Preferences/Imagines w/ one direction.

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57. You wear his clothe

57# You wear his clothe

Note- ((for the first time))

Harry: He threw open the front door, his rain matted curls sticking to his cheek and forehead. You barged in behind him, your shirt and jeans now plastered to your body. You both looked at each other for a moment and burst into laughter, shaking the rain off your bodies. “Holy shit,” he muttered, looking back out at the rain that had just dumped down on you both. It was a nice night, and you and Harry decided to take a little walk through the park. It had been wonderful, his hand in yours and the stars over head. But when the sky opened up, you were both caught in the middle of the park with a twenty minute walk back in the rain. So you both did the most logical thing: you jumped in the puddles. You and Harry had been dating for a while now, but by far this was your favorite date. Both of you were soaked and cold, but you’d never forget him spinning you around as the rain kissed your faces. “Let’s get you dry,” he said closing the door on the rain. You followed him up to his room, the apartment smelling like cologne and the dying embers of a fire. “Yes please,” you said as you stepped into his room. It was a masculine space, dark cherry bed and hard wood floors. The space was all Harry and you felt closer to him here. He handed you out some of his clothes, sweats and a hoody and left you to change. The clothes smelled just like him as you slipped them on, the giant sleeves falling down past your fingers. When Harry came back in to grab his clothes, he stopped. You looked small and so, so adorable. “They’re a bit big,” you said sheepishly, pulling up the arms. He just smiled and ran his fingers down your cheek. “You’re the cutest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said quietly, a lopsided grin on your face. Seeing you in his clothes reminded Harry once again how utterly his you were, and the thought never failed to make him smile.

Liam: He kept his apartment at ice box temperatures for some unknown reason. The cold never seemed to bother him, he always seemed comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans, but you always knew to dress warm when you went over. Except today-you forgot your sweat shirt. So while he was making lunch you rummaged through his closet. You found the grey sweatshirt you loved him in. It was comfy and warm and always smelt like him. You slid on it, grinning at how large it was on your tiny little frame. You didn’t mind, it was cozy. You went back down and waited in the TV room, curled up on the corner of the couch when Liam walked in. His steps faltered as he looked at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he fondly looked at you. He had never thought to let you wear his clothes before, but now he was wishing he had. You looked so adorable and so tiny in his ginormous gray sweatshirt. You were grinning at him, your chin hidden in the neck of the sweatshirt. “See something you like?” You crowed, the long sleeves falling over your fingers as he reached for your hand. “Hell yeah, you look adorable babe,” he pulled you into his lap, nuzzling under your chin. “This is comfy, I like it,” you let him cuddle you, lunch long forgotten. “Keep it. I’ll give you my whole wardrobe if you want it,” he said through kisses, his cold hands snaking up under your sweater to rub against your warm skin. “I don’t think I’ll look good in all your clothes,” you mused as you crinkled your nose. Liam begged to differ. He had thoughts of you in just one of his button down, a pair of heels and those black lace panties he bought you last year. “I bet you that you do,” he said, his blood stirring at the image he had just conjured up. “Oh really?” You asked, brow raised as he stood, easily holding your weight in his arms. “Yup, and I’m willing to bet on it. Winner makes the loser by dinner, and the winner gets to do whatever they want to the loser.” You debated for a moment, sealing the deal with a kiss. You lost in the end-but the sex was worth it.

Niall: You bounded into his bed, a giddy laugh spilling from your lips. You were sleeping over Niall’s for the first time. You guys had wanted to take things slow, but you both had had too many beers and he didn’t want you to drive. Which is exactly how you found yourself in the middle of his king sized bed. He had told you to grab something from his drawer and he’d be right up. You tore through his dresser, finding that black t-shirt he always wore that was so soft and made him look dangerous. You slid it over your head, the material softer than you imagined. “Wow…” you looked up as Niall stepped into the room, his shoulder leaning against the doorjamb. “What?” You asked, looking at him as you twisted your hair into a braid. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to be any more beautiful, but I was wrong.” He would never tell you how hot it made him and how possessive he felt as he saw you in his clothes. “You’re insane,” you giggled, falling back into his pillow. He dove on top of you, his fingers digging into your sides. The shirt ride up, his fingers tickled skin. He smelt his cologne, your perfume and he knew he wouldn’t be washing this shirt for a while. “I’m serious!” He exclaimed, his hands pinning yours above your head, his blue eyes bright as he looked down at you. “You look so warm, so soft,” his tone dropped and his fingers ran up your arms to cup your chin. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered as he looked down at you. “Really,” you breathed, heart lodged in your throat. He grinned and nodded, bumping his nose against his. You sighed, eyes fluttering closed and laughed. “Oh yeah,” he said, his lips pressing against yours. “I’m in love alright,” with that, you twisted your fingers in his hair and smiled, knowing that you were just in love as he was and there was no way out. Which was perfectly fine with you both because there was no one else for either of you.

