One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer Preferences

1D Punk: You Sleep With Someone Else

Harry: “Get out of bed,” your mother demands, throwing the curtains open in your bedroom of the family’s Hampton summer home. You groan when the bright sunshine of summer streams through the clear windows, assaulting your eyes before you throw the light weight teal comforter over your head to block he world out. “Stop being so dramatic!” She snaps with a sigh, storming from your room in her J.CREW pajamas but you stay hidden beneath the covers. “Darling… please, come out of your room,” your father begs gently, the bed dipping as he sits at your side. You crawl your way through the covers blocking you from the outside world before patting them down over your stomach as you stare up at him.

“I know breakups are hard and I know you loved him but… it’s been a month and you’ve barely come out of your room,” he says with a sympathetic smile he never shares when you’re mother isn’t around. “Dad, I… it isn’t fair. I loved him but never made time for him, I didn’t want to be you and mother,” you admit softly, curling into the hand he’s running through your dirty hair and he chuckles. “Nobody wants to be your mother but despite what you think, I do actually love her. She has her days but she means well. She never had any of this growing up and she doesn’t want you to struggle… you should give her and her ways a chance,” he says with a grin. You take in his appearance dressed in a pair of navy swim trunks and Ralph Lauren cap and you roll your eyes. “He’s here isn’t he?” You demand, sitting up and your father shrugs with a knowing smiling.

“Nobody ever said there was anything wrong with playing the field while figuring your life out,” he singsongs, patting your head before strolling from the room. “But, wash your hair darling… you smell awful,” he teases, ducking to miss the pillow you toss at him but you do as he says. Andrew is outside with your family and friends, looking every bit the part of the high society millionaire he was in orange trunks and black Ray Bans. “I see the Princess has come from her tower,” a friend of yours teases, tossing you a beer and for some reason day drinking seems like the perfect way to get over Harry. An hour later, you’re tipsy and giggling inside the water garage that houses your family’s boat as Andrew presses you against the side of the white yacht. He’s raining kisses across your jaw and neck while you run your fingers through his mussed blonde hair to tug him closer.

“Stop teasing,” you giggle with a slur, dropping the beer and coozie to the deck as he hoists you up against his hips to balance you against the yacht. “Bossy,” he chuckles, nipping at your collarbone and leaving a mark behind that you don’t mind being there. The laughter stops when he thrusts into you, the breath leaving your body when you realize it’s been almost two years since you’d had sex with someone that wasn’t Harry. You have a mini-panic attack then, gripping his shoulders tightly and he takes it as a sign to continue. After a few more thrusts, the alcohol takes back over and you grip him closer. Pushing all thoughts of Harry from your mind, you allow Andrew to do with you as he pleases. After you’ve both climaxed, he sets you back down on shaky legs while you readjust your bathing suit back into its proper places. You trip over your feet as the both of you leave the water garage, burying your face in your hands when you discover all your friends cheering from the overhead dock. Andrew gives a shout of protest when you shove him into the lake after his triumphed fist pump and you blow him a kiss in apology. “Finally, a boy I can approve of,” your mother laments from her lounge chair, soaking up the Hampton sun.

Your father remains silent, looking away from the law papers on his lap to where you seem drunkenly happy but he knows how he’ll find you later. Curled back in bed underneath the covers, lamenting the mistake you’d made and missing the English boy across the pond. And really, there’s nothing he can do to save you from the heartache.

Liam: “You’re such a bore! Why are you wasting tears over some boy who couldn’t really love you?” Your best friend questions from her spot at the vanity in the apartment you’d moved into. “Because, I actually loved him,” you mumble, tugging the hot roller that had decided to take up residence in your hair and yelp at the hair that rips from your scalp. “Well, you could do much better! Remember, you’re pearls and rosé… find yourself a real man,” she sings, turning to look at you as you struggle with another curler. “Stop, you’ll pull all your hair out,” she demands softly, slapping your hands away as she carefully unrolls the curlers from your hair to fix it into an acceptable style. “I know you loved him but like you said, he’s too scared to really love you. Find a boy that can actually love you, I just want you to be happy,” she says, arms wrapped around you shoulders from behind before she presses a kiss to your cheek.