millie

mission identities | Aaron Hotchner as Professor Edward Thomas Jameson. You as Isabella Evans (rarely used, other than 'Miss Evans')

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chapter five: drinks and shivers

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"Are you joking?" Lizzie giggled and swallowed the rest of her drink. You shook your head, laughing, "No, I'm serious, he really said that." It was freeing, finally having a girl around you. It had been over a month since you last saw your friends back home, only having Hotch and Spencer around would make anyone go crazy. Who would you talk to about them?

"Wait." She said with a straight face, standing up from where she sat cross-legged on her bed. Lizzie stood in front of you and did her best glare, lowering her voice to a grumble, "You and your perfect grades can't run from me, darling."

"I'm getting goosebumps." You snorted. Her impression was spot on, Emily would be given a run for her money.

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Lizzie lead you through the gates of campus, the chill night air sending shivers down your spine, you suddenly regretted not bringing a jacket. Fishing your phone out from your purse, you opened your messages to send the text Hotch had forced you to agree to send.

There was already a message in the chat.

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From: You | To: Professor Hot.

Let me know when later is.

Yesterday, 1:32PM

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What was that supposed to mean? You did not remember sending that.

You scanned the message again, scrunching your nose reading the contact name. Hotch had grabbed your phone yesterday to add his own number, and apparently create his own contact name. He probably sent himself a message from your phone, to ensure he had your number as well. Fucker.

You wondered if he intended to call himself 'Professor Hot' as a way to ensure it fit in with the roles you were playing, or if he simply meant it was short for 'Hotchner'.

It was undoubtedly the latter.

With a huff, you typed a quick 'Leaving campus now' before stuffing it back in your purse.

Three steps later, your phone chimed. Lizzie glanced over her shoulder, looking as confused as you were feeling. For an old guy, he certainly replied quickly.

"Sorry, just have to reply to this text." You gave her a tight lipped smile and she nodded in understanding.

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From: Professor Hot.

Where are you going and with who?

[9:55PM]

── Reply to: Professor Hot. Sunshine with Lizzie, Sophie and Summer. Is that to your liking, kind sir? [9:55PM]

From: Professor Hot.

Yes.

[9:56PM]

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You rolled your eyes and dropped your phone back into your purse again, you took Lizzie's outstretched arm and started walking.

'Sunshine' was a bar on Sunshine Road — only a 5 minute walk from the campus entrance — which was a 5 minute walk from the western dorm building. Summer had called it 'vintage', although you thought creepy sounded more fitting as you took in the stone building in front of you.

The bar was dimly lit and old fashioned. Whimsical. A lot more cozy on the inside than the cold stone exterior. Lanterns of various sunset colors swung from the wooden beams on the ceiling, casting patters of dancing light throughout the room. The tables were of dark stained wood with burnt orange stools around.

It was bustling, the sound of glass clinking and laughter mixed with the loud chatter of people trying to hear each other over the music. The smell of alcohol and perfume tainted the air.

"Come, let's get drinks!" Summer dragged you by the wrist to the bar across the room. You glanced over your shoulder with pleading eyes, hoping either Lizzie or Sophie would pity you and follow.

They just giggled and waved from the table they had sat themselves by.

Summer bent over the counter, "A tequila sunrise for the cutie, and the usual for me, please!" The bartender grabbed two glasses and started mixing. She turned to you and chewed on the inside of her cheek, realizing she had not asked you what you wanted. "That's okay, right?" You nodded and smiled as she beamed, you had never seen someone so happy before. It was addictive.

As Summer chatted with the bartender, you pulled out your phone to begrudgingly send Hotch the text message. You would not have his ass on you for not upholding your end of the stupid promise.

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From: You | To: Professor Hot.

At Sunshine.

[10:27PM]

From: Professor Hot.

Good.

[10:28PM]

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You shook your head, refusing to acknowledge the nauseating giddy feeling in your gut thinking about Hotch waiting for your messages. Jesus, did he not have better things to do?

Summer paid for the drinks and handed one of the glasses to you. You thanked her, grabbing the drink as you put the phone back into your purse.

The colorful drink in her hand looked similar to yours, only hers had a pineapple garnish, instead of an orange. "What's your usual?" You asked, pointing to the glass she was gripping at an angle. The liquid swooshed close to the brim with her quick movements, it was all you could do to not take it from her and hold it yourself.

"Summer sunset, of course!" Summer chirped, pushing it to you. "Taste it! It's like a tequila sunrise but with vodka and lime seltzer, and I like it with a dash of pineapple juice, so I guess it's more like 'Summer's sunset'." Okay, you were convinced, the excitement in her voice had grown on you slightly.

Only after did you realize it was not, perhaps, the most thought through decision you had made, drinking from a strangers glass. Since she was a stranger, technically.

Still, the drink was refreshing. Fruity. Like a concoction of happiness, which you supposed was perfect for the personification of the sun standing in front of you.

You gasped, "Woah, I think you're onto something."

You slid between the bodies of the room as you navigated back to the table. Summer had grabbed a hold of your hand to make sure you did not lose each other in the sea of people. Finally, you sighed in relief as you slumped into one of the burnt orange chairs.

Sophie was gawking at you, you realized, and Lizzie was laughing so hard she was gasping for air. "What?" Did you have something on your face?

"No way he called you 'darling'." Sophie's jaw was on the floor, her wide eyes almost popping out of her head. Summer squealed and whipped her head to you, "Professor Jameson?"

Oh. You shrugged, flickering your attention to the sticky table in front of you, "It was probably a joke, I don't know. He probably does it to everyone." Raising your drink to your lips, you tried to hide the smile threatening to appear.

They had to believe it and you would undoubtedly give yourself away if you laughed in their faces every time you lied.

"Don't you see the way he looks at you, Bell?" Lizzie crossed her arms and scowled to make a point. The two other girls copied her, glaring at you with their best efforts. The slight buzz of alcohol convinced you it was the funniest thing you had seen, and the laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it, "Like he wants to give me detention?"

