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violetsandfluff · 2 years

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Tidy Little Secrets: Part II

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tw: SLOWWW BURN (it picks up soon I promise), sex (in different parts), sexual tension, age gap, allusion to smut, potentially triggering dream scenarios, and other sensitive topics such as decapitated chicken snow globes (you heard it here first). that said, enjoy!!

wc: 5.1k

Your visit with Harry left adrenaline coursing through your veins. Your heart was pumping blood through your body three times faster than usual to support the overtime your brain was working. Your focus was hardly set on the road, or the speed limit, but rather on the green-eyed, broad-statured man with the gleaming mansion uptown.

A cloak of obsession veiled your mind, and a mound of heat was positioned permanently between your legs, intensifying every time you recalled the dream you’d experienced as you snoozed involuntarily on Harry’s sofa. Your feral mind raced as your thoughts strayed to the glimpse of his bedroom you’d caught. It was some sort of unsaid truth that there had been many gorgeous girls in his bed and a meek, meager section of your mind couldn’t help but wish you could one day be among them. For now, though, you were a lowly housekeeper, but that was better than nothing.

You made it home much more quickly than you’d arrived. Letting yourself into your dingy apartment, you were filled with a mild sense of disappointment. After experiencing Harry’s grand mansion, your abode felt like a sewer. Still, though, it was home. It housed your possessions and maintained a steady temperature, which was all one really needed. The first thing you did after you set down your bags was call your sister. You had a lot of steam to blow off after your excursion.

Your phone vibrated as you willed your sister to answer. Much to your relief, she answered on the last ring, anxious to hear about your new job. You were talking a mile a minute before she was able to get more than a cheery hello in.

You told her about the mansion, and how pristine the neighborhood was. His kitchen, garage, flower garden, and secret room all made their way into your conversation. You spoke in vivid, ecstatic detail about his living room, his bookshelf, his floors, and his hair. You only left out the minor parts where you had had a wet dream on his couch and disobeyed him by entering his bedroom. Nataly listened intently to every detail until, at last, you stopped to take a breath.

“His suit was so crisp and proper-looking and his hair, Nat. If only you could see his hair!”

“Wow,” she breathed. “I told you it would be a good job to take.”

“He’s so hot,” you whined, “and he pays me so well! I’m so incredibly grateful he hired me.” You disclosed several more details regarding your pay and employer, all of which Nataly absorbed wordlessly.

“Even I don’t get paid that much,” she said faintly, trying not to let jealousy overtake her excitement for you. “Good for you! And I’m sure him being hot makes the job better?”

“It’s distracting at best,” you grimaced. “Either way, though, I’m so glad you opened my mind to the job. You deserve all of my thanks.”

“Aww, Y/N.” Nataly was touched. “Sisters for sisters, am I right?”

“Of course,” you replied happily. “I’d never let you down.”

“Nor would I you.”

A welt of giddy ecstasy formed deep inside you. She had been there for you throughout your childhood, demonstrating the tough love you needed to thrive in the long run. She had been like a parent to you when you were younger, but now that you were both older and living independently, you were more friends than relatives.

This proved to be quite useful in situations such as this, a job search gone a million times better than imaginable.

You went to bed with a stomach full of butterflies, imagining with your overactive brain what interactions with Harry tomorrow would bring.

Snippets of your wet dream tormented your subconscious, weaving themselves into a paradisal, sex-etched dream in which you were Harry’s housewife. You lived a life cleaning your shared home by day and embracing him by night while he worshiped your work and your body. He told you how precious your children were and how he needed more of them. He told you he wanted a dozen little y/ns running around, playing with each other, and being downright adorable.

“You make the garden grow beautifully, my love,” Harry praised you as he knelt before you, his head dipping under your skirt. “And kneeling before you, I can see how you make the floors gleam. Plus, as we tucked in the children at bedtime, I realized how much they all resemble you. They have your eyes, your smile, and your heart. I’m going to need a million more.” He ducked his head out from under your skirt to examine your face as it beamed down at him, but it didn’t take long for him to begin devouring you.

“You’re so strong, mama,” he cooed, his face buried deeply into your pussy. You could feel his hot breath as it was muffled in your wet folds. “You do so much, and you do all of it well. You make beautiful babies as well.” He smiled a dimpled smile that only your clit could see before continuing. “It makes me feel like I need a thousand more. I know I’m busy but I need to show you how much I love you.”

“I know you love me, H.”

