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doromoni · 2 days

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Clash of Champions | LH44 , MV1

Act 2 . Part 4 : A Driver’s Stratagem

Ships : Lewis Hamilton x Engineer! Reader , Max Verstappen x Engineer! Reader

Genre : Drama , Angst , Romance

Warning : Morally Grey Characters , Dark Characters, Forced Drug Use , Swearing

A/N : This one took so much revisions , I swear, I put more effort and dedication into this than my Uni papers.

Summary : The rivalry between the titans of Formula 1 goes off track and only one will reign victorious

< Previous

Act 2. ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

The air hummed with adrenaline and the roaring sounds of engines filled the entire circuit— as the smell of synthetic oil wafted each corner of the grid.

It was finally Sunday — it was race day. It was the day to see how truly monstrous your dynamic with the Dutch Red Bull Driver was. It was the day to make Mercedes rue the days they’d taken you for granted.

It was time to make sure that Max Verstappen would become a World Champion.

Red Bull’s garage buzzed with the sound of drills and chatters of mechanics as they set up spare parts for the cars. Everything was like clockwork, every action smooth and practiced.

It was an hour till the cars were brought out to the grid, with Max’s car placed in first— right on pole. You couldn’t help but smirk at the thought of Toto’s face, red from anger. You could still hear his deranged shouts and banging on unsuspecting headsets on tables.

With final checks on the pit wall; ensuring that whatever happens you’ll never be cut from Max’s radio. The memory of Mercedes‘ betrayal had made you paranoid, even when no one from RB had shown shown anything sketchy.

Nevertheless, it was still your first race with Max, anything and anyone can change anytime. You wouldn’t make the same mistake of trusting anyone that easily.

So engrossed with your thoughts and triple checking on the data on your station, that you didn’t realize Max’s presence behind you

“Well hello there pretty engineer “ And suddenly, you were engulfed by strong arms from behind. Max’s lips briefly met your own as you looked over your shoulder and up at the racer.

You both knew that you were supposed to be keeping things lowkey, however Max couldn’t care less when there were no cameras around — He didn’t care if cameras were present or not but out of respect for you, he kept the PDA to a minimum. You were his girlfriend and he needs everyone to know and back off, whenever he can.

“Hi, babe! I was just about to go see you. I just need to finish checking your stats” you explained to your boyfriend as you proceeded to point out something on your screen. You found the extra hundredths of the second in the track and began to fully explain every detail to the Dutch driver.

“I love it when you get all nerdy with me, Schat. “ Max suddenly interjected, a fond smile on his face as he gazed down at you.

Your cheeks grew redder by the second. A shy smile on your lips as your eyes avoided Max's eyes. You were used to people rolling their eyes at your intellect at Mercedes. Now with Max openly admiring you… you didn’t know how to respond.

“ Are you getting shy with me, Schat? How adorable can you be” Max laughed as he let go of your waist from behind, then held your cheeks together and looked directly at your steadily growing red face.

“Shut up! Don’t make me throw your race, Max Verstappen” You bluffed with the Red Bull driver a loving smile on your face, smacking your hand to his arms.

“Whatever happened to keep work and our personal lives separate? Huh, Schat?” You rolled your eyes to your cheeky boyfriend’s sass.

Oh boy, how you were starting to fall deeper for the Dutch Driver.

“Well I’m not the one who can’t keep my hands to myself in the office , now am I?” You sassed back.

“Well my girlfriend is hot and smart, how could I resist?” You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend’s audacity.

“ you’re unbelievable! Aren’t you supposed to be resting and getting inside your driver's room? “ You asked as you spun your chair fully towards Max, him now in between your legs.

“I know, but I wanted to see you first. How are you feeling, Y/N? You ready for the race?” Your heart melted as Max took your hand in his and squeezed it for comfort.

“ I should be the one asking you that, Max.” You cooed at him as tears glazed your eyes. He was the one fighting for the championship and risking his life on track — yet he was concerned over you.

“ I’m ready. Thank you for trusting me as your engineer. Let’s give them hell” You grinned towards the Champion contender of Red Bull.

Max couldn’t help but capture your lips in his at the sight of you. He only dreamed of you looking at him like this. The look you once gave to Lewis Hamilton. The look of love and devotion. Now it was aimed at him.

However, unknown to the both of you a person clad in a black team uniform had been recording the entire encounter.

***

The hour flew by fast, and it was now time to race in the pinnacle of motorsport.

Max was strapped down in his car, helmet on and visor down — your voice in his ear ready to command. Max had zeroed in, all attention was ahead of him and nothing else.

While you were in your element, the Red Bull headset firmed on your head. As your co-engineers continue to exchange data amongst the team.

“ 1 minute to start Max” you echoed the time on your screen.

“Copy, Y/N. Let’s give them hell” Max’s voice held assurance. He was not just saying it. He was promising it.

“30 seconds, Max. Keep safe out there yeah? 10 seconds”

“5 seconds”

As the lights go out, Crofty delivers his famous lines. The race had begun and in the blink of an eye — 20 race cars had flown past the pit walls that held all race engineers and team principals.

As the green flag was waved the 1st lap of the 56-lap race began.

Max and Lewis showed no mercy to each other, already butting heads from the very start. Max was shoved out of the track by Hamilton. Lewis held the lead with Max not far in his tail.

“Max, keep it steady. We are going for strat 2” you calmly echoed towards the driver. You knew Max was pissed, but you had a plan for this.

“Copy, Y/N. Strat 2 is good” Max had replied.

