bound to want (part two) /// part one
rest of pages under READ MORE after ID
[ID: 23 page digital comic of Vashwood from Trigun Maximum. The comic is in a limited palette of a dark blue, light pink, white, black, and a light beige color for Vash's skin and a mid-brown color for Wolfwood's. This comic is the second part to "Bound to Want" and is spoiler-free. The first part is linked here.
It begins with a panel close up of Vash's expressions. The sky colored in dark blue can be seen behind him. He has a neutral expression, but he holds a slight frown and the reflection of his glasses covers one side of his eyes. Wolfwood says, "Hey. What's with the distance?" In the second panel, the shot widens to show both of them, a clear physical distance separating them with Wolfwood walking ahead and Vash trailing a little behind. Vash responds, "What? I'm just walking a bit slower today..." Wolfwood looks at him with a an irritated expression, clicking his tongue. Wolfwood says, "I was going to wait for you to start... But yer just running away away."
Vash is seen looking away, unable to hold eye contact with Wolfwood as he continues, "You've been avoiding me since that night. Did ya think I wouldn't notice? It's about that dream, right? Tell me about it already if you're going to be moping like this." Vash looks slightly downwards, his brows furrowing and he starts to walk ahead of Wolfwood without looking at him and responds stiffly, "I really don't want to talk about it..." Wolfwood looks at him with a surprised expression, but doesn't probe.
A panel close up to Wolfwood's eyes as he watches Vash go on ahead before he follows suite with an irritated sigh. The panels are overlapped by Wolfwood's hand holding the bottle of the Bride with motion lines, indicating a transition in time.
A wide shot of Vash and Wolfwood in a room now. Vash is seated, his back turned away from the viewer, while Wolfwood's body faces the viewer with his eyes looking towards Vash. He rests the bottle of the Bride on the table with a "clack" and his other hand holds two shotglasses. The background is coated in a light pink.
A panel shows a close up of Wolfwood's face, his eyes looking downwards to Vash as he says, "Let's drink." Next to this panel is Vash looking up at Wolfwood, his brows furrowed and a slight frown. The bottom half of the page is a wider shot with Vash's body turned away from the viewer as he says, "I'm not going to talk about it." Wolfwood responds, "You don't have to." as he sits down.
A wide panel of Wolfwood holding the shotglass, pouring in the drink as he continues, "I'll talk." The next panel is a profile view of Wolfwood, his eyes looking down at the now filled shotglass as he continues to say, "You're..."
"... upset with me." Vash can be seen next to this speech bubble with narrowed eyes, looking towards Wolfwood. The panels are all coated in with a dark blue background. Wolfwood continues, "I can't be certain why since yer not telling me a thing -- but it's probably... my bad." The panels show Wolfwood about to bring the shotglass to his mouth but he turns way as he continued to speak, his eyes not on Vash. The bottom page shows him looking away completely with a guilty expression as he says, "I'm sorry.
If you can ever tell me why, I can try and adjust to make it more bearable. But if you're just trying to get rid of me--" The panels follow Wolfwood's certain expression as he says this, "I don't intend to leave you. I can't... and I won't." A panel shows Vash's wide-eyed expression, surprised upon hearing this, and then his eyes soften as Wolfwood again concludes with, "I'm sorry."
Vash's inner thoughts begins, a boxed speech at the center of the page and panels of his eyes, his brows furrowing again and a resigned, but frustrated expression. His thoughts starts, "Stop. I shouldn't be happy hearing that. And why are you apologizing? I should be the one to..! I can't let anything like that happen to you. You deserve to live a long steady and peaceful life. I want to be optimistic. I want to protect you, but I might end up doing the opposite." The text surrounds Wolfwood from Vash's perspective, the other man drinking out of his shotglass, his eyes downcasted.
"I shouldn't have you. And you won't leave." Behind these text is a panel of Wolfwood's eyes finally looking over to Vash. Vash's thoughts continues, "It's so unfair." When Wolfwood sees Vash, his eyes soften and he frowns. The last panel shows the lower half of Vash's face, but tears begins to flow down his cheek. Wolfwood's hand is already reaching to wipe at them as he starts to say, "You know..."