Sophie rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow, "If detention was a code word for pounding you, yes." Your jaw hit the floor as she smirked. Summer hid her face in her hands and you struggled with the effort it took to not do the same. Lizzie even winked at you, before raising her glass to make a toast.

"To Bell and Professor Jameson–" She suddenly gasped and slapped her hand over her mouth. Lizzie started cackling, folding over as she laughed. The three of you exchanged confused looks, watching her wipe tears from her eyes. When she finally calmed down enough to explain, she pointed to you, giggling between each word, "You're Bella and Edward!" Lizzie grabbed the edge of the table to keep herself upright as she doubled over in another fit.

Sophie snapped her eyes to you, shaking her head frantically, "No way." She bit her lip to hide her smile. You groaned and dropped your face into your hands, muttering a string of curses you hoped would find their way back to Quantico. They would be hearing from you, whether it was allowed or not. You would find a way to get revenge.

The laughter around the table was like a light sweet melody, and soon you found yourself laughing with them. It was rare to laugh like this, you could feel the weight on your shoulders lifting.

"Wait," Summer said, scrunching her eyebrows when you finally quieted, all of you wiping away tears from your cheeks, "Like Twilight?" Sophie nodded between gasping for air, and the four of you lost it again.

The buzz of your phone on the table served as a reminder of the promise to Hotch. You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes as you typed the message.

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From: You | To: Professor Hot.

Still at Sunshine.

[11:01PM]

From: Professor Hot.

Okay.

[11:03PM]

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God, he had to have something else to do. What was the reason for this, anyway? To keep tabs on you?

You looked up to find Sophie's eyes on you and you put your phone away.

"Just be careful." Sophie said as she placed a hand on top of yours. She suddenly turned serious, her blue eyes darkened as she frowned, "You've heard about the–," Sophie scanned the loud sea of people — unsure if she should say it out loud — then she leaned closer to you and whispered, "The murders?"

You nodded gravely and leaning to whisper back, "Not much, though." Sophie chewed on the inside of her cheek, twisting the empty glass in front of her to busy her hands while she thought.

After a minute of staring at the table, you debated on moving on when finally, she met your gaze again, "The last one was my friend." You furrowed your brows trying to remember the names from the files back in Quantico, though it was all hazy — the time passed and the alcohol in your system was not making it easier for you.

"I'm so sorry, Sophie. What was she like?" It felt awful, questioning her like this, but it was the only thing you could do. You hoped it would help her, as well. If you knew what the victims were like, it would significantly improve the chances of the profile.

Her eyes turned glassy and you laid a hand on hers, like she had done to you a moment ago. "Annie was the sweetest girl." Sophie smiled softly, a tear slowly falling down her cheek, "She was really smart and really funny," She turned to face you as you lifted a hand to wiped her tear, "You kind of remind me of her."

Well, you supposed that was the point, even if it hurt to think of.

"Annie sounds great." You smiled sadly, and Sophie huffed a laugh at the hint of a joke you had not realized you made.

"Let's get more drinks, Bell, I don't want to cry any more tonight." She sniffled before standing from her chair and reaching out a hand, you took it with a nod of understanding.

"You guys want anything?" Sophie asked the two girls sitting at the table. They told her what they wanted and returned to the heated discussion you could only barely make out over the noise.

"Jacob is like a warm hug, who wouldn't choose him?" Summer threw up her hands in exclamation and Lizzie shook her head.

"He's a dog, Summer. Edward is a sexy older guy, like twice the size of Bella, that's so much more hot!"

Exactly. Lizzie gets it.

Not that it related to your current situation, because that was entirely different. Hotch was not a vampire.

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The night went on, the drinks kept being drunk and the music vibrated in your bones. You were having a great time with the girls — the dance floor had become your stage, the alcohol had turned to confidence and Lizzie had become your dance partner — it was an endless time of giggles and dancing, of easy fun with your new friends. You were floating in the clouds.

Sophie and Summer had found themselves slow-dancing with a couple of slightly older guys. You and Lizzie glanced over to them every now and then, pointing and giggling, like you had for hours. Soon, they had whispered goodbyes in your ears and left with the men of interest.

So, you and Lizzie got a couple more drinks, gave a toast with slurred words and danced some more.

"I'm having so—much fun, Bells!" Lizzie shouted over the music and you nodded in agreement.

You looked at each other and fell into a laughing fit. Lizzie pushed on your shoulder lightly, and you clumsily stumbled a step backwards, swaying with the lack of balance. She tried to stretch out a hand to steady you, but she bent over laughing before you could even attempt to grab it.

Strong hands gripped your upper arms from behind you and lifted you upright. You stiffened, finding Lizzie's wide eyes with your own. The smirk growing on her face told you exactly who was standing behind you.

Aaron Scowls-a-lot Hotchner, wearing his favorite expression.

You blinked, giggling when you noticed the deep scowl itched into his face, "Hot-"

"Miss Evans." He interrupted, stepping closer to you. A flush of color painted your cheeks as Hotch towered over you with an intense glare. He had to know you hated it when he forced you to tilt your head to look at him.

He bowed to whisper in your ear, "You seem to have forgotten something, darling." Disapproval laced his words, almost venomous. Your eyes flashed with panic as you tried to figure out what you had done wrong.

"Where's your phone?" Fuck. Shit.

"Uh–" You tried looking for your purse, turning your head from side to side to find the spot you had thrown it to when you started dancing. Instead, you spotted Spencer over his shoulder, and squealed.

"Spence!" He whipped his head up in time to see you lunge for him. You wrapped your arms around him, smiling brightly as his stiff posture softened. Spencer muttered your name lowly, barely audible, but you felt the air shift. He glanced up to Hotch who was watching you with utter seriousness, and you straightened. Something was wrong.

"What's–" You spun back to face Hotch without calculating the effect on your balance with the alcohol coursing through you. Cursing yourself, you stumbled again. Hotch reached forward, pulling you to stand, again. You had to get it together.

