zayn my darling

I get pissed when I see ppl ragging on zayn for quitting twitter because of the hotel video when um actually he quit because of the constant RACISM AND ISLAMOPHOBIA that got sent to him and his entire family (PARTICULARLY DURING EID) like his cousin has confirmed this on twitter and zayn has confirmed this in his fabulous magazine interview so I get really mad when ppl trivialize his quitting as some kind of overly dramatic bitch fit when it was a completely valid reaction to something really serious and upsetting and fucked up >( 

35; footsies under the table

Harry: you’re trying to stay in the conversation you’re having with Gemma, but you can’t, because Harry keeps nudging his foot with yours. each time he does, your attention flickers over to him, where he’s beaming at you and making some kind of funny gesture. finally, you’ve had enough, so you excuse yourself to Gemma, grab his hand, and pull him away from the dinner table, dragging him down the hall. he’s giggling at you while you do, almost skipping behind you. you make sure no one’s watching you two and shove him into the closet, flipping on the light and pulling the door shut behind you. “what the hell was that?” you whisper, staring up at him with your hands on your hips. “what was what?” he asks, feigning innocence, sliding his hands between the openings your arms have made, letting his long fingers slide into the back pockets of your jeans. “that!” you whisper, your voice slightly louder. “I’m trying to have a conversation with your sister and you won’t stop bothering me!” he slides himself a little closer to you. “you were doing fine, love.” Harry leans down and presses a kiss to the curve of your neck and you sigh, exasperated, letting yourself melt into him a little bit. “I just want them to like me, Haz,” you mumble into his chest, putting your hands under his arms, digging your fingers into his shoulder blades. you’re quiet for a moment, the only sound in the small space your breath and the sound of Harry’s hand moving against the fabric of your shirt, rubbing slow circles into your back. “you know what my mum said to me?” he whispers after a while, lifting his head from your shoulder, moving his hand to push your hair behind your ear. you shake your head slowly, your eyebrows furrowing. he smoothes his thumb between them and smiles, leaning to put his forehead against yours. “she told me that she’s never seen me happier than I am with you. she said she thinks you’re one of the greatest girls I’ve ever been with. she said she wants to see more of you. and you know what I told her?” you shake your head again, feeling tears seep into your eyes. Harry presses his lips to yours once, making you feel a little lightheaded before he pulls away again. “I told her that she’d be seeing a lot more of you, because I figured something out. I love you, Y/N.”

Liam: he won’t pay attention to you and it’s driving you mad. you’ve been trying to catch his eye all night, but he’s too wrapped up in your surroundings, the bright lights and countless faces. you should be too, you suppose, but you can’t, because your head is buzzing with things you want to say to Liam and you don’t think you can wait any longer. you tap your heel against his shin and he looks at you for a brief moment, long enough to smile at you so his eyes go all crinkly around the edges. but then he looks away again and his attention goes elsewhere. you nudge him again, but the same thing happens. when you tap him a third time, he raises an eyebrow at you, but all you can managed to mouth is “I love you”. it makes him blush a little, much to your excitement, and he reaches across the table to hold your hand, his fingers finding the spaces between yours. soon enough, he’s moved his chair a little closer to yours and puts his lips to your ear, grinning against your skin. “I love you, too, sweetheart,” he whispers, kissing your cheek once. you open your mouth to spill your guts, but something in you says wait till you get home. so you do. the boys take home three awards and you and Liam drive home after the celebrations. as you’re walking down the hallway to your apartment, hand in hand, your high heels dangling from your free hand, Liam speaks. “why’d you keep trying to get my attention tonight?” he asks, pulling you into his side. “just some things I wanted to say to you,” you reply, looking up at him sleepily. “oh?” you nod as he unlocks the door to you apartment. “and what are those things?” you lick your lips and lean up to kiss him briefly. “that I’ve very, very proud of you for everything that you’ve done, and how far you and the boys have come and that I’m so glad you picked me and that I get to be yours and that I just love you a lot.” he laughs and pulls you into the apartment, tugging the door shut and nudging the toe of his shoes against yours. “you’re silly, you beautiful, beautiful girl.” you laugh. “silly? or right?” he grins, plunging his hand into your hair and kissing you hard. “maybe both,” he breathes when he pulls away. “but there’s something I want to say to you, too. I’m proud of you too, for everything you’ve done and I’m very, very glad that you chose me and that I get to share my life with you and I love you so much, baby.”

