"Most of your essays were... well, to put it bluntly, they were abysmal," Hotch paces at the front of the classroom the stack of essays piled in his arms. Your eyes remain focused on those arms of his, just slightly exposed by his rolled-up sleeves. You can't stop thinking about how it felt, his fingers on your skin. The way he was so close. The way his lips just lightly brushed yours. Even now as he occasionally strolls past your desk you can swear you smell his cologne.
"Unless clearly stated on your paper, please don't show up unannounced to my office. You can get on your knees and beg me, but I won't change your grade." At that, your mind floods with images of you on your knees in front of your professor, his hands tangled in your hair, holding it away from your face. Hotch slides the paper onto your desk, pulling you out of your daydreaming. You glance up at him and you can see the smirk tugging at the edges of his mouth.
You try your best to reciprocate a small smile, but you get the impression that he can read your mind and knows exactly what you were so focused on. You flip the paper over and your heart drops into your stomach. A big red C is circled at the top of the page with a note at the bottom that says 'Come see me. Immediately.'
You feel Katie leaning over your shoulder to look at your paper and she lets out a small noise of surprise, "Wait... Did I do better than you?"
"I'm telling you, he hates me," Your grip on the paper tightens, the edges crinkling in your hands. This whole hot and cold thing is starting to piss you off. You busted your ass over this paper and you got a C? You don't get Cs. You flip to your schedule, looking for when Hotchner's office hours are: this afternoon. Great.
You block out the rest of class, unable to focus on anything but your horrible grade. You flip through the pages of your essay, seeing minimal markings on the nearly 12-page essay you slaved over for hours. With every minute your anger grows. By the time Hotchner is dismissing the class, you feel like a cartoon character with steam coming out of your ears.
"Hey, kid," Katie nudges your arm as she packs her bag, "It's just one paper. You'll recover."
"I hate him," You mutter through your clenched jaw. You shoot the professor one last hate-filled glare but he barely catches your eye-line as students swarm his desk, holding their papers out, already begging for grade changes and explanations.
"Come on, let's get you out of here," Katie grabs your upper arm and pulls you towards the door, "You got time to get lunch with me?"
"Yeah, his office hours aren't until 2:00." You nod glumly.
"Hey," She smiles and stops for a second to stand in front of you. She reaches forward and tilts your chin up with a smile, "Keep your chin up."
"That was terribly cheesy," You tease but can't resist returning her smile.
"He's being an asshole. But you're going to go into his office and you're going to be confident, prepared, and tell him that you worked hard. You want to do well in his class," She grinned, "You're going to kiss his ass like you always do, teacher's pet."
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.
Hotch clears his throat behind you, finally pulling your attention back to the reason you're standing in the middle of his office. "Miss Y/L/N? I assume you didn't just come here to ogle at my books or judge my mess."
You while back around, embarrassment filling you and your entire demeanor, "I'm sorry Professor, I've just never seen so many books." Your anger and frustration has disappeared as you're so entranced by his collection.
"You're here because of your essay? I'm not in the habit of changing grades if that's why you're here,"
"Sir," You furrow your brows, growing confused at his actions. He's always fucking confusing, "You're the one who wanted to see me."
"Oh yes," He nods and moves past you to lean against his desk. He places his hands firmly gripping the edge of the wood. Sitting against the desk has lowered him to your height, his eyes directly at your eye line. "But not really about the essay."
"But sir–" You hold out your paper.
Hotch takes it from you, "Hotch. Remember? I don't think you were that drunk that you can't remember."
You stumble over your words a little before starting again, "Hotch. I worked really hard on this essay and I know I deserve better than a C. I don't mean to sound stuck up but for christ's sake, Katie started her essay the night before, I'm sure mine is better than hers. If you just look," You take a few steps towards him and lean forward to point out a few places in your essay. Just as you lean forward you see his eyes dart up off the paper, first glancing at your chest and then at your eyes. You pause before continuing, "If you just look again you'll see–"
"You're right." He puts the paper on the desk beside him, "Your essay is better than everyone else's. But you can do better than this. This?" He places a hand on the paper next to him, "This is C work for you."
"Professor" You start and you see him raise a brow at you, "Hotch... that's entirely unfair."
He suddenly stands up and moves past you, looking over his bookshelf, pulling out a book before turning to you, "You said it yourself, you're smarter than every one of those fucking morons kissing my ass every day."