The race had gone on with Lewis still in the lead. You knew that your old team was cherishing every second of it.

Yet you had everything pat down and you just needed to trust the data and Max’s ability to deliver. And that trust had solidified at lap 26, Max had been once again in the lead with fresher tires.

The race was starting to finish, it was the 2nd to the last lap. Hamilton was just 1.94 seconds behind Verstappen.

Your eyes darted towards the drivers on the grid, Max was fast approaching Mick’s lapped Haas. The Haas car looked like it was not going to move anytime soon.

And you were right as Max had complained on the radio.

“Michael should move out of the way.” At Max’s input — you’ve already sent the memo to Haas.

As Mick’s car gave way, Max zoomed past with Lewis right behind the Red Bull car— hopefully trying to gain p1.

Yet as the chequered flag had approached, Max had kept everything calm and cool — and in the blink of an eye, Max had crossed the finish line.

Cheers erupted from all corners of Red Bull. A huge grin on your face as Christian Horner shook your shoulder from the side.

Max had won! You were successful in leading him to victory. The relief washed over you like water on a blistering hot day. The motor world had seen you succeed outside of Mercedes — your talent didn’t just rely on Lewis.

Y/N L/N had led another driver towards victory. And you had proved that this was not a fluke or by chance.

Not when, Max had won the next race in Mexico. This time Max had won from 3rd place in the grid. And with 15 seconds to spare from Lewis.

“Max Verstappen! You’ve won Mexico! My goodness, and with a 15-second lead. You’re incredible! “ You praised your boyfriend openly astonished at his raw talent.

“Simply Lovely, Y//N! Wow! Your strategy was flawless, Thank you for that! From p3 to p1! Thank you everyone” Max’s voice echoed out of your earphones.

As you celebrated Max’s win on the podium —You were then informed that you were to be interviewed by Sky Sports right after. You had asked who was hosting. And the name of your ex-driver was said. Nico Rosberg.

You never thought of the possibility of talking to Nico again. Not after everything in Mercedes, not when your once close relationship with the German driver had been torn to pieces.

You admit that you had made mistakes, huge ones, both of you did. But you cannot deny that you missed him.

You were starting to get nervous and you had started to overthink, but your attention was drawn back towards Max.

He looked majestic up on that podium. It looked almost natural that he was on top.

The Dutch national anthem played, and you found his eyes on you. Your heart had skipped a beat, and you couldn't help but smile. A calming sensation drew over you. Negative thoughts left your mind as Max had overridden each one.

And to the surprise of the world, in front of live television, all cameras panned on him.

His lips echoed the words

“I Love You, Y/N ” his eyes still locked in yours.

Your surprise was an understatement, but your entire being felt like you were floating. You felt so much joy - you felt so much love. You felt seen and cherished

A piece of you had been healed by Max’s actions. Max had just done what Lewis could never do - He had shown the world that you were his and he was yours. Your eyes held tears as the smile on your face grew.

And you echoed back.

“I Love you too. “

As the anthem reached its final note. Champagnes then sprayed all over the podium, and into your section with your team below.

Everyone in Red Bull was enjoying the celebration including you, when you felt a pair of eyes on you. You searched for the person, you looked around and saw nothing.

But then you looked up, your eyes caught Lewis’. You saw pain, confusion and anger. His eyes used to make you back down — but not anymore.

You held his gaze, never looking away. You saw his jaw clench as he was forced to look away. Your eyes sight drew back towards Max, he was already looking at you with a look of question.

It was not one of doubt, but just plain curiosity. You knew that he trusted you. So you once again mouthed words to the Dutch driver.

“I’ll tell you later”

***

Later came quickly, as you and Max had been lounging inside his motorhome. Both are now clean yet exhausted after the shower you both took. Both of you took more than a shower inside that bathroom and you were sure that everyone had heard.

Nevertheless, neither you nor Max cared as adrenaline, emotions, and passion overtook both your senses.

You were now both presentable and dressed in comfier team uniforms. You and Max had occupied the small bed inside his driver's room. Max’s arms draped over your waist and your back gently laid on his chest.

“I’m being interviewed by Nico later” you blurted out.

“Really? Well, are you ok with doing it?” Max had questioned. Max knew everything that had happened inside Mercedes. Every betrayal and every crime that they’ve done to you. And that included your past with both drivers.

“Honestly, I miss him. Max” your voice broke as you said those words aloud. Max was the only person you got to tell about Nico. Everyone in Mercedes had hated him after he’d left and you knew Lewis despised him so you’ve always kept to yourself about how much you’ve missed your big brother figure.

When you started in F1, Nico Rosberg was your first driver and you were a junior engineer in his team. It was the year 2011 and you were just a rookie, everyone had given you no attention and kept pushing you aside, but Nico had seen you and put you under his wing.

The two of you became closer and closer as the year went on. You’ve been to his house, met his girlfriend and family and even celebrated his birthdays.

Then 2012 came, and you had grown and flourished; you had climbed the ladder in such a short amount of time —you were set to become Nico’s lead race engineer for the next year to come. At that point, you had thought that your bond with Nico would be strong forever.

That was until 2013 came. Lewis Hamilton was enlisted to Join Mercedes AMG F1. Nico was delighted to have his childhood friend on the team — much so that he introduced the two of you.

You didn’t like Lewis at first and Nico knew that and he laughed at you; saying that you weren’t going to be having much interaction with Lewis anyway since you were going to be his engineer.

