#lovely1dheadcanons

[chrissysmith257]

About Preference {15}

I have decided that there will be a Part 2, but they don’t hate you to cover up the fact that they actually are in love with you. I have a feeling that it will rub some people the wrong way. I will keep the reason why they are acting mean towards Y/N a secret, and you, Lovelies, will know why he hates Y/N once the preference is posted sometime next week!

However, I will eventually be making a spin-off series based on this preference at a later date; this is for those who wanted it to become a series instead of just having a part 2. In the spin-off series, Y/N will be newly adopted (no matter the age) by the boy’s family, and he’s mean to her because he is actually in love with her.

I hope this clears up any confusion and makes everyone happy!

Please, tell me what you think! This blog is for you, Lovelies, not just for me, so I want your input!

[chrissysmith257]

5 Things I Like About Myself (In No Particular Order)

This is going to be interesting, considering I have a very low self-esteem, but thank you to the Lovely who sent me the tag. I do know who you are, but out of respect for you and because I did not know if you wanted me to post your url or not, I’m going to keep you anonymous. Thanks again and sorry it is so late, Lovely!

~ Chrissy

1. My Eyes

I’ve always received compliments for them because of their color. I don’t know why.. I do like them, however, because sometimes they look slightly more like a golden-brown, almost amber color.

2. My Eyelashes

I don’t need mascara or fake ones, so they save me time and money. Lol. I think they’re beautiful, too, though. They’re long and curl nicely.

3. My Personality

What a vain thing to say, but it’s true. Lol. There was once a time I found my ways of thinking and behaving as disgusting and selfish because a lot of people told me that...but now I don’t feel that way. I think I’m a decent person.

4. My Talents

I may not be Shakespeare or Michelangelo when it comes to writing and drawing, but I am happy with how I carry out both. I also do not have a good singing voice, but I love to sing...So yeah.

5. My Capacity for Love

This kind of goes under personality, but whatever. A lot of people say I have my head in the clouds, and I’ve been hurt before with people I thought I could trust and love...but I don’t hate these people. I love purely, naively, blindly, and to the point it is sheer agony, and I love that about myself.

[chrissysmith257]

Preference Series {AU: Aboard the Titanic} Introductions

Here is Part 3 of the Titanic AU series, Lovelies! I just want to point something out to you. I learned, in my research, that back in the early 1900s, "Lunch" was called "Dinner" while the dinner we know was called "Supper." This is important because to be as historically accurate as I could be, I used "Dinner" for lunch. I hope you enjoy it, and tell me what you think!

- Chrissy

Master List

Part 2

Part 4 

Harry: You're a Nursemaid.

                You had just finished unpacking for the children, who were complaining of boredom the whole time you were doing so, when Caroline came up to you and tugged on your skirt.

                "Caroline..." you knelt down so you were eye-to-eye with her, "what did I tell you about pulling on my skirt for my attention?"

                "Not to," she said, not taking her tiny thumb out of her mouth.

                You nodded, "Use your words. Call my name. I'll answer," you stood up. "Now, what is it that you want?"

                "Can we go explore the promenade?"she asked.

                "Well, is it what your brothers want to do?" you looked over at the two boys, each sitting on the sofa with their faces in their books. "Andrew? Michael? Do you want to go explore the promenade?"

                "Now?" Andrew asked, looking up from his book. "We just traveled and settled in..."

                "I know, but your sister is bored, and I can't leave you two alone," you said, looking down at Caroline, who had taken your hand. "I'm pretty sure the First Class Lounge is up there as well as the Reading and Writing Room. You two could read there."

                "Fine..." Michael sighed, marking his place in his book before closing it.

                "Thank you, Boys," you smiled, outstretching your free hand for Michael's.

                "Why doesn't Andrew have to hold your hand?" Michael brooded, letting you grasp his small hand.

                "Andrew is nine years old. He's old enough to know that he shouldn't run off," you replied, leading them out of the room. "Andrew? Can you be a dear and close the door?"

                "Yes, Y/N."

                You turned back to Michael, "And I only have two hands to keep two children anchored."

                You all laughed at your horrible ship humor as you made your way from the First Class Staterooms to the elevator. Once you entered the First Class Lounge, Michael let go of your hand, running after his elder brother.

                "Please be careful, Boys!" you shouted, considering the room was mostly empty. "And don't wander off!"

                "We won't, Y/N," Andrew replied before entering the Reading and Writing Room.

                "Can we go now?" Caroline asked, looking up at you.

                "Yes," you let out a sigh and led her towards the doors that opened to the promenade.

                The crisp sea air hit you the moment you opened the doors to the deck, and you took a deep breath, loving how fresh it was. You were still in port, but the civilized smells of Southampton could not reach your nose. There was a cool breeze that tickled the back of your neck, and you couldn't remember a time you had felt so relaxed.

                "My bow!" you heard Caroline exclaim.

                "What?" you looked around, trying to see where the red ribbon had gone while Caroline tugged at your hand.

                She finally managed to get free of your grip, running down the promenade.

                "Caroline!" you ran after her, but she was quick on those little feet of hers.

                "My bow! My bow!" she kept shouting, and you saw the offending object floating along with the wind, just out of her reach.

                And you also saw him, a tall man who had just noticed the commotion and was right in Caroline's path.

                "Caroline! Watch out for--"

                You tried to warn her, or at least hoped that the gentleman would hear your shouting and move out of the way. Neither of which happened, and Caroline crashed into him.

                "Whoa..." he grabbed her shoulders, steadying her as he got down on his knee. "Be careful there, Love."

                Caroline, forgetting all about her bow, looked up at the man's face and immediately turned pink.

                "Caroline," you breathed, stopping in front of them, "apologize to the nice man."

                "I'm sorry, Sir..." she hung her head, trying to hide her embarrassed face.

                The man chuckled, lifting her chin, "It's okay, Love. Just try to stay with your big sister next time, okay?"

                He looked up at you after saying that, and it was your turn to be bashful. He was exceedingly handsome with beautiful green eyes and two little dimples on his cheeks when he smiled. What really threw you off, though, is the fact he called you Caroline's sister.

                "I'm not her sister, but thank you for the compliment," you said, bowing your head.

                "You're not her sister?" he asked, getting back to his full height.

                You shook your head, "I'm her nursemaid."

                "Oh..." he looked down at Caroline, who had managed to hide herself behind your skirts. He laughed at her shyness. "Well, listen to your nursemaid, Miss Caroline."

                She nodded her head slowly, putting her thumb back into her mouth.

                "And may I ask for your name?"

                You were startled by his desire to know who you were, but you gave your name anyway, "I'm Y/N, Sir."

                "Well, Y/N, you may call me Harry instead of 'Sir,'" he chuckled softly, killing you with his crooked smile.

                "I'm sorry, Sir, but considering you are of the same class as my employers--"

                "How do you know I am?" he asked, cutting you off with a smirk.

                "The way you are dressed, Sir. Your mannerisms, and considering the fact that this place is exclusively for First Class passengers only," you pointed out with a small smile.

                "Beautiful and smart," he beamed. "I like you, Y/N."

                And with that single comment, your face was as pink as Caroline's.

Liam: You're in Third Class.

                "That's all of it," you sighed, closing the second of the two empty cases and straightening.

                "Thank you, Love," your mother said from the lower bunk, where she decided to rest her aching body.

                "No problem, Mum," you replied, dusting off your hands and pushing your two cases underneath the bunk opposite hers.

                "We're lucky that there's four of us," she remarked, turning her head to look at me.

                It certainly made things easier, considering Third Class cabins were four to a room. There was hardly any elbow room, but at least we got to share it with our fellow family members. You also couldn't imagine how the stranger would cope with your two younger siblings; they were off the walls.

                "Edmund!" you scowled at him, seeing him hang off the side of the top bunk. You pushed his back up into the bed. "You could seriously hurt yourself if you do that."

                "Sorry, Y/N..." he hung his head.

                "We can't stay in the room all the time," you shook your head. "We'll go crazy if we do that."

                And you knew your mother needed her rest. She was getting bigger by the day, and it was hard to carry all that extra weight around without feeling worn out. Today's travel by train had done a number on her and, in addition to that, all the walking it took to get from the train station to your cabin.

                "Edmund? Marie?" you stepped onto the edge of the bottom bunk and looked up over the side of the top. "Do you two want to go to the middle deck with me?"

                "What's there?" Marie asked, resting her chin on her arms and peering down at you.

                You shrugged, "I don't know. That's why we have to go. It's a mystery."

                "A mystery?" Edmund's eyes sparkled. "I like mysteries!"

                He sat up, instantly becoming excited.

                "So you want to go?" you nodded with a smile.

                Marie seemed to consider it for a moment, getting up and sitting back on her knees, "I guess...but will there be food?"

                "I guess we can look for some," you said, not ready to promise anything. You knew they were starved, since you didn't have breakfast this morning, but you didn't know where there was food to be found.

                "Alright!" Edmund was sold. "Let's go!"

                "Alright..." Marie sighed, climbing down from the top bunk, followed by her brother.

                You turned to your mother once you saw them reach the floor, "Mum, if we find food, do you want me to bring back a plate?"

                "Yes, please," she whispered with a weak smile. "I'm just going to try and get some sleep."

                "Good. You should rest," you replied before turning to look at your siblings. "You two ready?"

                The both nodded, and you walked over to the cabin door, turning the handle and setting them free. The moment the door was open, the twins ran out as fast as horses.

                "Edmund! Marie!" you ran after them. "Don't take off like that! You don't even know where the middle deck is!"

                You finally caught up to them, grabbing both of their hands with an iron grip, and you made the rest of your trip that way, getting lost once or twice trying to find the damn rooms.

                A half hour or so later, you three found yourselves in the Third Class Dining Saloon. Dinner was being served, so you found three seats at one of the long, wooden tables.

                Edmund and Marie must have been hungry because the moment their plates touched the table, they were digging in. You ate, too, and you had to admit the food was better than you had thought it would be. It was one course but consisted of soup, potatoes, bread, and butter.

                "That was the best meal ever!" Edmund exclaimed as you exited the saloon.

                You laughed, "It was, wasn't it?"

                "But now we have to find our way back..." Marie's face fell, knowing it would be another lengthy walk to the room.

