One Direction Preferences

Male Cruella De Ville | Niall Horan

Hey y'all. Sorry for not updating in so long but I've been bust for weeks now about school and such. I hope you guys can understand and enjoy Niall as Male Cruelle De Ville. ≧ω≦

Many times, you had wished that you had just quite your job already. He was getting so difficult to work with. All the patterns and designs you had offered, you didn't know what to do after he denied every single one. He denied every fabric, texture, color, design, and anything else there was!

He may have been a fashion icon, but he was also a fashion diva.

You were trying so hard to come up with something to use as a design or fabric when you can't even get your head to work straight. You had been sick for the past three days and your cold had just gotten worse. You were so tempted to go back to sleep all the time, but you loved making new fashions and you loved dealing with the people that helped you become a designer in the first place.

But there was a new person that joined the critics.

It was said that he was poise, but serious. Straight, but blunt. He didn't say many words, but only a few expressions and it made everyone hate you. He had done made Jérôme Jenkins leave and Mandy Morena cry in hysteria. He was one of the most infuriating, but one of the most exhilarating critics in fashion there was.

Scribble after scribble, idea after idea, paper after paper; wasted. You could not figure out any idea that would be suitable to show the critics for the mini secret show of your designs. But you were a procrastinator that could get anything done in a hurry. It was absolutely crazy, but amazing.

You were in your office, just trying to figure out an idea, when Paisley, your assistant, came in in a rush. She was panting for a second and brushed her red hair away from her face. "Paisley, what's wrong?" you asked her curiously. You were slightly worried someone had quit or any critics were there, a week early. "Paisley?" you were wary of her answer.

She took a breath and then straightened. "Mr. ... Mr. Horan is on line two," you were confused as to who was Mr. Horan, and just as you were going to ask her, she says, "He's the new critic."

Your face and mind went blank and you couldn't help the lump that formed in your throat. Your breathing was more heavy in breathes that you felt yourself heaving almost. With a shaking nod, you motioned her to leave and counted to three as you closed your eyes. "Hello, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N)." you went into professional mode, thinking about all your achievements and tried to talk cockily and arrogantly as you answered the infamous new fashion critic.

There was a pause before you heard an accented voice through the phone. "Miss (Y/N)," you wanted to melt at his voice, "I will be coming Wednesday at five pm sharp. I expect to see your work as soon as I come in. I will want a caramel macchiato with a blueberry tea cake as soon as I sit down. You will show me your designs within the hour and then I will leave and you can fix everything I don't like-"

"Woah woah woah," you started, standing up in your chair. "Excuse my French but," you started your pissed off tone just as soon as Liam, a worker that often controls one of the sewing machines, comes in as you speak. "I don't know who the fuck you think you are, and frankly, I do not care, but you are not to fucking tell me what to do. I am my own boss and if you wish to see my designs, then you will wait like everyone else. Just because you are some new hotshot, Hollywood fashion critic that's new on the block, doesn't mean that I am going to give you special treatment. I'm sorry but if you cannot wait like everyone else, then you will not be allowed to see my designs. Good day you bloody jackass!" you slammed the phone down on the receiver, ending the call.