Harry: "See me after class," Mr.Styles says firmly, finishing the order with a subtle wink. "All right, Mr. Styles," you reply, feigning annoyance. You anxiously tap your pencil on your notebook waiting for the bell to ring. Normally you'd hang onto every word Mr.Styles said in class--he was gorgeous and his voice was sweet as caramel, but all you could think about was after class. Why had he wanted to see you? Had you done anything wrong? Your mind flickers to the student-teacher relationship of Ezra and Aria in Pretty Little Liars and your cheeks flush. No, no, no. That's not going to happen. "...and that's how nuclear reactions work. Class dismissed," he concludes, setting down a piece of chalk and facing the room. He meets your gaze and a smile meets his eyes as the room empties and you linger behind--he was definitely not mad at you. What was up? "So, Miss (Y/N)," he begins, shutting the door as the last group of students trickle out. "I noticed your grades have been slipping a little. Why's that?" You feel your cheeks flush and give him a shrug. "You're kind of distracting," you admit, watching him sit on his desk and adjust the lapels of his suit. "Am I? Well, you're quite distracting as well," he purrs, placing his hand on your chin and forcing you to meet his gaze. A sudden burst of confidence washes over you with your words and you lean over, inches from his face. "How distracting, Mr. Styles?" you whisper, raising an eyebrow. "Call me Harry," he replies, before crashing his lips on yours.
Zayn: Lately you've been a bit of a liar. Well, a lot of a liar. You'd been asking your English teacher for tutoring nearly every week even though you had an A+ in his class. It wasn't your fault that Mr.Malik was basically the hottest teacher ever. It wasn't your fault you liked listening to him explain stories and seeing his hazel eyes light up. It wasn't your fault his eyelashes were so long and full and his lips so damn kissable. Maybe this attention wasn't one-sided...he certainly showed a bit of favoritism towards you in class. You sit next to him by the desk, poring over Macbeth as he explains the main themes. You're not really listening though--he smells like smoke and mint and he's so close you can see each color in his eyes. "And another theme of this book is that--" he stops talking when he notices your focus has shifted to the tattoo on his arm. His dress shirt sleeves barely cover them. "Sorry! I was a bit distracted by your tattoos...how many have you got?" you ask, a faint blush appearing to your cheeks. He smiles and rolls up his sleeve, tilting his arm so you can see. "I think I've lost count...I have a lot more," he says softly, shutting the book and turning to face you. "I can show you the rest if you'd like." His tone had gone from light to mischievous and the small age difference crosses your mind. "Show me all your tattoos," you purr, reaching over and popping open the top button of his shirt. "Of course," he growls in response, leaning in for a kiss.
Louis: "Thank you for staying after school to read lines with me, Mr.Tomlinson," you say, looking up from your script with a smile. Your drama teacher was certainly easy on the eyes. Actually, he was more of a blessing for the eyes. A jawline that could cut metal, blue eyes the color of the ocean, biceps that were impossibly muscular, a voice that could make angels cry. "It's my pleasure, love," he replies, a playful smirk appearing on his face. He sets down his script and climbs onto the edge of the stage, dangling his legs over the edge. "I think you've got all your lines down pat. You're going to do great," he says, his tone a bit menacing and deep. "Thank you, Mr. Tomlinson," you reply, climbing onto the stage next to him and setting your script aside. "You can call me Louis," he says, his eyes meeting yours. "Mr.Tomlinson sounds so...old." You nod and your cheeks burn as you realize you're sitting so close that your thighs are touching. You move to scoot away, not wanting to make anything awkward but he places his hand on your leg and raises an eyebrow. "You don't need to move away if you don't want to," he breathes, placing his other hand on your cheek. "You want me to move closer?" you reply boldly, placing your hand on his arm. Rather than reply with words, his lips meet yours and you both forget about all of your surroundings. After all, he wasn't much older than you were and nobody would have to know...
Niall: "So, I called you into my office to discuss your failing grades," Mr.Horan frowns, folding his hands and leaning on his desk. You roll your eyes and hop up onto a desk, crossing your legs and giving him a shrug. "Your class is a waste of my time, I don't care about Spanish and it's not my fault I'm doing so bad, you're so distracting," you cover your mouth, not having meant to add that last part. "You find me distracting?" he replies, clearly amused. "Well, I think you should care about Spanish." You ignore the fact that he's just inches away wearing that damn blue dress shirt that brings out those damn blue eyes and you ignore his perfectly styled hair and perfect dimpled chin. Actually, you try to ignore it and fail. "I can't bring myself to care about anything whenever you're in the room," you admit, standing up and taking a step closer. He raises an eyebrow in surprise but doesn't move. "You're so...caliente." He gives you a smirk before leaning close enough so his breath is on your ear. "And you're muy caliente, my dear," he purrs, picking you up and setting you on the desk, his lips crashing against yours.
Liam: You walked up to the detention room with the pink slip firm in your grip. Rather than upset or angry at having detention, you were pleasantly surprised. Detention meant some one-on-one time with your favorite teacher. Your favorite, very hot, very young teacher. As soon as you open the door and shut it behind you, his gaze finds yours. He sets aside a stack of papers and peers into the hallway, making sure there's no one near before pulling you close and crashing his lips against yours. "This is so wrong," Mr.Payne growls between kisses, his dress shirt becoming unkempt and his tie un-knotted. "Isn't it?" you grin, leaning back and placing your hand on his cheek. "I'm your teacher...I could get fired..." he sighs, his hair looking tousled and impossibly adorable. "We won't get caught," you promise, tugging at the end of his tie. "You're hardly even older than me, Mr. Payne." His doubtful face turns into a playful smile as he reaches down and takes off his tie, tossing it aside on his desk. "If you really think about it, we're only a few years apart," you continue, playing with the buttons on his dress shirt. "Just a few years," he repeats, pushing a strand of hair out of your eyes. "And we're not going to get caught," you whisper, leaning in for a kiss.