                "Let's not get so upset now, Marie," you said, switching your mother's plate of food from one hand to the other so you could take Marie's little fingers in your own. "We'll just ask for directions."

                You saw a man ahead of you, exiting a room off-limits to passengers. He was filthy, covered in dirt and sweat, but he seemed like he would know where to go.

                "Excuse me, Sir," you hastened forward. "Do you know how I can get to the lower deck Third Class rooms?"

                The man turned, taking in your form with deep, brown eyes, "I do," he nodded. "If you want, I can lead you there."

                He gave you and your siblings a soft smile, "I'm Liam, by the way."

                "I'm Y/N, and these are my siblings, Edmund and Marie," you said, looking down at them.

                "Do you run this ship?" Edmund asked, running up to him.

                Liam let out a hearty laugh, "No...I don't, but I help."

                "Really? What's it like?" he asked, walking beside Liam as he led you towards your cabin.

                He shrugged, "It's just a job, really. I'm used to it."

                Edmund kept firing questions while you and Marie stayed behind them. Once in a while, when he heard you laugh at something Edmund or he had said, Liam would look back at you, melting your heart with his warm smile.

Louis: You're in Second Class.

                When I entered the cabin, followed by the crewmember, he let out a low whistle that made me cringe.

                "Jesus Christ..." he murmured, looking around the room. "Are you sure this is only Second Class?"

                You were a little shocked by his words. If he was a member of the crew, wouldn't he know that this is a Second Class, single room?

                "Thank you, Sir," you turned to look at him, "for bringing my bags here."

                I started digging through the purse I held around my wrist.

                "You don't have to tip me, Miss," he said softly, putting the bags down.

                "Are you sure?" you asked, taking out your change purse. "Those bags weren't easy to carry."

                He shrugged his shoulders, smiling, "I didn't mind, but there is one thing you could do for me..."

                You frowned slightly, wondering what he was going to request, "And that would be...?"

                "Can you keep a secret?" he asked, turning to close the door and making you feel even more uncomfortable.

                "A secret?" you tilted your head to the side. "Depends on what it is, and I don't even know who you are."

                "In time, Miss. First, let me explain to you what I am doing here."

                You always did like stories, so why deny his? You sat down on the settee across from your bed and folded your gloved hands in your lap.

                "Well, I'm one of seven siblings," he began, taking his hat off to reveal unkempt, light brown locks that formed waves on the top of his head, "and we aren't exactly well off..."

                "Then why didn't you take the tip?" you asked, opening your purse once again. "I can give you a handsome sum because I'm feeling generous, but--"

                "Please don't," he pleaded, causing you to look up at him. "My parents didn't raise me to accept money from strangers, especially if they're a pretty woman."

                You hung your head, trying to hide the smile that graced your lips and the pink tinge on your cheeks, "I don't know about pretty, but..."

                He chuckled at your bashfulness, "No need to be shy, Love. You are quite the beauty. How do you think I spotted you in that crowd?"

                You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze, "Please continue..."

                "Well, as I said, the money's pretty tight, and my dad and mum have been juggling two jobs each as well as taking care of the children. My sister, Lottie, and I try to help as best we can, but the only way we could survive is if I leave for America and get a job there."

                You looked up at him now, "So that's why you're on this ship..."

                "Yes," he nodded, his face turning serious, "but I am not a crewmember."

                "Then what are you...?"

                "I'm basically..." he sighed, "a stowaway."

                "A stowaway?" you stood up, furious. "You used me to get aboard this ship illegally?"

                He put up his hands, which were covered in dirt, "Calm down, please, Miss. I had no choice. I have my family to think about."

                "But couldn't you raise the money or save up for a ticket?" you asked, not caring if the whole floor could hear you. "Why did you have to be a stowaway?"

                "By the time I heard about the Titanic, it was too late for me to try and raise the money," he said, gesturing for me to quiet down. "You really need to be quiet, Miss. I can't be caught."

                "Why didn't you wait for another ship?" you ignored his pleas for you to be silent, stepping closer to him in the process.

                "My father lost one of his jobs, and my mum is home sick," he whispered. "Please, Miss. Quiet down..."

                "Quiet down? How can I quiet down? There is a man in my cabin, telling me a story that I'm not sure is fact or fiction, and he also used me to stowaway on one of the most famous ships in the--"

                You felt something cover your mouth, stopping your words, and when you saw it was one of the stowaway's filthy hands, all you saw was red.

                "Listen, Miss," his brows furrowed in frustration. "I've been polite, and I have no desire to hurt you. But I'm willing to change my behavior if it means I can safely pass to America for my family. If they catch me, I'll tell them you helped, and you'll be in just as much trouble as I will be. Your parents may be able to vouch for you, but the scandal will always be there."

                You hated this man, but you knew he spoke the truth. You would have to hide him here, in your cabin.

                "I'm going to let you go now," he whispered slowly, "and you're not going to scream anymore."

                You nodded, and he removed his hand.

                "You're honestly a despicable human being," you spat, turning towards the sink in the middle of the room.

                "I'm sorry you think that, Love, but as I said, I'm doing this for my family."

                If that was true, you might've felt better about the whole situation, but you had no reason to believe this man. He had tricked you.

                "What's your name, Miss?"

                You lifted your head and turned off the faucet, wiping your face with a towel, "Y/N."

                "Pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N. I'm Louis."

Niall: You're in First Class

                You were in the middle of your book, Pride and Prejudice, when your mother said three words that made your heart sing.

                "We're going out."

                You looked up from the page you were on, giving her a soft smile, "Where to?"

                "The First Class Lounge. We're supposed to meet with your future fiancé and his parents."

                Your face fell at the mention of your fiancé, "Oh..."

                Your mother beamed at your disappointment while spraying her neck with perfume, "Don't be down, Love. You'll be dining with him this evening."

                "When will you return?" you asked, marking your place in your book and resting it on your lap.

                "Well, we're having dinner all together, and then I think the men will go off to the smoking lounge. I'm also having afternoon tea with Mrs. Bentley, so I would not expect us back until it is time to get ready for supper," she said, leaning closer to the mirror to put her earrings in.

                You didn't say anything because you were so elated. This gave you the whole afternoon to explore the ship and do what you wanted to do instead of being dragged around by your parents.

                "Alright," your mother sighed, taking one last look in the mirror before taking your father's arm. "We'll be back."

                "I left you an extra key to the room," your father said, looking towards the nightstand. "If you want to go to the pool or the Turkish bath, you can always get back in here afterwards."

                "Thank you, Father," you said, getting up to kiss his cheek.

                You watched them leave the room, closing the door behind them with the happiest of smiles on your face. Once they were gone, you leaned back on the door, wondering if this freedom was too good to be true.

                Where would you go first? The promenade? The Swimming Pool? Or maybe the Turkish baths? They all sounded so appealing to you, but...exploring the ship sounded like the best idea.

                Considering you didn't feel like changing, you kept the dress you wore to board the ship on and left your hair as it was. You slipped on the shoes that matched your black and white dress and discarded your room slippers by your bed.

                After that, you grabbed the key and walked out the door.

                Now, you didn't really have a map or a plan as to where you were going to go; you decided to walk around aimlessly. You avoided going up to the next floor, knowing for a fact that that was where your parents had went. Instead, you opted to going downstairs and exploring the lower class decks.

                On the floor just below yours, there was the Second Class Library. Although you were unsure about whether or not you could pass your time in there, you made a mental note of where it was should you decide you wanted to.

                You made your way passed the library and Second Class Promenade before finding yourself among many significantly poorer people. They all stared at you as you walked by, and you knew it was because your dress was made of satin while their clothing was made of worn wool.

                Despite the jealous and menacing looks you got from some people, you felt sorry for the Third Class passengers. You scanned their grimy and tired faces, wondering what stories each one had to tell, until your eyes fell on a blond-haired man.

                The look he gave you contrasted with most in the room. His blue eyes were wide as they took in your form in utter awe. His jaw was nearly on the floor, and you couldn't help the giggle the managed to get passed your lips.

                He had heard it, and his cheeks immediately turned red while he brought his fist to his mouth, coughing into it.

                You stopped walking and turned to look at him, unable to help the smile or blush on your cheeks, "Hello."

                His eyes were the size of teacup saucers, but he managed to stammer out, "Uh...H-Hi."

                He had an Irish accent, and you knew that your mother would have your head if she saw you talking to this boy. Frankly, you didn't care.

                You walked over to him, surprising him even more, "I'm Y/N. What's your name?"

                "Niall, Milady," he bowed awkwardly, avoiding your gaze.

                You frowned, "You don't need to be so formal..."

                "But you're..." he looked up at you shyly before straightening, "you're obviously of a higher class, Mila--"

                You shook your head, "It's Y/N. Not 'milady.'"

                "It wouldn't be proper..." he rubbed the back of his head before whispering to himself. "Hell, looking at you like that wasn't exactly proper either."

                You giggled softly, "You can relax, Niall. I'm not going to have you arrested for looking at me."

                He stiffened, realizing you had heard everything he had said, "I-I...didn't mean to...it's just that you're so..."

                "So...?" you took a step closer to him with a wide smile.

                "...beautiful..." he whispered, looking into your eyes.

                It was your turn to be shy, "Oh..." you shifted your gaze, "well, thank you..."

                "Just stating the truth," he replied with a small smile.

                And then you had plans for the rest of the trip. You wanted to spend every moment trying to get to know this boy, trying to get him to call you by your name.

                Class be damned.

Zayn: You're a Stowaway.

                You wandered the halls of the Third Class staterooms, trying to calm your fraying nerves. You had managed to get on board the Titanic, but you weren't in the clear until they started the voyage. Even then, if you were caught, you'd be punished the minute you docked in America.

                You also had to worry about where you were going to sleep. You were pretty sure that all the rooms were full, and even if they weren't, the chances of you finding the one with one empty bunk were slim to none.

                As you thought this through, you didn't realize that you had wandered into a Second Class hall.

                "Miss?"

                You felt your heartbeat quicken as you turned around slowly to see a crewmember hastening over to you.

                "What are you doing in here?" he asked, scowling at your form.

                Instinct told you to run, and boy, did you run down that hallway.

