#role model fluff

Summer is slowly coming to an end, and with it, summer break. Meaning, little kids everywhere are mourning the end of their freedom, and teachers, such as yourself, have started the upcoming school year preparations. Since you're new, you get the pleasure of also decorating your classroom how you'd like.

Which is what you're doing right now.

You have a small speaker playing music in the background as you use a stapler to add colorful details to the bulletin board and hum to yourself. You've wanted to teach ever since you were little and you were so excited to finally do it. You've only met a handful of other teachers at this school, but they've all been super nice. Especially Mrs. Pillsbury in room 107. Something about her makes you feel so welcome and looked after.

With a pleased sigh at your handy work, you look up and out into the hallway when you hear footsteps. You see a man. About your age. Tall. Tattooed. Cute.

He meets your gaze and offers a relaxed smile as he continues his path. Your brain buffers, barely able to smile back before it's too late. When he's out of sight, your stare moves to the wall in front of you.

Who the hell was that?

You try to shake off the butterflies in your stomach thinking to yourself that you're never going to see him again and that you're just being silly.

But fate, or Mrs. Pillsbury, has other plans.

You have your back to the door while you're fumbling with the jammed stapler, feeling like you're about two seconds away from slamming it into the desk, when you hear a knock on your open door. You straighten your back and turn around only to see the same man from earlier. Except this time, he's holding a box of school supplies. Your brows furrow in confusion, but you also don't think to say hello. Your brain is too preoccupied on trying not to stare at his biceps.

"Uh, hey. My mom sent these for you. Said you needed 'em," he explains.

"Your mom?" You ask stupidly.

"Pillsbury. Room 107," he supplies.

"Oh! Yes, thank you!" You had forgotten that she had kindly offered to lend you some supplies, "Here, I can take that."

You step forward to try and grab the box, but he shakes his head, "Nah, it's kinda heavy, just tell me where I should set it down."

You blink for a second, "Sure, yeah, on that table's fine." You point to the one nearest to him and shamefully watch his muscles work as he puts the box down.

When he stands back up to his full height, your eyes shoot to his and you give him a tight, awkward smile.

"My name's Tucker, by the way," He takes a step forward and extends his hand out for a shake.

You tell him yours and shake his hand.

God, he's tall.

He must sense what you're thinking because he smirks slightly, repeating your name under his breath like he wants to make sure he remembers it.

"So what do you need all those colored papers for?" he asks, nodding at the box.

You grin excitedly, grateful for the conversation starter, "I want to make these paper chain garlands to hang from the ceiling. I think it'll give the room a relaxed but festive environment. Plus, they're cheap and easy to make," you joke, "What do you think? Fun? Tacky?"

"Definitely fun, but I don't think the kids will care much for them once you start giving 'em homework."

"Ah, but what is school if not torture?"

Your little joke earns you a chuckle from him, not expecting a teacher to have that mindset, "I'm sure they'll love you," he teases.

"What's not to like?" I joke back, but he doesn't respond right away.

He studies you for a moment, like he's taking everything about you into inventory, before murmuring softly, "Yeah, I guess you're right."

This feels like a good natural conversation close, but you really don't want this super cute guy to leave just yet, so you blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.

"Wanna help?"

His eyebrows shoot up and he visibly lags, "I'm not very crafty," he laughs nervously.

"It's paper chains," I deadpan, "I'm sure you can handle that. Unless your mom needs you, of course," you say sweetly, giving him an out if he wants it.

What you don't know is that his mom sent him over here with the intention of setting the two of you up. She didn't say it out right, but Tucker could feel it in the way she practically shoved the box of supplies into his arms and pushed him out into the hallway with a stern look and the number of your classroom. But not before fixing his hair and adjusting his shirt.

"I'm sure she'll be fine," he manages after a bit. He wouldn't mind helping the new pretty teacher that works with his mom. Especially not when you ask with eyes like that.

"Alright then," you mutter softly with a nod. "The only thing is, my stapler got jammed. I can't get it to pop back up."

"Lemme see," he reaches you in a few long strides and stands close to you. Unnecessarily close, but you aren't gonna say anything.

He smells good, you notice.

After a few seconds of him fumbling with it, he gets it to work again. You thank him cheerfully, saying he 'saved your students from the terrible fate of having to stare at blank walls'.

He shakes his head with a smile, "That's what I'm here for. Shall we begin?"

"We shall," you point to the table where the supplies are and sit down. He follows suit. He looks huge in the chair meant for little kids, which does something to you. But it also makes him look cute with his long legs bent up and back hunched over to reach the table more easily.

