One direction and 5 Seconds of Summer preferences and images

Sunday Monrings (Rain is falling)

Louis: "Here's your tea." You snuffle softly when a warm mug of yummy liquid is placed into your hands, warming your senses immediately. The cold has been keeping you awake for two nights in a row now, finally bringing your sinuses down with the temperature. The rain isn't helping either; though it does create a beautiful scent and scenery from looking outside the window, it makes you want to do nothing but stay asleep at his side, old reruns of cartoons muted on the T.V. screen as you slumber. "Is it okay? Too hot?" It makes you smile when he tucks the loose ends of the blanket tighter around you, tucking a longer strand of hair behind your ear as you take a sip of your tea. You reply back in a quiet voice, "It's really good. Thank you." The rain drones on outside as he holds you underneath his arm.

Niall: Faintly, you can hear the unmistakable stomp of sleepy feet padding across the cold wooden floors. You press yourself farther up onto your elbows to watch him stumble back into the bedroom, his wispy blonde hair everywhere -- hanging in front of his blue eyes, sticking out in every other direction on the sides. "'s cold," he whines softly, crawling back up onto the mattress to bury his lazy body against your hip, "Raining, too." He breathes in softly while you tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging at the strands by the nape of his neck, bringing him in closer to you so he rests his somber head against your shoulder. The rest of the morning is spent with languid kisses; his fingers kneading into your waist and your arms looped around his neck, pulling him in until you're assured that his warm mouth isn't leave yours anytime soon. "Love you," he breathes, and the rain is forgotten.

Liam: "Wake up, sleepyhead." He groans at the intrusion of the cold and tries to bury himself farther beneath the covers, although you won't let him. "The dog needs to go out and it's raining. You have to do it." He mumbles something under his breath and peeks open one eye, staring at you rather grudgingly. "Why do I have to do it?" he asks, his voice deep and thick with the sleep he would have gone with all day had you not woken him up. "Because you love me," you answer back quickly with grin, and though he can't disagree, he's still a little miffed as he slings his legs over the bed. It's been a few more weeks than a month since you've moved in, using all of his bathroom space with more of your girlish products and making him take care of your dog when you aren't around. "You're so god damn lucky I love you," he says with a small smile, kissing your forehead intensely before grabbing the leash.

Zayn: Huddling close to you in order to be heated by the stove's radiation, he looks over your shoulder and rubs his hands over your stomach. "What are you making?" he asks huskily. He tucks his chin into your neck and kisses below your earlobe, tightening his hold on you. Outside, the rain is pouring. It's almost as if the sky is sad that he has you all to himself. Perhaps the clouds are jealous of how much love and affection you give him when you could be giving the same treatment to the garden outside. Now it's the rain's job to keep those flowers healthy; you're too busy kissing him instead, cooking for him, snuggling your back against his chest as he holds you in the kitchen. "What do you want?" you ask softly, turning so you're face-to-face. It's an easy answer that he has trouble answering because he's staring at your lips; how they curve up at the edges and taunt him. "You."

Harry: It's a very dreary morning, clouds overcast and flowers sagging beneath the weight of the rain. No one is moving; the only sound accompanied to one another's body is the soft breathing that comes with it. His fingers are somewhere beneath the waistband of your (his) sweatpants (you borrowed), skimming over your panty line every time you inhale. The couch should be too small, but it fits both of your bodies perfectly, holding you up and not letting you fall or slip off once. A white canvas of fabric covers the two of you as the rain falls outside, creating a soothing rhythm against the window pane. He's looking at you while you gaze at him, your mouth forming an 'O' every time he moves his finger a fraction of an inch. "You're shaking," he mumbles, a smirk forming on the left side of his face, "Are you cold?" Actually, it's just the opposite; and this he knows as he pushes your panties aside.