                "Wait, Miss!" the crewman yelled after you while you rounded the corner, crashing into someone.

                You heard a masculine groan below you and opened your eyes to see you were straddling the man you had met in the crowd earlier.

                "I'm so sorry," you gaped at him.

                "There you are, Girl!"

                You gasped, spinning around to see your pursuer glaring at you.

                He grabbed your wrist, bringing you away from the man you had knocked over, "I'm afraid you'll have to come with me, Miss."

                "I got lost, I didn't mean--"

                "Wait."

                Both you and the crewmember who had you in his grasp looked at the stranger. He was getting to his feet now, dusting off his suit.

                "This girl is traveling with me," he said grabbing your other wrist.

                "Are you sure, Sir?" your captor asked. "She looks too common to be associated with you."

                The man frowned, "She's my maid."

                Well, it was better than nothing, and he was saving you.

                "Well," the crewmember practically threw you at him, "please tell your maid to be careful when wandering the ship. There are some places she is prohibited to enter."

                "Of course," your savior steadied you, grabbing your wrists gently.

                "Have a nice afternoon, Sir," the crewman bowed his head, tipping his hat as well, before making his leave.

                "Thank you," you said, looking up at the man.

                "No problem," he smiled softly, letting go of you, "but what are you doing in the Second Class staterooms?"

                "Um..." you bit your lip, "I'll tell you why, but I'd prefer to do it somewhere private."

                "Is my room private enough for you?" he asked, gesturing to the door next to you.

                You nodded, "That'll do."

                He got out his key and unlocked the door, holding it open for you.

                When you walked in, you forgot how to breathe. The room was so much more luxurious than anything you had seen or read about before. It wasn't as large as the room you had at the orphanage, but there, you shared a room with thirty other girls.

                Your face must have shown your awe because your savior laughed, "I take it that you like it?"

                "It's gorgeous," you said, looking about the room. "How much does a room like this cost?"

                "A lot," he chuckled, closing the door behind him. "Please sit, um...I'm afraid I don't know your name."

                "Y/N," you replied, looking into his brown eyes.

                "Miss Y/N? That's a pretty name," he smiled, taking a seat on the settee. "I'm Zayn."

                "Zayn?" you arched a brow. "Is that foreign?"

                "Arabic," he nodded, watching you take a seat on the other side of the settee. "Now, tell me. What were you doing in the Second Class halls?"

                You looked down at your worn skirt, "Well...I was taking a walk around the Third Class staterooms, and I wasn't paying attention...I somehow found myself here."

                He nodded slowly, "Okay, but why did you run when the crewman only wanted to inform you that you weren't in your place?"

                You remained silent for a moment, wondering if you should share the fact you were a stowaway with him, "I...um..." you looked up at him, frowning, "I'm not exactly a passenger..."

                "But you said..." he furrowed his dark brows in confusion.

                "I know, but I lied," you sighed, hanging your head in shame. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause you any trouble, but by saving me, I already have."

                "What do you mean?" he leaned forward, worry evident in his chiseled features.

                "I'm a stowaway," you whispered, looking away from his intense gaze. "You helped a stowaway."

                The room was silent, deathly silent. You could hear his pocket watch ticking, and if you listened hard enough, you probably could've heard the air moving around you.

                Finally, after what seemed like eons, Zayn let out a sigh, "I'm not going to get angry."

                "You're not?" your head shot up, meeting his gaze.

                He shook his head before giving you a stern look. "I'm going to help you, since I'm already an accomplice anyway."

                "But--"

                "But you have to listen to everything I say," he said, getting up from the settee and opening his bag. "You also have to be my muse."

                "E-excuse me?" you blinked, watching him pull out a book of some sort.

                "My muse," he repeated, opening the book to reveal all sorts of sketches, some clothed and some not. "You have to let me draw you."

[chrissysmith257]

Preference {9} You're on Tour with Him, and He's Feeling Protective

This was a request I received about two days ago, and it is also my last request on my list...so I need requests, Lovelies! I hate looking at the list and seeing everything crossed off. I like writing what you Lovelies want! So please, if you want to read something, do not hesitate to ask. Thank you for all the requests so far and the support. You are all amazing! Enjoy.

- Chrissy

Master List

Harry:

                "Harry!"

                "Harry Styles!"

                "Over here, Harry!"

                "Look at me!"

                "I love you, Harry!"

                The crowds were crazy today as you walked out your hotel, hand-in-hand with your boyfriend of seven months, Harry Styles.

                "Y/N! Smile!"

                "Y/N! What's it like dating Harry Styles?"

                You were used to this, used to the mobs of reporters, fans, and camera flashes. You and Harry often ignored them, only stopping to sign a fan's poster or take a selfie with them. It was mostly Harry who did that stuff, though, and occasionally, someone would ask you to join in the photo or add your signature.

                You took it in stride, letting Harry be your guide with your hand clasped tightly in his.

                "Y/N! Did you hear about the Harry and C/G/N scandal?"

                Harry froze, his pen no longer moving on the piece of paper a fan had handed him.

                "C/G/N and Harry were seen holding hands the other day. Any comment, Y/N?"

                "How do you feel, Y/N, finding out you aren't enough for the Harry Styles?"

                This wasn't too uncommon. You two usually ignored rumors, but you could feel Harry's fiery eyes on your face. These specific rumors were new to you, but you knew Harry would never do such a thing while dating you. He wasn't like that. Still, the last question hurt.

                You tried to show no reaction because that's what they wanted, and who knows what kind of stories they would make from this?

                "Excuse me, but where and when exactly did you see me with C/G/N?" Harry asked, finishing the signature and handing it back to the fan before walking over to the group of reporters.

                "Here, in the city," one replied.

                "Around noon."

                "That's funny," Harry smiled, "because I was with Y/N for the whole afternoon yesterday, and I'm pretty sure C/G/N left for Los Angeles yesterday morning."

                That shut them up.

                "I thought so," he whispered, bringing your hand up to his lips before leading you to the car that was waiting for you.

                Once you were in the backseat, Harry pulled you close to him, pressing a loving kiss to your lips, "Thank you, Love."

                "For what?" you breathed, looking up into his green eyes.

                He grinned before leaning in again for another kiss, "For being strong and believing in me."

Liam:

                "You're lovely, Y/N," he whispered against the column of your neck before pressing a kiss there.

                You felt his fingers draw lazy pictures on your bare back and hummed in complete bliss.

                "I don't want to leave," Liam shifted, tangling your naked legs together even more as he pulled you closer to him. "I don't want to get ready for the show."

                "But you have to," you said, opening your eyes to peer at his beautiful face. "Your fans will miss you."

                "I know..." he said, shaking his head before meeting your gaze, "but I'll miss you."

                You smiled at him, pecking his soft lips, "I'll miss you, too, but I'll be right in the audience, cheering you on."

                "What about cheering me on now?" he smirked, climbing back on top of you and pressing kisses to your cheeks, nose, forehead, and finally your lips.

                The kiss grew passionate while his hands trailed down your smooth skin, retracing the paths his fingers had taken numerous times before and creating new ones.

                "Liam," you breathed against his lips, slipping your hand up the side of his neck and into his hair. "Someone's going to come get you anytime now."

                He brought your lips into another mind-numbing kiss. "We'll make it quick...but not too quick."

                He moved his lips to your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine as one of your hands made its way to the back of his head. You pressed him closer to you, wanting to feel every nook and cranny of his against your form.

                "Oh...Come on, guys!"

                Liam's face immediately disappeared from your skin, turning and looking at the source of the interruption, "Harry!"

                Liam lowered his body over yours in an effort to hide your body, the body that only he was allowed to see, "Get the fuck out, Mate!"

                "Okay. Okay," he chuckled nervously, backing out of the room. "Calm down, Liam. I was just coming to tell you that we have to go in five minutes."

                "Stop looking at her!"

                "Jeez...I wasn't!"

                Once you heard the door close with a click, you began laughing while Liam looked down at you, trying to comprehend why.

                "What's so funny?"

                "'Get the fuck out, Mate!'" you mimicked him between giggles. "'Stop looking at her!'"

                "But he was!"

Louis:

                Maybe buying tickets to your famous boyfriend's concert wasn't such a good idea. Or maybe it was the idea to hang out around the stadium and talk to his fans that wasn't such a good idea.

                The moment you walked out into the rotunda and leaned against one of the walls, you were mobbed by fans.

                "Can you give me Harry's phone number?"

                "What is it like dating Louis?"

                "Is it annoying being on tour with them?"

                "Are you really dating Louis, or did management hire you?"

                "You're so pretty, Y/N! Can you sign this? I'm your biggest fan!"

                "Can we take a picture?"

                You tried to answer all the questions being thrown at you and did as many of the requests they had for you, but it was just so overwhelming.

                "Alright, move aside!"  

                Oh, no. Here comes one of those fans. The ones that think they are entitled to whatever their little hearts' desire.

                "Number one fan coming through!"

                Wait...that voice sounded slightly familiar...

                And when the person had finally managed to push his way to the front of the crowd, you knew why.

                "What are you doing?" you hissed as the "fan" pulled you into a hug.

                "Just hugging my idol," he whispered against your ear, his sunglasses hitting the side of your head.

                "Louis...do you know how bad this will be if anyone finds out?"

                "Calm down, Love," he said, putting on an accent. "With this voice and this get up, no one can tell it's me."

                He took you by the hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as he pulled you through the complaining crowd.

                "Who do you think you are?"

                "You can't just drag Y/N away from us like that!"

                Louis leaned down towards your ear, "When I say 'bye', run."

                "What--"

                You didn't have time to give your boyfriend a suspicious look before he turned around, taking off his shades and snapback.

                "Well, considering she's my girlfriend, I think I have the authority. Love ya! Bye!"

                After that, you bolted into the concert hall, running down the rows to the backstage door. Once you were safe with the bodyguards, Louis pulled you into a hug.

                "Don't ever do that again, understand?" he said, breathless.

                "But..."

                "Promise."

                "Fine..."

                "That's my girl," he cooed, nuzzling your cheek.

Niall:

                "Niall, what are you doing?" you snapped.

                He stopped moving after that, realizing that he had woken you up. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning, and you had no idea what he was doing.