“Please, darling. You deserve the world.”

“You are the world.”

A gravelly moan clawed its way out of Harry’s throat as he continued thrusting his fingers into you. “Way too good for me,” he groaned. “You look so pretty, you’re so nice, you’re all tight for me and y’taste amazing,” he breathed. “You stand up to my cock so well. Do you want it in your mouth or your cunt?”

Your eyes were brimming with tears by the time you woke up. You hated it. You wished so desperately to ward off the remnants of the dream. Your pussy felt tender even thinking about the words he had spoken to you. You couldn’t remember much of what he had told you, but whatever it was had to be effortlessly sexy, just like him. The vision of him kneeling before you as he praised your pussy was a whole new level.

Harry would make a wonderful husband and father, there was no doubt in your mind. However, you hated the way he made you feel. After having met him less than twenty-four hours earlier, you had already had a wet dream about him on his sofa, spent an entire afternoon daydreaming about him ravishing you, and spent a night dreaming of his children. Anyone who could rewire your brain as such was dangerous.

You replayed every second of your encounters with him until a glance at your alarm clock told you that you had forgotten to set it the night before, and thus were running late. With a sigh of resignation, you slipped out of bed, not bothering to make it. After all, you’d be back in it the moment you returned home.

A trip to your wardrobe informed you that laundry would be a priority when you arrived home, but you were able to scrape together an outfit that consisted of leggings, a short-sleeved t-shirt, and an oversized hoodie. Fuck provocative skirts.

You gathered your hair into a messy knot at the back of your head and applied your makeup as well as you could through your haste. As the cliche stated, haste did indeed make waste. When applying your mascara, your hand slipped, smearing black paste from your lashes onto your undereye.

Fixing it was inconvenient at best, but the whole situation was a minor hitch compared to what was to come later in the day.

The drive to Harry’s house with the windows down and the radio blasting wasn’t half bad. You put on your favorite feel-good playlist and let the music wash over you as you drove. The melodies you’d grown to know and love filled your ears and your heart. You couldn’t fight the urge to smile foolishly.

The drive was long enough to rid your mind of any negativity and recharge you so you arrived feeling your best.

Harry was waiting for you just inside the door when you walked in. He greeted you with a pleasant smile and a subtle wink. “Good morning, love,” he smiled, standing stiffly a ways off. “How was your night?”

“Exhausting,” you groaned, nervously elaborating as you saw his face twist in confusion. “It was just a dream. I wasn’t doing anything else,” you explained. “Nothing I shouldn’t have been,” you mused under your breath.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he empathized, clearly oblivious to your latter quip. “Care to talk about it? I have time.”

“N-no,” you stammered, “there’s no need for that. Do you have any jobs for me today?”

“Eager to work, are we, darling?” Before you could put a word in crosswise, he continued. “I’m not sure that I have much for you to do today. I’ve got dinner in the fridge, don’t worry about making anything. Just do whatever you see fit.”

“This place is immaculate,” you frowned, momentarily forgetting the professional demeanor you were expected to uphold.

“It’s not always this orderly,” Harry chuckled fondly. “You’ll have your share of messes, I’m afraid. However, if you must do something, I have a collection of vases in the kitchen that could use a good cleaning.”

“I don’t mind!” You flashed him a winning smile. “After all, messes are what I signed up for!”

“There are a lot of vases, darling.”

You poked your head into the kitchen, gawking at the open cabinets and mountain of vases on the counters and floor. “That is a lot of vases!”

“You don’t expect the flowers to pot themselves, do you?” Harry joked. “It’s alright if you can’t finish them today. I completely understand. It’s taken me a year and… I have yet to get to them.”

“I’m not complaining,” you smiled pleasantly, cracking a smile at Harry’s comment.

A soft hum brewed in Harry’s throat as he contemplated adding something, ultimately deciding not to. “Call me if you need anything, love, but I’m sure all you’ll need is in my trusty old closet.” He beckoned towards the crawl space under the regally ascending staircase. “I have lunch for you in the fridge. Any other questions?”

“I don’t think so,” you said, trying to maintain a cheerful tone. “You had better be off.”

“Are you kicking me out of my own house?” Harry placed his hands on his hips in a teasing attempt to appear cross.

Shocked by his sudden change in emotion, you stepped back and stammered out a panicked reply.

“I was only joking, love. You’re right. I can’t be late for my own job, can I?”

“Have a good day, Mr… um, Harry.”