A wider shot of Vash and Wolfwood, Vash slightly leaning forward with his mouth tightly shut, and tears steadily continuing to flow out of his closed eyes. Wolfwood continues to wipe at them with his hand as he continues, "This isn't a dream anymore. I don't know what you saw for you to be this shaken up, but whatever happened, you'll overcome it, right? If not you, I'm here too. You'll be okay, Spikey. So..." Wolfwood's expression grows more tender, "Have a little faith in me... and come back already." The dark blue starts to fade.
The wide panel has the dark blue background faded and replaced is the light pink. It shows Vash in full up to his shoulders, his eyes are still tears littered, but there's light in them as he says, "Wolfwood..." making eye contact with the other. The next panel shows Wolfwood's tender expression, his eyes and brows fully soften and he has a small smile on his lips, finally seeing the other return a level of sincerity with him.
The next panel shows the bottom half of Wolfwood's face and his hand is offered towards Vash for a dance as he says, "C'mon. We don't have to talk, but this is okay, right?" The background is now white and a ribbon flowing across the page separates this panel from the next sequence. Vash's inner thoughts continus, "I've spent too long avoiding this. It's scary to want after I've taken so much from others." A sequence close up of their hands is shown, with Wolfwood's outstretched hand on the right and Vash's reaching hand on the left. Vash gently places his hand in Wolfwood and at the bottom, Wolfwood wraps his fingers across Vash's.
Throughout the page, a dark blue ribbon starts to flow around the both of them with confetti raining alongside the effect. Vash and Wolfwood are hand and hand, dancing together with Wolfwood as the lead. The viewer can see a peak of Vash's expression, full of fondness but also a hint of sorrow as he looks down at Wolfwood. His inner thoughts continue, "I don't deserve this. I don't deserve you. But why is that even though I have these burdens, I still want to love you. I still want you to be by my side."
With a close up of their mouths, Vash's thoughts continue, the text covering his mouth, "Wolfwood, I--" Wolfwood's speech bubble covers Vash's text as he completes his sentence, "want you." Vash's eyes widen for one panel and in the next, his eyes spark, a blush appearing on his cheek and the confetti flows and spark. Tears ease up on his eyes again.
"Want me too already, Spikey." Wolfwood has leaned in enough to rest his head against Vash, a hand of his on Vash's neck, holding his nape and another hand pressed gently against his back. A ribbon separates this panel from the next, a mix of confetti flows across the page, as Vash envelopes Wolfwood in a hug too, holding him and his hand gripping tightly onto his back.
This page is just the ribbon flowly throughout the page on the white background, one white ribbon and the other a dark blue. Near the bottom, the ribbon envelopes each other in a loop. A conversation of Vash and Wolfwood is held over these ribbons, Vash starting to say, "What if I hurt you? What if you..?" Wolfwood responds, "You? How could you hurt me?" Vash, "You know what I mean... You see it everyday..." Wolfwood responds, "If you think I'm going to kick the bucket so easily, I suggest you look at me more closely from now on, idiot. I'm not that easy to get rid of."
The next page has the ribbon criss cross over the top of the page. Vash and Wolfwood can be seen in their dancing position again, Wolfwood now resting a hand on Vash's shoulder, as Vash takes the lead. Vash continues, "Well, I know that... I tried." Wolfwood responds, "But you won't anymore... since you want me... around, yeah?" Wolfwood's head cocks to the side, smiling with assurance, cheeks flushed. Vash looks at him with a wide smile and fond, loving eyes. The confetti flows across the bottom of this page and as it eases into the next page, it starts to disappear.
Vash responds, ".. Yeah... I do..." as he pulls Wolfwood into a hug again. Wolfwood says, "Not going to run away anymore, are you?" Vash says, "No... I trust you." A panel shows Wolfwood's turning away slightly with a shy expression, muttering "Geez..."
In a more simplified style, Wolfwood is seen gripping Vash's cheeks now with his hand, "Though... You do remember you avoided me for two weeks straight, right? How are you going to make that up to me?" Wolfwood asks. Vash responds with eyes closed and a pucker of his lips. A vein of irritation appears on Wolfwood's face. Wolfwood starts to squeeze at Vash's cheek with both hands, shouting, "Now that you've recovered, you're trying to be funny, huh?!" Vash says through the squished cheeks, "I'm just happy..."