                "Nothing," he blurted out.

                "You're doing something," you shifted slightly so you could look over your shoulder at him, opening up one eye in the process.

                In the dark, you could just barely make out Niall's form under the sheets. His arm was around you and his stomach pressed into your side, as if he was slowly sliding under you.

                "Aren't you uncomfortable in that position?" you whispered.

                "No...Just go back to sleep. Don't worry about me."

                "You telling me not to worry is making me worried," you retorted, flipping over onto your back and moving your body off of his. "Why aren't you asleep?"

                He yawned, "Well...I stayed up until the boys finally went to bed, and then I got to thinking..."

                "A horrible habit, but continue your story," you chuckled softly, positioning yourself on your other side so you could snuggle into his side.

                "What if we hit a bump?"

                "A bump?" you furrowed your brows in confusion. "What kind of bump? Like a bump in our relationship? In your career?"

                "No," he shook his head, a smile growing on his face. "A literal bump in the pavement. What if the tour bus hits a bump?"

                You were silent, not quite understanding the question, before answering, "Um...we go over it?"

                "No...you fall out of the bunk and onto the floor because you're on the edge."

                That's when it all clicked, "Were you moving me so you could keep me from falling?"

                "Yeah..."

                You pulled his face to yours, kissing his nose, "Niall James Horan, you are too cute."

                "Yeah...well..."

                He was cut off when the bus shook, causing you to topple out of the bunk, but Niall saw it coming.

                When you landed, you didn't hit the floor. Niall had somehow made his way underneath you, keeping you from landing on the hardwood.

                "What the bloody hell was that?"

                A light went on, revealing you and Niall in a very compromising position.

                "On the floor, now? Is that what you kids are into these days?" Louis snorted, looking down at you two from his bunk.

Zayn:

                "We're taking a shower together."

                You looked up from your book, startled by the sudden command, to see your boyfriend of two years standing by the bathroom door, in all his naked, chiseled glory.

                "Um..." you shifted in your seat by the window of your hotel room, "okay...but what's with the sudden desire...?"

                He shrugged, not bothered at all by his lack of clothing, "I just want to. Conserving water and what not? Being good for the environment? I want to stare at your body? Take your pick."

                You giggled at his humor, closing your book and putting it on the table beside you, "Alright. Your compelling argument has convinced me."

                He grinned at you as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his.

                "You're wearing too much for a shower, Love," he whispered, pulling away from you.

                You smirked at him before removing your top and pants with slow hands. His eyes followed the lines and contours of your body, taking in every bit of beautiful skin as well as every perfect imperfection.

                You took off your underwear next, taking your sweet time in doing so, and just as you were about to look up at him, he put his hand at the back of your neck, pulling your lips up to his.

                He kissed you passionately, putting his hand on your lower back. His kisses always left you breathless, but after this one...you were pretty sure you forgot how to breathe.                

                "Come on, Love. The showers running and waiting," he breathed against your lips.

                "Okay," you grinned, pecking his lips one last time before letting him lead you by the hand into the bathroom.

                You went into the tub first, him helping you keep your balance. However, as soon as your foot touched the smooth base of the tub, you found yourself falling to the floor.

                Zayn's hand was tight and bruising around your other arm, keeping you from falling.

                "I knew it..." he whispered along with a string of curses. "I should have gone in first."

                "This is why you wanted me to take a shower with you? You were afraid I'd slip?" you asked as he climbed into the tub.

                He nodded, kissing the palm of your hand, "I have to protect this precious body."

[chrissysmith257]

Could you link me to everything you've written? I can't find them.

Sure, Lovely! Here is everything I have so far.

Preferences:

Preference {1} How You Met

Preference {2} You’re His Date, But You’re Just Friends | Part 2

Preference {3} You’re a Family of…

Preference {4} Your First Fight | Part 2

Preference {5} You Have Dimples

Preference {6} AU: He’s Your Overprotective Brother Meeting Your Boyfriend for the First Time | Part 2

Preference {7} Differences Are What Makes You Beautiful (His POV)

Preference {8} He Gets Sick While Visiting Your Parents

Preference {9} You’re on Tour with Him and He’s Feeling Protective 

Preference Series

Aboard the Titanic AU

Preference Series {AU: Aboard the Titanic} Preparation (Your POV) | (His POV)

Preference Series {AU: Aboard the Titanic} Introductions

I hope this helps! I also put up the preferences that are coming out soon, so you have something to look forward to. I am still taking requests, and this was the first time I had to do this for someone. You made my day, Lovely, so thank you!

- Chrissy

[chrissysmith257]

Preference {8} He Gets Sick While Visiting Your Parents

Hey, Lovelies! Sorry it's been a while...but I'll try to have something else posted tonight or this time tomorrow morning. This was a request I had gotten (I'm running out of requests, so please give me some to add to my list), and I tried to make each boys' a little different. The range of illnesses (minor to serious), whether it was their first time visiting your parents or not, and if your parents were divorced or not were things I used to differ each story. I hope you enjoy it, Lovelies!

- Chrissy

Master List

Harry: He has the runs.

                You could tell Harry wasn't feeling well the moment he asked you to get off the highway and park in the lot of a rest stop. Your parents were only a few exits down, but he couldn't wait to use the bathroom.

                You asked if he wanted you to come and wait outside the men's room for him, but he told you to wait by the car. You respected his wishes and waited. And waited.

                You were supposed to be at your parents before eighteen o'clock, but your plane had arrived late, and now this whole thing with Harry...You knew he probably couldn't help it and was nervous about meeting your parents for the first time, but your parents had a thing about being punctual...

                For his sake, you hoped he would hurry up.

                "Sorry about that, Love," he ran over to you and pecked you on the cheek.

                "It's okay, but Harry," you watched him walk around the car to the passenger side, "are you feeling alright?"

                "Yeah," he shrugged before opening his door. "I feel fine."

                "Are you sure?" you asked, opening your door.

                "Of course!" he smiled, ducking into the car. "Now let's get going! We don't want to be late!"

                You decided not to press it further and started the car. Within fifteen minutes, you were parked outside your parents' house, helping Harry unload the car.

                "Y/N!" your mother had seen you pull up, so she was bounding out the door within seconds of the first suitcase being placed on the pavement.

                "Hey, Mum," you smiled, pulling her into a hug.

                "You're here! You're finally here!" she said, rocking you back and forth. She then turned to look at Harry, who was smiling at the reunion. "And you must be Harry. I've heard so much about you from Y/N."

                "All good I hope," his grin widened.

                Your mother walked over to him and said, "Well, don't be shy. We're a hugging family."

                Harry pulled her into a hug, smiling at you over her shoulder, but then his face fell.

                He quickly ended the hug, apologizing and asking for a bathroom.

                "Oh, well," your mother looked at bit startled. "There's one when you first enter the house, on the right side."

                "Thanks," he ran towards the house before slowing down to tell you. "I'll be right back, Babe, to help you carry the stuff in."

                "That's okay, Sweetie," you gave him an assuring smile, knowing he was really nervous about coming here today. "Take your time."

                He returned the smile before disappearing into the house.

                Your mother turned to you, chuckling softly, "He's a bit nervous, isn't he?"

                "Yeah..." you replied with a nod. "I don't think he's feeling too well either..."

                "Oh?"

                "We had to stop for a bathroom fifteen minutes ago," you told her, and she already knew what was wrong.

                "Well, I'll show you what to give him medicine-wise," she replied, leading you into the house. "I'll pretend I don't know a thing."

                "Thanks, Mom," you sighed, following her into the kitchen.

                She opened up the medicine cabinet and handed you a bottle of Pepto-Bismol, "You know where the spoons are. The dosage is on the bottle."

                You nodded, grabbing a spoon before rushing out of the room and towards the bathroom. You taped the white door lightly, just enough for him to hear you.

                "Harry?"

                "Yes, Love?"

                "Can I come in?"

                There was a bit of silence until the door opened slowly, revealing Harry on the toilet with his pants down. You gave him a small smile, ignoring the stench, before closing the door behind you and locking it.

                "Why didn't you tell me you weren't feeling well?" you asked, kneeling on the white-tiled floor before him.

                He let out a sigh, running his fingers through his curls, "We've been planning this for a month now, Y/N, and I know it means a lot to you that I meet your parents..."

                "But it would be easier if you were feeling better," you frowned, pouring a spoonful of the pink liquid.

                "I know, but...honestly, I think it's from nerves," he whispered, looking into your eyes.

                "Here," you brought the spoon before his lips. "This should help."

                He let you give him the medicine, swallowing it before saying, "I'm really sorry, Y/N. I'm sure this isn't how you or your parents planned on meeting me."

                "Well, you should be feeling better before my father gets home, but he's a pretty understanding man. I doubt he'll deduct points for having the runs," you chuckled softly, getting up and kissing Harry's cheek. "And my mother's seen it all, so..."

                "But what about you? I mean...I don't want you seeing me like this..."

                "Harry," you shook your head, "it's okay. I'm your girlfriend, and if we're going to have the future we've been talking about having, there are going to be moments like this."

                "I love you," he said, finally smiling.

                "I love you, too," you grinned, opening the door. "I'll have mom make you some rice for dinner."

                "Thanks, Babe."

                And as luck would have it, Harry did feel better before your father came home. He still had rice for dinner, to be safe, but no one questioned it, even though everyone had a clue. By the end of the night, you were all in the living room, talking and laughing.

                "You know, Harry," your father said, putting his cup of coffee down on a coaster. "I had my doubts about you, but you are quite the gentleman."

                Harry beamed, rubbing you arm, "Thank you, Sir."

                "And I can see how well you and my daughter get along."

                Harry's hand froze on your arm, suddenly conscious that he was showing affection in front of your parents, but when he saw your father's approving grin, he continued his caress.

                "Thank you, Son, for making her happy."

                Those words made your heart soar, and you could feel the happiness radiating off of Harry.

                "Thank you, Sir. You have no idea how much that means to me," Harry was grinning from ear to ear, dimples out in the open.

Liam: He has the flu.

                "Are you feeling okay, Baby?" you asked from the passenger seat of the car.

                "Yeah, I'm--" he sneezed, "fine."

