Teacher! Matty x Teacher! Reader
After Hours...
helloooo, new AU wow. This is just a cutsey idea I had, idk, I hope you guys like it, I'd be happy to write more for these two. This is just a bit of an introduction to them, it's not too long, sorry!!
Fem! Reader
Contains: Teacher! Matty, secret relationship, making out, a bit of touching/grinding, nearly getting caught, SOOO much flirting and teasing good lord
WC: ~4,500
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You and Matty are both high school teachers in a secret relationship <3
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At first, it was surface-level things that had drawn you to your colleague. You liked that he usually wore a button-down shirt and a tie to school, but on some days, it was just a band shirt and a blazer. And you liked that he had a pretentious leather briefcase filled with notebooks for all of his disorganized thoughts and things he needed to remember. That quickly became you realizing how genuine he was in his mission to touch as many of these kids’ lives as possible. To him, the job wasn’t just about teaching English. It was about teaching kids what he wished he’d have known at their age. He wasn’t like the other teachers you’d met since getting a job at this high school. He had a restless energy to him, one that wouldn’t stop until he felt satisfied with the mark he’d left on the world.
It was hard to pinpoint how it all started. Maybe it was the many lunch breaks you’d taken together, your shared love for literature, or the surprise coffee deliveries to your classroom in the middle of the day. If you had to pick one moment, it was probably when you’d chaperoned a school winter formal together, spending the night making eyes at each other while also ensuring that kids weren’t getting drunk or too handsy under the gymnasium bleachers. You still remember the way he reacted to seeing you in that dress, how he’d delicately fixed the strap of it when it slipped down your shoulder. The way it felt when his fingertips skimmed your bare shoulder, lingering for just a moment, you might as well have been a seventeen-year-old schoolgirl yourself. It was ridiculous the number of times you relived it in your head. Over and over, the memory alone caused your skin to prick with goosebumps. You couldn’t find it in you to be irritated with how distracting your colleague was.
After that evening, the caffeine-fueled paper grading sessions in his classroom turned into sharing glasses of red wine in his apartment and chatting over music. You didn’t just talk about school or complain about which kids were giving you headaches (but he did love the occasional piece of hot work gossip, even if he pretends not to be that interested). You loved seeing a side of him that none of the other staff or the students got to see. His edges really didn’t appear all that sharp when he’d giggle at your stupid jokes or insist on calling you a cab when the night was through and the reality of school the next day hit you both hard.
Matty told you all sorts of things when it was just the two of you, when his tie was loosened as well as his lips. You started to learn more about who he was before he became “Mr. Healy”. With how good he is at the job, you were shocked to learn that he’d never planned on being a teacher. Ever. He wanted to be a musician. A rock star, specifically, adored by thousands for his brilliant mind that was now mostly being used for catching plagiarized writing. When the band idea fell apart, along with his dreams of never having to return to school, he had to pick between wasting away delivering Chinese food or begrudgingly doing something with his life.
“I fucking hated school,” he’d admitted to you bluntly one night, his back to you as he’d carefully flipped a record over on his pricy turntable. And that’s exactly what made him so good at connecting with the slackers and the trouble makers of his classroom. He knew them because he was them at one point in his life. There was no denying that Matty’s students loved him. They loved that he treated them like adults and wasn’t afraid to tell them where things were at. Sometimes, when walking down the hall, you’d linger for a few moments by his classroom door to hear him passionately lecturing, his voice carrying confidently through the room. There wasn’t a peep of side conversation amongst the kids. He had everyone captivated with his theatrics, pacing in front of the chalkboard with his hands gesturing wildly. Maybe he was a born showman after all, even if it wasn’t in the way he’d imagined.
You were a bit jealous of the way he could command his classroom, being a newer teacher yourself, but he was always happy to give you pointers and let you practice your lessons on him for feedback. It was nice to get tips on how not to let the kids totally trample you. According to Matty, they could sniff out a disingenuous person easier than anyone, and the best way to go about it was to just say what you mean. His wisdom was endless, and as were his rambles about the importance of the youth. You didn’t mind though. It was endearing to see a teacher that wasn’t burnt out and jaded yet like so many were.
