One Direction | Preferences

The Witching Hour

The Witching Hour

A/N: Basically the period between twelve and three a.m., when, supposedly, the witches and stuff come out. I’m pretty sure I got that from a Roald Dahl book. Did anyone read that? The Witches by Roald Dahl? That was some scary stuff. Anyway, I hope you like it :) Feedback would be awesome.

Niall: The witching hour is when Niall’s plane comes in from a whole different continent, and you’re so excited you can’t breathe, bouncing up and down on your toes, going over and over things in your head, what’ll he look like, whether he still wants to be with you, whether anything has changed, and you work yourself up into this complete mess of emotions.  But then the door’s open and the band and all the people accompanying them come out, looking tired and irritated and just wanting to get home, and Niall’s there, he’s right there, walking over to you, dragging his suitcase along behind him, smiling, big and bright, hurrying across Heathrow’s international terminal to wrap you up in his arms and kiss every inch of you he can reach. 

Harry: The witching hour is when Harry decides that, really, he can’t actually squeeze his body onto the couch, and so he peeks into the bedroom, eyes gritty and back sore, and he just really wants to crawl into bed with you and forgive and forget. “(Y/N)? Baby?” You’re wide awake, of course, it’s hard going to sleep without Harry’s warm body next to yours and his quiet breathing, but you don’t make a sound, just stay completely still. He sighs, and you watch him come over, feet padding across the floorboards. “I’m really sorry,” he murmurs, lifting the duvet, “I didn’t mean to yell, and I didn’t mean anything I said. I love you.” He climbs carefully in, barely jostling you as he hesitantly wraps his arms around your torso, tucking you up against him, chin resting on the top your head, repeating himself, “I love you.” You exhale, and nudge your nose against his collarbones, “I love you, too.” 

Liam: The witching hour is when you wake with a jolt, sure there’s someone chasing you, or that something’s wrong, or that somewhere one of your loved ones is in trouble, until your breathing calms down, and the tears threatening to appear dissolve, and you’re left with a pounding heartbeat, sitting in a bed. “Hey,” and Liam always wakes, he always does, no matter what, maybe it’s some sort of sixth sense he has, knowing when you’re distressed, “Hey, babe. You okay?” His palm is warm and big as it lands on your thigh, a sleepy boy blinking up at you, always looking so much younger and innocent at night as he smiles. “I - Yeah. I’m okay.” “You sure?” Liam murmurs, patting your hip and coxing you back down to lie next to him, breath still coming faster than normal. “Don’t worry, baby, I’m right here. ‘M not gonna let anything get you.” He tucks you up against him, kissing the top of your head, and yeah, Liam will protect you. 

Louis: The witching hour is when Anna wakes, hungry, fussing in her crib before realising that no one’s coming and bursting into tears, crying for either you and Louis to come and feed her. Louis usually rolls from the bed, wiping the sleep from his eyes and pushing the hair out of his face, leaving the darkened bedroom in only a pair of boxers, picking up the little girl and cradling her in one arm, the other hand resting on her stomach to keep her warm as he hurries back to the warmth of your bed, where you’ve managed to sit up, waiting for them. He hands Anna to you, before climbing back under the doona while you shift around, pulling the material of your shirt before settling Anna against your chest as you begin to feed her, glancing down at Louis who’s dozing a bit, not wanting to go back to sleep in case you need him to take Anna back to bed, blinking sleepily up at you, smiling, feeling like the luckiest guy in the world, no matter how late it is, because he’s got his two girls right here with him. 

Zayn: The witching hour is when you follow Zayn out of Danny’s crowded lounge room and out onto the balcony where he’s already lighting up a cigarette, resting his elbows on the balcony as he sucks in the first breath of nicotine, gazing out over the city. “Zayn?” He looks around, eyes quickly landing on, “Oh, hey, baby. I’ll be back in a sec. Just needed a smoke.” “I can see that,” you mumble, moving to join him, hunched over the metal boundary. “What’s up?” “Not much, I just,” he sighs out smoke, the grey swirls disappearing into the night, “I can feel everyone judging me. Half of these people I’ve never met before, they’re all Danny’s friend’s from college, and they only know me as Zayn Malik from One Direction, not Zayn. And it just,” he inhales on the cigarette again, “It just sucks.” You nod, leaning over to kiss his cheek, “Yeah, it must suck, Zayn, sorry.” You fall into silence as he continues smoking, before you break it, eyes trained to the side of his face. “Zayn?” “Yeah?” He looks over, and you smile, soft and warm, “I love you.” He blinks, but then grins at you, resting his hand over yours, tangling your fingers together, “I love you, too.”