Louis:
Your older brother had always been the "Superior Sibling." He had more friends than you, better grades than you, more athletic than you. And all of his close friends where exactly like him. You were never interested in those meatheaded jocks. Until one day you were.
You came out of your hobbit hole of a room to get a drink. You find your brother and his friend playing video games on the couch. You feel eyes on you, sure enough his friend is staring at you. You smile politely, continuing on into the kitchen.
You were grabbing a snack when they came in. Your brother pushed you aside teasingly, and you just rolled your eyes at him.
"That's no way to treat lady/gentleman!" His friend says.
Your brother simply shakes his head. "Lady/gentleman? More like wooly mammoth."
You hit him upside the head, as he laughs at his own joke.
His friend says. "Hey, I'm Louis. You are?"
"Not interested." You say, turning back to your brother and fighting for the spot by the cupboard. After he wins, and gets his food, he turns to Louis.
"Dude, they're my sibling. Off. Limits."
Louis puts his hands up defensively and mutters an okay.
But you couldn't miss that sly wink that he gave you before leaving the kitchen.
Marlon:
It was raining outside, but you were warm and cozy inside. Snuggled up on a library couch, book in hand. You slowly sipped hot chocolate, enjoying the peace and quiet.
It didn't last long, as a few "dudebros" entered the library, seemingly for no other reason than to escape the rain.
They settled at a table near you, and with their sad attempt at whispering, there was no way you were getting any more reading done.
You listened to them instead, acting like you were reading. They were talking about football, as playoffs were this coming friday. They changed the topic to Jessica Abernathy, the head cheerleader. She was pretty, not the stereotypical blonde bimbo. She was nice enough and had a good personality, but high school guys only see the outside of people.
"You know, eavesdropping isn't very nice." A male voice says from behind you.
You jerk your head, immediately recognizing the leader of the dudebros, Marlon. He was their quarterback, after all.
"Uh, well, it's not like I actually can read. You're all so distracting." You say back.
He nods, "fair enough. I'll tell them to keep it down. We are in a library."
"Speaking of which, why in here, of all places? There's a diner across the street you could've waited in." You say.
He holds up a copy of The Giver.
"I wanted a book. Sue me."
You roll your eyes. "You do realize that that book is at, like, a 6th grade reading level. Though, I guess I can give you some credit. I didn't think you could read at all." You say, before wanting to clasp a hand over your mouth.
He laughs, clutching his chest. "Ouch, that hurt. You've wounded my ego! How will I ever recover?"
You say "Oh please, me wounding your ego barely even dents it, you have so much of it."
Damn, you're on a roll.
"Fine, if you want to be so picky, then what book should I read?" He asks.
You think about what he would actually like, and what has a good storyline.
"Freak the Mighty. It's still at a lower reading level, we do have to make sure you can understand it, but the story is good. You'd like it." You answer.
"Noted. I gotta run. Catch you around, Y/n." He walks off with a slight wave.
You couldn't help but to think: He knows who I am?
Aasim:
There's this calming peace that comes with working in a coffee shop. Especially on Sunday mornings. Everyone is still asleep, and the sluggish day reminds you that every minute can mean something.
You stood behind the counter, mindlessly doodling on your notepad. The bell rings, and you look up to see a guy around your age sitting down.
"One moment please." You say.
The tables already have menus, and he's flipping through one.
You pull fresh pastries out of the oven, as the timer had just gone off.
You gently toss them on the counter, going back up front with a notepad and pen.
"You ready to order?" You ask.
"Uh, yeah. Can I get a cherry pastry, a vanilla latte, and your number?" He asks slyly.
You were taken aback, but liked the confidence in the guy. It didn't hurt that he was cute, either.
"Mm. Depends. How big of a tip do you plan on leaving?" You joke.
Let's just say that he did end up with your number.
Mitch:
You've never gotten a detention in your life.
Until today.
You were popular, smart, and if we're being honest, a teacher's pet.
That didn't stop you from getting a detention for having your phone out in class, especially while there was a substitute.
You sit nervously in the library, awaiting the teacher to come in.
Another student walks in, a boy you vaguely know. He's in your grade. Mitch.
He sits two rows from you, setting his stuff down and putting in earbuds.
"Um, are you allowed to do that?" You ask without thinking first.
He looks over at you, saying "It's not like he's gonna care. They don't even pay him overtime wages for babysitting us, once he comes in he'll stay for 10 minutes, leave to 'use the bathroom', and return for the last 10 minutes. Basically you can do whatever you want here."
"You get detentions a lot, then?" You ask.
"Yeah. I don't usually do anything. Teachers just don't like me, the way they like you. By the way, what could you have possibly done to be here? What, did you get a question wrong on the homework? God forbid." He jokes.
You think he was trying to be mean but you actually found his joke quite funny. You smile, saying "No. Actually, I was on my phone in class. Can you beleive? That I'd have the audacity to look at my phone instead of the work I'd finished 5 minutes into the period!"
