#teacher!aaron

[ikkyfics]

What If It Was You?

dad!James Potter x f!teacher!reader

Summary: It all started innocently enough. James noticed how kind you were. But over time, he began to notice things he probably shouldn’t have. The way your hair fell over your shoulder as you wrote something on the board. The soft sound of your laughter. The way your eyes sparkled when you looked at Harry. And for a moment, James let that forbidden thought take shape again: you at home with them, laughing, caring, belonging.

Warnings: muggle!au, suggestive, no use of y/n

Masterlist

The school gate was nearly empty when James finally arrived, the late afternoon sun tinting the sky with shades of orange and pink. He was late — again. The traffic, work, single father life… there were so many excuses, but none of them seemed enough when he thought of the disappointed look he might find on Harry's face.

He adjusted his glasses and took a deep breath, crossing the small stone path to the entrance. The place seemed incredibly quiet at this hour. He knew he should hurry, but his steps slowed when he saw you through the half-open door.

You were facing away from him, crouched down next to Harry, and the two of you were laughing at something he couldn’t hear. James felt a pang in his chest as he watched the scene — something he couldn’t name, but that grew with each passing day since you entered their lives.

It all started innocently enough. He noticed how kind you were, how you seemed to genuinely care for every child in the room. But over time, he began to notice things he probably shouldn’t have. The way your hair fell over your shoulder as you wrote something on the board. The soft sound of your laughter, which seemed to light up the room. The way your eyes sparkled when you looked at Harry, as if he were the center of the universe for a moment.

And then there was the damn ring question. James never knew exactly why his eyes sought your left hand, but they always did. Always. And every time he didn’t find a ring there, he felt a relief that left him ashamed of himself. But the shame was never enough to erase the relief. Today, however, a new and dangerous thought struck him. He didn’t just want your hand to stay ring-free. He wanted there to be a ring there. One that he had placed. One that told the world you were his, that you were part of the small world he and Harry shared. But then you looked up, and his eyes met yours. Reality hit like a cold splash of water. You smiled at him, that warm smile that made his stomach flip, and James felt as if all his thoughts were exposed in the air between you. “You’re just in time, Mr. Potter,” you said, your voice light and sweet, but with a teasing tone he recognized. “I thought Harry was going to demand I adopt him if you didn’t show up.” The sentence hit him hard, like an unexpected punch that left him breathless for a moment. Adopt him? The word echoed in James’s mind as he looked at you, feeling a sudden and overwhelming wave of thoughts he couldn’t contain. You adopting him. You, in their life, not just as Harry’s teacher, but as… something more. He blinked a few times, trying to process the whirlwind that had formed in his mind. A brief and intimate vision appeared, so clear he could almost feel it: you, sitting next to him at the dinner table, helping Harry with his homework. You laughing as Harry tried to explain a drawing he made at school. You holding a baby in your arms — his baby — with the same sweetness you gave to every child in that classroom. James felt the air getting trapped in his lungs, a heat rising to his face. He had never considered having another child. Life as a single father was already a minefield of challenges and surprises, and he always thought it would be enough with just him and Harry. But now… now he could picture himself looking at you with a mixture of fascination and love as you held a child with unruly hair and bright eyes — a perfect mix of him and you. Harry had already mentioned how he would like to have a sibling. And you would look beautiful. He knew that. He could see the image so clearly it made his chest tighten in a nearly painful way. You with a rounded belly, full of him, wearing one of those light dresses he thought suited you. He imagined himself placing a hand there, feeling the baby move under his fingers, and the thought hit him like an electric shock, making him avert his gaze for a moment, as if he could hide the intensity of his own desires.

“Mr. Potter?” Your voice called again, laced with a hint of concern, and James realized he had been silent for too long.

“Oh, of course,” he replied, clearing his throat and forcing a smile. He ran a hand through his hair, an automatic habit whenever he was nervous. “I hope he didn’t give you enough trouble to make you reconsider.”

“Not at all,” you said, and that gentle smile he adored returned. “Harry’s a sweetheart.”

James felt something in his chest tighten again, because he believed it. He knew how special Harry was, and knowing that you saw it too, that you treated his son with such care and affection, was more than he knew how to express.

For a moment, you two just looked at each other in silence, and the world around seemed to slow down. There was something in the way your eyes met his, as if a silent current of understanding and something more was passing between you. It was intimate. Warm. A spark he didn’t know how to extinguish.

“Dad, are you going to keep staring at her forever, or can we go home?”

Harry’s voice sliced through the silence like a blade, snapping them both back to reality. James blinked quickly, looking away and feeling the heat rise to his face. He looked at his son, who was staring at him with an impatient air, though there was a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“Sorry, champ,” James replied, clearing his throat and letting out a nervous laugh. “I think I’m more tired than I thought.”

You laughed softly, and the sound was like music to his ears. “I think we’re all tired. Have a good night, Mr. Potter. Harry.”

“Good night!” Harry replied cheerfully, giving an enthusiastic wave while holding his father’s hand.

James looked at you one last time, struggling against the urge to prolong the interaction. But he knew he had to go, even though every part of him wished to stay just a little longer.

“Good night,” he said, his voice softer than he meant, before turning and starting to walk out with Harry.

As he left, he felt his son squeeze his hand and heard his excited voice say, “Dad, I really like her. I think she’d be a great mom.”

James stopped in his tracks, his heart leaping in his chest. He looked at Harry, who was staring at him with that disarming innocence only a child could have.

And for a moment, James let that forbidden thought take shape again: you at home with them, laughing, caring, belonging. He didn’t say anything, but squeezed Harry’s hand a little tighter, thinking that, no matter how impossible it seemed, he couldn’t agree more.

[the-inner-musings-of-a-worm]

forever thinking about aaron's handshake with the eden's bodygaurds and andrews salute to them. do you think on their break they'd help the twins with hw? in the book it says the guards "lit up" or smthn when they saw the twins, how on earth did they get people to like them. were the twins like the babies of eden's twighlight? the prickly, mean, teenage goth babies?

[almostwisegalaxy]

The Intransigence of Silence

Actor x fem!reader

Reader has a bit of a shy character in this story

Music to listen to for the atmosphere: teacher's pet _Melanie Martinez

Part_1

Part_2. Part_3

Teacher's pet core ?...Ohhh yes ಡ⁠ ͜⁠ ⁠ʖ⁠ ⁠ಡ

..................................................................................

The autumn wind blew gently through the streets, and the subdued atmosphere of the theater conservatory brought an odd sense of calm to an otherwise noisy world. Y/N, a young actress, was one of the newest recruits at one of the country's most prestigious schools. Yet, in this environment where every move seemed scrutinized, every word weighed, she never truly felt at home. Shy and reserved, she struggled to carve out her place, to make herself visible among peers who were often louder, more confident.

The actor was an icon. His career was a jewel of both cinema and television. Behind his ever-brilliant smile and image of a charming prince lay a cold, unyielding man, whose passion for the craft was intertwined with a deep cynicism toward the industry. He had no patience for artists who sought to conform to superficial expectations. Teaching was a new challenge for him: to pass on what he had learned while keeping his distance, desiring only the raw essence of his students without truly letting them into his world.

The day he met Y/N, he had no intention of being impressed by her presence. She was there, among the other students, yet her energy seemed different. Timid, almost invisible. She didn’t have the audacity to stand out, and yet, he saw something in her—a potential she perhaps didn’t even know she had, or maybe one she was running from.

The first class was an ordeal. The actor made no concessions. His remarks were sharp, devoid of compassion. When Y/N stepped onto the stage for her first performance, his gaze bore into her.

— "You’re not here to look pretty. If you want to act, then act. Be present. Don’t aim for perfection; aim for truth."

She froze, unable to respond. She knew she hadn’t yet found her place, that she didn’t have that "something" he was looking for. But what escaped Y/N’s notice was the intensity of his gaze. He was testing her, provoking her—not to break her, but to draw something authentic out of her.

Days passed, and the actor watched Y/N with a frosty intensity. He gave her increasingly difficult tasks but never praised her. On the contrary, his remarks were cutting.

— "Still too timid. You don’t impress me," he would say, almost as if daring her. He pushed her further and further, forcing her to confront her own boundaries. But she couldn’t understand why he was so harsh. Why wouldn’t he just let her be?

One evening, after an especially long rehearsal, when everyone else had left, the actor found her alone in the empty theater. Y/N was still rehearsing, murmuring her lines as if the world around her didn’t exist. He paused at the entrance, silently observing her before finally approaching.

— "You have talent. That’s not the problem," he said at last, his voice cold but firm. "The problem is that you’re hiding that talent behind your fears."

He looked at her for a moment, as though waiting for a reaction, but she gave none.

— "If you want to be a real actress, you need to shed those chains—those little voices telling you you’re not good enough."

Her heart raced. His words hit harder than any critique. He spoke about her as if her doubts were plain to see, as if everyone knew, everyone could tell. But there was no comfort in his voice, only a stark observation, a demand.

She lowered her gaze, unsure of what to say. Yet, despite the harshness of his words, she felt both shattered and motivated. He wasn’t trying to crush her; he wanted her to wake up, to stop hiding. But he remained distant, offering no easy answers. This was a trial, not a helping hand.

In the weeks that followed, Y/N felt his gaze on her more intensely. He kept pushing her, challenging her at every turn. He observed her but never offered a word of comfort. Every comment, every look he gave her seemed to say she still wasn’t doing enough.

— "You need to stop trying to be liked," he told her one day. "That’s not what acting is. Acting is going beyond, into the invisible, into the uncomfortable."

She wrestled with her emotions. On one hand, she felt a certain gratitude toward him. He was right—she couldn’t keep hiding behind her timidity, her fear of falling short. But on the other hand, she found herself inexplicably drawn to him in a way she couldn’t explain. He watched her with an intensity she had never experienced before. But his attention was icy, distant, as if the goal was to push her to surpass herself, not to encourage her success.

One day, after a particularly difficult scene, Y/N broke down in tears. The actor, watching her with a cold expression, approached without a word. He made no attempt to console her.

— "Still too much doubt," he said simply. "Do you think crying makes you more human? It only makes you look weaker."

It wasn’t cruelty; it was raw truth. And it hurt.

But through the pain, something shifted within Y/N. She finally understood. He hadn’t abandoned her; he had forced her to rise. Every comment, every cutting observation, had been meant to push her to a place she never imagined she could reach. He wasn’t a gentle or kind mentor, but a relentless force driving her past her limits.

He never spoke of her progress or offered her compliments. But one evening, as they rehearsed alone in the empty theater, he turned to her, his dark eyes fixed on hers.

— "Do you want to know why I push you so hard?" he asked. "Because I see that you still don’t understand that art isn’t about comfort. It’s a battle."

And for the first time, Y/N felt truly seen, even without comforting words. She had become stronger, but she hadn’t changed who she was. The actor had broken her down to rebuild her, and in a strange way, that brought her closer to him, even if he remained a cold and enigmatic presence.