                You brought a tissue to his nose, "Blow."

                He did as you said, and you folded up the dirty tissue, putting it in the plastic bag by your feet. Liam has been like this since you left the hotel, so you took your heels out of the plastic bag you were carrying them in and got out your travel-size pack of tissues.

                "Are you sure you're up to this, Liam? Maybe we should head back to the hotel and take a rain check," you said, frowning as you pressed the back of your hand against his warm forehead. "You're burning up, Babe! We shouldn't be doing this."

                You unbuckled your seatbelt, telling him to pull over so you could drive back.

                "Stop making it such a big deal," Liam couldn't help but laugh at the way you were handling the situation. "We're almost there anyway."

                He then lets out a cough, making you doubt this trip even more.

                "But, Liam..."

                "I'll be fine, Babe," he said, cutting you off and taking your hand in his. "Honest."

                You rolled your eyes at him, "Fine, but you're lying down and taking some medicine as soon as we get to my moms'."

                Now it was his turn to go, "But, Y/N..."

                "No," you said, looking out the window and ending the conversation.

                Once you were parked in your mother's driveway, you got out your key while Liam took your suitcase out of the trunk.

                "Liam, are you sure you don't want me to get that?" you asked, feeling bad because most of the stuff in the case was yours.

                "No, I've got it, Babe," he smiled at you, picking up the suitcase and walking with you up to the front door.

                You unlocked the door and led him into the house, "Mum? M/BF/N?"

                "It doesn't sound like they're home," Liam pointed out from beside you before going into a fit of coughs.

                You went over to him, putting your hand on his back as he bends over, "Liam, come on. Let's go upstairs. We'll get you into a cool bath to lower your fever and then I'll get you some medicine. Okay?"

                "But I was supposed to meet your..."

                "I don't care," you shook your head. "You need to get better, and if you let me take care of you, you can spend all the time you want with them tomorrow."

                "You promise?" he asked, straightening.

                You nodded, "I promise."

                "Fine."

                After that, he let you do what you needed to do to make him feel better. You helped him upstairs, telling him to ignore the suitcase for now. Once he was in the bathroom with a bath drawn, you ran downstairs and carried your luggage up to the guest bedroom you and Liam would be staying in.

                "Babe? Where's the shampoo?" he sniffled, poking his head outside the bathroom.

                "I'll be right there, Liam," you said while putting the last of your clothes into the dresser.

                You quickly ran across the hall to the bathroom, closing and locking the door behind you. Liam was in the tub, lying back. He watched you as you opened the linen closet and took out two towels, a sponge, and a bottle of shampoo.

                You came over to the bathtub, getting down on your knees.

                "What are you doing?" Liam asked with a cough, arching a brow.

                "Taking care of you," you whispered, using the sponge to carry the water up to his shoulders and letting it trickle down.

                "But you don't," he sneezed, "need to give me a bath."

                "Are you feeling achy?"

                "What does that have to do with--"

                "Are you feeling achy?" you repeated, washing his chest with the sponge.

                "Yes..."

                "Then you need me to give you a bath," you stated, squirting some soap onto the sponge before lathering his arm.

                "What if your mum comes home with her boyfriend and sees you giving me a bath?" he sniffled.

                "She'll freak out..."

                "See? You shouldn't be--"

                "...and then understand after I explain to her you have the flu," you grinned at him as you squeezed the sponge dry of any soap.

                "How do you know I have the flu?"

                "Just a hunch based on the symptoms," you replied, starting to wash off the bubbles on his chest.

                He was silent after that while you rinsed him off and began to wash his hair with the shampoo.

                "You're going to have to deal with smelling like lilacs and lilies for the next few days," you chuckled, running your soapy fingers through his hair.

                "Why...?" he smirked at you as you leaned over him to see what you were doing.

                "Look at the shampoo bottle."

                "Y/N..." he whined before going into another coughing fit.

                You paused in massaging his scalp to see if he was okay.

                "I'm fine..." he cleared his throat. "I'm fine."

                "Good," you said, leaning down to kiss his cheek.

                "But why couldn't you get a bottle of your mum's boyfriend's shampoo?"

                You threw your head back in laughter while he sat in a tub of bubbles, sulking.

                Your mother and M/BF/N didn't come home until you had just tucked Liam into the guestroom's bed. You were downstairs, putting away the medicine you had given him for his fever when they walked in with a bunch of groceries. They asked you about Liam and where he was. You explained the situation and told them he should be better tomorrow.

                And he was.

                Liam came downstairs to breakfast the next morning with a wide smile on his face. He was still experiencing symptoms, but he wasn't as bad as the day before.

                "I wouldn't mind waking up to that every morning," your mother chuckled in your ear, while enjoying a cup of tea with you.

                You followed her line of vision to see Liam, shirtless, sitting and chatting amicably with M/BF/N.

                "I hope you mean your boyfriend," you chuckled before taking a sip. "Because the sick one is mine."

Louis: He has bronchitis.

                It was day two of your family camping trip, and from the moment he woke up, your boyfriend would not stop coughing. It wasn't just regular coughing, either. He sounded like he was hacking up one of his lungs...or both.

                "Here's some water, Love," you said, stepping into your tent.

                Louis sat up, looking disoriented. His hair was uncombed and hanging in his face while his eyes were bloodshot.

                "Thanks, Lo--" he went to grab the cup in your hand but he was suddenly thrown into another coughing fit.

                "Oh, Louis..." you frowned, getting on your knees and shuffling over the sleeping bags to get to him.

                "Don't come near me, Y/N," he said in between coughs. "I don't want you getting sick."

                "Don't be ridiculous," you scowled, getting closer and bringing the water with you. "As soon as you stop coughing and feel that it's alright to drink a little, let me know."

                He nodded while the coughs eventually subsided. After a minute, he said, "Give it here."

                You gave him the cup and watched him gulp it all down.

                "Don't down it so fast, Louis," you said, putting your hand on the bottom of the cup. "You'll trigger another coughing fit."

                He glanced at you before doing as you say, slowing down his drinking. When he empties the cup, he winces, "My chest hurts..."

                "I'm sorry, Babe," you frowned, putting the back of your hand to his forehead.

                He watched you bring your hand to your own forehead, comparing the temperatures. You repeated the process a few times, trying to figure out if he had a fever. He felt a little colder to you...but you wanted to be sure...

                "Am I hot?" he asks.

                "I'm not sure, but there's definitely a difference in temperature," you said, getting up to your feet.

                "Where are you going?" he coughed, looking up at you.

                "I'm going to see if my mother has a thermometer."

                "Oh..."

                "I'll be right back, so stay here and relax," you said, ducking out of the tent before he could protest.

                "Mum?" you ran a bit down the campsite, looking for her. Your father was at the grill, cooking, believe it or not, pancakes along with bacon and sausages.

                "She's gone for a swim in the lake," he said, flipping a light brown pancake. "Is there something wrong?"

                "Louis isn't feeling too well," you sighed.

                "He's still coughing?"

                "Yeah, but it's gotten worse. I want to take his temperature," you replied, trying to spot your mother in the water.

                "Well, let me know if he has one. I think he may have Bronchitis."

                And he didn't have to say it for you to know that you would have to drive home and get a doctor to check him out if that was the case.

                "Would he have a fever if he has Bronchitis?" you asked, squinting at your father because of the morning light.

                "No. He may have a slightly lower temperature, though."

                "Do you, by any chance, know if we have a first aid kit with a thermometer in it?"

                "You'll have to ask your mother," he replied, filling a plate with pancakes.

                "Thanks, Dad," you kissed his cheek before running down towards the lake, keeping an eye out for your mother.

                The lake was really cold in the mornings, being without the sunlight for a while, but your mother never had a problem with it. She loved swimming before dawn, and occasionally, she would wake you up early to join her. She didn't this time for obvious reasons.

                "Mum?" you called, walking down the path to the part of the lake she usually entered and exited.

                "Yes?" she finally emerged from the water, grabbing the towel she had left on the boulder nearby. "Were you looking for me, Darling?"

                "Yes," you stopped in front of her. "Do we have a thermometer somewhere?"

                "In my tent, yes," she replied, drying her hair as you two walked back up to the campsite together. "Why? Is Louis feeling worse?"

                "He's been hacking up internal organs all night. Dad thinks its Bronchitis."

                "Oh, I hope not," she frowned as she led you over to her tent. "You two should leave, though, if he does have it. We don't want it escalating to pneumonia."

                You nodded, "I'm just going to make sure he doesn't have a fever because if he does, he might just be fine after a few days rest and medicine for the symptoms."

                "Alright," she disappeared inside her tent for a moment. "I should have it in our first aid kit..."

                 She came back out of her tent a few minutes later, holding out the instrument you had been looking for, "Here you go."

                "Thanks, Mum," you quickly pecked her cheek before running off to your tent. You stopped only once to refill Louis' cup, figuring he could use it to get better.

                "Y/N?"

                "Yeah, Baby?" you whispered, leaning down next to him.

                "Did you find one?" he asked, putting a hand on your thigh.

                You nodded, holding it up, "Open up."

                 He did as you asked, parting his lips so you could place the thermometer under his tongue.

                "Keep it in there until I say so," you told him, sitting back on your knees and pushing his hair back from his face.

                A minute later, you took it out and read the temperature.

                "Well, you don't have a fever..."

                "That's good," he sighed, lying back down and closing his eyes.

                "No. It's not, Louis," you frowned, seeing that his temperature was below average. "We're going to have to go home."

                "What?" he sat up, going into another coughing fit.

                "Calm down!" you said, rubbing his back and handing his cup.

                "But..." he coughed.

                "A low temperature means you could have Bronchitis, and if left untreated, you could contract pneumonia," you told him, kissing his temple.

                He finally stopped coughing, "But what about your parents?"

                "They'll stay here," you replied.

                "But what about spending some time with them?" he frowned, taking a sip of his water.

                "You're more important, Love," you said, squeezing his hand.

Niall: He has Strep Throat.

                "It's your fault," he groaned, rolling onto his side.

                "I'm sorry, Niall," you sighed, rubbing his back. "I didn't mean to give it to you, but you didn't listen when I told you not to kiss me."

                "I know, but your lips are so irresistible. I couldn't help myself, especially when you give me that look..."

