One Direction One Shots
Zayn Malik 3
I was supposed to be in my room. I was supposed to be grounded for arguing with my father about my music. I was supposed to be in my room all day.
Too. Fucking. Bad.
Pulling on a tight black tank top and smokey skinny jeans, I hurried to brush my straight hair and tie my black checkered converse. I plugged my earbuds in, shoving my iPod into my back pocket.
I pulled the window to my room open, and slid out it. I landed on the tree branch beneath my window and slowly closed the window.
I turned and crept along the branch and down the tree. I took off down the street, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on my back.
I arrived at..... I didn't know, actually. Downtown, I guess?
I kept walking, looking at all the shops. Freaking England, man. We had the money to move down here, but wouldn't have the money to buy an apple. Well, we didn't really move here by choice.... It was my dad's idea to go here, but we were forced to.... And still, nobody believed me that it WASN'T my fault!
Thinking so much about it, I grew frustrated. I started to softly sing the song that was playing on my iPod. Then, I slammed into someone. I fell on the ground, landing on my ass, since the guy was taller than me. (Wasn't everybody? I mean, I'm 5"3!)
"Oh, sorry," the boy held out his hand for me to take. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up. He noticed my earbuds. "What song is that?" he asked innocently. "You're really good."
I looked the boy up and down. He was pretty cute – jet black hair, tanned skin, and startlingly dark eyes. He had on dark blue jeans that were half tucked into his black TOMS, with a black t-shirt.
"It's... Uh...." I paused, quickly listening to the lyrics. "'Wake Me Up When September Ends' by Green Day," I finished. The boy nodded. "Good band." He held out his hand once again, "I'm Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik." I thought for a moment, deciding to lie. "Marie," I shook his hand. "Marie Jones."
Malik gave me a crooked smirk. "Fine, don't tell me your name." I must have looked surprised, because he laughed. "How did you know it wasn't my real name?" I asked. "You don't look like a Marie," responded Zayn, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "Why won't you tell me, anyways?"
"Well, you could be a rapist for all I know." I replied smoothly. "How would I be a rapist?" asked Zayn. "Well, you randomly run into me. You compliment me, saying my singing is good, making me trust you. You start a conversation to catch me off a guard. Then, when I least expect it, you drag me into your car and you drive to your place and rape me." I finished.
"Well, you seem to know a lot about this," smirked Zayn. "How do I know you're not a rapist?" I rolled my eyes. "We're doing the 'Get Smart' thing, huh? Okay, well... Um..." I racked my brain, trying to remember the line. Finally, it hit me.
"If I was a rapist you'd already be raped."
"Well if I was a rapist, you'd already be raped."
"Well neither of us are raped so I'm obviously not a rapist."
"Then neither am I!"
We both started cracking up. "And besides, I don't think I could rape a twelve-year-old," added Zayn, looking me up and down. "Twelve?!" I protested. "I'm seventeen, asshole! How old are you, like, thirty?" Zayn pretended to laugh. "Ha ha ha. I'm nineteen."
He looked around. "Do you wanna go get an ice cream or something?” I shrugged, "Sure, why not?"
We started walking down the street when Zayn turned to me. "You never did tell me your name...." I laughed. "It's Jacqueline Tylers," I cringed at the name. "But call me Jake," I sent my best death glare towards my new friend, "Call me Jackie or Jacqueline and I kill you.” Zayn laughed and held his hands up like he was being arrested. "Don't worry, I'll keep it to Jake!" I smiled at him. "Good."
Too. Fucking. Bad.
Pulling on a tight black tank top and smokey skinny jeans, I hurried to brush my straight hair and tie my black checkered converse. I plugged my earbuds in, shoving my iPod into my back pocket.
I pulled the window to my room open, and slid out it. I landed on the tree branch beneath my window and slowly closed the window.
I turned and crept along the branch and down the tree. I took off down the street, feeling the warmth of the sunshine on my back.
I arrived at..... I didn't know, actually. Downtown, I guess?
I kept walking, looking at all the shops. Freaking England, man. We had the money to move down here, but wouldn't have the money to buy an apple. Well, we didn't really move here by choice.... It was my dad's idea to go here, but we were forced to.... And still, nobody believed me that it WASN'T my fault!
Thinking so much about it, I grew frustrated. I started to softly sing the song that was playing on my iPod. Then, I slammed into someone. I fell on the ground, landing on my ass, since the guy was taller than me. (Wasn't everybody? I mean, I'm 5"3!)
"Oh, sorry," the boy held out his hand for me to take. I grabbed it, and he pulled me up. He noticed my earbuds. "What song is that?" he asked innocently. "You're really good."
I looked the boy up and down. He was pretty cute – jet black hair, tanned skin, and startlingly dark eyes. He had on dark blue jeans that were half tucked into his black TOMS, with a black t-shirt.
"It's... Uh...." I paused, quickly listening to the lyrics. "'Wake Me Up When September Ends' by Green Day," I finished. The boy nodded. "Good band." He held out his hand once again, "I'm Zayn, by the way. Zayn Malik." I thought for a moment, deciding to lie. "Marie," I shook his hand. "Marie Jones."
Malik gave me a crooked smirk. "Fine, don't tell me your name." I must have looked surprised, because he laughed. "How did you know it wasn't my real name?" I asked. "You don't look like a Marie," responded Zayn, as though it were the simplest thing in the world. "Why won't you tell me, anyways?"
"Well, you could be a rapist for all I know." I replied smoothly. "How would I be a rapist?" asked Zayn. "Well, you randomly run into me. You compliment me, saying my singing is good, making me trust you. You start a conversation to catch me off a guard. Then, when I least expect it, you drag me into your car and you drive to your place and rape me." I finished.
"Well, you seem to know a lot about this," smirked Zayn. "How do I know you're not a rapist?" I rolled my eyes. "We're doing the 'Get Smart' thing, huh? Okay, well... Um..." I racked my brain, trying to remember the line. Finally, it hit me.
"If I was a rapist you'd already be raped."
"Well if I was a rapist, you'd already be raped."
"Well neither of us are raped so I'm obviously not a rapist."
"Then neither am I!"
We both started cracking up. "And besides, I don't think I could rape a twelve-year-old," added Zayn, looking me up and down. "Twelve?!" I protested. "I'm seventeen, asshole! How old are you, like, thirty?" Zayn pretended to laugh. "Ha ha ha. I'm nineteen."
He looked around. "Do you wanna go get an ice cream or something?” I shrugged, "Sure, why not?"
We started walking down the street when Zayn turned to me. "You never did tell me your name...." I laughed. "It's Jacqueline Tylers," I cringed at the name. "But call me Jake," I sent my best death glare towards my new friend, "Call me Jackie or Jacqueline and I kill you.” Zayn laughed and held his hands up like he was being arrested. "Don't worry, I'll keep it to Jake!" I smiled at him. "Good."