One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer Preferences

1D Punk: Your Family Doesn't Approve (**fuck 'em**)

Harry: You can feel your mother’s glare at your back, the hard glare sending shivers down your spine. Harry’s at your side, beer bottle in hand, as he converses with your friend’s husband and you can tell he feels more at home this time around. You’re back in Manhattan for your sorority sisters wedding and while Harry had been reluctant to join, your pout had made him sigh before he rearranged his schedule. The kisses he’d received in thanks were enough to tell him he’d made the right decision. “I hope you aren’t attached to that boy,” you hear your mother tut, her perfectly manicured nails entering your line of vision as she pulls the towel from your hands and tosses it into the bathroom sink. “And why not mother?” You question while resisting the overwhelming urge to roll your eyes at her remark.

“Have you really become that stupid? He is… deplorable, and the fact that you brought him here with you is unacceptable!” She screeches, eyes wide and angry and this was exactly what you had expected. “He is more than capable of taking care of me mother. The tattoo’s are just ink on his skin,” you try to defend, attempting to sidestep her but she pushes you back into the sink. “I will not allow you to degrade this family! Your father and I have worked hard to be at the top of the social ladder and this, boy will not ruin the life we planned for you! You will stop this ridiculous game you are playing, you are too old for rebelling,” she hisses, long nail pointing in your face and you feel tears welling in your eyes. “You’re being ridiculous! He’s my boyfriend and I love him! He treats me better than any boyfriend has ever treated me. I’m not ending things just because you don’t approve!” you scream, shoving past her to push the door open.

You stumble into the wall across from you once your mother attempted to grip your wrist, tripping over your high-healed pumps. “Stop this, right now!” your mother screeches, unaware of the fact that two of you had stumbled into the kitchen where your family has gathered. “Let me go!” You demand, wrenching your wrist away from her before you gasp. The room falls silent after the sound of your mother’s hand colliding with your cheek and Harry is the first to step forward. “I think it’s best we leave now,” he says tensely, wrapping you in the safety of his arms before ushering you from the kitchen.

“She looks like a whore now Eric, she is ruining the family name!” you hear your mother hissing to your father, referencing the champagne colored sequenced skirt and sheer white top. “You look like a big sparkly tiara,” Harry whispers against your temple, lips kissing away the tears that had fallen from your eyes and you sigh. “I knew that’s how she’d react… she’s, such a bitch! She’s always so keen on appearances and they’ve had me engaged to Aaron Larue since we were babies. I hate coming home, I hate her!” You cried in frustration, covering your makeup stained face with your hands and Harry chuckles softly. “She’s your mother, you don’t hate her. She’s uptight and a bitch, I’ll give you that but… you don’t hate her.

I know that and you know that. So she doesn’t approve, our relationship isn’t about her is it?” Harry questioned, taking your hand at the red light to press warm kisses to your knuckles until you sigh in agreement. “No,” you affirm, turning your head to look at him and he gives you a bright smile. “Then that’s settled. If she never approves then that’s alright, my mom practically assumes you came from her own vagina so,” Harry teased, relived when you laughed at his words. Smiling at the feeling of your lips against his cheek, he turned into the gentle kiss as you nuzzled his jaw with your nose. “I love you,” you whispered with a smile, determined not to let your disapproving mother ruin the rest of your trip.

Liam: It’s a normal day at home, Liam is at work and you have the day off. Liam’s schedule is more than hectic now that’s he opened another music store in Manchester, it’s normal to find that he’s either on the road by car or by train. He’s in the process of planning the opening party for the store, most of his time spent on the phone with bands and caterers rather than him actually working. “Hello,” you answer, balancing the phone between your shoulder and ear while gathering the things for your makeup bag. “Y/N… I’m disappointed in you,” you hear the harsh tone of your father state in laments term and you stop immediately. “What’d I do daddy?” You question, searching your brain for all the things you’ve ever done that could have your father disappointed in you.