, please, want you to cum too.” 

Harry rocks her against him, meeting her hips with his, and leaning forward to kiss her neck. His lips feel plush and soft against her throat, and Y/N thinks that if he kept it up long enough, he could probably make her cum again. Especially when he drags his teeth against her drumming pulse. Y/N tilts her head, encouraging it, sliding her fingers into his hair and gripping him at the root. 

When he cums, it’s just as pretty as everything else he does. It shudders through him, and despite the thickness of the material, she can feel the strong pulse and throb of his cock as he empties into his bottoms. His groan is loud, rumbling through his chest. A wet spot seeps through the fabric, spreading out around where his tip lies beneath it. Y/N almost feels sad that it was wasted in the fabric and not coating her tongue. 

After he comes down from his orgasm, they’re both panting, breathless. Y/N’s thighs burn, her heart racing, and her brain is full of cotton. When she can no longer support her body weight, she slouches against him, and he makes a startled noise before giggling. 

He starts to rub her back, “I have some clothes we can change into – at least some bottoms. Do you want to put those on? I’ll get you a water, and we can recoup on the couch for a second?” 

Y/N doesn’t think she’s ever heard a better plan.