                You chuckled at him, feeling slightly bad about the whole situation, "I'm sorry, Niall. I really am, but once we get home tomorrow, I'll take you to the doctor's."

                "We're leaving early?" he asked, flipping over to look at you. "But we were all going out for dinner tomorrow..."

                "But you have a fever, Niall," you frowned, pushing back his sweaty hair that stuck to his forehead.

                "So...?"

                "So, you probably have Strep, Love."

                "But we can't go home early tomorrow!" he shouted, sitting up.

                "Niall," you pressed against his chest lightly, telling him to lie back down, "you have to rest, and we are leaving tomorrow after breakfast for the doctor's. I don't care about dinner with my family."

                "But..."

                "No," you sighed, getting up off the bed and walking towards the light switch.

                "You're staying in here with me?" he asked, watching you turn off the light and walk towards your side of the bed, bathed in moonlight.

                "Yes," you whispered, pulling back the cover and folding it up.

                "What are you doing?" he asked, shocked by the sudden temperature change.

                "You can't sleep with this heavy thing on you if you're as hot as hell," you replied, putting the folded comforter on the chair in the corner of the room.

                "So I'm hot as hell, am I?" he smirked as you pulled back the sheets and climbed into bed next to him.

                "Yes," you giggled, kissing his flushed cheek. "Now go to sleep."

                "But...you'll get sick," he protested, still wrapping his arms around you.

                "Maybe," you said, placing your head underneath his chin and snuggling into his chest, "but if you're breathing over my head, I have less of a chance."

                He let out a light chuckle, and when his laughter faded away, he whispered, "Y/N?"

                "Hmm?"

                "If I don't have a fever tomorrow after breakfast, can we please stay for dinner?"

                You let out a sigh, "I don't understand what all the hype is about this dinner, but if it means that much to you and those conditions are met, we can stay."

                "Thanks, Babe," he said before kissing the top of your head.

                The next morning, Niall's temperature hadn't returned to normal. You weren't surprised, honestly.

                In the middle of the night, he woke you up, even though he had tried everything to make sure that didn't happen. He couldn't sleep.

                "It feels like a dagger is going down my throat," he whispered, sitting at the edge of the bed.

                You had sat up as he said that, "I'll go get you some medicine to help with that and get you to sleep."

                "Thanks, Babe," he watched you leave the room.

                When you returned, he was still sitting at the edge of the bed. You sat next to him, asking him to face you. He did as he was asked, and you pressed the back of your hand to his head. He didn't feel quite as warm as earlier, but he definitely still had a fever.

                You gave him the pill he needed for the symptoms and temperature, and he swallowed it with a bit of help from the glass of water you had given him. While he finished the water, you got up and went into the bathroom.

                "What are you doing, Princess?" Niall asked, leaning against the doorframe and trying to adjust to the blinding light.

                You didn't answer. You just did what you needed to do, which involved soaking a washcloth with cold water. He watched you wring it out and repeat the process one more time.

                "Here," you said, turning off the light and pointing towards the bedroom with the damp cloth. "Go lie down. I'll put this on your head."

                He nodded and walked back into the guest room, throwing himself onto the bed with a groan, "Why me, Y/N? Why now?"

                "I know, Babe," you frowned, hating to see him like this. "I'm sorry."

                Niall murmured something into the pillow before rolling over and letting you put the cloth on his forehead.

                He smiled once the coolness sunk in, "That feels so good..."

                "Good," you smiled, kissing his cheek before tucking you both under the sheets.

                That was the only incident that night. Niall had fallen asleep before you; you had forced yourself to stay awake to witness the slow and steady breathing.

                He was still down, though, through breakfast when he realized he would be going home early today.

                "I'm sorry, Sweetie," you said from the kitchen, washing the dishes for your stepmom. "I know you wanted to go out tonight, but I don't want to risk it..."

                "I feel like a kid being forced to go to school while I'm sick as a dog," he murmured, pushing the food on his plate around.

                "You're being forced home, Niall," you gave him a soft smile while drying your hands. "Now eat up. Dad made that specially for you."

                "I know!" he exclaimed, grabbing the syrup bottle and leaning back in his chair to see your father at the stove. "Thank you, Sir!"

                "It wasn't a problem, Niall," he replied while cleaning off the frying pan.

                "Um, Sir," Niall began to cut a piece of his French Toast, "would I be able to borrow a bit of your time before I leave?"

                "I don't see why not," he replied, looking up at Niall with a smile. "What do you need?"

                "To talk with you...in private."

                You nearly dropped a plate at that sentence.

                "Do you mind me asking what about?"

                Everyone in the kitchen stopped what they're doing, looking to Niall for an answer.

                "Your blessing." Niall said, barely audible, and you knew in an instant that he had wanted to ask for it over dinner, in front of everyone you loved.

Zayn: He has a stomach virus.

                You sat on the couch in your parents' basement, running your hands through your boyfriend's silky hair. His head was on your lap, and his eyes were closed. You didn't blame him for sleeping, though. He had had a rough afternoon.

                It all started in the morning. Zayn hadn't eaten any of his breakfast, claiming he wasn't hungry.

                "I don't know, Babe," he had shrugged when you asked him why. "I'm just not hungry this morning."

                You blamed it on nerves. Zayn always got nervous when you two were visiting your parents, so you had shrugged off the lack of appetite, being that it was a common symptom of nervousness.

                It was when he asked you to drive, though, that you knew it couldn't be nerves. Zayn hardly ever asks you to drive, but you foolishly didn't mention anything about the odd behavior, figuring that if he didn't want to tell you, he had a reason.

                Well, you found out that reason when Zayn threw up most of the previous night's dinner onto the car floor.

                The moment you saw him keel over, you pulled the car to the side of the road, parking it so you could help your sick boyfriend.

                Zayn didn't seem to be finished by the time you opened his door and began to rub his back. You didn't dare try to move him so he could finish on the grass, fearing how bad of a situation this was. Was he just sick? Was he in pain? Was this a symptom of something serious?

                All you could do was wonder and hope as your boyfriend's stomach finally calmed down, giving him a breather.

                "I'm sorry," he finally said after a few moments.

                "Oh, Babe," you lifted his head so he could look at you, "don't apologize. This wasn't your fault."

                "But..."

                "We're closer to my parents' house, so I'll take you there," you said, cutting off his protest. "Let me get you a bag, just in case."

                After you had handed him a plastic bag, you were on the road again, heading towards your parents' home. Hopefully, they had some medicine and a place they didn't mind getting throw up all over. Knowing them, they'd give you the basement.

                And sure enough, that's where you were now, sitting on the couch with your boyfriend's head resting on your lap. You had a bucket beside you, just in case, and you were prepared for the worst.

                "Honey?" your mother whispered from the top of the stairs.

                "Yeah, Mum?" you replied softly.

                "Dinner's ready, and it might be a good idea to get something in Zayn's stomach, considering it's probably empty."

                You didn't want to do that because you didn't want him going through another wave of vomiting, but you knew he couldn't take medicine if he didn't eat.

                "Alright, Mum," you sighed after a bit of deliberation. "We'll be up shortly."

                "Okay, Dear," she said before closing the door to the basement.

                You looked down at your sleeping boyfriend, continuing to play with his hair, "Zayn? Zayn, Love? I hate to wake you, but..."

                Zayn stirred, turning his head and letting out a low groan, "What's wrong?"

                "Dinner's ready," you replied, letting go of his hair to let him sit up.

                "Are you sure I should be eating?" he blinked and began to stretch his arms.

                "I really don't want to feed you because I know the chances of you being by the toilet again are high, but if you want to take any medicine, you'll have to eat a little something," you told him regretfully. "I'm pretty sure my mum made you some toast, so it won't be too hard on your stomach."

                Zayn let out a sigh, running his fingers through his hair, "I'm causing so much trouble..."

                "No, you aren't, Zayn," you shook your head at him. "You can't help it, and we're just trying to take care of you."

                "But this was supposed to be a fun weekend," he yawned.

                "I know, but I'd rather be here, taking care of you when you feel sick than anywhere else," you assured him, knowing it was the truth. Zayn meant the world to you, and seeing him like this made you feel sick.

                He stayed silent for a moment, taking in your words before giving you a small grin. He held out his hand and said, "Come on. Let's go eat."

                "Let's," you agreed, following him up the stairs and onto the main floor.

                After he ate and took some Pepto-Bismol, Zayn went right to bed in the guest bedroom. It was still early, but you, wanting to be with your boyfriend, bid your parents goodnight and headed upstairs. You got yourself in your pajamas--a T-shirt and sweatpants--brushed your teeth, and washed your face. By this time, you expected to see Zayn fast asleep in bed, but instead, he was sitting up, wide awake.

                "Zayn? What are you doing up?" you asked, closing the bedroom door behind you. "Do you need to go to the bathroom or...?"

                "I'm fine, Y/N," he chuckled. "Stop worrying so much."

                "How can I not worry when you spent most of the day emptying your stomach?" you asked, sitting on your side of the bed.

                "Because I'm feeling better now," he replied with a smile. "You took such good care of me that I'm practically cured."

                "No sex."

                "What--why do you think I want that?" he asked, his eyes widening.

                You laughed at his attempt to act innocent, "Two reasons," you lay down on your stomach."One, you're a boy. Boys usually always have it on the brain. Two, no one recovers from a twenty-four hour stomach virus after twelve hours."

                Zayn frowned at your reasoning, "But..."

                You kissed his cheek, cutting him off, "You can have your way with me tomorrow night, if I find you're feeling better. Until then..." you shifted your position and wrapped your arms around him, "you'll have to deal with cuddling."

                "I think I can handle that," he whispered and wrapped his arms around you, kissing your forehead in the process.

[chrissysmith257]

Preference Series {AU: Aboard the Titanic} Preparations (His POV)

Hey, Lovelies! This is the second installment to the AU preference series. It is in his POV, and a few of the preferences in this series will be in his POV because...honestly, who doesn't want to know his thoughts on the situation? So, thank you for your time, and I am still taking requests in my ask, just, well, ask. Hope you enjoy this preference!

- Chrissy

Master List

Part 1

Part 3

Harry: He's in First Class.

