He loves when you wear his...
Niall:He laughs as you walk in the room wearing his overly-sized hoodie. You walk past him to the couch in his living room but you're suddenly being tugged back toward to him. Spinning you around, you're now with him face to face. "You know, I think you should wear my hoodies more often."
Liam:The tanktop you put on is just a tad too big for you but you absolutely love it, and so does he. "I don't know if I should wear it, Liam." You say as you walk up to him. He quickly looks you up and down, "No, I think it looks really good if you ask me."
Louis:"So I see you've been going through my wardrobe, babe." He says, gesturing to the grey track-pants you're wearing but your smile gives it away. "You're lucky I love you, or else I would've thrown a fit - they're my lucky pants."
Zayn:He engulfs you in a hug as you approach him, leather squeaking when you wrap your arms around his waist. "Isn't that my leather jacket?" You don't even say a word and he knows the answer. "Wear it, it looks sexy on you."
Harry:You grab the apartment keys and quickly close the door after yourself, catching up to Harry down the hall. A smile suddenly crosses his face as you get closer, "That's my beanie." You don't even have to answer; your blush gives it away. "You look beautiful with it on."
Tattoos...
Liam:Feeling his skin isn't the same when there's ink underneath your fingertips, even though it is long from when it healed. "You like them?" he always asks. You're too shy to answer, though, so you just nod your head and continues to trace over the intricate lettering on his forearm. He continues to talk to you about how his day was, but you're so lost in the feeling of his warm skin and the black letters that you don't hear what he has to say. That's how he plays most of his tricks on you - while you're lost in his tattoos - because he takes advantage of your hazy state to say something sidetracking or silly, catching you off guard and making you smile.
Louis:Feeling his skin is just that - feeling him. It is nice to have something to distract you from a long day, and his tattooed arms give you just that. Whether it is tracing over the paper airplane in mid-flight, the cup of steaming tea, or the deer, you hold your emotions back with the idle tracing of his tattoos. "Babe," he calls, but you just have to hold up a hand and he knows that you need your time alone with his tattoos. "They get more of your attention than I do," Louis says dejectedly, a pout following soon after. Of course this does what he intended it to do - you lean forward and kiss him on the mouth.
Niall:Feeling his skin is a lovely feeling because there is nothing to cloud over his milky white, taut skin. There is no black inking on his arms, back, chest, or legs, and you love that about him. Apart from his vulgar mouth and wandering hands, the absence of tattoos on his skin makes him look somewhat innocent. Instead of having ink to trace over, you have muscles and veins. "You like that?" he asks as he flexes, a smirk dancing over his bright pink lips. "Think I'm strong, eh?" You simply nod your head and giggle, a sound that morphs his smirk to a smile every time.
Zayn:Feeling his skin is nice, the small swirls of ink dotted all over him making you smile. You were with him for the inking of most of them, creating the whole thing to be a bit more intimate for you. Your love tracing over the skulls inked on his body, but you're always distracted by the random cloudy swirls that were there simply to take up space. Of course you were always mesmerized by running the tips of your fingers over the tattoo on his collarbone, loving the feel of his skin and bone beneath your touch. "What is your favorite?" he would always asks, genuinely looking up to you for an answer he knew he wouldn't get. You smile and shake your head, "I love every one of them, Zayn." He smiles and pecks your lips, "But not as much as I love you, pretty girl."
Harry:Feeling his skin brings a broad smile to your face. "Butterfly," he mumbles, guiding your hand to his stomach. When he comes home from a long day at work or late at night from a concert close to home he always rushes to you to feel your fingers working on his knotted skin. He loves how you take the time to trace literally every single tattoo on his body, your fingers teasing when you reach 'might as well' just above the band of his boxers. "Mm," he mumbles contentedly, a smile gracing his face, dimples carving into his cheeks. "That feels good, baby."
IMAGINE:
