Niallers Princess

Summary: When the boys discover that their favorite Nando’s location is closing for “renovations” (read: being replaced by a health food café), chaos ensues. Determined to save their sacred chicken spot, Louis comes up with a foolproof plan: break in, “borrow” the secret peri-peri sauce recipe, and blackmail the franchise into staying open. Naturally, nothing goes according to plan.

Excerpt

The plan was simple. Too simple.

“Right, lads,” Louis said, spreading a crumpled napkin on the hotel table like it was a blueprint for the heist of the century. “Here’s how we do it. Liam, you’re the distraction. Your job is to ask for kale wraps until the staff is so annoyed they’ll forget we’re even there.”

“Kale wraps?” Liam looked offended. “I have dignity, you know.”

“Do you?” Harry muttered, leaning back in his chair with a smirk. “You still say ‘brilliant’ unironically.”

“Focus!” Louis barked, smacking the table. “Zayn, you’re on lookout. If anyone suspicious shows up, give us the signal.”

“What’s the signal?” Zayn asked, half-interested as he painted his nails black.

“Something subtle, like screaming ‘RUN!’ and pointing at the door.”

Niall raised his hand. “What about me?”

“You’re the getaway driver.”

“YES!” Niall punched the air. “Wait, can I bring snacks?”

“Sure,” Louis said with a shrug. “But only Nando’s snacks. We’re on brand here.”

Harry squinted at the napkin-turned-map. “And what’s my job?”

Louis gave him a devilish grin. “You, Hazza, are the sauce thief.”

The night of the heist was a disaster waiting to happen, but Louis was confident. Too confident.

“Alright, everyone knows their roles,” Louis whispered as they huddled outside the Nando’s back entrance. “Liam, you’re up.”

Liam strolled in, head held high. “Hello, fine people of Nando’s,” he announced loudly, slapping the counter. “I’d like to talk to you about kale wraps.”

The staff exchanged confused glances. “We don’t sell kale wraps,” the cashier said.

“Exactly!” Liam said, wagging a finger. “And that’s the problem!”

Meanwhile, Zayn was outside, completely engrossed in his reflection in the glass. He adjusted his hair for the fifth time and muttered, “I should really try a middle part.”

Inside, Harry had successfully located the peri-peri sauce vault—aka a cabinet with a very rusty lock. “I’ve got this,” he whispered to himself, pulling out a hairpin. He’d seen this work in movies.

Five minutes later, he was still jiggling the pin while muttering, “Why isn’t this working?!”

Behind him, Louis was attempting to climb into the ceiling vents, having insisted it was “the most dramatic way” to enter the kitchen. Instead, he got stuck halfway through and began shouting, “I’M WEDGED! SOMEONE PUSH ME!”

Niall, sitting in the getaway car with a bucket of wings, heard the commotion and sighed. “Every time,” he muttered, stuffing another piece of chicken in his mouth.

By the end of the night, Louis had been rescued from the vent by a very unimpressed firefighter, Harry had accidentally spilled peri-peri sauce all over his hair, and Zayn had entirely forgotten his lookout duties because he got distracted by a stray cat.

The boys were banned from Nando’s for life. But on the bright side, Liam did get a free kale wrap…from the health café next door.

Moral of the story? Don’t let Louis plan anything ever again.

The rain drummed steadily against the windows of their small flat, a somber melody that matched the gloom inside. Louis Tomlinson sat at the edge of the couch, staring blankly at the television, though it was turned off. His hand clutched a bottle of whiskey, half-empty, as his leg bounced nervously. The light in the room was dim, the faint glow from the streetlights casting long shadows on the walls.

In the corner of the room, a framed photo of his family sat on a shelf. Jasmine smiled brightly in the picture, holding a younger Benjamin James Tomlinson on her hip, the boy’s toothy grin infectious. The woman in the photo looked happy, whole—a stark contrast to the reality that now haunted Louis every day.

