Liam: “Good job, Y/N! You’re getting better and better by the week. Your time is 9:15,” Your Gym teacher, Mr. Payne, cheers. You smile back tiredly and sink onto a bench on the side of the track where the people who finished the mile were instructed to sit. You watch Mr. Payne scribble something down on his clipboard, brows furrowed in concentration. His arm muscles were exposed in his tight white T-shirt and you could barely sit still. You had a massive crush on Mr. Payne, you even admitted in your head that you were in love with him, despite knowing how wrong it all was. He must have felt your eyes on him because he glanced up at you behind his eyelashes. He adds a suggestive wink and you nearly fall backwards until a classmate catches you with a confused facial expression.
Louis: “I guess so,” You chuckle to your friend in the hallway. You had lost track of time and the bell suddenly rang for fifth period. Without goodbyes, you both hurried to your separate classrooms. You tried to sneak in without Mr. Tomlinson, your Drama teacher, noticing you, but it was no use. “Y/N, late,” He states, not even looking up from his desk, “See me after class.” You can’t help but look forward to after class, being alone with Mr. Tomlinson… You were in love with him. He won you over with his sense of humor and wicked good looks. After what seemed like years, the class ended and you stopped in front of Mr. Tomlinson sitting on the edge of his desk. “Y-you wanted to see me?” You stuttered shyly. “Y/N, we need to discuss your horrible tardiness. Why are you always late to my class?” He asks. You shrug and he stares at you intensely, his icy blue eyes locking with yours. You see his face coming nearer. You raise a hand to run your fingertips along his stubble. His eyes close and his nose brushes yours. Then your lips meet softly for a moment. You both realize what just happened and break away turning red. “Oh my God,” He palms his forehead. You rush out the door embarrassed and lean against the locker, catching your breath.
Harry: “Y/N,” Mr. Styles says. You’re in his classroom after class for tutoring in Math. He was explaining how to bisect an angle when you fell into a haze, staring into his green emeralds and elbow propped up holding your head. “Y/N?” He asks, a bit uncomfortable from your constant staring and dropped jaw. “Y/N!” He yells when you don’t respond. You shake like a dog coming out of the bath when you’re brought back to Earth. “Concentrate!” He orders in frustration. “I’m sorry,” You say quietly in response. “Are you really? You do this shit every day! You say you need help and I try to explain it to you, but then don’t pay attention to a word I’m saying,” Mr. Styles goes off. “I can’t help it,” You mumble. “What?” His angry face softens once he realizes what you’re implying. “Do you have a little crush on me?” He asks almost teasingly. Your cheeks turn bright red as you fix your attention on your Vans. “I’m a teacher, you’re a student. You can’t feel about me that way,” He says sternly. You notice that it sounds like he’s lecturing himself more than you. He turns in his chair to look at you. You lick your lips and flicker your eyes to meet his. “Fuck it,” He mutters. With that, he hungrily attacks your lips. You’re shocked, but kiss him back. After a few minutes, he pulls away much to your despair. “Meet me tomorrow, same place, same time,” He instructs. You nod excitedly and leave the room.
Zayn: “Did you enjoy the field trip?” Mr. Malik’s husky voice echoes in your ear on the ride home from the Art Museum you and your art class attended. You had planned it all out, but it seemed casual when the seat beside you was the only one available and Mr. Malik was the last person on the bus. “Yeah, I loved the sculptures,” You smile. He smiles too, but then changes the small talk to something serious when he says, “Y/N can I ask you a question?” Your mind immediately scans for what he could possibly want to ask you. “Sure,” You reply. “Do you believe in love when like you’re so in love that nothing seems to matter but the significant other?” He blurts out quietly. His volume was no need since the bus was roaring with chatter of kids. You eyed him skeptically. Why would he be asking you this? “Yes,” You answer. “Where things like say, age and authority, don’t matter?” He pursues. You nod, liking where he was going with this. After all that, he unexpectedly dropped out of the conversation and began a new one with a teacher two rows in front of him. You frowned and stared out the window. It’s not long before a warm hand finds yours and squeezes it tightly. You jerk your head to Mr. Malik who is texting. He looks up from his phone screen and grins as you intertwine your fingers with his. You scoot your jacket over your interlocked hands so no one suspects anything except teacher-student between you two.
Niall: A word that summed up your experience as a student for the attractive, young Mr. Horan was painful. You admired his perfect complexion, fit body, and beautiful eyes every day in Chemistry in knowledge that you could never have him to yourself truly. You often thought in class “if only he were younger…” “if only I were older…” “if only we could escape to a private island where I can lick Nutella off his arms” then resulting in conflict between your desires and common sense “Oh my God, you can’t think those things about your teacher STOP”. One day you enter class wearing a floral sunset orange dress. Mr. Horan’s eyes widened and he said, “You look gorgeous today, Y/N.” You blushed and sat in your seat. Once class was over, he pulled you aside. “I see the way you stare at me, Y/N. Do you see the way I stare at you?” You blush once again, realizing he had caught you. “I don’t know what it is about you, Y/N… But there’s just something I love,” He admits. His lips place a delicate kiss on your cheek and he sends you to your next class. The rest of the week, you can’t get those few moments out of your brain, possibly the best of your life.