The way you both felt, how close you were getting, it was risky, unprofessional, reckless, and yet felt far too right for what it was. Getting involved with a colleague that way, you both knew how badly it could go if people started to catch on. But, if anything, you’d say you were actually less productive at your job while having to constantly bite your lip and hide your urges when he was around. Maybe the danger was part of the allure, or perhaps he was just that damn attractive. It was all like an incoming, all-consuming storm that was impossible not to get swept up in. It felt like you were unraveling each other further every time you met outside of school, testing the other's restraint.
Your mind was constantly a mess of thoughts of Matty, some cleaner than others, and he wasn’t faring much better. The way his gaze would rake over you during English department meetings was simply unfair, stealing glances at the way you’d fidget with your pen or twirl your hair. And suddenly, undressing each other with your eyes just wasn’t enough. How much were you willing to risk to know his touch? His kiss? To feel the tattoos that were hidden under his dress shirts like thinly veiled reminders of his past?
You remember how it felt to kiss him for the first time. It was a culmination of every lingering glance, every loud laugh shared on your lunch breaks, every “accidental” brush of hands. It was deep and desperate and raw with roaming hands that tugged on clothes and dug into skin. He kissed better than you could have imagined, his lips slotting against yours like he wanted to devour you. And god help you both if anyone found out what happened directly after that kiss…
That all leads to now, visiting him in his classroom long after the final bell had rung. It was Friday, which meant everyone was desperate to go home and unwind, but Matty was still diligently working his way through a thick stack of papers. You simply watched him from his doorframe for a moment, taking in the way his eyes squinted as he caught a grammatical error on a page. He shook his head, his unruly curls bouncing as he grumbled something to himself before scratching over the page with a red pen. It was hard not to adore him.
“Your hair looks crazy. Have you been teaching all day like that?” you say, arms crossed over your chest.
Matty’s eyes light up just at the sound of your voice, the stress and tension of grading melting away from his features as he looks up at you with a smile. He just shrugs casually, giving a halfhearted attempt to smooth out his thick hair, only to have it bounce back in odd directions.
“Hi. And, yeah, whatever. I think I’ve made it worse by nearly tearing it out over these,” he says, lifting up the stack of paper just to drop it back on his desk with a hefty thud, “If only they’d let me change the curriculum a bit, I’d give them something to read that would actually blow their little minds. I’m sick to fucking death of To Kill a Mockingbird, and so are they.”
“You could give them an extra credit assignment? Make it whatever you want,” you suggest jokingly, causing him to snort and drop his pen in defeat. It clatters on the desk as he shakes out his hand that’s cramped from writing.
“Yeah, good one. But seriously,” he continues, motioning to the scribblings of red pen all over the pages, “This is what you get when kids are uninspired, you know?”
You hum thoughtfully, knowing that he had big dreams of opening up kids’ worlds, showing them what he calls “the real shit”. After shutting the door and locking it (something you were quite used to by now), you push off the doorframe to approach his desk, sitting on the edge of it that wasn’t covered in papers. His eyes flicker over you for a moment, his gaze simmering with interest before forcing himself to look back down. His fingers rhythmically tap on his lap like he was visualizing this new, better syllabus in his mind.
“What would you rather them be reading? Kafka?” you tease.
Matty rolls his eyes, reaching out to lightly smack your knee for being a smartass.
“God, no, not Kafka,” he says, “What’re you fidgeting with over there?”
You raise your eyebrows slightly as he easily notices the way your hand is fiddling with something in the pocket of your cardigan. You pull out a small, folded-up piece of paper that was tucked inside, smoothing it out for him to read.
“This was inside the sleeve of my coffee today. Any idea how it got in there?” you ask casually, smiling as he pretends not to recognize his own handwriting. This was not the first little note he’d left for you with your coffee delivery, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.
“‘Your arse looks great in that skirt’. Hm. Some horny baristas out there, huh?” he says before unabashedly looking at your backside, biting his lip, “They’re not wrong though, are they?”
“Classy,” you quip, “Where’d you get it? It was really good today.”
He shakes his head, leaning back in his chair comfortably. How did he always look so effortlessly cool?
“I’m not telling you that.”
“Why?”
“Because then you wouldn’t need me to get you coffee anymore, would you?”
You shake your head softly with a huff, crossing one leg over the other as the slightly crude note sat on his desk, signed “Westley” with a heart. It was a silly, secret code you’d come up with while tipsy and bonding over a childhood love for the book, The Princess Bride. Of course, you were Buttercup. You’d both started doing it as a joke, but maybe you’d grown more attached to it than you wanted to admit.