The flat was silent except for the rain. Jasmine had left hours ago, taking Benjamin with her. The echo of her words still rang in his ears.

“You’re not the man I married, Louis.”

Her voice had cracked as she spoke, the tears streaming down her face, but she hadn’t hesitated. He’d begged her to stay, pleaded with her, but she’d shaken her head. “I can’t do this anymore,” she’d said, her hand trembling as she held Benjamin’s.

And then they were gone.

Louis tipped the bottle back, the burn of the alcohol doing nothing to dull the ache in his chest. He hadn’t known it was possible to feel this empty. The weight of his mistakes was suffocating—his addiction, his anger, the way he’d pushed Jasmine away without even realizing it.

He glanced at the photo again, his vision blurring with tears. He remembered the day it was taken, a rare sunny afternoon in a park. Benjamin had just turned three, and they’d spent hours chasing him through the grass, laughing until their stomachs hurt. Jasmine’s laughter had been his favorite sound in the world.

Now it was gone.

The flat was filled with ghosts—memories of bedtime stories with Benjamin curled up in his lap, Jasmine humming softly in the kitchen, the smell of her favorite lavender candle filling the air. But the laughter had been replaced with shouting, the warmth replaced with silence.

He stood unsteadily, the bottle slipping from his hand and clattering onto the floor. He stumbled toward the shelf, grabbing the photo with shaking hands. His thumb brushed over Jasmine’s face, and a sob tore from his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “God, I’m so sorry.”

But there was no one to hear him.

The rain continued to fall, relentless and unyielding, as Louis sank to his knees, clutching the photo to his chest. For the first time in years, he let himself feel the full weight of his grief.

He didn’t know if he’d ever see Jasmine or Benjamin again. He didn’t know if he deserved to. All he knew was the unbearable silence and the memories that refused to let him go.

The night started like any other for Niall Horan: a pub, a pint, and the faint hope that no one would recognize him.

Then she walked in.

She was all confidence and chaos, laughing too loud with her friends, her curly hair bouncing as she darted around like the pub was her personal playground. Niall didn’t mean to stare, but when her eyes caught his across the room, she smirked.

Game over.

By midnight, they were tucked into a booth in the corner, talking about everything and nothing. Her name was Emma, she was 18, and she swore she’d never heard of One Direction.

“Not really my vibe,” she said, twirling her straw.

“Bit offensive,” Niall joked, feigning hurt. “We’re a global sensation, love.”

“More like a global boyband,” she teased back, earning a loud laugh from him.

They didn’t leave the pub together. They left separately, but somehow ended up in the same cab, and before either of them could think too hard about it, they were stumbling into his hotel room.

It was fun, carefree, and completely unexpected.

And then he was gone.

Nine Weeks Later

Emma stared at the two pink lines on the stick in her hand, her stomach doing somersaults.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered to herself.

Her best friend, Megan, peeked over her shoulder. “You definitely need to find him.”

“What am I supposed to do? Show up at his concert and yell, ‘Oi, Niall! Remember me? You knocked me up!’”

Megan shrugged. “Worked for my cousin.”

Emma buried her face in her hands. “This is a disaster.”

But Megan wasn’t wrong. If she wanted to tell him, she’d have to go to him.

So, armed with a concert ticket and a very vague plan, Emma followed One Direction to the nearest city on their tour.

The Concert

Emma hadn’t expected the screaming to be so loud.

“Why are they crying?” she asked Megan as they stood near the barricade.

“Because they love them,” Megan replied, unfazed. “You’re not crying, though. That’s progress.”

“I don’t love him,” Emma muttered, crossing her arms. “I just need to talk to him.”

When Niall walked out on stage, strumming his guitar and flashing that cheeky grin, Emma’s resolve wavered. She might love him a little.

The concert flew by, and before Emma knew it, they were sneaking around the back of the arena.

“Hey, what’re you two doing back here?” a security guard asked, eyeing them suspiciously.

“Looking for Niall,” Emma said, trying to sound confident.

