Harry falls from a tree and y/n takes care of him: the unfinished part 2 (Patreon)

I wrote this last year and never finished it which MY BAD!!! I really wanted to but it lost its spark you know? But here is what I had of it!

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ii. 

It has been pushing on three weeks since Harry had been originally stranded in the middle of nowhere, with a cute girl who ended up on the wrong end of a business deal that she had no knowledge to. Harry can't say he doesn't miss home some, and that he isn't getting quite antsy being limited to a house (no matter how cozy) and fenced in backyard -- but he can't say he hates it here either. In the time he'd spent here, Harry has grown quite cozy and comfortable in his position as "stranger who fell from the tree besides her house and is now being doted on, but subsequently protecting the household" so he doesn't mind staying here. Thinks now it'd be weird to even go home, since Y/N wouldn't be around and the mere thought of that makes his heart drop to his stomach. 

At some point he'll have to go -- his ankles can't stay hurt forever -- but for now he stays put. Does only minor snooping and gentle prying to get information for Niall to report back to Des, though it's never something they legitimately want. What they (want is for there to be something that places Y/N in the wrong so that kidnapping her wouldn't be entirely morally corrupt, given she's not in any government nor gang position, which are the cases they usually go for. Thus far, there's been nothing, and as time continues the client is growing more and more drastic. So much so that he's sent two other people here to "check out the situation" but after that stunt, Des threatened to blow this kid's cover and shut this entire operation down. The client then "tucked his tail between his legs" as Niall had put it, then pleaded with them to hurry with it. 

From what Niall has told him and from what Harry has uncovered for himself, he knows a good portion of the situation Y/N is in right now. Someone (a nameless bloke) wanted her kidnapped and taken to him so that he could scare her out of this fortune she was meant to be getting and he was second in line for. There had been an attempt before, Y/N's ex found out, sent her to live in this house so that she would be at least partially safe from whoever was after her. Y/N knows very little of the situation, seems to be in the dark about the money and property she's meant to have, and truly thinks someone wants her "taken care of" because she accidentally spilled her coffee on them last semester ("It was cold but it still stained their shirt."). 

There were still big chunks missing, however, like why Y/N didn't know about the fortune, who her ex was exactly, and who was the faceless brat trying to boss Des around and scare him into speeding up the process. Another big factor that's missing is whose fortune it is that she's getting and why it was such a big deal that it was her and not the second in line. Could it be a sibling? Or just a pissy cousin? Maybe even an aunt or an uncle? Or even one of her parents? 

Harry doesn't like not knowing the full dilemma, but he figures he knows enough to keep her safe to the best of his knowledge. When the little asshole sent two people over, Harry scared them away with a kitchen knife and a small threat on behalf of him and his company. He also often told them to tell their client to bugger off and be patient, "Leave all this to the big boys". Harry doesn't know if they passed on the message or not but the thought of them doing it is gratifying to say the least. 

In his time here, he's only managed to become more and more protective of her. When she stops locking her door at night he's equal parts happy and petrified; she trusts him enough to stop doing it, which is nice and makes him soft inside yet if the brat sends anymore people and Harry isn't on guard, they could easily steal her away. And that just won't do, really, at all. It's become less about her being their client's target and more about him not wanting anything to happen to her because she's Y/N. The mere thought of anything happening to her makes Harry ill now. 

He's not catching feelings, or whatever, if that's what someone may be thinking. Harry just still has a moral compass intact and it would be cruel to let the person who has been taking care of you into the clutches of someone who doesn't have their best interest in mind. Y/N is too tenderhearted for a world like this and it makes him sad that she's going through this. If he could just swaddle her in a blanket and protect her from everything, he sure as hell would. Hell, he understands why her ex shut her away in this hole where he imagined her to be safe and tucked away. If he could, he would even take her to an abandoned town or something like it, where only him, her, Toaster, and maybe even Liam would be there. He knows it makes him sound crazy but her safety has become imperative to him. 

