liam preference

Single Parent AU - Harry Styles.

Maybe Asher gets sick in part 5 and Harry is at home all week with him and y/n stops by or doesn’t hear from him

Here is a little 4.8k word something to keep you up with the Harry feels; some cuddly Harry mixed in with daddy Harry. The next one is when the story really kicks up a notch and we see Harry and (Y/N) become boyfriend and girlfriend as well as Harry introducing Asher to her, as well. Thank you for being so incredible towards this - I’ve been receiving so much love and lovely messages towards this AU and it makes me so happy to know you’re loving it just as much I love writing it. xx

Part One  Part Two  Part Three  Part Four

If there was one thing that Harry couldn’t handle, it was sick.

Whether it be his own or where it be someone elses, he just couldn’t stomach the sound of retching nor could he stand the sight of watching someone throw the contents of their stomach into the toilet bowl – or a bucket, depending on the person and the strength they had to make it to the bathroom.

He’d been sick a far few times himself – both illness-wise and alcohol induced.

He had a young child at school surrounded by other children, who would pick up germs and spread them around without knowing, so he was prone to catching a little something to weaken his immune system.

He had mates who liked to invite him out to the pubs in the middle of Cheshire, promising him a night of female attention and beer and shots. Mates who he’d known for years, who he’d gone to school with and who he’d met through mutual friends. Mates who liked to get piss-drunk with beer-goggle vision, slurring words and spilling drinks as they laughed louder than usual and bellowed out in hysterics. Mates who were so prone to have hangovers in the morning that they were naturals at handling their pounding headaches and cravings for a greasy fry-up to suffice the hunger in their bellies; they were naturals to holding down their liquor, whereas Harry was a deadweight. He couldn’t consume shot after shot and beer after beer without needing to pop outside and cool himself down, hunching into a bush and chucking up the alcohol that mixed together within him.

To him, there was nothing worse than being a sweaty mess in a heap of sheets to keep his cold body warm, a bubbling feeling of nausea in his belly that warned his feet to move or else he’d be cleaning up his sick from the carpet; something that he couldn’t handle when he had a weakened stomach. A head that was pounding, intensifying pain with each noise and sound that filled the house – whether it be TV sounds of cartoons Asher had decided to put on, whether it be his giggles that erupted from phrases being said, or, whether it be the whistle of the kettle as he made himself a detox tea to clear his system.

Sick was something he couldn’t handle with ease.

When Harry was woken up by the sounds of crying and the sound of retching, he knew his son wasn’t feeling like himself. He knew he was going to be up for the majority of the night, washing his sheets and he knew he was going to be up half of the night, giving Asher the comfort he desired each time he was ill. Craving his daddy’s attention and wanting nothing more than to cuddle into his side and find comfort upon him with his head upon his chest, using him as a pillow as a blanket draped over his tiny body to keep the chill away from his already cold figure.

His bare feet stepped across the carpet, the sounds of Asher’s cries intensifying as he pulled the door to him, muffled cries out for ‘daddy’ being heard. His feet quickened their pace, toes pressing more rapidly against the carpet lining the landing hallway of the house, his ringless hand pushing open the door, flicking the bedroom light on, causing his stomach to churn instantly at the sight coming into his vision. His son – crying loudly and whining and sobbing and holding his belly with wet and shining cheeks painted with tears – was sat up in his sheets, surrounded by his dinner from the evening coating his duvet, hair sticking to his forehead and brushing his eyes. 

Harry hadn’t any clue that Asher was feeling this bad. 

He’d complained about an iffy tummy when he was sat in the bath, letting Harry wash his soft, sandy-coloured curls and bathing his body in soap and shower gel, but Harry hadn’t seen any change in his mannerisms. He’d given him a couple of spoonfuls of Calpol to soothe the ache he had in his belly, he made sure he drank at least half of the glass of water Harry had poured for him before he went to bed, and he made sure he was set in bed with a reasonable temperature.

“Hey, bugger. Daddy’s here, m’here,” Harry cooed, his feet brushing over his carpet and stepping foot beside the bed, his eyes averting from the mess upon the duvet, “c’mon, come here. Let’s get you in the shower, okay?” 

“My tummy hurts, daddy,” Asher cried, a hand holding tightly on the teddy-bear that Gemma had brought him for his birthday in September, his other arm held into the air to wordlessly ask Harry to lift him up from the bed, “I feel sick.” 

He was pale.

