5SOS Preferences+Imagines [CLOSED]

College/University [Au] - Part 1

Ashton:

You clench your pencil in your hand, about to explode. You have a huge test for Medieval Lit due tomorrow, it’s 2AM, and this random guy is bugging the hell out of you. Your roommate is fucking her boyfriend and kicked you out of your dorm, and your school has a 24-hour library so you thought it would be quiet. But no. This asshole in a band t-shirt and beanie is drumming his pencil against the table loudly not too far from you. It’s quiet and empty except for him, and you’re stressed, exhausted, and annoyed. So you walk over. “Excuse me,” You say and he looks up, and you’re slightly taken aback at how hot he is. “Your drumming is distracting and… it’s distracting. I’m trying to study.” You say in a tone like you’re polite but not taking any shit. “Sorry,” He says sincerely, “I don’t even know I’m doing it sometimes. I’m a drummer and it’s just a habit. If I’m distracting you again, just throw a book at me.” He flashes a grin and you laugh. “I wouldn’t worry about it, I have bad aim.” “Well, you could just sit here and have a better shot.” He grins cutely, which is an odd word because he’s that right amount of muscular and like 6 feet tall, “I’m Ashton.” “I’m Y/N.”

Luke:

“Umm, professor?” “Yes, Y/N?” Your professor says, gathering his things quickly. “I’m having a tough time with this unit. You said something about meetings after school-” “Well, unfortunately, something has come up. But I can leave you in the hands of my TA. He’s your age so he should-” “My age? Aren’t they supposed to be older?” “Well he’s a first-year grad student,” Your professor explains, “He skipped two grades. He should be here any minute. See you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” A few minutes after your professor leaves, a tall, blonde, spectacled, attractive guy walks in. “Hi, are you one of the students who need tutoring?” He asks. He says this nicely, but you can’t help but feel like the biggest fucking idiot. Who even needs tutoring in college? “Yeah I just don’t understand.” You say, feeling your face burn in embarrassment. “Hey, don’t worry. I’ll try my best to make it understandable, but this shit is hard.” He leans against the professor’s desk and you laugh, “I’m Luke. Hemmings.” He extends his hand. “I’m Y/N.” You shake it. “Nice to meet you. Wanna get started?” “Sure.” As you pull out your book, you can’t help but feel this subject is about to get much more interesting.

Calum:

You see him everywhere. That stupid, annoying, cocky soccer player Calum Hood. He’s in your dorm hall, on your floor. You see him in the back of some of your 101 classes, in the mess hall, on the quad playing soccer, the hallways, everywhere. He wasn’t irritating at first. Actually, you think he’s kinda hot. But then he got a girlfriend (knowing his reputation, multiple girlfriends,) and all you can hear from your dorm room are constant sounds of fucking from his room across from you. You have an essay in your hardest class due tomorrow, and the library is crowded and you just want to finish the damn thing but you keep hearing “CALUM OH MY GOD CALUM” over and over. And you’re done with it. You march over to his room, mid-sex, and bang on the door. Calum answers the door only in boxers (thank god), “Hey, babe. You mind? You’re interrupting-” “Don’t call me ‘babe.’ Your constant fucking is annoying as hell. Can you at least try to keep it down?” He just smirks, “I think you’re jealous.” You scoff, officially pissed off. “Oh right. Exactly. Because I can’t be legitimately pissed at you because it’s not like you’re a grade-A douchebag.” You roll your eyes, “Not fucking likely. If you don’t keep it down, I’ll call the RA.” You walk over to your room and slam the door.

Michael:

Your best friend ditched you some time ago, and you’ve just been sipping at beer at a Kappa Alpha Gamma party. Why are you even at a frat party? You don’t see any of the guys except for some classes, you don’t like binge drinking, and you don’t do drugs/partake in random sex. Which are what all KAG parties are about. You manage to find yourself at a table where there’s a game of “Never Have I Ever” about to start with a bunch of people. One of them is Michael Clifford, the vice president of the frat, who is fiddling with his snapback. “What are we, middle schoolers?” He asks, a smirk on his face, but agrees to play. And you can’t help but stare at him while the game goes on, because he’s hot. And his hair is bright and distracting. Why does a member of a frat have bright pink hair anyway? You’re playing a type where if you don’t want to say, you do a jello shot. A lot of these questions are personal, and you end up doing a lot of shots. Everything feels like fuzz and everything is funny. Suddenly, a bright pink glow picks you up and carries you upstairs and sets you down in a bed. “What the-” You murmur, confused and scared. “Hey don’t worry. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay. No funny business, I swear.” A warm voice fills your brain as you can’t help but fall asleep.