Louis > You

Do not give a candy cane to your toddler, they’re so sticky, it’s not worth the clean up

I was slacking and I just finished my Christmas shopping, now to tackle wrapping everything in 3 days. But I have taco bell to help me which is great. Please tell me this is normal? 

I did that last year but not this year, so yeah it’s completely normal.

“Then no, never mind,” Louis said, shaking his head immediately. “Don’t think I could stand having any kind of audience watching you in the bedroom, angel. What’s mine is mine.” Louis’ heart swelled to beat against his ribcage as he pressed his forehead to Harry’s and bit back a stupid, lovesick grin. “My husband,” he whispered. “My husband, my husband, my husband. Nope, not used to it yet. Might have to start chanting it up and down the streets to let the townspeople know.” A little hum of acknowledgement was all Louis could bring himself to offer, far too caught up in pulling Harry flush to his chest and meeting him halfway in a tender, featherweight kiss. Grabby hands found and tugged on the hem of Harry’s shirt as Louis stepped backwards, trying his damnedest to guide Harry away from the window and not pull away from their loss at the same time.

As if Louis wasn’t already ridiculously clingy, he couldn’t help the pout that settled on his lips as soon as Harry pulled away for literally two seconds. Good grief. “I dunno’,” he mused, automatically tucking in close and reaching up to link his hands together behind his new husband’s neck. “I’d watch that.” As he craned to kiss the other back, Louis’ fingers dawdled with a few flyaway strands of Harry’s hair, fixing them back into place even when he knew they wouldn’t look as nice and polished by the next morning. “Yeah? Got the rest of your life to call me that, Tomlinson. Shit, s'weird to say, innit’? Good weird, though. Always a good weird.” Louis bit back a mischievous grin as he met Harry’s eyes, unlinking his hands to run them down his chest. “Cuddling me. Kissing me. Trying to figure out our funeral plans. Our mums won’t let us see the end of this week once they find out, you know.”

Forty-eight hours ago, Louis had been this close to ripping his own hair out, trying to organize a ceremony and to pick flowers and to not collapse under pressure. Now, he found himself staring out the window of a Vegas hotel suite, a simple band around his left ring finger and a light, airy feeling in his chest as he shrugged off the jacket they’d picked up in the chapel’s gift shop right before getting hitched, all in under twenty minutes. Louis taking in the view of the skyline was interrupted by the feeling of warm, familiar arms wrapping around him, and he melted into his husband’s touch, cheeks flushed and smile wide. “Love you too,” he mumbled, waiting until Harry had stepped around him to wreath his arms around his waist and tilt his chin to kiss Harry back. “You think so?” he whispered, as if speaking aloud would break the atmosphere. The husband atmosphere. That was a thing. “Harry Tomlinson, you’re a genius. Pitch it to the nearest television station, won’t you? Later, though. You’re busy tonight.”