One Direction Preferences

This is just some One Direction Preferences


3. You Faint / Pass Out (Part One)


“You sure you’re feeling okay?” He asks, for what must have been the tenth time in the past couple of minutes, “You look really pale, love.”
And you tell him that you’re fine, that he doesn’t need to worry, despite the spots dancing before your eyes and the dizziness that you were trying so hard to ignore; but of course, you don’t mention any of that.
He nods, not really believing you. He frowns as his thumb caresses your soft cheek, burning a little beneath his hand and he can’t help but notice how warm you feel.
“You feel really warm, Y/N,” he starts, “Maybe you should stay-”
But before he can finish his sentence, you’re falling and he’s having to catch your limp figure in his arms.
“Crap,” he cusses, just softly and under his breath, before lifting you up and setting you down on the bed. He holds your hand in his, thumb gently rubbing over the skin as he tries to get you to open your eyes; trying to get you to wake up.



“Don’t touch her!” he roars at the group of paparazzi, particularly a middle-aged man with a receding hairline as he tries to place a cool towel on your forehead – doused in the water from his bottle.
The words are enough to get him to back away, but not without handing the towel to Liam, not being able to just walk away without doing anything. Liam presses the wet rag against your cheeks and forehead, patting down the burning skin as he tries to cool you down.
He turns his attention back to you, now ignoring the flash of cameras and loud yells from the paparazzi – asking why you had fainted, what was wrong with you.
“Come on, babe.” He says quietly, voice cracking a little, the concern audible in his words, “Open your eyes. Please love; give me those eyes.”



“Y/N?” he asks, looking at you with a mixture of confusion and worry, before glancing down at your firm grip on his bicep, “Everything okay?”
But you don’t answer; you can’t answer. And he’s clearly worried, because usually the crowds didn’t bother you so much – the paps and the fans never bringing you to this – but there were more people than you were used to, yelling and pushing and shoving, and now you couldn’t help but notice the dots you were trying so hard to blink away were only turning into bigger splotches, before you can’t see a thing and everything grows quiet.
“Can you hear me? Y/N, baby, I’m right here.” he begs, but his words fall on deaf ears and you can’t hear a thing. You’re unaware of time passing, of the crowd gathered around you and Zayn’s body looming protectively over yours, so to block you from the view of the cameras flashing. “Open your eyes, love. Please, just open your eyes.”


“Y/N?” he says gently, his lips are by your ear and you can feel his breath against your skin and hear his words – muffled still, but better than the silence before. Your eyes flutter open, with some struggle, and you’re greeted by his concerned ones and the lines etched in his forehead. He was worried, that much was clear, and when you try to sit up, he hushes you and gently lays you back down on the cold tiles of the bathroom.
“What happened?” You ask, confused as to what had occurred, why you were laying on the bathroom floor; your mind a little fuzzy and trying to remember only made the pain in your head worse.
“You passed out, love,” Louis says gently, pressing a damp cloth to your cheek as he looks down at you, your head cradled in his lap as he gently stroked your hair, “But you’re okay now; you’re alright. Everything’s okay.”



He panics the second you hit the floor; the instant he hears the muffled thud against the carpet, and he whirls around to see you lying on the bedroom floor. You had been fine a minute ago, when he’d been telling you all about his day at the studio and what nonsense he and his band mates had gotten up to and you’d been laughing along with him, and the next minute you were unconscious.
He drops onto the floor next to you, cradling your head in his gentle hands, lightly tapping your cheeks as he calls your name softly.
“Y/N,” he says, a note of desperation in his words, and his voice rises a little in panic, “Y/N, wake up. Come on. Give me those eyes; give me those eyes, darling.” 

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