Credit: huzzayn
Liam: It’s nearly 8 o’clock and you’re shivering. The sun would have set maybe a half-an-hour ago, but you can’t tell because the storm clouds that had been lurking since early afternoon had converged, forming one dark, looming presence above your head. It starts to rain, then, and you sigh dejectedly as the first drop hits your face. You continue to wait patiently on the sidewalk, your arms clutching each other in an attempt to retain the warmth. Liam will be here soon, you steel yourself. He had left you on the sidewalk only minutes prior, darting out under the clouds to fetch the car from the obnoxious parking garage near the cinema. By the time you see his sleek Audi, it’s pouring and your dress is ruined. Make-up streams down your face and your hair hangs limply from your head. Liam barely stops the car (and certainly doesn’t turn it off) before he’s jumping out of it, nearly leaping over the hood in is haste. The passenger door opens. “Get in, [Y/N],” he says, his voice husky and low. You nod shakily, ducking under his arm and into the warmth of his car, the purring of the engine communicating a connotation of warm, blanket and sleepy kittens. Liam gets back in the car, water dripping off of his soaked hair. He peels of his sweater, tossing it into the back seat, before pulling another jacket out from under his feet. “Put it on,” he says gently, handing you the soft jumper though he himself was shaking like a leaf. You stared at him with chattering teeth, but didn’t take it. “Put it on, [Y/N], or so help me,” he commands now, voice low and almost growling. Not in angry way - but with care, and protectiveness. You nod this time and take it, pulling it over your wet dress.
Zayn: The lights distract you. The music is loud, bass pumping through your veins in a way you’re sure isn’t too healthy. You’re laughing, eyes closing but not doing much to block out the club scene as you dance with Danielle and Andy. You’re a little more than tipsy, but still sure that you know who you are, and where you are, and you’re positive that the hands on your hips belong to Zayn - you’d know them anywhere. Except maybe you don’t, because when you turn to kiss him, you’re met with sickly pale skin and green eyes and blonde hair, and lips that definitely taste more like beer than the smoke you’re used to. You pull back, coughing, trying to get this foreign man’s taste off of your lips, but his arms are still around you, hands still splayed on your hips, and now one is sliding lower and you feel tears start to fall as you fight him, trying to pull away, and find Zayn - and then it’s all normal, and Zayn’s scent is surrounding you, and his tan arms have caught you, and his harsh voice is yelling profanities at the wasted blonde. “Stay away from her, you dick,” he growls. You look up at him as he marches you away from your assaulter. His normally warm eyes had darkened like frozen chocolate, harsh and unforgiving. “Zayn,” you croak, yearning for the gentle strength he normally exudes. He looked down at you, frowning. Your intoxicated state certainly displeased him, and as he settled you into the backseat of the car, he sighed. He climbed in after you, giving his address to the driver before securing the soundproof barrier. “You need to be more careful, angel,” he cooed, pulling your head down to his lap and running his fingers through your damp hair. “It scares me to think what could have happened if I wasn’t there,” he said, voice deepening. “You can’t go out alone, [Y/N]. Okay?” You moaned and hummed but didn’t say anything, still feeling woozy and disoriented. “No, baby, promise me,” he said, gentler. “Promise,” you whisper, snuggling into his thigh. He sighs with relief, hand resuming his steady movement through your hair.