“You as well, Miss… Y/N.”

~~~~~

A trip around Harry’s mansion told you that finding an area to clean would be harder than expected. There were a few shelves you could dust or a few books to rearrange, but that would take you an hour at most. What were you supposed to do while Harry worked an entire nine-hour day? You made your way to the closet beneath the stairs and retrieved a feather duster.

Hesitantly, you began dusting the various paraphernalia you found around his house; books on shelves, lamps, and the surprising amount of snow globes you found lined up on window sills, notoriously collecting dust.

While the quantity of snow globes caught your attention, the content of some of them was particularly strange. There were some normal globes that contained winter animals and snow, and others that contained galoshes-clad children and snowmen. Alongside these were more obscure choices for snow globes; a poop emoji decked out in Christmas lights, a cactus wearing a jacket, and a decapitated chicken holding its own head to name a few.

After making sure every table, window sill, and trinket was dusted to perfection, you knew you should start on the vases, a task you absolutely dreaded. Your hands trembled increasingly as you neared the army of vases. There had to be at least one hundred of them. Your stomach was filled with dread, knowing all too well that they were all equally valuable as they were fragile. You set your mind to cleaning the outsides with a wet, sudsy rag and the inside with the same rag or a bottle cleaner, depending on the size of the opening. You drew in a deep breath to calm your mind and steady your hands. If they went on trembling as they had been, you’d surely drop every vase you dared to touch.

The sizes of the vases varied, as well as the height, colors, and patterns. Some of the vases were round and smaller than your hand while others were thin, tall, and tapered. They ranged in color and material from pure, spotless crystal to eccentrically painted clay pots. They were all beautiful in their own ways, but some were definitely more eye-catching, including crystal vases with ornate detailing etched into them. You assumed those to be the more valuable, more fragile vases.

You consoled yourself with the thought that if you were to shatter a vase in a freak turn of events, the money for a replacement would be withdrawn from your paycheck, which was more than plentiful to begin with. Reassured by your worst-case scenario, you grabbed a pair of tight gloves from the closet under the stairs. They proved to be more than helpful in providing grip to your fingers, which would have been too slippery alone.

You began with a broad rectangular vase that appeared sound and sturdy. You sponged down the outside before inserting the bottle cleaner and cleaning out any dust that had accumulated inside. You held onto its neck as if your life depended on it, because, in essence, it did. Your self-esteem was at stake.

Washing the vases wasn’t nearly as nerve-wracking as you’d anticipated. Eventually, you fell into a rhythm of polishing their outsides, thrusting a bottle cleaner inside, and rinsing them. The idea of Harry coming home to a counter full of perfectly clean vases motivated you. You couldn’t help but crave the praise he’d bestowed upon you in your dream. The view of impeccably arranged flowers thriving in his backyard made the task much more bearable.

Just as your confidence was in full bloom, your mind began to wander from the task at hand to a daydream similar to those you’d experienced the day before. Memories of your dreams wore at your stomach like a butterfly-infested pit. You tried to shake them, but you dropped a vase in the process. You jumped back in alarm as the painted terra cotta pot crashed to the floor, crumbling into an array of brightly colored pieces.

Your teeth sunk into your lip as you brainstormed ways to tell Harry that you had broken his vase. It was only your first day on the job; far too early to mess up so royally. Once your wits were gathered back up, you tiptoed carefully to the closet under the stairs in search of a broom and dustpan. You swept up the shards of pottery as carefully as you could before withdrawing a mop and bucket from the closet and cleaning the floor thoroughly.

~~~

After three more days of cleaning Harry’s house, a pit still grew in your stomach every time you wondered how you would break the news of the broken vase to Harry. Would he be upset or would he laugh it off? Would he take the money for a replacement out of your paycheck or fire you? You swore to yourself that you wouldn’t let your mind wander to worst-case scenarios. But it had been days since the vase was broken. Surely he would know that you’d delayed admitting this to him for one reason or another.

He had praised your work in cleaning the remaining vases, rewarding you with a glass of his favorite wine. The thought of telling him now that you’d shattered one of his precious vases was daunting. You shouldn’t have accepted his reward. You hoped he wouldn’t recall his kind action after the fact, but there was only so much you could about it now.

You distracted yourself with daydreams until he returned and your conscience would force you to admit your fault to him.

