SUMMARY: So every time I get some writer's block or something, I always end up writing teacher/student oneshots to clear it out. And since the amount of stories I have up already pisses me off (there's too many, but there aren't really any I feel as though I should take down…but they're all oneshots, which is annoying), I've decided to create an open ended bit for various oneshots of the teacher/student persuasion. It will be updated whenever I feel like it or whenever I pop out a story that I feel should be under here. They are just a bunch of drabbles.

I will probably reuse names. I'm considering just using the same people in different situations.

So sit back, relax, and enjoy the teacher/student love-fest :))




By Crazywritings

He looked down into her pretty young face. Her brown eyes sparkled, a light brown, and as the late afternoon sun fell across her face, they turned a strikingly captivating gold. It matched the hair that fell in long waves to her mid-back. A chilly breeze swept past her, around her body, and through the house, and it swirled little strands around her jovial, round face.

"Hey, Layton," a gentle grin touched his features as he backed away, still holding the door. "Come on in, sweetie."

"Thanks, Mr. Zara," she beamed at him. With insane grace, she stepped past him, but she was careful to allow a good portion of her side brush against him. The material of their shirts whispered quietly to each other as they grazed.

"God, don't do that," he hissed to the back of her head as she sauntered into the living room, and though she didn't turn around, he knew that she was listening to his every word. "It drives me crazy, and you know it." When her hand came up and flicked her long mane away from her shoulder, he caught the briefest of glimpses of a smile plastered onto her lips. He loved her smile, the purity of it. But he daren't tell her such a thing, not now, not as they passed into the room and saw the slim, elegant woman standing there in the center of the rug.

"Hello, dear," she greeted rather breathlessly. "You must be Layton. Oh, it's so good of you to babysit for us, and with such a long drive!"

"It's absolutely no trouble at all, ma'am," she assured her, though she was eyeing the little bundle balanced upon her waist with less than exuberant enthusiasm. "I adore kids, and anything to help out Mr. Zara."

A huge grin tore across her expression, and she shifted her dark eyes from the young girl to her husband. "You were right, Tony, she is such a sweetheart. I'm sure Leah will love her." And with that, she shifted the pile of blankets up further in her hold and stretched it out to Layton, all the while careful to support both ends of the thing. "Here you are, hon. Careful now."

But it took no effort at all. The wrapping transferred flawlessly, and as she took the thing into her arms, she felt a substantial weight and the furnace-esque heat that accompanied it. There, nestled in the mound of cloth, was a baby's angelic face. The spherical cheeks, the pixie nose, the slim lips, they all framed the perfect light brown eyes, the eyes that perfectly matched those that belonged to her father. Immediately, a sliver of love penetrated her heart, drove deep into the cockles and began to make it pulsate with warmth.

The envy she'd felt moments before evaporated. This child was perfect.

The doe-like eyes blinked once, twice, and finally focused upon her. She felt trapped in the gaze beneath the mile-long eyelashes, her heartbeats felt as though they were pounding instead of fluttering. Her breath turned shallow.

"My God, she's beautiful," she gasped, trying to stay alive by forcing breath into her lungs.

"Isn't she?" the mother agreed and stepped closer. The adoration that saturated her voice and the way she poked a skinny finger into the pudgy cheek made Layton's veins turn to ice, but there was no denying it. It would've been so much easier, so much simpler to hate and spit fire toward someone who had at least a little dislike for their child, showed at least some sign of bad parenting. Anything, anything to go on, she would've ran with. But there was no such thing to be had here, no fault to be found, and the love that colored the woman's face was nearly identical to the one that plagued the girl's chest. There was only one difference: the child belonged to the woman.

"Come on, Kristen, we'll be late. Want to go wait in the car while I explain everything to Layton?" Mr. Zara came striding in from the coatroom in the hall, in the midst of pulling his blazer on over his white button-down shirt and tie. He looked dapper, to say the least. Many more adjectives slipped through her mind, but nothing that would be fit to98 the ears of a child such as the one located in her arms. She stared at him, stared at the simple handsomeness he possessed, how easily he could be classy and good-looking. There was an effortless quality to him she couldn't get enough of.

"Yes, yes, of course," she nodded quickly. A bunch of coos and pecks on the forehead to her daughter, and she swept out the door to wait in the car. Mr. Zara was still only a mere five feet from the girl, and when they heard the door close, their eyes met instantly.