His hand pressed firmly against your lower back, "Let's go." With the light pressure, you took a couple small steps toward the exit before you remembered Lizzie. She could not be left alone, just because Professor Scowls-a-lot decided to whisk you away on some fairytale. Probably.

"Lizzie!" You snapped your head to look at Hotch and gasped.

He sighed, turning to Spencer and said something you could not hear over the music echoing from the speakers and the roaring in your ears. Spencer nodded, his gaze flickering to you for a second, then he turned around and walked back to where you had the time of your life just moments ago.

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The silence outside the bar was dizzying. Hotch had his hand still firmly pressed on your lower back, forcing you forward and away from the many eyes at the bar.

As you stepped around a corner into what looked like an alleyway to the other street, you finally had enough of his silence, "What's going on, Ho–" He slapped a hand over your mouth and pressed you up against the brick wall. The reaction had you frozen, blinking up at him in confusion.

"You know better than to call me that, don't you, darling." He growled in your ear. You shivered.

That was why he interrupted you back at the bar, you realized. You had almost blurted out 'Hotch' twice now, and by the looks of it, he was furious. Fuck, he was attractive.

You tried to apologize, but his hand muffled your words. He dropped it to your shoulder to keep you pinned against the wall, "What did you say?" The gleam in his eyes unnerved you, or perhaps it was butterflies, it was hard to tell.

"I'm sorry, Sir." You repeated yourself, apologizing again. It was a real apology, for once. It seemed like he was worried about you for some reason.

He stepped back, dropping his arms by his side. You watched as his jaw tightened, his fists clenched, just like he usually did when there was bad news on a case…

"Another one?" You whispered, taking a step away from the wall. He nodded gravely. "Found on a bench outside the library entrance."

You had studied there with Spencer once. The entrance was in a fairly open area, easy to spot. There should have been witnesses, or would have, had it not been the middle of the night. No one sane went to the library past midnight.

"Have they identified her?" You asked. What if it was someone you had run into during your time on the island? The thought had your heart racing.

He shook his head, "Her face had deep slashes. There was a pool of blood under the bench. Fresh. The only identifying trait I could see from the distance was blonde hair—"

"No." You shook your head furiously, panicking, "No, no, no!"

Sophie and Summer had left hours ago. With men you had no idea who were. They had not seemed suspicious but you had absolutely no trust in your drunk profiling abilities.

You turned to run back, to campus, to the bar, to wherever you could look for any of them. The faint glow from the streetlamps did little to show you the way as you ran, you had barely paid attention when you walked from campus earlier. It was hopeless.

Stopping in the middle of the street, you snapped your head around to look for any street signs, or anything you could remember at all. Tears were flowing down your cheeks, the adrenaline rushing through your body, it was hard to think.

"This way." Hotch spoke softly, pointing to the street he was facing. He had no clue why you suddenly panicked, but he saw the terror in your eyes and knew not to push. The desperation. He was still furious with you.

You pushed to a sprint as the campus gates coming into view.

You had to know. It would never stop eating you alive if one of them had died because you did not pay attention. Because you were too busy drinking and dancing. You had let them leave, not thinking about the possibility of one of them being murdered. All for another drink. All for another song. Another dance. A laugh.

The crowd was thick. Quiet murmurs vibrated the cobblestones. You would have to push through them to get to the body, though the police had likely already taken it.

"Bell!" The high-pitched shout of your name sent you spinning around to find the owner. Twenty feet behind you stood Summer. Your knees wobbled as she ran for you.

That meant…

"Thank god." Sophie cried from behind you. The two girls wrapped around you, sobbing. "I thought it was you." Sophie said into your hair. "I don't know what she looks like and I–" She sniffled, "I thought it was you."

Again, no matter how much it wrecked you to think about, you supposed that was also the point of this.

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"You're staying with me."

You whipped your head to the man leaning against the stone pillar of the campus gate, his arms crossed over his chest. "What?"

Did you say that a lot? Perhaps. Although it made sense, confusion seemed to be a dominant emotion lately.

You blinked, wishing it would clear the haze in your head. Hotch raised an eyebrow, looking you up and down as it was clear what he meant. It was not. He heaved a sigh and straightened from the pillar, lowering his voice only for you to hear, "You're drunk and I don't trust you to not snoop around the crime scene." Fair enough. Although it had not been your plan, now that he had suggested it…

"M' not drunk, you just want to get in my pants and you can't when I'm sober." You crossed your arms. The adrenaline had worn off, the world spun again, though that last part referred to the earth's rotation around the sun or whatever. Not the way the cobblestones looked kind of like waves.

Hotch licked his lips, trying to hide the slight hint of amusement on his face. "Let me get this straight. I can only get in your pants when you're drunk, which you are not, but you're not sober?"

"Uh-huh!" You agreed with a nod, eyes focused on his lips. Until the words repeated in your brain. You furrowed your brows in confusion, looking up at the man smirking in front of you, "Wait, what?" He made no sense. Had those been actual words coming from his nice mouth?

"Yeah, you're coming with me whether you like it or not." He decided and placed his hand on your lower back. The warmth of his hand spread up your spine like flames as he lightly pushed you forward, to fall into step beside him to go wherever he lived on the island.

You rolled your eyes, the heat had traveled to your face, "Wow, such a handsome guy but he has to force girls to go home with him." Hotch clenched his jaw to suppress the satisfied smile threatening to form. The compliment was lost on you. The waves of heat from his body next to you made it hard to string together coherent thoughts.

Eventually, he gave up suppressing the smile. He needed the change of mood after the bad news on the case. It was not like he could do anything other than keep playing his role and hope to get something out of the faculty. It felt nice to finally smile.

Your eyes widened at the sight. The smile on his face made him look like an alien. A handsome, dark and sexy kind of alien. The propaganda was working, it seemed.

His dimple made an appearance, the one you had barely and rarely been in the presence of, and this time you reached up to poke it. To your surprise, and perhaps also relief, he did not bite your finger off like you suspected he would. He just stared at you.