The yearning, lustful side of your soul longed to bear his children. You could imagine an army of children in the kitchen, making a mess out of cookie dough, or outside in his garden playing. You could see kids bouncing on their beds against your judgment and drawing masterpieces on the basement walls. These daydreams came and went throughout the day as you cleaned vases and dusted bookshelves.

Though it felt wrong to imagine Harry’s house filled with your children, you caught yourself smiling foolishly to yourself every time the thoughts crossed your mind. In fact, you were so enthralled by your fantasies, you didn’t hear the door open.

You were positioned in front of one of Harry’s numerous floor-to-ceiling bookshelves with a feather duster in hand, clearly serving no purpose as it hung limply at your side.

“D’you like books?” a low voice rasped from behind you.

You whirled around to find Harry leaning against the doorframe with half of his body in the living room.

“What?”

“Nothing, darling. I just asked if you liked books. I saw you examining the titles and assumed you were interested.”

“I do,” you responded slowly, feeling his eyes on you. “You’re home early.”

“No, ‘m not,” Harry replied. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but I brought dinner if you’re hungry.”

“Oh,” you stood awkwardly by the bookcase you had been “dusting” as you racked your mind for quick excuses to escape.

“Y’don’t have to stay f’you don’t want to,” Harry assured you. “Just know there’s more than enough to go around.”

The hopeless romantic in you yearned for more time with him. Any time could potentially turn into a night, after all. On the other hand, the more reasonable side of you told you to leave. You had been thinking about him all day, in ways he could never imagine. If your tongue were to slip after a drink, your cover would be blown and you could lose your job after barely having secured it for a full week.

“I’ll stay,” you decided softly. Your innermost conscience let out a howl of disdain.

Harry’s face broke into a broad grin. “Thank you, love. I know I haven’t really gotten to know you, and since my house has been getting to know you, I figured I should too.”

You nodded awkwardly, watching helplessly as he withdrew a styrofoam takeout container from inside a flimsy plastic bag.

“I just got pasta. I hope that’s okay with you.”

You let out a soft hum similar to a chuckle before feeling his gaze fixed on you once more. A wave of heat rushed to your cheeks as you scrambled to give him your approval.

“Come to the kitchen.”

You followed Harry through the narrow hallway that led to the kitchen. He removed two plates and wine glasses from a cupboard as you watched, twirling your hair uncomfortably.

“How much d’you want?” Harry asked, beckoning for you to join him at the counter with the food. “It’s pretty filling.”

“Not a whole lot,” you responded, but the closer you got, the better the food looked and smelled.

“Which is how much, love?” Harry pressed, lowering a mass of noodles onto your plate. “Not a whole lot like this? Less? More?”

“Like that,” you said meekly.

“You can always have more, darling,” he reassured you. “Wine?”

“A little bit.”

You nodded contentedly as you watched him pour two glasses of deep red wine dish up his own pasta. “We can eat in the living room,” he decided. “That’s what I do most of the time.”

“Such a gorgeous kitchen and dining table and you don’t use it?” you asked without thinking, your voice filled with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

Harry let out a rolling laugh. “That’s why it’s so spotless,” he explained. “If you want, we can eat in here.”

“You can choose. I honestly don’t care.”

“Let’s eat in the living room,” Harry concluded. “We can watch tv or read books or just talk; whatever y’want, love.”

Your heart fluttered as he spoke. You followed him into the living room, where he sunk comfortably into the woven, cream-colored upholstery of the loveseat.

“Sit anywhere y’like.” He made a broad, sweeping gesture across the room. You sat down tentatively on the sofa opposite his.

The two of you ate in comfortable silence for a moment before he broke the silence. “What kind of books d’you like, Y/N?”

“I like any kind of book,” you replied after swallowing the hardly-chewed bite of food in your mouth. “I read whatever books I can get my hands on.”

“I’m kind of the same way.” He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, crossing his left leg over his right. “I like older stories.”

“Such as?”

“Shakespeare-era stuff. I like tragedies. And romances.”

“And murder mysteries?” Your mind flashed to the murder mystery of his you had picked up in his second living room on Monday. You hoped you weren’t being too blunt.

“That’s more of a guilty pleasure,” he admitted with a sheepish smile through a bite of pasta. “I’m reading one now if that interests you.”

You let out a pleasant hum as you feigned intrigue. “Is it good?”

“Yes.” He aimed his twinkling eyes down at his plate. “Like I said, a guilty pleasure.”

“I’ve never seen someone so embarrassed to like mysteries,” you remarked innocently. “This is coming from a girl who listens to true-crime podcasts before bed.”