"We'll be back by midnight," he told her, his voice hushed for some reason. Something was strangling him, choking his windpipe; could it have been the sight of the one he secretly adored holding his very own child so close to her youthful breast? Could it have been that he was seeing an alternate fate right before him, one that was still perhaps within reach? Or could it have been the maddeningly natural way she seemed to conduct herself with the baby, the flawless way she cradled it and pressed it to her warmth, just as though she'd been mothering her entire existence?

"Okay," she whispered just as quietly. The edges of her white teeth hovered over her lower lip, ready to bite down in thought.

"Directions are written out on the kitchen table, and everything you'll need is in the box next to the paper," he explained.

"Alright," she said. They stared a moment longer, taking each other in. And then, with caution heavy in his step, he approached her. Soon his rib cage was a breadth away from the baby's tiny arm, and his face was a breadth away from hers.

"Take care of her please?" he begged her, pleaded her. The chestnut-gold of her irises suddenly grew as her eyes widened.

"You think I'd hurt her?" she implored as though it was the craziest notion on planet Earth, and in her mind, it certainly was. She could never imagine how he could even begin to dream to think that she could harm a skin cell that belonged to this precious parcel, this invaluable thing that thrummed, alive, in her hold. "Because she's…hers? Kristen's?"

"I would certainly hope not," he admitted honestly. He did have his doubts, his fears. He was well aware that the poor blonde standing before him was pathetically jealous of his wife. She had great reason to be, but the one thing she didn't do was speak up about it. Right and wrong were engrained in her brain, he knew, and he was positive that participating in what they were doing absolutely cut her soul to shreds. He wished he could fix it. He wished he could make it all better, make everything right and mend everything inside her that had been sliced to ribbons, but the fact of the matter was that he simply couldn't. There was a silent agreement between the two, acknowledgement that this, their world, was wrong, and that there were certain things that just couldn't be changed.

This was one of them. His wife was one of them.

After a small stint of silence, she gazed up at him with a heart-wrenching expression, one that provided a peek into her shattered chest. "She's yours, too."

His heart melted. Slowly, carefully, he bent down and pressed his lips to hers. Without hesitation, no second thoughts, she pushed lightly back, a kiss between teacher and student that sent heat spiraling down their spines.

"You're just as important," he murmured to her as he rested his forehead against hers. "Never forget that." One last peck for her, a peck for his child, and he was out the door. She listened without a word as the car started, the wheels turned, they pulled out, and roared away. The only sound left was the whimpering beat of her heart, only the will to live for him keeping the tempo. What she was just as important as, she'd never know, and she wasn't exactly sure she wanted to. Knowing that perhaps, just maybe, she could mean as much to him as the woman that bore the wedding ring…her adrenaline went into a fury just then, rippling down toward her pelvis with fire.

She meandered into the kitchen, read the directions quickly. Easy enough, she supposed. Dinner of assorted creamed foods at seven, bedtime at eight. She could handle that. It was nothing. She'd taken on a family of five toddlers and wrangled them successfully, so this shockingly quiet baby couldn't be anything more.

Highchair. Baby in highchair. Uncap food. Put food on plate. For each spoonful of food, Leah opened her mouth dutifully, and when the mush touched her tongue, Layton was sure to mutter words of delight and praise to her. Whenever she would make the noises of certain transportation, like an airplane, her lips would split into a smile and she would open her jaw wider. She particularly liked train noises, what with the "choo-choo!" and all that.

It wasn't long before the task was completed. A few leftovers, but nothing major. She slung a towel over her shoulder, scooped the little girl into her arms, and began to tap her back while bobbing up and down slightly. Bubbles of gas popped out of her mouth, soon she was finished.

Then it was playtime. She shrieked with glee as Layton pushed little balls around with her, bouncing them and smacking them around. The baby crawled after them almost like a dog, and when she would pounce upon them, her little fingers dug into the squishy foam and she'd try to shove it into her mouth. Drool coated it before her babysitter tickled the thing away from her and did the whole thing over again. About fifteen minutes of this mindlessness passed, and neither got bored. Layton actually found herself ridiculously blissful as the carefree air swallowed her, shoved her into the world she once lived in, once where there were no problems, nothing to worry about, only what to touch and what to taste and what shade of blue the sky looked that day.

