fondleeds
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- One Direction (Band) (19)
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Summary
It’s still that dreamy kind of dark, nothing seeming real, but he knows that it’s time to go, to whistle for Pippa and eat whatever he’s got left in the fridge and start the drive down to Molly’s.
He can’t seem to open the door. Maybe he doesn’t want to face it, this new thing. Having Louis here feels like a betrayal. Harry tries not to think about what his Dad would have to say if he saw the journo sleeping on their pull-out, here to shake a settled sheet and watch the dust fly again.
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AU. Harry's a farmer, Louis writes for The Age, and it hasn't rained in the Bourke Shire for six years.
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Summary
“Are you avoiding me?”
Louis glances over his shoulder. There Harry stands in his dark coat, the soft fray of his sweater catching far away light. He’s only teasing. But Louis finds he can’t deny the accusation.
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AU. It's just a night of drinking before exams begin, but it becomes the end of something else.
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Maybe he’s still drunk. Maybe there’s something else going on here, some feeling for Harry he will not name, fighting to the forefront of his thoughts. Maybe it’s the forgotten painting. That entire forgotten life, exchanged for bland stability. And here lies Harry. Here lies this boy.
Louis gets between his legs.
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AU. After a night out with his co-workers, Louis sends a text.
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Mitch has never been a believer in that pin-drop saying. There’s always something else going on, especially in bars, especially in bars at two in the morning after the crowd has just witnessed a painfully mawkish Cyndi Lauper cover. Even the most focused of people will breathe out a sigh and disrupt the air.
Then Harry starts to play. Knees tucked close, bottom lip bitten between teeth, ringed hands melting into his strings.
And, yeah. Mitch holds his breath, along with every other person and possible noise-making object in the room. Not a sound.
If only he had a pin, just to test the theory.
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AU. Mitch, Harry, and Portland in the 90s.
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Summary
The shadowy blob of his reflection is his closest company at present, more defined now that he’s nearer to the water. Which is completely still. Glasslike. There’s a sheen coming from it that didn’t appear so glossy before. He peers down at himself. The reflection seems, quite suddenly, corporeal.
Harry doesn’t realise it’s eyes are closed until they snap open to stare back at him.
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Harry and team head to Cancun to film Lights Up. It doesn't go as planned.
Recent bookmarks
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AU. Louis is stuck in his mom's diner for the summer. Harry is the line cook with a pickup truck.
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"i didn’t realize it would sometimes be more than whole, that the wholeness was a rather luxurious idea. because it’s the halves that halve you in half." a like crazy au where harry and louis fall in america, but have to try to make it work when problems arise that force louis to stay in london.
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Summary
Louis isn't in love with Harry, but it’s something like that. A story where Louis is a contradiction and Harry thinks he’s the greatest.
"He wants to be loved and he wants to be the best but he wants it whispered to him, so quietly he almost can’t hear it, on Harry’s lips that sting like nettles. Harry’s golden in the sun and ivory in the moonlight and Louis wants to be in his orbit. He wants them to be kings."
Bookmarked by fondleeds
30 Jun 2016
Bookmarker's Notes
will i ever read this without crying?? probably not,,,,i feel blue and heavy
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A Shameless AU starring Louis as Fiona and Harry as Jimmy/Steve.
(or, Louis is raising his seven siblings by himself, and Harry steals cars and crash lands into Louis' life. Together, they navigate south side Chicago and love.)
Bookmarked by fondleeds
05 Aug 2017
Bookmarker's Notes
for when i want my heart to be broken and put back together over and over
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Summary
“That’s weird,” Harry straightens, childhood tar-thick in his chest. “I would think most people try to forget.”
“I think people make memories into ghosts,” he fixes his hair, at home in his bones, unaware, like he isn’t casting spells by licking his lips. “I think it’s easier that way, to put the blame somewhere else. But we’re our own ghosts,” Louis looks up at him, a storm gathering in his pupil. “We haunt ourselves.”