I love him so much

Preference #6: Home
Louis: Time, that’s what you’d said you needed, time. Just some time to think things over, to sort out if you actually wanted to jump into his whirlwind of a life, to present yourself for all types of comments and situations. So he gave you time, three weeks of time, actually; even though after the tenth day of no texts or calls from you, his heart had sunken to the pit of his stomach as he accepted the fact that you didn’t want him, or so he thought. All he could think about as he stumbled down the stairs at three am to answer his door was how he wished that you were curled up next to him, muttering something about hurting whoever was at the door this late. However, his eyes shot completely open as another body slammed into his, clinging to his waist and burying their face into his chest. 
“Love, what’re you doing here? It’s late; you should be at home,” he rasped, timidly leaning back to try and see your face. Louis’ breathing faltered as your lips brushed against his collar bone. 
“You’re my home, Lou.”

Zayn: His eyes were blurred with exhaustion by the time he stepped into the toasty house, snow clinging to his eyelashes and jacket as he toed off his boots. Zayn abandoned his suitcase beside the door and ghosted up the stairs, his bones heavy and ready for a long sleep curled up with you in his bed. He’d been sleeping in a shaky bunk bed on the bus for the last three months, all alone and cramped, and there was nothing he looked forward to more than being able to relax into your arms and sleep for the next two weeks in a stationary bed. As he opened the bedroom door and peeked inside, your sleeping form under the nest of blankets made him sigh as he padded over to join you. Zayn slipped his arm around your waist and nuzzled into your neck, smiling sleepily when you ran your fingers through his hair.
“Welcome home, Z.”

Liam: His cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but that didn’t really matter to him as he stood with his face all but smushed up against the plexiglass window. The last eighteen hours had been some of the most exciting yet stressful of his life, and that was saying something considering he’d done a lot of things in his life that fell into those categories. But nothing had compared to helping you bring a screaming little baby, his screaming little baby, into the world that morning. Liam hadn’t been anywhere besides at your bed or at the nursery, cooing over his daughter since she arrived, and his pride at both you and your little girl was streaming through every pore on his body. 
“Hi, little love. It’s your daddy, and I love you so, so much. So much,” Liam whispered later as he held her securely to his chest. “I can’t wait to take you home with us. With Mummy and I, I mean. You’ll never want for anything, I promise, darling. I love you.”

Harry: “Take me hooooommeeee,” you groaned as Harry crooned out the lyrics to yet another Eagles song, his long fingers drumming on the steering wheel. “Harold, take me home!” You demanded, biting back your smile. 
“Never; I’m kidnapping you, I’m not supposed to take you home just because you ask me to.” He smiled brightly at you, flashing his dimples, which melted your insides like warm butter. You huffed and playfully glared at him. 
“At least tell me where we’re going?” 
“Nope! Kidnappers don’t tell the kidnappee where they’re going either.” 
“Is kidnappee even a word?”
“Now it is. Hush and enjoy the ride.” You finally broke and smiled, lacing your fingers through his before bringing them to your lips to playfully nibble on each one. No matter what you said, you’d always rather be out on one of Harry’s wild adventures than at home, playing it safe.

Niall: You weren’t nervous that they wouldn’t like him, really. It was more of the idea that he wouldn’t like the people you called your family, since they could be a bit…overbearing sometimes. Just a bit, though. Or maybe a lot, whatever works for you. The idea of taking Niall home for the first time to meet your parents terrified you either way. You had a good thing going with Niall, and the worry that your family might do something (not purposely, of course) to jeopardize that rocked your little honeymoon world. You’d told Niall about this, and the Irishman had simply laughed and smothered your face in kisses, claiming that he’d love your family. He had to, they made you. However, as you finally arrived at your parents and Niall began to chat about sports with your dad, then began to flatter your mom about her culinary skills, you relaxed. 
“See, darlin’? Jus’ like ‘m comin’ back home. Not’in to worry about. T’er just as great as you are.”