Random Fandom One Shots

Why didn't you tell me?-Zayn MalikxReader

Deticated to my good friend Cari, she requested this and I figured what the hell. BTW I don't know a ton about One direction, I'm not a super fan, so no judgment.

(Y/N)'s POV

Why did so many people hate me? Every morning I woke up, checking my social media to find millions of people had sent me hate. Telling me I was fat, ugly, worthless, stupid, horrible, undeserving of everything I had. My loving parents who supported me through everything, my wonderful career as a successful author of a book series, my wonderful house, sweet siblings, wonderful friends, and my perfect boyfriend, Zayn. I had fans of my own, defending me, but the hate just kept coming.
It came to the point where I started to believe it. When I started torturing myself inside, talking down to myself, sobbing in bed on nights when Zayn wasn't here. Be it tour, recording, or going to a club. I was never one for big parties. Zayn and I were so different, I found it difficult to figure out how we worked.
He was sweet, but gave off a mysterious, bad boy vibe. I gave off a sweet, reclusive vibe, but really, once you knew me even slightly, I was crazy. I danced around the house with music so loud it vibrated the floor, screaming out lyrics, I had gotten stopped by the police more than once for screaming at other drivers while driving, and I did daring stunts most people won't even dream of.
Then one day, just before Zayn was scheduled to return from tour, I snapped going to ten different stores, and buying Advil, before I returned home and quickly downed twenty bottles of the medicine. Tears fell down my face, and I pulled a knife out, slicing into my arms, legs and abdomen, as I waited for death.
Things turned blurry, and I waited more, hearing the front door open and close. Footsteps through the house, keys jingling. I was laying in the bath, blood filling the tub quickly. I heard the man I love call out as my eyes fell closed, "(Y/N)? Love, are you home?" The razor fell from my hand, clattering to the floor. He paused, and I heard a scream as he probably found the pill bottles. He rushed to me, and just as I fell into darkness, I heard him calling an ambulance.

Third Person's POV

Zayn paid the cab driver, thanking him for the ride as he got out. He was so excited to see (Y/N), his girlfriend. He loved her so much, in fact, after much consideration, he decided he wanted to propose to her once he got home. He had the ring picked out, and when the time was right, he was going to pop the question. He rolled his suitcase's up the stairs, and opened the door. It was late, almost one, so he wasn't surprised the lights were all off and the house was quiet. While (Y/N) may have been a little of a wild child, she was reasonable. She made sure to get plenty of sleep and exercise, and she often spent hours jogging on her treadmill while her mind wandered through plot twists and character developments. He loved how passionate she became when writing. Her fingers flew, and she sometimes cried for or screamed at her characters because she wished something would happen. But she knew in order for the story to work, she had to do it. Whenever someone on twitter or something would bash on her stories, she would make a five post rant about how she would never judge them so they should back the hell off. If they didn't like it, she said they should stop reading, but never be mean to people who enjoyed it or to bash her skills as an author.

He turned on the light, setting his bags by the stairs before jogging up them. Even if he couldn't wake her up, he wanted to see her before sleeping. She hadn't known he was coming back, he wanted to surprise her. He walked into the bedroom, and knew something was wrong. He could see even in the darkness that she wasn't asleep in the bed. He flipped on the lights, and saw several bottles of Advil on the bed. He ran over, and saw they were all empty. No! He screamed, and ran into the bathroom, where he was met with the gruesome sight of the love of his life in the bathtub, blood flowing onto the white porcelain. He quickly whipped out his phone and called and ambulance, before pulling her out of the tub and trying to stop the bleeding. His heart was at his feet, mangled and battered into a million piece's that couldn't possibly be fixed. The police gathered his statement, as she was taken, barely alive, to the hospital, and put into the ICU.

He was by her side for weeks until she woke up, never leaving the room. Liam, Louis, Harry, and Niall took turns bringing him food and watching her when they forcibly made him shower once a week. He used the bathroom attached to her room, and soon management announced that until she was well and he was ready to return, he would not be working, and the other boys said they wouldn't be either. (Y/N) was as good as a sister to them, and they refused to rest until everyone who had sent her hate realized just what a horrible person they were.

They managed to pry her phone from Zayn's hand's for a moment, and they went through her mail. Then, they directly targeted each person, sending them a private message through their own accounts, telling them that they didn't deserve squat, and that if she died, that they were personally responsible and that they would hold them responsible for killing their friend. Several of the hateful people were shocked by this, and retreated into their shells for a long while, while several others sent post's that were enough for the group to get them banned from social media sites. The boys wished that they could do more,  but legally, there was little action to be taken

Then one, day, (Y/N) woke up. The medication was gone from her system, her wounds were mostly gone, and only the emotional trauma was left. Zayn and the rest of the group managed to make an agreement with the doctor, to keep her at home while she got into therapy. They would keep an eye on her for a long time, but she didn't have to be shipped off.

After a year, (Y/N) was mostly back to normal. She was healed, and eventually, she gave up social media mostly, only using it every so often. Her stories became more and more popular, her most well known ones eventually becoming bestsellers worldwide for a few days each. Then it happened. She and Zayn went on a date, and were cuddling by the lake in the moonlight after a picnic, when he kneeled before her, and asked her to marry him. She said yes, kissing him, and they got married six months later. They lived so happily after she recovered from her depression that it was nearly a fairy tale. After getting married, they settled into their new house, before a year later, they found they were expecting a baby. It turned out it wasn't one baby though, it was two. A boy named Dustin Liam Malik, and a girl named Amorea Niall Malik. The two twins were two minutes apart, with Dustin being a little older than his sister. Four years passed, before they found out they were going to have another set of two fraternal twins, named Rosalee Juliet Malik and Lianna Cara Malik. And five years after that they had their final pregnancy. This time, though, it was triplets. Three identical girls, Emma Regina Malik, Sarafina Ruby Malik, and Vivian Ariel Malik. Their children were happy, and all seemed to get along with the others who they were born with. Outside of their twin or triplet set, though, there were always prank wars that their uncle Louis ended up getting blamed for.

They lived to be ninety four years old together, their children each had at least one kid. Dustin and his wife had four. Amorea and her husband had three. Rosalee and Lianna both married early, and they and their husband and-in Rosalee's case-wife, each had two children together. Emma and her husband had one child, Sarafina and her husband had three children, and Vivian and her husband had five together. The pair lived to meet all of their great grandchildren. And even lived to hold their third great great grandchild before passing away. Even their great, great, great, great grandchildren loved to hear stories of their ancestors. Their grandmother and grandfather who loved each other so much no other love seemed to compare. Their children and grandchildren and great grandchildren had dreamed about having a love like theirs. One where the other person lived to love you. They still saw you as a model when you were both ninety years old and wrinkly and balding, it was a love story to last lifetimes. And it did.