---

The days passed in a rhythm of endless rehearsals and the actor’s sharp remarks. With every session, Y/N felt more lost yet more determined. She wanted to earn his respect, but she no longer knew how. His critiques, though harsh, pushed her to go beyond her limits. Yet every word, every gesture seemed to push her further away from him, as if an invisible barrier stood between them.

Despite this, she knew that somewhere deep down, he believed in her. But he never let any warmth or support show. There was no comfort, no kind gestures or encouraging words—only expectations that grew heavier with each passing day. And yet, something about him drew her toward him. There was no flirtation, no obvious signs. But whenever they found themselves alone for rehearsals, a silent tension lingered between them—a kind of unspoken challenge, as though she was trying to understand him while he kept her at arm's length.

One day, after a long day of filming, as she was packing up her things in the dressing room, she saw the actor stop in the doorway, as if hesitating. He stepped inside without a word, his imposing figure framed by the shadows of the room.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low but firm, as always. “I watched your scene again. It’s not enough. You let yourself go. This isn’t a role you play. It’s a life you live.”

She turned slowly, feeling her heart race. He was staring at her without blinking, as if waiting for a reaction. She still addressed him formally, and he seemed to appreciate that sense of distance, as if it shielded him from the emotions she never allowed herself to show.

“I... I understand, sir,” she replied timidly, though with a growing determination. “I’ll work harder.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and for a moment, he didn’t take his eyes off her. The air between them felt charged with a strange intensity. The actor, usually so in control of his emotions, had something undefined in his gaze—an internal conflict he refused to share. Finally, he nodded slowly, a gesture of acknowledgment but without comfort.

“You need to be more than this role,” he said almost in a whisper. “Be more than what you think you are.”

He turned to leave but paused just before stepping out the door. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if he’d caught a glimpse of vulnerability in her. But he didn’t dwell on it. “Tomorrow, rehearse thoroughly. I’ll be there to correct you,” he added without emotion.

Y/N watched him leave, her heart heavy. She didn’t know why his words affected her so deeply. Maybe it was because he spoke truths she didn’t want to hear but knew to be real. She wanted to be more than this role. She knew that deep down. But the task felt insurmountable.

The next day, during rehearsal, he was there as promised. The actor watched her enter the room with his piercing gaze. This time, however, there was no harsh speech, no immediate reproach—just a cold, analytical stare.

“Start,” he ordered in a clipped tone.

Y/N, her body tense, moved to the center of the room and began. This time, she gave her all, shedding her hesitations. She wasn’t thinking about him or his relentless critiques but about the scene, about the essence of the character. She wasn’t Y/N anymore—she was the actress, the soul of the role, losing herself in the performance. Yet even in her complete immersion, she couldn’t ignore his presence. He was there, motionless, watching her with an inscrutable expression.

When the scene ended, he didn’t speak for a moment, which made her nervous. Slowly, he walked toward her.

“Much better,” he said at last. But there was something in his tone—a subtle nuance she hadn’t heard before. A mix of satisfaction and restraint.

“But it’s not enough,” he added. “Do it again.”

This time, he didn’t move closer. He stayed at a distance, watching her from afar. A chill ran through her. Was that a veiled compliment? Or just another cold observation? She couldn’t tell.

The rehearsals continued, and a strange dynamic began to take shape between them. She realized that every time he was there, her focus sharpened. There was no room for hesitation, no space for fear. She was becoming the actress he demanded, but at what cost? Sometimes, the line between fear and respect blurred.

One day, while they were alone in the room after yet another grueling rehearsal, the actor suddenly turned to her. “You’re changing,” he said without preamble, as if it were obvious. “But don’t forget why you’re doing this. It’s not just to land a role. It’s for your own truth. Don’t lose yourself.”

Y/N, her breath shallow, lowered her eyes. His words resonated within her with an intensity she couldn’t quite grasp. The actor remained as distant as ever, but with every interaction, she felt there was something more beneath the surface. A kind of interest—not in her as a person, but in what she was becoming because of him. An interest that was unreadable, yet powerful enough to push her further, always further. But never past the silent boundary between mentor and protégé.

She straightened, forcing herself to meet his gaze. “I won’t disappoint you, sir.”

He held her gaze for a moment, his dark eyes gleaming with an emotion he never allowed to surface. Then, without another word, he turned and walked away as always, leaving behind a lingering warmth in the air—a mystery she might never unravel.

---

Weeks had passed, and with each rehearsal, the atmosphere between Y/N and the actor grew denser, almost tangible. Y/N strived to follow every directive with precision, taking note of his every word, but she never truly understood where it all was leading. The actor, for his part, continued to push her, never offering any sign of approval. He shaped her like a sculptor shapes a statue, but without the slightest hint of tenderness. There was something almost inhuman in the way he treated her: on one hand, he gave her relentless attention, but on the other, he kept her at a distance, as if she were merely a tool for achieving a greater purpose—a masterpiece to be perfected.

Y/N no longer knew where she stood. Every time he gave her a role, a scene to rehearse, she threw herself into it without restraint, as if she had something to prove. But deep down, she constantly wondered: why her? Why this relentless effort? At times, she felt closer to him than anyone else, and at others, he seemed like a distant figure—a demanding master she could never fully understand.

One evening, after an especially grueling day of rehearsals, she wandered the corridors of the conservatory, her thoughts in turmoil. She had never seen the actor so silent, so detached, and it troubled her more than she wanted to admit. It felt as if he was ready to abandon her, to let her drown in her own doubts.

As she walked through a dimly lit hallway, she saw him. He stood near the door of the theater room, arms crossed, as though he had been waiting for her. He still had that intense, cold gaze—a gaze with a depth that fascinated her despite herself.

“You’re not satisfied with your performance, are you?” he asked in a calm, almost icy tone.

Y/N stopped a few steps away from him. She lowered her eyes before responding, not wanting to appear more vulnerable than she already felt. “I... I’m not sure, sir. Maybe I’m still making mistakes.”

He nodded slowly. “Mistakes, yes. But necessary ones,” he added, his tone neutral. “You can’t move forward without making them. And you need to accept that.”

A shiver ran down her spine. Why was his tone becoming more distant? She felt as though he was simultaneously pushing her to excel and to lose herself. He scrutinized her as if he could see beyond her timid exterior, as if every move he made was designed to turn her into a stronger, more relentless actress.

“Why... why do you push me so hard?” she finally asked, breaking the silence between them. “Why won’t you just let me express myself?”

He stared at her for a long moment before answering, his gaze piercing like a beam of light cutting through the darkness of the room.

“Because you don’t know yet what you’re capable of,” he said in a low, almost inaudible voice. “Because you’re so desperate to be accepted that you hide behind roles, masks, rehearsed lines. But that’s not what I’m looking for. I’m looking for what makes you vibrate, what burns inside you—what you’re still refusing to show.”

Y/N felt trapped by his words. Each sentence was like a challenge she had to overcome, a mountain she had to climb without the luxury of making mistakes. He seemed to know her better than she knew herself, and that terrified her.

“I... I don’t know if I can do it,” she whispered, her voice breaking with uncertainty.

He didn’t respond immediately but looked at her with a calculating expression, as though waiting for her to find her own truth. After a heavy silence, he stepped slightly closer.

“You don’t need to know if you’ll succeed. That’s the beauty of art. There are no certainties. Only the constant pursuit. And the pain of never being satisfied with yourself,” he said with a cold, almost wise tone. “But trust me—if you stop clinging to what’s comfortable, you’ll eventually find the part of you you’ve always been hiding.”

She didn’t reply. She didn’t know what to say. His words echoed in her mind, both a challenge and an invitation. Why did she feel like he wasn’t just pushing her to become a better actress? There was something more.

“Go rehearse. I’ll be here tomorrow,” the actor said as he turned away, as if he’d just finished a casual conversation. But he didn’t look back. Y/N remained there, frozen, her heart pounding in her chest, as though the weight of his expectations bore down on her shoulders. It wasn’t encouragement, but it had a destabilizing effect on her. He was right. She hadn’t yet found what she was searching for.

The next morning, during rehearsals, she once again felt the invisible pressure emanating from him. With every movement, every line, the actor watched her without blinking. He was still as distant as ever, but every adjustment he made to her performance pushed her further out of her comfort zone. Every minute spent under his unyielding gaze made her stronger—but also more fragile.

After a particularly difficult scene, where Y/N, on the verge of a breakdown, nearly collapsed, the actor paused for a moment and gave her an intense look. She waited, almost silently, for his verdict.

“You did well,” he said, his cold tone contrasting with the effort she had just poured into the scene. But there were no congratulations. No smile. Just a matter-of-fact statement.

She lowered her eyes, barely taking the time to process his words. He still hadn’t told her what he truly thought of her, of her progress. Nothing more than endless challenges and constant expectations.

“I know you expect more from me,” she murmured, almost despairingly.

He looked at her, his eyes seeming to analyze every part of her being. He wasn’t the type to offer comforting words. Yet in the silence that followed, there was a shared truth: he offered no easiness, no emotional support, but he was shaping her. Slowly, she realized he wasn’t pushing her just for the art—but for what she was becoming, for the strength she could build through every trial.

She had no choice but to keep going, to accept his cold and uncompromising methods. This was his truth, and Y/N was ready to search for it—even if she didn’t yet understand everything he expected of her.

---

Y/N was at her limit. Every day spent under the actor’s relentless guidance had pushed her further, eroding every shred of confidence she had in herself. His critiques, though measured, left no room for error. He showed no leniency, no satisfaction—always ready to take her to the edge of the precipice.

She might have been able to endure this pressure if she still believed in something. But she no longer believed in anything—not her talent, not her choices, not even him. And the rumors didn’t help. The whispers, the lingering glances as she passed through the studio, the half-muttered comments: "She’s special to him," "He favors her for some other reason." Y/N heard them, even if no one dared say them to her face.

One evening, alone in her cramped apartment, she broke. Everything seemed to collapse around her. The thought of quitting suddenly seemed appealing. More than that: a release.

The next day, Y/N arrived at the studio, her thoughts heavy but her decision burning in her mind. This would be her last day. She couldn’t take it anymore. During rehearsal, her movements were mechanical, her lines devoid of life. Her gaze remained lowered, as if she wanted to disappear.

The actor, who observed every detail, abruptly stopped the scene.

“Stop,” he said coldly. “Y/N.”

She lifted her head, but her face was closed off, her eyes dull.

“You can continue without me,” she said suddenly. Her voice trembled slightly, but she remained firm. “I’m leaving this project.”

The room collectively held its breath. No one dared intervene. The actor, meanwhile, stared at Y/N, a flash of disbelief crossing his face. But it was his icy tone that sent a chill through the room.

“You think you can just walk away? After everything you’ve invested here?”

Y/N felt a surge of anger. She replied, her voice cracking with emotion:

“Everything I’ve invested? You mean everything you’ve taken from me. You’ve used me, pushed me to my limits, and for what? To satisfy your need for perfection? I’m not your toy, sir!”

The silence that followed was heavy. The other actors exchanged nervous glances. The actor, motionless, seemed to weigh his words. Then, he abruptly turned to the others.

“Leave.”