Harry’s eyes flashed up to you with a look of amused bewilderment. “That’s a new one to me.”

You smiled shyly as your cheeks flushed.

“True crime, hm?” Harry eyed you playfully as he took another bite of pasta. “Does it put you to sleep?”

“Kind of,” you replied bashfully, letting out a helpless laugh as you were suddenly stricken with self-consciousness regarding what you’d shared.

“No judgment, dear, its alright. I’ve got my fair share of interesting habits.”

“Oh?” you quirked an eyebrow, willing him to continue.

“You’ve seen my garden?”

“Of course. It’s beautiful!”

He nodded, ducking his head slightly. “I get up early every morning to tend the flowers before the sun rises.”

“That’s early.”

He nodded. “I suppose that’s not too strange. The world is filled with its early birds.”

“I guess,” you nearly whispered, trying only to fill the silence. “Your garden is beautiful. I assumed you had a gardener to tend it.”

“Didn’t see me as the gardening type, eh?”

You stuttered out an incoherent response, but Harry just laughed.

“That’s alright, love. Neither did I, at first. Maybe one day you can come early and help me. Maybe spend the night? Believe me, that was merely the tip of the iceberg regarding my interesting mannerisms. But we can save those for another night.”

It was all you could do to finish chewing your bite before you swallowed it.

Harry’s eyes were angled skillfully down at his plate, but high enough to catch your reaction. The b*stard.

“Do you want to watch something, love? Or would you rather read?”

“Either sounds good,” you said in a tone more chipper than usual as you tried to clear your head. Had Harry really asked you to stay overnight?

“Let’s put on a movie. Y’won’t be able to see the tv from over there.”

“Oh.” You craned your neck around until the massive flatscreen tv came into view.

He patted the cushion beside him and you joined him tentatively.

“I have blankets if y’want one.”

“I’ll take one,” you replied.

He tossed the remote into your hand as he rose to his feet, using a hand on your knee to guide his body upwards. “I’ll be back in a moment. Find something you like. I’ll watch anything. I’m easy that way.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you watched him leave. The backside of his navy blue slacks creased tantalizingly under his delicious ass as he walked, and his suit coat made his back look so muscular and broad. You could only imagine the wonders that lay beneath. These thoughts threatened to launch your mind into another spiral, but you tamed them as if your life depended on it.

As he disappeared from your sight, you sorted through the shows on his Netflix until you landed on a show you’d begun years ago. Though you barely knew him, the show seemed to be right up Harry’s alley, and you might as well rewatch a little bit if you were going to stay.

He returned in a matter of minutes with an armful of blankets. He cocked an eyebrow at the television before tossing a blanket in your direction.

You pulled it snugly around your shoulders and Harry did the same with his, casting you a playful smile and a shrug.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked, referring to the tv.

“A little. It was the only thing I’d started.”

“You didn’t finish it?”

“No.”

“Why not, love?” he asked rhetorically as he settled onto the couch beside you. “It looks like a perfectly decent show t’me.”

“You might not be into this kind of thing,” you informed him. “I don’t quite remember if I liked it. We can watch something else if you want. I just… panicked and chose something.”

“You panicked?” Harry repeated. “Are y’scared of me?”

“N-no.”

“You don’t sound so sure, love.” He raised an eyebrow adorably as you tossed the remote back to him. “If anything, I should be scared of you, the way you work so hard.”

You were struck by a sudden attack of deja vu.

“Cleaning all of those vases, completing the task that I could never bring my lazy ass to do.” He ran a hand over his stubble as he let out a shameful laugh, turning his attention to the tv.

The back of the couch proved to be a comfortable place to rest your head. Soon, you drifted off to sleep, unbeknownst to Harry. Much to your relief, your dreams weren’t haunted by ghosts of sex or elements of noisy children. In fact, you didn’t dream at all. Though you usually looked forward to the scenarios your dreams provided you with, you were grateful to have a peaceful sleep for once.

Harry’s voice awoke you two hours (and three episodes) later, breaking gently through the barrier between your mind and reality.

“Do you want to keep watching?” When there was no response, he glanced over to his left where you were sleeping peacefully. “Y/N, doll,” he called softly. “Wake up, love.”

You eased your eyes open, drawing in a long breath before a yawn escaped your lips.

“Tired, darling?”

“A little,” you replied, pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “What time is it?”

“Eleven-thirty. It’s probably time for you to go home, doll. You can take the blanket with if you want.”

