Zayn: (Ain’t a fight that she can’t win…) He throws his fists to his sides, out of ammunition. “Fine,” he grits, tired. “You win.” You smirk but it fades quickly, hating fighting nearly as much as you hate losing. “I’m sorry,” you offer, taking hesitant steps towards him. He sighs and shakes his head, but smiles. “I know,” he whispers sincerely. “And I also know that there’s not a fight you can’t win.” He lets his arms hang for a moment before lifting them, inviting you into an embrace. “You don’t always have to be right, babe,” he mumbles into your hair. You ignore him and lean further into him, pushing your head into his neck. “Ok,” he sighs. He’s giving up for now, but one day he’ll break down that stubborn wall. Love is a two-player game, and power has to be shared equally.
Louis: (Head in my lap, bare feet on the windshield…) Louis laughs lovingly, sneaking a glance out of the corner of his eye. You grumble and squirm, desperately trying to find a comfortable position. Minutes ago you were awkwardly shifted, feet pressed to the windshield. Now you’ve twisted your body sideways, and you’re headed straight for his thigh. You wiggle some more but eventually settle, sighing deeply and letting your heart rate slow. Louis grins and takes one hand off the wheel to weave it into your hair, fingers playing with the strands. You smile softly and nudge up, a silent gesture of pleasure.
Niall: (Grabs my old guitar…) Niall can hardly hold back the bark of laughter at your efforts. “Look baby, I’m a rockstar,” you grin widely, holding his guitar upside down. You start to jam seriously - if one can do that - and sing along to the song you’re imagining. Niall whoops and claps, bringing out his phone and pulling up the lighter app designed for this moment. “Rock on, baby,” he laughs - and you laugh too, breaking off mid guitar chord to deposit the instrument in the armchair where it wont get hurt. You move to sit sideways on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck. “So, maybe after the show, you can come backstage,” you grin, lips close to his. “I can sign you shirt,” you giggle, pulling on the old band tee you stole from him. He chuckles back and steals a kiss.
Harry: (Pokin’ out her lip and bitin’ mine when we kiss…) "Stop pouting," he scoffs, poking you teasingly. You try to hide a smile but fail, lips spreading. "I love that smile," he murmurs, his hand under your chin. You can only smile wider, flushing. You never know what to say, and "thank you" sounds weird with how often he says it. So instead, you kiss him, closing your eyes and getting lost in the moment. You can feel him deepen the kiss, his lips parting just slightly, enough to make yours do the same. You push forwards, hand on the back of his head, and nip at his bottom lip, causing an addictive gasp to fall from his mouth. "Damn," he mumbles, eyes glinting wanting at you.
Liam: (And steal the covers off my side…) Liam wakes up in the middle of the night, shivering and confused. He licks his dry lips and rolls towards you, eyes squinting in the pre-dawn darkness. He relaxes when he sees you, rolled up in too many layers of blankets. He scoots closer, seeking the warmth you stole from him - warmth that he misses dearly, but can’t bear to take away from you, with how cute you look, your head peeking out from behind quilts and sheets. He moves in as close as he can, molds his body to yours and closes his eyes, slowly. You mumble, and roll over, burrowing into hi
