1D + 5SOS Preferences/Imagines from Tumblr

(1D) You Guys Go To The Same High School

You Guys Go To The Same High School



Louis:

Score! Louis Tomlinson score yet another goal against the opposing team. You blankly watched the sweaty boys run back and forth across the field, Louis scoring over and over again with ease. You didn't really know why you were there. I mean the out come was obvious. You're school would win, like always. Louis Tomlinson was the best in the league and he never failed to score over half the points in every game. Your gaze flicks from him to the ball he is kicking down the field from your spot at the very top corner of the bleachers. You've never been the swooning over jocks type, but Louis seems different. He's nice to everyone, get's A's in every class, and he's hilarious... not to mention he's super attractive. The buzzer calls the end of the game and everyone from our school cheers, mostly for Louis. The teams run into the locker room and the crowd slowly filters out of the stands and to their cars. You stay at the top as you text you mother to come pick you up. You chew on your lip and look out on the empty field for a while before standing up and slowly making your way through to parking lot. As you're passing the locker room doors they swing open, hitting you in the face and knocking you over.

"Ouch," You cover your throbbing nose and close your eyes.

"Oh my-" Your attacker kneels beside you and helps you sit up. "Are you ok?" The silky, concerned British accent asks. You open your eyes, your gaze falling on a very worried and sweaty Louis Tomlinson. Your eyes widen and you sit in shock for a moment before answering.

"Yeah... I'm fine." Your cheeks involuntarily turn a light pink as he gently grabs your elbow and helps you up.

"I am so sorry... Hey, aren't you that girl from school?" His crystal blue eyes practically making you melt.

"Yes, I am that girl from school." You say sarcastically with a playful look. A chuckle slips from his lips.

"Well, that girl from school, I am extremely sorry for hitting you with a door and I will make it up to you by taking you out on a date this Friday at 8." He dramatizes his British accent with a hint of cockiness.

"What makes you think I will?" You jeer playfully. His cocky appearance face and his cheeks turn red in embarrassment.

"Oh... you don't have t-"

"But I will." You interrupt him with a smile. Your mom pulls up and honks her horn. "I should go." With a surge of confidence you pick up his hand and pull a sharpie out of your pocket, writing your number on his palm. "Call me." You say quickly before hurrying off to the car.

"Wait! I didn't get your name!" He shouts. You spin around, backing towards the car.

" Y/N." You yell back with a smirk before getting into the car and driving off. He watches the red tail lights of your car until their out of sight. He looks down at the number scrawled down on his palm with a smile.

"Y/N." He whispers with a smirk.





Zayn: "Terrorist, 3 o' clock," one of your "friends" sneered. What? You glance up only to find Zayn Malik shuffling down the hall. His head is slightly dropped, paying more attention to the scuffed floors of the high school halls then any of his cruel school mates. You watch him intently, feeling a small flutter in your stomach. His dark hair, perfectly styled in a messy quiff falls slightly in front of his naturally tanned face. He is kind of attractive. Your eyes wander down his body. High cheek bones... full lips... tensed jaw... defined biceps... How could someone think he is a terrorist. I mean c'mon. I purse my lips in disapproval at the bimbo's rude comment. A varsity jacket-clad jock roughly shoves him, making him stumble one side. The jock smirks and watches him like a predator stalking his prey waiting for it's next move. Zayn steadies himself and clenches his teeth before slowly moving on. Of course, the jock isn't finished. He shoves him against a locker.

"Where do you think you're going?" He taunts, enjoying his power over him. You take a step forward. What are you doing?! You are popular. He is... is... unpopular. You do not stand up for them. Zayn glares past him at the lockers behind the jock, not making eye contact and staying quiet.

"Huh, terrorist?" He taunts further. It worked. Eye contact.

"Ass hole," Zayn mutters. It's over. You start to turn back to your group of friends, but Zayn suddenly whips up his fist and punches his antagonist right in the jaw. The jock stumbles back, surprised, but quickly recovers and punches him right back in the eye. Before you even realize what your doing, your in between the two boys, hopefully preventing any more punches. The jock stalks away, satisfied with the final outcome. Zayn grits his teeth and pushes past you.