“I’m okay,” you said as you stifled another yawn.

“Do you need a ride?”

“I should be all right.” You rose to your feet, bending backwards slightly to alleviate the ache in your back. “Thanks for dinner, H.”

“You’re welcome, darling. See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“Monday,” he corrected himself, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes playfully. “Stupid Harry. See you Monday?”

“Sure. Harry?”

“Y/N?”

“On Tuesday, when I was washing your vases,” you began, standing as stiff as a statue as your heart hammered inside your chest, “I broke one.”

“You broke a vase?” Harry rose to his feet beside you and your breath caught in your throat.

“Which vase?”

“It was short and stout… terra cotta with painted geometric designs. I kept the pieces if you wanted me to try and fix it?” The words spilled out of you as your face flushed a deep shade of red. Tears of embarrassment pricked at your eyes.

“No, darling,” he chuckled, pressing a finger beneath his nose in attempt to muffle his amusement. “That’s not necessary. Don’t be upset, okay? I’ve got hundreds of them for a reason.”

You managed a weak smile as you took a deep breath to steady yourself.

“That vase cost twenty dollars at most. Don’t worry about it.”

“Twenty dollars-”

“It’s not that much, lovie.”

“It’s not a lot, but it’s not my money!” you insisted, beelining to the table near the door where you had placed your belongings upon arrival that morning. “I promise, I can pay you back.”

“No, Y/N.” Harry protested. “Please, darling. Don’t worry about it.”

“I owe you.”

“I owe you, doll. You’ve helped me out a ton this week.”

“You can take it out of my paycheck,” you suggested.

“You’re asking for a demotion?” Harry grinned. “Think of the vase money as a bonus.” He reached into the pocket of his stiff, creased pants and withdrew a twenty dollar bill. He held it out to you and you stepped back in confusion.

“For keeping me company.”

“I broke your vase and you shared your dinner with me.”

“Take it,” Harry insisted. “You’re not leaving without it.” Just then, with a smug smile slapped across his face, he took the money and hid it behind his back, watching your face intently for a reaction.

“H…”

“You can have it, love. I suppose it isn’t getting any earlier. Drive safely, okay?” He wrapped his arms around you, sweeping you up into his arms until he was holding you bridal-style. He pressed a hot kiss to your lips before setting you back on your feet and folding the bill into your hand. “Good night, doll. See you Monday.”

“See you Monday, H.”

Harry stood in the entryway for a long moment after you shut the door, removing his phone from his pocket to check the doorbell camera and ensure that you made it to your car safely. As soon as you were safely on your way home, he flipped from his Ring tab to his messages to catch up on anything he might have missed.

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#tidy little secrets #TLSrry #Harry styles #harry edward styles #Harry styles fic #Harry styles fanfic #Harry styles fanfiction #Harry styles fluff #Harry styles angst #Harry styles smut #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles x plus size reader #Harry styles x housekeeper!yn #housekeeper!y/n trope #flutterfly alley #yellow 💛 heart #harries

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violetsandfluff · 1 year

Text

Tidy Little Secrets: part IV

previous parts | next part

a/n: it’s been a minute… this won’t make sense if you haven’t read the previous parts.

summary: harry was naughty so y/n seeks revenge

tw: smut, angst, cheating, breeding, grammatical errors, etc.

wc: 2k-ish

Harry lowered his head to give you one final kiss before heading inside. “Would you like to help me choose my outfit?” he called over his shoulder.

Not needing any further invitation, you followed him into his extensive closet, marveling internally at the overwhelming array of labels you saw. In the end, you chose a plain white button-up shirt and navy blue pants, to which he added his coat and one of many pairs of dress shoes.

“Get out of here while I get dressed.” he joked, swatting your ass with his shirt as he pulled it off over his head. “I’m a very modest man.”

Giggling, you exited the room and beelined for the bathroom, knowing that he would need in there as soon as he finished getting dressed. You used the few minutes to yourself to ponder the events of the morning, waking up, sitting with Harry on the couch, and helping him water his flowers. You wished it was something you would get to experience for the rest of your life, but a pang in your heart told you that your wasn’t going to pan out like your visions.

“Baby, I need to get in and brush my teeth!” Harry called from outside, banging his fists on the door. “I’m going to be late for my meeting on account of you.”

“Oh, simmer down, hot shot,” you chided as you opened the door to his tall, perfect figure. “If your presence is requested on your day off, they can wait a moment for you to arrive.”

