the bees envy me ( a. hotchner )
hotch likes to protect you every chance he gets. you love it, for the most part.
or, five times hotch protects you, plus one time you protect him back.
7k words -> female reader, established relationship, unspecified age gap, mostly just fluff honestly, some angst, canon-typical cm violence (mentions of rape & murder from an unsub), implied sexual harassment from creepy drunk guys! this is my first time writing for hotch but i love him and i need my thoughts to be out there
“Do you want to go out for lunch?” Hotch asks you, not stilling in his diligent grind over his paperwork, one hand splayed on his desk, other clutching a pen so gracefully it looks like a part of him.
You’re seated on his couch, legs curled under you, heels kicked off onto the floor. You’d only come up to drop off your finished paperwork from the last case, but his couch is so inviting and you’d let it pull you in.
Just for a few minutes. Then you’ll go back to work on the building pile of cases that need your consulting. There’s something endearing about watching him work, back stick straight, worry lines between his brows begging to be smoothed over. If you had a camera, you’d take a picture — keep it on your desk to look at when the work gets dull.
You look up at him, eyes wide like a deer in headlights. “Me?”
It’s a stupid question even to your ears.
Hotch looks up — makes eye contact with you — and you almost think he starts to smile. He’s almost immune to smiling in the office, but you get him sometimes. “Who else would I be talking to?”
Your face burns, and you swing your legs off the couch. “Yeah, I want to go out. Where do you want to go?”