His cheeks had lost the pink colour they usually sported and his green eyes, that were inherited from Harry, had lost the cheery spark that was usually settled in his eyes. His lips were pale and bitten, his chin wobbling with each sob wracking through his body.

He was hot.

But he looked cold. He was shaking, in need of some kind of warmth to balance his temperature out, and his teeth were chattering as shivers unexpectedly ran up his spine.

“I know, bugger. It’s alright. We’ll get you in the bathroom, and, then I’ll come back and clean your sheets. You can sleep in daddy’s bed tonight, alright?” Harry questioned softly, his hands cupping below the small boy’s armpits and lifting him from the dirtied sheets. 

“Hurts, daddy,” he whispered, “don’t feel good.”

“I know, I know. You’ve just got the bug. It’s been going around school, hasn’t it?” Harry hummed, his cheek pressed against Asher’s head as his face nuzzled into his father’s neck, “you’re alright, I promise. You just need a nice warm shower and a cuddle in bed, yeah?” 

He felt Asher nod against his neck.

“I’ll phone school up tomorrow and tell them you’re sick and not going in, okay?” Harry hummed, stepped upon the tiles of the bathroom, sparks of cold coursing through him, “gon’a help me undress you, yeah? Then we’ll get you into something a bit comfier.”

“Can I sleep in one of your t-shirts, daddy?” Asher wondered nervously, the pads of his feet being placed on the fluffy bath mat set beside the bathtub, “your colourful one?”

“Y’ mean my Rolling Stones one? You love that shirt,” he chuckled, crouching down in front of Asher and hooking his fingers beneath the hem of his pyjama shirt. A weakened smile on Asher’s lips before his face disappeared beneath the material of his t-shirt being lifted over his head, “you did love that shirt when you were a little baby, d’you know?”

It was the t-shirt he’d worn when Grace – his ex-girlfriend – had gone into labour. The first piece of clothing that his tired eyes focused upon after his eyelids had been ripped open from the sudden hit to his shoulder with her tight fist. Hearing her grunts and moans and hisses rolling off of her tongue with each contraction rolling across her belly as he tugged the material over his head, letting it mismatch with the pyjama trousers covering his legs. 

It was the t-shirt his son had been laid upon as soon as he’d entered the world, the 20-year old man hugging him close to his chest as he watched his son nestle softly into the crook of his arm. His precious button nose scrunched up as his cheek pressed against his chest, hearing his father’s heartbeat pump as it lulled to him into a deep sleep. 

It was the t-shirt he’d used to wipe away at the tears dribbling down his cheeks, dampening the hem and creating soft patches upon the white material. Yet, no matter how many times he wiped away at the moisture forming under his eyes, he was still leaking with happiness. Droplets catching upon the neckline as his tears dribbled down his neck and absorbed into the neck.

“I used to lay you on that t-shirt when you were tiny,” Harry explained, laying Asher’s pyjama shirt on the counter, “you used to sleep on it, you always laid comfortably on me when I wore it, and, you were forever sneaking into my drawer to find it when you were a tiny toddler.” 


Harry nodded, a smile on his lips as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his elasticated pyjama trousers, pulling them down his legs and letting them pool at his ankles. 

“You loved it,” he chuckled, “Grandpa Des brought that for me when he found it in the shop. We’ll have to see if he can find one for you,” Harry stated, letting Asher pull his pants down, leaving him bare and shivering more in front of him.

“M’cold, daddy,” he mumbled, his arms hugging around his body. 

“I know, bugger, I know.” 

Harry stood straight, wincing lightly as his back cracked, reaching over and turning the knobs in the shower, watching as the water rained down from the shower head hanging from the hook. Hot water covered Harry’s hand as he twisted around with the temperature, making sure it wasn’t scolding hot nor freezing cold for the small boy shivering underneath him.

“C’mon, bugger. In you get,” he whispered softly, his hands hoisting him up and standing him beneath the water falling from the shower head, immediately wetting his hand and trailing down his cheeks, “how is that? Are you feelin’ warmer?” 

“A little,” his son whispered, “wan’a go to sleep, daddy. M’tired and sleepy.”

Harry gave him a sympathetic smile, reaching into the corner and retrieving his blue scrunchie brought as part of a shower package his mother had made him for Christmas last year – something that Gemma had received and something that Michal had the honour of having too.

A basket filled to the brim of blue shower gels and hand moisturisers, as well as a few facial creams that she’d seen to help his face from break-outs, some blue flannels and multiple bottles of the shampoo and conditioner that he used. Enough bottles to last him for months and months through the year, some that he shared with Asher and some that he kept to himself for when he decided to pamper himself when his son was tucked up and snoring away in bed.