“Why would I fire my favorite delivery boy?”
“I’m your only delivery boy, thank you very much,” Matty states proudly, placing his hand on your thigh as he looks over his mess of a desk. Absentmindedly, his thumb rubs back and forth over your skin, awakening some familiar, warm feelings in you.
“I need a break,” he admits with a sigh, running his free hand over his weary face while his leg bounces relentlessly under his desk, “My brain is melting out my ears.”
You watch as he glances around the room and towards the door, making sure it’s closed and locked before his restless gaze lands on you again. His expression is a bit wild. He got like that when he’d been doing the same thing for too long.
“C’mere,” he whispers, beckoning you with a pat of his lap. He needs you close, your presence like a much-needed reset for his overworked mind. You quieted the noise for him like nothing else did.
You didn’t have to be asked twice. You slowly slid off the desk and onto his lap, sitting sideways across his legs. His hands guided you by your waist to sit comfortably. Matty sighed deeply, letting out a prolonged breath of relief through his nose. He allowed himself to slump forward slightly, his shoulders sagging as he rested his forehead against your neck. The scent of you, mixed with your perfume, somehow always lulled him into a state of surrender. A shiver crawls down his spine as he remains that way, breathing you in with his hands firmly at your waist.
“Working too hard?” you murmur, reaching to gently rub one of his temples, listening to the sound of his slow breathing.
A grumbled “Mm…” is all you get in response. Matty begins to leave a series of tender kisses along your neck, gently pushing your hair out of the way to make more room for his lips to trail over your skin. Your lashes flutter for a moment with pleasure, enjoying how naturally sensual he could be.
“Tell me about your day. I’ve just been complainin’,” he says softly, his voice low and gravelly near your ear as he rubs small circles over your hip bones with his thumbs.
“Mm. Was alright. I still feel like I don’t have my stern teacher voice down yet,” you smile sheepishly, closing your eyes as your head slowly lolls to the side.
He huffs out a laugh that tickles the sensitive skin of your neck. It makes your chin dip down, a grin breaking out on your face.
“I dunno what you mean. You can be very scary, babe.”
You weren’t so sure. Maybe it was just in your head, but you felt like whenever you used a harsher tone, it came across as false, too forced. Your dislike for conflict always seemed to seep through in the waver of your voice. If you didn’t believe that you could be in charge, how would your students?
“Let me hear yours.”
“What, now?” he chuckles, his lips pulling into a smirk.
You nod, letting your fingers run through his dark curls. Matty clears his throat dramatically, as if preparing to deliver a rousing speech. His voice drops an octave when he speaks, coming out cold and authoritative in your ear in a way that makes your heart stutter and your face feel hot.
“Detention. Now.”
He played the part well, but just as quickly ruined the image by grinning like an idiot and kissing the side of your head. You can’t help but laugh as he turned from Mr. Healy to your dork boyfriend Matty right before your eyes.
“Ohh, wow,” you tease, playing up your reaction with a hand over your heart, “I’m scared.”
“Yeah, you should be, miss,” he says, reaching to grab a handful of your ass through your skirt. When you were alone this way, he couldn’t seem to stand not touching you. But, there was even the rare occasion where you’d feel a hand on your leg under the table at a department meeting.
Matty’s eyebrow quirks as he notices a sparkle in your eyes, knowing that you’re about to suggest something less than school-appropriate. He narrows his eyes at you, a smirk playing at his lips.
“You should tell me to get on your desk next,” you request coyly, fluttering your lashes at him.
“Oh, should I?” he chuckles lowly, smiling as he leans in to briefly kiss you, the second of contact making butterflies erupt in your stomach.
He just looks at you for a moment, his eyes soft and fond as they flicker over your face. It always feels like time has slowed down entirely when he looks at you that way, each second dragging on longer than the last. He cocks his head towards his desk.
“Go on then, hop up. Or, erm…” he pauses, clearing his throat to attempt his stern teacher voice again, “Get on the desk, you delinquent.” It’s not as effective when he’s trying to stifle a smile, and his voice quavers with amusement.
“Stop!” you chuckle as he leans in to nip your jaw with his teeth playfully.
