Niall Horan Sexual Frustrations

Seven Days

Monday morning fall in love,

I opened my eyes to find her petite frame tucked into my side, as I always did on sunny mornings like these. I looked to the clock, 9:15 am. I treasured mornings like these where I woke up before her because I was able to observe how her eyes fluttered every few minutes while she dreamed peacefully, and how her muscles would tighten and relax again once her body reassured itself that I was still here.

On mornings like these I could run my rough finger tips over the silky smooth skin of her arms while I nestled my face into her hair, inhaling the raspberry shampoo she used. It smelled so good, so her, so homely. I revelled in moments like these when we could spend our time with our limbs entwined while we were protected by the safe barrier the bed clothes created between my girl and I and the public.

When my own blue eyes would connect with her own sleepy orbs I'd fall in love with her all over again, and we'd fall into our routine of whispering sweet nothings to each other before we got on about our lazy day.

and then Tuesday she wishes I were dead,

"Niall Horan you lying bastard!" (Y/N) screeches at me across the marble coffee table.

"Calm the fuck down, (Y/N). It's rumours, you know I'd never cheat on you!" My voice cracks at the end of my sentence, knowing the tabloids are once again taking chips out of our relationship.

"So why lie about the club? Why lie Niall? God, I'm sick of your bullshit! I hate you, I wish I never met you! I wish you were dead!" She screams as new streaks of mascara trail down her pretty face.

As she grabs her clutch and runs out of our apartment I yell out in frustration. I whirl around in the kitchen and find the first object that comes to hand, a glass vase, and I hurl it at the framed photo of me and (Y/N) that was once hanging on the wall. As her words sink in I fall to my knees in front of the picture, dusting off the broken glass before I slam it back down.

God she makes me so fucking angry!

Wednesday; make up,

Thursday; break up all over and over again.

Friday night she hits on all my friends,

I sit at the bar, shooting another glare towards (Y/N) as I watch her sitting in the middle of my band mates. She's sitting half on Harry's lap, half on Josh's as she giggles along to all their attempts to bed her. I grip my glass hard enough to turn my knuckle white as I watch Harry stroke her thigh.

She must have known I was watching because she looks up and flashes a smirk in my direction, raising her glass as if to offer a cheers. I roll my eyes at her and knock back the rest of my glass, ordering another before turning around.

A blonde girl makes her way to the bar and sits next to me. In all honesty I'm not interested, she doesn't compare to (Y/N) in any way, shape or form, but she's all I need to make (Y/N) as jealous as she's made me. I order the blonde a drink and sling my arm around her shoulders, pretending I'm interested as I can feel (Y/N)'s icy glare on my back.

The blonde leans into my ear to inform me she needs the loo so I give a dismissive nod before she leaves. As soon as my side is empty (Y/N) approaches me and slips into the empty seat.

"Sick of Harry then?" I glare at her.

"Nah, he knows how to keep a girl interested." She puts emphasis on 'interested' and my jaw clenches at the thought of him touching her.

She notices and smiles, and it's not like the cruel smiles that I've been receiving all night, it's a real smile. As soon as it appears it's gone again, but before she leaves with another drink she leans into my ear and whispers "don't worry, your bed is the only bed for me" before kissing my sweet spot and heading back to Harry.