Once they were alone, the actor slowly approached Y/N. He was calm, but his gaze burned with intensity.

“You think I’m using you?” he said, his voice sharp. “You think everything I do, everything I say, is for my own pleasure?”

Y/N stared at him, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. “Yes,” she whispered. “That’s how it feels. You push me, but you don’t see me. Not really.”

Those words seemed to strike him. He stopped, his shoulders lowering slightly as if an invisible weight had settled on him.

“And you, Y/N,” he finally said, “do you see yourself?”

She remained silent, caught off guard. He continued, his tone softer but still charged with intensity:

“Do you think I’m harsh because I enjoy it? I’m harsh because you have something I can’t ignore. Something you refuse to see. If I push you, it’s because I want you to find it. Not for me. For you.”

His words hurt because, deep down, she knew he was right. But it didn’t erase the pain she felt, the loneliness he had allowed to grow inside her.

“And at what cost?” she asked, her voice breaking. “If I have to lose everything to reach what you see, is it worth it?”

He was silent for a moment, his gaze locked on hers. Then, in a quieter, almost vulnerable voice, he replied:

“I won’t let you lose everything. But if you stop now, you’ll never know what you’re capable of. And that, Y/N, is a loss I can’t accept.”

Y/N spent that night thinking. The actor hadn’t tried to hold her back with promises or apologies. He had left the choice to her. And that choice weighed heavily on her.

When she returned to the studio the next day, he was there, as if he knew she would come back. He didn’t say a word to her, but his gaze was different: less harsh, less impenetrable.

Rehearsal resumed, and he pushed her again, but there was a new subtlety in his methods. When she succeeded in a particularly challenging scene, he gave a barely perceptible nod. That simple gesture was worth more than any speech.

Y/N didn’t know if she could continue indefinitely. But for now, she had chosen to stay. Because despite everything, deep down, she wanted to prove to the actor—and to herself—that he was right.

---

Y/N had made a decision in the quiet of her own mind. After weeks under the relentless guidance of the actor, she needed to prove—not to him, but to herself—that she could stand on her own. It was an almost desperate impulse, a vital need to reclaim her identity.

Without telling anyone, she auditioned for a minor role in a low-budget historical drama. It wasn’t much—just a few lines in three scenes. But that role meant so much more to Y/N. It was proof that she could find her place, that she could be seen for her talent and not because she was the favored student of a renowned actor.

When she got the call confirming she had landed the role, a rare feeling of triumph washed over her. For the first time in a long while, she felt free.

The news eventually reached the actor. He heard it from a colleague, a director he frequently collaborated with.

"Your student, Y/N, got a role in The Weight of the Crown. You should be proud of her," the director said casually.

The actor froze. The information hit him like a blow. She hadn’t said anything. She had acted behind his back. His jaw clenched, and a quiet anger rose within him. It wasn’t betrayal—he knew that—but it sparked a frustration he couldn’t name.

When he saw her arrive at the studio that day, he didn’t wait. He approached her quickly, his expression dark.

"You auditioned for a drama," he said without preamble, his tone sharper than he intended.

Y/N looked up, surprised, but she remained calm. "Yes, sir," she said softly. "I wanted to try something on my own."

"On your own?" he repeated, almost mocking. "Do you think you’re ready for that? Do you think appearing in a drama without being fully prepared will help you?" He paused, his voice dropping but growing harsher. "You didn’t even tell me."

"Because I knew you’d react like this," Y/N replied, her voice trembling slightly. "I knew you’d tell me I’m not ready. But it’s not your decision, sir. It’s mine."

This unexpected boldness caught him off guard. But instead of responding, he took a slow breath, trying to regain control of his emotions.

"Cancel the role," he said finally, every word heavy.

Y/N stared at him, incredulous. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he replied, his eyes fixed on hers. "You’re not ready. That role could destroy you more than it helps you. You need to withdraw."

Y/N said nothing. She lowered her eyes, holding back her emotions. But deep down, a quiet anger was rising. She was tired of being treated like a child incapable of making her own decisions. Yet, she obeyed.

A few days later, she informed the director that she was withdrawing from the project. Her voice trembled, but she didn’t want to explain her reasons. She hung up, her heart heavy, and felt empty.

That evening, as the studio emptied, Y/N stayed behind to rehearse alone. She needed to keep her mind occupied. As she recited her lines, her voice rose in the silence, rough with emotion. She collapsed onto the stage, unable to continue.

When the actor entered the room, she didn’t notice him at first. He lingered in the shadows for a moment, watching her. Guilt gnawed at him, but he didn’t know how to express it.

"Why are you still here?" he asked abruptly, breaking the silence.

Y/N jumped, looking up. "I... I wanted to practice."

He approached, his steps measured, and sat on the edge of the stage, his gaze fixed on her. "I asked you to withdraw from that project to protect you," he said softly, his voice losing its edge. "Not to break you."

"Then why do I feel like that’s exactly what you’ve done?" Y/N murmured, her eyes glistening with tears. "I just wanted... to try. Even if I failed."

The actor looked at her, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, without thinking, he reached out and gently touched her wrist—a rare gesture of tenderness from him.

"Y/N," he murmured, his voice almost hoarse, "I don’t want you to fail. Not because you’re not ready, but because I... I don’t want to see you get lost in this harsh world before you’re strong enough."

That unexpected touch broke something inside her. Y/N gently pulled her hand away, but the weight of his words hung between them.

"And what if I don’t want your protection anymore?" she murmured. "What if I just want... to be seen for who I am?"

He remained silent, unable to respond. The tension between them, usually cold and disciplined, had shifted. It had become palpable, almost suffocating. And this time, it was Y/N who let the boundaries blur.

She straightened, slowly moving closer to him. Her gaze, hesitant but determined, met his. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Then, in a moment she didn’t fully understand herself, she placed a light hand on his arm.

"Thank you," she finally murmured, before leaving the room, leaving him alone with his own inner turmoil.

The days that followed were marked by a silent tension. The actor was more distant than ever, avoiding any prolonged contact with Y/N. But every interaction, no matter how brief, carried an emotional weight they couldn’t ignore.

For her part, Y/N felt increasingly lost. She continued to work hard, but her mind was haunted by the confrontation, by the moment she had crossed a line she had sworn never to cross.

And the actor… He was conflicted. He knew he had to maintain the distance. But every time he met her gaze, he wondered how much longer he could ignore what he truly felt.

..................................................................................

[sugarskulls99]

Older men that have bigger arms with vains on em can do anything to me.

[solisstars]

if I see one more person ship JJ and Hotch I'm genuinely going to crash out

[emberfrostlovesloki]

Teacher's Pet [Aaron x Reader]

Photo credits: Left (@littlecarmine) Center (@penandpaper-love) Right (@f4iryesss)

Prompt: When the reader, Jack’s teacher gets injured during the school day keeping her students safe, Aaron goes to check on her that evening. The unlikely pair get closer, but it's up to both of them if they want to make whatever they have more. 

Pairing: Aaron x Non-BAU!reader, teacher!reader,  ally!reader. The reader uses she/her pronouns

Category: hurt/comfort 

Word Count: 12K

Content Warnings: Homophobic phrases [from anti-LGBTQ+ protesters (the bad guys)], brief mention of religion, mention of being hit in the face and body and a split lip (reader) distress, mention of food and drinking alcohol, mention of an accident [not specified what (reader)], Haley’s death is brought up. If I missed any, please let me know. 

A/N: Hi all! I hope you are all doing very well! This fic is for amazing @imagining-in-the-margins's Pride writing challenge! I made up my own prompt for this one which is: The reader puts herself in danger to keep her students away from anti-LBGTQ+ protesters. Aaron finds out about this and makes sure she’s fine (aka protective Hotch.) I hope you like this more fluffy and cute style of fic. It’s a bit different from the angst I write. It takes me back to my early Aaron writing style! I want to note that I know that not all school districts deal with this kind of stuff, but as I live in the South, and my sister and I are both in Education, I get to hear about this kind of thing more often than I’d like. Anyhow, please be kind to yourselves this week and do something you love, you are so special. If you enjoy this fic, likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated! Love Levi - ❤️

List with all stories 

y/n = your name 

y/l/n = your last name 

a/r = age range 

a/d/r = any dietary restrictions (if none, please ignore) 

Aaron got the call from the school shortly after he’d finished an early lunch. He was seated at his desk, the soft glow of the lap lighting his space which was covered by the team’s files. He was going to do the boring parts of the files for them, as he always did, but his phone ringing had disrupted his workflow. He glanced at the caller ID and quickly picked up, saying, “This is Mr. Hotchner.” There was a brief pause before the woman on the phone said, “Good afternoon, Mr. Hotchner. This is Rachel Jenkins, the school receptionist.” Hotch nodded his head; he knew the woman well, as he had gone to the school multiple times this year already because Jack had gotten into some kind of trouble, or needed him. Rachel continued, stating “Sorry to disturb you during the work day, but there’s been an incident with Jack, and the nurse thinks it’s best that you come and pick him up as soon as possible.” Aaron stifled a sigh. He wasn’t angry at Jack. He didn’t blame him for acting out, a trait that had started once his son had started processing his mother’s death. The family counselor said that was a natural part of grieving for a child, and Aaron was sympathetic to his son’s pain and emotions. Sometimes he wanted to scream or lash out too, but he had more faculty over his emotions. Even with all that being said, Hotch did find it a bit troublesome that Jack got into scuffles on days that would have been easy for him. But that was neither here nor there, life, nor emotions waited for anyone’s schedule -- Aaron knew this like all parents did. 

Hotch asked a follow-up question: “Was this Jack dealing with bullies, or was this him doing something he shouldn’t be?” Aaron liked to know these things heading into the Principal or Nurse’s office beforehand, so he could set his tone appropriately. There was a pause on the line which made Hotch nervous. The silence was broken as Jessica replied, “No, Mr. Hotchner, it’s not that. I… I think it’s best that you just come down to the school.” This response made Aaron even more tense. 

What could have happened that the woman would hesitate like that? He sensed that an answer had been on the tip of her tongue, and she’d stopped herself from speaking because she thought it was better. Hotch furrowed his brows, got out of his chair quickly, and grabbed his suit jacket. He flipped the screen of his laptop down, then grabbed his shoulder bag from the couch. No matter what Jack might have gotten up to, not knowing if something bad had happened to his son, nothing would stop him from getting to Jack. 

Hotch hurriedly locked his office door behind him and as he started striding toward the stairs that would get him to the elevators, Rossi exited his office and offered a quizzical look at his friend. It was unlike Aaron to flee the office, even on days that felt like they were drawing on for an eternity. Hotch beat Dave to the question forming on his lips, someone would need to know where he was in case something serious came up in his absence. “Jack had some trouble at school and they said I should head over there.” Rossi frowned and said, “The bullies again? Remember my offer of teaching Jack how to punch is still on the table.” The worried look on Aaron’s face prevented Dave from joking further. Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose and said, “I don’t think so, I hope to be back in a half hour or so. Look after the team while I’m gone, please?” 

