One Direction Preferences

This is just some One Direction Preferences


8. BSM: You Fall In The Shower and One Of The Other Boys Help You (Part One)


You two didn’t get along so well, so Liam found it a little weird that you were calling out for his help rather than your brother’s or one of his other friends’. Not that any of them were here, and you knew that, so he wonders why he thought that maybe it would have been better if you had have called for them considering he was the only one here. But you had seen him come through the door before you went to take a shower, because your brother had invited them over and he’d come a little earlier than him and the rest of his friends, so of course you knew that none of the others were here yet.
But there’s something in the way you’re calling his name - a note of desperation and pain in your voice - that makes him worried about you. Not that he cared. Or so he’d try to convince himself later.
So before he can stop himself he’s barging into your bathroom, trying not to let his gaze linger while he helps you up and wraps you in a towel when you tell him that you can barely move your arms, his grip on you firm but gentle as he helps you.



“Liam!” you call out, having slipped over after trying to retrieve the bar of soap you’d dropped. But your words come and go without response, and you’re getting frustrated that your brother isn’t answering, even though you’ve shouted his name half a dozen times; he must be ignoring you, you think.
But he’s not. He’s just not there to hear you. But Zayn is; he’d come around to grab something your brother had forgotten, but he’d heard you crying for your brother and he couldn’t just leave as if he hadn’t heard you.
So he knocks on the bathroom door, noting the steam drifting out from the crack beneath with concern.
“Liam?” you ask, voice hopeful, and he winces to hear that note of hope in your voice because you had probably not wanted him to be the one to answer your shouts if you were asking for your brother. He doesn’t want to disappoint you.
“No, it’s Zayn.” He says through the thick door, and his words are followed by your soft ‘Oh’ that only just manages to slip past your lips.
“Are you okay?”
It takes you a moment to think of an answer, because you don’t want Zayn to wander in here and see you naked but you know that you need help. But your silence seems to be answer enough for Zayn, because before you can form any words at all, he warning you that he’s coming in.
Before you can protest, he’s already inside the room; the initial shock leaving its mark on his face in the form of his gaping mouth and wide eyes. But he regains his composure quickly and he’s hurrying to grab a towel and help wrap it around you, helping you stand on shaky legs. He knows that you need to go to a hospital, but you aren’t complying, so he’s telling you that you can either go wrapped in a towel or you can throw something on, as long as you’re quick. He’s threatening you, telling you that he’ll throw you over his shoulder and carry you there if he has to, but you’re going.
So he helps you into an outfit that he’s strung together in a matter of seconds – one that clashes beyond belief – before he’s driving you to the hospital, a good bit over the speed limit, as he tries to hurry you there.



Nobody was home. At least you thought nobody was home, because your brother was at the recording studio and the rest of your family was doing some - as your mother claimed - ‘fun’ family thing that you had opted not to participate in.
So why would anyone have been at home?
And Louis had only come round to pick up Zayn’s phone, which your brother had forgotten in his rush to get out the door having woken up late. And maybe things would have been different if he had have arrived a moment earlier or if you had fell a moment later, because he would have been in and out in a matter of seconds, but he had heard the clatter of shampoo bottles being knocked from the shower shelf. He had heard the dull thud of you falling against the glass screen of the shower. He’s instantly concerned, rushing into the room and throwing open the door, stopping only momentarily once he sees that you’re naked.
What had he expected though, really?
“Y/N?” he asks gently, taking note of your angry red skin and the way your eyelids are drooping. “Y/N, can you hear me?”
You groan in response, flinching a little as he shuts the hot water off and replaces it with cold, the water stinging and not doing much to soothe the skin; it still hurt just the same, having switched from one extremity to the other in a matter of seconds. 
He lets out a rushed ‘sorry’, unsure what to do, and decides to just turn the water off completely.
He looks around for a moment, confused and unsure what to do now, but then his gaze falls upon a fluffy white towel and before he can think twice he’s wrapping it around you gingerly with careful hands.
“Jesus, Y/N,” he murmurs, noting the blistering burns and angry red skin, but before he can say another word you fall limp into his arms; you’d fainted.



“Shit,” that’s the first word that leaves his lips, his cheeks bright red with embarrassment. The water had been running for a while now, and you had been gone for longer than you had promised. So he had cracked the door open, expecting you to shout at him to leave, but his presence had only been followed by a silence.
So he called your name over the running water, but once again you didn’t reply. And then he walks into the room and sees that you’re crumpled at the bottom of the shower, the water mixing with a deep crimson.
He cusses, and races the few steps that it takes to get to you, shutting off the water and gently calling your name as he tapped your cheek; trying to get you to wake up from your unconscious state.
“Niall?” you murmur, trying to sit up, but he’s hushing you and pushing you back down so you don’t move too much. It’s only then that you become aware of your being naked. “I hit my head on the tiles.”
He nods. “I can tell,” he says, glancing at the back of your head, and for a moment his words are light-hearted and you can almost pretend that the throbbing’s not there and that this isn’t anything. But it is. And that thought only stays with you for a little while, because you can only close your eyes for so long before you can’t open them again and he’s hurrying to dial an ambulance.



It was the clattering coming from down the hall that brought him running; the sound of bottles of shampoo and hair product falling from the shelf in the shower as you tried to catch yourself.
“Y/N?” Harry calls, a note of panic in his voice, but he doesn’t bother to wait for a response before he’s pushing the door open.
He hadn’t thought it through too well, he realised, when he opened the door and stepped into the room full of steam. Showering wasn’t an activity that most people did fully-dressed.
But you were unconscious, and he was just going to have to get over himself and help you; regardless of your being naked and his embarrassment. You were one of his closest friends’ sisters, but that didn’t mean anything at the moment; he couldn’t not help you, and either way Niall was going to be mad with him, whether it was for not helping his naked sister or for helping his naked sister.
So he swallows his pride and grabs a towel from the rail, turning off the running water and gently wrapping you in the soft material before picking your limp, unconscious figure up in his strong arms. He had to get you to a hospital. 

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