1 - 20 of 38 Works by flimsy
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Nick is not sure what Louis Tomlinson is doing at the Breakfast Show’s one year anniversary celebration.
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They find each other again the night of Valentine's Day.
Louis figures it wasn't a good night for either Harry or him, and suddenly the comfort of Harry's sharp edges pressed tightly against him is more than welcome.
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A film night with Louis and Liam leads to surprising revelations.
(Prompt #6 - Liam/Louis, secretly a virgin)
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Their bus breaks down; Liam and Louis find something to do.
“I just-” Liam shrugs and gives Paul a little foolish smile. “I just want to look at the stars for a bit? The sky is so clear out here.” Louis follows his gaze up and it’s true. He can’t remember ever seeing that many lights in the sky, stark against the perfect pitch black dark of the night.
“There’s a lot,” he breathes out, fascinated and takes a step back to see more, heart racing when the sky inexplicably opens up, making him feel small. “Can I stay too? Paul, do we have a telescope?”
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Louis is a bartender, and Harry is just his type.
"Can I get you anything else?" Louis asks and shimmies his hips along to the beat of the music. Zayn is giving him a look from the other end of the bar, frowning slightly at the line of people waiting to get a drink. Louis rolls his eyes and shrugs and turns his attention back to the boy, who ruffles his fringe and gives Louis a little lopsided grin.
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Louis wears lingerie to win a bet.
He tiptoes a little and smoothes his hands down his chest and stomach, fingers catching here and there in the silk lacing holding the corset together.
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Harry's perception of Louis begins to change.
It strikes him now, oddly, that he’s never before noticed the height of Louis’ shoulders compared to his own, and how much smaller Louis actually is. He frowns, confused at himself, and shakes his head.
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Nick visits Louis after the show.
“Good morning, darling,” Nick chirps, sets his phone to speaker and drops it in his lap. Louis groans something unintelligible and Nick pulls out onto the street. “I’ll be calling you at half eight, babe,” he continues. “So I thought I’d give you a little wakeup call.” -
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Seven loosely connected ficlets set to seven songs.
He likes the freckles just under Louis’ eyes and he likes Louis’ scruff; the way it feels against his own when they kiss and the way this makes Louis laugh into Liam’s mouth until their teeth click and they go from snogging to tickling and back again, until they’re both a giggling, silly mess on the bed or the floor or the sofa on the bus.
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At Niall's birthday party, Louis gets drunk with Nick.
Yes,” Nick says, “that’s what I’m good at. Getting people shitfaced. I’m a professional shitfacer.” He shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed against Louis’, his body warm and big next to his own.“You’re a professional shittalker,” Louis shoots back, smirking, “that’s what you are.” He draws back, bumping shoulders with Nick, and gives him a challenging look.
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When Louis sleepwalks, Harry never wakes him.
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Louis is lonely. Harry helps.
“The flat is really empty without you,” Louis blurts out without meaning to. “I hadn’t quite realised how empty, because I’ve never been here alone for so long.”Series
- Part 2 of we are wide away - series
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Draco returns to London to help the Ministry decipher a spell, but things aren’t quite as simple as they seem.
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The first time Louis kneels for Liam is almost an accident.
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Three post-tour vignettes.
“I know,” Louis says. Liam can almost see him smile. “Do you miss us? We miss you. Niall is staying at Zayn’s and I think they’re about to get terrible tummies because of their McDonald’s habit.” -
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Seven drabbles written for a request meme.
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Liam watches Louis, his closed eyes, the way his skin is shining with moisture, the flutter of his lashes against his cheeks; when he looks up Harry is staring at him, watching him in turn.
Series
- Part 1 of we are wide away - series
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Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia
Louis wakes to the tinnitus buzz of the engine, resonating through his brain and lungs and bones like shockwaves in honey because he's dream-caught, paralyzed from head to toe, his mind awake before his body.
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“Lou.” Louis turns his head and looks up at Harry, brow tilted. Harry slumps down on the bed, his cheek squished a little as he props himself up on his elbow, lying on his side; he reaches one arm out to make a grabby hand at him. “C’mere,” he says. Louis bats at his hand, but somehow his fingers tangle with Harry’s, pinkies hooking, and Harry rubs his thumb over Louis’ wrist as if he’s looking for his heartbeat beneath his skin.
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Louis knows that sound, it’s throaty and glazed like a frosted window, and he knows it because it’s there every fucking time he gets hurt. It’s like a cue for him, like his body is a fucking wind-up doll ready to go at the snap of a finger. He’s so easy for Zayn.
They are cops in the 1950ies: merely an excuse for porn.