The next page opens with a closed up panel of Vash's widen eye as Wolfwood's hand moves from squishing his cheeks to gently holding them and Wolfwood leans in. The inner thoughts starts again, "There's a chance I'm not making the right choice... My dreams, my fears of losing you, it will never go away. But you said you won't let it happen... And I want to hang onto your words closely this time. After all, if it's anyone who can make me believe, it's you." The white ribbon from previous pages flows across the page and it visibly ends at the bottom of the page, enclosing the two of them as they share a gentle kiss with Vash holding Wolfwood's face, a tear in his eye.
The next pages starts with Wolfwood saying, "You cryin' again?" Vash responds, "I'm just grateful..." Wolfwood responds, "But you've always had me." Vash responds, "Being like this is different from staring at you from behind all the time though..." The two can be seen together again, Wolfwood pressing his elbows against the table with Vash leaning over him. Wolfwood is easing the tears out of Vash's eye again, just like earlier. A close panel of Vash's fond expression is seen as he says, "Thank you, Wolfwood." Wolfwood looks up at him with a small smile, gentle eyes. Confetti starts to flow lightly across the page as text starts to appear against the white background, "I'm the one who's grateful...
That you'd embrace someone like me, when I'm not fit to hold you in the first place... But I know better than to hesitate. The moment I acknowledged it, I knew I'd spend the rest of my life loving you. So, have as much of me as you want, Vash."
The final page shows the confetti gently falling down the page and at the bottom shows Vash and Wolfwood pressing their foreheads together, Wolfwood's hands cupping the side of Vash's face gently, and both of them smiling brightly with each other. ID END]
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Hey! Congrats again on your follower milestone! <3
From the smutty prompts, can you do number one from the nature category with Miguel, please? :))) xoxo
Hi!!! omg this prompt is soooo soft and sweet and MIGUEL FUCKING DESERVES IT!!! so thank you so so so much for requesting this is some sappy crap that i had just a grand ol time writing!!!
Tags: Miguel O'Hara x Reader, afab!fem!reader, established relationship, outdoor sex (but they are literally the only ones there so no exhibitionism), unprotected piv (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), riding, sappy very cheesy very fluffy many cavities (w/c: 1.1K)
Prompt: sensual sex in a secluded meadow during a picnic.
He doesn’t like to go away often, but sometimes, the need to just spoil you gets to be too much. He’s away from you far too much, burying himself in work and experiments, to the point that he’s sure you’ll leave him. But you’re always there, waiting for him with a beaming smile and reaching for him like he never left.
So of course he has to spoil you.
It didn’t take LYLA long to find this dimension at his request: one where New York is empty, Central Park grown over the entirety of the city, the pavement covered in soft flowers, and skyscrapers covered in creeping vines. And God, you had practically glowed when he showed you the little picnic he had set out, a soft blanket nestled in a little grove of wildflowers, a rainbow of petals and leaves covering the lush earth. A little piece of paradise just for the two of you.
“I didn’t, um,” he stumbles over his words, heart beating out of his chest at how fucking beautiful you look, eyes alight as you look up at him with a gaze so adoring, his knees might give out on the spot. “I just brought some food from the cafeteria, since I can’t cook for shit and I um- I wanted to surprise you.”
You collide into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs as you kiss him fiercely. “It’s perfect, Miguel,” you murmur against his lips, “absolutely perfect.” He feels like you're talking more about him than the picnic, but smiles nonetheless.
You feed him little bits of fruit and empanada from the cafeteria back home, but he swears that it tastes so much better from your loving hand. He feels a little out of place here, crushing flowers beneath his hulking body. But you’re ethereal, little butterflies flitting around you, drawn to you, just as he is.
He recklessly plucks a purple flower from the ground, the prettiest one he can find, and tucks it behind your ear. Hobie would tease that he’s getting soft, but the way you giggle, light and airy and effervescent, makes his chest tight with delirious happiness, and it’s all worth it.