And when you were announced to be Lewis’ lead race engineer — you were dumbfounded. Your eyes looked for Nico’s familiar figure but you didn’t find even his silhouette.

You felt betrayed and angry at Nico. You thought that he was the one who chose to remove you from his team. Your anger and resentment towards your supposed brother had just continued to fester— as he continued to grow distant from you.

And your emotions had drawn you to the arms of Lewis Hamilton. You’ve sought solitude in the embrace of a man in a relationship and Nico had been the only one to see this.

Then he had confronted you and had warned you to stay clear of Lewis. In your anger, so many harsh and cutting words were said — you had targeted all of his insecurities and you instantly felt regret as you let go of the words you didn’t mean.

That encounter had fully severed your relationship with Nico. You tried to apologize, but every time you tried shame filled all your senses and you just turned the other way instead.

2014 came and he got married. You waited for your invitation but it never came — you broke down once again. 2016 had been brutal, as you watched the love of your life and the brother you cherished killing each other on the track.

Nico won that year, you were secretly so happy for him. He did deserve it. Then Nico announced his retirement, and that was when you knew you had missed your chance to mend your broken relationship.

“Go talk to him. If what you told me was true, I’m sure he misses you too. He’s probably waiting for you to make the first move” Max’s words had brought peace within you and you knew what he said was right.

“Well he is a diva, “ you said jokingly. You knew that it should be you to apologize first. And it seemed that you were given the chance to right your wrongs.

“That’s Britney for you” You laughed at Max’s teasing words. Nico hated being called that, but when it came to you — he didn’t mind.

Suddenly you remembered the texts Lewis sent you last race ago. And you decided that Max should probably know it — you didn’t want to keep secrets from him.

“Babe, I need to tell you something about Lewis” You took your phone out and showed the concerning texts Lewis had sent you to the Red Bull driver.

“Holy Shit” Max’s eyes grew large as he went to read the conversation between you and Lewis

“ Right? This is so concerning. Should I tell Christian about this?” Your fingers fidgeted over your phone, as you surveyed Max’s expression.

Confusion, Puzzlement and Shock had shown itself in Max’s expression. You were about to question Max if he knew anything about that party with the other drivers when a knock and the voice of an RB personnel stopped you.

“Ms. Y/N? It's time for your interview in the paddock, we need to go now. You’ll go live in 10 minutes”

“I’ll be out now” You quickly stood up from Max’s embrace and checked yourself out in the mirror in Max’s bathroom.

You looked back at your boyfriend who was still on his bed.

“We’re continuing this conversation later, babe” You went near him chastity kissed his lips, and wiped the excess lipstick that transferred to his skin.

“ Sure, Schat. Don’t be scared of Nico alright? “ Max had reminded you, as he tucked a loose hair in your ear. You nodded your head and gave Max one last peck.

As you went out the door. Max’s facade quickly warped into coldness and irritability. Hamilton was getting in the way again.

Max then recalled his conversation with Toto Wolff.

“ This wasn’t in the deal, Wolff! “ Max hollered at the Austrian team principal.

“You wanted them to break up right?! And I don’t want Lewis anywhere near L/N. Lewis isn’t giving up, he wants her back” Toto had stated back to the Red Bull driver. As he nursed scotch in his hand, swirling the drink.

“I know that! I need them apart. But come on?!! You want to roofie your driver? Are you fucking insane?!”

“ OF COURSE I DON'T!! I have no other option! All of Lewis’ attention has been on getting L/N back, he’s fucking slacking. I need Y/N to break Lewis… fully. I need him angry — and what more than her going to the enemy? The girl is already leaving — yet still causing trouble for my fucking team”

“You’re crazy Wolff. Aren’t you worried that she’ll work with me and deny the 8th championship from you?”

“She’s already in your team, the bitch moves fast. And no I'm not worried, a girl like her can’t amount to her success. I’m sure she’ll drag you down”

“Don’t fucking talk about her like that! I swear I’ll break this glass and shove it down your throat, Wolff. We’re not friends, you’re still a piece of shit — fucking remember that.” Max suddenly threw the whiskey glass just behind Toto’s head. No ounce of fear nor regret in the Dutch driver.

“Well? What do you say Verstappen? I’ll have my people slip Lewis a pill then you’ll swoop right in and get your chance with the girl” Toto cleared his throat, taken aback by Max’s sudden show of aggression

“Do it. Drug Hamilton, I’ll do the rest. Y/N won't be Lewis’ problem. Nothing should come out of this room, you hear me, Wolff?” Max gritted out.

“ It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Max Verstappen. “

Taglist : @vicurious28 @xoscar03 @barnestatic @stelena-klayley @sopheeg @imagandom @4-20-21-12 @doofenshmirtzevil-inc @g-l-o-b-e-w-h-o-r-e @minkyungseokie @d3kstar @kimialaia @cosmicwintr @younxii @ssrcsm @paigem00 @seokjinkismet @wcnorris @jayjay11122 @embersparklz @sam-is-lost @peterholland04 @luckyladycreator2 @lovemesomeescapism @yettobedetermined7 @nikfigueiredo @ironmaiden1313 @alliwantisadonut @uuoozzii @marshmummy @kemillyfreitas @yaesflorist @zoeyjadetice2010 @splaterparty0-0 @likedbygaslyy @myinternettlifeimagine @ilamara @pluviophilefangirl @starssfall @haydensith @adoreleeknw @leilanixx @dr4g0ngirl @forfeityourbugs @choisannyreads @justtprachisblog @felicityforyou @jehun @halleest @closestthingtocoffee @jexxy04 @tremendousstarlighttragedy