“I know you are, I know,” he cooed, wrapping his hand around his shower gel bottle and squeezing a blob onto the scrunchie in his hand, “just a quick wash and then you can get dressed into some clothes and lay in daddy’s bed whilst I clean your sheets. Yeah?” 

“Will you sleep wi’ me?” Asher wisped.

“Of course, bugger. Wouldn’t let you suffer on your own, would I?” Harry chuckled softly, setting the shower gel beside his knees upon the floor, his hand holding the scrunchie immediately scrubbing his warm skin, “why didn’t you tell me you felt sick, hm?” 

“I did,” he mumbled, looking down to his toes, “but, I didn’t feel really sick back then, daddy. I just had an ache in my tummy. Didn’t wan’a be sick then.”

“Why didn’t you wake me up when you felt sick?” Harry questioned, wrapping his fingers softly around Asher’s wrist to lift his arm up so he could wash beneath his armpit, “I would have helped you, gotten you a bucket. You could have woken me up.”

“I went to get out of bed, but, I was sick all over my duvet,” he whispered, his chin wobbling and his eyes filling with new tears, “I didn’t mean too, daddy. I didn’t!”

Harry looked startled.

“Hey, no. I wasn’t blaming you, Asher. It’s alright,” he cooed warmly, his chest beginning to ache at the sobs leaving his sons mouth, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath between sobs, “Asher, bugger, you need to stop this or you’re going t-” 

But before he could finish his sentence, the crying and the sobbing subsided and he felt his lap and the bottom half of his bare stomach warm up and become covered in Asher’s belly content. His pyjama trousers soiled and wet, his skin sticky, the smell making his own belly churn and he found him trying to gather all self-control in his body not to copy his son’s actions.

“Okay,” Harry coaxed softly, a slight cringe in his movements as he dropped the scrunchie to the floor of the shower, “it’s alright. It’s fine. Do you feel better? Are you okay now?”

“No,” Asher cried, his voice shrill and broken, “I feel sick, daddy!”

“I know, I know,” he whispered, rubbing his back and gently bringing him forward, his feet stepped across the shower floor and closer to Harry, “Daddy’s gon’a try everything to make you feel better, alright? You’re gon’a be alright. I promise.” 

“Can I go to sleep, now?” Asher whispered, a soft and sympathetic smile on Harry’s lips, “please?” 

“O’ course, bugger. Come on,” Harry cooed, standing to his feet, “wrap yourself in a towel, okay? I’m gon’a wash this off and then we’ll get you tucked into bed.”

He took Asher’s hands in his own, giving him proper stability on his shaking legs, helping him to stand upon the fluffy bathroom mat set by the bathtub. His toes curling around the tassels as Harry handed him a white and fluffy and warm looking towel from the back of the door, watching as Asher tucked it around his frame.

Reaching for a flannel sitting upon the rim of the sink, Harry set it beneath the running cold water faucet, wetting the material before he brought it to the sick coating his lower stomach. Wiping away at the content, he hooked his free hand into his pyjama trousers, shuffling out of them and ridding his crotch of the dirtied clothing, his tight boxers settled on his hips as the cotton clothing pooled at his ankles.

“M’sorry, daddy,” Asher whispered from behind him, a soft gulp sounding from his throat, “Didn’t mean it, daddy. I didn’t. I really didn’t.”

“I know, bugger. It’s okay. It’s better out of you than kept inside of you,” he explained, cupping his shoulder in his palm as he set the flannel upon the counter, with the dirty clothes Asher had worn through the night, “you have to tell me when you’re gon’a be sick, okay? We’ll get you to the bathroom or I’ll get you a bucket.”

“Okay,” he mumbled, his wet hair dropping water onto the towel.

“C’mon, you. Let’s get you into something comfier.”

* *

The t-shirt swamped his tiny frame, the hem hanging by his knees as the sleeves stopped and hung by elbows. A giggle leaving his mouth as Harry gave him an amused smile, his phone in his hand as he crouched down, promising to take one photo of him to send to Des as a reminder to buy a t-shirt similar in print.

One that matched the one his daddy owned.

One that he would wear more often than any other t-shirt because his daddy wore his all the time.

“C’mon now,” Harry chuckled, “you’re a little poser, aren’t you? Even when you’re sick. You take after your Auntie Gemma, for sure.”