Louis: You sigh as the doctor hands you a prescription for pain medication (apparently Advil - even extra strength - wouldn’t be enough) and slump as Louis lifts you into his arms. He grunts softly with the effort, but carries you with ease, waving at the fawning receptionists and humming as he approaches the elevator. You sigh again and look away from him, his sturdy arms doing nothing to take your mind off your boyfriend. You broke your ankle - no big deal, really, except that Louis William Tomlinson was an overprotective sod. This one little fracture meant no fun for [Y/N] - and you were not happy. “Lou,” you groan, hitting his chest. ”I can walk-” he cuts you of with a scoff, and you huff, eyebrows furrowing. “Fine, Tomlinson, I can hobble. let me down,” you pout. Louis was making a huge deal out of one little injury! When Louis makes no move to set you down, you whine in the back of your throat and hit his chest again. “That’s enough, [Y/N],” he commands, an annoyed edge to his voice. You still. “You are not my father,” you say, almost hissing the words. Louis glances down at you, having arrived at the valet. He raises one eyebrow and hands the young man his keys. The boy smirks at you and scampers off, and you huff once more. “I am not your father,” Louis says calmly. “But I am your boyfriend and it’s my job to look out for you and keep you safe and unharmed and obviously,” he snorts, “I’m not doing very well, so if you’ll just let me take care of you-” he stresses, nodding at the teenager as he rolls up in Louis’ car. “We’ll be okay, okay?” Another valet opens the passenger side door and Louis slips you in, buckling your seat belt and pressing a kiss to your cheek before shutting the door and coming around to the driver’s side.
Niall: You let the car door slam as you walked away, leaving Niall in the car on the side of the express way. Fuming, you stomped away, into the untamed wilderness that lined the sides of the national roads. You heard Niall yell your name but paid it no heed, justifying that the strong wind carried it away. And speaking of the winds - you looked upwards. The storm clouds had gathered, ominous and foreboding. You huffed, pushing through tall grasses and shady tress, batting at moss at is hung in your face. You heard footsteps, but ignored them, too. You knew it was Niall - that was his thing. Follow at a distance, strike when you look like you’re about to cry. It would be soon, you thought dryly, feeling the lump in your throat. On impulse, you darted off at a sprint, “I have to get away” running through your head like an unfortunate mantra. The footsteps followed you, pounding into the Earth with a ferocity previously unknown to you. Gasping, you nearly fell as pale arms encircled your waist, pulling you back into the chest of your Irish boyfriend. “Don’t run away from me,” he growled, spinning you so he could see the little teardrops rolling from the corners of your eyes. His own were dark, reflecting the navy of the evening storm-sky, but as they found yours, you noticed that the edge fell away and the kindness began to return, little by little. “Don’t run, [Y/N],” he said, still firmly but with sweetness. “I love you so much and the idea of you - running, of you leaving and falling into the world without someone to protect you scares me,” he admitted, eyes flitting and searching your own. “Stay with me.”
Harry: Your back hit the brick wall of the alleyway, narrow and foggy with the humid London air. “Scared, little bird?” the red-headed woman cackled, advancing upon you. You were dizzy (and yes, scared) and wishing that your boyfriend would just appear, but you knew he wouldn’t. He was at work, in a meeting with Apple. He was a computer programmer - intelligent, witty, and sturdy, but somehow never there when you needed him. The other two women walked forward, flanking the ginger who appeared to be the “leader of the pack.” The three of them shared glances and giggles, eyes shifting to you in eerie unison. “Alright, little bird, let’s hear your song. Where’s Harry?” You furrowed you brow, confused. “H-harry?” you stuttered, eyes narrowing and widening alternatively. You had never met a man named Harry before (really the only one you knew of was the Prince, but he didn’t count, obviously). “I’m right here,” a voice called, echoing across the walls. The two brunette women turned, gasping and squealing and blushing, fixing their hair and disheveled clothing, dirty for the roughening-up they gave you. The voice walked closer, revealing it’s body. He was tall, and handsome, with curly hair and green eyes - the same green eyes that had bought you a drink (which you refused; you have a boyfriend, thanks very much). “So maybe you should back off. The poor bird didn’t even accept my offer,” he smiled kindly at you, winking to show he wasn’t upset. You nodded and flashed him a brief smile. When none of the women moved, he huffed and pushed past them, wrapping an arm around your waist and leading you away. “I am so sorry,” he said, facing you once you were out of range. “I’m sorry because I hit on you and you’re in a relationship, and I’m sorry that those women were harassing you. Is there any way I can make it up to you?” he asked, biting his lip, eyes widening subconsciously. You took a gulp of air, and thinking of your boyfriend, nodded with a tight smile. “Do you think you can find me a way home? Like, a cab, or something-” He nodded, grinning, and wrapped his arm around your waist again. “I’ll drive you,” he said strongly.