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batman-obsession-by-secret · 1 day

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The batfam when somebody says something incredibly dumb:

Damian: "chat, look at this idiot"

Tim and Steph: *looks at an imaginary camera like he's in The Office*

Jason: *starts monologuing to an imaginable audience about what just happened*

Dick: *goes into complete "I'm-working-with-kids"-mode by smiling and nodding despite being completely zoned out*

Bruce: *looks towards heaven as if asking God "are you seeing this shit?*

#batman #robin #batman and robin #dc #tim drake #jason todd #dick grayson #batfam #bruce wayne #damian wayne #stephanie brown

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yuzurujenn · 3 days

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2024.05.01 GQ Japan x Yuzuru Hanyu (JUNE ISSUE)

Yuzuru Hanyu’s Challenge

After winning two consecutive Olympic gold medals, Yuzuru Hanyu, who turned professional in 2022, is taking on a new form of expression: an ice show that the produced entirely on his own. The extraordinary figure skater danced in front of the cameras, dressed in items designed by Gucci’s new creative director, Sabato de Sarno.

Photographs by Taro Mizutani Styled by Tetsuro Nagase Hair styled by TAKU VOW-VOW FOR CUTTERS Makeup by COCO SEKIKAWA OFFICE Words by Kosuke Kawakami

The unique path that Yuzuru Hanyu walks After entering the studio and exchanging a few words with photographer Taro Mizutani, Yuzuru Hanyu operated his smartphone as if convinced of something. A gentle piano piece played from the speakers. It was ‘aqua’, a piece composed for his daughter by Ryuichi Sakamoto, who passed away last year. Moving his body flexibly, as if surrendering to the music, the studio had transformed into a beautiful, dignified and tense space that no one could step into.

“When I saw the lighting directly above me, I thought it looked like the sun, like light from heaven. Mr. Mizutani also said, ‘I want you to look up. I want you to look up and think about something’. I thought it feels like a prayer, so I chose ‘aqua’ because it fits the image".

As a figure skater, he was won all sorts of accolades, including two consecutive Olympic titles, two World Championships, and four consecutive Grand Prix Final titles. He has also received the People’s Honor Award. In 2022, he became a professional skater in order to ‘pursue the ideal of Yuzuru Hanyu’. Since then, he has held numerous self-produced ice shows and solo performances at Tokyo Dome, Saitama Super Arena, and other venues.

“Even though I turned professional, I don’t think my fundamentals have changed. The world I’ve always wanted to express, the artistic nature of figure skating and the athletic aspect of it has not changed. During competitions, there are always rules and there are times when I had to perform in a certain way. But in the world of shows, I have to satisfy the audience in 360-degree, I have to use my brain to create the videos that will be played at the venue and I have to think about the words that I want to convey. I am expanding and deepening my thoughts to areas that I have not considered before.”

Just as a musician plays music and an artist uses a paintbrush, Hanyu uses his body to express himself.

“What’s fun about it is that when everyone watches it, I get to see a lot of different opinions, people think about it in different ways and each person interprets it in their own way. What I'm doing, I believe that what I am creating is a ‘path’. The values, background, past, future, and so on become the path, and along the way, one may notice something or feel something. I want the audience to see it and share it. I’m really happy when people say that they enjoyed the journey and are glad that they walked the path. That makes me happy and that’s why I feel like I can continue on this path”.

When asked if he thinks it’s more fun now that he can express and create freely than in the competitive days when he was bound by rules and forced to compete, Hanyu thought for a while and then denied it.

“I don’t think it’s good enough just to feel fun. Ever since my competitive days, I’ve always believed that competitions aren’t about having fun, and I’ve never wavered from that philosophy of mine. There are some people who say you can only perform well if you enjoy it, and I understand why people think that’s the right answer. But for me, if I have fun, I feel like I’m not being serious enough. There is a certain kind of performance that comes out because of the tension, and that is what allows me to train hard every day. Even in the creative field, when it comes to creating something, it is not good just to have fun. Of course, it’s possible because there’s also fun in it, and I’m able to create because someone sees it and enjoys it, which brings me joy and happiness. But if I continue to only feel fun, I may end up with just empty words and a false worldview with no depth.

Hanyu says that he feels he lacks ‘vocabulary’ as an artist.

“Vocabulary is also necessary for physical expression. If I want to show a scene just by moving my hands a little, I need to know the techniques to do so. I have to learn how to move my hands in such a way that it looks beautiful, and engrave it in my body. Let my nerves learn it, let my brain study it, and eventually I will be able to do it. It’s not like I can dance like a professional dancer or ballerina, but I’ve been figure skating for more than 20 years. Because of this, I have the potential to create new expressions by learning their techniques. I believe that if I study hard and able to do it on the ice, I will become a unique presence”.

There is no goal, no rivals to compete with. Yet, without hesitation, he continues on his own path.

“Being on the ice is like my ‘native language’ (laughs), so if I move away from it, I am no longer Yuzuru Hanyu. The knowledge, experience and soul I’ve cultivated since I was four years old are there, a place where I can express myself from the bottom of my heart. Of course, I’ll probably start to decline as I age, but if I continue to use the language of figure skating for another 30 years, there may be a form of expression that can only be created at that particular time and age. I believe there is such a possibility, and I think I must continue to strive for that possibility”.

Yuzuru Hanyu, as the one and only Yuzuru Hanyu, continues to move forward focusing on expression on the ice.