“Needed to make it clear to Grandad about what t-shirt I really want,” Asher explained with a smile, letting Harry lift him up from the floor and hold him to his body. A new pair of pyjama trousers hanging low on his hips, tied below his belly button with the strings.

“You need some sleep, alright? It’s 4 in the morning,” Harry pointed out, his feet taking him to the side of the bed that used to his ex-girlfriend’s but was now assigned to Asher when he felt like joining his daddy in bed, “I need to go and wash your sheets and put some clean ones back on your bed. Do you want anythin’ from in there?”

“Grumbles,” he stated with his arms tight around his father’s neck, “my teddy-bear. I need Grumbles. He helps me sleep.”

“A’right,” Harry smiled, “try to sleep. You’ll feel a lot better if you get cosy and have a nap.”

He hunched down, laying his 5-year old upon the mattress showing from the pulled back duvet, his head falling instantly to the pillow as his eyes found it difficult to stay open. He still hadn’t gotten the colour back in his cheeks and he looked much more tired than he did beforehand; the only different being the shivers and the shakes coming to a halt as Harry covered his body with the thick duvet he found himself sleeping under every night. 

“I love you,” Harry whispered, pressing his lips to Asher’s forehead, feeling his burning skin. 

“I love you too, daddy.” 

* * 

Harry hadn’t gone back to sleep that morning.

His eyes alert and his ears perking up more often to the sounds of the drowsy mumbles leaving Asher’s mouth, his body finding it’s comfortable position of laying beside his son and being used as a pillow as Asher rolled around upon the bed, finding instant comfort nestled into Harry’s side.

He didn’t want to fall asleep and block out the sounds of his son’s discomfort, so, with a cup of tea sitting on is bedside table and his phone in his hand. The TV played on mute, the screen flashing around the room, worry running through him that it would jolt his boy awake form the comfort against his shoulder. 

A bucket was set on the floor beside Harry’s bedside table, ready to be grabbed if Asher was in need of it, with a bottle of water and a couple of dry biscuits to suffice the empty feeling in his tiny belly. 

All Harry could hear around the quiet room was soft snoring and the gentle bubble of Asher’s stomach, heavy breathing escaping between his parted lips and fanning over Harry’s bare skin momentarily. 

Still want me to have Asher tonight? Ni.

A sigh left Harry’s mouth when he was swiftly reminded of what was meant to be happening that night, in less than 12-hours time. 

He’d organised a date with you and booked a table in one of the nicest restaurants in Manchester, a sweet dinner date after a short taxi ride into the middle of Manchester.

He had it all planned out perfectly in his mind.

He’d grab a taxi from the house, diverting them instantly to your apartment complex where he would climb out and jog up the stairs to give himself more time to think about what he was going to say when he came face to face with you. He’d give you a kiss as soon as you opened the door and he’d tell you how happy he is to see you again, before he’d take you down to the taxi waiting out front, helping you climb in as he followed in suit, seating himself beside you as the taxi took off towards the centre of Manchester. And on the way and as the scenery changed from the sweet tree-lined roads to the motorway, he’d explain just what he had in store for the rest of the night; any bottle of wine you fancied, a romantic dinner and a nice walk through the main parks and streets before calling a taxi at the end of the night.

But he had to put all of that on hold, hoping that you would understand this his son was his top priority in a time like this.

I’m taking a rain check on tonight, bud. Asher’s fell sick through the night so I’m going to look after him till he feels better. Thanks for agreeing to look after him though. I know he was looking forward to seeing his Uncle Niall. H.

I can still look after him, buddy. I don’t mind. 

No, it’s fine. I want to be here to look after him. I always am when he’s sick. 

Alright. If you’re sure.

Harry smiled softly, setting his phone upon his chest as Asher roused from his short nap, a sour look on his face as he sat upright and looked towards the TV.

He was definitely sure. 

“What’s the matter? Are you alright?” Harry wondered, sitting up himself, one hand cupping the back of Asher’s head as the other hung low in case he needed to grab the bucket set by his bed, “do you want some water?”

“Gon’a be sick again, daddy,” he whispered raspily.

“Alright, alright,” Harry panicked, his hand reaching for the handle of the bucket as he puled it up from the carpet, setting it upon the mattress as Asher thrust his head into the rim. The sound of his retching making Harry’s ears perk up and his hand to absentmindly rub up and down his small back. His fingers brushing up and down softly to coax the nauseous feeling from in his body, “it’s alright. Get it out, bugger. You’ll feel so much better.”

