Harry: You watch the entire scene play out in front of you in amusement, your four year old daughter being as stubborn as you are. Harry had accidentally snapped the beaded bracelet that Darcy made for him, the string being too small to fit over his large hand. Your child had burst into tears, screaming: “I hate you, Daddy!” at the top of her lungs which, of course, upset Harry. She sits with her back turned to him and her arms crossed over her chest, refusing to give him the time of day or even a passing glance. “Darcy, honey, I’m sorry!” Harry cries, desperate to get her attention as he pleads on his knees. She simply shakes her head, the silent treatment working to her advantage as Harry begins to throw out bribes, “If you talk to me, I’ll take you to go get ice cream,” He offers, breathing a sigh of relief when she turns around, her eyebrows raised suspiciously, almost as if she doesn’t believe him. “Promise?” She asks, her plump cheeks still a bit damp from her tears. He nods his head, smiling when she accepts his bribe. She places her small hand into his large one, the two trotting off to the car for some Father-Daughter Apology Ice Cream.
Liam: “He hates me.” Your husband says, “He won’t even speak to me,” Worry is etched onto his face as he looks at you from across the room. You shoot him a sympathetic glance, knowing that punishing your son Eli was a hard thing for him to do. Liam hates making your children upset, even when it’s completely necessary. Shaking your head, you reassure him, “No he doesn’t, Liam. He needs to know that fighting is not acceptable, you did the right thing.” He sighs, remaining unconvinced as he collapses into his favorite arm chair. He brings his hands up to his face, rubbing his temples in frustration as the two of you listen to the sounds of your son wailing in his bedroom, upset that he’s been sent to bed early. “I can’t do this, listen to him, (Y/N)!” He cries, rising to his feet again, showing you just how anxious he is about the entire situation. “He’ll be fine, calm down, honey,” You say, resting your hands on your husbands shoulders comfortingly, squeezing them ever so slightly to try and relax him, which isn’t exactly a walk in the park.
Louis: “Wendy, can you pass the salt?” Louis asks your seven year old daughter at the dinner table, the argument between the two from earlier still hanging over the two of them. Her blue eyes dart in his direction, lips set into a frown as she pretends that she didn’t hear his request. She takes a bite of mashed potatoes, wiping the corners of her mouth like the proper lady she’s been raised to be. Louis glances at her, wondering what is taking her so long, “Wendy? The salt?” He prompts, his eyebrows furrowing in frustration when she still doesn’t budge. You take in the sight before you, trying to stifle your giggles as you see how irritated Louis is getting at her impassive behavior. For your own amusement, you clear your throat, “Wendy, dear? Will you pass me the salt, please?” You request, smirking when her face lights up in a smile. “Of course, Mommy!” She says, reaching forward and passing you the tiny glass container as Louis stares at you, completely unamused. Biting back a smile, you thank her, covering your potatoes with the salt as the two stare each other down, not even realizing how similar they are to each other.
Niall: “Felicity, just because you can’t have the doll does not mean you can’t speak to me.” Niall says as he pushes the cart through the aisles of Toys R Us, your four year old daughter riding in the front. She avoids his gaze, staring at the stuffed animals that line the shelves beside her, each one tormenting her in a way. Her bottom lip quivers as he mentions the doll, that being the only thing that she wanted from this little visit. The only reason he won’t buy it for her is because it’s already wrapped at home for her birthday next week. Wendy has no idea and absolutely refuses to speak to him. “Felicity.” He says again, trying to get her attention and failing miserably. Huffing a sigh, he stops the cart and places his fingers on her chin, forcing her to look at him, “Felicity Grace Horan, you will stop this nonsense right now.” His tone takes on one of authority, which is very out of character for his usual goofy self. She shifts her blue eyes so that she’s gazing over his head, not at him, winning this round yet again. Exasperated, he throws his hands up in the air, “Fine! We’ll go home, and you’ll have an early birthday present!” He grumbles, revealing just how much of a pushover he really is.
Zayn: “Hunter?” Zayn says hesitantly, lightly rapping on the door to your son’s bedroom. He’s been in time out for the past twenty minutes due to the fact that he had thrown something at his father during one of his temper tantrums. He opens the door slowly to see your little boy staring at the wall with a sulking expression on his tan face, “Hunter, your punishment is over with.” He says, crossing the room and kneeling before the boy, who of which is beyond furious with his father for putting him here. Zayn continues, “Now did you learn your lesson?” He asks, awaiting his response as he rolls back into a sitting position. Hunter nods curtly, his little quiff bouncing against his forehead as he does so, making him resemble Zayn so much that it’s scary. He stands up from his seat, brushing past your husband with a vicious and angry facial expression and storms out of his bedroom, to the toy room. Your husband remains seated and narrows his eyes at the boy’s retreating figure, “Hunter Davin Malik, you apologize right this instant!” He hollars, his voice taking on the Classic Father tone as your son freezes mid-step in the hallway. He wheels around, his tiny hands balled into fists as he glares at Zayn, “Sorry!” He shouts before stomping away and leaving his father very taken aback.