GQ Japan - June 2024 issue, released on 2024.05.01 (auto-translation with some editing)

More: 1 https://twitter.com/GQJAPAN/status/1782938296944857402 2 https://twitter.com/GQJAPAN/status/1785448080340337135 3 https://twitter.com/GQJAPAN/status/1783692480782704746

#hanyu yuzuru #yuzuru hanyu #羽生結弦 #figure skating #gucci #gq japan #interview #translation

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mariasont · 5 hours

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Office Sleepover 3 - A.H

a/n: yeehaw this took me way longer than i thought but here she be

i feel like im so ass at writing smut so just bear with me yall

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

part one here! part two here!

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

summary: in which reader gets put on a hit-list and has to stay in the office (kind of based off when penelope got put on a hit-list by the dirty dozen)

warnings: 18+ MDNI, hungover reader, unwanted attention from some rando, awk as fuck reader, fingering, dirty talk, doing the dirty in the office, definitely illegal, definitely probably caught on cameras

wc: 4.2k

Everything hurt--your stomach churned, your head throbbed, and your eyes burned. You squeezed them shut, feeling your body tense against the stiff fabric of the pull-out couch. Fists curled tightly, you gradually let your eyelids part, casting a slow, sweeping glance around the room, trying to piece together what the hell happened.

Pain hammered around the inside of your head. You desperately needed a hefty dose of Advil--ten at least. As though your mind had materialized them, you rolled over to discover a bottle and a glass of water on the nightstand. You assumed you had JJ to thank, though the certainty of that was as fuzzy as your thoughts. Each effort to reconstruct last night's events was a stab to your already excruciating migraine.

You had all your clothes on, that was a plus considering your notorious history with wine and stripping. Stripping. Your hand slapped over your mouth, a floodgate of recollections bursting through--calling Hotch in a wine-induced haze, flashing your tits, asking him to stay.

You were in full-blown panic mode, the sudden urge to throw up clawing at your throat. The bed was empty, save for yourself, but you vividly remember Hotch laying down with you. This only left two possibilities: he left after you fell asleep or it had been a figment of your imagination. You were desperately hoping it was the latter.

But clearly, the universe had its own plan, because there he was, leaning against the door frame, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a paper bag that, by the smell of it, contained greasy food.

With a throat like sandpaper and sweaty palms, you met your boss's gaze. "Hotch," you croaked, pausing to swallow. "Um, good morning--or is it? My sleep schedule's always off after drinking. It feels bright in here, right? It's also kinda hot, is the AC working?"

You impulsively rose from the bed, a decision you instantly regretted as the room seemed to spin around you in protest.

"Sit down," he commanded, a firmness in his voice that brooked no opposition, and you promptly sat your ass back down, watching him with an expectant look.

You attempted to read his face, but it was a blank slate, making you that much more nervous. He must hate you, you figured, because you certainly hated yourself. Your boss had seen your nipples. A wave of heat washed over you, and you clenched your eyes shut, as if that could make this situation disappear.

"Here," he said, handing you the coffee and the bag, then gesturing to the Advil on the counter. "Take that, and I know you might not feel like eating, but it's necessary. The food and coffee will stabilize your blood sugar levels."

"Right, yeah, course," you nod, accepting the items with shaky hands, holding the cup with a grip that's a little too firm. "Listen, sir, I'm really sorry about last night. I promise I don't usually drink that much. I don't even know how I got that drunk, and I know I acted completely inappropriate towards you. If you need to file a complaint, I understand. Again, I'm just so sorry..."

You wanted to cry, but you held it back, knowing it would only make this whole situation worse. You deliberately avoided his eyes, focusing on anything but him while you absentmindedly toyed with the breakfast sandwich in your hands.

After a moment, he releases a soft sigh, the mattress sinking slightly as he settled beside you, his knee gently knocking yours.

"I'm aware this week's been tough on you. It's, uh, clear you weren't thinking straight, and I'm not about to make a formal issue out of a slip-up."

Your head dipped, as you tried to fend off the rising warmth in your face. "I don't think I can ever look you in the eyes again."

"That feels dramatic," he pointed out, a chuckle in his voice that made you glance his way. "Trust me, it's already forgotten."

That was a lie. He may have lacked Reid's eidetic abilities, but there was no possible, imaginative way that he would forget the image of you topless--it was imprinted in his memory. In fact, it had become the sole focus of his thoughts ever since. He silently thanked the gods that it was a Saturday, and he didn't have any pressing work issues.

"Somehow, that's not very comforting," you replied, a suppressed giggle breaking through as you met his gaze. "So, did you, um, end up staying over?"

Your cheeks glowed with a soft pink, hands unconsciously smoothing over your thighs--a nervous habit of yours he had quickly taken notice of. It emerged involuntarily when you faced tough cases, or when your computer took too long to start up, or even when the elevator made an unexpected noise.

"I did," he admitted, "You shouldn't have been alone."

Your whole body felt like it was on fire, and you were weirdly frustrated that you couldn't recall being the same bed as him, being able to feel his body against yours. You bet he was warm, and soft, and large against you.

"Thank you."

His phone went off. "Hotchner."

Your eyes followed his movements, noting the firm nods, watching as he stood, his expression hardening, jaw tightening, and hand coming to rest on his chin as he faced away from you.

The phone call was brief, and he quickly turned his attention back to you. "We've got a case."