The guard raised an eyebrow. “You and everyone else, love.”

But before he could shoo them away, another guard appeared and said something quietly to him. Then, to Emma’s surprise, they were escorted inside.

The Dressing Room

When Niall saw her, he froze.

“Emma?” he said, his Irish lilt sharper than she remembered.

“Hi,” she said, suddenly nervous.

“What’re you doing here?” he asked, looking genuinely curious.

She glanced at the floor, then at him. “I need to tell you something.”

“Is it bad?” he asked, half-joking.

“Depends on your perspective,” she replied.

He frowned, and she took a deep breath. “I’m pregnant. It’s yours.”

Niall blinked, his brain clearly scrambling to catch up.

“Pregnant?” he repeated. “Like…with a baby?”

“No, with a hamster,” she snapped, rolling her eyes. “Yes, with a baby.”

He stared at her for a long moment, then said, “Shit.”

“I know.”

“Are you sure it’s mine?” he asked, and the second the words left his mouth, he winced. “Sorry, that came out wrong. I just—”

“It’s yours,” she said firmly.

He ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath. Then, to her surprise, he smiled.

“Well, alright then,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Guess I’m gonna be a dad.”

Emma blinked. “That’s it? You’re just…okay with it?”

“Not okay, exactly,” he admitted. “But I’m not gonna leave you hanging. We’ll figure it out.”

Two Months Later

Emma sat backstage at another concert, her hand resting on her small but growing bump. Niall was somewhere in the chaos, probably eating, and she’d somehow become friends with the other boys.

“Think it’s a boy or a girl?” Harry asked, peering at her belly like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Dunno,” Emma replied. “Haven’t decided if I want to know yet.”

“Bet it’s a boy,” Louis said, plopping onto the couch beside her. “Another little Irish menace to wreak havoc on the world.”

“Oi!” Niall appeared, holding two plates of food. “Stop talking about my kid like that.”

Louis smirked. “It’s our kid, Horan. We’re all honorary uncles now.”

Emma laughed, shaking her head. “You’re all insane.”

But as Niall handed her a plate and sat beside her, she couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be alright.

The End.

Louis Tomlinson had two great loves in life: sarcasm and football. What he didn’t love—what he actively despised—was Liam Payne.

Which was a shame because Liam Payne was his new neighbor.

“Oh, brilliant,” Louis muttered to himself the day Liam moved in, lugging box after box into the house next door with all the enthusiasm of someone who had never once been told to piss off. Louis stood by the window, cradling his coffee, watching Liam’s biceps flex as he struggled with an enormous box labeled Books.

“Who even reads that much?” Louis scoffed, deliberately ignoring the tiny flutter in his chest.

From then on, it was war.

Round One: The Lawn Incident

It started innocently enough. Louis was mowing his lawn when Liam popped his head over the fence like some sort of overly buff meerkat.

“Morning!” Liam called.

Louis narrowed his eyes. “What d’you want, Payne?”

“Nothing,” Liam said, flashing that annoyingly bright smile. “Just thought I’d say hi.”

“Well, don’t.” Louis revved the mower aggressively and proceeded to mow an extremely crooked line out of spite.

Later, when he found Liam trimming his perfectly manicured hedges, Louis shouted, “Bit much, isn’t it? You compensating for something?”

Liam just smiled. “I wouldn’t know, mate. Don’t have anything to compensate for.”

Louis stormed back into his house, fuming.

Round Two: The Party

Things escalated at Niall’s party a week later.

“Louis,” Niall said, dragging him into the kitchen, “play nice with Liam, yeah?”

“Why should I?” Louis asked, stealing a beer from the fridge.

“Because he’s my mate,” Niall said. “And because you’ll look like an arse if you don’t.”

Louis rolled his eyes but grudgingly agreed.

It lasted all of twenty minutes.

“Tomlinson, you can’t possibly think Man City’s better than United,” Liam said, his tone dripping with condescension.

“Oh, I can,” Louis shot back. “Because it’s true.”

