One direction and 5 Seconds of Summer preferences and images

Early morning

Niall: Niall loves early mornings. He loves waking up before you, rubbing his eyes clear from sleep. It gave him the perfect opportunity to study you, worship you in silent awe. He smiled softly to himself, looking at how the early morning sunlight kissed your skin. Your hand was pressed to his heart, curled into a light fist and he pressed his lips to your knuckles. He ran his fingers around your collarbones, still marveling at how smooth your skin was. Your eyelashes were heavy on your cheeks, your soft pink lips parted for breath. How he loved those lips, he was fascinated by what came out of them and how they looked when you tucked the lower one between your teeth. He ran his fingers around them, wondering if he should wake you up with soft kisses or not. He rarely got a moment like this, just to look at you. But it was in these silent moments that he felt how much you moved him, how much he loved you. He remembered these moments on the road when he couldn’t sleep and was heartsick with missing you. In these early hours Niall fell in love with you all over again and each time it was harder and deeper than he could ever have imagined. When he felt you shift, he knew you were slowly waking. He took one last look at you, so innocent and beautiful in your sleep and he could never imagine a better to wake up. Your eyes slowly blinked open, still heavy and clouded with sleep. You blinked a few times, those brilliant green irises clearing as you sleepily smiled at him. “Good morning, beautiful,” he said gently, his fingers tangling in your hair as he pressed his mouth to yours. Niall’s stolen moment was gone but he would carry it with him always. 

Liam: He had always been an early riser. It was habit from tour, his sleep schedule would never be normal again. But right now, he didn’t mind. He looked at you next to him curled into a ball, the tip of your nose and eyes peeking out from beneath the comforter and he had to grin: you were adorable. And that’s exactly what he was doing, adoring you. He studied the freckles over your nose, and pressed his lips to them softly. He saw the tiny laugh lines by your eyes and ran his fingers over them gently. He didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone more beautiful than you. “Baby girl,” he said huskily, his lips fluttering over your eyelids, “time to wake up.” You groaned and buried back down under the covers. He smiled, you weren’t a morning person and it was work to get you out of bed but he was glad the job fell to him. “Yes, baby. Wake up,” you shook your head and he pulled the covers off you, leaving you bare on the mattress with only a t shirt on. “Liam,” you whined, eyes blinking open. “There’s my girl,” he fell on top of you, pressing happy kisses all over your face as you giggled. “I’m up, I’m up,” you protested as his fingers worked into your sides. Laughter spilled from your lips and if you were ever to be woken up early, this was the only way to do it. It was the best way to start your mornings. Liam loved this, if there was anything that got him through his bad days it was moments like this. Your smile alone got him through anything, but this, this was the stuff he lived for. Your smile, your laugh, your hands holding onto him. This was the stuff that made you his home. This is what made you his heart.

Zayn: He felt like all he did was sketch you, even when he didn’t have paper in front of him. He was always studying the way the light hit you. He knew the shadows that were cast on your jaw when you were next o a flame and the way it seemed you had a halo in the bright afternoon sun. But now, in the early morning when the sun was new and dappling your skin in it’s golden rays, Zayn needed to draw. He would take this sketch with him on tour and tape it to the top of his bunk so you were the last thing he saw at night and the very first in the morning, just like now. His pencil flew over the paper as he smoked bare-chested in the corner. You were on your side facing him, his torn up Ramones shirt winking at him from beneath the covers. Your hair was spread out behind you, leaving your face gloriously open for his desperate eyes. He drank you in in deep, parched gulps. He couldn’t get enough of you like this: so innocent, so vulnerable. When you yawned, he knew that his time for sketching had ended. He had almost finished but the rest he could do by memory, you were burned there after all. He put his cigarette out and crawled back into bed with you, his smokey breath flowing along the skin of your neck. “Good morning,” he said hoarsely, his hands running down your back. “Morning,” your fingers tangled in his hair as you nuzzled into him. You loved these quiet mornings just as much as he did. There was something so calming, so peaceful about just laying in the silence together, his breathing and heartbeat the only sounds you could hear. They were the only ones you wanted. He pressed his lips to your forehead, content to spend his whole morning like this. Everything he needed was right here in his arms, anyway.

Louis: For all of Louis’s craziness, he had one weakness. And that was you. He was seldom serious, but when he was it was about you and work. He was rarely quiet, but when he was it was in times like this when you were sleeping against his bare chest. He didn’t want to move, didn’t want to breathe. He didn’t often get moments like this, in fact there had maybe only ever had been two before this one. And just like the last time, Louis just stared. He didn’t understand how you didn’t think you were beautiful, but then he realized you didn’t see yourself like this. You didn’t see yourself laughing, or talking, or looking at him with such adoration. You didn’t see yourself vulnerable in his arms, relying solely on him for protection. But he did, he saw it and was stunned. He traced the curve of your cheek softly with his index finger, his blue eyes studying every detail. How did you get the small scar by your eye? He would have to ask you. And this freckle, just below, how did he never see it before? The rain was slamming against the windows and he decided then and there he wasn’t letting you out of bed. He was going to spend the entire day exploring you, studying you, learning all the marks and scars on your body because he thought they were beautiful. “What are you doing?” You asked sleepily. He had realized you’d been awake for a while, your eyes were clear and curious. “Looking at you,” he said unashamed. “Why?” he shook his head, eyes tender. How could he ever explain? “Because I’m in awe of you,” he said softly, kissing your lips. “I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,”

Harry: Harry purposely wanted to wake up before you. He didn’t care about morning breath or how your hair looked. He just liked being able to take a moment and appreciate you for everything you were. Your hand was still linked in his from the night before and he didn’t dare remove his fingers. He was incredibly touched that you refused to let go of his hand even in sleep, and the small gesture meant more to him than he could ever explain. Like there would ever be words for him to express what you made him feel? Most likely not. He plowed his free hand through his hair, pushing his curls back. Today was his last morning with you before he left for the road again and the image of you holding onto his hand in sleep would haunt him the entire time. You couldn’t bear to let him go, even then. He pressed his lips to your fingers, closing his eyes. Jesus, he loved you. Ached with it. Watching you sleep like this only made it worse. He thought about all  the mornings you’d have to face without him, starting tomorrow and he felt like he was ripping apart at the seams. “I’m sorry I have to leave you,” he said against your skin. “I hate it,” he kept his lips there, the soft hint of your perfume filling his lungs. “You always come home, though.” You said opening your eyes. He looked at you a long moment, knowing how important this moment was for you both. Carefully, and oh so slowly, he laid down next to you, his hand covering the length of your cheek. “Always, sweet girl I’m going to remember this every morning. Waking up to your smiling face, your soft touch,” he pressed his lips to yours “Your kiss.” You grinned at him, the lump growing in your throat.  ”I’m going to remember that I’ve never loved you more than I do right now,”