Peering at his reflection in the mirror, he ran his fingertips across the stubble growing around his jaw and chin and contemplated whether or not he should take the time to shave it.

All you could do was lean your head on the counter and watch his every move in adoration. He didn’t find the staring unusual in the slightest; he lived by the idea of admiring what you have, while you have it.

~~~

“Are these yours?”

“Are what mine?” You made your way back into the bathroom where Harry was standing, a toothbrush in one hand and a small, purple pair of underwear in the other.

“These,” he repeated around his mouthful of toothpaste.

“Harry,” you breathed in astonishment as you looked at the panties dangling from his finger. “There’s no way on God’s green earth that I’d ever be able to fit into those.”

“Oh.” A wave of heat hit Harry’s face. He looked more guilty than anything you’d ever seen. “Oh.”

~~~

“Harry,” you insisted at dinner on Monday night. “I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking for the truth.”

“I know y’are, lovie,” Harry agreed, still refusing eye contact, choosing instead to fiddle with the ring on his pinky. “You deserve the truth. This just isn’t the right place.”

“It’s Monday night. No one’s here,” you pleaded. “If you you owe me anything, it’s an explanation. Not food.”

Harry tapped his painted thumbnail against the foot of his glass, swirling the ice around inside of it. “If you want me to explain here, I will.”

“It just depends on how much you value us.”

“I saw a girl once,” he began, making timid eye contact for the first time that evening.

“Only once?” you prompted.

“Only once since we’ve been together,” he confirmed. “I’d seen her before that.”

You remained silent for a moment, digesting the information. You downed the remainder of your drink before looking back at Harry with teary eyes.

“It’s too cliche to apologize, isn’t it?” he barely dared to ask,

“Say what you want,” you muttered. “It’s your life. Just know it doesn’t change anything.”

Harry felt a pang in his heart. He felt your eyes on him, assessing his emotions through his facial features. Looking down at his lap, he resorted to going through his mental photo album.

Y/N scared on her first day of work. Y/N asleep on his couch when he came home late. Y/N assessing his bookshelf. Y/N reveling at his shoe collection. Y/N in the golden morning sunlight in his garden on Saturday morning. Y/N looking at him as if he was the only man in the world.

He didn’t notice the tears falling down his cheeks until it was too late. Drawing in a sharp breath through his nose, he used his thumb to discreetly wipe the fallen tears off his cheeks and blink away the wetness accumulating in his eyes.

Standing over his table was a familiar waitress; Aria. “How is everything going over here?” she asked with a smile, flipping her high, curled ponytail animatedly as she spoke. “Unfortunately, our chef misread your order and it will take approximately forty-five more minutes until it will be ready. Are you okay with that or ready for your final bill?”

Harry searched Y/N’s eyes for an answer, but before they could confer, she answered for him.

