One direction imagines and prefences (request open)

He buys you teen daughter womanly products

LOUIS:  “Oh shoot.  I forgot to buy Lea more tampons when I was at the store.  I gotta run or I’m gonna be late for that meeting with my editor; would you mind going out and getting some for her?” you ask in a rush, kissing your husband on the cheek as you hurry by.  He groans.  “She needs them now?  It can’t wait until you get back?”  “No, it can’t.  Please and thank you!” you chirp, exiting through the door.  Louis sighs and runs a hand through his hair before bringing himself to move towards his keys and wallet.  Once at the store, it occurs to him that there are many kinds and sizes.    He scratches his head, pondering his options before giving up and realizing that if he guesses, he’ll probably guess wrong.  He quickly dials Lea’s number.  When she answers, he asks quite bluntly, “What size tampons am I supposed to be getting you?”  “Dad!  Oh my God!” she shrieks, mortified.  “Hey, this isn’t much fun for me either - your mother asked me to do this,” he defends himself.  “Why didn’t she just get them?  Or why didn’t she tell me to?  Dad, this is so embarrassing!” Lea wails.  “Yeah, well can you complain later please?  I’m the one standing in the middle of the tampon aisle for the last five minutes looking like some kind of pervert,” Louis reminds his daughter.  She tells him the kind she needs and then begs him to hurry up and get out of there before someone she knows sees him.  When Louis finally gets home, he hands his purchase over to Lea.  Her face is as red as a tomato as she takes the bag from him.  Louis laughs at his daughter’s embarrassment.  “Shouldn’t I have been the one to get so embarrassed by all this?”  Lea’s only response is to scowl as she leaves the room.  “You’re welcome!” Louis teasingly calls after her.

NIALL:  “Hey, Dad, would you mind running to the store for me?  I need a couple things,” your daughter asks, coming into the house and dropping her backpack down on the kitchen table.  “Sure, what do you need?”  “I need some pads,” she tells him casually.  “You need what?  Can’t you just get them yourself?”  “I’m 15, Dad - I can’t drive yet.  I’ll go with you and you can wait in the car if you want…” she offers, trying to soothe her father of his discomfort.  “No, that will be worse…  At least if I go by myself I can pretend they’re for your mother,” he grumbles almost defeatedly.  Your daughter chuckles at this before saying, “Thanks, Dad, you’re the best.”  “Don’t you ever forget it,” Niall jokes as he grabs for his coat.  Once he gets into the store and finds the appropriate aisle, he’s suddenly faced with a dilemma: pads are foreign to him.  “Who knew there were so many sizes and kinds of these things?” he mutters, grabbing for the first one he sees.  Thinking those might be the wrong ones, he considers asking someone or calling your daughter, but decides he’d rather not risk that embarrassment.  Instead, he snatches one of every kind he sees.  “One of these has got to be the right ones…”  He gets through the checkout line as quickly as he can so that he can get home and forget all about the traumatic experience.  “What is all this?” your daughter asks, coming into the room to find two bags filled with numerous packages of pads.  “I didn’t know which ones you needed…so I got them all.”  She laughs as she says, “You could have just called and asked.  Or texted…” she reminds him pointedly.  “It was just easier this way.  Please just take these and never ask me to do that again,” he pleas goodnaturedly.  “Dually noted,” she jokes, taking the items.

