larry stylinson oneshots

heart of misery

The meaning of love varies.
It can be twisted; easily manipulated.
So do I feel the love between you and me,
or is it something else in the dark
that I can't see?

Is it that you were never mine
and I never yours?
Just two smiling for the fun of it,
oh, the madness of it all.

Our love spilled on the floor,
and you know that I would die for you,
and you would not hesitate to cry
over my bleeding soul.

Our love is dark,
and it is twisted,
but it's the love that comes with
dark thorns and broken hearts.

The kind that only comes from the
darkest of times
from the darkest of people.

You and me,
our crime makes three.
I love you the most,
with my heart of misery.

———

I think it's important to note that our story is born out of selfish desires and a will to succeed. Our protagonists, one of whom is very upset right now, are cold-hearted and driven by fear. They do what they want when they want to, and their love for all things twisted makes them well-known, well-loved by some, in their city.

———
TW//Blood & Cutting (of the face)

It was raining, and of course, Louis hated when it rained. The people of Gotham hated it too because he spent his time complaining that his boots were now soaked, and God knows how long it would take to get his fishnets to dry. Harry liked when it rained because Louis' attire grew damp and very see-through. Sometimes he found pleasure in simple things like Louis' tattoos through his soaked shirts.

It just wasn't Louis' day. It decided to rain, and now he was late for his meeting. He didn't really care about the meeting. He cared more about his hair that was surely going to dry in ways he most certainly didn't want it to. Red and blue pieces stuck to his face, and he pushed them away as he, quite angrily, stomped down the street.

"First, no one comes to pick me up. Then it starts to pour because my day obviously hasn't already been going terribly. Now my boots are wet, and I keep slipping and-- stop staring at me!"

The person did stop gawking at him. As did the other people on his side of the street (they were more afraid of the bat he was dragging along the ground than him).

"You know, if you keep yelling at people like that, no one will want to do anything for you."

Louis' head snapped towards the car pulling up beside him. A smile worked its way into his face as the purple colour registered in his brain.

"Hazza!"

Harry smirked and ran a hand through his hair before stepping foot onto the pavement. His eyes darted up and down Louis' body before settling, as predicted, on his apparent tattoos.

"Zayn didn't pick me up, Haz. And now it's raining, and I'm cold and wet, and I'm late," Louis pouted as he hid in Harry's arms.

"I'll have to speak to him then. It was rather embarrassing when you weren't there to start the meeting with me. Surely you can understand how much worse it was when I had to leave to get you."

Louis nodded and moved away, his composure as collected as it could be. He stepped around the sports car until he reached the passenger's side. His baseball bat knocked against the door, and he flinched before settling in.