“Don’t like being this sick, daddy,” Asher spoke, his words coming out brokenly and raspily, his throat sore from the retching and burning from the acid rising from his stomach, “it hurts my throat.” 

As Harry reached behind him, he grabbed the bottle of water set upon the bedside table, carefully watching out for the cup of tea sitting on a coaster blocking the warmth from creating a circle on the wood. Unscrewing the cap, and dropping it to the bed, he handed his son the bottle, watching as he brought the rim to his lips.

“I’ve got some biscuits for you to eat,” he smiled, “you feeling up to eating a little bit?”

He earned a shake of his head in response, his hand thrusting forward and the water bottle being pushed back into his hand.

“Can we watch Spongebob?”

“S’not on yet, bugger. It’s only 7,” Harry chuckled, screwing on the blue cap and setting it back on the bedside table, “I’m gon’a pop downstairs and make some dry toast for you to nibble on and call up the school. Will you be okay up here for a bit?” 

“Yes,” Asher smiled, falling back against the bed, letting the pillow engulf his head and messing up the curls at the back of his head, “gon’a go back to sleep, daddy.”

* *

Can we take a rain check on our date tonight? H. x

What’s happened? Are you okay? x

I’m okay, I’m fine. x

It’s Asher. He took a bad turn last night and he’s been sick all morning so I need to make sure he’s okay and I just want to be here to look after him. x 

Oh, Harry. That’s more than okay. We can do that. x

Really? Are you sure? x

Your son is so much more important, Harry. We can make another date arrangement or meet up for coffee or maybe you could come round to my apartment or I could come to you. It’s okay. x

I’d quite like to make you a nice home-cooked meal? x

You can definitely do that for me, of course. x

I’ll give you a ring when he’s asleep and we can organise a proper night in together. Niall’s been itching to look after Asher for a while – in fact, I think his girlfriend wants to see him more than Niall. They absolutely adore him. x 

Niall? x

He’s my best mate. Has been from the moment we met, haha. He’s Asher’s godfather. x

Aww. We can definitely organise a date so he can look after Asher. And it gives me an opportunity to see you again. x 

I might just surprise you on the day and leave you unprepared. x

I’ll turn up on the day, on your doorstep, with a grin and a blindfold to kidnap you. x

Harry, no. x 

C’mon. Just like teenagers. I’ll come and pick you up, kiss you on the doorstep, take you back to my house and we’ll have a sweet little dinner cooked by me. x

As long as you make that delicious pasta you made on our last date. x

I can definitely do that. x



Harry? x

Yes? x

Do you think it’s time you introduce me to Asher? I’m not pressuring you or anything, I’m just, I was speaking to my mum and she said something about it and I don’t know whether to prepare myself for that big step. x

I was going to talk to you about that on our date, actually. x 

Really? x 

Yeah, haha. x

I thought, since things were going so well between us, I was going to do things properly. x

Properly? What do you mean by that? x

I was going to ask you to be my girlfriend tonight after we’d eaten dinner, and, then when we got to your house, I was going to jump into maybe introducing you to Asher as my girlfriend – he already knows who you are, and he speaks about you at home. x

He does? x

He still hasn’t let down the talk about you popping into the bakery for cake and coffee with him. x 

You’ll have to let me know the best time. x 

When he’s back to health, I’ll be able to keep you updated and we can plan. x

That sounds wonderful. x

Keep me updated through the day. And, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me, okay? x

Thank you. xx 

* * 

The sun had set by 8 that evening, engulfing the bedroom into darkness with the only light seen being the flickering of the TV as it played the ITV News, informing the nation of the top stories sitting on the papers. Asher was snoring against Harry’s chest, tucked under one of his arms as he slept, a sigh leaving Harry’s mouth as he rolled his head back against the headboard and closed his own eyes.

It ad been a hectic day for him; but there was nothing he wouldn’t do to help out his son.

He’d bathed him from the sweat building up on his body, sliding into the water himself to hold the weakened little boy to his chest, a delightful bond they’d always had from the moment it had just been the two of them. Asher’s head set against his father’s shoulder as Harry dribbled warm water down his skin, scrubbing as gently as he could to not disrupt him from his state of drowsiness. The strong smell of mint from Harry’s shower gel bottle lingering in the bathroom, steam filling the room and fogging up the mirror upon the vanity.