“We’re ready for our bill. Two separate tabs, please.”

~~~

Despite your falling out with Harry, you agreed to continue working for him under the condition that you would no longer cook his meals. You refused to greet one another at the beginnings and ends of shifts, and if Harry attempted to contact you in any way, he would find it impossible.

On Friday of the next week, the doorbell sounded through the mansion. Gradually, you made your way from the third story sitting room down to the entryway, cleaning what you saw fit on the way. Assuming Harry had come home early and forgotten his key, you were in no rush to open the door.

However, as you reached ground level, you noticed a silhouette at the door that didn’t belong to Harry. Embarrassed, you flung the door open, apologizing profusely for dawdling to answer.

“It’s perfectly fine,” the man answered, his voice etched with an Irish lilt. “Gnarly scratch,” he noticed, pointing at Harry’s orange Ferrari, which was parked in the open garage. “What happened?”

“Don’t mind the car. You know how rough men can be. Can I help you?” you said shortly, standing up taller.

“I’m Niall, Harry’s next-door neighbor. I was wondering if everything’s alright around here. It’s really no big deal.” Clearly uncomfortable, the man shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and glanced from your sneakers to his loafers and back up at your face. “In all honesty, I was expecting Harry to be home, given he doesn’t work on Fridays.”

“That’s funny,” you replied vaguely. “Harry’s at work as we speak.”

“It’s really none of my business,” the neighbor concluded, turning around to leave. “I couldn’t help but notice the disarray in his backyard. I’ve never known him to keep the gate open.”

“His backyard or front yard?” you clarified. “What’s wrong with the backyard?”

“There’s trash everywhere. The flowerbeds are destroyed. I assumed you’d have noticed since you’ve been here all morning.”

“Wait here for me,” you barely had time to call over your shoulder as you disappeared into the house, leaving the door agape behind you. “You’re welcome to come in,” you added awkwardly as you entered the kitchen.

Sure enough, the backyard was absolutely devastated. Harry’s prized flowerbeds were ripped to shreds. His recycling bin lay on its side, contents splayed out over the entirety of the lawn. Your jaw dropped as you assessed the damage behind the mansion. Although you had no part in the destruction, it made you feel horrible for scratching his car and pruning the bushes a little too much.

Negatively awestruck, you returned to the front hall where Niall remained, toying with his sleeve cuff. He was clothed in a casual blue button-up, unbuttoned at the top to expose his chest and a generous amount of hair, and relaxed jeans. “I might need to check the back cameras,” you explained, opening the camera app and scrolling through hours of the morning’s fruitless footage.

Niall scooted behind you, squinting to make out shapes in the darkness of the screen. The backyard camera clearly depicted a creature, small and furry, nuzzling open an unintentionally locked door and ripping the gorgeous yard to shreds.

“I wonder if Harry knows,” you barely dared to whisper.

“By the way I’ve known him to watch his cameras, he’s bound to,” Niall assured you. As you and Niall made conversation, the footage played mindlessly in the background. Night turned to morning and something in the garage caught Niall’s eye. “Switch to the front camera real quick.”

Without thinking, you switched cameras, your stomach instantly sinking with regret.

“Is that… you?”

“Maybe?”

“You scratched Harry’s car?”

“With a car key? Yes.”

“Can I take a stab and guess why?” Niall licked his lips nervously, waiting for your eyes to tell him yes.

“You scratched the door of Harry’s million-dollar Ferrari because he’s been seeing other girls while you were together.”

You nodded sullenly. “Wanna guess what my earbuds were playing?”

“Don’t tell me.” Niall rolled his eyes mockingly. “Carrie Underwood?”

You shook your head, trying to laugh the magnitude of the situation off. “No. But it’s a good story, am I right?”

“Definitely.” Niall looked at you with downtrodden blue eyes before reaching for the doorknob. “If you need anything, you know where to find me. If you ever decide you need more revenge.”

~~~

“This is my kind of revenge.”

“You could say that again.”

The conversation between thrusts was minimal; most of the sound accounted for was those that accompanied sex. Doing it with Niall was different than with Harry, but arguably better. Whether it was the sweet taste of victorious revenge or cum, it didn’t matter. The idea was to make Harry jealous, and it was all but guaranteed to succeed.

“I don’t even care if Harry’s jealous,” you decided, reclining against Niall’s chest, running your fingers through the sheer layer of hair covering it.

“Don’t you?” Niall’s fingers wrapped around your wrist as you spoke, caressing your hands absentmindedly.

“Not at all. Not only are you bigger, but you feel amazing.”

Niall chuckled to himself, lowering his face to the side of yours. “I’ll get you nice and stretched out for him,” he teased. His lips feathered along the curve of your ear, his breath tickling it as he whispered. “Dozens of little Y/Ns, all of them bearing my last name.”

“Niall!” you gasped, giggling to yourself as you squirmed to escape his tongue. “That’s naughty!”

“It doesn’t take a genius to assume you’re fertile,” Niall shrugged. “I’d do anything and everything you’re comfortable with. Picture me without the condom.”

He used his hands on your hips to roll you onto your back, where he began fucking into you from behind. His trimmed fingernails dug small dimples into your ass. “If any man tries to do you wrong again, they’ll be met with the permanent visual of my dental records on your ass.”

As Niall’s hands grew sweatier, his grip on your shoulders loosened and slipped. His heavy breathing was peppered with shaky moans as he thrust into and out of you.

His length swelled with pleasure as your walls corroded with his skin. Droplets of liquid leaked from his tip, mixing with the arousal between your lips. Your thighs burned as you approached your climax, craving relief.

~~~

“I love you, Y/N,” Niall told you plainly as he showed you to the bathroom to clean up. “I only hope I didn’t overstep at all this evening.”

“Not at all,” you assured him. “It was marvelous.”

“Sleep in as long as you like. I’ll be on the couch in the living room if you need anything. My housekeeper will be here in the morning, but don’t worry about her. You can never outstay your welcome.”

~~~

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