But eventually, the food made its way through her digestive system, and the child soon began to wail. She snatched her up into her arms and made her way across the hall and into the room with the crib and changing station. Dirty diaper in the garbage, some cleansing, baby powder, a new diaper, and the little one was all set for something new. The tears hadn't completely dissipated, so she pulled her close again and began to rock her back and forth.

"Do you remember we were sitting there by the water," she sang softly, her voice not comparable to a choir but melodic nonetheless. "You put your arm around me for the first time. You made a rebel of a careless man's careful daughter. You are the best thing that's ever been mine." It didn't take any time at all for Leah to shove her thumb into her mouth and gaze up at the girl with those massive eyes, the ones that made her heart melt no matter what face they were in. It was magic, some kind of spell, a mind control that they had over her.

She did remember the time he put his arm around her for the first time. She remembered both times: the time when it was supposed to be meant as a friendly gesture, and the time it actually meant something. Both sent her tummy into a tizzy, sent butterflies crawling through her veins and made her heart roar with every emotion she could possibly think of. She remembered them both, couldn't help but break into a light sweat at the warmth that ran up her neck at the memories. God, what she wouldn't give to be back there, back when everything was just starting out. She would've done so many things so differently. She probably would've tried to stop herself from throwing her soul to be torn to pieces.

She probably wouldn't have done anything differently. But still, she would've tried to stop herself.

Her legs had a mind of their own as they carried her out of the room, up the stairs, and into a new room. She knew, somehow, just by entering, that this was the place she was looking for. The large queen-sized bed with tall, elegant posts made of some dark wood practically screamed adult, and she knew that was just how he would like it—something mature, something subtle, even though it completely clashed with his personality.

The child in her arms was a perfect piece of evidence as to what sorts of things went on in that bed. She shuddered at the thought.

And yet she still couldn't help herself from running her fingers over the pillow beside the nightstand that was covered in baseball paraphernalia, a clear indication as to who slept on which side (and, of course, the fact that the other on the opposite side had multiple bottles of purple-colored lotions with words such as "ribbons of sparkles" toted beneath the brand name. She vehemently refused to believe that was his side). A little drawer was nestled into a slot just beneath the countertop.

She simply couldn't help herself. The weight of the baby shifted against her hip, and she pulled the thing open with one hand. It slid open with relative ease, and when she inspected, it appeared to be empty…but when she looked closer, she saw a tiny, almost unnoticeable black dot. With a peer, she saw that it was a teeny knob. Her fingers clamped down onto it, and she gave a light pull, and there in her hand the bottom of the drawer came away. There, situated within it, was a rectangular yellow envelope.

Layton plopped the baby down onto the bed. She did nothing but sit there and suck on her fingers, which she didn't have a problem with. The babysitter slipped the envelope out of the drawer. She flicked it open and dumped the contents into her palm.

Shock at seeing her own face beaming back at the camera rippled through her. Her own smile, pure as fallen snow, was in every single frame, and about ten or fifteen photos were taken. In the majority she was alone, either grinning at the lens or being captured without her knowledge. Most of them were a compilation of quite public things such as yearbooks, newspaper articles, sports, Facebook, and more.

But then there were three pictures at the bottom, and these she remembered with stunning clarity. In one picture, it froze Mr. Zara in the act of pinching her cheeks, his face so close to hers as he muttered words of teasing. In another, she had her legs sprawled across his lap as the two sat on the couch together. And then, in the last one, he had one arm wrapped around her shoulders as she had one entrapping his waist, a classic couple pose that she found jarring as she gazed at it. Their smiles overtook their faces, happiness radiated through, their eyes sparkled. Here, in her fingers, beneath her surprised sight, was a captured moment of true joy.

That party for their grade was when he put his arm around her for the first time. But that one was her favorite. The day before was when their secret had started, and so that night was when he'd held her to him for the first time with actual meaning.

She shoved them away, shoved the envelope away, shoved the drawer closed, and dropped to the bed. Time escaped her, and she hadn't a clue how long she'd been staring at the photos, but it didn't matter as sparse tears began slithering down her cheeks and flicking off her chin. The ache her chest resonated was maddening.

She honestly felt like she was going to throw up.

In a huff, Layton plucked the baby off the mattress, stumbled down the stairs, and tucked her to bed a bit earlier than suggested. She was sure they wouldn't mind, and it took the youngster less than five minutes to drift to sleep, but not without the aid of her voice singing softly to her. The same verses trailed from her lungs, and it seemed to lull Leah to slumber quicker than any other song she could think of.