Zayn: You were starving. Your stomach was echoing off the walls and you were worried about waking Zayn up. He was dozing peacefully beside you, his long lashes resting on his perfectly sculpted cheek bones. You slipped out of bed, grabbing his shirt off the floor and slipping it over your head. His sweatpants were there too and you tugged them on, rolling the waist down so the tip of your feet just showed. You smiled, wrapping your arms around yourself. You went down and made a kettle for tea, thinking to surprise Zayn in bed when his warm arms wrapped around your waist, his warm, sleepy breath in your neck. “Mornin’ babe,” he murmured through soft kisses on your skin. “Hi, yourself,” you smiled as his hands slid to your hips, pulling you further back into his chest as he continued to kiss your neck. You giggled, Zayn clearly hadn’t kissed you enough last night-which was impossible considering how much time his mouth spent on your skin. “You’re in my clothes,” he said suddenly, stepping back to look at you. “I’m sorry, I just needed something-” he held up his hand and cut you off, his dark eyes crinkling up as he smiled. “Don’t ever apologize. We need to make this a thing. You look hot,” you scoffed, pouring you each a mug and sliding his in front of him. “You need glasses,” as soon as you said it, you thought of him in those black frames he had and your heart immediately slammed into your ribs. “I have glasses,” he said between sips. “And you’d still look hot,” he winked for good measure and you flushed, the weight of his gaze on your body. “Whatever you say,” you shrugged, blowing on the surface of the tea. “That’s it. Teas done and I’m not hungry. Let’s go,” he tugged you out of the kitchen, your mug just balancing on the counter. “What are we doing?” You asked as he flung you into the bed. With a salacious grin he said, “getting you out of those clothes, baby girl.”

Louis: He could see you from his spot on the field, your bright eyes and smile making him grin as he shook his head. He had another charity match today and it was wicked cold out. He felt bad that you had to stand for three hours in the frigid Doncaster air, but you would never miss an opportunity to see him play. You snuggled down into his hoody, the Rovers emblem blazing across the front. On the back was his last name, and for a moment you couldn’t even believe you were wearing your boyfriends hoody and that you were his girl. He had watched you slip it on earlier, a mega watt smile on his face. “You look pretty great, wearing my name and all,” he grinned, stuffing his cleats into his bag. You grinned, slipping your hands in to the pockets. “I think it suits me pretty well,” you had said making him laugh. You’d driven to the field in silence, his hand laced through yours. As you went separate ways he called, “see you, Tonmo!” You blushed the whole way to your seat, pleased to have his last name for your own. You had dreamed about it, of course. You wanted his last name for your own. You shook your head now as you looked at him sprinting across the grass. They were winning and you knew Louis would want to go out and celebrate, both of you repping the Tomlinson name. He found you after, smelling of sweat and grass but you didn’t mind when he pulled you into his arms and kissed you breathless. “Great game!” You congratulated him, your arm snug around his waist. “I had my best girl there wearin my jersey, I had to win it for her,” he leaned down midstride and pressed a smacking kiss to your lips. “You’ve done her proud,” you assured him as he slid behind the wheel. He started the car but didn’t back out just yet. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but seeing you in his hoody with his name on it did something to him. “Can I ask you something?” He said suddenly, turning in his seat to face you. “What’s up?” He nibbled his lower lip as he thought, his hand rubbing along the wheel. “Wanna keep my name permanently?” Your jaw dropped, face scarlet and he laughed. “Not just now, but later on.” He said quickly, not wanting to force marriage too soon. You took his hand and pressed your lips to his left ring finger. “Yeah,” you said slowly, “I want your last name forever.”

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