Niall:
You lifted the shade to your bedroom window, peeking out into the darkness. You heart was slamming into your ribs as you squinted, the headlights of Niall’s beat up mustang coming into view. If your parents had any idea you were seeing him or sneaking out, they’d kill you. Niall was a bad boy, lip piercing, tattoos with an attitude to match. He wasn’t a bully, he just had an attitude problem. He didn’t like authority and it seemed like he spent most of his time in the principals office but you didn’t care; you were crazy over him. You slid the window up, thanking the good lord in heaven that your room was on the first floor. Your feet hit the grass and you took off, glancing over your shoulder once more to make sure you managed to escape. You opened the car door, a faded, rusty blue that at one point must have looked amazing and there he was. Niall, sprawled in the drivers seat, his teeth biting on his lip ring, his eyes dark as he looked at you. “Hi, baby,” you shivered, there was something so delicious in how he said that. You slid into the car and he immediately grabbed you, pulling you into his chest. He tilted his head down and kissed you, the cool metal of his lip ring gliding over your mouth, his fingers in your hair. His mouth moved hungrily over yours, swallowing your sighs and soft moans. Damn, did Niall think that was sexy. “Ready to go?” You nodded, sliding int the seat. His hand was on your thigh, leisurely exploring and teasing your skin. To top it all off, he was in a band and tonight he had a gig. He drove to the bar he was playing at, dragging you in behind him. No one gave you a hard time: you were Niall’s girl. As he began to play, your breath caught. Tattos, a piercing and a guitar made for quite the combination. He started to play, his eyes on you as he sang, he shot you a wink and sent you his trade mark grin and you smiled. He was irresistible and he was all yours.
Zayn:
He took a drag of his cigarette, his cheeks hollowing as he did so. One boot clad foot crossed over the other as he shifted his weight, his hip resting on his bike. He was the campus bad boy; dark, mysterious and just a little bit moody. Girls fawned over him, the tattoos and motorcycle making for a drool worthy combination. His hair was like black ink, his eyes melted chocolate. And when he gave you that quick, panty dropping grin- well, it was more than you could handle. He was always seen on the quad this time of day, no one knew why. Well, except for him of course. At three thirty on the dot you stumbled out of the library, arms over flowing with books. He didn’t know why he was so fascinated about you, or why he drew your eyes in his sketchpad at night. But you were his constant thought. Zayn took one last pull and flicked the butt away, his boot crunching over it as he crossed the grass. People parted for him, he realized as he walked. Girls swooned and guys glared, Zayn had an unexplainable power. “Here,” he said gruffly, holding out his arms when he reached you. You looked up, a piece of hair falling in your eyes. Before he knew what he was doing, he tucked the errant strand behind your ear and took your books. His hands were shaking as he did it, not believing he had finally gotten to feel your skin under his fingers, how many hours did he dream of what that would feel like? No one was more surprised than you when he led you across the quad, earning curious glances. “Th-thank you,” you mumbled when you reached his car. He smiled at you then, the hardness around his eyes evaporating, the lines of his face softening. “Any time, pretty girl.” With a smug smile on his face, Zayn turned and walked away.