He smiles. It suits him, though you can tell he doesn't do it often.
"You're pretty cool, y/n."
"Not so bad yourself, Mitch."
After that, you may have got detentions a lot more frequently.
Violet:
You had a secret spot, just for you. You tried to not let what they would say effect you, and it didn't, most of the time. But when they got down to that one thing you didn't like, you had to escape.
There's a door, in the bathroom of the study hall. It leads to the roof of the school.
You had accidentally stumbled into it. You were supposed to be in class, but a panic attack had left you sobbing in the bathroom.
When you heard someone coming, you needed to hide. It was a long shot, but it worked. The door opened, and led to the roof.
Whenever things got too bad, you'd go up there.
That's when you met her.
Other kids decided it was time to bully the freak. When they were done, you just wanted some peace. You found her on the roof.
When your shoe made a noise against the roofing, the girl thought she had been caught. Then she saw you.
"Uh, hi?" She said.
"Hi." You assured.
You looked over the edge with her for a while, before saying "I'm y/n."
"Violet. So, how'd you find this place?" She says.
"Well, I've been coming here for a while. I kinda stumbled onto it." You answer.
She nods, saying "This is my first time up here. It's quite beautiful, isn't it? Seeing the horizon in the distance, and the forests that surround this hell."
But no matter how beautiful that view was, you found nothing else nearly as beautiful as you did her.
Clem: (sorry I can't really make this one for a boy... so this one has to be clem x girl reader. Also longer than the others, fight me idc I'm really proud of this one)
You've played Softball since it wasn't even softball, it was tball. Back then, boys and girls were mixed. The way your school worked, girls would move on to softball and boys would move on to baseball.
You didn't mind. The rules were a little different, but still very similar. Plus, you liked softball better anyway.
You were the main pitcher for your school's team. The other one wasn't bad, but you were the better one by a considerable amount. Fastest in the league. But you'd heard rumors about a possible new contender.
She was from Ericson's team. Your two schools were rivals, at each other's throats in every possible sport.
They hadn't beat you in a softball championship since 1998. And you weren't letting your school down this year, either. You wouldn't. This will be the twentieth year.
It was gamenight. Your team was pitching second.
You were first to bat.
Their pitcher stood at the mound, and pitched the ball so fast it was hard to keep up with it.
There wasn't going to be many points this game. On either side.
You readied yourself.
The ball was coming at you so fast, you ended up swinging out of sheer intimidation.
"Strike one."
Focus. You got this.
You let out a breath. It was coming straight for you. You swung.
"Strike two."
Curve ball. She was good. You were better.
You look the pitcher in the eyes, and she may have been far away, but you could swear you saw her smirk.
Oh, we're playing like that, are we?
She pitches.
You stand still.
"Ball's in the dirt. B..Ball's in the dirt. She can make it work, work. She can make it work, work." My team cheers.
"Ball."
You smile. Good call. It was too low.
She brings her A game, at probably the fastest pitch you've seen in a while.
You swing.
Ting.
You run. As you run to first, you realize just how far you hit it.
The outfielders weren't even close to it.
You could hear your team screaming at you to run, you did.
You were halfway between third and home when you heard the ball hit her glove.
Pitcher has the ball.
You slide.
Catcher fumbles.
Your team screams, all hugging you.
You got the first point of the game.
-
It's all tied up. 3-3. You knew there weren't going to be many points this game.
You were on second base. It's the bottom of the ninth. Last batter of the night.
One more. One more point.
She pitches.
Strike.
Your teammate huffs.
"Come on, come on. One good hit." You mumble to yourself.
She pitches again.
Ting.
You take off.
You need to get home this run in order to win. They only allow you to play so late, if you don't win the game will end in a draw.
You're at third when pitcher gets the ball.
In a desperate attempt to win, you do something you normally wouldn't dare.
You bring your hand up to your mouth, blowing a kiss at the shocked pitcher.
It gives you just enough time. When she comes to her senses, you've already landed on home.
You've won.
Your team piles onto the field, screaming and congratulating you. You've never seen coach so genuinely happy at winning a game.
After celebration, you're cleaning all your stuff out of the dugout, being the last one in there.
"Hey, 19." A feminine voice calls from behind you.
You turn, seeing the number 23. The pitcher.
"Hey?" You question.
She stops in front of you, saying "that shit you pulled out there. That," She says, and you think she's going to yell at you.
"That was smart. Distracting your enemies, I like it. But, don't get too excited. I'm bringing only my best to Championships. We will beat you this year. That's a promise."
"In your dreams, 23. You couldn't win against us if we had to bat left-handed." You tease.
She chuckles, saying "Clementine. That's my name, you know, like the fruit."
"Y/n. You know, like the name." You retort.
She reaches in her bag, pulling out a paper before scribbling down something onto it.
"Here." She says, handing it to you. You look at it, and a phone number is written on it. "In case you ever want me to take you up on what you offered earlier." She teases, and you go red.
"See you around, 19."
"Later, 23."
Championships were gonna be interesting this year.