                "There you are, Harry," my mother smiled, getting up from her chair at the dining table.

                "Good morning, Mother," I whispered, kissing her cheek.

                At the table, my father sat with my younger sister and grandparents. My grandfather had his face buried in a newspaper while my grandmother sat quietly, sipping her tea. My father was enjoying his full plate of poached eggs and toast, and my sister, Gemma, sat beside him, eating her porridge.

                "Good morning," I nodded to all of them with a smile before taking my seat in between my grandmother and mother.

                "Good morning, Harry," my grandfather folded up his newspaper and set it down. "I read something in the paper today, something I thought might interest you."

                "What is it?" I asked, putting my napkin in my lap.

                "It's an article about the ship we are going to be taking to America," he replied. "They tell a little about the ship and name some of the people who are travelling on it."

                I nodded, before turning around to get the attention of one of the waiters, "Excuse me. I'd like to order, please."

                "Of course, Sir," he bowed stiffly. "I'll be right back."

                "Our names are in the article," my grandfather passed me the paper.

                I wasn't really interested in reading about our family, but I took the paper anyway and gave it a once over. Sure enough, our names were there, but I was more interested in the vessel we were to be traveling on.

                It was quite luxurious, according to this article. Ten course meals for first class passengers, including a library and common area. Most of the rooms and luxuries listed were exclusively for first class, and they didn't mention anything about the accommodations for the lower classes.  

                "Very interesting," I said to humor my grandfather. "Did you read it, Father?"

                "No, give it here," he said after wiping his mouth with his napkin. "I have to check the stock market as well."

                "You can listen to the stock market on the radio," my grandfather frowned. "For now, read the article."

                "Sir?"

                I turned to see the waiter from earlier.

                "What would you like for breakfast this morning?" he asked, leaning forward.

                "I'll just have the scrambled eggs with bacon and sausage, please."

                "And to drink with that?"

                "Tea, please."

                "I'll be right back with your order, Sir," he bowed before walking off.

                I turned around in my chair, letting out a sigh. I didn't feel up to travel, honestly. I looked at my family around the table, each doing their own thing and ignoring the other. What a family.

                I shook my head.

                This was going to be a bore of a trip.

Liam: He's a Crewmember.

                It was an early morning for me, but then again, the last few days had been early mornings, too. Today was a special day, though. Today was the day the Titanic would begin her maiden voyage.

                "Liam!"

                I turned around to see my friend Andy running up to me.

                "Morning, Andy," I smiled at him as he slowed down to my pace. "Sleep well last night?"

                "Not a wink," he sighed regretfully. "I was too excited to sleep."

                I laughed, "Same here."

                "So you headed off to breakfast?"

                I nodded, "Then off to work in the engine room."

                "Well, I already ate, but I could put off work for a little bit," he yawned, rubbing the back of his head. "It's practically a holiday, anyway."

                "One that we're working," I reminded him.

                "Yeah, well...at least they're giving us some breaks."

                "Breaks that we're supposed to use for sleep."

                "Why do you have to be such a stick in the mud, Liam?" he chuckled as we entered the crew dining room. "We should use our break time wisely."

                "And what do you mean by 'wisely'?" I asked with a smirk, already sure of what he was going to say.

                "Chatting with some of the lady passengers, obviously!"

                I let out a chuckle, "How did I know you were going to mention women?"

                "What?" he acted as if he was wounded by my words. "I'm a man! What do you expect?"

                "I'm a man, too, but," I replied, grabbing an apple and carton of milk, "you know we're not allowed to talk to any of the passengers unless spoken to, and even then, we aren't supposed to be near them."

                "I know. I know," he grumbled as we sat down, "but who's going to say anything?"

                "Well, most of these ladies will be of a higher class than us," I said, taking a bite of my apple. "I wouldn't put it passed them to complain."

                Andy snorted, "Why should class matter?"

                "Because it does."

                "But why does it? If I fancy a woman, why can't I just have her?" he asked, leaning his elbows on the table.

                I rolled my eyes at his logic, "Women aren't meant to be had, even though that's not how most men think. Women have their wants and needs, too, and if you don't meet them, well..." I shrugged, "she won't want you."

                "And since when are you such a lady expert?" he asked, narrowing his eyes at me.

                "It's not what you think," I shook my head. "I have two sisters at home, so I'm used to them."

                "You going for them?"

                I drank the carton of milk empty, "Yeah."

                I was going to America for my family.

Louis: He's a Stowaway.

                I walked down the busy streets of Southampton, with my bag over my shoulder and a spring in my step. This was it. Today was the day.

                Automobiles made their way through the crowds, and I watched in wonder. The rich passengers were arriving now with their expensive cases and fancy clothes.

                It was truly something to see, especially the vessel they were boarding. She was huge, reaching towards the heavens. "The Unsinkable Ship," they called her, and I hoped she lived up to her name.

                She would be leaving in two hours, giving me enough time to look for breakfast. And here it came now.

                A portly man walked towards me, a crate of apples in his hairy arms. I made my way over to him, careful to dodge the people making up the crowd. Once I was close enough, I pretended to trip, crashing into him.

                The crate of apples fell to the floor, spilling its contents on the cobblestone street.

                "I'm so sorry, Sir," I was helping him to his feet when he pushed my hands away.

                "Ge' off me ya bloody bastard!" he shouted before getting down on his knees to pick up the runaway fruit.

                I got down on the dirty street, helping him despite his horrible attitude. All I wanted was a free apple.

                I helped him collect what I could, making sure to snag one for myself. When the crate was full again, he glared at me and walked off, holding the crate to his body.

                How rude. He didn't even thank me.

                I shrugged, taking out the apple I had stored in my shirt. I wiped the red fruit on my sleeve before taking a bite of it.

                I walked back towards the ship, where people were still rushing to board. I had to finish my breakfast before I could attempt to do the same, but I had already locked eyes on my ticket.

                She was a young woman, obviously traveling alone. She carried her own cases, unloading the automobile that had brought her here. Once she had done that, she turned to a middle-aged couple, who I assumed were her parents.

                The mother seemed to be an overemotional type of gal. She had her handkerchief out, and she was crying as she hugged and kissed the woman several times. Afterwards, father and daughter shared a meaningful hug.

                Then they were looking around as if they were lost.

                I smirked, knowing exactly what they were looking for.

                "Excuse me," I said, stepping into the family's line of vision. "Would you like me to help you carry your bags?"

                The father regarded me, "You are a crew member?"

                "Yes," I nodded before grabbing her cases.

Niall: He's in Third Class.

                I sat on one of the vacant benches by the Southampton docks, taking out one of the many letters written to me by my older brother.

                The one I had pulled out of my pocket this time was the one that prompted me to travel from my little hometown in Ireland to Southampton; soon, I'd be going even further away from home.

Dear Niall,

            I know this will seem like sudden news to you, Mum, and Dad, but I got married. I wanted to invite you three to the ceremony, but I didn't know how we could afford it. I could barely afford the wedding, much less tickets for the three of you to sail to America. Don't worry, though. You didn't miss too much. The wedding was tiny. We only had a few guests, including her parents and a few drinking buddies of mine. But now we have a problem. I'm not just providing for my wife but also a newborn. Yes, my wife gave birth to a boy, and yes, he was conceived after we were wedded. What I'm basically saying is, I can't provide for the three of you anymore. I'm terribly sorry.

Love, Gregory

                I let out a sigh, folding the damned letter back up.

                My elder brother had went to America to get a better job and send back money for us to live off of until we could join him there. But now he had a new wife and son to think about. We couldn't expect him to put us over them; I just wish he would've waited until we had come over.

                Now I was being sent to finish making the money we needed to bring my parents over. It wasn't that big of a deal, really, but I knew I was going to hate this trip. Being  Irish in a sea of English people was not going to be easy; I was going to be looked down on, and I didn't take too kindly to that sort of treatment.

                I adjusted the knapsack I had on my shoulder, which carried everything I personally owned besides the clothes on my back, and got up from the bench, heading towards the large vessel that would take me to my new life.

                I wondered, as I walked towards it, what America would be like. I was going to arrive in New York City, and I was probably going to go find my brother; the least he could do was give me a roof over my head. I was also interested in meeting his wife and my little nephew.

                I guess the emotion I was feeling somewhat resembled excitement, but a part of me was anxious about something.

Zayn: He's in Second Class.

                "Now, Zayn, remember what I told you."

                "I know, Mum," I chuckled before kissing her cheek. "I won't forget."

                "Good" she nodded in approval, fixing my jacket.

                "Mum," I groaned, annoyed by her fretting. "I'm a grown man. I'm not five anymore."

                "I know. I know," she sighed, stepping back a bit to look at me. "This is just so hard. You're leaving for America without me or your sisters, and I just--"

                "Don't cry, Mum," I said, pulling her into a hug. "I promise that we'll see each other again very soon."

                "Yes, at your wedding," she remembered.

                Ah, yes. How could I forget I was getting married? This is the first time I'm allowed to go off on my own, and it's because I'm marrying some rich American woman.

                "Why do I have to marry her, again?" I murmured.

                "You've been promised to her since you were a toddler."

                "So?"

                "So? You're old enough to go and marry her!"

                She said it as if it was common sense, but to me, it wasn't. There was so much I hadn't done yet; there were so many places I hadn't seen. I wanted to travel and explore the world, but when I'm finally leaving the country, it's to go trap myself in an office with my fiancée's father. 

                "I better get going, Mum," I said, hugging her one last time. "I promise I'll write to you as soon as I get to New York."

                "I expect a long one," she smiled at me as I bent down to pick up my cases. "At least a page for each day aboard."

                What a pain...

                "Of course, Mum."

                But I loved her.

                "Goodbye, dear," she sniffled, taking out her handkerchief. "Have a safe trip."

                "Thanks, Mum," I nodded before heading into the crowd only to bump into someone."Oh, e-excuse me!"

                "Oops!" the woman stopped, turning to gaze at me with the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen. "I'm so sorry!"

                She was adorable.

                "It's okay, Miss," I smiled. "It was my fault for being in the way. Are you a passenger on this ship?"

                "I am," she replied with a soft grin.