You meet his lips in a gentle kiss, and you taste of the strawberries he brought for you. You’re so warm, warm like pure sunlight in his hands and he can’t help but pull you into his lap, picnic forgotten, holding you like you’ll disappear in a moment. But you break from his lips, cupping his jaw and smiling in a soft, gentle way that feels like you’re here to stay forever.
He peels your dress off, slowly and deliberately, kissing down your jaw, your neck, your tits, as he bares your body to his gaze. He only takes his own clothes off when you beg him for it, rucking his shirt up over his stomach as you whine into his mouth.
“Patience, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and your breath catches in the back of your throat as he rubs gentle circles into your clit over your panties. “So beautiful, can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers, and with the way he’s playing with your pussy, the only thing you can do is desperately lick into his mouth as you rock your hips into his hand.
You lean into him, pushing on his shoulders ever so gently as you lay him back onto the plush blanket. He could fight back, push you onto your back instead, but something about this, the sun shining on your hair, the way you taste, how soft you are in his hands; it’s all making him melt back into the flowers as you lean over him. I can have this, he thinks to himself, I’m not going to lose this. There’s no rush.
When you eventually pull your panties to the side, letting him sink into you ever so slowly, Miguel is sure that he’s found heaven. You’re practically shining, an angel in real-time, as you roll your hips forward, clenching around him as you rake your nails down his chest in a way that makes him gasp beneath you.
“God, look at you,” you say, before it tapers off into an agonized whine as Miguel’s cock plunges into you just right. “So perfect for me, treating me so fucking- ah, good.”
Miguel grasps desperately at your hips, trying to help you as you drop onto him over and over and over again. Your praise makes him whine, his hips jerking up to plunge into you even deeper as his mind goes fuzzy with need. ”Can’t believe you’re mine Miguel," you whimper, "Can’t believe you chose me.”
He lunges up on his arms at your words, pressing his lips to yours in a sticky kiss that has the both of you moaning in tandem. “I’ll always choose you, princesa. Mi vida, eres mi vida.”
The grove is quiet, the obscene sounds of your bodies meeting over and over mixing with the sounds of his groans as you fuck yourself on his cock. You practically wail when his calloused fingers come to rest on your achy clit, rubbing hard, slow circles that have your head spinning. His cock reaches so deep like this, stretching you out, owning you in only the way that he can.
“You going to cum for me, beautiful?” he husks, sounding like he’s just run a marathon. “C’mon, baby, soak my cock with this pretty pussy.” You’re nodding furiously, bouncing desperately on his fat cock as he rubs your clit just fucking right-
You gasp, soundless and overwhelmed as you cum around him, leaning forward to kiss him, hoping to ground yourself with his mouth. Miguel curses against your lips, mumbling something in Spanish as he pulls his hand away from your clit to wrap around your back, like he can’t possibly get close enough.
He thrusts up into you once, twice, before stilling with his own orgasm. You imagine that you can feel him filling you up, claiming you in the most intimate way possible.
You break the kiss, pressing your forehead against his as you both catch your breaths. As he blinks up at you again, eyes round like he can’t believe that you’re actually here, that it wasn’t all a dream, you can’t help but giggle softly, pecking him quickly on the lips.
And he smiles, in the only way he does with you. No holds barred, unabashed happiness radiating off of him. “I love you,” he whispers, like it’s a secret.
“I love you too,” you whisper back. You breathe together, letting the calm coolness of the air rush over you both, the sounds of the breeze rustling the flowers and trees, the incessant beating of your hearts.
This is home, Miguel thinks, wrapping you tighter in his arms, I’m finally home.
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Im the one who asked about requests lol, I just have this Hotch thought and I can't stop thinking about it 🫂😭
Imagine Garcia "screaming" about a video, telling the whole team about it (except Hotch and Reader), and that video is on tiktok. When they spill something about the video, Hotch and Reader ask which video they're referring to, not knowing it's from a tiktok account where the person makes videos on Hotch x Reader (like edits taken from some interview where they look at each other, slightly touches and things like that) and it's a whole profile with a lot of videos like that! So the whole team teases them and they obviously like eachother!!
Feel free to change anything!!
Gone Viral, Gone Wrong
Thank you to this anon for submitting my first request! I might have written it (and especially Hotch) be a little (way) too sappy, but I love your idea so much and I hope I did it some type of justice!