Rossi nodded his head in understanding and watched as Aaron took the stairs quickly down to the bullpen and out of sight. Dave closed his eyes for a second. He knew things had been hard for Aaron and Jack after Haley. There was no avoiding the hurt that lingered like a shroud around the two of them. He knew that Hotch had done his best to help and support Jack, but that didn’t make Aaron’s pain any less. If anything it made it worse because the guilt still haunted Aaron like a spector. Jack’s anger had grown and manifested at anything that it could get its teeth into, and often its victim was Aaron, who was trying his best. Dave bowed his head and saw the grief with Aaron. Rossi knew grief, it had been his companion for many years. And it hurt to see it on Hotch, but there was little he could do but support Aaron to the best of his ability and let time do its healing. And healing was a slow seamstress. Dave looked over the bullpen at the team working and smiling and turned back to his office, he felt like he needed a drink, but for now, bitter coffee would have to do. 

Aaron drove at a speed that was technically street-legal. The churning of his stomach and the constant red lights had him worried and agitated at the same time. Jack’s school wasn’t too far away, but he’d hit the lunch-hour traffic which made the drive at least twenty-five minutes long. Hotch jacked up the air conditioner to silence his stressed-out thoughts. If something very bad had happened, then he would have been told. And there was nothing on the news, no lockdowns, or active shooter drills. However, sending Jack off to school every morning knowing that that was a possibility didn’t make him feel good. 

It was the fear of the unknown that made Aaron press his foot down on the accelerator further. Hotch arrived at the school and everything looked normal from the outside. With hurried footsteps, he made it to the front office to check in. Jessica could see how nervous he was and the intensity of his expression. Aaron’s eyes, when they were dark and worried, had opened many doors for him, and broken many unsubs in the interrogation room. The receptionist swallowed and said, “Just grab a visitor badge and you can head to the nurse’s office, Mr. Hotchner. I’ll sign you in. The Vice Principal is already there.” 

Aaron grabbed one of the laminated passes and said, “Thank you,” as he headed out of the glass office and toward the nurse’s office which was located at the end of the central hall adjacent to the janitor’s closet. Knowing the Vice-Principal was present with Jack told Aaron more information, but not enough to know exactly what had happened. If he found out that his son was being bullied again, he was going to send some strongly worded emails to those boy’s parent’s this evening. As he was drafting the letters in this mind, he made it to the nurse and opened the door. As soon as he saw Jack’s tear-stained face, and that he was clutching a Kleenex in his hands, Hotch stepped further in the door and the nurse and Vice Principal moved aside and let him go to his son. Aaron knelt next to the bed that Jack was sitting on and embraced him firmly. Jack let out some sniffles and Aaron reassured him before asking for any information, “It’s okay, Jack. It’s okay.” 

After a few moments, Hotch attempted to move away, but Jack’s hands gripped the fabric of his shirt. Aaron moved his right hand from Jack’s soft hair that reminded him of Haley to under Jack’s legs as he stood. Unamused at how he’d been kept waiting, Aaron asked in a cool tone, “Would you tell me what’s going on, Vice Principal Westbrook?” The silence that stayed in the room as the Vice Principal picked at the hangnails on his fingers and looked at the floor had Aaron hot under the collar. Jack didn’t look bruised or hurt in any way, just very upset. Upset enough that he had wanted him. Before Dr. Westbrook could come up with a scripted answer, Jack said, “They hurt her, Dad.” Aaron frowned, pulled Jack back from his chest a bit, and asked, “Hurt who, bud?” Jack sniffled and replied, “Ms. y/l/n. He punched her in the face and her shoulder.” The words tumbled out of the boy's mouth and only had Aaron more concerned. Jack was crying again, and Aaron handed him back his crumpled tissue and pressed Jack to his broad chest again. Jack set his head on his dad’s shoulder and took comfort in the solid presence and scent that was always there for him when he needed it. 

Jack had done a lot of growing up in his short years. He’d discovered a few things about life that he wished he hadn’t. How people you loved sometimes went away, maybe just for a bit, or sometimes forever, but that didn’t mean they weren’t still there loving him. His dad was a prime example of this -- and even if Jack couldn’t articulate this, or might change his mind later, it was still true in the moment. As his little fingers clutched at Aaron’s shirt collar, Hotch turned to face Dr. Westbrook again. 

The slim man seemed to be trying his hardest to avoid eye contact with Aaron, and giving a straight answer to anything, but Hotch wouldn’t let him get away with this. Ms. y/l/n was someone who had become very special to Jack this year when he got into her class. Aaron also had a kind of parasocial relationship with y/n, as she had been very helpful with Jack and dealing with his grief and the bullying he’d been dealing with that year. Jack had brought her up early in the year and when Aaron had met with Ms. y/l/n for the Meet-The-Teacher night, Hotch could tell why. She was so bright. Her presence illuminated her cozy room which she had decorated with bright posters and lights. It seemed even the sharp corners of the room were softened by y/n’s presence. She had given Jack such praise for his manners, his reading skills, and how he treated his classmates with kindness. Aaron had almost felt like a lost that night, as he could only listen and nod. He had to really pay attention when some of the other parents started asking questions. Apart from the fact that y/n was clearly an adept teacher and classroom manager for her age, she was also pretty. Pretty in a quaint way. He’d left the school that night feeling oddly lighter than he had in months. 

The next time they met was at the first parent-teacher conference. That was where Aaron had learned that Jack was dealing with bullies. The administration hadn’t even informed him of this issue. y/n was very kind about it and wanted to make sure that Aaron had the right support for something like this. y/n hadn’t meant to question his parenting skills, but as a single dad, she wanted to get a better feel of how emotions were handled around the Hotchner household. Not just sad feelings, but anger and resentment too. It wasn’t until a month later when the bullying had gotten really bad, that Aaron realized, thanks to y/n, that he wasn’t equipped to handle this alone and had brought in the help of a family counselor. He had more contact with y/n after that, as she checked up on Jack and kept Aaron informed about his son’s grades and other issues that popped up in the classroom. 

Hotch could understand why Jack would be upset that y/n had been hurt somehow. He was also angry, and asked in a firm voice, “What happened to Ms. y/l/n?” The VP sighed and said, “Well it was just an unfortunate situation, Mr. Hotchner, but no one was seriously hurt and we’re launching an investigation into the situation that happened.” This evasive answer didn’t satisfy Aaron and he replied, “Great, but what happened to Ms. y/l/n, and why is my son so distraught about it? What happened?” 

Dr. Westbrook realized that he couldn’t talk his way out of not answering Aaron as he had with the other parents he’d had to have had this conversation with. The man relented and said, “Well this morning a group of Anti-LGBTQ+ protesters amassed at the front of the school and held up degrading signs and shouted at anyone coming into the building through the front entrance.” Hotch already didn’t like where this was headed. The political climate had many up in arms due to the acceptance of others, and they made it their goal to try and complain and intimidate those who didn’t agree with them and their views. The VP continued, “Well they were blocking the flow of traffic and harassing the faculty, so we had some city police move them off campus. Unfortunately, they set up on DeGhatty Street on the sidewalk by the area for recess.” Hotch nodded, getting a better picture of what had happened. But there were still missing pieces. The next bit Dr. Westbrook rushed through, but Aaron caught the story even if the VP was trying to make it hard to. “Well it was the second shift of recess, the time that Jack has, and the protesters became more agitated. They weren’t getting the engagement they wanted, and they started yelling at the kids. Ms. y/l/n was on recess shift and tried calling the school’s two SROs, but they were dealing with an incident in the cafeteria. The screaming was distressing to some of the students and one student started moving toward the group by the fence…” 

Hotch stopped the man and asked, “Was it Jack?” The Vice Principal nodded his head no and replied, “No Mr. Hotchner. It was another student, but other monitors and students did say that your son was watching from a pretty close distance.” Hotch narrowed his eyes but didn’t detect that the man was lying. Dr. Westbrook swallowed thickly under Aaron’s gaze and shaky continued, “Well Ms. y/l/n saw the student moving toward the protesters, and she moved forward to cut the student off. The group was unhappy about that, and they accosted her and made some false statements and allegations about her. She did her best to verbally defend herself and move back to protect the students and get them all inside, but one of the men in the group, allegedly, grabbed her shoulder, screamed at her, and then lost his composure and hit Ms. y/l/n in the face and chest.”

The image that the man was painting made Aaron feel his anger flash up in him. Not only was the VP using protective language for the protesters, he, nor the school had done a proper job of protecting their students or teachers. No wonder Jack was distraught. Thinking of Jack, his son had settled and Aaron knew they would have to leave in a bit. This was still a school and there were other things that had to be done, but Aaron asked, “Are the protestors gone now? I drove down DeGhatty to get here, and I didn’t see anyone. Also, how is Ms. y/n? Is she alright?” 

Dr. Westbrook nodded and seemed relieved that the conversation had turned away from the events of that afternoon. He cleared his throat and straightened his blue striped tie which didn’t match his grey suit before replying, “The local police came down and dispersed the crowd and told them they didn’t have a right to protest on the school’s block without a permit, which is true. As for Ms. y/l/n, Nurse Patty here looked her over and we decided it was for the best to send her home for the day. Ms. y/l/n seemed shaken up.” Aaron refrained from letting out a long sigh. Now was not the time nor the place. But the feelings and questions that flooded Aaron were that he wondered why the police hadn’t been called earlier, why the school didn’t seem up on its legal code, and the utter condescension that came with having to send y/n home for the rest of the day. What did the Vice Principal expect from her after being punched in the face? y/n had “appeared shaken up?” How the hell would he have reacted in that circumstance? 

Aaron didn’t want any of this frustration at this situation to make Jack feel like he was angry at him, but he would have a conversation with his son later about when to step back in a situation. But he’d worry about that later. For now, Hotch said, “Okay. Thank you for explaining. May I take Jack home now?” Dr. Westbrook seemed to deflate and nodded his head yes. The nurse moved over to Jack and gave him a pat on the head and handed him a lollipop. The older woman said, “Have a good rest of your day, Jack. If you’re at school tomorrow and you feel bad at any time in the day you can come and see me, okay?” Jack nodded softly and Aaron shot her a thankful smile before tightening his grip on his son and moving out of the door and back toward the front office. Hotch quickly signed out with Jessica and returned his visitor badge to the counter. 

Once he was back out into the warm, almost, summer sun, Aaron dipped his head down to Jack's ear and said softly, “Hey, Buddy. Would you be okay with hanging you with Dad’s friends for a while while I work in the office? You could camp up with me or you could see Uncle Spencer, Uncle Morgan, or Aunt Penelope?” The prospect of seeing his friends had Jack perk up and his distress diminish as he said, “Hm-hm. I wanna see Aunt Penny and Uncle Derek.” Hotch smiled and replied, “Okay. We’ll just be there for a few hours and then, if you’re good, we can go to ice cream after Daddy’s done with work.” That last piece of information really made Jack happy, and Aaron relaxed for the first time since the school had called him. It didn’t take long for Aaron to get Jack strapped into his car seat and head back to the Quantico Field Office. 