He stares at you for a second and you assume he's waiting for instructions. You show him how you plan to make the chains, "It's really low stakes, so you can't really mess up," you chuckle softly when you see his brows furrowed in concentration.

"Trust me, yes I can," he grins back, but starts cutting up little strips of paper. You follow his lead, and soon enough, you settle into a comfortable rhythm.

You both make small talk as you work. It starts out polite. He asks about work, how you got here, where you studied, stuff like that, and you do the same.

But then he starts to get bold.

"So you got a boyfriend?" He blurts out after a short silence.

Your hands freeze for a second, eyes flitting up to his to gauge his intentions through body language. He's playing it cool, dead set on keeping his own eyes on the paper chain.

"Uh. No. No, I don't have a boyfriend," you answer after a few awkward beats.

He just nods and murmurs, "good."

You clear your throat. Is he going to ask you out? Should you ask about him? You open your mouth to ask if he has a girlfriend, figuring if he could ask, you could do, but you get interrupted by a light knock on the door.

You both look up to see his mom standing there with an all too pleased look on her face.

Tucker lets out a borderline annoyed, "Mom?" at the same time as you very politely and nervously say "Mrs. Pillsbury," like you got caught doing something you shouldn't.

Your coworker who has been working at this school for years and could easily get you fired just caught you sitting way too close to her son doing crafts together.

You could die.

"Hey, kids! Just making sure my son here didn't get lost or anything," she stands behind him and squeezes his shoulders. The motion causes you to look at them for a split second before looking at his mom again. They're broad. You're pleased.

"Whatcha working on?" She asks brightly, stepping out from behind him so that she can look at both of you, and shoots Tucker a knowing grin. He can't believe this. He's being spied on by his mother as he's trying to make a move on the pretty teacher.

"Just some paper chains to hang from the ceiling. Thanks again for letting me borrow some supplies, it was very kind of you," you explain professionally and kindly, albeit very embarrassed.

"Yes, mom. Very kind," he agrees, but it sounds a little sarcastic. Your brows furrow as you look at him, but he keeps his eyes trained on his mom. Your gaze bounces between both of them, evidently witnessing a silent conversation that you are not privy to.

After a few beats of you sitting there awkwardly, his mom sighs and smiles at you, "Well sweetheart it was my pleasure. If you need anything else, just call me. I mean it, scissors, paper, glue, a ride somewhere. Hell, you're welcome to come to our house anytime, I'm sure Tucker wouldn't mind," she adds that last part with a glint in her eyes.

Tucker coughs loudly and you catch on to the situation, tilting your head down to hide your smile and to suppress a laugh.

"I'll keep that in mind, thank you Mrs. Pillsbury," you nod politely. And with one more teasing smile sent to Tucker, she leaves your classroom.

Tucker keeps facing the door, as if making sure she doesn't come back. He rolls his shoulder and finally turns back to you with a sheepish smile, "That's good ol' mom."

"She's great," you grin.

"You're enjoying this aren't you," he narrows his eyes at you.

"Why ever would you think that?" you play coy, clearly taking pleasure in the situation. You reach for the stapler that's next to him to finish the chain you were working on, but he grabs it before you can, holding it away from you.

You frown, "Hey! What-"

"Can I take you out?"

You close your mouth quickly, eyes going wide. You manage a surprised, "huh?"

"On a date," he clarifies, though it wasn't necessary. "You, me, restaurant, dinner, dessert-" he continues teasingly when you just keep staring at him.

"No, yeah, I know what a date is," you interrupt him with a playful eye roll, "You want to take me out on a date?"

"Yeah," he says like he didn't just turn your day around completely.

"Okay," you find yourself saying.

"Okay?" He sits up like he wasn't expecting you to say yes so quickly.

"Sure, why not."

"Boy, you sure know how to make a man feel special. Is tonight good? Seven o'clock?"

Now it's your turn to be surprised again, "Tonight? That's... soon."

"Why waste good time, I think we have something here," he taps the stapler against the table once to drive his point in as he looks at you with a cocky grin.

"Fine. Tonight at seven," you try to match his tone.

"Good. I'll pick you up," he stands and walks toward the door with a pep in his step.

"You need my address in order to do that," I point out.

"I know where you live, gorgeous," at my confused, slightly horrified look, he clarifies with a small laugh, "I've got a spy on the inside," he taps the side of his nose and winks. And with that, he walks out, leaving you to sit in a tiny chair and try to get a grasp on what just happened.

You remember mentioning where you lived to your coworker a few days ago when you first met, finding it a little weird how she kept asking you questions about things you liked and where you lived.

The realization dawns on you and you let out a small incredulous laugh and shake your head, "Touché, Pillsburys" you whisper to yourself with a giddy smile.