WC: 3.3K
GIF by ssa-aaron-hotch-hotchner
There must be something on your face. Toothpaste, maybe, or coffee on your shirt, or a tear in your trousers. Something to explain the numerous pairs of eyes following you as you dash for the elevator, just as you always do.
This morning’s been one for the books. Between a text from your highschool ex-boyfriend, congratulating you on your ‘newfound fame’ — whatever he means by that, you don’t know — and the incomprehensibly slurred voicemails you woke up to from your sister, you aren’t quite sure what to do with yourself.
You tell yourself you’re probably imagining it. But Anderson doesn’t say a word to you as you both make your way to the BAU, just casts you sidelong glances between the rapid texts he’s sending. You hope to God it’s not you, that he's just having an awful morning, then scold yourself for it. If you’re not off to a good start, at least somebody should be.
It’s the silence in the bullpen that confirms your suspicions. Emily, JJ, and Garcia sit huddled around Emily’s computer, squeezed onto two chairs they’ve pulled together. Morgan leans over them to look at the screen. He’s in the middle of laughing at something Garcia’s said when you walk in.
You don’t even need Reid’s not-so-subtle hiss of “Guys–” to know you’re not going crazy. The smirks that drop from their faces, the giggles that extinguish themselves as you enter through the double doors, are more than enough.
Four profilers and a technical analyst, as it turns out, can be rather terrifying when the force of their stares are directed at you.
A sheepish grin tugs at your lips as you hold up your peace offering: a tray of coffee. “Hi?”
You’ve come to know how the team works. You know exactly how they react when ambushed, how they spring to action like a well-oiled machine.
There’s something a little mechanical to them now, bared in their responses to your arrival. After giving you one of his usual tight-lipped smiles, Reid flips open a random file on his desk and begins to read. JJ grabs the computer mouse, clicks a few times, and turns away from the monitor to greet you. Morgan clocks the drinks in your hands and conjures a grin just a little wider than normal.
“Morning, sunshine,” he says as he plucks the tray from your hands, thanking you with a squeeze to your forearm.
Garcia, eyeing the gesture, nearly chokes on the end of the pen she’s chewing. She stands to usher you over to your desk, her chirpy voice a balm attempting to smooth over what has been a very odd start to your working day.
“What were you guys looking at?” You ask her, eyebrows raised. If anyone’s going to tell you what’s going on, Penelope is, without a doubt, most likely to spill.
You’re disappointed – and even more confused – when she stands her ground. Through her ramble, you just about make out the words “cat” and “spa” before she’s kissing your cheek and speeding away to your lair.
You sigh as you switch on your own computer. One thing is clear. The team doesn’t like to be ambushed. And, somehow, that is exactly what you have done.
—
After finishing off one of your consults, you suffer through a morning briefing that ends up being far more complicated than it needs to be. It’s only a paperwork day, by the looks of things. In theory, this is the ‘easiest’ your job gets; if you’re not called out on an emergency, you can bank on a day of case reports and shitty coffee.
Nothing is ever easy at the BAU, not even now. Everything is out of order. There’s none of the usual idle chatter that precedes a briefing, just a fragile silence. Rossi moves from his normal position to take your place between Reid and JJ. He mutters something about the chair being uncomfortable and shoos you away from your seat. Though you can’t resist the opportunity to call him an old man for his pedantics, you acquiesce and take his spot instead. You find nothing wrong with it.
Then Hotch walks in to start the briefing, and you find about a hundred reasons to curse David Rossi. He’s wearing the gray suit, again, the one he likes pairing with his red tie. That should be a crime in itself. When he takes the only seat available — his usual seat, the one now next to you — you’re almost sure you hear JJ snort. Emily pats her on the back as she conceals it with a very unconvincing cough.
Hotch frowns in your direction, probably mulling over the change in seating plan, then turns his attention to JJ. “Are you alright?”
The blonde clears her throat. “Fine. Thanks, Hotch,” she says.
Garcia rests her elbows on the table, her mouth concealed by the palm of her hand.
Hotch nods, casting another short glance your way. “Good.”