Hotch spent the rest of the afternoon working and looking after Jack; mostly making sure Jack wasn’t getting into too much trouble with the team. Derek showed Jack around the bullpen, and Spencer did some physics magic which the whole BAU oohed and ahhed at, even Aaron and Rossi, from a distance. Then Penelope took Jack into her office and they spent around an hour together laughing and talking. There was something about Garcia’s energy that matched Jack’s so well, and his easily distracted self could be entertained for hours. Hotch made sure to set up a fancy coffee delivery for tomorrow morning for the team out of his pocket. He knew all of their orders by heart now. He did this as a thank you to the team. Not that any one of them would complain about having Jack distract them, however, being a babysitter was very much not in their job description, especially when they were in the office, so wanted to make sure they knew how appreciative he was of their support. Each one of them had been there for him and Jack on numerous occasions when Hotch thought that he couldn’t go on. He realized how lucky he was to be surrounded by this support system. Jack had them too, and also his friends and teachers at school. Ms. y/n came to mind as he finished scheduling the coffee order. The thought of someone laying hands on her gave him a constricting feeling in his chest. 

Aaron let out a breath and looked outside his windows into the bullpen where he watched Prentiss, Morgan, and JJ kneeling next to Jack who was speaking animatedly about what looked like soccer practice. Hotch moved his eyes back to his laptop screen and pulled up his personal email. With a few clicks of his fingers, he had gmail pulled up. He hit ‘new message.’ He typed in y/n’s email into the ‘to’ box. It felt so strange to be the one initiating a conversation, especially a new one, but he cared about Ms. y/n, and he knew his nerves wouldn’t settle down until he’d checked in on her. 

y/n was the one to normally start a conversation either to check up on Jack or let Hotch or Mr. Hotchner, as she called him, what had happened with Jack at school. Aaron had only once emailed y/n for details about Jack’s day when he’d come home upset about something that he couldn’t quite decipher. She responded promptly and told him everything she knew about the situation. Essentially they had only emailed in a professional capacity before, and this felt different. For a moment Aaron wondered if anyone else had called or messaged her. If her friends from school or elsewhere were getting a story about the wild day she’d had, or how she was hurting. The thought made Hotch’s heart clench for some unknown reason. He typed out this message: 

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD 

From: Aaron.Hotchner65@gmail.com 

Subject: Checking-In 

Good afternoon, Ms. y/n,

 I heard from Jack and the school today that you were hurt today while trying to keep your students safe. I wanted to thank you for putting yourself in that position for the sake of the students, especially Jack. He is very worried about you and keeps asking if you’re okay. He and I both share that sentiment. I hope the school fully supports you in what you need at this time. If there is anything I can do to make your life easier these next few days, please don’t hesitate to reach out. I would be happy to drop off food or just be a support if you need it. Wishing you the best, 

Aaron Hotchner 

Hotch hit the send button and listened to the little swoosh of the sent sound. Although he did feel better after sending the email, it was also odd. He didn’t want to come off as a parental figure to y/n. Not that he wasn’t older than her by a good few years, he was, but the idea of him coming across that way made him uncomfortable. And the fact that that idea made him uncomfortable only made him question what he wanted to come off as instead. Mostly, Aaron didn’t want to seem patronizing. He knew y/n was tough and could handle things, but his concern and care had overrode those thoughts. Hotch pushed those thoughts from his mind; he had good intentions sending the email and if it came off in another way, then at least he’d tried his best. 

Aaron looked at the clock at his wall and it was five minutes to five. Unlike a normal day, where Jack would have an afterschool activity or Jess would pick him up for a few hours before he would swing by and get Jack for the rest of the evening, tonight was different, and he started packing his things up in his briefcase. He took some of the important files and the rest he left for tomorrow. He’d come to the office early if Jack felt up to going to school tomorrow. Once Hotch had most of his things ready, he moved outside of his office. Jack was playing a game with Spencer, and Aaron called out, “Jack, come up here and get your backpack and lunchbox, please. We’re about to go home.” Jack looked up at his dad and said, “Just one sec, Dad.” Aaron gave his son a look, and Jack sighed, got out of his seat, and made it up the stairs to Aaron’s side. As Jack moved past Spencer, Reid gave his head a little pat and once Jack had passed the lithe agent, Aaron gave Spence a smile before turning to his son and moving with him to the office. 

Jack only had one binder and one maths assignment out on Aaron’s office couch. Jack had promised his dad that he would be good in the office, and being good meant doing five minutes of a math worksheet and complaining about how hard it was before the little boy moved out into the bullpen to see the team. Aaron didn’t blame him. Jack had had a hard and stressful day, but he did expect his son to pick up and get ready to go on his own. 

Jack was getting old enough for those things now, but Hotch still packed his lunches every day or made sure his son had money for his lunch account. By the time Aaron had his suit jacket back on and his briefcase and shoulder bag in hand, Jack had put his paper and notebook away and was struggling to zip up his small Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles backpack. Aaron leaned down and helped him close the bag and handed it back to Jack. Aaron led his son out of the room and locked the door behind him for the last time for the day. Hotch nodded to Rossi who was also locking up his office and then followed Jack down the stairs. The pair made it through the bullpen, and Jack waved at the team as he passed them. Aaron said, “Thank you” to each of them as well in his low voice. As Hotch got to the edge of the BAU’s area, turned, and said more loudly, “Thanks for today, everyone. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Morgan, Prentiss, Reid, and JJ nodded and said bye. 

True to his word, Hotch took Jack to get ice cream at a local spot not far from their house. Jack was ecstatic to be having sweets before dinner. Aaron had to remind his son that he still had to eat some other food once they got home and settled. Jack agreed excitedly as they walked into the pastel-colored storefront. There weren’t many people inside and no one in line, so it took only a few moments for Jack to order his chocolate swirl scoop with add-ins of Oreos and strawberries. Aaron got a scoop of brown butter vanilla for himself and then paid as Jack got them spoons and napkins, then found a comfortable table in the corner of the building near the window. After paying, Hotch sat down across from Jack who said, “Thanks, Dad.” Aaron smiled and reached over and patted the top of his head, replying, “Of course, Buddy.” Hotch cherished these moments. There would only be a few more years that ice cream before dinner was a big thing, and time in some things, such as kids growing up, moved so quickly. Not only was this time for them to have a bit of fun, but it was also a teaching moment for Jack. But Aaron was going to enjoy his ice cream first. 

Aaron dipped his plastic spoon into the slightly yellow-colored ice cream. There were specks of vanilla bean in the scoop that was slowly melting in the afternoon sun. Hotch took his spoon and slipped it in his mouth, sucking off the sweetness. Hotch let the cold ice cream sit in his mouth and melt with the body heat inside. The taste was sweet, but not cloyingly so which he enjoyed. The aftertaste of the browned butter hit as he swallowed. Aaron didn’t allow himself to have anything this indulgent very often, so when he did, he tried to enjoy and appreciate it. For many years, Hotch knew that his faster metabolism had gone in his early thirties, and treats were a thing he sought out less and less for himself. However, as he watched Jack enjoy his ice cream and as the soft music played in the space while the cars drifted by outside, he realized that this was something not only Jack needed, but something he needed as well. Aaron was brutal on himself and his body, and maybe he was trying too hard. He wanted and tried to be the best version of himself for the team, but more importantly for Jack, and he might have been taking it too far on his end. He relaxed a bit into his bench seat and took another bite of ice cream, this time just enjoying it for the sake of the experience. 

After their paper bowls were empty, Aaron took a breath and looked at Jack who was playing with his spoon and asked, “Jack, did you know what those people who were at your school today were talking about?” The boy stopped fiddling with his cutlery and made a face that said he was thinking before saying, “I think so. They were mad about gay people and shouting. They were really angry and I don’t know why…” Hotch nodded his head and tried to think about how to best respond. He had talked to Jack about the LGBTQ+ community, not so much like that but in the more simple and kid-friendly way of emphasizing that anyone can love anyone else as long as it’s not hurting anyone. That there could be two moms or two dads, and that not everyone felt like a boy or a girl. Jack looked up at his dad and asked, “Why were they so angry?” 

Aaron swallowed and replied, “Well, sometimes people don’t like something, or don’t believe in something. And they can think that, but the thing is that they try and want to make other people think it too. And when people don’t agree with them, they get angry. Because if you can’t make someone agree with you, then you can at least make them scared. And what do we know about being scared, Jack?” It took a second before Jack replied, “It’s okay to be scared but being different doesn’t mean being scary.” Aaron nodded proudly and Jack added on, “So they were just big bullies?” Hotch knew it was more complex with that but for now, it was a good analogy and he nodded yes. 

This conversation gave Jack a new thought and he asked, “You told me that I shouldn’t give bullies time, but Ms. y/l/n went up to them and tried talking to them.” Aaron nodded and replied, “Yes. You’re right. That’s what I’ve said to you. Things are different with Ms. y/l/n because she’s an adult, and she was trying to keep you and all of the students safe. But you’re right, for you, Jack, I would say to stay away from a situation like that, but there are some other things you can do too.” Aaron knew that Jack was a helper, and always had been. So in a situation where his son might feel helpless, he wanted to give him an option to do something that would give him power in the scenario and to do something that he was good at. 

Aaron stated, “So what you can do, Jack, is to find the other kids like you who might be upset. Because those people were saying upsetting and hurtful things. So you can find those kids who are hurting and make sure they’re doing okay.” Jack nodded along, this was something he could do. Aaron also added, “And if things seem bad, like if you feel unsafe or the other kids feel unsafe, the best thing you can do is get help from an adult. From someone you trust or know. Does that make sense?” Jack nodded and sat forward, mirroring Aaron’s posture as he shook his head yes. Hotch smiled and said, “Good, If you have more questions about today you can ask me anytime, okay?” 

Just as Aaron and Jack were getting ready to head home, Hotch’s phone pinged with an incoming message, and he checked it. The email was from y/n and he tapped on the screen opening the message which read: 

To: Aaron.Hotchner65@gmail.com 

From: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD 

Subject: Re-Checking-In 

Good afternoon, Mr. Hotchner, 

Thank you so much for checking in on me. That is very kind of you. I’m just sorry that Jack or any of the students at recess had to see and hear what they did. As for what the administration thinks about what I did today, I think I’m going to find that out tomorrow, but don’t want to know really, nor should I speculate about it in an email. You are niceto offer your help. I think I’m just going to order a frozen pizza from the store and call it a night. I’m a bit banged up, if it was any more than this I think I’d have to go to the ER (that last bit is hyperbole). Thanks again for checking in Mr. Hotchner. I hope Jack isn’t too upset. Tell him I said hello, and that I’ll see him tomorrow at school! I hope you have a pleasant night, 

Ms. y/n. 

