Coming October 31st…
When the Trouble Comes by nonsensedarling
Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson | 80k | Explicit
Official fic post is HERE.
The Queens Trafficking case is the biggest one of Louis’ FBI career so far; eleven reported missing girls all disappeared under a similar set of circumstances. Louis has done everything he can to try and solve this case over the last nine months... while also absolutely ruining his marriage.
Harry has been co-host of Banter at Breakfast for five years now and finally has the opportunity to create his own radio show with the network. Unfortunately, it comes at a time where Harry's thoughts are consumed with his impending divorce from his (caring, loving, infuriatingly thoughtful) husband of eight years.
Harry and Louis have both been willing to lose themselves in their work… but are they willing to lose each other?
Or a story of (almost) exes-to-lovers.
Chapters will post on Tuesdays of each week, starting on October 31st (20 chapters in total).
(If you would like to be notified by email when it starts posting, you can subscribe here.)
Snippet under the cut:
💼🍷
With a copy of the case file in his backpack, Louis sticks his key in the door, unlocks it, and steps inside, trying to be as quiet as he can because he knows at this time of night, Harry will definitely be asleep.
Except when he shuts the door, he sees the living room light bleeding out into the hallway, a shadow moving back and forth. There’s the sound of footsteps – lots of them, very quickly. Louis stares at the light and for a brief moment panics that he’s walked into their apartment to find Harry with someone else.
He hears light murmurs. Louis leans forward, feet frozen but his ears straining, until he recognizes the murmurs as Harry singing. Louis sighs in relief. Harry isn’t with someone else. He’s singing and probably dancing in the living room, maybe with his headphones in, which is why he hasn’t stopped or popped his head out between the doorframe when Louis opened the door.
Louis isn’t going to look in. He’s going to walk right past the doorway and head straight to the guest bedroom and review the file again, and then go to sleep so he can meet Perrie early in the morning.
He isn’t going to look in.
He really doesn’t mean to look in. A motion pulls his attention in his peripheral vision and his head turns without him realizing it, then his whole body stops moving.
Harry is dancing, wireless earbuds in and a glass of deep red wine in his right hand. There’s a pink tint to his cheeks, which tells Louis that the one in his hand is at least his third. He’s wearing just his boxer briefs and one of Louis’ hoodies.
Well, it was technically Harry’s hoodie originally. It’s heather grey, worn in to just the perfect amount of softness with a faded Greenbay Packers logo on the front. The first time Louis stayed over at Harry’s, he got cold just before they were going to bed. Harry took the sweatshirt from where it was draped over the top of the closet door and passed it to him.
When Louis pulled it on… he can’t really explain it, but there, in Harry’s dreadfully small room in his four-roommate apartment, wearing a hoodie that smelled exactly like him (like he’d been wearing it all day, soaked in the scent of his shampoo and body lotion and fabric softener)... Louis had the same feeling he got when he first visited New York when he was a kid. Like he was home. Harry had agreed. “Looks better on you then it ever has on me,” he’d said with a smirk. And from then on, it was Louis’ hoodie. Harry never tried to take it back.
So the fact that his husband is wearing it now makes Louis feel all sorts of things. Before he has even a second to figure out what any one of them is, Harry opens his eyes.
“Shit fucking Christ,” he exclaims, opening his hand automatically. It’s like Louis watches in slow motion as the glass falls and breaks, shattering in so many different directions. He pulls his earbuds out quickly. “Hell, Louis, you scared the shit out of me!” he scolds.
Harry rises up onto his tiptoes, and Louis’ hand immediately goes out in front of him in a stop gesture.
“Don’t, don’t move,” Louis says. “Stay there.”
He turns quickly towards the kitchen, throwing his backpack somewhere off to the side as he rushes to grab the dustpan and broom, as well as the roll of paper towels.
“I’m coming, stay still,” Louis shouts as he starts jogging back.
He keeps his eyes on the ground as he puts one paper towel down to soak up the wine there, then balls it up so he can sweep away the shards. He does the same as he works his way towards Harry’s feet.
There’s red wine all over his toes, that’s got to be uncomfortable. Louis grabs one of the paper towels and goes to dab his feet to wipe it off.
“Stop,” Harry says. He sounds angry.
Louis glances up and sees that he looks angry. He holds his hands up in a surrendering motion, not wanting to upset him anymore.
“I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“Well don’t,” Harry spits out.
He stands up slowly. Louis doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Harry this angry with him. Even the time Louis accidentally threw out his favorite pair of boots it wasn’t like this. Louis isn’t prepared for this bitterness coming from his husband, and he didn’t think divorce brought on something like that when it wasn’t there before, at least not before they’d even filed the paperwork.
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Don't mind me, I'm just thinking how Steve would absolutely love fucking your tits. For him there's something about sliding between the softness of your boobs. Perhaps he's straddling your chest, his large hands holding your boobs tight around him. Maybe once he's finished over your chest, he swipes his finger through his cum and offers it up to your lips.
-🍑 anon
I was going back through my asks tonight, looking for what I wanted to write and idk why but this one really stood out to me 🥵
I love this thought so much! Like the way he'd pant and groan at the sight of your tits pressed together and his cock slipping between them. Especially if they were really lubed up or better still, nice and soapy. Soapy boobs are the fucking best.
And he would love playing with your nipples, tugging and teasing them while he fucks your tits. "God, you're so pretty like this. No idea how good that feels." He grunts, surging forward with a moan before dragging back again. The lube keeps his glide nice and slick, his hands holding you in place and it's so easy to get lost in this.
"You like that, baby? You like fucking my tits?" You can't help yourself, reaching down between your legs and unsurprisingly, finding yourself soaking wet.
Your fingers slip through your own slick folds, rubbing small circles over your own clit and he swears he's going to lose it when he sees you getting as into this as he is. "S-so fucking perfect. God, it's so hot. Your tits are so soft and warm and I c-can't stop thinking about covering them in my cum."
Your little breathy moan gives you away, not to mention the little slick sounds of your fingers working against your sensitive sex.
"Oh my God, you're touching yourself." Steve gasps, the realisation hitting him like a tonne of bricks because he didn't think this could even get hotter. Clearly, he was wrong.
"Want you to cum for me." You whisper and he swears he's going to lose it. "I don't want you to stop. I want your cum dripping all over me. Fuck, please Stevie." Your own fingers speed up in time with his thrusts and it's not long before he stills, his cock throbbing but held in place between your breasts.
His groan is breathtaking and you feel the first couple of huge pumps splatter over your skin. His release splashes up your neck, settling in the hollow of your throat and more just keeps coming.
The hands holding your breasts together are restless, kneading your flesh. "F-fuck, I can't stop." He gasps and watching him blow his load over you is almost enough to finish this for you too.
The last few smaller spurts are barely finished and his head is still racing. You look so throughly ruined, he can hardly control himself. "You didn't finish?" He questions softly, letting your breasts go while trying not to let his cum spill from your chest. He hums approvingly when you shake your head, your fingers still desperately massaging your own clit.
"Good. Because I'm gonna lick and kiss every drop of my mess off you. And then I'm going to fuck it into your pretty little pussy with my tongue."
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