Louis: it’s one of those days where he has made it very clear what he wants to do, and you’ve made it very clear that you want nothing to do with it. you’re playing with him, guilty as charged. but he does this to you all the time, so you figure it’s your turn to have a little fun. “maybe we should go out for dinner tonight,” you say as you two sit on the couch, an old episode of How I Met Your Mother playing on the tv. Louis is restless, pulling your bare legs into his lap and tracing his fingers up and down your skin, trying to get a rise out of you. “maybe, I’d much rather just stay home and make out,” he replies after a second, leaning his cheek in his palm, pouting. “why not? we could get all dolled up and go to that nice place down the street.” you lean closer to him and nibble at his earlobe. “I could wear that little black dress and those sexy heels you got me.” his eyes go wide at that and he pushes your legs off of him, darting towards your bedroom, calling to you over his shoulder. “get ready, my love!” you chuckle to yourself and meander slowly to the bedroom, hearing that Louis has already gotten into the shower and is steaming up the bathroom. within the hour, you two are ready, you with curled hair and carefully applied makeup, dressed in the lacy black dress and sky-high heels Lou got you for Christmas, and Louis in one of his suits, looking good enough to eat, which you know is all apart of his game. when you get to the restaurant, you sort of swell a little when at least three or four heads turn your way, which sends Louis into overprotective-boyfriend mode, keeping a hand on the small of your back and leaning in to kiss your jawline. you sit across from each other and share a bottle of wine. you’re still having fun with him, and you scoot a little closer to the table and run the heel of your shoe up and down his shin once, watching his face carefully. you grin when his eyes get a little wide and move your foot back down, getting your foot underneath his pant leg, running your heel up and down his leg. “you’re asking for it,” he mumbles into his wine glass, staring at you with piercing blue eyes. “that’s exactly what I’m doing,” you admit, crossing your arms and shrugging. “when we get home…” he drawls, a grin crossing his face. you take a sip of your own wine. “yes, Lou, when we get home…”

Niall: you feel the nudge against your bare leg, the unmistakeable feeling of a sneaker against your skin, making you jump so hard you almost fall backward off the seat of the picnic table. you raise your eyes and meet Niall’s, feeling your face get hot. you’re on a camping trip with friends, Niall included. so far the trip has included getting wasted before noon and a drunken stumble to the beach. you’ve been the most sober of your group, keeping everyone in line. Niall keeps hanging around you, walking beside you on the way back from the beach and sitting next to you or across from you when you play King’s Cup. he’s across from you right now, his hands in his lap, snapback perched backwards on his head, his nose a little sunburnt from your afternoon at the beach. it’s getting dark now, and you’re starting to feel the chill. you rub your arms a little, trying to ignore the toe that keeps touching your leg under the table. he does it again and you mouth “stop it” at him, trying to look stern, but he just laughs, shaking his head at you. when you shiver, Niall notices. “d'you want my hoodie?” he asks, nudging you again, a little harder this time. you almost say no, but one of those body-shaking shivers overtakes you and you nod, almost sighing with relief when he gets up, slides the hoodie off his shoulders, and drapes it around yours. it’s warm with his body heat and smells like campfire, beer, and that delicious scent Niall has. you push your arms through the sleeves as he touches your foot this time, smiling at you across the table. “Ni, do you wanna walk with me?” you ask. “might warm me up a bit more.” he gets up so fast the picnic table almost topples over. you two make your way down to the water’s edge, Niall with his hands in his pockets, you fiddling with the string of his hoodie. “why do you keep nudging me under the table?” you ask, the two of you walking in the setting sunlight, toes just getting covered by the tide. he shrugs, the tips of his ears going bright red. “dunno, jus’ tryna get your attention, I guess.” “you have my attention, Ni,” you say, far too quickly. he looks at you a little dumbfounded so you reach up and pull his mouth down to yours, kissing him. when you pull back, he still looks just as dumbfounded, maybe a little more. “ya,” he mumbles out, “suppose I do.”

Zayn: “honey, can you set the table please?” you ask your nine-year-old son, stirring the pot of spaghetti on the stove. the front door opens and you can hear your five-year-old twin girls go screeching towards the door, yelling “daddy!” at the top of their lungs. “d'you need any more help, mum?” your son asks and you nod. “can you get the tomato sauce out of the cupboard? thank you, love.” just then, there’s tattooed arms around your waist and a familiar mouth on your neck, kissing softly. “hello, my darling,” Zayn whispers in your ear. you lay your spoon down on the counter and turn in his arms, draping your arms around his neck so you can kiss him proper. you can hear an echoed “yuck!” from your three children and laugh against your husband’s lips. “that smells delicious,” Zayn comments when you turn back to the stove. “thank you,” you grin, “and it’s ready!” the five of you settle around the dinner table and sink into the regular dinnertime conversation. Zayn asks each of your children how their days were, and then asks you how yours was. you ask him how his was and he says the usual, it was great, it was long, he missed you more than he can say. it’s routine, and it’s comforting. but today, something is different. there’s something you have to tell Zayn and you’re not entirely sure how he’s going to react. halfway through dinner, after Zayn makes some offhand comment about watching a movie, you nudge his shin with your toe, looking up at him. “the kids volunteered to clean up after dinner, Z. I want to talk to you about something.” he raises his eyebrows at you. “oh?” you nod and the rest of dinner is relatively silent. about ten minutes later, you’re pacing your bedroom floor. Zayn comes in and closes the door behind him. “love, what did you want to talk about?” he asks, making his way over to you and putting his hands on your upper arms, squeezing you a little. you take a deep breath. “something’s happened, Zayn, and I know we haven’t talked about it much and I know it might be a bit of a surprise but I figure the girls are old enough now and I-” he cuts you off with a kiss, “love, spit it out.” you lock eyes with him and put a hand on his cheek. “Zayn, I’m pregnant.”