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I NEED A GOOD LOUIS IMAGINE! STAT!
@Waving_Snail
Imagine going to a sex shop with Louis. Imagine feeling his fingers massaging your scalp while he helps you dye your hair in the bathroom (do you dye your hair? I love dying mine lol). Imagine Louis singing I Wanna Grow Old With You from the Wedding Singer. Imagine baby sitting his little cousin who thinks you guys are married. Imagine arguing about his suitcase being too heavy for airport customs while helping him pack for tour. Imagine shaving his head after he has a mental break down and doesn't want to be Louis Tomlinson anymore. Imagine doing something mundane like picking a new carpet at Lowe's for your new house or a wood finish for your back deck. Imagine him trying (and failing horribly) to knit you a new scarf for winter. Imagine going record shopping together :D
I'm 110% sure none of that was helpful lol but I tried :P
@Waving_Snail
lol I just thought up stuff I figured nobody would talk about XD like checking out carpet. Who wants to look at carpet? Or wood stain?
@Waving_Snail
i've got some free time coming up hopefully in the next few so i could write a few up for you! what genre and rating do you want them to be? i'm not magic with smut, but im sure i could pull some strings :)
@Waving_Snail
I had originally begun writing this as a Harry imagine but changed it mid way because I felt it would suit Louis a little more :) It sucks, but eh.. it's all I could do x
“Sir? Um, excuse me sir?”
My voice had never been so high pitched before as it floated across the old worn wooden desks to the front of the classroom only half gaining the attention of the substitute teacher who had been forced to take a period of detention this afternoon like a sucker searching for acceptance amongst his professional peers. I wasn’t exactly sure why I was here; apparently voicing your own opinions in a political-science class that was heavily leaning right wasn’t such a smart idea – thus, I’d earned a pleasurable 45 minutes in the slammer; that being this cold, heartless classroom with bright, wide open windows which teased and taunted me, exposing a glimpse of a blue – cloudless sky and gorgeous warm bronze sun that I wasn’t allowed to enjoy.
“Sir? Mr Tomlinson….”, I called out again, knees together beneath my plaid skirt and shoulders dropped although this time, my voice seemed to get his attention and he having now decided to co-operated, dropped the novel he had perched between his fingertips down hard against the desk he sat behind – eyes ever so tranquil yet vivid and blue staring straight at me – telling me all the reasons and describing them so thoroughly in detail no vocals were needed to express why he also didn’t want o be here. Perhaps it was the way I had addressed him?
“Can I help you Ms?”, he muttered quietly under his breath, although loud enough that I’d heard his offer. He’d probably gotten to a paragraph in the chapter where the female character was being submissively taken advantage of by the alpha-male antagonist. At least, smut was what it looked like he was reading; a plain, simple little red book – the words ‘Faults of Venus’ in scripted deep into the spine. I bet the writer described her as having pretty emerald green eyes; ones that pooled with tears whenever he made a threat or thrust up inside her hard. Shaking my head away from these ridiculous ideas, I took a cliché deep breath and coughed to clear my throat.
“I, overheard from a friend that you were a biology sub sir..”, I questioned, my eyes not exactly looking at his, more focusing on his chin which seemed chiseled, roman statuesque yet simple. My eyes were fixated on him in ways I was sure other women had previously experienced.
“That’s correct”, he responded voice dry and husky although it wasn’t put on. I could feel the gap between my legs begin to warm up at the thought of what his mouth could do. More than just ever reply to my obtuse questions.
“Well, um – I’m actually working on some biology homework now”, I explained pathetically without breath - crossing my legs at my ankles together beneath the desk, fingers linking together and wrists set apart on my lap, “I could use some assistance if you don’t mind?”
I thought it would have taken longer to hear the leather of his shoe soles crack and pace up the classroom floor towards me but I guess we’d both gotten to that point in the day that anything to ensure and help waste time until half passed 4 would do. With his palms resting on the desk; himself standing to one side, he was close enough that I could smell his cologne – a cocktail mix of cigarettes and branded spray. Ideas that shouldn’t have been there began to twirl like fairytales inside my head.
“Fuck, you’re tight.”
“Sir.. ughh.. fuck.”