With a light smack to your backside, you were up off his lap and onto his desk, a few items rattling as you quickly settled in. Matty shoves the pile of unmarked papers aside, caging you in with his arms as he stands up from his chair. There’s a wickedness in his expression that peeks through the exhaustion, a gleam in his dark eyes that wasn’t entirely stifled by the stacks of lackluster writing. You hum softly as he begins to lean in, closer and closer, until his warm breath fans across your lips. Your hands knot into his hair, feeling the dark, soft tresses between your fingers. He just smiles, knowing the effect he has on you.
“Quit drooling,” he mutters, his eyes darting over your face restlessly as he drags the tip of his index finger down your lips.
“I’m not,” you whisper, amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, “Tease.”
Matty lets out a raspy chuckle before grasping your jaw, tilting his head to press his lips to yours. Instantly, you’re drawing him closer by putting your legs around his waist, drawing his lanky body in until he’s flush against you. One of his hands stays on your jaw while the other moves to your hip. You inhale him deeply as your lips slot together, the woody scent of his cologne only dizzying you further. A warm, tingling sensation floods through you as his fingertips just barely break the barrier of the hem on your shirt. God, what a thrill.
“Your hands are cold,” you complain, jumping slightly as his icy fingers spread out against your side.
“Yeah? Warm them up then,” Matty replies huskily against your lips, his hand only sliding further up your shirt, grazing over your ribs now.
He relishes the shiver that skitters through you, bringing you impossibly closer as he kisses you senseless. By the time he breaks the lip lock to press hasty kisses to your neck, you’re both panting softly. Your head lolls backward, your hair spilling over your shoulders as Matty lovingly assaults your skin with a barrage of kisses. You can’t help but laugh breathlessly at how determined he seems to cover every inch of your neck and jawline. Now, his hand is warm again under your shirt, the inviting temperature making it creep upwards towards your bra.
“God,” he whispers, sounding almost pained by how good your lace-covered breast feels when it’s cupped in his hand. Matty’s head was spinning with all the thoughts of things he could do while you were perched on his desk this way.
In a split second, he’s hiking your shirt over your bra and helping you shrug off your cardigan, fueled by what can only be described as unfiltered need. He mutters something that sounds like a string of swears under his breath as he glances down, shifting slightly to adjust the growing bulge in his slacks. You lean back on your hands, your chest heaving as Matty takes in the view. You like it when he does that. No matter how many times he’s seen you with your shirt off, he reacts like it’s a privilege, like you’re the most angelic thing he’s ever been allowed to behold. He wasn’t spiritual by any means, but he honestly believed that you, touching you, loving you as his most prized secret, brings him closer to something divine than anything else.
Starving, you pulled him in by his tie for more, your skirt hiking further up your thighs. It was hot, too hot to describe when his tongue was in your mouth and his hips were rolling against yours. You make a soft sound of pleasure, only for it to be instantly echoed by Matty in a low groan against your mouth. A lot of your jobs were spent reeling in teenagers, but really, you were no better than them when you got your hands on each other. Your wandering hands and friction-seeking hips were no better than those of a 17-year-old experiencing touch for the first time. It was exactly the same with Matty. Once you’d gotten just a taste of something forbidden, you could only think of the next time you could have it.
“Fuck,” you whisper, your eyelashes fluttering as Matty’s thumbs swipe over your nipples through your bra, the stiffness in his trousers pressing against your panties just right. So right, that you felt a throb between your legs like a pang of pure need.
“Feel that?” he mumbles lowly, “What you do to me?”
It was normal for you to get lost in him, especially with his hands setting simmering fires all beneath your skin. However, today, you’d gotten lost enough not to hear the sound of footsteps coming down the hall. It was only when the sound of keys jingling echoed right outside the door that you both froze. You swore you felt your stomach drop right to your feet as your eyes snapped open, pushing Matty back with a hand to his chest. His lips are wet and shining when you part, his eyebrows raised in shock. His expression is much like that of a deer in headlights.
“Fucking hell, janitor coming for the trash,” he mutters, his breath trembling slightly. He nervously runs a hand through his hair, knowing they only have about two seconds before they’ll be exposed. “Under the desk, under the desk,” he says, motioning hurriedly for you to get down.
