In a State of Denial: Final Chapter & Bonus!



Three months later

Niall’s back is against the picture window that looks out over the whole of Miami, twenty-seven stories high. His eyes are focused on the television set; some soccer game (or ‘football’ as he often scolded you these days) involving two teams you have never heard of. You check your watch, fifteen minutes before he’s needed for staging practice, and quickly cross the room, climbing onto him until you are straddling his lap. He cocks an eyebrow and you shake your head mischievously, placing a warm kiss on his forehead.

“Last show,” you say quietly and he nods. You both have been trying not to think about it too much, but now you are kind of out of options. “I was given an offer to be the overseer of security for Taylor Swift’s upcoming tour. It will probably be easier since there is only one person and not five.” You find yourself beginning to ramble but it’s so hard to stop. “I told them I would have to think about it, I mean, I’m not really sure what I want to be doing. I mean, I want to be doing this, but do I still want to be doing this by this time next year? I don’t really know. It’s not like I want to work for the president or something, besides I’m not sure I’m qualified enough for—” He cuts you off with a sudden kiss.

His lips are warm, insistent, and it takes no time at all for you to kiss him back. He scatters small pecks along your jawline and down your neck, his hands sliding over your back, pulling you closer toward him until your chests are pressed tight and you swear he can feel your heart racing.

He pulls away suddenly and you can’t help but notice his lips are red and slightly swollen. The thought makes a blush rise to your cheeks in satisfaction. “Paul knows,” he says.

Your face falls. “What?”

“He figured it out,” Niall continues and you slide quickly from his lap onto the sofa cushion next to him, earning you a frown as he turns to look at you.

“H-how long?” You can’t believe what you’re hearing. Or, for that matter, how you weren’t fired long ago. You are pretty much breaking the number one cardinal rule in every book: don’t get involved with the person you are protecting.


World’s worst bodyguard, that is what it will say on your gravestone, because you are pretty sure you are about to die.

“And why am I not buried six feet underground?”

Niall runs a hand through his blonde hair, making the back of it stick out sideways, slightly resembling a bird. He looks ridiculous and you slyly attempt to slide the ends back into place against his head. He gives you a questioning look but does not interfere as he continues, “He came to me about six weeks ago. Said we were spending a lot of time just you and me. I tried to play it off, saying it was just because you’re my personal bodyguard so of course we were, but he’s not stupid. Then about three weeks ago he told me…” He trails off and you can feel your heart skip a bit.

“What, Niall?” you press, attempting to keep the anxiety out of your voice, but it isn’t working.

“There’s was a camera I didn’t know about.”

A camera…?

Your expression remains blank and he continues. “Outside of the recording studio in Chicago, there was a CCTV camera that was on 24 hours.”

Oh. No, no, no, no. You’re beginning to pick up where this is going.

“That night…a few weeks ago…there’s footage…”

“Oh god.” The words slip from your mouth as you bury your face in your hands. You can feel your face growing red, and judging by the uncomfortable way Niall keeps clearing his throat, you have no doubt his is just as painfully rouge. “You mean he saw us…” You don’t know how to finish that sentence. Well, you do, but you just can’t bring yourself to it.

“No!” Niall nearly shouts, making you jump. “He just saw, uh, the before and after.”

Your mind flashes to that night.

It was just after the finish of the second Chicago performance and the boys had a week off to do whatever they wished until they were expected in California. There were still some last-minute songs that needed recording for the upcoming album and the boys had all gathered at a studio picked out by their producer.

            The recordings took until close to two in the morning, and when the boys weren’t singing they were sleeping. You remember feeling bad for them, enjoying the feeling of the warm cup of coffee in your hands as you ran your fingers through the hair of the blonde boy sprawled out next to you on the studio couch.

            And then recording was over and the boys were being shuffled back to their hotel rooms. Well, almost. Niall had insisted on working on a song he was composing just a little bit longer, much to Paul’s chagrin, but the large man just nodded at you before steering the others away. You were amazed it had been that easy, and even more so when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back toward a warm chest, as Niall slowly began to nip at the skin of your shoulder.

            “You don’t have a song,” you guessed and he chuckled deeply.

            He spun you around, pressing his lips to yours with a sense of hunger that made your breath catch in your throat. Sliding his hands down over your hips to your thighs, his fingers clenched around the back of your legs, hoisting you up until you could wrap your legs around his waist. Just like that he carried you into the recording room, placing heated kisses all across the sliver of exposed skin on your collarbone.

You bite down on your lip. Even if that’s all that is on the tape, the evidence is pretty freaking damning; definitely enough to have you permanently removed from the security team. So why haven’t you been?

“He says it is different because you are my personal security,” Niall says, interrupting your thoughts. “It’s not a danger to the other boys. But it still has to stop.”

You nod. “He’s probably right.”

Niall looks at you and his frown deepens.

“As the person who has been assigned to keep you safe, personal involvement interferes with my ability to make clear judgments,” you try to explain. “If someone has a weapon I can block you, but the risk is that you might try to block me in return. Or that if I have to make the decision to force you into an uncomfortable position in order to save your life, to protect you from people who are there to hurt you, I won’t be able to do it.”

“An uncomfortable position,” he mutters to himself, a mischievous smile creeping along the corners of his lips. “Like this?”

You don’t have a second to process before he has you pinned against the couch cushions, hovering over you just close enough that you can feel his breath brush up against your ear but without feeling his body against yours.

“No,” you say quietly, finding it suspiciously hard to breathe. “Like this.”