I tried to shake my head clear of such rubbish and nonsense – unsure of where this was all coming from. It was no lie, the substitute was attractive; - every girl from junior to senior grade thought this - but I’d experienced a sensation like this before. Never hot nor bothered, never wet, never provoked by the idea of a man.
“Now what was it you needed clarification on Ms?”, he asked, leaning forward, a little further in. His fingers traced over the print in my text book and I began to wonder what they’d feel like delicately painting over my curves. His knee length black coat brushed against my arm; causing myself to fidget slightly. I grabbed the pen off my desk to make it look as if my action was intentional and started spinning the black biro around my fingers.
“Pheromones..”, I stuttered quietly, straightening the way I sat as the word rolled off my tongue. It seemed I wasn’t able to get another word out before Mr Tomlinson cut me off with his own agenda.
“A chemical factor that triggers a social response in members of the same species”, he rambled on, leaning down a little further to read; that cologne scent – polo-black I believe all becoming a little too much. Perhaps it was a ploy; a way he’d drive the other female students insane to the brink of self-destruction. Why else would a half attractive young male teacher bother finding work at an all female high school? He probably got a kick out of it; the thrill of knowing we all crossed our legs when he walked in because we didn’t want anything seeping out and how our dreams at night would involve him in unspoken context we'd gossip over the following day during lunch.
Mind elsewhere and back on day dream fantasies that I knew would never happen, I lost control of my pen; hearing it drop hard and suddenly to the floor and with a quick snap, I leant down, brushing up against Mr Tomlinson to collect it.
Was that?
No?
He wouldn’t be?
I was sure I definitely felt it.
Stiff and ready pushing up hard against the zipper of his black trousers. “So like.. cologne”?, I asked quietly, biting at the end of my pen. The tip sat almost at home between my lips.
“Or the way a woman would smell after vigorous exercise”, he explained without missing a beat.
“Define vigorous”, I pleaded inaudibly, forcing him to move in a little closer, arms further apart now against the desk after my rush down earlier – chest low and our lips only inches apart when we spoke. Although he was focused on letting his eyes scan over the contents of my text book, I could feel his breath, hot and heavy inadvertently racing down the side of my neck. Adjusting my shirt and pulling at my private school girl collar; I wondered if this was a bad idea.
“Say a marathon or a game of football, perhaps even a dance recital—.”
“Sex?”
The chuckle which escaped from his lips only forced me to shift in my seat; my chest getting warmer, a hand dropping to my tartan skirt and sliding in between my thighs to control any overload of imagined pleasure.
“I don’t know if I’d call that an exercise Ms.”
“I wasn’t giving examples Mr Tomlinson”, I trickled out word by word now looking him in the eyes, “I was asking.”
Turning a little in my seat so that now our lips were even closer and heart racing – I don’t think I’d ever felt so self assured and confident in my entire life. What kind of idiot was I to think of saying such a thing? If detention was this bad, imagine the kind of suspension I was going to receive for such misconduct.
Eyes glary and arms weak; I noticed him shift his stance, purposefully knocking my arm as his hands found their way to his waist – fingers loosely wrapped around his belt. I heard for the second time; the pen I was twirling hit the floor before my own eyes looked up in search of permission within his.
“You going to get that?”, he asked without a care, fiddling with the buckle at the front of his jeans and not worried whether anyone was around.
“Get what sir?”. I replied, looking at him through thick and heavy mascara lined lashes, which served me more wrong than good.
“Your pen Ms, it's under the desk..”, he let out as the zipper of his trousers worked its way down, “Be a good girl, drop to your knees and grab your pen Ms.”
HELP! I NEED IT NOW AND I HAVE ALREADY RED ALL THE TUMBLR POSTS ON HIM! They have been reall hard to find after the end of 2012 but, I'm still into them, read 99.99% of them and trying to find just one more! PLEASE HELP!
this is not a question, but a MOTHER FUCKING STATEMENT. YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE IN SCROLLING AWAY SONI RECOMEND YOU SIT YOUR BODDIE DOWN AND TELL ME A GOOD LOUIS IMAGINE.
lol, thanks guys :)
4/22/15