Then he launches into the briefing, and you can almost convince yourself things are perfectly normal, that your face isn’t alight with heat and you’re not avoiding looking at him, that everything is fine. When you’re dismissed, you scurry towards the door fast enough you almost miss it.
“Garcia?” His voice is quiet, his tone soft with something disapproving hiding beneath it. “My office, please.”
Everything is decidedly not fine.
—
By noon, you can’t take it anymore. “Emily Prentiss, what the fuck are you doing?”
The question comes out louder and more harshly than you’d intended. In your peripheral vision, you see Reid’s eyes widen at the desk next to yours. Emily, halfway through a sandwich, freezes.
“I’m sorry?”
The grin fades from her face.
You huff. “You’ve been looking between me and your computer for the last half-hour. What is it? Is there something on my face?” Morgan laughs from the other side of the bullpen, and you raise your voice a little in desperation. “Seriously. Have I done something wrong?”
JJ must have heard the commotion, because she pokes her head out of her office door. She takes one look at you and sighs. “Probably best to get it over with, Em.”
When Emily hesitates, your eyes narrow. “Get what over with?”
She stands and beckons you over to her desk, firing up her computer screen as you settle into her chair. JJ comes down the stairs to join you. Though they don’t move, you can practically feel Morgan and Reid staring at the three of you from across the room.
What you see projected on Emily’s screen doesn’t make things any clearer.
“That’s—” you pause, dumbfounded. “Why are you looking at me and Hotch?”
The picture is easy to place. It must have been taken a few days ago, during a small-town case. Hotch had asked you to deliver a profile to the media when JJ was working on something else. It was far from the first time you’d faced the press head-on during your time at the Bureau, but Hotch had stood by your side anyway.
You’re not sure why she’s chosen this photo, if any, to look at. The wind’s blowing your hair into your face, and you’re midway through changing expressions so it almost looks like you’re in pain.
“Just watch,” Emily says. She presses the spacebar and the picture bursts into action.
—
“—If you believe you have any information that may relate to this case, we’d appreciate you calling the following number…” you say. You proceed to rattle off the number for the tip line JJ’s set up, but only get halfway through before everything derails.
“How do we know this isn’t all just bullshit?”
The voice overpowering yours is weathered, and so is the man who pushes through the crowd of journalists to get close to you and Hotch, whose posture you see straighten in an instant. You watch as the reporters from the city turn to look at the interloper, pens out and waiting, no doubt, for either you or your boss to slip up.
For a long moment, Hotch watches the man, his face twisted in irritation. He merely restates the tip line number and your request for any potential witnesses to come forward.
But the skeptic doesn’t let up. “This guy’s an outsider. Not one of us. Everyone here knows each other, they have done for years—”
“We’re not trying to cause a panic,” you say, your tone even, “We don’t want you all to turn on each other. But the man we’re looking for knows this town. He’s confident finding his way around the forest, even the areas that haven’t been mapped out yet. He knows the shortcuts, which roads are quiet and which are too risky to take. We’re asking you to exercise caution, and to report anything suspicious if you see it.”
“So what? A few pins on a map and you’re convinced it’s one of us?”
Hotch’s jaw tightens. This case has been harder on him than most, and you can sense that he’s on the verge of responding in a way he’ll regret later. You put a hand on his forearm as he raises it to retort, squeezing it gently in the hopes he’ll get the signal you really don’t have the seniority to be sending him: stand down. He takes a deep breath, and you let your hand slide down to meet his wrist, guiding it just a fraction backwards to rest by his side. The contact lasts only a second, maybe two, before you let him be.
When he finally speaks, his voice is measured, his eyes slow to drag themselves from your face. “We’re not here to defend the science behind criminal profiling. Our priorities remain finding the person responsible for these crimes and the safety of this community until we do. If you have any information at all, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We appreciate your cooperation.”
Even the most amateur journalist would know he’s done answering questions. Hotch gives a brief nod, turns and leads you out of the Georgia heat and back into shelter of the precinct. All the time, his hand hovers over your back, his gaze searching for any potential disruptions.
Then there’s his voice, deep and almost inaudible. You feel his breath brush your earlobe. “Thank you.”
—
Oh.
