Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter eleven: lecture hall

Teaching a college course was not outlined in the BAU Employee Guidelines and Expectations, but, then again, fucking your boss wasn't either.

While you had a lot of experience delivering profiles to police departments and towns, even having your face broadcasted across national television, the premise of teaching a college course was daunting. Maybe it was because you were in the same position as the students just a few years ago, or maybe it was because you didn't know if you were capable of teaching a class with Hotch by your side without scandalous thoughts crossing your mind.

Hotch, on the other hand, didn't seem to mind. While Rossi and Reid usually went down to teach the collegiate courses in their spare time, Hotch didn't shy away from the idea. In fact, Hotch never seemed to back down from any task thrown his way. Every challenge, every obstacle that came at him was carefully maneuvered.

It was evident in the slight eye bags that furrowed under his eyes and how every so often he would close his eyes when he thought no one was watching and exhale a sigh of relief that he scrutinized himself more than Strauss or the media ever could.

You admired his work ethic. He spent hours at his desk. He never missed a deadline. You couldn't even think back to the last time he was late.

You had to wonder what motivated that man.

Parking in the staff parking lot at the University of Virginia, you find your way to the temporary shared office you had with Hotch, settling your bookbag and notes down on the table before heading to the lecture hall.

You watch from the door as Hotch shifts the podium microphone to meet his towering height while some of the students begin to file in.

You meet him in the middle, his eyes carefully tracing you up and down. "Your skirt is quite short."

You scoff, running your tongue against your bottom lip. "Dress codes are a bit out of date, don't you think Hotch?"

"They are," he agrees, continuing to eye the hem of your skirt. His voice drops deeper and quieter. "But if I were to bend you over this desk, that pretty pussy of yours would be on display for everyone to see. Is that what you want, brat?"

"Hotch." Your eyes dart around the classroom cautiously, relieved that none of the students were paying attention yet.

"Don't act like you wouldn't like it," he whispers into the sensitive crook of your neck before returning to his notes on the other side of the lecture hall.

Eventually, the room fills up with students. Their eyes set on you.

"Welcome," Hotch introduces. "I am SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I am the Unit Chief of the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit. Our job is to create a profile of an unsub to catch criminals ranging from child predators to serial killers. We focus on behavioral sciences, studying these criminals to be able to predict them better."

He turns to you, prompting for your introduction.

"Hello," your voice picks up cheerily. "My name is Agent Y/N. Behavior profiling has helped us catch some of the most prolific killers in the world. Our curriculum will follow these elusive criminals and their behavior. I'm going to pass around a copy of the curriculum."

"Any questions so far?" Hotch asks, surveying the room.

A hand shoots up from the front of the class. A male student, whose voice was haughty and skeptical. "Come on, do you guys really believe this? It's a scam. There's no science behind profiling."

Hotch raised his eyebrows, walking across the front of the room contemplatively as the entire class waited on his answer. You don't know if you should step in, but Hotch's heavy voice settles into the atmosphere once again.