He'll have to tell Des eventually, or he'll just have to go against them quietly. The latter seems more inviting than admitting to his father he let his heart and feelings get in the way of the job (which is just the absolute worst thing that could happen in their line of work), because lord only knows what would be waiting for him at the office when he got back. A ton of, "Ahh, knew you were a lover Styles. Wouldn't last a week as boss, that's for sure." 

His ankles are slowly but surely getting better, though he often has to play up the pain aspect so she won't give him the boot too soon. They're healed enough that he could get around easier by himself than he had been, but staying up on them for more than twenty minutes starts making him achy. So that gives him short periods of time to work with in his previously mentioned "digging' for information. 

Don't get him wrong, he feels like absolute shit for it -- waiting for Y/N to fall asleep, then riffling through her things -- but it's his job. No matter how much he likes her and wants to protect her, he's got to make sure she's worth protecting in the long run. Now he truly does believe she's nothing but pure of heart in the matter, however there is the 1% chance that Harry is off and she's just an ace actress that worries him. There just needed to be some form on conformation that would justify his claims that she has no idea what's going on outside of this house. As much as Harry would like for Des to take his word because he's his son, there's no way a strong feeling would suffice, without aiding to the whole "you're a lover not a fighter" spiel everyone always tosses his way. 

At half past 12, Harry gets himself off of the couch and takes towards her kitchen. He had checked the living room, the small dining room, and even the bathroom on the first and second floor (which was a very risky move, especially when Y/N woke up to go to the bathroom and was met with Harry in there. He'd used the excuse that he'd wanted a bubble bath and he figured the bubbles were up there, and Y/N managed to make him feel like the worst person on earth when she didn't freak out -- instead she smiled, handed him her favorite bubbles, and even started up the tub for him, before going to use the bathroom downstairs), yet the kitchen he hadn't touched. Not for any reason apart from the fact noises echo like in an empty house, thanks to high ceilings and little furniture in there. Opening a cabinet that creaks awake and startles Toaster to an angry, panicked barking is not the ideal for him trying to sneak about so he had avoided it at all costs. 

That is, until he sees Liam shove her mail in one of the sliding drawers. Then he knew he might have to dig through it. 

Yes, he knows -- it's a federal offense rummaging through someone's mail, but considering his line of work he doesn't pay much attention to laws. Besides he'd only actually open the letter if it was something worth looking into; bills, coupons, and school things he wouldn't bother with. After tiptoeing to the drawer he'd seen Liam shove it all in, he looks towards the door to make sure she hadn't snuck up on him before opening the drawer as quietly as he could. It rolls out without much squeaking, yet he still pauses to make sure he hadn't disturbed her any in her slumber. When his ears are met with an ear ringing silence apart from the low thrumming TV, he knows it's alright to continue as he was. 

There was a lot of mail in here to sift through, he sees, and he grabs for it. Swallows the guilt that is swelling up inside of him for snooping (it always gets worse when he's in the process of doing it), then looking through each piece. There wasn't much of anything aside from bills, college documents, and coupons, so he'd been losing hope. That is until he comes across something formatted more as a letter, in a thick light blue envelope. It was towards the bottom of the stack -- one of the older pieces he presumes -- and it had already been opened. 

Harry gives another peek at the doorway, turning his head back to the envelope and setting the rest of the mail down. The envelope had already been opened, so he doesn't have to worry about it looking like he'd dug into it. He reaches in without much thought, unfolding the light yellow stationary and being met with dark black ink in impressive slanted script. It takes everything in Harry not to roll his eyes -- whoever wrote it had to have been in their forties or fifties easily if they're writing in cursive (from what he knows of Y/N thus far, Harry had found she absolutely hates to read cursive, because everyone's is different and sometimes "The words don't even look like words,  Harry, so what's the point exactly?"). So he reads over it once, blinks his eyes a little wider and convinces himself that it must've been something different that he had misread. 

Dear Y/N, 

I hope this letter finds you well. It's a bit old fashion to write a letter, I know, but you've disappeared so suddenly and I've no idea where you've gone. Nobody sits with me to chat nor sneaks me banana nut muffins and warm cider any longer and it -- in your words -- totally stinks. For my offer, I'm still awaiting your answer, but as of now everything is set into motion and will continue on unless you say otherwise. Please pay no mind to my grandson, he will move on as he should.

