1D Preferences #371: He finds out a fan hurt you...Liam: Liam wraps his hand around your waist gently, and you cringe. His hand was on your side, where bruise had begun to form. "Sorry!" Liam says quickly, pulling his arm away. "Are you all right?" He looks at you with concern and frowns. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a little bruise," you brush it off, giving him a small smile. "Babe," he says firmly, knowing you're lying. With a sigh, you lift up the hem of your shirt, showing a rather ghastly black and blue just above your hip. His eyes widen and he looks to you for an explanation. "I was just on my way home, a couple of fans crowded around me, I got bumped around and I was pushed into a fire hydrant, but I'm fine, it's no big deal," you sigh, frowning at the mark. "That is a big deal! Aw, I'm going to get you some ice. This is not okay," he says quickly, shaking his head. "I'm going to make a twitlonger about this, I know fans mean well, but I don't want you getting hurt. I'm sorry." He hands you an ice pack and you gingerly place it over the bruise, wincing at the cold. "Don't be sorry, it's not your fault," you assure him, as he powers up his laptop to type.
Harry: You rest your head in Harry's lap, the two of you watching a Skins marathon on TV. A very chill kind of day, the two of you still in your pajamas even though it's past noon. Sometimes it was nice to just be together and not do anything in particular, you know? His hands run through your hair mindlessly, playing with the strands. "What happened here?" he asks curiously, holding up a strand of your hair. The end was singed, burnt from yesterday. A rather scary fan encounter had happened when you were on the bus, a crazy fan had been messing around and lit the end of your hair on fire with a cigarette lighter. Luckily, you'd caught it quick and extinguished it, but it was still scary and you hadn't brought yourself to telling Harry. You'd hate to worry him. "Oh, burnt my hair with the, um, curling iron," you lie. "You're an awful liar," the green-eyed boy replies, frowning. With a sigh, you explain to him what had happened and he looks very upset--and disappointed. "That's terrible and disgusting to do to somebody," he mumbles, shaking his head. "I can't believe you didn't tell me, Kitten." You shrug and examine the strand of hair thoughtfully. "I didn't want you to worry, Haz." He places his hand on your cheek and shakes his head. "I'll always worry about you, if anything like this ever happens again tell me. 'Cause I'll call the police."
Zayn: "What's this article in the tabloids, (Y/N)? Is it true?" Zayn's hazel eyes look concerned as he walks into the kitchen, clutching a magazine, opened to large picture of you. "1D GIRLFRIEND ATTACKED BY CRAZY FAN!" the title says in thick blue letters. "Yeah," you say softly, your eyes scanning the article. It showed a picture of you right after you'd been 'attacked', a tear in your coat and the heel of your shoe broken off. The girl hadn't really hurt you much, you were a pretty strong person and good at defending yourself. She did, however, rip your favorite coat and break the heel of your new pumps. "Jesus Christ! You'd think that when my girlfriend is freaking ATTACKED I'd find out from HER and not some tabloid!" he says angrily, pressing his thumbs on his temples. You frown and set the magazine on the table, leaning your head in your hand. "Sorry," he says softly, after a moment of silence. "I'm not mad at you, I just wish you would've told me. God, I can't believe someone would do that. What if you would've really gotten hurt?" He wraps you in a hug and you lean your head against his chest. "From now on, I'm sending Preston with you when you're out alone," he murmurs, giving your hand a squeeze. "Zayn, I don't need a bodyguard with me all the time, I can take care of myself," you protest. "Please," he pleads, biting his lip. "I just want you to be safe." You nod, deciding it's probably best for your safety anyway. Plus, Preston's a pretty cool guy.
Louis: After making your way hand-in-hand through a mass of crowds, you and Louis had finally gotten back to your flat and were curled up on the couch. "What happened here?" Louis questions, his eyebrows furrowed. He runs his thumb over a line of scratches on your arm slowly. "Fans," you say simply, letting out a sigh. His jaw tenses and he shakes his head. "This is ridiculous. Bothering me and hurting me is one thing," he grumbles, raising your arm to his lips and kissing one particularly bad scratch. "But fucking with my girlfriend is not all right. This is not all right." You frown, leaning against his shoulder, he wraps his arm around you and leans against your head. "I'm so tired of this, all of this. I don't care if those crazy fans want to mess around with me. I just don't want them messing with you. Scratching you! Christ!" he continues, his hand curling into a fist. You aren't sure what to say, so you stay silent, kissing his cheek. "If this happens again, I'm seriously going to be pissed and shit's gonna go down," he mumbles, looking at you sadly. "Now, let's go get you some band-aids for those scratches."
Niall: Sleepily, you crawl out of bed when you hear keys in the door and familiar footsteps inside. Niall must be home! "Holy...Love, what happened to your eye?" Niall gasps, noticing the black and blue. After going out last night and encountering a rather drunk and rather angry hardcore Niall Horan fan (who was certainly not a fan of his girlfriend), you'd gotten called nasty things (things you wouldn't dare repeat) and you'd gotten a swift punch right in the eye. You were fine, just a bit sore, and you hadn't seen Niall since it'd happened. He was just getting home now and you hadn't had the chance to call him. "Drunk ass fan, convinced they were your wife," you sigh, frowning at your eye in the mirror. Ouch. "That's so fucked up, fucking cunt punching you in the eye," he mumbles, grabbing a bag of frozen peas from the freezer and handing it to you. "They should be arrested for that," he grumbles, giving your hand a squeeze. "I think they were, I was with Danielle and Eleanor, El called the cops," you explain, sitting on the kitchen counter with the icy bag of peas over your eye. "Good," he nods, standing in front of you and wrapping his arms around your waist. "I wish I was there to make sure this didn't happen, my schedule is so crazy," he sighs. "It's okay, babe," you assure him, giving him a small smile. He slides his phone from his pocket and snaps a picture of you, holding the frozen peas over your eye and starts typing. "Niall, what are you doing?" you ask curiously, cocking your head to the side. He holds up his phone, showing what he just tweeted. "if you were a fan, you wouldn't do this to my girlfriend. terrible. #disappointed" with the picture of you attached.