One Direction | Preferences

He finds out you're ticklish.

He finds out you’re ticklish.

A/N: I used to be really ticklish, strangely not anymore, just my feet… hmm. Anyway, enjoy :) x

Niall: As soon as Niall realises you’re ticklish he’s all over it, every chance he has, his fingers are jabbing into the soft flesh of your hips or feet or knees or neck or armpits, catching you completely unawares and reducing you to a giggling mess, yelling for him to stop, please, you yield. He likes it, likes having a one up against you, because you’re usually controlling him, smiling and laughing and talking, causing him to lose concentration and get giddy and crazy and reckless, so he likes being able to control you in some way. But he always stops before he brings you to any harm, or it becomes uncomfortable for you, gathering your limp body up in his arms and kissing away the last few giggles. “I love you.” 

Harry: Harry’s long fingers drag over the back of your knees, and you twitch them away from his hands, smiling. He grins cheekily, and fumbles beneath the blankets to find your knee again, holding it steady with one hand while beginning to stroke the back with his fingertips. “Stop,” you laugh, trying to squirm away, but he keeps a grip on your leg, beginning to full on tickle you, bringing you to hysterics. “Are you ticklish there, baby?” “Yes, yes!” you shriek, and his laugh rumbles through the air, having found a new thing to use to keep you at his mercy. 

Liam: You giggle into your hand as Liam’s fingers tap just above your hips while the two of you wait just inside the hotel lobby, security outside trying to control the crowd of fans. “What?” Liam asks, resting his chin on your shoulder to grin up at you, and you shake your head, “Nothing.” He kisses your collarbone, and continues to press into the flesh just below your ribcage, eventually leading to you shrieking quietly when he pushes too hard, his eyebrows raising as you squirm out of his grip. “I’m ticklish there,” you scold him, and his eyes light up. “Are you really?” “Uh huh. And you are to promise not to use it against me.” Liam smirks, “I don’t think I can promise anything of the sort, actually.”

Louis: Louis grabs your ankles, dragging you back down the bed, and you grip onto the sheets in a mad effort to stop him, your laughter muffled by the mattress as you try and squirm away. “I’ve got you now,” he announces, laughing as he tugs harder, your fingers dragging useless over the sheets. The pad of his finger brushes over the inside your foot, and you shriek without really meaning to, causing him to stop immediately, making you look around. His mouth is open, eyebrows raised, and, god, he looks so, so incredibly smug, continuing to brush his fingertips over the sole. “Stop, stop,” you squeal, crawling back to peel his hand away, laughing through your words, because, god damn it, you’re incredibly ticklish. Your hands tangle and knot and fumble with his before he gives up trying to reach your feet again, flopping down on top of you, lips at your neck as you’re slowly crushed beneath his weight, not that you mind. 

Zayn: Zayn discovers the weakness when he’s hovering over you, licking into your mouth, and dragging his fingertips up your sides, making you squirm and huff a laugh against his lips, making him pause, and then do it again. “Stop,” you complain, grabbing your hands in his, and he pulls back, smirking, “Are you ticklish?” “No,” you insist, and he raises an eyebrow, wiggling his hands out of your grip and running them over your sides continually, causing you to throw your head back against the pillows, shrieking  “Zayn. Zayn! Stop, stop, please.” He shuts you up with his mouth, crashing back down to yours, and you gasp air from his throat, before he finally stops, kissing the corners of your lips, and then your nose. “You’re amazing.”