Aaron frowned slightly. There was a hesitancy in y/n’s tone here. Especially with how the school might react to what had happened. That, and the fact that y/n seemed to be in a lot of pain didn’t make Hotch feel good. It made him want to go over and see her even more. He paused to make sure this was still being done with good intentions. That his desire wasn’t just trying to find an opportunity to see y/n again. The feelings in his gut were still one of concern, even if his heart was doing something different. Hotch pushed aside the new feelings in his chest, something for him to contemplate later, and composed a reply to y/n: 

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD 

From: Aaron.Hotchner65@gmail.com 

Subject: Re-re-Checking-In 

y/n, I’m glad you can bring some humor into this situation. That’s a relief. It sounds like you’re in a good bit of pain. Are you sure you don’t need to go to the ER? Also, would you let me pick you up a pizza? It’s no big deal at all, and that way you can save money on the delivery. Sorry, I don’t mean to overreach, but I am willing to give a helping hand if you want. 

Aaron Hotchner

Hotch really hoped he wasn’t sounding too desperate, or that y/n would think his offering to help her save money made her feel poor. He didn’t mean it that way. He’d tossed a few options out for her to reach out if she needed, or wanted help, or just some company. From what Aaron could tell about y/n was that she was fiercely independent. She’d seemed so put together for someone in their mind a/r. From what he could tell from y/n’s weekly email updates, she made a lot of her own classroom content and tried very hard to connect with each of her students. Not only that but from the two times they’d met at school, there were no indications that she had a partner or parents close by to help her with things. Aaron assumed this mainly because she’d told him how she’d had to learn how to fix the leak in her bathroom faucet from YouTube just so she didn’t have to call in a plumber. That was another time when Aaron had wished he could just whisk himself over to her duplex and lend y/n a hand. Before he could overthink what he’d sent there was another reply: 

To: Aaron.Hotchner65@gmail.com 

From: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD 

Subject: Re-re-re-Checking-In 

Ummm, you’d do that, really? I don’t want to be a bother, Mr. Hotchner. I know you have to take care of Jack and everything… 

y/n y/l/n

Now a hint of a smile turned up the corner of Aaron’s mouth. He and Jack had made it to the car at this point and Hotch typed out: 

To: y/n.y/l/n@_____ISD 

From: Aaron.Hotchner65@gmail.com 

Subject: [Re]-Checking-In 

y/n, 

I’d be happy to take even a small load off of your shoulders. After what you’ve been through today it is the least I can do, and I can get someone to sit with Jack for an hour or so while I come over. To make communication easier, here is my cell Number: (804) 572 - 4459. If you’d like, however, to keep this over email, that’s fine as well. It might be a moment before I get back to you as I have to get Jack home and get him dinner, but I’ll be open after that and talk to you again then. Do you have any allergies or dietary restrictions I should know about before I go grab your pizza? 

Aaron Hotchner 

The drive home was quiet as Jack thought about what his dad had said. The sandy-haired boy had a few more questions which Aaron did his best to explain. When the questions turned toward religion, it had been a church group protesting, Hotch did his best to turn the conversation back to the key points. He rarely talked to Jack about church or religion, wanting his son to be able to make his own choices in faith, or not to have any at all. That hadn’t been a choice for Hotch as a child, and he wanted Jack to not have the burn of guilt that faith could bring unless it was something his son came to on his own terms. Plus religion had become a bit of a sore subject for Aaron after Haley’s passing. How could a fair God take away someone as good and pure as Haley? It didn’t make sense, and he didn’t have the will to study theodicy. So he pushed those thoughts to the background and focused on getting home. 

It didn’t take long for Aaron to get dinner ready for Jack. While he reheated some leftover pasta and veggies, Jack did his homework, and they both had a small dinner. Hotch also texted Jess to see if she was open to swing by for an hour to which she replied, “Yes. I never miss a chance to hang out with my coolest nephew. Are you going on a date or something?” Aaron rolled his eyes at the text, he suspected sarcasm and replied, “Something like that. Making a house call to a friend in need. I’ll tell you more later.” A moment later Jess sent a thumbs-up emoji and said, “I’ll be over in about forty minutes once my boys are settled, probably playing Fortnite or something *sigh*” Hotch liked the text and checked his messages to see a text from a new number which he correctly assumed was y/n. She had sent a simple, “Hello, it’s me, y/n. For your pizza question, I have a/d/r so knock yourself out with that. I’m not a picky eater. Also here’s my address, ________. I’m not doing anything tonight, I couldn’t even if I wanted to, so you can come over anytime, but before nine would be great as I have to wake up early. Thanks so much again. This is very, very nice of you. - y/n.” Aaron liked the text and replied, “Sounds good. I’ll make sure to make it to yours before nine. - Aaron.” 

Jess arrived promptly at 6:30, and Hotch let her know it was the normal bedtime routine that night. A half hour of TV, upstairs, teeth brushed, and in bed by 8:30. Jessica nodded and said, “Gotcha. You owe me a story for this one.” Aaron chuckled and said, “I’ll let you know. There’s an open bottle of Pino in the fridge if you want some. I shouldn’t be gone long.” Jess couldn’t help herself from saying, “That's what she said,” and Hotch flushed crimson. Unlike Haley, Jess had gotten the more crass humor of the Brooks family. 

Aaron left the room, keys in hand before any more jokes could be levied at him. He really didn’t plan on staying at y/n’s long. However thanks to the recent comments, Aaron couldn’t help but feel like he was a teenager sneaking out of the house to see some girl after curfew. Hotch shook his head at the silly notion and reminded himself that he was an adult man, and such thoughts were above him. However, he couldn’t stop the small thrill that ran through him as he entered y/n’s address into his phone. He swung by the local store and picked up two frozen pizzas that he thought y/n would like and matched her allergy and dietary restrictions she’d sent him earlier. He also moved to the pharmacy section and picked up some pain relievers, liniment oil, and cotton pads, just in case y/n didn’t have any of those things at her apartment. After all, she had said she was going to get stuff delivered to her, and he didn’t know if those were things she had planned on getting and then just didn’t tell him because she hadn’t wanted to be a burden. At least, that was how Aaron justified the extra purchases. 

Hotch texted y/n that he was on the way and the closer he got to her place, the more nervous he felt. It was strange. He hadn’t felt this way in ages. He had to keep attempting to suppress the feeling, but it kept creeping up on him like frost on the ground in the morning; an inevitable thing that he knew would change and probably go away with time. It was a week away from summer, there shouldn’t be frost on the ground at all. Hotch felt exasperated at his state and realized that maybe he was just too cold of a person and the frost stuck with him. Outside of y/n’s place, Aaron said, “Get ahold of yourself Hotchner, and be helpful for once, goddammit.” His little pep-talk got him to the door with the groceries. The lights were on inside and Aaron knocked lightly on the front door. There was a very muffled, “I’m coming” and all of a sudden the piercing darkness was broken by a stream of yellow light that poured from y/n’s open door. Aaron blinked for a second as he took in y/n. She seemed pretty relaxed in an oversized t-shirt and shorts that were nearly swallowed by the length of her shirt. She was barefoot and leaning against the door frame taking him in as well. Apart from the angry bruises on y/n’s face and her split lip, she looked comfortable here. ‘This is her home, of course, she’s comfortable’ Aaron reminded himself. 

While Hotch’s eyes had been adjusting to the light, y/n’s eyes were getting used to the dark. Jack’s father had always been an attractive man even though she’d only seen him briefly in the drop-off and pick-up lines and even less for any extended period of time. But Mr. Hotchner had a face, and attitude one didn’t easily forget. There was an intensity about him, a fierceness that could easily draw one in or scare one away. 

y/n wondered why the other teachers didn’t talk about him more. Maybe it was all the things he and Jack had gone through, horrible horrible things that kept people away. It made sense that Mr. Hotchner was in the FBI. He had a high-intensity job. All that energy had to go somewhere, and when he wasn’t being a parent to Jack and doting on his son, he must be doing dangerous and exciting things. Far more exciting than her job at least. y/n noticed his jeans and polo, a new outfit on him, and most certainly not his normal pressed suit and tie. y/n wasn’t complaining. His arms filled out the sleeves and his waist seemed a little less trim. y/n felt like a total fool for just standing there, realizing that he was also waiting to come inside, or maybe just drop off the bag of groceries he’d brought her so kindly using his own money and taking time out of his night. 

y/n snapped back to reality and berated herself and thought, ‘You’re fun little thoughts are getting out of hand. Please like he’d care about you like that.’ It was true, y/n had allowed herself to think, just a bit about the mysterious Mr. Hotchner. It was harmless, just small vignettes of them laughing about a joke, or holding hands -- kid's stuff, or at least it had been until he showed up outside her doorstep. y/n shook her head and said, “I’m so sorry Mr. Hotchner. I get hit in the head and my manners fly out the window. Would you like to come in, or just hand those things over? I can pay you back for them. Do you have PayPal or Venmo?” The words came out quickly, more quickly than y/n had hoped. There was no hope in sounding nonchalant now. A flush started forming on y/n’s face and she wanted to put her face in her palm, but had enough dignity left to not do that in front of the parent of her student. 

Aaron let out a little sigh of relief knowing that he wasn’t the only one who thought meeting like this was a bit, different. He wondered for a second why y/n had accepted his help, but pushed that aside and said, “Please Ms. y/n, you can just call me Aaron. I’d like to come in for a moment. See if you’re alright if you don’t mind?” y/n nodded and opened the door wider for Hotch. Aaron slid past her into the warm comfort of her space. It was lit mostly by lamps and the furnishings seemed soft and cozy which would match y/n’s personality. It was a bit more sparse and minimal than Hotch would have imagined, but maybe the chaos of a classroom called for order at home. The lights in the kitchen were on and the brightest. Hotch heard the soft click of the door behind him as he looked over the space. 

y/n stepped forward and said, “Well, please just call me y/n. Unless I’m in the classroom, Ms. makes me feel like a 19th-century spencer waiting for Harlod Hill to come into town.” y/n rolled her eyes at her choice of words. ‘Yes y/n, let’s talk about The Music Man in front of Mr. Hotchner, why don’t you?’ In an attempt to recover and hide her embarrassment, y/n stated. “I was just pouring myself a glass of wine when you knocked, um, would you like one? I can also take those groceries from you.” Aaron offered y/n a soft smile that only made her heart beat faster as he extended the bag of groceries and said, “I’m good for now. Thank you. Have you had anything to eat yet tonight?” y/n took the paper bag and their fingers brushed, the warmth of their skin spreading despite the frozen contents inside the bag. y/n cleared her throat and turned toward the kitchen in an attempt to hide how flustered she was. The cool linoleum tile of her kitchen managed to cool her down, and she placed the pizzas in the freezer. She tried to say casually over her shoulder, “I haven’t eaten yet, no. You can sit down anywhere if you like…” y/n didn’t know exactly if Mr. Hotchner wanted to stay long and she felt silly for having offered him a drink in the first place. Maybe he didn’t drink. By the time y/n had situated the food, Aaron had taken a seat in one of the chairs sitting catty corner to her tan couch. Trying to play it cool, y/n moved to her counter and poured herself the glass of wine she had been planning before she’d put her foot in her mouth. y/n contemplated that maybe this was why she was good with kids. The nuances of adulthood could pass over children’s heads so easily. They didn’t feel the awkwardness that y/n did right now. Nor the racing of her heart as Aaron filled one of her seats. 