And it was quite the case--three male victims, all in their forties. Each crime scene was close to Quantico, about twenty minutes, sparing the team any extensive travel. Though, after last night, you don't think you would have minded if they had been halfway across the country.

You were really banking on Hotch's ability to keep things professional, knowing full well that if Morgan caught wind of this, you'd be better off dead.

The team was huddled around the briefing table, absorbing Garcia's detailed rundown of the killings--they were violent to say the least--with heads bashed in and over twenty stab wounds per victim. Whoever was doing this was angry.

Hotch eventually split everyone up into tasks—Spencer and Morgan to the crime scenes, JJ and Emily interviewing the families, and Rossi was tasked with convening with the local police force. So, you know who that left at the office? You, Hotch, and Penelope. What a great group.

You avoided both of them, a pattern that had become all too familiar you had realized. Hunched over your desk, you were engrossed in sending Spencer images of your latest research on the town. True to form, he responded--Can you just fax that over to the police station?--because god forbid, he has to read it from his phone.

So, there you were, barely resisting the urge to slam your head into the fax machine. You wouldn't consider yourself technology impaired, but to say you were on friendly terms would be overstating it.

"Need help?"

"Oh, yes, please—," you began, but your voice trailed off as you noticed one of the guys from forensics hovering just a tad too close for comfort.

"They're always a bit stubborn," he noted, barely giving you space to breathe before his shoulder nudged against yours as he fiddled with the device, "just a slight...there we go."

The machine sprang into action, prompting you to step back and acknowledge his help with a nod. "Oh, thanks."

"Not a problem," he assured, stepping closer in the process, his fingers lightly brushing your thigh as he pointed out the correct button. "You see, it's all about timing," he added, his voice low and unnecessarily close, "these things can be so fussy, right?"

A subtle nod was your only response, hoping he'd take the hint that you weren't in the mood for small talk. The hangover clung stubbornly, and the whiff of his breath was a cruel taunt against the fragile peace you were maintaining over your stomach.

"So, do you find this kind of tech stuff challenging?" he asked, a little too casually. The question hung awkwardly in the air. You sought to put some distance between you, yet he matched your every move, keeping the space closed. "I mean, I'm pretty good with my hands, not just with machines honestly."

Ew.

You mustered a smile, though you were sure it was more of a grimace. The room felt smaller, the walls inching closer. "I usually manage," you responded, the strain evident in your voice.

He leaned closer, if that was possible, it was like the concept of personal space was foreign to him. "Maybe I can show you a few tricks, help you manage a little better?"

His words were light, but his proximity was anything but, almost suffocating.

Just as you were firmly about to tell him to shove it, a sharp voice beat you to it--probably for the best.

"That won't be necessary."

The forensics guy, whose name you still hadn't gotten, straightened, his smile faltering under the weight of Hotch's piercing, don't fuck with me, stare. A look usually saved for unsubs and incompetent officers, but now it singled out this man.

The same look remained on the poor guy as he directed his words to you, "why don't you join me? We need to go over some case details."

It really wasn't a question.

The man backed up instantly, mumbling something under his breath about just trying to help, but Hotch's glare followed him until he was well out of earshot.

Surprisingly, a similar sharpness was aimed at you as soon as he opened his mouth. "I'd appreciate it if you chose to flirt on your own time, not the Bureau's."

His words landed with the sting of an unexpected slap. You blinked, taken aback. "What? I wasn't--,"

But he didn't allow you time to finish. Instead, he pushed a water bottle in your hands, his eyes scrutinizing your face with such an intensity that you wished the floor would swallow you whole. "Drink. You look pale."

"Gee, thanks," you grumbled, under your breath, more to yourself than him, as he wheeled around and headed briskly for the briefing room.

Your steps lagged slightly behind him, your forehead lined with a thoughtful frown. What was that about? The way he acted--the tightness that had formed around his mouth and the harshness in his words, it was so unlike him, well, at least for it to be directed at you.

The rest of the day unfolded just as you thought it would upon waking--like shit. Hotch kept his distance, his exchanges with you brief and to the point. Every time you tried to grab his attention, hoping to clarify things (why you felt the need you weren't sure), he was already looking else, focused on literally anything but you.

It was painfully evident that he was avoiding any personal conversation with you, a realization that bit deeper than anticipated.

The office slowly emptied, the case binding you and Hotch to the briefing room, the only sounds being the faint gentle tapping of your pen and the occasional snap of your hair tie.

It was late when you finally spoke. "Hotch, this says the victim had fibers under his nails that don't match anything from the suspect's home."

Hotch's gaze snapped up to yours. "Are you saying you think the forensics team missed that?"

You met his eyes squarely, cocking your head to the side at the tone of his voice. "I'm not saying anything. I'm just pointing something out."

He bridged the space between you, his jaw set in a firm line. You could feel the warmth spreading across your cheeks as the distance dwindled.

"I'm just saying I don't want you jumping to conclusions based on underdeveloped theories."

You met his eyes with a glare, your teeth grinding together in the process. "Underdeveloped? Is that how you see my contributions now?"

The space between you had now vanished, your heart racing, finger almost poking into his chest as you spoke.

Hotch settled back against the wall, arms folded across his chest, giving you a pointed look. "I didn't say that," he replied, his voice level, markedly different from your agitated one. "We just can't afford to investigate every insignificant detail."

"Every insignificant detail?" you scoffed, "these are leads, Hotch."

His shoulders lift in an indifferent shrug that made you want to wrap your hands around his throat, and not in the good way. "Maybe. However, we need to be sure before we pursue it."