She pondered returning to the living room, but she honestly didn't see the point. There was nothing she wanted to do in there anyway, and so she dragged her backpack into the baby's room and set into her homework, right there on the floor with only the light from the hallway illuminating the paper.


He slipped through the door and scanned the surroundings quickly. She was nowhere to be found in the living room or the kitchen, and his first thought was to check the baby's room, as that was what she was here for. His footsteps were heavy and determined as he strode toward the dark room just beyond the dining room.

The silhouette of his body eclipsed the hallway light that was thrown over her form. A pink mechanical pencil slanted in her lax grip, and her waterfall of endless hair was a puddle on her blue binder as her head drooped over it, neck bent in unconsciousness. Her eyes, the eyes that he adored looking into every second he could and would've looked into every second for the rest of his existence, were closed, mirroring those of his sleeping child's. The moment was flawless, and he had a hard time disturbing it. Then, his wife came striding toward him and caught a glimpse of the scene.

"Oh, isn't that just adorable?" she cooed and pressed a hand to her heart.

"Adorable," he echoed lifelessly.

There was a breath of silence. "She's beautiful, you know. Layton." His wife pointed out.

"I'm sure," Mr. Zara conceded, but only slightly, for if he agreed too adamantly, like he wished, suspicion would rise in her tummy quicker than he could take it back.

"She'll have a lovely boyfriend someday," she remarked, and then she strutted down the hall to the kitchen.

"Yeah," he whispered to himself, eyes downcast. "Someday."

But not today. Today, she was his.

In a fit of passion, he practically trotted over to her and fell to his knees. Fingers wound into her hair, and he rather shoved her over onto her back as he pulled her face towards his; she was only just starting to wake up when he clapped his mouth over hers, heated. But it was mere seconds before her hands knotted around his neck and yanked him closer.

"Please," she gasped when he drew away. "Never let this end."

He looked into her honey eyes flickering with desire. "I…"

"Please," she begged him again, tightening her grip. "Don't let me go. I need you." She didn't care that she sounded needy, or clingy, or if she completely freaked him out. All she cared about was seeing that face for as long as she could remember.

Determination and decision cast over his brow, and he brought her face to his once more, but not before growling, "I can't let you go."

Not minutes later, they came stumbling out. Her hair was in a disarray, and his tie was lopsided, but they figured they could pass it off. Her backpack was slung over her shoulder, and she was all ready to leave, to walk out of their house forever for all she knew.

"Good—" she began, but then the baby began to shriek.

"I've got her," Mr. Zara mumbled and darted back into her room. Mrs. Zara looked to the youth apologetically, well aware that the child had been sleeping soundly not moments earlier. When her husband returned to the room, and Leah's perfect eyes fell upon the babysitter, she began to squirm and wriggle and reach for her. Tony's gaze widened.

"Wow," he breathed, but he extended the child to her. Her hands clasped under the arms and she brought the thing toward her, into her chest, and the little baby tucked her head into the curve of her neck. Immediately, she was silent and still as she was rocked slightly back and forth.

In a breath-taking, swooping moment, he was struck with the sheer flawlessness of the vision before him, that his child was wrapped in her loving arms.

"I'm sorry," she said rather awkwardly, biting her lip. "But I've really got to get going…I'd love to stay with her, but I've still got my homework and everything and school tomorrow and it's late and I really do feel bad just leaving her like this and just throwing her back at you guys without even some sort of manners and I really apologize but I just—"

"Honey," Mrs. Zara interjected before the girl's face could turn blue due to lack of oxygen. "It's perfectly fine. You'd have to leave at some point anyway." She plucked the baby away from her, and though Leah's face displayed some show of displeasure, she was content enough to be relaxing in the arms of the person that had birthed her. Two of her fingers found her way into her slobbering mouth, and she sucked gently, all the while keeping her gaze trained upon the young woman standing before her. The exchange of money between them made no difference to her, and she didn't understand it, but nor did she care.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Zara," she called over her shoulder as she made her way to the door. Then, when she had opened it and had one foot over the threshold, she glanced fully back and laid her eyes upon the man that made her heart swell. "See you later, Mr. Zara." And she disappeared.

"My, oh my, she is pretty, alright," the woman said in the onslaught silence, but then retreated to put the baby back to rest.

Left all alone, Tony Zara bowed his head and, gazing at the floor, he whispered to the empty room. "I know."