She moved over to the couch and asked again, “Can I please pay you back for the groceries? It was nice of you to bring them, and for you to check in on me. I got a few angry emails from parents saying that I exposed their children to danger today, so yours was a nice change.” Aaron’s eyebrows pulled together. The comment about payment passed him by. He wasn’t going to let Jack’s favorite teacher pay him back, even if she asked a hundred times. But the more pressing issue was the emails from other parents. If y/n’s actions didn’t look good, then he didn’t know what they were. He asked in a low voice, “Why were they upset?” y/n bit her lower lip and cringed as the pain stung from the split in her mouth. She had forgotten it was there for a moment. Perhaps she shouldn’t have brought up the other emails. Depending on how the district’s admin took her situation, it wouldn’t help her to spread information. 

y/n chose her words carefully as she replied, “Well some were mad that I got hurt in front of their children and some were angry that their kids were exposed to those protestors in the first place.” y/n looked at Aaron and his slightly annoyed and sympathetic gaze made her feel better, safe. She hadn’t really processed what had happened to her yet, and she’d been alone since she’d been sent home. It was good to have someone here, and y/n took a sip of her wine and set her glass down on the table before leaning her head back on the couch and sighing deeply deflating slightly. 

In a smaller voice, a voice that gave away the pain she was feeling y/n said, “Maybe I shouldn’t have done anything. I just didn’t like the things they were saying. Kids are much more cognizant than people like to think and for those who have gay parents, or siblings, or might be part of the community themselves, they shouldn’t have to hear that stuff.” y/n pinched the bridge of her nose and continued, “This had to happen the week before summer break?” As y/n had her eyes closed, Aaron took the chance to give her face a better look. The bruise under her eye was turning a nasty purple that would fade to an even more ugly yellow color in the following days. The split on her lip looked nasty as well. The tender pink skin must hurt as she talked. He got what she was saying about kids knowing more than others expected. Jack was a prime example of that. Of course, Jack had been through more pain and grief than many his age. It would only make sense that he was more perceptive. The claims from the other parents sounded like bullshit to him though. 

y/n turned her face to him and said softly, “Sorry for unloading on you. I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about this yet. I don’t mean to hold you up.” Aaron nodded his head no and said, “You’re not bothering me, and you’re not holding me up. What were the protestors saying exactly, had you seen them before?” y/n’s eyes softened. She hadn’t really allowed herself the opportunity to picture Aaron like this in person, so kind and concerned. She’d just let herself think silly little snippets, but this gentleness hadn’t filtered into the equation. y/n moved her gaze to the ceiling and said, “Oh they were saying all the homophobic classics. Fags go to hell, god hates queers, and they were accusing the teachers on the staff of being groomers and turning the students gay, all that jazz.” Hotch rolled his eyes. These points were so tiring at this point, and he was annoyed with y/n for having to deal with this. y/n looked at Hotch and said, “And I haven’t seen any of those people before. Not like I’d be looking for those types of people on a daily anyway. They must have come down from upstate.” 

Hotch let out a small huff, his lawyer side kicking in as he asked, “You seemed hesitant about the school’s response to what you did today, and some other parents showed concern. Do you think the district might not support your actions?” y/n sat forward and took another drink of wine, more this time. It was helping her calm down. Not that she normally needed wine to unwind, but it had been a long day, and there was a very attractive man unexpectedly sitting in her home. That last fact was still a wonder to y/n. Like a dream. y/n considered that she might have gotten a very bad concussion and was being wheeled right now to a hospital. But she was brought back from her wayward thoughts when Hotch cleared his throat. y/n shook her head. She was letting her brain get away with itself far more than normal. But she blamed it on the pain, painkillers, and stress of the whole situation. That stress was slightly intensified by Mr. Hotchner’s question, but y/n realized it was better to say it out loud instead of keeping it in to eat at her. 

y/n sighed and said, “It really depends. You’ve heard about that Mom’s for Student Purity campaign at the beginning of the school year, I’m sure?” Hotch nodded his head slightly. He had heard of it but hadn’t thought much of it. Only that there had been some issues and poor behavior at the school assemblies. Aaron had assumed that the district had taken care of the situation and that’s why he hadn’t heard more about it. As hard as Hotch tried to be involved in Jack’s academic life, and he did show up to every game, play, and parent-teacher conference, he didn’t have much time for the school board meetings. That had been Haley’s forte and the thought pained him momentarily. Aaron wished he could live up to the expectation that y/n must have had of him as he said, “I’ve heard of them, but not much. I’m sure they’d have something to say about today.” 

y/n let out a little snort and replied, “Tell me about it. The district has been having a constant battle with them. Ever since the president and the vice-president of their organization got elected to the school board it’s been hard to keep them at bay. They’ve tried implementing book bans, vetting curriculum, and getting the librarian fired. Right now they’re not in the majority and their ideas are unfounded and impractical to implement, but they’re making things hard. Every time the district shoots them down, they start a new campaign and it gets more troublesome. I know this will come up in a performance review and if they don’t like it, they’ll find a way to make it hard for me. They’ve done it to others already. I can imagine the comments, ‘Teacher causes brawl in front of students leaving them disturbed.’” 

Hotch took a moment to think about how hard that must be. To have to be so careful that making a choice to do the right thing could get y/n in trouble. How the system was setting her up to have to make hard choices at the expense of her employment possibly. All of these loopholes reminded him of his own work in a way, though he didn’t have to deal with kids all day. Even though some of the police and sheriff’s departments the BAU worked with acted like children. y/n sighed and said, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain. I love my job. I love working with my students. I love to see their joy and to have concepts click in their heads. They bring me so much happiness every day. It’s just the other part of the job, having to tip-toe around people and admin, it kind of dims that excitement I had when I was a new teacher.” y/n finished off her wine as Aaron took a moment to think. y/n had a great way of telling stories, it wasn’t a surprise that Jack was drawn to her tone and humor. It drew him in. He turned his head back to y/n who was now longingly looking between her wine bottle on her counter and her empty glass, as if trying to decide if she should risk another glass. 

Hotch asked carefully, “Have you taken anything for the pain?” He didn’t want to say that she looked rough, but her face looked like it hurt, and from y/n’s small grimaces, it clearly did. y/n nodded and said, “I did. I had some painkillers when I got home. I think I have another hour before I can take another round.” Aaron didn’t make a comment on y/n’s choice to mix alcohol with painkillers, nor the fact that she was drinking on an empty stomach. He’d recommend that she have some dinner in a minute, but for now, he said, “Well, I think if you iced your face for a bit and used some liniment oil on your lip it would reduce the swelling. It’s still going to hurt for a few days, but the bruising should be a little better, and it might tide you over until you can take your next dose of painkillers.” y/n nodded and said, “There’s a bag of ice in the freezer. I was doing that earlier but then fell asleep. I woke up in a nice puddle.” y/n grunted slightly as she got to her feet and made her way toward the kitchen. Aaron followed her with his gaze and he asked, “Can I refill your wine glass, and maybe you can try that oil, it’s pretty soothing. I know from experience.” 

y/n turned her head toward Aaron, he was being so nice to her and she wasn’t sure why. She didn’t come across people who were just nice for the sake of it often, and it filled her with warmth. She nodded her head yes and tried to imagine Aaron, who was always so put-together and composed, not bruised and bloody. The thought sent a pang through her. She wondered how often his getting injured happened, and if he’d let her help him like he was helping her. y/n shook her head. This was already feeling like a fantasy, she couldn’t possibly hope for more than this. Things like this didn’t happen, not to her. y/n grabbed the bag of ice that had refrozen after her nap, and grabbed a towel from the drawer next to the fridge, cradling the cool bag in her hand. y/n moved back to the couch and sat back down. The butterflies in her tummy had fluttered their wings like they did when they stopped to get warmed on the gray pavement outside of her house in summer. She wished she could still them, but at the same time, it was such a rush, they almost made up for the pain in her face. She wished she could get a better read on Mr. Hotchner. She knew about his son, and his circumstances, but even so, he was unpredictable like a comet. Why he’d offered to help her apart from out of kindness was hard to pin down, and she didn’t dare ask him outright. Why she’d accepted was another mystery. Did wanting to be in the company of a good man make her a bad person? Was she sexualizing him, taking advantage? 

Before her thoughts could take her further, y/n pressed the bag to her face, covering her and dimming the flush that was blooming on her cheeks. y/n pressed a little too hard and grimaced at the cold and the pressure. Just as she did this, Aaron sat down with her wine and the grocery bag. Hotch softly said, “Gentle now.” y/n looked up at him, half of her face covered, and smiled. She felt like I might cry, but she didn’t know why. How pathetic she must have looked to him. Not able to take care of herself. But she’d been trying. She’d been trying to prove she could care for herself forever. Now one had trusted her, not after the accident. Not after her life had been turned around. But she didn’t talk about that. She didn’t even talk about it with herself anymore. There was no point in self-pity, she’d lived, externally unscathed. For as perceptive as Mr. Hotchner was, he couldn’t know everything inside her, maybe that was what she was waiting for. Someone who could explain why bad things happened to good people. y/n swallowed back her emotions and wiped away one stray tear, and Hotch sat in silence watching her with concern. Wondering why her mood had shifted so suddenly. 

After a few minutes, y/n pulled the ice pack off her face and set it on the table. She then picked up her fresh wine glass and took a smaller sip, savoring it this time, as she did this, Aaron put his hand into the grocery bag and pulled out the cotton wipes normally used for removing makeup, then the liniment oil which was in a small dropper topped bottle. He opened the bottle and took off the paper cover keeping the clear liquid inside. Hotch screwed on the cap and then dropped a few drops of oil onto the pad. He considered that if this was for Jack, he’d use his hands, and let the warmth of his skin soothe the hurt. But this wasn’t Jack, and Aaron remembered that as he started raising his hand to y/n’s mouth like she was someone he could just tend to like family. Hotch froze mid-movement and turned noticeably red. He cleared his throat and said, “Sorry,” as he set the pad into y/n’s waiting hand. She was as shocked as he was at how he’d reached out for her. y/n murmured a barely audible, “Thanks” as she took the pad and, this time, more carefully pressed it to her split lip. Aaron filled the silence with what he hoped were some helpful reminders. It felt too awkward if he didn’t speak after his slip-up with his hand, plus, he was going to have to leave in a few minutes. He didn’t want to stay out late and the darkness outside was only getting darker. 

“If the school or the district ends up giving you any serious trouble, make sure your union rep is with you when you have to explain the situation. And, heaven forbid, there is some complaint and the union can’t do anything, I have a few lawyer friends I can get you in contact with.” y/n nodded her understanding, Her eyes widened at his lawyer comment. Who doesn’t this man know? Aaron continued, “You should ice your face on and off until you go to bed, and make sure you get some dinner before you sleep. You can also use this oil in other places if you’re aching elsewhere, just make sure not to get it in your eyes.” y/n watched him list off these things so collectedly. Not even having to think about them. She considered that he would make a good teacher if he was inclined toward that profession, but then again, he was the leader of an FBI Unit, how much more of a teacher can you get than that? y/n snapped her head up, realizing Aaron was saying something to her. Hotch smiled and repeated, “Can I see?” He gestured toward her lip and y/n let out a little breath and said, “Okay,” as she removed the pad from her lip and looked into Aaron’s dark, thoughtful eyes.