Drawing in a controlled breath, you fought to stay calm, but he was making it very hard. The sensation was all too reminiscent of college, contending with the overconfident frat boys just to voice your thoughts. That comparison may have been a tad extreme--Hotch was far from being like those insufferable boys, but he was certainly pushing your limits right now.

"I am sure. Why aren't you listening."

"I am listening," he said, but his voice was distant. "I just... I just don't want to get sidetracked, that's all."

"Sidetracked? By what, exactly?"

"I'm just not sure you're all here right now."

You felt your cheeks warming with a tinge of shame, but you pushed back, fists clenched at your sides. "I'm here, Hotch. I'm focused."

"Because last night—,"

"Last night was a mistake, okay? I got it. I already apologized for that. But I'm not irresponsible, my focus is on this case."

A lengthy pause followed, his expression unreadable. "You're certain about that?"

"Yes, I'm certain," you snapped, moving towards him again. "And for the record, JJ said you were okay with us having a few drinks."

"I was," he admitted. "But I didn't think—,"

You didn't let him finish. "What, that I'd get wasted? That I'd do something stupid? I'm sorry I'm not perfect."

"Well, yeah."

"Screw you, Hotch."

You knew that was a mistake the minute his nostrils flared, his chest now a pressing force against yours.

Then, without warning, his lips crashed into yours. A muffled oomph of surprise left you, your hands hanging motionless at first, only to quickly melt, grasping at his jacket, pulling him into you.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, nor was it kind, but it was magic, exceeding anything you could have imagined, setting every fiber of you on fire. His lips pressed against yours with an intensity that drew out a breathy sigh, arousal tingling through you, and your passion rose to meet his, equally hungry, equally desperate.

Your fantasies had never done him justice--kissing him was intoxicating, and now you could feel yourself getting lost in the sensation, realizing it was everything you never dared to hope for.

Drawing back just enough, his hands drew you closer, pressing against the dip of your back, his breath fusing with yours in a dizzying blend, making the air seem scarce.

Against the soft pressure of his lips, you murmured, "I wasn't flirting."

There's a pause as his eyes locked on yours, searching, questioning. Then, his hand settled at the side of your neck. "You better not have been."

Any witty comeback you had dissipated as his lips crashed against yours again, more urgently this time, his hands tracing every contour of your clothed body with an insatiable curiosity.

His grip tightened around your waist, effortlessly lifting you onto the briefing table's cold surface with a resounding thud, his palms then cradling your thighs. Documents and files fluttered beneath you, hopefully they weren't too important. His eyes, dark pools of brown, were meticulously scanning your face.

"You," he breathes out, his voice a low rumble laced with something you couldn't quite place, "have consumed my thoughts since the moment I discovered you on my couch." He inches closer, his breath scorching your cheek as his fingers waltzed a pattern up your thighs. "Do you understand that feeling? The intense frustration?"

You were rendered motionless, frozen in place, scared to even twitch and risk this all being a very realistic wet dream. This was Hotch, your boss, the man defined by his lack of outward emotion. To think that you--of all people--could have an effect on him was an overwhelming concept. The room seemed to tilt on its axis as he gently guided your legs apart, positioning himself between them.

"Y-Yeah, I know," you uttered unevenly, your thoughts scattering as your hands tentatively reached for his collar.

"So, you know what it's like, huh?"

Your nod was subtle, a flustered smile briefly lighting up your expressions.

"And?" he prompts, while his fingers explore the shape of your thighs, squeezing gently.

You squirm under his gaze, the intensity of it making your heart race inside your chest.

"And... it's annoying," you confess, puffing out a breath, trying sound annoyed, but the delicate blush dusting your nose gave you away, you were sure.

"Annoying?" Hotch repeats, his hand tenderly angling your face upward, his smile laced with a taunt. "Is that all?"

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "It's distracting," your voice was softer now, desire pooling in your belly as you grasp just how compromising of a position you were in.

"Distracting," he tsked, echoing you once again as he nodded solemnly, pulling your hips into his. Your mouth parted in an 'o' of surprise, your gaze lifting to meet his. "Have I been the subject of your thoughts, then?"

Your head dipped in a nod, your fingers brushing against his firm chest, a soft blush coloring your cheeks. "Maybe a little, in a totally platonic boss-employee type of way."

"Oh yeah?"

You caught your lip between your teeth, considering your next words very carefully. "Well, maybe more than a little, and maybe more than just a boss."

"Oh, wow," his breath was a warm hover over your lips, hanging in the space between you. You ached for the tase of him again, rich with dark expresso and spiced cinnamon. It was a lovely combination. "Sounds serious."

You released a hushed giggle, a light note floating between you as your foreheads met. "It's not like I can help it."

"And why is that?"

"Because," you paused, wetting your lips in anticipation, "you're infuriatingly unforgettable, that's why."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"You would."

He was kissing you again. This time a little softer, unhurried, and the whole reason for your argument faded into nothingness. Although if insubordination led to this sweet consequence, it might just become a habit.

His lips traced a path down your throat, prompting your head to tilt back, baring the expanse of your skin to his exploration. Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him impossibly close. The world seemed distant, the sensation dreamlike, buoyed by the soft lull of a lust-induced haze.

Reason gave way to impulse; your hands lost in the softness of his hair, your back arching to his hands grasping at your ass, your clothed pussy grinding against his erection.

His hands hesitated, hovering as he reached for your top, his eyes holding yours. "Is this okay?"

You nodded, more eagerly than necessary, but that still wasn't good enough for him.