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You stopped in front of a small house on the same street as Sunset, though a good few stumbles and curses away. It was yellow, sort of like an old-lady-house. The thought of Hotch living here had you giggling.

"Penelope wants to talk to you," Hotch said as he reached the front of the house, "She's been calling me non-stop." He pulled out a key from the pocket of his dark slacks and unlocked the white-painted door.

"What?" You asked and cursed yourself for saying it again. He stepped through the door and made space for you as you stepped in beside him. "About what?" You tried again. The second attempt sounded better, though you were still slightly annoyed now that you were aware of the habit.

Penelope had been calling him and she wants to talk to you. You missed her, and it seemed like she missed you, too. It made you emotional, not unlike how sappy you usually got when you were drunk, although that was absolutely not the case here. It was a coincidence. Just like how climbable Hotch looked as he folded up the sleeves of his shirt was a coincidence.

Wait, hold on — did that mean it was a sober thought? You were drunk. Shit-faced, in fact. Now that you really thought about it.

You kicked your shoes off by the door, sighing. Your feet ached, pulsed, after dancing and running for hours.

"She's been talking my ear off about some Twilight thing, and keeps asking me over and over again if I have taken you out yet, or even kissed you yet—" He trailed off and scratched the back of his neck.

You hummed, following him to the living room. "How did she react when you said no to all of those things?" The couch called your name and you decided to grace it with the presence of your butt. It thanked you, you could feel it.

You watched as Hotch poured himself a glass of whiskey, glancing over to where you sat slumped on the gray couch, before he downed it. He poured another one and set the flask back on the round wooden table, ignoring your whines of wanting one.

He took a sip from his drink before he lowered himself to the far end of the suddenly way too small three-seat-couch.

"She started screaming." He finally said, as he pursed his lips and winced, like he could still feel the sound lingering on his eardrum. Poor guy probably got tinnitus from that phone call.

"I can see it." You laughed, deeply. Honestly. Hotch watched you laugh, the soft sound was somehow foreign to him. He wanted to hear it again.

"Wait." It hit you like a train. A win-win. Checkmate, if you will. You gasped loudly, and jumped closer to him on the couch, pushing your face close to his. More as a method to threaten him than anything. "We can cross one off the list." You said, raising your brows.

Hotch stilled, frozen, a breath away. The only movement was his eyes flickering between yours and your lips. His focus lingered on your mouth before he cleared his throat, "Which one?"

Ding ding ding.

Who would have thought it would be so easy?

You hummed and tilted your head as you scanned his face. Silence stretched for the long second you contemplated your words, "I was thinking watching Twilight, but if there's another one you would rather do…" You trailed off and looked down to his lips, before reaching out to take the half-drank glass of whiskey from his hands.

You slowly raised it to your mouth and watched him over the brim as you drank, savoring the burn as you emptied his glass.

Hotch stared at you and he swallowed. His lips parted slightly as you licked yours. With a sweet smile, you leaned so close to his face, the heat of his breath sent shivers down your spine.

"Your choice, Professor." Your whisper fanned across his lips.

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thank you so so much for reading

if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and reblogging, it fuels my little ego!

let me know your thoughts and if you have anything you would like to see! your comments and messages are everything to me<3

i’ve been a little sick so if it doesn’t make sense… don’t look at me— i just work here

love, millie<3

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mission identities | Aaron Hotchner as Professor Edward Thomas Jameson. You as Isabella Evans (rarely used, other than 'Miss Evans')

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chapter four: hallways and promises

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The hallway was dimly lit, the stone walls reflecting next to nothing of the pale yellow ceiling lights. You were walking to your next lecture — the one you had signed up for without your unit chief as the professor — when someone tapped on your shoulder. You quickly glanced to the watch on your wrist as you spun around to face a trio of girls.

Twelve minutes until the lecture started, you noted to yourself, and two minutes until he usually crossed this hallway to get to his office. That particular piece of knowledge was just to make sure you ran into each other. As a precaution, in case anything happened. Also if you had any information or concerns, it created the opportunity to briefly converse or schedule a meeting. All the while it served as a way for other students and faculty to see you together. Feeding the whispers starting to circulate.

"Late for something?" The blonde girl in the middle said as she crossed her arms. You nodded slowly, your brows furrowing as you took in the three girls in front of you. "I've got a political science lecture in like 10 minutes, what's up?"

You remembered them from Hotch's lectures, they usually sat in the row behind you, next to some other girls with extreme drool-production issues. Either that or they were not capable of closing their mouths and swallowing. Though, a combination sounded more likely.

"We'll make it quick then." The blonde girl speaking was Sophie, you remembered from one of the early lectures. She was a few inches taller than you, with big, round blue doe-eyes. When she stepped closer — they seemed even bigger — like the vastness of an ocean ready to swallow you whole. Sophie seemed kind though, at least from what little you had gathered. She sort of reminded you of JJ.

On her right stood a girl with ashy brown hair and meadow green eyes. Lizzie, if you recalled correctly.

Of course you recalled correctly. She was probably the most beautiful girl you had ever seen. Not that it mattered. She had a handful of moles scattered on her face, like the brightest stars in the night sky. Her soft lips looked like they would taste of wild berries — again, not that it mattered.

Lizzie smiled shyly when your attention lingered and you smiled back, perhaps a little embarrassed.

The last girl had the same shade of bright blonde as Sophie, though the blue eyes were even more vibrant, and freckles peppered her sun-tanned face. The personification of her name, Summer radiated brightness. She flashed you a pearly white smile, two dimples appearing on her freckled cheeks. Like a younger version of Penelope, only not yet a witness to the brutality of the world.

Sophie stepped closer to you, drawing your attention back to her. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, glancing over her shoulder to the girls behind her. They seemed nervous, for whatever reason. "We were wondering if you didn't already have a group for the presentation in Professor Jameson's class, if you wanted to join ours?"

Hotch's class. The presentation and analysis of a news article. Right.

