One Direction | Preferences

Hoodies

Hoodies

A/N: In honour of my new hoodie, here is a preference on them :) x

Niall: They smell like cologne and beer and Niall and you wear them probably a bit more than you should. You can pull the front over your tucked up legs, and bury your arms in the sleeves, and if you pull the hood up, you’re completely immersed in it, safe in Niall’s clothing, even if he isn’t actually here.

Harry: You sit there in his grey one, perched on the edge of the fancy armchair of the hotel room. There are high ceilings, a huge bed with curtains, chandeliers dripping with diamonds, and it’s all so expensive that you don’t want to touch anything, waiting for Harry to get out of the shower as you survey the suite he’s booked for your weekend in Paris. When he finally does emerge, hair wet and sticking to his forehead, he grins at your nervous form, picking you and carrying you easily across the room to dump you on the bed, quickly following. 

Liam: It haunts you. The one thing Liam forgot to take with him. The black, well worn hoodie folded over the back of the chair in your bedroom. It’s there every time you wake up, and everytime you go to sleep, burning in the fact that Liam’s gone. The hoodie is the last thing you have left, and maybe that’s why you refuse to throw it out or take it back to him. 

Louis: Louis has an old Doncaster Rovers one that you tend to put on when you’re watching television, curled up on the couch with him, limbs tangled together. It’s warm and safe, and you could be the most normal couple in the world, sitting down to watch the new episode of Homeland. The material of the hoodie is well worn and soft, and tucked against Louis’ body, you reckon you could be the happiest girl in the world.

Zayn: You pull Zayn’s on when the two of you venture out onto the balcony, the city of London spreading out around you. It’s always cold, because he tends to smoke more at night, the two of you settled in the  metal chairs, huddled up against the wind that’s icy this high up. You tuck your hands into the big pocket as Zayn smokes, but his hand always tends to steal one of yours away, holding it tight in his, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palm.