You nearly hit your head against the arm of his chair as you scramble to huddle under his desk, your heart pounding in your chest. Matty sits back down just as fast, sliding his chair in with his legs spread wide to give you enough space. Well, as much space as you can get crouched down under a desk. You can barely take a full breath before the door is swung open, followed by the janitor’s raspy but warm voice.
“Oh, you’re here late!”
Matty clears his throat, forcing himself to display a somewhat normal smile as he talks, praying that his make-out mussed hair doesn’t look that different from his usual messy curls. Luckily, the trash can was near the door. Neither of you needed the man to be any closer to this ticking time bomb of a disaster that was hidden only about ten feet away.
“Ah, yeah. Papers,” he says lamely, motioning to the disaster on the surface of his desk.
You bite your lip to stifle a smile at how uncomfortable he looks. Poor guy. It definitely doesn’t help that you’re eye level with his–
“I’ll just be taking this and heading out, then!” the janitor exclaims, having no idea what he’d just interrupted. You can hear the sound of the garbage bag rustling as he gathers it up in his gloved hands.
“Thank you,” Matty responds, his voice strained. He nervously clears his throat again, pretending to return to his work. “Um, and you’ve been well?”
“Oh, yes, can’t complain.”
Gingerly, you reach up to place your hands on Matty’s legs, which jerk the moment you touch them. He visibly locks up in his chair, glancing down at you with a look as his spine goes rigid. It was a warning look. He places one hand over yours that rests on his left thigh, pressing it down hard to ensure that you wouldn’t let it wander any higher. In stark contrast to the disciplining pressure, he gently rubbed his thumb over the back of your hand. Your heart jumped in your chest at the sensation, still racing as the tension in the room ran high. He mouths your name, followed by “Stop it. Be good”. Fuck. You watched him from under the desk as he now read the same sentence on one of the pages over and over again, too distracted to even think about absorbing any of the content.
“Good night,” you hear, those two words undoing the vice around your lungs.
“Night,” Matty answers curtly, refusing to look down at you until the door is clicked shut again.
The moment he’s fully gone, Matty raises both of his trembling hands, raking them down his face with an uneasy sigh. Relief could hardly describe the feeling you were experiencing. Neither of you could have ever lived down you being caught under his desk with your shirt shoved over your tits. The whole experience was only about a minute, but it might as well have lasted ten.
“Jesus fucking christ. That was like three years off my life,” he mutters, shaking his head wearily before his voice comes out again with a revived sense of vigor, “And you! What the fuck are you doing touchin’ me down there?!”
“It was for balance!” you defend, raising your hands up to show your innocence.
Okay, maybe it was three-quarters balance-related, one-quarter just wanting to see him squirm. Or… maybe more like half and half. Matty scoffs, staring at your disheveled form incredulously. He crosses his arms over his chest, simply radiating with skepticism. The intensity of the run-in with the janitor lingered on, an unshakable sense of unease.
“‘For balance’, my arse, love. C’mon,” he says, reaching out a hand while his eyes bored into you, “Trying to get us both sacked.”
You rise from the floor slowly, placing one hand on his chest as you stand between his legs. A slight pout was on your lips, as if you hadn’t almost caused a disaster. Matty exhales gruffly, trying to stifle the soft spot that ached for you in his heart, no matter what you did. “I’m sorry, wasn’t thinking.”
“Ah, no,” he says, wagging a finger at you, “I’m serious, you’ll be sitting on your hands next. And you never do think when it comes to this shit, do you? It’s always just fuck me on your desk, Matty! I can’t control myself!”
“I don’t sound like that!” you respond, faux exasperated at his terrible impression of your voice.
“Mm. Yeah, you do.”
You lean against his desk, then slowly pull your shirt back down and smooth it out over your torso. Just as quickly as the mood of desperation for each other had swept over you, it had been forcefully extinguished.
“No more touching until we’re back to my place. Maybe by then I’ll have recovered from the fuckin’ heart attack you gave me.”
“Fine,” you sigh. You were too ramped up with leftover anxiety to think about kissing right now anyway.
You weren’t entirely sure when this would become a funny moment to laugh about, but you were sure that when you got to his flat, all would be forgotten the second his hands were on your hips again.
“We’re not doing this again in here,” he says with a point of his finger, his eyes intense with conviction.
You will probably be doing this in here again soon.