Best regards, 

Donald Abraham 

Before Harry could truly delve into the deeper meanings of the letter and to begin picking it apart, he hears a creak upstairs. With a gentle gasp, he shoves the letter back into the envelope, and the pile of mail back into the drawer, shutting it with a soft shlick and limps his way back to the couch. His hammering heart beats against his chest so intensely he can almost hear it in his ears, as Y/N comes into view just moments later, swaddled in a blanket that was wrapped over the top of her head like some makeshift, knit blanket wimple. 

"What're you doing up, Pet?" Harry asks and struggles to mask his heavy breathing, to make it seem like he didn't just more or less run back to the couch from the kitchen. 

This is not the first time Y/N has come ambling down when she's half awake. As mentioned before, she'd done it once when he had been searching through her bathroom, but not every time does she come is Harry in such a furtive position. Often times he's just laying back on the couch or trying to cook her something when she makes her appearance, footsteps light and sneaky aside from the few floorboards that respond to the movement atop of them. 

Each time she comes down to see him, her eyes are mostly squinted and there's a faraway post-sleep haze clouding them. These are the times when Harry is allowed to coo and gush all he wants about how positively precious she is, given he's not able to without a scolding when she's more aware. Normally she's coming down for water, or because she smells him cooking breakfast, or to let Toaster out for his morning pee and each time she'll stop by Harry to make sure he's comfortable. Goes about fluffing his pillows and propping his ankles "properly" before tucking him in (just re-fanning out the blanket) and retreating back to her room to get ready for the day. 

However, it wasn't normally close to 1AM when she stumbles downstairs. Usually a cool, greyed dawn glow is falling over the room as the sun rises steadily in the sky, and the morning dew outside is composed of visible droplets beneath the light. Not when the gentle rustle of trees could mean potential danger or the scattering scamper of a raccoon taking the bread she leaves out for it is still sound in the dark of night. 

So it's safe to say he was a tad bit confused as he sees her with a frown pulling at her lips, and her eyes a little watery. 

"Nightmare." She rasps quietly, reaching up to rub at her eyes, "You left but. . .but . .you kept yelling at me but . . .but I couldn't --" The last word cracks and falters as a small tear trickles down her cheek. Harry is startled, eyes widening as he sits up straighter --  her shoulders shake as if she's holding back a whimper and he's blinking at her, his heart hurting for her and his mind bewildered. 

"Baby," he beckons with little thought of the endearment, "C'mere, c'mere, don't cry." Y/N makes her way over to him, the blanket once wrapped around her now puddled to the ground as she rushes to sit beside him. Arms going for his neck, Y/N pulls herself in close and tucks her face into  his throat where he can feel the wetness of her cheeks. He returns the hug, placing his hand on her back and rubbing in gentle, soothing circles as she tries to compose herself. 

Harry didn't know what to think. Sure, he's seen her in the post sleep, emotional state before but never had she become this vulnerable to him,  about him no less. He hadn't known he'd meant that much to her that having a nightmare that he'd gotten hurt would take such a toll on her, and while part of him knows that everybody can get a little emotionally distressed after a nightmare, the other side of him wants to recognize that she'd come downstairs just to make sure. She's crying into his neck and holding him so tightly, like he might disappear from in her arms. 

He certainly can't say he doesn't like it. Being held like he's needed and wanted leads to such a fulfilling feeling that wells up inside of him. 

"Here," he murmurs after a solid five minutes where she's calmed down some but has still resorted to soft hiccups and quiet shudders. Harry didn't know what else to do, so he does what he wishes people would when he's upset -- he carefully begins shifting them so that he can lean back on the couch and she's atop of him. Pulls the blanket  from where it'd been bunched up at his side over the both of them and settling her so that her head is at his shoulder, his hand still warm on her back.  Her body is like a little furnace to him; she's warm and soft -- molds into his body easily like dough, shuttering with each cry, "I'm just fine, Darling, nothing's happened." 