Now you’re looking at it from an outsider’s perspective, you do look a little…cozy with Hotch. Not enough to walk the line of unprofessionalism, but enough for you to notice it.
Emily folds her arms, leans back in her chair. “What’s that about?”
Avoiding her eyes, you shrug. “What’s what about?”
“The canoodling,” JJ says with a smirk, and you slap her arm.
You’re a profiler. You should know your little attempt at denial isn’t going to work, but it doesn’t stop you from trying. “Canoodling? Seriously, Jen? I don’t think anyone under the age of eighty has ever said the word ‘canoodling’.”
You hear Penelope’s kitten heels clacking against the floorboards before you see her. “Doesn’t mean you’re not doing it,” she sings. Her arms wrap around your shoulders from behind.
You groan. “Penny, you know I love you, but what are you doing here?”
“I got lonely,” she says, and her expression is so genuine that you can’t even bring yourself to be upset with her. “Just wait…”
Leaning over you to press the escape button, she exits out of full screen mode and points to the corner of the screen. When you read the number she’s showing you, your breakfast threatens to make a reappearance.
“Would you look at that?” Emily laughs. “It’s gone up.”
You blink. Once, twice, three times. And once more, for good measure. “Six-hundred-and-fifty thousand people have seen that?”
It all starts to make sense. The texts, the calls, the stares, the team’s behavior…you don’t know whether to be relieved or horrified. On the bright side, you’ve done nothing wrong, nothing that could get you fired. But more than half a million people have seen you practically mooning over your boss.
Emily makes a noncommittal noise. “Half of them were probably Garcia. And a good twenty-five or so were us, if that helps.”
“It doesn’t,” You resist the urge to slam your head against the desk. You’ll have to settle for burying it in your hands instead. “Six hundred and…fuck. And they all think–?”
“—That you’re in love with our boss? And that he’s in love with you? Yes.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“They think that, too,” says JJ, sounding sympathetic. If it weren’t for the frankly dastardly smile on her face, you’d think she was on your side.
Picturing the general population witnessing you make an idiot of yourself is bad enough. How do you even conceptualize that many people? How many stadiums could you fill solely with people who have seen you head over heels for your boss? Even worse is the thought of Anderson, or your parents, or – God forbid – even Strauss having seen it. You’ll be suspended. Fired. Or, even worse, be called into a mediated meeting with Hotch and HR, where they’ll ask him if you’ve been making him feel uncomfortable.
Emily’s voice pulls you from your shame spiral. “And there’s more, too.”
This world hates you. You’re certain of that as she opens Twitter, putting “FBI agents” into the search bar and bombarding you with hundreds, maybe thousands, of tweets with your image attached. Some are disturbingly sweet. Others poke fun at how obvious you are, and even more disturbingly, seem to think your feelings are reciprocated. That’s not a mental path you can allow yourself to go down.
“So…” You say after a long ten minutes. “What do we do?”
Footsteps, then Rossi appears at the stop of the stairs. “You go back to work. Your break’s over.”
He’s lucky you’re so fond of him. Had it been anyone else (save maybe one person) to disrupt your shame spiral, you’d have been furious. More than furious. You’re still a little irritated now.
There was nothing wrong with his fucking chair.
—
Your mission is simple. Avoid. Deny. Deflect. The rest of your afternoon drags along in a blur of paperwork and teasing comments you choose to ignore (mostly courtesy of Morgan — JJ and Emily have decided you’re nearing your breaking point and vow to leave you alone).
Five o’clock can’t come soon enough. Even when it does, there’s no reprieve. Reid turns out to be the one to betray you as everyone else packs up to leave, their files in his hand. “Sorry,” he whispers. To his credit, he looks like he means it.
“Judas,” you hiss back, but you stand and take the reports from him anyway.
Morgan raises an eyebrow at you. “Going somewhere special?”
You flip him off, muttering something under your breath that sounds just a little like “your funeral”.
The stairs to Hotch’s office feel much longer and much steeper than usual. At every step you reconsider. Reid’s probably still heading for the elevator now. If you catch him, you can guilt him into doing this instead. But your thoughts carry you close enough for Hotch to spot your approach through the blinds. He rises from his desk, opening the door before you can even reach for the handle.
