Against Protocol (Aaron Hotchner X Reader)

chapter two: false hope

You stared up at the ceiling from your bed. Your mind ran in circles as the sun filtered through the blinds, scattering slits of honey yellow sunlight onto your bed.

Sore could not begin to describe the ache in your legs, and the soft bruises on your collar weren't as tender anymore.

It was 7 AM, and your mind contemplated the very memory that stained your brain. You understood it was a one time thing, a temporary, unethical lapse in judgment from both sides that would —should— remain unspoken.

Good girl.

Yet, you knew your body wanted more. You wanted to feel Hotch's hands around your sides, clasped around your face as his dark, unwavering eyes stared into yours. At the same time, you were well aware of Hotch's lack of aftercare — the way he couldn't even look you in your eyes afterward.

And it didn't take a profiler to know how Hotch would handle it. He would pretend it never happened, brush off his moment of indiscretion and continue working the cases while simultaneously ignoring you, continue treating you like an incompetent child at work.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. It was from JJ on the newest case in Phoenix.

Every moment spent thinking about Hotch meant a minute later you would arrive to work, and you couldn't handle more scrutiny. You rushed to get change, hurriedly slipping on a tight pencil skirt and blouse.

When you stepped out of the BAU elevator, you saw JJ motioning for you to join the team for the briefing. You searched around for Hotch at the round table and throughout the office but didn't find him among your team members. Odd.

"Phoenix PD called us this morning on a serial rapist. He's been kidnapping college-age females, raping and killing them, and then staging their deaths as suicides. So far, we've found 5 bodies, but the Unsub has escalated to one female almost every two days. We're already one day in since Rhonda Charles has been kidnapped. We need to work fast, or we're looking at another dead girl," JJ detailed, visibly stunned at the photos on the screen.

"Where's Hotch?" Reid asked, sitting up from his chair as he further inspected the crime scene photos.

"He had some urgent paperwork to finish. We can brief him on the jet. We're leaving in thirty minutes," JJ replied. "Oh, and Y/N, he said he wanted to see you in his office before we left."

Flustered, you grabbed your papers and muttered out a weak "Alright.".

Prentiss and Morgan looked at you wearily, shrugging their shoulders and offering their best smiles of consolation. It wasn't news to the team that Hotch unfavorably looked down on you, always putting you under pressure.

After last night, you were already feeling the retributions.

You tugged down at your skirt and entered his office. Every inch of bare skin felt sinful, exposed. His eyes stayed still on his paperwork until you took a seat. His eyes subtly trailed your body until they met your eyes. He was quiet for a second, finishing signing off on the last few pages of his paperwork.

His office didn't feel the same. All you could think about was the spared moans and pleasure, not the discipline and professionalism of working for the FBI. Although, it didn't seem like Hotch had any trouble forgetting.

"Y/N. Last night, I think we can both agree was a mistake. Mostly, it was wildly unprofessional on my part as your superior, and I understand if you were to ask for a transfer out of my team," he began, doing his best to maneuver the conversation in an orderly, well-mannered fashion. It seemed like all he wanted was for you to leave.