She nods, "I know, I know, it just felt so real and. . .and I just --" she snuggles her face further into his neck and Harry feels his heart breaking. 

Y/N doesn't move from where she is for a while and after twenty minutes of quiet, Harry realizes that she's fallen asleep pressed to him. Her breathing evens out, body going limp and getting heavy, and he's thankful that she's relaxed. This works out for the both of them, because the poor thing needed a good rest and Harry gets to cuddle with her all night. Again he isn't catching feelings like one might think but his heart is sore from seeing her cry and holding onto her makes him feel a bit better. He also can make sure she's protected when she's right here atop of him rather than upstairs where anything could honestly happen without him knowing. 

The fact she had been so upset from the dream that she immediately scouted him out and just about ran over to him when he told her to, makes him feel rather soft though, if he's honest. It's what ultimately lulls himself to sleep, with Catfish playing lowly on the TV, and the letter she'd written the last thing on his mind. 

                                                                .                       .                      .

They don't talk about it. 

When Harry wakes up, Y/N is humming in the kitchen to a song he's never heard, and the sizzling of a skillet is sound. The warmth of body pushing against him and the heated gust of her breath at the skin of his throat but a distant memory. Her sad little sleepy murmurs replaced with little coos towards Toaster whose claws are clicking against the kitchen tile. 

After he sits himself up, yawning and stretching, Y/N peeks her head around the corner, "G'morning! I made omelets and smoothies today. Have some muffins in the oven too -- your favorite banana nut kind." 

Harry gets a small flashback to the letter he'd read but doesn't let it ebb the smile that adorns his mouth, "Ah, you're too sweet to me Baby." 

An oven mitt comes flying in his direction, knocking into his head, "Oi, what'd I say about them pet names." Before slinking back into the kitchen and out of his sight. 

He knows then that what happened last night is meant to stay with last night, he supposes.

                                                                       .                     .                         .

Nightmares become a regular thing for her after the first time, which is both good and bad. Good because he gets to hold her at night, watch her face go soft and feel her body unknot, relaxing into him and fitting against him like she was meant to be there -- marking it as her permanent spot the second and third time she nestled into his neck. Bad because this inhibits his findings and getting in contact with Niall severely. He'd managed to message him the name found at the bottom of the letter but other than that he has no knowledge of anything outside of that. 

He can't say it's the worst thing, however, because snuggling with Y/N every night instead of going behind her back through her things and wallowing in his own guilt is obviously the better option of the two. He believes that even though they say nothing about it the day after, he still can't help feeling so much closer to her. She's embarrassed by it, he knows (that's why they never say anything), but there's something so affectionate about her when she's feeling sad and cuddly because of a nightmare; where tender kisses to her temple are welcomed and she all but whimpers when he does anything as little as shifting. 

And after each night, he feels his heart grow towards her. It feels as if she had wrapped her cupid's bow-like tendrils around him and drug him into a pit of fond emotions for her. She's positively precious, he can't deny that -- when she's making witty comments and tossing things at him or when she's all pouty, cheeks sticky with tears and eyes wide, bambi-like and loving. He'd known she'd cared about him to some extent, but the amount in which she sheds this light of love on him in the night is almost blinding. When she walks down those steps and calls his name quietly, he feels his brain go haywire with mushy, mawkish, cutesy thoughts and feelings that would make his father shit blood. 

So at 1AM, when he hears the creak of the floorboards shifting on the second step as he always does, his heart speeds up. He figures it'll be a whole lot of how the night usually goes, with Y/N teary-eyed and sniffling, and him wrapping her up in his arms and the throw blanket. Figures she'll wake up before him, smelling like him, shaking off the dream and pretending like it didn't happen. That Harry will wake up to something steaming in front of him, to wink at Y/N and call her baby or doll, getting slapped and carrying on. 