You can’t even look him in the eyes. “Hi.”
Stepping aside to let you inside, he says your name, and it sounds so warm coming from his mouth. You wonder if he knows about your newfound fame, too. He seems to be focusing his stare directly between your eyebrows.
“I just came to drop these off.”
As if your words aren’t explanation enough, you hold up the files for him to see.
“Thank you.” Hotch reaches out to take them, and you feel his fingers brush yours as he does. He stops before the exchange is over. “Are you alright? You seem distracted.”
It won’t be long now before the sun sets. It’s making its final play for glory now, golden light filtering through the window and settling over Hotch’s face. Hints of amber tones surface in his eyes, usually so dark and unreadable, making him appear much softer than usual. Safer.
You sigh. “I think some people got a little more out of that press release in Georgia than we intended them to.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“You know about that?”
You wouldn’t half mind if a wormhole opened up, right there in his office, and transported you to another universe where you don’t even have to think about this moment ever again.
“I do.” He winces. “Garcia’s computer system is the most secure in the FBI, but she doesn’t have an inside voice.”
The dry comment shocks a laugh out of you. “No, she doesn’t. But…it’ll die down, right? No one is actually going to believe that. Us being together would be—”
“Unprofessional,” Hotch supplies after a beat. “Very unprofessional.”
He reaches backwards to put the files you’ve given him on his desk, somehow managing to do so without actually taking a step away from you. If anything, he gets a little closer.
“Exactly. Strauss would kill us if we even thought about it,” you say, “Not that we would, I’m just…”
Now he looks down at you, straight into your eyes. You swear his pupils are dilated, that he slips for just a half-second and lets his attention drift down to your lips. “There’d be a lot of paperwork.”
You nod. “Too much, really. You’ve got enough already. It’d also be…”
“…Nice.”
Hotch stops breathing, lips downturned in a frown. You’re sure you’ve heard him wrong. But half a minute passes, and he doesn’t retract his statement, though he looks as if he’s close to doing so.
“I’m sorry?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. He’s close enough you catch a hint of his cologne, and the woody scent of it makes your head spin.
“I can say it again,” he says through a long exhale, searching your face for any sign of discomfort as he takes another step closer. His breath ghosts your neck. “Or we can forget this ever happened.”
Your answer is almost immediate. “Let’s not do that.”
Hotch tilts your chin up so you’re forced to look at him. You lean upwards to meet him halfway in a kiss that is soft and tentative, the sort that promises everything and asks for nothing in return. One of your hands cups his jaw, and both of his find their way home to your waist, rubbing circles into your skin through your shirt. You smile against his lips. He leans forward as if to chase yours when you pull away.
It hits you, now, that this is really happening. The months you've been agonizing over this - whether to make a move or to shut the part of you that cares for him away - have led you here.
There's much you've got to think over: what this means for both of your careers, the risk to the team's dynamic, whether it'll even work in the long run, if Hotch wants that too. You know he's thinking the same thing; his face adopts the same mask of concentration it always does when he's considering something.
You take a deep breath. It might be hard, but does that stop it from being worth a shot?
In the end, you don't think it does.
“I think I’m gonna order takeout tonight,” you say quietly. “There’s a really good Thai place down the street from me.”
Hotch clears his throat. “That sounds nice.”
Shaking your head, you rest both hands on his shoulders, laugh at him. “That was my way of asking you if you wanted to join me.”
“Oh.”
His brow furrows. For a terrible moment, you think he’s about to say no. And then, “Haley has Jack tonight. I…I’d like that.”
You beam, pull back, and head towards his desk to find a pen and a scrap bit of paper. “Here’s my address.” A quick glance down into the bullpen, which is thankfully empty. “Give it ten minutes, then follow me?”
“Okay,” Hotch says. Even you can tell he’s grinning like an idiot, and you make a note of the rare expression. “Okay. I’ll see you soon?”
Squeezing his hand, you kiss his cheek and walk towards the door. “Soon.”
You feel his eyes on you until you reach the elevator.
If you got this far, thank you for reading! I've watched a lot more Dharma and Greg than CM, lately, so I have a feeling that my version of soft!Hotch is currently just a grownup version of Greg Montmgomery????
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