It was exactly what you and Spencer had planned, you reminded yourself. Join a group and hopefully learn something about the campus murders, and maybe make some new friends. It was perfect.

"Uh, yeah, sure!" A collective sigh of relief erupted from the three girls and you let out a laugh. Cute.

Summer squealed and wrapped you in a tight hug, so tight it the air was squeezed out of you. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" She giggled when her grip finally loosened. You drew a shallow breath, grateful for the air back in your lungs, and smiled sweetly to her. Yet the words confused you.

"Why are you thanking me?" You asked her, a girl with the shockingly strong arms and bright beaming grin. Summer stepped back and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, "Because you're like really smart!" Oh. Stop it. Not good for your ego, that girl.

You liked her.

She turned to Lizzie, whispering something before facing you again, "By the way, what's your name?"

"Oh, right. I'm Isabella, but please just Bell." It was an effort to keep your real name from rolling off your tongue, like it had done your entire life. You stretched out a hand, forgetting the golden retriever girl was a hugger. She pulled you in for another hug, and you wondered if she would start running in circles when she let go. Lizzie stepped forward, laying a hand on her shoulder and Summer released you for the second time within your first few minutes in her presence.

You found Lizzie's gaze on you. "If you don't have any plans tomorrow," She started as she picked at the threads of her shirt. "Do you want to join us for drinks?"

Her hopeful green eyes lifted to search your face and you smiled. "I would love to." Who were you to say no to drinks? It would be nice to finally get off the dark campus of Wonderland University, not to mention it would be nice to talk to someone other than Hotch and Spencer.

The squeals and smiles of the girls in front of you quieted as footsteps sounded behind you. You watched as the three of them turned their attention to the professor you knew would be stepping up next to you.

Hotch, who now stood a breath away, placed a firm hand on your shoulder and nodded a polite greeting to the gawking girls, "I'm sure you'll forgive me for stealing Miss Evans away for a moment?" His tone revealed little room for discussion. He turned to face you and tilted his head to the side, what looked like a calculating and conspiring smile played on his lips.

"I need to speak to you about your position as my–" He glanced up to your audience, then back to you with an unmistakable sly smirk, and you bit your lower lip to hide your own as you noticed the insinuation of his words, "–TA."

Your new friends had their jaws on the floor. It could have simply been the dim light in the hallway but their pupils seemed dilated, and lips parted as they stood there, stunned, watching you. You turned to look at Hotch, back to them, and to look at him again, as you tried to make sense of their reactions. Sure, he was a little handsome — with his height towering over you, the broad shoulders stretching the fabric of his shirt, the way his large hand clenched and unclenched by his side while the other gripped your shoulder, heavy and warm — yeah, they were overreacting. Certainly.

The firm hand on your shoulder squeezed, reclaiming your wandering attention. The gleam in his eyes confirmed he had noticed your not-so-subtle act of checking him out and you debated telling him the reason was solely to see what the girls were gawking about. Obviously.

Sophie shook her head and offered you a polite smile. "We will leave you two–," She made to leave as the other shaking off whatever spell they were under, before finishing. "Alone."

"Wait!" You called after them and it was Lizzie who spun around, "I don't have your number." You said as you walked up to her and handed over your phone — the phone the Bureau had given you for the mission. She typed in her number and created her own contact, before she handed you the phone back, "I'll see you tomorrow?" You nodded in agreement. Lizzie smiled and turned to follow the other girls.

You turned back to the surprisingly-not-scowling man and shrugged, "What?" He stepped closer to you and tilted his head forward, forcing you to look up at him. God, you hated when he did that. It was like a display of power, of dominance, reminding you how small you were with him.

Hotch lowered his voice to a deep whisper, "Good little student girlfriend is flirting with someone else?" He raised an eyebrow and hummed, "I wonder what she would think of that." You stared at him. Dumbfounded and shocked by his words. Even more shocked they were coming from him. Was he referring to Penelope?

Desperately scraping up the puddle of thoughts your mind had become — and hoping to regain some resemblance of confidence to bite back — you straightened and raised to the tips of your toes to purr in his ear, "Haven't even gone on a date and you're calling me your girlfriend already, Professor?" You taunted as sweetly as you could, "Not my fault she beat you to it."

A quiet moment passed. "Would you mind joining me in my office?" His voice deepened, dripping with authority, like he was commanding you, rather than asking. As if he knew you would not go with him. Well, too bad for him, you guessed.

"Sorry, I've got a lecture in–," You lifted your wrist to check the time and cursed. "Right now, actually." Panic rose quickly in your throat. How had time passed so quickly? You turned on your heel, intent to run down the dark hallway and hope the other professor would offer you some leniency for being late. But when was luck ever on your side?

Right as you stepped away, Hotch managed to reach out for you. He had a firm hold around your wrist, pulling you backwards.

The sudden movement forced you off-balance. The adrenaline flowed through you like crashing waves as you lost your footing. You gasped as you spun around and prepared for impact.

Face first, you slammed into his chest.

As if it could not get any worse, Hotch held you firmly against his chest as you regained your balance.

He lowered his head to whisper in your ear, "I've already let Owen know you won't be in attendance. It won't affect your already perfect grades, so there really is nowhere to run, darling." Did he say perfect grades? He really was flirting with you—

Wait.

Hold on. Rewind.

You stilled — frozen in terror, horror — which ever was worst. No way you heard that right. Surely you had gotten a concussion from slamming into his rock hard chest head first.

Aaron Scowls-a-lot Hotchner just called you darling. And there was no way out. He had ensured you had to follow him.

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"I wanted to show you something." Hotch closed the door to his office, before he reached a hand to his pants. You followed the movement, gasped and slapped a hand over your eyes, "Here?"

Hotch stilled, confused by your reaction. The way you shielded your eyes, like you did not want to see something, he glanced down to his hand. Realization dawned on him.

He scoffed, "You thought I was pulling out my cock and your first instinct is to ask 'here'?"

Arguably not your brightest moment.

