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One Direction Preferences


Niall: “I don’t know how to help you, (Y/N)! I don’t know what you want me to do! You keep putting yourself in this situation and I don’t know how to stop you!” “He’s my Dad, Niall,” you mumble, and he groans, “Who abuses you, (Y/N)! He’s not your Dad if he hits you!” You can’t quite meet your boyfriend’s eyes, fiddling with your fingers, worrying your lower lip. “I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself! You deserve so much more!” “I don’t have anywhere else to go, Niall.” “I’ll buy you an apartment if you want! Or you can come and live with me! Just please, please, don’t go back. He’s going to kill you one day.” “Niall, he wouldn’t kill me.” “Oh, but he can push you around and yell at you and hit you? That’s okay?” “No, but - ” “Don’t you dare make excuses for him, (Y/N). He doesn’t deserve it.” “He’s my Dad,” you repeat, rubbing your forearm where the latest bruise has been thumped into your skin, the skin purple. “I don’t care if he’s the goddamned pope! I have to get you out of there! I’m not going to watch you let yourself be pushed around like that!” “Sorry,” you whisper, and Niall’s anger fades at your apology, “Don’t be sorry, babe. It’s okay. None of this is your fault. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled.” You sigh, finally looking up to meet Niall’s concerned gaze, able to feel every inch of pain your father has ever inflicted on your body, “Fix me?” He smiles softly, relived, crossing the short distance between you to wrap his arms around your fragile body, pressing a kiss to your neck. “Of course.”

Harry: You don’t know this boy’s name, only that he has curly hair and big green eyes and looks incredibly similar to the guy named Harry Styles that the girls at school are obsessing over, but he’s here, and you need him right now, running quickly across the garden towards him, too scared to look back to check whether your father is following. Your stomach is aching from the fist that was there mere minutes ago, your head pounding, and something that tastes coppery and you’re terrified is blood is dripping onto your lips. “Wait! Please! Help me!” The boy looks back, and his eyes widen at your appearance, stopping abruptly and taking a couple of steps in your direction before you crash into him, hurrying around to hide behind his back. It feels like when you were a little girl and you used to hide from your father, using your Mum’s body as a shield, in a harmless game of tag, but now the game is all too real, and your mother is no longer here to save you. “Are you okay? What happened?” he questions, turning to peer down at you, and your eyes sting as tears slip out of them, seeping into the cut on your face, the salty water making it burn. “Please, help me,” you mumble, defeated, and practically crumble into his body, his hands grabbing your waist and holding you up, letting you sink into him, your head finding his shoulder, because you feel heavy and tired and like your bones can no longer support you. “Do you need me to call an ambulance? Your parents? The police?” “No, no,” you whisper, and you could almost fall asleep here in this boys arms, he’s warm and strong and looks like he could protect you from anything. “Just, help me.” “How? How can I help you? Should I call your Mum?” His voice is getting desperate, searching for answers and a way to help. “She’s dead.” “Your Dad?” “He – No.” “(Y/N)! Get away from him! What are you doing?” You shrink into the boy, because the voice is all too familiar and all too terrifying. “No, no, no.” “Excuse me!” your Dad yells, and you can feel the boys neck move as he looks over to him, and then back to you. “Should we leave? Is he the one hurting you?” You nod, clinging onto him, and crack your eyes open to find your father metres away, face red and angrier than you’ve ever seen. Before you can register what is happening, the boy is picking you up, cradling you in his arms, turning around to face your Dad. “Who the fuck are you?” he yells, and the boy’s arms tighten around you. “I’m Harry, who are you?” “I’m her father and I’m gonna need you to put her down right now!” “Did you do this to her?” the boy, Harry, asks, and you squeeze your eyes closed, willing this to all just go away and to stay in Harry’s arms forever. “How dare you? This is my daughter!” “Then who did?” “I don’t know! She must have walked into a door or something!” “And split her cheek open?” You pass out around then, and when you wake up, you’re in a hospital bed, and Harry is sitting beside you, holding your hand and smiling warmly. “Hi.” 

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