One direction imagines and prefrences

Alone

Louis: It's nice and quiet, between the sheets or stuffed side by side on one cushion of the couch, practically on each other laps even though there is two cushions not even touched. With cups of tea between your hands and your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat rattle your temples, and besides your conversations about How I met your mother or laughing at each other. No ones there but you two and, it's new and fresh. And so, so lovely.

Niall: Alone; when it's Niall and you. You and Niall. No faking the single life, something that was nice and too funny at times to where you couldn't even see through glassy eyes because you were actually crying. When pet names like, "princess." "pumpkin." "angel." Thrived, with secret hand shakes and movie marathons on your bed with a large bowl sitting in the middle of you two, -- which will usually end up on the bedside table because god forbid, Niall has to cuddle. Has too. But you really don't mind and curl into him happily, and there's nothing to worry about because you're alone.

Harry: There's a different Harry, one who's actually funny and pinning after like a puppy dog and always asking if your are comfortable and feel loved enough, and then again. Maybe he is the harry everyone everyone sees, except he's this way with you, only you. Tucking you into piles of covers when it's winter and your heating has blown out because ice is growing across the dials. Very cold and your toes are numb against the sheets, your nose is red and his chest feels like the only warmth you can get, and he feels the same way about you. So, alone, you cuddle naked to seek warmth.

Liam: He's very affectionate, not like he isn't in the lime light and in front of tons of cameras that seemed so interested in following around someone not even legal in the states. If anything he's more when you are alone. He always has to touch you in some sort of way, - sexually, sensually, romantically, touching you with the intention of leaning your body like a map. His fingers are the paintbrush and your body is his canvas which he draws on. Purple and blue and pink and red. It's all there in the crevasses of your body. He'll kiss pink onto your cheeks and leave you red between your thighs, his teeth will leave purple and the nimble of his fingers will leave blue when you're alone.

Zayn: He doesn't like to talk, usually on days where he's just gotten home and his heads banging with the bass of one of his songs that isn't playing anymore. He's fucked and overworked and so, so tired that he just flops on the bed and looks up at you lazily through cracked eyelids that are heavy. He likes to hear you talk, no matter how bad he feels and how much he wants everything to be silent but he likes it. It soothes him in a way and just by watching your lips move he could be asleep in an instant. With your voice in the back of his mind and the bass of his song long gone, alone, and asleep.