"Anyway." You prayed the floor would swallow you before he took notice of the underlying message one could perhaps find reading into your reaction.

Hotch cleared his throat, "We can talk about that later." If you had not already been blushing furiously, you would have by the sheer satisfaction on his face. It was infuriating, seeing him so smug.

You tried to shrug it off, to put on a mask of indifference. "What did you want to show me?" The effort it took to not imagine it, to not drown in the visual of him whipping it out right here, it should have been enough to earn you an Oscar. Actress of the year goes to…

"You're blushing." He pointed with a smile.

…Not you, apparently. This was not fun anymore.

You groaned and ran a hand down your face, "Fuck off, just show me." There had to be a reason he talked to your other professor before he forced you in here. Had something happened? Did he have any new intel regarding the case?

Hotch stepped forward and tilted his head in the same insufferable way he did earlier, "Show you what? My co–" You slapped a hand over his mouth. There was no way you could survive hearing him say it again. Even despite the reaction you could only imagine the team would have if they knew.

His eyes twinkled as you stood on the tips of your toes, the same way you did earlier to purr in his ears. "Did you not just say we would talk about it later? So, Professor, you can show it to me later." You dropped your hand and took a step back with a shit-eating grin on your face.

Before he could bite back, you hummed, pointing to the red tips of his ears, "You're blushing."

Silence stretched the thick air, and for a moment you only stood, staring at each other.

"It's a boy." He said softly and time stopped.

The world stopped spinning.

With your heart hammering in your chest and hands shaking, you whispered, "JJ?"

The small proud smile on his face as he nodded made you soften. It was rare seeing him like this, with emotions on his face. A tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away, but he still noticed.

Hotch stepped closer, scanning your face, "What's wrong?" The concern in his voice was too much, you could not take it. You looked away. Down to the dark stone floor. Over to the deep red wooden desk only a step away. To the stacks of paper and books on top of it. Anything other than the pit opening inside you.

He lifted a hand, his fingers grazing your skin as he gently twisted your face, "Look at me." His fingers lingered on your jaw, his dark eyes searching yours. For a heartbeat that was all there was. Finally, Hotch smiled sadly, "I know."

The pad of his thumb brushed across your cheek, swiping a tear you had not noticed fall.

Of course he knew. It ate him up inside to know he missed the birth, to not be there for JJ. To be stuck here with barely any contact with your entire lives.

You weakly shook your head, hoping to shake off everything you could not deal with. Not now, at least.

"Don't do this," You bit your lip to stop the slight tremble. "Can we change the subject, please?" Pleading was your form of desperation, apparently. If you cried in front of him, you would never be able to face him again.

He watched you for a moment before he nodded.

"So, that girl — Lizzie, was it? You seem to like her." He took a small step back, hesitating to put more space between you. Still, despite the small movement cold air replaced the warmth of where his body stood. It was enough to shock you, to bring your attention back to the room you were standing in.

You took a deep breath, and managed to huff out a reply, "Jealous?"

Hotch crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against his desk, "You're supposed to look at me that way." He scowled, feigning the look of disapproval, yet you noticed how his shoulders relaxed.

You crossed your arms to mirror him, "Maybe I would have looked at you that way if you would just be nice and shut up sometimes. You're annoying." It was a lie, and a stretch, but you had to play along.

He narrowed his eyes on you, his lips twitching slightly, "You like it."

"Two things can be true at the same time, can't they, Professor?" You reminded him with a sweet smile.

A buzz came from your pocket.

Hotch furrowed his brows as you pulled out your phone to read the message.

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From: Lizzie <3

Hi, Bell <3 I'm so happy you're coming with us tomorrow (if you still want to)! We're going to meet at Sunshine, but I was wondering if you would want to get ready together? I've got drinks and music in my dorm? Sophie and Summer live off campus so they would meet us there… I think I've seen you at the dorms, but if not, sorry!!

Anyway, I hope I'll see you tomorrow <3<3<3

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"You're going out drinking with this girl?" You jumped, Hotch was suddenly standing behind you, reading over your shoulder. He raised an eyebrow at you, "Give me your new number."

The confusion must have been evident on your face as he sighed, taking your phone out of your hands. "Why?" You asked as he punched in his own phone number.

He looked up and deadpanned, "There's a murderer we have yet to catch and you're an undercover agent with a big mouth." Fair enough. He added his own contact by the looks of it, before he clicked it off and handed it back.

"If you're going out, you will let me know your whereabouts every half-hour and when you get back home safely. Understood?" He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest, "That seems excessive." Geez. It was not like he was the boss of you — actually, never mind. Scratch that.

"It doesn't matter." He towered over you, his tone leaving no room for discussion, "Have I made myself clear?" His stare held you in place, daring you to defy him.

"Yes, Sir." You grumbled, hoping he would release you from the eternal torment of his stare. Hotch did no such thing. He kept his eyes pierced on you as he lowered his commanding voice, "Repeat it back to me."

You lifted your head to look at him. He stood so close, one wrong move and you would find his lips on yours.

"What?" The slight shake in your voice seemed to delight him.

He smirked, "You heard me." Fuck, he was insufferable. Honestly, what had gotten into him?

Fine. You could give in this once. "Let you know where I am every half-hour and when I get back home safely." It took everything to keep from rolling your eyes.

"But what if I don't go home?" You bit back a grin as his jaw tightened. His hand clenching by his sides before he shrugged.

"I guess there's no other option then, I'll just have to come with you," He lifted a hand to tilt your chin up, his breath dancing across your lips, "It can be the date you begged me for."

Fucker. Insufferable, intolerable fucker. You glanced to his lips as he licked them. Jesus.

"I, I'll–" You stuttered, the heat on your cheeks felt like fire, "I'll let you know when I get back to my own dorm safely."

"Good girl." He purred, his eyes falling on your lips.

It was like a bucket of ice pouring over you the second he stepped away, and you debated on cursing him out right there.

However, there were other ways to play, and you would find a way to get back at him. So, you spun on your heel and stepped out of his office.

