One Direction: Preferences and Imagines (Tumblr)

How you met

First of all, thanks to you guys that have been faithfully reading, has read, or is reading this preference book. I actually almost forgot it was update day :o anyway the update for the 15th will be the 16th (because it's my birthday :D and I'll be busy) unless I can get Mariah to post it 

Love you fellow Directioners <3

~Hanna

 Liam

You stick out like a sore thumb sitting by yourself on a couch. You hate parties. You don't know why you ever let your best friend talk you into coming to this one. You don't drink, you don't smoke, you don't do any of the normal party activities. You just sit there awkwardly, wishing someone would talk to you so you didn't feel so alone. Your wish is granted sooner than you think, because suddenly a stranger is standing over you. "Is this seat taken?" he says loudly so you can hear him over the blasting speakers. "No, go ahead," You assure him. He sits down on the couch next to you. "Thanks. These parties, they aren't really my thing," he explains. "No problem, they're not my thing either," you reply. You continue to look out at all the people dancing. "I'm Liam, by the way," he introduces himself. "I'm y/n." "It's a pleasure to meet you, y/n." "Like wise, Liam." There's a brief silence between you, if you can even call it that due to all the loud music. "Say..." he says. "Would you like to go dance with me?" "Oh, no, I don't dance," you insist. "Neither do I," he grins as he grabs your hand. "Let's go." Before you can protest, he's pulling you to your feet, and towards the crowd of people dancing.

Harry

You hadn't had a serious boyfriend in a long, long time. You figured the right guy would come along, eventually. That's why you were so upset when your best friend set you up on a blind date. Was your love life so sad you depended on other people to play matchmaker for you? You were supposed to meet him at the Starbucks but there was a problem. You had been standing outside in the cold for a good fifteen minutes. You knew nothing about your date. You didn't know what he looked like, what car he drove. All you knew was his name was Harry and he was fifteen minutes late. You were about to call in quits. You'd go home and call your friend and rant about how stupid of an idea this had been. But someone clears their throat from behind you. You turn and face a curly haired boy. He smiles back at you. "You wouldn't happen to be Y/N, would you?" he asks. "I would..." you reply. "I'm sorry it took so long. Traffics a real pain in the arse." "It's fine," you say, shivering. "Are you cold?" he says. "Just a little." He starts to take off his coat but you stop him. "No, no, it's fine. Let's just go inside." "Right," he smiles and opens the door. "After you."

Niall

"Thank you, come again," the Mc Donald's employee says as he hands you your bag. "Finally," you groan as you take your food. You'd been waiting for fifteen minutes for a freaking chicken sandwich and fries. You start to make your way towards the door, but randomly decide to check to make sure your order is right. The last thing you'd want is to get all the way home to find they'd given you the wrong food. It's a good thing you check because sure enough, you see a Big Mac where there should be a chicken sandwich. You sigh and turn around. You make your way through the crowded line back to the counter, where a blonde boy around your age is talking to the cashier. "No, I ordered a Big Mac. This is a chicken sandwich..." he says with his thick Irish accent. "Oh, hold up," You tap him on the shoulder. You smile shyly. "I think I've got your order." His face, which just seconds before was filled with anger and annoyance, lightens up. He flashes you a friendly smile. "Oh. Thanks," he says, exchanging bags with you. "No problem," you reply. "I'm just happy that's all sorted out." "Yeah, the line's crazy, isn't it? It's going to be hard to find a table to eat at." "I think I saw one empty one in the back corner..." "Lead the way?" he asks. You smile back at him. "Okay."

 Louis

You step into the hotel elevator just before the doors close. There's only one other person in the elevator but you aren't paying much attention to them. You keep your eyes focused on the door and pay better attention to the music playing through the speakers in the elevator's roof. Oh no, not this song again. If you had to here "Glad You Came" by the Wanted one more time, you were going to kill someone. "God, I hate this song," the stranger to your right groans. "I just hate the band, to be honest," you say coldly. "Finally, someone who understands." You turn to face the stranger, who has extended their hand towards you. "The name's Louis. Louis Tomlinson." You'd heard the name before, but can't remember where. "I'm y/n." "Y/n.... that's an interesting name. I like it," he smiles. "Say, you wouldn't protest if I bought you a drink, would you? You know, for a fellow unwanted fan...." he suggests. You laugh at his lame attempt at asking you out. "Sure. I'd like that."

Zayn

You step outside onto the rooftop. The cool, nighttime air hits your face, and you take a deep breath. You needed to berate. The hotel was getting stuffy. You couldn't bare stand to stay five more mintues in the room with your boyfriend... or should you say ex boyfriend. You'd found the text messages on his phone and had stormed out of the room after yelling, "We're over!" You had now found your way to the roof top. You blinked back the tears and fumbled in your pocket, searching for the lighter you kept with you at all times. You pull a cigarette from it's pack and stick it between your lips. You're about to light the end of it when someone interrupts your silence. "Smoking kills, you know." You were startled, you didn't know anyone else was up here with you. "I know," you say, but continue to light your cigarette. "Can I borrow a light? My lighter's back in the room," the stranger says, stepping towards you. "I thought you said smoking kills." "I said it kills, I didn't say I didn't do it. Can I get a light?" You hand him your lighter, and he lights his own cigarette. By the small light of the flame you make out the features of his face. "Thanks," he mutters, putting the cancer stick to his own lips. "So what are you doing up here, all by yourself?" "It's a long story," you laugh. "I've got time..." "Don't I get to know your name before I have to tell you my life story?" "It's Zayn. Zayn Malik." "Well, Zayn Malik... it goes like this."