Hotch sat forward in his chair. y/n’s face was in the light of a lamp and he could see her full-looking lips which were pretty except where they were marred by the scar and scab of dark clotted blood. It didn’t look bad enough to need stitches, but just barely. He’d seen so many scars like these on Morgan, Reid, Emily, and his own mouth that it didn’t bother him. What did bother him was that what was a painful and annoying injury being inflicted on y/n. That would sting for at least a week. Sure it sucked when it happened to him or a member of the team, but they’d signed up for that, the most y/n should have to expect in terms of harm on the job was a paper cut. Clearly, he had been mistaken. 

Since they had both returned to their seats, y/n and Aaron had started drifting closer together like moths drawn to a flame. Hotch was about a foot away from y/n and could feel the ghost of her breath on his face and the hint of her barely touched second glass of rose now forgotten on the table. Without thinking, he moved his large hand up to the side of her face. The warmth of his hand on the side of her face had y/n rest her chin in his palm, and she closed her eyes. Not exactly sure what or why he was doing this, Aaron brushed his thumb over y/n’s top lip and then softly over her bottom lip. She winced as the pad of his thumb brushed over her scab, but didn’t pull away from his touch. y/n opened her eyes and Hotch dropped his hand. He leaned in slightly, entranced by y/n, her presence, just wanting to be a bit closer to her. y/n did the same. 

The moment was shattered when y/n’s phone loudly went off. Aaron dropped his hand like a lead weight, and y/n’s head snapped toward her phone on the side of the table. She turned her gaze back toward Aaron, but the moment had been broken. He looked silly, almost ashamed of himself. He’d pulled back and away and his posturing also made y/n feel like a fool. What had she been thinking? y/n got up grabbed her phone and answered, stepping farther away, but not so far away that Hotch couldn’t hear. What did she have to lose after acting so immature in front of him anyway? She could hardly think how she’d act when she saw him again, especially in the classroom. 

Putting the phone to her ear, she listened as her doctor asked if she’d picked up the refill of the medication that she had needed since her accident. y/n dipped her head. She’d completely forgotten about going to the pharmacy after her day and replied, “No not yet. I’ll pick them up right after work tomorrow.” There was a short reminder that those meds were helping y/n and she shouldn’t go without them. y/n nodded and said, “I know. I’ll pick them up tomorrow. I have enough to make it till then.” Hotch watched y/n cave in on herself as she walked away from him. He hadn’t meant to make her feel bad, or silly. He felt silly. Like someone who hadn’t been thinking about what he was doing. He shouldn’t have put y/n in that position and he was sorry for it. He’d have to find a way to apologize and leave y/n to her night before making some other kind of monumental error in judgment. 

Hotch heard y/n wrap up her call and her footsteps came back toward him. He stood and moved into the open space of the living room. The front door was just a few feet away and he felt like running out of it. But he stayed in discomfort and said, “I’m sorry for what I did earlier, y/n. That was inappropriate. I, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” y/n dropped her eyes again and said, “It’s alright. You were really kind to come over here and listen to me ramble and complain for half an hour. Not even my friends did that, and I’ll make sure to heed your advice. It’s clear you have a lot more practical life experience than I do. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” Aaron nodded, trying to accept her words for a situation he’d created. He wished he could explain what he’d been thinking, but he couldn’t because he hadn’t been thinking. The final nail in the coffin was when y/n said, “I hope you have a good night, Mr. Hotchner.” The change back to his last name, y/n hoped sounded regretful, but to Aaron, it only sounded hollow. Now it was Aaron’s turn to drop his head and he moved toward the door, stopping for one second as his fingertips brushed the cool metal, so unlike y/n’s warm skin. 

y/n didn’t like this. She didn’t like this at all. She hadn’t really known why she’d said yes to him coming over other than she wanted to see Aaron. She had enjoyed feeling his hand on her face. It was fast and strange like a dream, but she’d liked it, and part of her wanted very badly to understand why she’d wanted him here. And she didn’t think she could do it alone. She assumed that Aaron was as lost as she was. It seemed like he was. The words of y/n’s therapist rang in her ears, “Sometimes being strong is letting people in instead of keeping them out.” Just as Hotch’s hand latched onto the door knob y/n said, “Mr. Hotch… Aaron. I can’t exactly tell you why I asked you here, apart from the fact that I wanted you here, and I really enjoyed having you here, for all of it. I mean, like, before the phone call. I don’t know what this is,” she gestured between them, and continued, “But I’d like to understand it more. Maybe when the semester is over we could get coffee or something. Or if you don’t want that, I understand too.” 

There was a moment of silence that felt like an eternity before Aaron turned. His expression looked lighter, and maybe there was a ghost of a smile on his face that said, “I’d like that y/n. I enjoyed tonight too. You have my number now, so you let me know once you have the headspace to come up with a day for our meeting. I look forward to it.” y/n smiled too and raised her hand and waved. Hotch then moved outside and closed the door behind him. As he walked down the drive he felt better. Much better, and happy he’d come, even if he hadn’t been sure why, he had a better picture now, and he felt less guilty about it. He’d have something to tell Jess when the time was right, but for now, he could look forward to getting to know y/n better, and get to know himself too. 

Inside, y/n looked at the door for a second before she moved to it and locked it. She then moved to the couch and dropped into the cushions with a sigh. Once she’d grounded herself, y/n grabbed her glass and took another sip. The bag of ice was once again going unnoticed on the cushions and melting. y/n pulled the glass from her lips and contemplated how her face didn’t hurt so much anymore. Perhaps it was the painkillers, or the wine, or maybe, just maybe, it was the courage to tell Aaron the truth, and the possibility to know more about that feeling between them.

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[rattiwolf]

burr should be thankful he wasn't in that damn room

(also I just realized I spelled jealous wrong but we're just gonna ignore that)

[idontreallywanttolive]

Teacher’s favorite

Reader is a university student and Hotchner is a FBI agent who occasionally comes to share his experience. In a room full of student who are interested, sure. But who are also very much tired, the very excited reader catches Hotchner’s eyes. 

Teacher Hotchner! Who can see that everyone was diligently writing the precious information bought by the SSA Agent Hotchner. Yet, it doesn’t take a profiler to see that these kids were gone for dreamland since they sat. 

Teacher Hotchner! who glances toward his colleagues, Agent Reid, and he shakes his head out of defeat. Trying a weak attempt to make the student participate, he asks a question. 

Teacher Hotchner! Taking a look at the room in hope that someone takes the bait, he was almost startled when out of nowhere a hand appeared in his field of vision. Looking at the owner of the hand, he feels his heart soften a bit. In contrast with the gloomy atmosphere of the rest of the class, you were standing out with your engagement for the presentation. You reminded him of a little kid in class who knew the answer and didn’t want anyone else to say it. 

Teacher Hotchner! You present yourself and proceed to ruffle through your notes. A lot of notes. Smart girl. His eyes caught on some little doodles. Cute. You place the few strands of loose hair behind your ear as you look up to him to answer. A soft giggle leaves your lips when you realize the rather awkward silence from your awaited answer. 

Teacher Hotchner! Who was about to continue his presentation but sees that you have something to add. You ask a question and the ears of the students are perked up of interest. They haven’t though about that. The presence behind him shifts and he knows that his colleagues going to speak, so he allows himself to rest at the back. 

Teacher Hotchner! Who crosses his arm out of habits and studies you. Feeling eyes on you, you inspect the room for the person who’s responsible for your discomfort. Everyone had their eyes straight toward agent Reid, and that’s when you saw him.  

Teacher Hotchner! Could swear he saw your cheeks redden. (Even your legs shut but that’s a detail for later) 

Teacher Hotchner! Who didn’t see the time pass and was surprised when he heard the school bell ring.

Teacher Hotchner! Who follows you with his eyes while quickly putting his belonging in his bag. Pushing the door, he searches for you and finds you near the vending machine. You pushed the button to your selected beverage and before you could pay, a black card appeared near the contactless payment part. 

Teacher Hotchner! Who, before you could argue with him, gives you his business card. “I would like to exchange with you in the future if you don’t mind” 

Teacher Hotchner! Who can’t savor your flustered expression because his colleague calls for him, an emergency case. 

Teacher Hotchner! Who gets a notification that night, after dealing with some irritating police officers. “Are you free right now?” 

Teacher Hotchner! Who now knows how to relieve that stress. 

[rachelspoetrycorner]

What You Missed That Day You Were Absent from Fourth Grade (2016) by Brad Aaron Modlin

In Episode 267, Rachel brings the poem that made me want to do this blog!

Rachel: Usually when I read the poem of a poet that is currently practicing and publishing, I will reach out to them and let them know, "Hey, just so you know, we're gonna talk about your poem. I wanted you to know because I'm celebrating your work." But I feel like Brad is gonna be really let down if I reach out to him and say "Hey, we talked about your poem. We loved it. We also talked about haircuts for about 15 minutes in the middle."

Griffin: You know, but that's—is—what is that if not poetry?

Rachel: Maybe we should stop calling this segment the Poetry Corner and start calling it What Is... 

Griffin: What Is That If Not Poe—

Rachel: What Is That? 

Griffin: —If Not Poetry?

Rachel: If Not Poetry?

If you’d like to hear about Griffin's missing school so much being the actual reason for his imposter syndrome, you can do so here: What is a Short Podcast if Not Poetry, from 19:37 - 31:41

[sugarskulls99]

If being so delusionally in love with my hot teachers. What if I "would do anything to get my grade up."

[ratatatastic]

ekky praising pomo never gets old because a river will just flow from his mouth but also "gonna be really happy and really bittersweet to get rid of [the cup] but to give it to [paul maurice] is gonna be really sweet, really cool opportunity" gonna be normal about that one!

Ekky Cup Day | 8.17.24 (x)

[xxitsxbillxhaderxnationxx]

My Billy boo is just mood. This is literally how I feel right now as the school year is winding down 😂❤️🤦🏻‍♀️

[kreepja]

May i say a cutie pookie patootie🥹💗

[jaypilled]

throws rocks at him

[ruleof3bobby]

OUTSIDE IN (2017) Grade: B-

Solid indie film. Tight script. Sensitive film that never takes the easy route with plot turns. I actually like the ending, brave.

[miss-couch-potato]

I almost had another heart attack at school because there is a teacher at my school who looks and sounds like fucking Aaron Fechter... He use to be my English teacher before I got moved to a way better English teacher in my freshman year. I'm not gonna reveal his name for privacy reasons but he looks like a tall version of Aaron and it creeps me out!!! He even wears stupid shirts trying to be the "funny teacher" Also people said that he did the evil German salute to a German kid when he was in highschool and he thought it was funny... They both are very weird...

I ALSO FOUND THIS WTF?

I KNEW HE WAS TROUBLE! HE'S PLOTTING SOMETHING WITH SPONGEBOB!!!

WHO EVER MADE THIS I LOVE YOU!!!