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if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and reblogging, it fuels my little ego!

please let me know your thoughts!

love, millie<3

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mission identities | Aaron Hotchner as Professor Edward Thomas Jameson. You as Isabella Evans (rarely used, other than 'Miss Evans')

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chapter three: interpretations and meanings

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Your knee started bouncing as soon as you sat down in the lecture hall. The nerves had evolved into anxiety and mixed with what felt like anticipation.

What you were anticipating though, you were not entirely sure of.

Spencer slid into the seat next to you in the very front row. The tiered seats stretched behind you, every row with one long bench serving as a desk and what looked to be around 15 fold-down seats each.

You glanced over your shoulder again — like you had done at least half a dozen times now — to watch as the students filled up the room. Normally you would sit in the back, preferring the overview rather than the unease of having everyone sit behind you. If anything were to happen, you would not know.

Not to mention escaping meant passing them all.

You were nervous and Spencer could tell. He offered you a tight lipped smile in hopes it could ease whatever was bothering you, even if he had no clue what it could be. You had not spoken much, and he was scared he would slip up if he started speaking now. The fake name he was to call you felt too foreign, he did not like it on his tongue.

It was not right. It was not you. Spencer did not like to think about calling you something other than your name.

Names were special. Names had power.

So, instead, he pulled out his leather-bound notebook from his satchel and started scribbling something, before he tilted the notebook so you could read the page.

Are you okay? You seem nervous.

You gave him a hesitant nod. It was not nerves as much as something — just feeling off. Perhaps it was simply sitting with your back to the sea of unpredictable students. With a serial killer somewhere on the campus. Allegedly.

The air shifted as Hotch strode in through the doors, a folder in one hand and a white to-go cup from the same small cafe on the corner of campus. He made it to the wooden desk placed in the middle of the open space before you noticed Spencer studying you in your peripheral.

He was searching your face when you turned to him. His focus landed on your lips, lingering, until he picked up his pen again.

You're biting your lip. It's going to bleed.

Spencer met your gaze and pointed to his own lips, as if he wanted to make sure you understood what he had literally written out for you.

You clamped your lips together tightly, hoping to suppress the urge to sink your teeth back into the flesh. It was a habit — biting your lip when you were unsure what to make of a situation — when you were lost in the ocean of your own mind. When you were turning every rock of thought until you found one that made sense of whatever was occupying your pretty little brain.

Hotch finally cleared his throat as he scanned the many faces in the room. As they found yours and lingered a little longer than what was appropriate, you found yourself wondering what his teeth would feel like sinking in your lower lip instead of your own.

Wait. You did not take responsibility for that thought.

This was not the time, nor place, to deal with such propaganda.

The lecture on symbolic interactionism felt like it had dragged on forever, yet the row of girls behind you seemed to be awake and suspiciously alert. You were certain there was drool in your hair from the way they were practically bent over the bench — either to offer your professor an eye-full of the cleavage spilling out of their tops — or perhaps they were simply all blind. The lot of them.

Spencer tilted his notebook for you to read. It was so out of character for him to pass notes in lectures rather than pay attention, even though you supposed he did know the material very well.

I never thought I would see anyone look at Hotchhim that way.

He had crossed out 'Hotch' so many times it ripped the page. You tried to bite back the laughter bubbling in your chest as you took his pen and scribbled back.

SameI'm dead serious there IS drool in my hair!!

Spencer huffed a laugh before he could stop himself and both your heads snapped up to look at Hotch. The horror was evident on your faces.

"Miss Evans."

Oops.

You glared at Spencer — who was shaking with the effort of not laughing when he noticed the flush of color on your cheeks. The gleam in Hotch's eyes revealed he noticed it as well.

"Yes, Sir?" The slight shake in your voice could be blamed on shyness and embarrassment, right? It could not be that easy to see the panic rising in your throat from the underlying desperation for praise and validation, right? Right!?

Good. That would be humiliating. And not to mention entirely untrue. Wrong, in fact.

Hotch watched with narrow eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, like you were really trying to sell the illusion, before he cleared his throat. "What is the core idea of symbolic interactionism?"

You froze, chewing on your bottom lip as the girls behind you snickered. What was their deal, anyway? Was he trying to humiliate you as a punishment for not paying attention? If that was not a professor thing to do…

It is an act, you told yourself, it literally does not matter. There is no need to panic, it would not change the fact you have a degree in this.

Wait. You have a degree in this shit.

With a surge of confidence you straightened, combing through what knowledge you had on the subject. "Blumer said, and I quote: The first premise is that human beings act toward things on the basis of the meaning that the things have from them."

You took a steadying breath before continuing, hoping to calm the shake in your voice. "The second is that the meaning of such things is derived from, or arises out of, the social interaction that one has with others around."

The room fell quiet and you bit back a smile. Spencer nodded his approval beside you as he scribbled down what you said word-for-word. One would imagine he had already read the book on Classical and Contemporary Sociological Theory, but still it was nice to get your ego boosted. You could give Spencer a run for his money, by the sound of it.

Hotch kept his stare focused on you as he moved around his desk and leaned against it. His brows had furrowed slightly, like he had not expected you to actually know what you spent years studying, yet you could see the little twitch on his lips. The hint of surprise and — pride? — amusement? — in his eyes. Fuck, he was insufferable. Really.

"Meaning?" He raised his eyebrows with challenge. Who were you to say no to a challenge?

"Actions and interactions are formed by socially constructed meanings and interpretations — because meaning is not inherent in things or actions themselves — and the interpretations of these things or actions is what shapes the meanings."

You held your breath for a moment as you collected your thoughts, "In other words, how we think and how we act is shaped by what we deem appropriate in a situation, and what we deem appropriate is based on the situation itself and how we interpret the situation."

It was like you were a mouse in a glass cage, surrounded by researchers deciding your fate. Though, you supposed it was fitting.

