Louis Tomlinson's Book of Imagines

Pizza My Heart

Warning: There is a bit of watersports kink in here! If you don't like that particular kink, don't read. If you do, happy reading!

#Imagine "94 Cherry Way," Louis reads aloud, the ruby red wheels of his skates rolling down the block full of elegant townhouses in search of your house. The sun is out on this Friday afternoon with few clouds dispersed among the length of sky and temperature in the low 80s to high 90s. The glare glistens in sweat drops on either of his bared arms due to the fact he's wearing an onyx tank top as he keeps a nice flow going down the pavement. "Have I passed it?"

It's not the easiest or most entertaining job being a pizza boy, but the cash was being saved up for the Lamborghini he'd been dreaming of since his kid years. "Damn it." The residents of the community are sending him looks of confusion as he keeps the square box held firmly in both hands, "Chin Check" by N.W.A. playing in his headphones with iPod attached to his skinny jeans' waistband. From where he is, he can spot house number 88 just inches away - not too far now until he reaches his destination.

What a hassle it is to even get the phone to his ear, his left hand and right dialing your number all the while making sure his legs don't give way. "Hey, I'm sorry I'm late. The pizza you ordered will be there in about a minute or two, I had a wee bit of difficulty finding your house." Louis is closing at last, numbers rising  unlike his journey to find you 10 minutes ago down the opposite street.

"It's okay," you promise him, sitting at the very end of the stairs except you're speaking to him from inside rather than outside. "As long as I get the pizza, that's all that matters - it's no problem."

"Well, I'll see you in less than a minute. Goodbye."

You wish him one back before the call is over and await your delivery, feeling absolute starvation since you'd had no time for breakfast this morning.

He's approaching your door about thirty seconds later, exhausted from the long trip it had taken to arrive and once he reaches the door he nearly tumbles. Thank God for your door frame or there would have been a ham and pineapple as well as a cheese pizza splattered all over the grass. Brrring! sounds the doorbell as he keeps steady, taking a sigh of relief that for a bit he has a skating break.

The door opens up moments later, and there you are with a smile that fades almost instantly. Before you stands the most gorgeous boy you've ever been blessed to behold, hair a milk chocolate shade so flawlessly ruffled in a fringe beneath a red and black cap and a set of oxygen-robbing ultramarine eyes. Never had you seen such etched, rounded cheekbones or a sharper jawline in your entire life - there was no way a chisel couldn't have made such shape. Truly ethereal.

"Is something wrong, love?" The pizza boy's looks are not the only attributes you take a liking to, for his voice is so delicate it's worthy of being a melody only angels should be allowed to hear. The Doncaster accent goes from pondering to panic in seconds. "Don't tell me you wanted pepperoni."

"I, um, misplaced my wallet." You give yourself a patdown, pretending as though you lost it so as to not make a fool of yourself and look down to your right jean pocket. "What do you know, it was on me."

There's a smile on his face now as you take the box from his hands and sift through a couple of credit cards until finding the money you knew you'd had stashed away. "The order's $15, right?"

Pizza Boy nods, and you hand him the three five dollar bills which he places in the wallet he's retrieved from his back pocket before glancing down at the floor. "You've stolen a pizza my heart." Shame is as clear as crystal in his tone, and the only reason you are silent is because you're slightly puzzled as to why he'd told you such a thing. "It's our tagline, my boss says that it's mandatory we say it to every customer to make their delivery all the more fulfilling. I hope you'll forgive me for how creepy it sounds."