Imagines with Niall Horan

100. He gets distracted

"...and that's when I realized he didn't even make it in the goal. He may be shit at footy, but I'm sure not," Niall finished, grinning as his brother and cousins roared in laughter. He took a swig of beer. "I'm telling you, I get the weirdest players on my team."

"You should come up to Dublin with us," Andy said. "We could always use a new player around here." He glanced down at his watch. "Shit. We'd better get the kids inside. Marian said we had to give enough time for them to get cleaned up before dinner and the fireworks." He stood up and whistled, the sound carrying across the lake.

Niall set his beer aside as the various Horan kids ran across the sand and lake grass to get back to their dads. He grinned as his son, the smallest out of all them, skipped towards him. "Hi, Daddy!" James chirped, his brown hair streaked with gold from playing in the summer sunshine all day. It was a rare, sunny day in Ireland - you can bet everyone was going to take advantage of that.

"Hey bud," Niall grinned, scooping him into his arms.

James winced and tried to wriggle away. "Ow," he complained. "Daddy, your hands are hurty."

"Why's that, I'm not...oh," Niall said. He tugged on the waistband of James' little swimtrunks, exposing a half inch of skin that was decidedly white compared to the rest of his body. "Shit. Your mama's gonna kill me."

"Don't say shit," James scolded, still squirming in Niall's grip. "That's a bad word. Mommy said so."

Niall stood up, carefully balancing James on his hip. "Yeah, well, your mom's gonna say a lot of bad words when she takes a look at you," he said.

He walked back up to the house the family had rented for the Horan family reunion. The various Horan women were bustling around the kitchen, preparing for the massive picnic dinner that was going to take place in another hour. You were easy to pick out, your navy dress swishing around your legs. "Hi, Niall," you said with a smile, setting a plate of watermelon on the table. "How was...oh, my god."

"Hi Mommy," James said happily.

You took him out of Niall's arms. "Niall Horan, why the hell did you let my baby get so sunburned?" you demanded.

"Mommy!" James said, scandalized.

You brushed his damp hair off his forehead. "He's so sunburned," you accused. "I told you when I went inside four hours ago that he needed more sunscreen."

Niall shifted his weight awkwardly. "I got distracted," he mumbled.

"My child looks like a lobster," you said flatly.

"But Mommy, I don't wanna be a lobster!" James wailed.

"I know, I know," you soothed, kissing his round cheek. "I'm going to give him a nice cool bath. And when he stays up all night crying because he can't get comfortable enough to sleep, I hope you feel properly guilty."

Niall never admitted his guilt while James played with his cousins after dinner, his skin bright red against his blue shorts and white tank top.

Or when James crawled into your lap during the fireworks and drooped on your shoulder, sucking on the middle and ring fingers of his left hand.

Or when you stayed up all night with a feverish, miserable little four-year-old, making him drink ice water out of his sippy cup and rubbing green aloe vera over his stinging sunburn.

Or when James slept in his carseat the whole way back to Mullingar, waking up on occasion to cry weakly because he couldn't get comfortable, and when you ordered Niall to pull over so you could move to the backseat beside him and console him as best as you could.

Nope, Niall never said anything about feeling guilty. But when he showed up a few days later after work with one of those kid size Power Wheels cars, the black one with a license plate, he did feel a little better when James squealed and clapped his hands and hugged him around his knees.

And if you smiled at him smugly while James zipped around the block, complete with his mother's Ray-bans slipping down his nose and her white silk scarf tied around his neck whipping in the wind, well...Niall supposed he could put up with that.