However, she seems a little more ruffled tonight. The distress clear as she doesn't even wait for him to beckon her over to stumble her way towards him, nearly tackling him with her arms wrapped around his body. Squeezing him close and shaking her head, crawling into his lap this time instead of letting him pull her atop of him as they're lying down like they normally do. "Whoa, whoa, Sweetheart, what's --" he begins as she sits, thighs astride his own, "--what's wrong? Another dream?" 

Y/N's hands were all over him -- his chest, his shoulders, his neck, cupping the sides of his face and pulling him close. She was frantic almost, their faces just inches apart, her mouth continues to skim across his own almost like she's teasing herself, until she pushes her lips against his in one hot press. Their slick from spit like she'd run her tongue over them quickly just before she moved for it. 

Harry is -- overwhelmed -- understandably he'd say. He isn't sure what is happening, or what's gotten into her, or why she's so keen on twisting her fingers up in the fabric of his shirt desperately, her lips moving urgently, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth. A burn ignites in his lower stomach, arousal trickling into his system but his confusion manages to outweigh it enough that he slips he's able to pull away form her. A wet gasp leaving him as they part with a soft smack, blinking up to her. The lamp was still clicked on, so the yellow light falls unto her eyes, teary as any other night but something else alit in them. 

"Bunny?" He has a hand on the small of her back, trying to straighten them both up without allowing her to rock into the growing bulge at the front of his sweatpants, "What's gotten into you?" 

She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth, chewing on visibly for a moment so that when it slid out it was plumped and swollen ruddy, "Want to be close," she keens, "God, I just want to be close to you. Want to taste and touch and --" she's rocking forward, reaching one hand up to rake it through his hair and grab it in a careful fist, "In the dream you left, don't want you to leave. Please don't--" 

"I'm not going anywhere, Darling," Harry murmurs, taken aback and immensely startled. He didn't mind it -- of course, he didn't mind any of it -- but he needed her to slow down some. She's going so fast, moving back to his mouth with a dip of her head but he stops her just short of his lips, "You want this? You want me close to you?" Nodding, he feels her thighs squeezing him and it makes him shudder at the need exuding so intensely from her. He places the pad of his thumb on the ball of her chin, his index finger just beneath it in a slight pinch, "If I let you have me. . .you'll tell me what your dreams are about, won't you? About what's scaring you so bad?" 

Y/N nods, giving an impatient grunt, "Yes, yes,  I will, jus' -- just stop talking and kiss me please?" 

Even though this is a bit hectic and sudden, Harry understands, he thinks. Knows that feeling; that need and urge to be so close to someone physically and emotionally. Can only imagine how it must feel for Y/N right now, in the wake of a dream that put her in so much distress -- one where he keeps leaving and she wants to be close to him to make sure he's still here. He figures the dream must be a bit darker than him just walking out of the door though, and probably involves something much deeper than Y/N just wanting to be close, but keeping it surface level right now will make it easier for the both of them not to get too caught up, he thinks. 

So Harry leans in, draws her chin down, and flickers her tongue into his mouth. The noise Y/N makes in her throat is one of content and delight and Harry swallows it down, keeping the hand at the small of her back as he twists the two of them around. Lying her on the couch so that he hovered above her, taking that puffy bottom lip in between his teeth to nibble at as he shoves his hips down into hers. His cock had plumped considerably in the midst of this, and a moan leaves him as his prick nestles in the apex of her thigh and hip. 

Her hands are on his shoulders, trying to drag him even closer but Harry parts from her for a moment to tear his shirt over his head, taking care of hers right after. He discovers there that she had no bra, her breasts soft yet her nipples hard peaks, begging for his mouth. With one last peck to her he bends down, cups them both in her hands and encircles his lips around her left nipple, suckling on it and squeezing. Massages it with the wet tip of his tongue, making her shuffle and whine below him. He liked feeling her wriggle beneath his body; his thoughts teeming with images of her wriggling while he sinks his cock inside of her. The image alone is enough to have him lick around her more fervently, switching to the opposing nipple and swathing it with his tongue while the other is pampered with the pad of his thumb or rolled between to fingers, tugging carefully until she whimpers.