"I need a verbal yes or no."

Desperation clung to you, a needy sigh escaping you as you squirmed into his touch, his hands halting your restless movements. "Yes, please, Hotch."

"You were so eager to call me Aaron last night. Say it again."

"Aaron, please, I need you to touch me," your voice rang out, imbued with such sweetness making his length constrict against the fabric of his slacks.

His fingers deftly navigated to the hem of your shirt, sliding it over your head with a fluid motion. Your bra was next, its clasp yielding effortlessly to his touch, your tits releasing with a gentle bounce, and he fought back a groan as his large hands enveloped them.

"Every bit as perfect as I remembered," he said, his fingers skillfully pulling and twisting at the nubs as you brought you forehead to meet his, a breathy gasp tumbling from your lips at the contact.

You arched your back into his heads as he let out a soft chuckle, loving the way your body reacting to him. Your eyes held a glazed-over look, lips parted ever so slightly, and you looked up at him expectantly in way that could surely kill him.

His hands moved slowly down your sides before brushing the sensitive skin under your waist band. You swallowed a gasp, moving your hips into his again, rolling yourself against his stiff erection.

His palms pressed against your hips. "Slow down. Let me take my time with you, yeah?"

You were at his discretion; he could ask you to jump into oncoming traffic right now and you'd probably say yes.

A nod was all you could manage as you fought the urge to move, every muscle tensed, waiting for him to make the first move, but god was it hard. You couldn't really believe this was happening, until the solid press of his thumb against your clit brought the moment into sharp focus.

"Aaron, god," you gasped, your hands tangled in the hair at the nape of his neck. Your teeth found your bottom lip harshly, trying not to show him just how easily you could come apart right now.

"Is that good, honey?"

Honey. You could practically feel the arousal dripping your thighs as you nodded eagerly.

The pad of his thumb glided between your folds, gathering the slickness to continue his assault against your swollen clit. You buried your face deeper into his suit jacket, attempting to stifle the embarrassing sounds that you couldn't seem to contain.

A whine of protest filled the space between you as his hand slipped away from your pants. His eyes bore into you as he gathered the strands at the back of your neck, guiding your gaze to yours.

"None of that. Let me hear you gorgeous."

"Aaron, please, I need your fingers inside me, please."

You were painfully aware of how ridiculous you sounded, knew that if anyone else was in the office right now, you'd be so screwed, fired probably, but as his fingers dipped into your cunt those concerns dissolved quickly.

"Since you asked so nicely."

He was torturing you--his pace aggravatingly slow, working in and out of you as you tried to fight the overwhelming desire to slam your legs shut. It was so much, yet not enough. You ground yourself against his hands as his other hand clamped around your back, keeping you from falling back.

"That's it, baby, fuck yourself on my fingers."

His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, his chest rising and falling in a way that only seemed to spur you on, doing exactly as he ordered. His words felt foreign in your ears, before today you could never imagine him talking like this, so vulgarly.

"Aaron, I-I need—," you paused, your eyes falling to his pants, more specifically the hardened cock inside them.

"Yeah? Is that what you want?"

"Yes, fuck, please," you gasped as his fingers hit that one spot just right. Your head lolled back as you clutched at his collar, his arm behind you keeping you in place.

"Watch your mouth," he said, and for some reason that was enough to send you right over that never ending ledge, your stomach coiling, heat spreading under your skin, every part of you ached.

"Oh—, Aaron, I-I'm—," you were a blubbering mess, rocking without mercy against his fingers, his thumb brushing against your nub in a way that made you feel like you had met your maker.

"That's it, baby, go ahead."

That was enough for you, your walls clenching around his fingers, back arching into him and you swore for a minute you could see stars. He helped you ride out your high.

You were wholeheartedly convinced; this was heaven. You had died and gone to heaven and the first one to greet you was Hotch, his hands tracing soothing patterns on your bare skin in an attempt to bring you back down to Earth.

Just as you were about to reach for his pants, determined to feel him inside of you, his phone went off. Of fucking course. He shot you an apologetic look, the sound a wake-up call, pulling you both from the lust-fueled moment.

He moved back with a couple steps, offering nods and muted words to whoever was calling at 12 am. You were suddenly extremely aware of your appearance--topless and on the briefing table for crying out loud.

You attempted to stand, your legs betraying you with a wobble that had him instantly clasping your arm firmly, his attention flickering from the phone to the tremors in your stance. You gave him a small in return as if to say I'm fine.

You reached across the table, grabbing your shirt from its discarded state, not bothering with the bra as you dressed quickly. He cleared his throat, causing you to turn, just in time to see his phone disappear into his pocket.

"That was the Stafford police chief, there was another murder," he explained.

"Oh, right, okay, um..." you started, your brain racing into overdrive as you instinctively moved towards the door. "I just need to..."

Your movement was too quick, a dizzying spin that resulted in you tumbling into Hotch's solid frame. His reflexes were immediate, hands clasping onto you once again, preventing you from landing straight into him.

"Whoa, hey, are you okay?" he asked, brows knitting in a frown, "take a second."

"Yeah, um, yeah, I'm good," you managed to get out, even as heat suffused your face. "Just need to get changed, uh, can't imagine either of us want to the team to find me like this."

"Right."

He was still frowning, and you wanted nothing more than to kiss away the harsh lines of his forehead, but you were sure he wouldn't appreciate the gesture.

You made a beeline for your office, the door's thud barely registering over pulsating rush in your ears. God, you were so screwed.

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