One Direction Preferences

155-Sweaters

CREDIT TUMBLR

Louis: "That's mine," he whines, tugging at the sleeve of the sweater that rests on your body. He pouts as you duck away from him, a sly smile on your face, "You've got tons of your own jumpers!" he exclaims in exasperation, already giving in when a smile creeps into his words. Rolling his eyes, he scoots in beside you on the sofa, tugging blankets up to both your chins as you automatically curl into the curve of his body, your eyes on the fire, his on you, "You're lucky you're cute."

Harry: "C'mon wear it!" he chuckles, pleadingly. You sigh, groaning about how ridiculous you look. As you enter the room, his words and smile hold amusement, but his eyes hold love. "C'mon, you look beautiful, nothing could make you look bad, honest!" he grins, bringing you in for a sweet kiss on the lips, an arm slung lazily over your shoulders. You roll your eyes, giving in and resting your head on his shoulder. The sweater literally lights up for godsakes, but he's got one on too, and he's there. It's not so bad.

Niall: Light from the fire flickered through the room, his eyes watched in adoration as the light from the flames danced across your bare skin, clad in one of his grey sweaters, and nothing more. He swore he'd never seen anything more beautiful, as he curled in beside you, taking your body into his lap, wrapping his arms around your frame. "Aren't ya cold darlin'?" he murmurs, holding you tighter as you grin, pressing your lips to his neck and breathing him in.

Zayn: "S'bit cold yeah?" he mumbles from above you, the sweater over your torso tugged down over your hands, now being tugged up and over your head. His lips and his hands and his voice fill the room, and your thoughts. It's not really cold anymore, he doesn't think. He doesn't really think anything other than of you if he's completely honest. The way your skin is warm, but trembles under his mouth, the way that sweater looks on the carpeted floor, soon forgotten.

Liam: He laughed airily across from you. Sat directly in front of you on the bed, both in sweatpants and warm, heavy jumpers, cross-legged and warm love shared between your eyes. His fingers toyed with yours in his lap, warm, sweet words spilling from his lips. Everything about him, and about right now is warm and sweet and succulent, and he's rambling about his best Christmas, 8 years ago, which he's sure will turn to the upcoming one if he's got you.