Harry Styles Imagines/Blurbs

He Loves When You Wear His Clothes

One chilly night in September was the first time he'd seen you in a piece of his own attire, the first time his breath had hitched surprisingly in his throat and he'd tried to keep from being as obvious as his jitters made him feel. He hadn't really thought about it, honestly, you'd just seemed cold and he offered the sweatshirt thrown in his backseat like any decent human being would have. But when you'd slipped it on, flipping your hair out the back and drawing the sleeves down over your icy fingers, the most unexpected, overwhelming feeling came over him and he'd had to take a deep breath and comment about the song on the radio-- a weak attempt at covering his admiration of just how wonderful the sight of you in his clothes was. At the time, he knew it looked much more than it meant, but he had wished so badly in that moment that it could mean what it looked-- that you were his, totally wrapped up in him, soft and warm and putting to shame the way he looked in his own clothes.

It had been obvious in his eyes though. You'd giggled quietly at his locked jaw and the nervous twitches he attempted to hide. So from then on, as your relationship inevitably grew (much to his delight), so did your knack for absconding with his clothes (much to his great delight).

One of his favorite things was when you'd stumble down the stairs in one of his shirts, hair still a bit crazy from sleep and eyes still half-shut without caffeine to prop them open yet. You'd just look too adorable to keep from a cuddle, which is exactly why, no matter what he'd be doing or how interesting the article he was scrolling through on his phone was, he'd get up without hesitation and pull you into his long arms, a smile disappearing into your unkempt hair. "Good morning," he'd almost sing, they way your shoulders peaked out of the large neckline probably making him a little too chipper for such an early morning. "Morning," you'd sigh, too tired to do anything other than melt into his chest, hooking your hands on the back of his shoulders. And man, that'd just make him sigh too-- in the most content, happy kind of way-- and hug you just a bit tighter before releasing you to your quest for coffee. And despite your playful whines for him to stop being creepy, he wouldn't be able to help but keep stealing glances at you stumbling around the kitchen and giggling at your silly objections. Because you both knew you enjoyed it probably a little too much.

Other times he'd find you lounging in one of his tshirts, busily tacking away at your laptop or scribbling on some work paper. When he found you in such a concentrated state with pieces of hair falling all around your glasses and your brows in a constant furrow, he'd take the golden opportunity to fix you a cup of tea and coax you for a break with his thumbs meeting your shoulders blades. "Come on, then, love," he'd speak quietly near your ear. "You've been at this for hours." And you wouldn't help but smile at the deep, rhythmic patterns his fingers would massage into your stiff muscles, knowing full well he had his own reasons for interrupting. No matter what you were doing, he couldn't resist somehow managing to touch you when you wore his clothes.

Which is exactly why when you wore his sweatshirts, his big hands would immediately circle your waist and fan at your back, pulling you close enough that you could feel his giggles of admiration on your nose. "You're pathetic," you'd giggle back. "I know," he'd respond simply before ending the conversation with a kiss, his fingers enjoying the feeling of your body beneath his fabric. Or why when he'd find you drowning in his joggers, he wouldn't be able to help but take advantage of how the waist of them was rolled down just enough times for his hands to catch on your bare hips. And especially why when you'd trot into the room wearing his Packers jersey he'd have a hard time not jumping you right then and there.

He'd also like when you'd be out with him at an event and he'd get the chance to drape his suit coat around your shoulders. Not only did it do a number on his heart to see you pull it tighter around yourself and appreciate the leftover touch of his cologne, it also gave him immeasurable pleasure to have you marked with his love in such a tangible way. With his coat around your shoulders and your hand in his, no one would ever be able to question who was whose. And he'd be so crazy about you he wouldn't want it any other way.

What would drive him especially mad, though, is when you'd slip on one of his expensive silky dress shirts in lieu of your own silk gown. Watching you get ready for bed and swish around the room with his patterned shirts unbuttoned and not covering nearly enough for him to be content to mind his own business was especially lovely, but especially difficult-- particularly when you'd glance over at him with that sly smirk of yours, knowing exactly what you were doing. "Babe, I can't decide if you're more sexy or more adorable like that," he'd grin, though his words would sound dangerously close to an annoyed groan. "Are they mutually exclusive?" you'd tease, finally moving closer to his perch on the edge of the bed. "Well, no, I don't suppose so," he'd chuckle as you'd put your hands on his shoulders and lean to kiss him. But, just as your lips would brush his, he'd flop backward, pulling you with him. "Harry!" you'd exclaim in shock, but your combined giggles and playful pokes would quickly drown out your initial protest. "This is my shirt, you know," he'd tease, still giggling as his body would roll on top of yours. "I think I'll need it back," he'd grin, those familiar dimples unable to contain themselves as his fingers would tug gently at the collar. "We both know you like it better on me," you'd tease right back, making him bust into another set of excited chuckles. "Fair point," he'd laugh while his face moved towards your neck, nuzzling his lips and nose just under the fabric to your collar bone and inciting a fresh wave of giggles from your own lips. Because when it came right down to it, no matter how hard a time he'd tried to give you for your frequent knack of swiping things from his wardrobe, he'd never, ever want it to stop.