One Direction Preferences

Preference 6: What he does when your kid is sick.

What he does when your kid is sick.

Liam:

“Sweetie, I’m home!”

You’re sitting in the kitchen with your twin sons, Andy and Brady, when Liam walks in.

“Hey, Li.” You say, turning around as he quickly presses his lips against yours.

“How are the boys feeling?” He asks, setting down the large paper bag of groceries onto the counter. “I bought everything you asked me to.”

A shrug rolls off your shoulders as you glance over at the two four year olds who are currently nursing sippy cups full of orange juice. “Let’s just say that today was full of lots of runny noses and tissue boxes. They feel so awful, I wish I could just be sick for them.”

Liam frowns, walking over to where Andy and Brady are sitting. “Hey guys. How are you two feeling?”

“Yucky!” Brady replies, slamming his cup onto the table.

“I think I know what might make you feel better…” He pauses, a smile playing across his lips. “How about a Toy Story marathon?”

Your sons’ dark eyes light up as they jump from the table, scampering into the living room where the television is.

“Dinner’s ready!” You call out about an hour later, stepping into the living room to find Andy and Brady curled up on both sides of your husband, his arms gently wrapped around their small frames. “Oh.”

Liam looks over at you, patting the empty spot next to Andy. “Dinner can wait a bit, don’t you think?”

Niall:

“She’s been running a fever and crying all day, I don’t know what to do, Ni.” You say, rocking your six month old in attempt to calm her down.

“Here, let me take her,” He says, gently removing Sara from your arms. “Go get some rest, I’ll stay up with her.

“Are you sure?” You ask, looking at the baby hesitantly.

“You’ve been with her all day, you look beat. Go on, go sleep for a bit. We’ll be fine.” He gives you a small smile, nudging you out of the nursery.

“Alright… don’t hesitate to wake me up if you need to…” You trap your lower lip between your teeth before shuffling back to your bedroom, sinking onto the bed to get some much needed rest.

You wake up hours later, basking in that post-sleep glow when you’re hit with a realization- it’s quiet.

“Niall?” You say hesitantly, quietly walking back towards the nursery. “Is everything alright?”

You peek into the room to see him sitting in your mother’s old rocking chair, your daughter pressed up against his chest as he gently rocks back and forth.

“I told you everything would be alright.” He whispers, giving you a tired smile.

Louis:

“Do you need anything? How are you feeling sweetie?”

“(Y/N), give the kid a little breathing room. He’s had his tonsils out, he’ll be fine,” Louis interjects, running a hand through the mop of brown curls on your son’s head. “He’s a Tomlinson, us Tomlinson’s are known for our strength.”

You frown, reaching to fluff up the pillows surrounding him. “I know, I know, I just… I worry.”

“I’m fine, Mummy,” Ryder manages to croak out, his voice hoarse from the surgery.

“I know what will make you feel better.” Louis says suddenly, a mischievous look in his eye. “Ice cream!”

Your son’s face breaks out into a grin and he nods excitedly.

“Louis!”

“(Y/N)! Come on, he’s just had surgery, let him have a little fun.” Louis says, nudging you in the side before disappearing into the kitchen, returning moments later with a tub of vanilla ice cream and three spoons.

“Well…”

“Come on, you can’t resist, love.” He teases, holding the spoon out in front of you.

“Alright, alright,” You sigh, sinking down beside him on the sofa. “I do love vanilla ice cream…”

“That’s the spirit!”

Harry:

“Where’s my little princess?”

“In here, Daddy.” Your daughter replies weakly from her bed, her usually rosy cheeks pale.

“Oh Darcy, my sweet little Darcy.” Harry coos, running his hand through her curly brown hair. “How’s my girl doing?”

She sniffles in response, flopping back onto the mountain of pillows she’d insisted on having in her bed.

“She hasn’t thrown up since this morning and I think her fever’s starting to break.” You say upon entering the room, setting a plate of saltine crackers on her nightstand.

Harry nods, pressing a kiss to the top of the four year old’s head. “How are you doing, baby?”

“I don’t feel well.”

Your husband holds back a smile at her blunt response, patting the spot on her bed next to him. “Sometimes when Mummy isn’t feeling well I sing to her. Would you like that?”

Darcy nods, snuggling closer to her father as he begins to sing, his eyes locked on you the entire time.

“Did you like that, sweetheart? Sweetie?”

She doesn’t respond, having already fallen fast asleep.

Zayn:

“I’m so itchy.” Your five year old son says, poking at the bright red spots on his dark skin.

“Don’t scratch!” You cry, swatting his hand away. “Scratching will only make it worse, sweetie.”

Aden pouts, jutting his lower lip out. “But I’m so itchy!”

“I think I know how to make him feel better.” You hear Zayn say from the doorway, a small smile on his face as he looks at your son.

“How? I’ve tried everything-”

“Hey buddy,” Zayn says, squatting down so he’s eye level with the boy. “You want to go take a bath?”

Aden nods, following his father into the bathroom.

“See, lukewarm baths are really great, but the trick is adding oatmeal.” He says as he fills the tub with water.

“Oatmeal?”

He nods. “Could you go get some for me, love?”

Slightly confused, you oblige, returning minutes later with a large box. Aden is sitting in the bath already, splashing around happily.

“Thank you dear.” He takes the box from you, sprinkling the powder into the water.

The three of you sit together for a bit, Aden surprisingly quiet as you and Zayn talk.

“I feel much better!” Aden says once you’ve taken him out of the bath, a plush towel draped across his tiny body.

“How did you know to do that?” You ask, glancing over at your husband.

“Old family remedy.” He replies simply, scooping Aden up into his arms.