                Good. Maybe I would see her again...Wait? Why did I want to see her again? She was some common girl, probably third class! I couldn't associate with her, especially if I was going to be marrying someone within the month.

                "I wish you a safe journey, then," I tipped my hat to her before walking away.

                I had meant the words, but I was conflicted. A part of me wanted to look into those amazing eyes again while the other wished I had never met them in the first place.

[chrissysmith257]

Preference {7} Differences Are What Makes You Beautiful (His POV)

This was a request, asking for Y/N to have something different about her from the boys. The requester suggested a few differences, and I used some of them. I hope you enjoy, Lovelies! And I am still taking requests!

- Chrissy

Master List

Harry: Height.

                "Harry?"

                "Yes, Love?" I called over my shoulder, not looking up from my phone.

                There was a grunt, a scream, and then the sound of something shattering.

                I threw my phone onto the couch, swiftly getting up to go into the kitchen, "Y/N? Are you alright?"

                "Yeah...I'm fine."

                I entered the kitchen to see my girlfriend of two years backed into a corner. Glass shards were all around her bare feet, keeping her where she stood.

                "Don't move, Love," I told her. "I'll go get the Hoover."

                I ran out of the room and towards the closet by the staircase. I took out my shoes and slipped them onto my bare feet. I rolled the Hoover over to the kitchen to see my precious Y/N leaning down and picking up the pieces.

                "Y/N!" I walked over to her, discarding the wire to the Hoover. "I told you not to move."

                "I know, but--Harry!"

                I picked her up in my arms and walked into the living room, gently placing her down on the sofa.

                "What happened?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

                "I was trying to get a glass for your water--"

                "Y/N! Why didn't you ask me for help?" I frowned, knowing that this whole mess was a result of her refusal to depend on me because of her height.

                "I could've gotten it, honest," she said, sitting up and nodding her head. "I had it in reach when I..."

                "Dropped it," I finished for her with a sigh.

                "...I'm sorry, Harry," she apologized after a moment. "I don't ask for help with stuff like this because I feel like my height makes me a burden to you..."

                I shook my head, chuckling at her as I got down on my knees before her, "You're ridiculous, you know that? You could never be a burden for me, Y/N. Never."

                "But I'm so short..."

                "And I like that," I said, taking her hands in mine and brushing my lips against her knuckles. "I like holding your small frame. I like your tiny hands, and how they fit perfectly in mine. You're my contrast, Y/N, and it's because of that that we're so amazing together."

                "You really think so?" she giggled, smiling up at me.

                I nodded, grinning from ear to ear, before bringing my lips to hers, "Your height is what makes you you, the beautiful woman I fell in love with."

Liam: Ethnicity.

                "And this...?"

                "That's lahmajun," she explained to me. "It's like pizza, but it has meat and spices instead of cheese and sauce."

                "Oh..." I nodded before looking at another dish. "What's that?"

                "Tabbouleh," she replied. "It's a type of salad, but it's made of parsley."

                "What does it taste like?" I asked, looking at Y/N.

                "Kind of bitter because of the lemon juice, but it's really good. You should try it."

                My girlfriend and I were at her cousin's engagement party, which was being held at a Lebanese restaurant. Y/N had grown up with this kind of food, but I was completely lost without her. All of the dishes looked so different, and the only things I recognized were the kabobs and rice.

                After scooping a spoonful of tabbouleh onto my plate, I looked at the rice and saw little pieces of something in it, "What's the stuff in the rice?"

                "Pilaf. It's like angel hair pasta."

                I took two spoonfuls of that before adding a kabob to my plate. Y/N was behind me, sampling a bit from each dish, and when she glanced at mine...

                "Is that all you're going to eat, Liam?" she looked worried. "Are you not feeling well?"

                "No..." I felt a bit embarrassed. "I've just never seen food like this before...much less tried it, so I'm being careful."

                "But if you're careful, you'll never try anything," she pointed out as we headed back to our table.

                "That's true..."

                "Tell you what?" she smiled at me."I'll let you eat a bit off my dish. If there's anything you like, we'll get you some more."

                "Sounds good to me."

                And so we shared what was on our plates, tasting and trying. Apparently, there was food here that even Y/N had never tried before.

                In the end, we did find ourselves back at the buffet table, and we treated the desert the same way. We each sampled different foods before going back for more of our favorites.

                "You know, I never really thought about your heritage or ethnicity..." I told her as we walked towards our car, "but tonight got me thinking about it. It's cool that you're Lebanese."

                She chuckled squeezing my hand, "You're funny, Liam."

                "No," I shook my head with a grin. "I'm serious. I thought it was impossible to be in any more love with you than I already am, but after today, I managed to do just that."

Louis: Ability.

                "Y/N? What's wrong?" I shouted when I entered our shared bedroom.

                She was sitting there, her head down. When she heard me, she had looked at me for a second, revealing the tears that were running down her red cheeks.

                I went over to her, kneeling in front of her feet and taking her hands in mine, "What's wrong, Babe? Why are you crying?"

                I stopped holding one of her hands to push her beautiful hair back from her wet face. I tucked whatever strands I could behind her ears before stroking her cheek.

                "Shh..." I wiped away some tears. "Just tell me what's wrong, Love. I'll do whatever I can to fix it."

                To my dismay, my words triggered another wave of tears, but this time, she tried to speak to me, "H-How can you possibly want to be with me?"

                "What?"

                I thought I had misheard her, that those horrible words had never left her mouth.

                "Why would you say that, Y/N?" I asked, shaking my head and trying to hide how angry I was.

                "Look at me, Louis," she whispered, sniffling.

                And I did. All I saw was the most stunning woman I had ever met as well as the love of my life. What else was there besides the pain?

                "What do you see?"

                I looked up at her, meeting her teary gaze, "I see the only woman I have ever truly loved in agony, and it's killing me."

                Her eyes widened at what I had said, but the surprise soon dissipated from her features, "No, Louis. Look at me. I'm in a wheelchair. I can't walk."

                "I'm fully aware of that, Y/N," I tightened my hand around hers, realizing that this was about her handicap. "You were always in a wheelchair, and I never gave a damn."

                "But why? Don't you realize that I can never slow dance with you? I can't ever run or walk hand-in-hand with you? I can't get out of this damn thing and kiss you if I wanted to!" new tears streamed down her cheeks in her anger.

                I remained silent and just watched her. Why couldn't she see that I didn't care? We wouldn't have gotten this far if I did.

                I stood up, bringing her with me, supporting her with my strength.

                "What are you--?"

                "Go ahead, Y/N," we were almost eye-to-eye now. "Get out of the damn thing and kiss me."

Niall: Age.          

                "You should've gone," I whispered, looking up at the starry sky above us.

                "With my friends who were all bringing dates?" she asked, looking over her shoulder at me.

                "No...you could've gone with a date," I sighed, kissing the top of her head.

                "But, Niall, you're the only one I wanted to go to prom with."

                I knew that, and it killed me that I was the reason she wouldn't go. At her school, they wouldn't allow me in because I was almost twenty-one, and she was seventeen. It was stupid, the age restriction, but what could we do? I may be the member of an internationally famous boy band, but there were some things I just couldn't do.

                So here we were, on Y/N's prom night, sitting on the balcony outside her house. I had to admit, it wasn't such a bad thing. I had her wrapped in my arms, sitting on my lap with a blanket covering us both. We had just gotten back from dinner; I took her to one of her favorite restaurants to make it up to her, but I still felt guilty.

                "I wish I was younger," I said, resting my chin on top of her head.

                "I don't," she said, twisting around in my arms so that she could see me better. She cupped my face in her soft hands and looked me in the eyes. "I love you, Niall Horan, age and all. So don't you dare wish you were any different for me."

                I stared at the girl in front of me. For her age, she was extremely mature, and maybe that's how people should truly be measured. Her mind was not that of a seventeen year old.

                "But you missed your prom for me," I said before pecking her pink lips.

                "So?" she asked when we parted. "I don't care about prom."

                "It's a once in a lifetime experience, Y/N," I pointed out, frowning at her.

                "And so is being here with you," she retorted with a smile. "We'll never exactly repeat this night. Even if we try, we'll be having different conversations, using different words."

                I didn't know what to say to the truth she had presented me with, so I just pulled her back down on my chest. It was no use. Why dwell on something that was already done? I should be enjoying this.

                "I love you, too, Y/N, age and all."

Zayn: Weight.

                I just got home from another long day at the studio to find the flat quiet. Y/N was nowhere in sight, but dinner was on the table.

                She had made my favorite chicken dish tonight, but where she usually sat, there was no plate with hot chicken. Instead, she had a bowl full of salad.

                I let out a sigh. She's been doing this for almost a week now, and it was starting to bother me. Y/N's body was perfect, so I didn't know what she was doing.

                She had also been sneaking out to the gym, telling me she was "meeting up with some friends" or "going shopping." But I knew what she was up to. We had been together for three years now; I knew her better than she knew herself, and she had no trouble admitting it.

                However, I did not know what was causing this. I never knew the actual number, but Y/N was thin enough for me. She was the ideal ratio of soft to curvy. I loved wrapping my arms around her and pulling her supple body against my hard frame. She was beautiful.

                But she had never dieted before, so I began to wonder about the sudden change.

                "Babe?" I called, walking towards the stairs.

                There was no answer, so I climbed the stairs and called again, "Y/N? Where are you, Love?"

                I heard a door slam and then her voice, "D-Don't come in! I'm...naked!"

                She sounded shaky, as if she had been crying, and I knew that I had to get in there.

                "I don't care. I've seen your body plenty of times before," I turned the doorknob to find it locked. "Let me in, Y/N."

                "No."

                "Why not?"

                "B-Because..." she sniffled, looking at the floor.

                "Because you're crying?" I guessed, and she went silent.

                The door opened a crack to reveal red, puffy eyes.

                "Y/N..." I frowned, trying to open the door more so I could pull her into my arms, "why are you doing this?"

                "Because I weigh more than you!" she blurted out.

                So fucking what? Is there a law that says the woman should weigh less than the man?

                "Come here," I whispered.

                "But--"

                "Y/N...I don't care about your weight. I think your body is perfect for me, so get over here so I can hug it."

                She opened the door and walked into my arms.

                "Perfect," I said, kissing her forehead.