One Direction | Preferences

He calls you something awful

He calls you something awful

Niall: The word shatters the argument, time almost seeming to freeze as the insult dies in your mouth, your heart sinking and chest clenching painfully, throat thickening with the urge to cry. Niall’s eyes are bright, lips red, and they part in surprise, shock at himself that he’s called you an ungrateful bitch. “Wait, (Y/N), I didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry.” You wave a hand at him,  ”It’s whatever,” you rub your eyes, probably smearing mascara everywhere, “Can you please, just, go? Please, just go.” “Babe,” his fingers are warm on your shoulder, but you push it off, standing strong and silent in the corner until he leaves, the front door swinging shut behind him, and only then do you allow yourself to cry. 

Harry: He’s already stumbling over himself to apologise, before you can even properly registered what’s said, the yell of ‘god, you’re such a slut!’ echoing in your ears. He walks towards you, but you press your hands to his chest, keeping him at arms length, “Hang on, Harry, just wait. Wait.” Your voice drops, terrified that you heard him correctly, “What did you just say?” “I didn’t mean it, (Y/N), it doesn’t matter.” You swallow hard, pushing back the tears, “Oh, I think it does.” 

Liam: Liam’s stressed and tired and the words flown out of his mouth before he can really notice what’s he’s saying, but you notice, and you hear it, and he just kind of blinks at you for a few seconds, alarm bells ringing in his head. “Liam… do you want to repeat that?” “No, no, god, no, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it, I’m just tired - ” “And you thought calling me a bitch would help that?” “No, (Y/N), of course not, I just - ” “You just what Liam? Did it just slip out?” You fold your arms over his chest, and he’s stumbling over excuses, but the insult is still burning itself into your mind, ripping a fresh wound in your chest. 

Louis: Louis’ short tempered and quick to rise to the bait, so your arguments are always rather colorful and loud, but it’s the first time that he’s actually properly insulted you, the shout of ‘you’re such a whore, (Y/N)’ burning through the lounge room, the fight grinding to a halt as Louis tries to back pedal desperately. “What did you call me?” Your tone is calm and quiet and Louis’ hands slip over your shoulders, murmuring apologies. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it.” You push him off, “But you still said it.” “Babe, I’m so, so sorry.” “Then why did you say it?” “I didn’t mean it.” “I didn’t ask if you meant it, I asked why you said it.” 

Zayn: Zayn knows exactly how to hit a nerve, the exasperated huff of ‘stop being such a bitch’ practically echoing through the lounge from how quiet the room suddenly falls, tears stinging the back of your eyes already, no matter how hard you push them down, refusing to cry in front of him. “Huh?” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, “Nothing, I didn’t say anything.” “No, you just called me a bitch, I heard you.” “I didn’t mean it, baby,” he looks up, brown eyes pleading, but you’re already grabbing your jacket, not necessarily walking out on him but just leaving before you accidentally on purpose throw a pillow at him.