This year, Valentine’s Day fell on a Friday. The kids were excited enough about the weekend coming up, but add on the annual Valentine’s Day exchange and they were practically bouncing off the walls. You were exhausted from trying to get a bunch of little kids to focus on your lessons instead of the promise of candy boxes. Every year, the kids were expected to bring decorated shoeboxes and candy for their classmates for a class wide exchange of goodies. This way, no one was left without a little something on Valentine’s Day. 

The kids were currently in P.E. and it was your planning period. The goodie exchange had gone as well as you could’ve hoped, and you were now distributing your little gifts for them in their boxes before they got back. 

“Hey Teach,” comes a voice from your door. 

You turn around and find none other than Tucker Pillsbury leaning against your doorframe with his hands behind his back. 

“Tucker, hi! How’ve you been?” You have the pleasure of seeing him whenever he comes by the school to visit his mom or bring her lunch, which is suspiciously more often than you’d think. You found it curious that he would always make sure to stop by your class before leaving. And that his mom would always ask if you were seeing anyone from time to time. 

You liked him. Of course you did. He was charming and you weren’t blind. And you learned he was good with the kids one day when he found a lost kid roaming the halls and brought her to you on his arm, rubbing her back as she cried. You almost violated a few rules that day concerning appropriate teacher behavior towards visitors. 

“I’ve been good… good,” he nods along awkwardly but somehow cocky at the same time, “I just wanted to wish you a happy Valentine’s Day.”

He steps forward and reveals what he was hiding behind his back: A beautiful yet simple bouquet of flowers and some donuts from your favorite place. You gasp softly and let out a surprised little laugh, “Are you serious?”

He grins, “Yeah, is this okay?”

“No, yeah, it’s perfect! Thank you so much,” you beam. You take the flowers from him and place them on your desk, “they’re beautiful.”

Tucker looks from the flowers to you and murmurs a thoughtful, “yeah.”

You take the paper bag next and see that there are two frosted heart shaped donuts inside, “One for you and one for me?” You smirk coyly.

“That works,” he responds with a smirk of his own. 

He ends up sitting on your desk facing you as you sit in your chair, making each other laugh with past anecdotes about shitty Valentine’s days and eating the holiday themed treats. He’s in the middle of making you laugh so hard you almost snort when the kids start to filter back in, all sweaty and tired from P.E.

“Who is that?” a little girl points at Tucker, causing the whole class to ooouu at you. You panic and shove a stack of tests into Tucker’s chest before you get ratted out by kids who can’t read chapter books yet.

“No no, none of that. He’s just a sub helping me grade some papers,” you lie.

Tucker raises a brow at you as if to say ‘oh, really?’ and you cock your head and widen your eyes for a split second, begging him to go along with it. He lets out a ragged exhale, as if he’s not jumping for joy at spending more time with you, and stands up, “That’s right, so you kids better behave. Your grades hang in the balance of how nice you are to Ms. Teach over here,” he sends you a wink as a few kids grumble. 

You scoff but fail to hide your smile as you hand him the answer key. He makes a big show of sitting at your desk before you start the next lesson. The next hour and a half consists of Tucker half pretending to grade and half admiring you teach while you pretend not to notice. 

Finally, the bells rings signalling it’s the end of the day and the kids scramble to line up at the door so you can walk them to the buses. Tucker stands up like he’s one of them and makes his way over to you. As you walk with a trail of energetic students behind you, he leans in a little, “So… any plans for tonight?”

You risk a glance up at him, “No. Why?”

“Just wondering,” he shrugs smoothly. He opens his mouth to say something when someone calls out his name.

“Tucker?!” It’s his mom from across the hall, walking her own class to the bus lot. 

He freezes. “Uh-oh, busted,” he whispers with a smirk.

The kids do the universal ‘oouuu you’re in trouble’ sound. You try not to laugh. Tucker’s mom tries to make her way over to her son, but gets blocked by another class.

“Gotta run, but I’ll see you later, yeah? I think you’ll be proud of my grading skills!” He calls out the last part as he half jogs through a side exit. 

Mrs. Pillsbury fixes you with a questioning look, to which you respond, “What? He just came to drop something off,” you shrug. She nods though it’s clear she doesn’t believe you. 

Once the kids are all loaded up, you make your way back to your class with a smile plastered on your face. You sit at your desk to finish grading and find one of your little heart shaped sticky notes in the middle of your workspace. 

Teach, Give me a call sometime?  P.S. That Peter kid might have to retake the test. - Tucker

His phone number is scrawled at the bottom with a drawn on little heart with a face. You smile to yourself with a dreamy sigh and rub your thumb over his name. 

You look over at the flowers he brought and bite your lip.