You're slightly taken aback by his language and glance down at the book in his hands. He gives a subtle nod before continuing, "You have the potential to be a great lawyer. I want to give you the knowledge you get with years and years of interning experience." He holds out the book and you take it from his hands.
You flip it over, noticing it has no title, no name on the spine but once you open it, it's filled with practically illegible scribbling. You finger through the pages quickly, "Sir, is this yours?"
"They're notes from some of my most prominent cases," He takes a step closer and points down into the page you're on, "That was one of my first cases as a federal prosecutor."
Now you're really confused, "So you gave me a C on my paper to tell me I'm smart and capable?" You look up, his face much closer than expected and your eyes dart down to his lips.
"I gave you a C because your work should be way better than what you handed in,"
"You have to grade me against the same criteria as everyone else." You shake your head. You're definitely not as angry as you were when you stormed in here, and maybe it's the way that his whole office smells like his cologne, or how close he's standing to you right now. He notices you staring at his lips for a second too long before smirking. That urges you to force your focus back on the book in your hand.
"Do you want to be great or do you want to be like everyone else?" He crosses his arms across his chest.
"I'm just confused–,"
"I want to tutor you, once a week," He doesn't let you finish your thought.
"I really am grateful, Sir, but this book is... I can't take—"
Hotch reaches down, tilting your face up, forcing you to look at him, "As much as I love hearing the word 'Sir' come out of that pretty little mouth of yours, I mean it. Call me Hotch."
You stumble over your words a little, feeling the heat both rising in your cheeks and throughout your whole body. His fingers are still under your jaw, his thumb gently stroking your chin lazily. You know exactly what he means. He wants to tutor you and sleep with you. And God, do you want to sleep with him. You know it's a bad idea. You know he's manipulating you. He's taking advantage of your aspirations for success. You pull out of his grip and hold the book tightly against your chest, moving to lean against his desk.
It feels as if he can read your mind because the next words out of his mouth are, "You don't have to have sex with me for the lessons." He clarifies.
Your eyes shoot up to his, widening slightly at his blunt phrasing, "I didn't think that—"
"I'm offering you a chance at greatness here," He walks closer to you again. "No matter what, I want to help you reach your fullest potential." He reaches his hand up to cup your cheek but you sense him pause, closing his fist before lowering it a little. He's waiting. He might be an asshole, but he's waiting to get a sign from you that it's okay to keep touching you.
You put the book down on the desk, standing up straighter. Your body close to his, "When do we start?"
"Every Wednesday, 2 pm," He nods, a smile spreading across his face. He lifts his hand, cupping your face, thumb rubbing your cheek gently, "I'm going to push you to your limits, think you can handle that?"
Your eyes flutter closed at his touch and you let out a soft 'mhm' in response.
"Look at me," Hotch commands and you feel him jerk your head up, so that when you open your eyes you're looking up at him.
"What I wouldn't do," His fingers slip through your cardigan, gently brushing the bare skin of your shoulder, "To tear these clothes off your irresistible little body," His voice is hoarse and low and you immediately regret looking up into his eyes.
His lips are on yours in an instant. Every time he pulls away from the kiss for a second, you feel his hot breath fan over your face. You quickly slip off your cardigan, leaving you just in your tank top.
"You had some dirty thoughts today in class," He groans against your lips.
You mumble in agreement as his hands run up to rest on your waist. He gives a tight, bruising squeeze to your hips before roughly lifting you up onto the edge of his desk.
"Wanted to get on your knees like a little slut, didn't you," He growls out, kissing under your jaw, nipping your skin roughly.
"Yes," You moan out.
"Tell me what you want," He reaches for the strap of your tank top and yanks it down, revealing the silky cups of your bra. He palms your breast fiercely, your skin and hot and pliable in his hands.
"To pleasure you," Then you realize what he wants. You can read him perfectly. You know exactly the kind of man he is, "Sir." You purr out the last word and he growls into your mouth.
You open your legs so he can stand between them. His hands are rough and the pace the two of you are moving at is wild, uncontrollable because you don't want him, you need him.