Your professor rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked strict, like he was about to sentence you to eternal detention. In a way that could potentially make you almost wish he would. Even despite the anxiety blooming in your chest at the thought of… The thought of what? Academic failure? Disappointing him? Yeah. As if.

"Very good, Miss Evans." His voice deepened and you swore one of the girls behind you shrieked. The color painting your cheeks probably made you look no better than them.

You could tell he was enjoying it. Way too much, in fact.

To your displeasure, Hotch was not yet done with you. He wanted to push you a little further.

Even more, he wanted to find out what caused the pink flush. To his defense he had never seen you like that before. What kind of profiler would he be if he did not even try to figure it out?

"Would you mind giving me an example?" You did not miss the way he said 'me', but you would think about that later.

It was an opening. He was giving you the opportunity to come up with something — something perhaps borderline inappropriate — that would give him a reason to keep you behind after the lecture. Just like you had planned.

Yes, you could come up with something.

"For example, your power as a professor increases in the lecture hall, because the meaning behind your power is knowledge, education and title. It creates a power imbalance, you are above us because that is how we measure power here." You could see Spencer nodding to himself as you spoke.

Hotch watched you with a hint of amusement, waiting for you to continue. "Society could argue that a student pursuing a relationship with her professor would have been taken advantage of, if you only consider this situation and the power imbalance." You licked your lips and took a shaky breath, steadying the increasing heartbeat in your chest.

"However, if you see them as two rational and consenting adults outside the lecture hall, the relationship would not necessarily be wrong. The relationship is in other words deemed appropriate or inappropriate based on factors that coexist, that forms — and therefore changes — the meaning."

A deafening beat of silence. It took all your willpower to not shrink in your seat under the piercing stares of the entire room.

Hotch cleared his throat, "Very well. You are all dismissed." A split second went by without anyone moving, not even the particles in the air seemed to move. It was suffocating. If you were lucky, Hell would be located somewhere underneath your seat, ready to swallow you up.

"Remember to join a group for the presentation next week. Each group will present a news article from the past week and analyze it using a relevant theory from the curriculum." His voice echoed over the sound of grumbles as the room bustled with every student making their way out.

"Miss Evans, a word please." There it was.

You sat, frozen, watching in terror as he scratched the nape of his neck and turned around to gather the papers on his desk. He was embarrassed. Or unsure. Not that it mattered which one, it was certainly not good for you anyway. 'LFF' and all that.

Spencer nudged your shoulder as he got up from his seat beside you. "Split up for the group presentation?" You nodded, although absentmindedly, and he disappeared. It was a good idea to split up, to join different groups, cover more social grounds.

The assignment was also a decent idea, you begrudgingly admitted to yourself. Discussing a news article from the past week created an opportunity to discuss the recent university murders with a group of students attending said university. The only thing left was to find a group to join, and hope they would be willing to gossip.

After 'the word' with Professor Scowls-a-lot, of course. That would be fun, right? Right.

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This was not an optimal situation. It had the potential to be catastrophic, actually.

Your mind went a million miles an hour, yet seemed dead silent at the same time.

Hotch could not help the satisfactory grin plastered on his face as he repeated himself, "As I said, I'm impressed. You did well."

Was he unsure if you had heard him?

You had heard him, very well in fact. His voice was clear as day when he said it the first time. Now, however, it was barely audible over the roaring in your ears. It was like all the blood your brain needed to function properly, to string together coherent thoughts, had rushed elsewhere.

He was studying your reaction with a microscope and every fibre of your being suddenly regretted choosing a field of work that put you with profilers. As if you were not one of them.

You fought to keep your expression neutral. Desperate to shrug with indifference. Intent on not giving him the satisfaction of seeing you react. It was a game and he still did not know just exactly who he was playing with.

The silence felt suffocating as he waited for your response. Was this how he acted when you were not spewing insults or nonsense at him? It was unbearable. Honestly.

He was insufferable, just standing there with his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes locked on you, silent. Like a fucking tree.

A deep chuckle captured your wandering attention. Brows raised and eyes wide, you snapped your head up to stare at him. Appalled and perhaps a little concerned.

No way did Aaron Scowls-a-lot Hotchner make that sound.

He did. Was he unwell?

You forced yourself to stand, to step towards him with unhurried steps. The tips of your ears were burning, an exact mirror to the muscles in your thighs, screaming in agony, aching. Yet you refused to let him win. To let him think he won.

It did not matter how much you craved his praise, or how it turned your mind into putty. Not even how much it complicated the process of rational and critical thinking. What mattered was not letting him figure it out by himself and letting him get the upper hand. It was not an option. If you quit, they no longer have the opportunity to fire you, right? Tell your own secrets and no one has leverage?

Hotch studied you making your way closer, like you were a prey pretending to be a predator. The unhurried steps and calculated gleam in your eyes told a different story however. The prey might not have been pretending after all. Perhaps you were a predator, perhaps he was the prey.

You licked your lips slowly. Noticing the way his eyes followed the movement, and the way his fists clenched and unclenched by his sides. Similar to what he did when he was readying for an attack.

His focus lingering on your mouth for a moment too long and you swore he was holding his breath. With a click of your tongue, and an amused hum, his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

"Sir." You purred, savoring the way his jaw ticked as you stopped in front of him. His chest was heaving slightly, like he was suddenly struggling to breathe in the thickening air around you. The wave of warmth from his body burned against yours, almost feverish. You tilted your head to the side, a smirk toying on your lips, "You know I have a praise kink, right?"

His lips parted slightly and his eyes seemed to glaze for the split second of unexpected surprise, before he cooled his expression. Hotch cleared his throat as he glanced away. The muscles in his jaw and the furrowed brows told enough.

Then, as if he could not find it in himself to stop, he glanced back to your lips, before meeting your gaze with his own amusement gleaming in his eyes. Hotch straightened and tilted his head forward, forcing you to look up to him, to see the victorious smirk on his lips.

"It's really obvious."

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if you enjoyed this, please consider liking and reblogging, it fuels my little ego!

please let me know your thoughts!

love, millie<3

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