One Direction Preferences

He's your teacher...

Niall:

"I think I’m in love." You muttered under you breath. "He is so fit." Your friend raised a brow at you, silently questioning your sanity. The new band teacher definitely was fit though. He wore black trousers and a t-shirt, hair bleached blond and blue eyes bright and sparkling. He was going on about what they’d be doing all year and, quite honestly, you didn’t care. Your focus remained more on watching his lips move, and tracking the movement of his tongue when it darted out to lick his lips. This teacher was definitely under 30 considering when a girl had told her about seeing The 1975 in concert he had said that was so sick. "He’s your new teacher." Your friend muttered. "He looks like the next boy who will wake up tangled in my sheets." She stifled a giggle in her hand. "What about your boyfriend?" "He can join." You muttered without hesitation. It was just a harmless thought process, no big deal really. "The things I would do to him." You muttered under your breath. "Do you like One Direction?" One girl asked Mr. Horan. The faux blond grinned widely, nodding vigorously. "They’re definitely my favourite group, I love a whole lot. I follow them on Twitter and Instagram. Justin Bieber too, I tweeted him constantly. Absolute legend, he is!" You laughed into your hand, your friend looking simply befuddled at the teacher. "I am a proud Belieber. Now who wants what instrument? Y/L/N, we’ll start with you!" "I want something hard and long please." Your friend shook her head, laughing lightly. "Only you."

Harry:

"Remember class, the Ottomans will never be just a peripheral irritant!" Your history teacher, Mr. Styles, exclaimed in class, pushing his glasses back up to balance on the bridge of his nose. You sighed, making another tally mark, marking the thirty-fourth time he’s said that phrase. "For someone with such good fashion sense and attractive looks, he really likes to repeat things," your friend muttered next to you. You cocked your head to the side, your eyes raking up and down his body. The tight skinny jeans could stay, but the huge flannel button-ups had to be thrown out. His glasses needed to be changed for contacts and those god-forsaken brown boots needed to be incinerated. "I mean, he’s the best history teacher at the school, I’m sure repetition helps him," you countered, jotting down more notes about the Crimean War. "Whatever. If he took off those glasses, I’d definitely fuck him," your friend whispered. You snorted and covered your mouth at the sound. "Ladies! Do we have something important to share?" Mr. Styles questioned, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. "Nope, Mr. Styles," your friend responded, popping the p at the end of nope. "Well then, please don’t interrupt my class with your talk about the parties this weekend," he scolded, turning back to the map of Europe. You giggled and shoved your friend as she gave you a huge grin. "Just take the damn notes," you instructed as you turned your attention back to Mr. Styles.

Liam:

You watched Liam’s (aka Mr. Payne but who calls him that anymore?) plump lips wrap around the end of the whistle and his cheeks puff up which made him like a chipmunk. The biting wind tinted his cheeks a rosy red, his brown eyes glassy from the cold. “Alright class! Start out by dribbling the football to the end of the pitch and back!” He yelled, ending it with another sharp note from the whistle. You started out down the pitch, your best friend falling into step next to you. “Honestly one of the hottest teachers in the entire school,” she muttered under her breath. “Oh my gosh shut up! He’s a teacher for God’s sakes!” You whispered urgently as you blushed when Liam nodded with approval at your form. “Oh please like you don’t want to devour him,” your friend whispered back. You gaped at your friend, turning to smack her on the shoulder which only caused you to lose balance and trip over the football, landing in a pile of limbs on the muddy pitch. Liam blew his whistle as he jogged over to you. “You alright?” He asked as he leaned over you, his brown eyes wide with concern. “Just peachy,” you retorted, glaring at your friend as she laughed behind Liam. He reached out his hand and pulled you up, dusting off your now ruined gym uniform. “How about you go to the clinic and get yourself checked out, yeah? No broken bones and the like,” he said as he gestured towards the school. You nodded and whirled around, sending another glare that promised death upon your best friend as you trudged to the clinic.

Zayn:

"Paint what you feel." Zayn told the class. "Today, this class, it is about obscurity so paint with all the colours you want, just so long as there is feeling associated with the image." The small art class got to work mixing paint colours together to get the right mood. You, on the other hand, took this opportunity to stare at the beautiful teacher with his perfectly sculpted jawline and perfect hair. The young teacher looked so good and so cool but an effortless coolness which you tended to admire from afar. He was a deep teacher, always on about the world or some philosophy shit no one understood but everyone listened to eagerly. He was too deep which was why you were always discrete about your slight infatuation with the dark haired boy. Otherwise you would be on your knees for him, considering it was your final year at the school and you’d taken this class two years in a row to see Zayn. "Y/N, it’s about time to get started! Feel those feelings." He grinned like he’d made a clever joke but you just smiled, not really understanding. "God, I’d love for him to do me on the desk on the last day." Your friend whispered in your ear. You choked on your spit before swallowing your laughter. "He always looks so good, I just want him to ravish me." She continued. You swatted at her. "You can’t just say that!" "Y/N, do we have a problem? You still haven’t touch that canvas. Do I need to move you?" You shook your head. "Then stop chatting unless you want to be sharing your thoughts with the class. You too, Y/BF/N."

Louis:

"There’s no way. There’s just no way." Your best friend shook her head, giving you an accusing look as the two of you walked into the drama class. You elbowed her gently and glared at her. "There is so way! It was definitely flirting, don’t even. I even rubbed my foot against his leg, Mr. Tomlinson totally reciprocated the move." You paused with a smirk. "Or Lou which may be moaned soon." You best friend laughed as you two dropped your stuff off at two auditorium seats. Mr. Tomlinson was already on stage, folder in hand of what was probably today’s events. He looked absolutely delicious in tight black trousers and his feathery hair coifed and a tight white button-up to show off his chest. "Hey Tommo!" Your friend smirked, causing Mr. Tomlinson to stumble a bit. "Mr. Tomlinson to you two." He said sternly, but his eyes were cheerful. You walked up the stage, best friend seated as she texted. "Hey Mr. Tomlinson, those khakis fit you quite well, although I much preferred those black jeans you wore last night. I’d probably prefer them both on the ground though." You muttered, rounding up on Mr. Tomlinson. The teacher chuckled as his blue eyes glanced up from the folder, eyebrow raised. "You’re sexually harassing me." You rolled your eyes. "Not harassment if you like it." "How do you know I like it?" "You’re entertaining me with this banter." You replied with a knowing smirk causing Mr. Tomlinson to roll his eyes. "Y/N, you are going to get me fired." You smiled dopily at your teacher who just rolled his eyes and waved you off. "This doesn’t get you out of tests." You just smiled even harder because Mr. Tomlinson had called the thing "this". You walked back over to your best friend who was just shaking her head. "You’re going to get suspended." You shrugged as you watched Mr. Tomlinson move about in those sinfully tight khakis. He was well worth the suspension.