He doesn’t expect you to move as quickly as you do, and he certainly doesn’t expect such force. He has joked several times about your ability to beat him in a boxing match, but until now, you have never really showed him exactly how badly he would be beaten. Now he is on his back, the air forced from his lungs as you once again straddle his lap, but this time his focus is not on the television, but on you, and his hands come up to grip your waist tightly, holding you in place.

His fingers find the edge of your black t-shirt, tugging at the hem before sliding underneath, trailing lightly over the soft skin of your stomach. “What are you planning?” he asks breathlessly, but you only smile.

“Nothing,” you say as your watch begins to beep, and you smile down at him. “Time’s up.”



ELEVEN- Bonus One-Shot (because it took me so long to write this)


3 months laterer

The scent is familiar and you settle against the aged leather couch with a sigh. It’s green except for the worn patches in the middle that are tinted gray, and the small slit on the arm that exposes the tan cushioned interior. It envelops you easily and you spread your arms wide as someone places a warm kiss on your temple. He walks around the side of the couch to perch on the arm, smiling down at you. You grin like mad; happy to see those kind blue eyes after such a long time.

“I’ve missed you,” Niall says softly, his gaze taking your breath away. His eyes are heavy with something that, if you didn’t know any better, could have been adoration. The thought makes your chest squeeze and tears threaten to prick your eyes.

“I’ve missed you too,” you somehow manage to say and he slides down to meet you on the seat of the couch, his hands coming up to cup your face gently, lips hovering just inches from yours.

“Eleven weeks is too long,” he whispers and you nod into his hands, agreement pulsing through your body. Slowly, gently, as if he’s not fully sure that you are actually here sitting in his apartment, Niall leans in, his lips just barely brushing up against yours. You make a noise in the back of your throat that lets him know that teasing is not okay, and the kiss instantly deepens.

You have spent almost all of the fall season following various artists around as a tour security consultant, and though you love your job, you did regret that it didn’t give you the freedom to visit more often. Not that your boyfriend—boyfriend, the word still makes you giddy—had a much more lenient time of it. The boys are still non-stop preparing for the onslaught of media appearances and performances that come hand-in-hand with a new album release. This one is no different.

Niall breaks the kiss, burying his face in your hair and sighing contentedly. After a long moment of silence he mumbles something that sounds vaguely like “the other boys are going to want to see you.”

You have to bite your lip from saying “screw the others,” but that isn’t true and you know it. As troublesome as the lot was when you were their security, you miss them. All of them. And you are just as eager to get to hang out with them.

Just not quite yet.

You pull away from Niall so that he is forced to look at you, to meet your eyes, and a warm smile stretches across his face. He tugs on a strand of your hair, admiring it between his fingers. His eyes trail down to the sapphire toned dress that you had selected just for him; sleek fitting with a cut front just deep enough to be enticing. Or so you hope; dresses aren’t really your strong suit.

“I really like the blue,” he says in a whisper, forcing you to lean in closer to make out the words, giving him an even better view of your exposed cleavage. “It’s different.”

You force a laugh, chagrined. “Yes, well, black is my signature color.”

A sudden pressure against your shoulders has you leaning back until your spine is flush with the seat of the couch and he’s hovering over you.

“I like it,” he says, dipping down to steal a kiss, and you can’t help it; you giggle.

The sound only infatuated children make and you just produced it!

You groan in both embarrassment and shame, but the sudden darkening of his features tells you he has taken it in a much different way.

He whispers your name as he places soft kisses on your ear, then down further, marking a path from your neck to your shoulder. He lowers more of himself on top of you and the sudden added weight pushes air from your lungs.

“Niall,” you say in warning as his kisses continue to explore further down. Guests are going to be arriving soon—the party was his idea (a welcome back sort of thing)—but you know he is regretting the idea now. Especially when he forcibly detaches his lips from your collarbone, sighing dramatically as he settles onto his side next to you, arms pulling you close until you are flush with his chest.

“I can cancel,” he says. “It’s not too late.”

You glance at the clock on the Blu-ray player; ten minutes before the earliest guests will probably start showing up. You are not sure if the ‘fashionably late’ rule applies to London, England, but you certainly hope so.

“I could say I suddenly caught the flu and you have to take care of me,” he continues, and you smile into his shoulder.

“I’m sure they wouldn’t see through that whatsoever.”

Suddenly the kisses are back; more insistent this time. “We could just leave here,” he mumbles against your lips. “There can’t be a party if no one lets them in, right? The boys will understand.”

His hands begin to explore again, sliding under your shirt as his fingers softly skim up and down your spine. His hands graze over the clasp of your bra and you narrow your eyes at him.

“It will be quick,” he says innocently, batting his blonde lashes at you. But you know him; just like you know that quick is not his style.

He slides the tips of his fingers over your stomach, causing the sensitive skin there to twitch and you bite down hard on your cheek in an effort to stay focused.

“No,” you say with as stern of a tone as you can manage. “But if you can wait until after the party…” You trail off and Niall lifts an eyebrow expectantly, waiting to hear what you will promise him.

You arch an eyebrow in return and lean forward with a smirk. “I guess that all depends on how well you behave.”


Okay, so the bonus one-shot didn’t really have much of a plot, I just thought I would provide a little more resolution than Chapter Ten gave.

Here you go, Rupee, the last of your birthday fanfiction. Almost a year too late…

Please don’t ever make me do this again!!!

Like I said a long time ago when I posted the first chapter, I apologize to any One Direction fans if I got any of the facts wrong, I was just kind of winging it. This is my first and last fanfiction. Ever.

Ever, ever, ever.

Whew, I did it!




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