Harry, who was sitting between them, looked like he wanted to evaporate. “Maybe we don’t talk about football, yeah?”

But Louis and Liam were already off, bickering like a pair of toddlers.

By the end of the night, Liam had spilled beer on Louis’s shoes, and Louis had “accidentally” knocked Liam’s phone into a bowl of salsa.

“Grow up,” Liam snapped.

“Piss off,” Louis replied.

The Turning Point

It was raining the day it happened. Louis was out walking his dog, Clifford, when he slipped in the mud and twisted his ankle.

“Fucking fantastic,” he muttered, trying to stand.

“Louis?”

He looked up to see Liam jogging toward him, umbrella in hand.

“What happened?” Liam asked, crouching beside him.

“Fell,” Louis grumbled.

Without another word, Liam slid an arm under Louis’s and helped him to his feet.

“I’ve got it,” Louis said, wincing.

“You clearly don’t,” Liam replied, guiding him toward his house.

Louis tried to argue, but the warmth of Liam’s hand on his waist was distracting.

The Confession

Two weeks later, Louis found himself standing on Liam’s doorstep, heart pounding. He didn’t know why he was there. Or rather, he did—he just hated admitting it.

Liam opened the door, his face softening when he saw Louis. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Louis said awkwardly, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Look, I, uh… I wanted to say thanks. For the other day.”

“You’re welcome,” Liam said, smiling gently.

“And, um, sorry for being such a dick all the time.”

Liam laughed. “It’s okay. I think I kind of like it.”

Louis blinked. “You like it?”

“Yeah,” Liam said, stepping closer. “Keeps things interesting.”

Before Louis could overthink it, Liam leaned in and kissed him.

When they pulled apart, Louis smirked. “You’re not half-bad, Payne.”

“Neither are you, Tomlinson,” Liam replied.

The Aftermath

By the time they made their relationship public, everyone was suspiciously unsurprised.

“Took you long enough,” Zayn said, lounging on Louis’s couch.

Niall grinned. “I knew it! Told you two were flirting.”

“It wasn’t flirting,” Louis protested.

“It was absolutely flirting,” Harry chimed in. “The sexual tension was unbearable.”

Louis rolled his eyes but couldn’t fight the smile on his face.

For the first time in months, he didn’t mind Liam Payne being next door. Actually, he quite liked it.

The End.

It started with a Nerf dart to Liam’s head at 8:03 a.m.

Niall was pouring cereal into a mug (because bowls were overrated) when Liam stormed into the kitchen, hair sticking up like a pineapple, and held up the offending dart.

“Your son,” Liam growled, pointing upstairs where faint giggles echoed. “He’s on a warpath again.”

“Our son,” Niall corrected, popping a piece of cereal into his mouth. “And he’s got good aim. Proud of him.”

“Proud?!” Liam dropped the dart on the counter. “He hit me in the eye yesterday. I’ve been wearing an eye patch on and off for three days because of this menace.”

A loud thud followed by a shriek of laughter echoed through the house. Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. Niall just grinned.

“Kids are supposed to have energy,” he said. “Let the lad have his fun.”

“Let him—” Liam turned toward Niall, eyes wide with betrayal. “Are you serious right now? You weren’t the one ducking to avoid a Hot Wheels car flying at your face during bedtime last night!”

“Good reflexes, babe.” Niall winked, utterly unbothered.

Liam muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “divorce” before heading upstairs. Niall shook his head and followed.

Upstairs: Battlefield Conditions

The second they walked into the nursery, their four-year-old son, Max, was perched like a tiny gremlin on his bed, surrounded by his arsenal: plastic dinosaurs, Nerf guns, and a random tennis ball that neither of them could remember buying.

“DADDY BATTLE!” Max declared with an evil cackle.

Before Liam could respond, a plastic T-Rex soared through the air. He barely ducked in time.

“Max, buddy,” Niall said, crouching by the bed. “Why d’you keep throwing stuff at Daddy, huh? He’s getting old.”