ZAYN:  “Honey, what the hell am I looking at?” Zayn asks into the phone.  “You interrupted me at work to ask me possibly the stupidest question ever…” you observe, unamused.  “No, no I really need your help.  I’ve been sent on a…uh…a womanly run.  She’s at home freaking out because she didn’t realize she was running low…  I dunno.  Help me!” Zayn spits out hastily, referring to your teenage daughter.  You laugh on your end of the line.  “That girl will learn one of these days,” you muse.  “Yeah, uh-huh, little help here?” he begs.  “Just get her the regular tampons.”  “Regular…regular…  How do I know which ones are regular?”  “It will say on the box.”  “Why does this have to be so difficult?  Why can’t they just have one kind that everyone uses?” Zayn asks, flustered.  “Because women aren’t all the same, so what sense would that make?” you counter, leaning back in your office chair, sensing that this could take a while.  “What do these letters mean?” he inquires, perplexed as he flips a box around in his hand.  “Zayn, you’ve never had such an issue when you’ve gone out to buy these things for me,” you point out.  “That’s because those are your’s and these are her’s.”  “They’re the same thing!” you exclaim with a laugh.  “Just get the same ones you always get me.”  “What does ‘sport’ mean?” he questions, ignoring your instruction.  You sigh into the phone, now beginning to lose patience as you stare at the pile of work on your desk in front of you, still waiting to be done.  “I got them!  Regular!” he announces triumphantly.  “Good.  Glad you got through that,” you tease before saying goodbye and returning to work.

LIAM:  After pacing up and down the aisle for several minutes, scouring from the top of the shelves down to the very bottom, Liam still can’t find the specified brand of tampons.  He’d tried calling both you and Makenzie, but neither of you had answered your phones.  He dials both numbers one more time each, finally leaving a message with his daughter, “Kenz, please text or call me as soon as you can; they don’t have the kind you want.”  After ending the call, he walks up and down the aisle once more before his phone rings.  “Hello?  Makenzie?”  She says something, but it’s so terribly cut out by the lack of cell service in the store that Liam can’t understand a word she’s saying.  “Makenzie, text me, I can’t hear you.  Makenzie?  Kenz, you there?  Crap,” he mutters, realizing he’d lost the call.  He bites his lower lip and begins looking around for a store associate.  When he finally tracks one down, he fumbles over his words a bit, feeling awkward.  “I’m, uh, looking for a certain brand of, uh, tampon, and I can’t seem to find it.  They’re for my daughter, by the way.  She’s 14.  Yup…”  The friendly associate smiles warmly at him, having met plenty of uncomfortable dads and husbands in this particular aisle.  “What brand are you looking for?” she inquires.  Liam tells her, and after taking a moment to look, she pulls the right ones off the shelf for him.  “I must have walked past these a thousand times; thank you.”  “No problem.  Anything else I can help you with?”  “Nope, this will do it.  Thanks again.”  He hurries home to get the tampons to Makenzie.  When he brings them to her, he says, “Next time you want me to get these, remind me that they are towards the left, on the third shelf.”  “Um, ok?” she replies, baffled.  Liam leaves the room in search of you, leaving Makenzie shaking her head at him.

HARRY:  “Here you go!” Harry calls out to your daughter.  “Oh thank you!  I can’t believe I didn’t have any left!” she rambles, grabbing the bag out of Harry’s hand and pulling the package out.  “Um…”  “What’s wrong?” Harry asks.  “Dad…these aren’t pads.  They’re adult diapers,” she informs him.  “Aren’t they the same thing?” he asks, genuinely confused over the issue.  “Not even close!  Dad, you have to go back and get the right things!” she begs.  “I thought those were the right things! How can I get the right things when I don’t even know what the right things are?!”  “Dad, come on!”  “You can’t wait until your mother gets home?” he asks hopefully.  “Not unless you feel like scrubbing blood out of-“  “Ok, ok, I’m going!” he cuts her off, not wanting to hear any more.  Just as he reaches for the door, it swings open and you step through.  “Oh thank God!” Harry exclaims.  “It’s nice to see you too,” you greet your husband through an amused laugh.  “Please go get things for your daughter.  I apparently can’t handle the task,” Harry mentions.  “What’s so hard about it?” you wonder aloud.  “He got me adult diapers, Mom!” your irritated daughter explains on his behalf.  “Harry!  How difficult is it to tell those two things apart?” you interrogate through a bout of laughter.  “Apparently very!” he defends.  “Alright, I’ll go.  But you’re coming with me so that you’ll know for next time what to get.”  “Next time?  There better not be a next time,” Harry mutters.  “Aren’t you lucky I decided to take a half day and head home early?  What would you do without me?” you tease your husband as you head back to the car.  “I’d have a teenage daughter who uses adult diapers because her father is an idiot,” he replies.