Harry dressed him in his own fresh pyjamas that smelt strong of lavender and washing detergent, soft and smooth against his clean skin. Settling him back in his large bed, wrapped in a blanket with the smell of nothing but his mother; a blanket that belonged to her through her childhood, one that had been through so much in a lifetime, and was now ready to be included in many more memories of her grandchild.

Harry feed him spoonfuls of tomato soup for lunch and for tea, munching on his own food as he spoke with Asher about anything that would take his mind away from the nauseating feeling in his belly. He made him more dry toast when he got hungry and made trips downstairs to get biscuits and bottles of water, giving in to his puppy dog eyes when he wanted to watch something other than Jeremy Kyle or a rerun of a football game that was playing on TV.

He cherished moments like that, where his son depended on him more than ever. Because Harry knew that as he grew up and became his own independent person, he wouldn’t need Harry as much as he did when he was a tiny little soul. He’d have his own friends to talk too, he’d have girlfriends to confide in and use as a shoulder to cry on, and, he’d be old enough to talk to counsellors when he had problems that he felt burdened his family. 

“Thank you f’ lookin’ after me, daddy,” Asher whispered in a soft voice, tired words coming from a mouth that soon yawned, “you made me feel better.”

“I did, huh?” Harry chuckled, his chest vibrating and making it known to Asher that he was amused by his tiny statement, “do you feel so much better to go back to school tomorrow?”

What Harry expected was a shake of the small boy’s head – and he was right.

“Not really,” Asher mumbled, his finger drawing over the left swallow tattoo upon his clavicle, “still feelin’ a bit sick.”

“I called in school and told them you’re having the rest of the week off, alright? 3 days at home until you go back on Monday,” Harry explained, his palm rubbing up and down his body, “plus the weekend.”

A smile lifted up Asher’s lips.

“I love you, daddy.” 

“I love you too, bugger. I love you so much.”

* * 

Harry? x

Is everything okay? x

I haven’t heard from you since this morning. x

I’m okay, yeah. x

How’s the little man doing? x

He’s sleeping now. I got him to eat some soup and some dry toast. He managed to keep it down for a while before he was sick again. x

Ah, bless him. x

Is it the dreaded tummy bug going around? x

I think so, yeah. x

A few of the kids from his school had been sick, taking a couple of days off, so I think he’s caught it somehow. x

Oh, bless him. x

It’s never fun, the poor lad. x

A few of the workers at the restaurant came down with the flu, so, I’m just praying I don’t get it. Hahaha. x

If you get it, I’ll come and look after you. x

Well, you’re a sweetheart, Styles. x

I’ll let you get some proper rest. I bet you’re exhausted after today. x

I’m alright. Just, glad he’s asleep. It’s like he’s a baby all over again. x

Aw, bless him. x

Curled like he used to do when he was a little boy. x

That sounds so adorable, Harry. x

I’ll let you have some time with him. He needs his daddy. x

I’ll see you soon, okay? x

Okay. Have a good night and I’ll see you soon. xx


Harry Styles Lockscreens

like if save/use pls

  • Parents:...Oh, you still like One Direction?
  • Me:
  • Me:
  • Me:
  • Me:
  • Me:First of all ya'll better believe that this ain't no phase like this some ride or die shit and i got a ticket to forever so ya'll better start respectin' this shit or ya'll can move the fuck outta the way because i got five new daddies who will take your place at any moment so please control your disrespectin' stuntin' ass or so help me lord

“Louis Looks like a rat why is he in One direction?“ 

Louis girls:


the nice part of the fandom:

everyone else:

Liam falling on his ass

Guys. The fans will be the reason that the boys will break up if most of you don’t calm down. Throw away all of the distractions: modest, mr. x, etc. Those issues aren’t the problem. We are. Fans jump to conclusions about certain aspects of the boys’ lives. Fans jump on the boys for their mistakes quicker than any news column. They’ve closed theirselves off. They’ve made theirselves less available. And do you know why? Because we treat them like they owe us something. News flash: They don’t. In all of the years I have been in the fandom, I have never been more disappointed in us. They don’t deserve to be thrown under a bus by anyone, much less the people who “support” them. If you want our boys to be happy and to stay together for much longer, you have to stop. This is beyond unfair to them.

So here’s what you missed :

Liam : Liam has been linked  Cheryl, they could be dating but nothing been confirmed from those two

Louis : Is in a custody war with his baby momma

Harry : Got a couple inches cut off his hair

Niall : I don’t know where he is .

Zayn : Just released another music video off his new album

and that’s what you missed on