He presses his firm form against you, his hands splayed, groping and exploring your flesh. Your skin is warm in his hands. Your kisses are frantic, his mouth warm and wet on yours. It's chaos. It's wild, animalistic. You grip the collar of his shirt tightly in your fists, his hot breath fanning over your neck, then your collar bones, then the tops of your breasts. He pulls your tank top up over your head. You attempt to pull him closer, wanting to grind your hips against his.
"Look at you," He drawls out against your bare shoulder, his long fingers ghosting over your ribcage and then down to the top of your pants. He slowly works to unbutton them. "A moaning, squirming mess and I haven't even begun to touch you."
"Please, I'm sick of you teasing me," You let out impatiently. At that his hand comes to your throat, his thumb jutting under your chin harshly. He brings his face close, eyes searching yours.
"If you can't handle this," He tuts disapprovingly, the same tone he takes when you get something wrong in class, "What I have planned for us will absolutely ruin you." You find yourself clenching your pussy around absolutely nothing at that. Just his words manage to make you unbearably aroused.
He releases your neck, fingers hooking into your pants and underwear at the same time to rip them down off your legs. "What do you want from me?" He groans his hand slipping between your bodies, two fingers lazily stroking your clit.
"Please," You whine and jump at his touch, "Please sir." You're begging. You need more.
"Please, sir." He mocks you, taunting you, trying to sound bored, "Please, sir... what?"
You moan in response as his fingers circle your clit harder. "Well?" He grips the nape of your neck, forcing your face close to his, your noses pressed against one another but he keeps you at a distance so you can't kiss him. "Remember I said you have to learn to use. Your. Words." At that last word, he gives a small smack to your clit before resuming his slow but harsh circles.
"Please," You grip the edge of the desk tightly, "I want to fuck your mouth." You stumble over your words through the moans. Hotch released your head forcibly, placing his hands on your thighs, pushing you further onto the desk. You place your feet on the edge, spreading your legs to give him full access.
He releases a small moan in response, eyes focusing on the view between your legs right now. Then he's sinking to his knees in front of you, burying his head between your thighs and absolutely devouring you with his tongue.
You knot a hand into his hair, messing it up and tugging slightly at the roots. Your moans are loud and unrestrained. His tongue laps against you, exploring you and sucking lightly on your clit. As he works you over, you let out a string of curses and chants, 'Fuck just like that! Please, sir more! Professor!' He seems to like the names you're calling him instead of Hotch now.
You're melting under his touch. The way his tongue smoothly laps against your heated skin, the way he pays attention to what makes you moan louder and then proceeds make your eyes roll back in your head. He's not just good, he's amazing. Your stomach tightens and you feel the familiar tingle of pleasure working its way through your body.
Your breathing stutters as you attempt to form any sense of coherent thought as the powerful rush of pleasure fills your whole body. You hear yourself chanting 'Yes sir' over and over as your orgasm rocks your body wildly. Hotch's mouth and tongue are unrelenting, stroking, licking, and sucking throughout your whole orgasm.
He pulls away as your heart rate slows down. You let your eyes close for a second as you catch your breath and he steps between your legs again, reaching for your cheek to kiss you again. Once you catch your breath and open your eyes you settle on the growing bulge in his slacks. You reach in between the two of you, palming him through the fabric, tracing the outline of his hard cock. He hisses response but soon grips your hands tightly stopping you.
"Did I say you could do that?" He wrenches your hands away.
"I just want to return the favor, sir," You pout up at him and he forces your hands back to your sides.
"Oh you will," He nods, stepping away to walk around and sit at his desk chair behind you. He pulls out a paper and you scrunch up your face. You crane your head around to look at him. "Just not now." He gives a small nod, "See you on Wednesday."
You hop off the desk rushing to get dressed and gather up your things. He holds out the notebook from earlier and you take it from him, your hands brushing against his, sending sparks up your arm. You're not even quite sure what to say to him. You can sense he's getting impatient as you linger there longer. You turn to the office door and when you place your hand on the knob he calls out from behind you, "Miss Y/L/N."
"Next meeting... wear a skirt," Hotch gives you a small wink and you nod, quite honestly still reeling from the events of the past hour.
A/N
Hi, y'all! Sorry for the long wait, I was trying to get this chapter exactly the way I wanted. I wanted it to be really clear that all the choices made by Y/N and everything they did was consensual. I wanted it to be clear that Y/N wants to pursue things with Hotch, not because of the opportunities but because she is genuinely attracted to him.
I love you all <3