Liam: "Be quiet," he hissed, his boots making barely any noise over your kitchen floor. It was late, a little after two a.m. and you were starting to wonder how Liam convinced you to do this. You grabbed a bottle of vodka off the counter and followed him out the back door. Liam had no regard for rules or curfews, what was the point anyway? He took your hand, the leather of his jacket brushing your skin as he tugged you around the backside of your house and into the woods. His steps were slow and careful, making sure you were able to keep up. "Almost there," he said, the darkness surrounding you. You would have been terrified if he wasn’t here. Liam didn’t take any nonsense, he’d been known for throwing a punch or two when needed. You stepped into the clearing and saw the wood stacked up. It was also illegal to have bonfires in the woods, but Liam shrugged it off. He took out his lighter and cupped his hand over the flame. Riveted, you watched the light flicker over his jaw as he brought the fire to life. His eyes looked dark-almost black in the light and he held out his hand to you. You curled up next to him on the log and twisted the cap off the bottle. "I’m glad you came," he said quietly, his eyes looking into the flames. You were so innocent, he almost felt bad corrupting you but he couldn’t stay away from you. He had tried, but he failed. "Even though I’m not the best thing for you," he said more to himself than you. You shook your head, heart breaking. How to make him see you saw past that roughness, those hard edges? In a moment of bravery, you put your hand over his heart, the heat of his skin shocking your palm. "I see this," you whispered softly. "I see your heart, Liam, and it is beautiful,"
Harry:
Broody. Moody, full, pink pouting lips. Dark eyes, tattoos and a rebel heart. Harry was something else entirely. He wasn’t bad, he was just misunderstood. He didn’t trust easily, he didn’t let people in. He’d been used a time or two and it made him bitter, cynical. Not many people understood that his silence was just indifference and not anger. He knew though, he just didn’t care enough to correct anyone. What was the point anyway, they’d all believe what they wanted regardless. His eyes took in the library, the spines of books melting and blending into each other as he stared. His pen rolled between his fingers, his eyes flicking to where you sat. Your head was bent, pieces of hair falling into your eyes. He slid further into his seat, eyes on your jaw, your lips. He couldn’t talk to you, he didn’t know what to say. He’d known you most of his life and his crush on you hadn’t lessened over the years; if anything it had gotten worse. There was a kindness in your eyes that Harry longed to know, longed to be under. You lifted your head and met his eyes, smiling timidly. With a wave, you slid into the seat next to him. “Hi, Harry,” his green eyes were fixed on yours. How did you breath under the weight of his gaze? “Hi, yourself,” his voice was deeper, huskier than you thought. You talked for a little and Harry wondered what he was doing. You were so good, so lovely and what was he? Broken? Misunderstood. What could he give you, how could this be? Even though you were all he thought about, how could this work? “Don’t,” you put your hand under his as he drew into himself as he always did. “Stay with me, okay?” And in that glance you gave Harry, he felt something inside him shift and fall back together. He linked his hand with yours and smiled saying, “Try and get me to leave,”
Louis: He was an asshole. With his wicked sense of humor and sharp tongue, Louis Tomlinson lost friends fast and made enemies faster. What did he care? He didn’t need anyone. His hair stuck up all over his head and the tattoos on his forearms and chest peaked out from under his shirt. No one understood him, no one cared enough to try. Except for you, and he couldn’t figure it out. How many times did he push you away and snarl in your face? How many hurtful words did he say to you? You would recoil, as if struck and something inside Louis’ chest broke further. Good, he always thought, let her hate me, what can I give her anyway? But no matter how many times you pushed, your soft hand would find his and something inside him snapped just a little bit more each time. Louis had never needed anyone in his life, so why did he need you? “Stop fighting me,” you hissed, eyes hard on his. It was a Friday and somehow you found yourself with Louis in his car. It smelled like cigarette smoke, cologne and something only Louis had. He tried to stay away, honest, he just couldn’t help himself. “Why? I’m no good for you. I don’t know why you don’t leave me alone!” He spat, eyes staring out over the hood. “Why do you keep coming around then?” You asked softly, your timid eyes on his face. He gasped, his jaw tightening and in that simple move you knew: Louis cared. “Admit it, Lou. You can’t keep lying to me. I see it all over your face. You care and you’re terrified. Everyone’s hurt you and you can’t trust them. I get it,” you huffed, hand plowing through your hair. “I’m not going to hurt you,” you said slowly, your words hitting home. “You can’t know that,” he said hoarsely, his resolve breaking. You climbed into his lap, your lips pressing against his. His hands clutched your jacket, his mouth desperate as he breathed you in, his mouth greedily moving over yours. “I can and I do. I’m not going anywhere.” Louis nodded, his forehead against yours, his heart opening up under your mouth.
