wanna be yours [aaron hotchner x reader]

I.III

You roll your eyes, "He said he wouldn't change the grade though."

"Who knows?" She shrugs before resuming walking and you hurry to catch back up with her, "Maybe you'll be the exception to that rule. Maybe you can change his mind. Melt that cold dead heart of his just a little bit."

Katie drags you to get lunch but you can't stomach anything but another coffee which just makes you more jittery and on edge about your meeting with Hotch. Honestly, you're terrified to be alone with him. He's intimidating and cruel and cold and purely mean, but there's something so attractive about him to you. You want to hate him, you do hate him, but every time you think of him, you think of the way his hand felt under your chin, pulling your face up to look at him. You think of the way you get sucked into those warm brown eyes.

"I have to run but you're strong and smart and capable," Katie stands up from your table, ruffles your hair a little bit before giving your arm a supportive squeeze.

You furrow your brows and attempt to fix the mess she's made of your hair. "Thanks, Katie."

"See you at home," She grins before walking across the quad towards your apartment building. You let out a small shaky breath and look over the essay you've had clutched in your hands for the past hour. The edges are crumpled, the text is a little smudged from you running your fingertips over it, reading and re-reading your work, and there's a small coffee stain on the third page. You stand up, throw out your hardly-touched lunch, and start back towards the law building.

Your heart is pounding up in your ears as you walk down the quiet hallway of offices on the third floor. Your eyes fall on the nameplate you're looking for:

#335

Aaron Hotchner, J.D.

Criminal Law

You see the door is closed and you can hear two voices coming from inside. You resign yourself to leaning against the wall just outside the office and start to read your paper for what feels like the hundredth time.

The conversation inside his office grows louder in volume and you can faintly hear two distinct voices: the deep voice of Professor Hotchner and another, higher-pitched female one. You lean in a little closer, unable to help your curiosity when the door swings open and you stumble backward out of the way of a young girl storming out of his office, tears streaming down her face.

Just as you watch the girl hurry down the hallway and you turn to walk into the office, practically colliding with Professor Hotchner who stands in the doorway. He has his hands tucked into his pockets, sleeves rolled up sloppily, and he leans a little against the doorframe, "Miss Y/L/N." He nods at you.

"Professor Hotchner—"

"Hotch," He cuts you off, "Come on inside, we have a lot to talk about." He steps out of the way, leaving just barely enough room for you to make it through the door frame so that when you walk through, your body brushes up against his. You take a few steps into his office and take a look around.

You hear the door shut behind you but you can't turn around to face Hotch just yet. Your eyes are running over the massive wall of books. The entirety of one wall of Hotchner's office is shelves upon shelves of books. Your eyes scan the wall, noticing that, surprisingly, most of the books aren't law textbooks or any titles that you recognize that relate to law in any way whatsoever. You look around at the rest of the office. For such a strict, harsh, professor, there are papers everywhere.

The entirety of his desk is covered in loose-leaf pages of paper, pens tossed around haphazardly. There are crumpled balls of paper around the trashcan. You notice a small antique typewriter on the edge of his desk. The blinds are closed, making the office dark, the only light comes from his desk lamp.