“HEY!”

Max pointed at Liam. “Because he takes my toys away! And he’s boring!”

Liam crossed his arms. “I’m not boring. I’m responsible.”

“You’re a grump,” Niall whispered loudly, smirking.

Liam’s glare could’ve melted steel.

Just then, the doorbell rang, and Liam seized the excuse to flee.

Enter the Uncles

“Uncles!” Max screamed, launching himself down the stairs before Liam could stop him. Zayn and Louis stood at the door, both holding coffee cups that were clearly meant to fuel their ability to tolerate Liam’s kid.

“Oi, calm down, Max!” Louis said, scooping him up and spinning him. “Your dads are gonna have a heart attack if you keep pelting them with your entire toy collection.”

Zayn raised an eyebrow at Liam. “How many injuries are we talking now?”

“Three,” Liam deadpanned. “And that’s just this week.”

Harry arrived next, dragging his girlfriend behind him. “Maxie!” he called, arms open wide. “Who’s your favorite uncle?”

“Uncle Louis!” Max shouted immediately, and Harry’s face fell.

Louis smirked. “I told you, Styles. Kids love me.”

“Because you bribe them with candy!” Harry shot back.

“You sound jealous,” Louis teased, plopping Max on the couch.

“Do not give him candy,” Liam warned.

“Relax,” Louis said. “He’s an angel.”

“He’s Satan with blonde hair!” Liam snapped as Max hurled a foam ball at Zayn, hitting him square in the chest.

Zayn sighed and sipped his coffee. “Should’ve brought a helmet.”

Toy Truce

By the time Niall made it downstairs, everyone was sitting in the living room. Louis had Max on his lap, showing him a completely inappropriate card trick, while Harry tried to teach Max’s stuffed penguin how to sit.

“Sorted him out, have you?” Niall asked, leaning on the doorframe.

“For now,” Liam grumbled, still rubbing his forehead from earlier.

“Maybe we should just buy him a proper drum set,” Niall said thoughtfully.

Liam shot him a look. “We’re not equipping him for more chaos.”

Just then, Max hurled a plastic giraffe at Harry, hitting him in the head. Harry yelped, dramatically falling to the floor.

“UNCLE HARRY’S DOWN!” Max yelled, pointing at him triumphantly.

Louis burst out laughing. “Okay, maybe he is a bit of a menace.”

“A bit?” Liam groaned.

Niall shrugged, reaching for Max. “C’mere, lad. Time for a snack. Let’s save Daddy’s sanity before he keels over.”

Max obediently climbed into Niall’s arms, grinning like the troublemaker he was.

And as chaotic as it was, Liam wouldn’t trade this life for anything. Well, maybe just the occasional silent evening.

The End.

Title: A Little Rain Won’t Stop Us

It’s a rainy Saturday, and Harry, Louis, Niall, Liam, and Zayn are all stuck inside the cozy little flat they rented for a quiet weekend together. The rain’s coming down hard, the wind rattling the windows, and they’re all sprawled out in the living room, each one with their own idea of “stuck inside.”

Niall is strumming his guitar, humming softly as he works out a new tune, while Zayn doodles in his sketchbook beside him, their shared calmness adding a cozy feel. Louis, on the other hand, isn’t one to sit still for long and starts a ridiculous quest to get everyone off the couch. “Come on, lads, if we’re gonna be trapped inside, we might as well make it fun.”

Harry perks up, grabbing the idea with both hands. “Movie marathon? I vote Toy Story!” he grins, already hunting for snacks. Liam, the sensible one, tries to organize a plan, suggesting they play board games between movies so no one gets bored.

They end up having the most chaotic movie night – filled with Niall’s snack raids, Harry’s commentary, Louis’ constant attempts to prank the others, and Zayn’s quiet laughter as he watches it all. Somewhere between Louis trying to balance popcorn on Liam’s head and Harry’s attempts to get everyone to sing along to the soundtrack, they completely lose track of the rain outside.