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pathologicalreid · 8 months ago

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prisoner | s.r.

in which you and Spencer conduct a custodial interview with a serial killer - Spencer's first since he was released

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst content warnings: post prison reid, fwb but also mutual pining, serial killers, prison, panic attack, chiromancy word count: 3.66k a/n: i originally came up with this idea in 2023 😭 😭 it's about time i finished it lol. definitely suffers from exposition overload but i don't caaaaare.

Fourteen times.

You had asked him fourteen times if he thought he was going to be okay doing the custodial interview. No one else was available to do it, but you still had your reservations. Sending Spencer to a prison felt wrong, even if he wasn’t on the inside of the bars anymore.

Without telling him the reason, Emily elected to send you with him to the facility, she said it was because you had never done one before, but you knew it was deeper than that. “How many victims?” You asked, not taking your eyes off the road as you drove to the destination.

“Eight,” Spencer answered, looking through the case file. The killer had asked for the interview, hoping to be transferred to a minimum-security facility. The odds weren’t good, but you needed to oblige the request even if it wouldn’t prove successful.

You hummed, turning down the road, you pulled up to the security station. Presenting your credentials to the guard, he lifted the gate for you, and you found your reserved parking. “Do you want to take the lead?” You asked him, trying to gauge how he was doing.

Nodding, Spencer got out of the SUV. You shut off the engine and followed suit. “Unless it doesn’t seem like he’s responding to me, I’d rather not present him with someone who fits in with his victim pool.”

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you said sardonically, grabbing your bag from the backseat before locking the car and following Spencer inside.

The two of you went through security, locking up your weapons and going through metal detectors. It wasn’t until you went inside the first gate that you noticed it; Spencer was fiddling with the belt loop of his slacks. “I can feel you staring,” he whispered so only you could hear. You watched his posture relax when the gate buzzed and opened in front of him.

You smiled softly, “I can see you fidgeting,” you responded. At work, the two of you were merely coworkers who knew each other really well, so you couldn’t just reach out and take his hand. Not that you’d want to, in a prison full of serial killers.

“I’ll be fine,” he said, implying that he wasn’t right now. The smile fell off your face as the two of you followed the guard into the warden’s office.

At the sight of you, the warden stood and smiled, “You must be Agents Y/L/N and Reid, thank you for making the trip down here.”

Raising your eyebrows, you reach out your hand for the warden to shake, “He’s Dr. Reid, actually.” You corrected, seeing as Spencer didn’t seem to have noticed.

“Ah, my apologies, Dr. Reid,” he responded kindly, gesturing for the two of you to follow him.

Spencer gently brushed your hand as you followed the warden. It was so subtle that someone else could’ve brushed it off as an accident, but Spencer Reid never did anything without purpose.

“Marshal Lukins is the most prolific killer we’ve had in my time here, we aren’t expecting anything to come of this, but you know as well as I do that we have to humor the psychos,” Warden McCall told you, stopping in front of a gate and calling out for it to be opened.

You raised your eyebrows, deciding against telling the warden that Lukins profiled as a sociopath, not a psychopath. “How’s his behavior been here?”

The warden shrugged, “He won’t be winning any merit badges any time soon, that’s for sure. Spends most of his time in solitary, really.”

“His file said he had gotten into an altercation with another prisoner, what was that about?” Spencer asked.

McCall cleared his throat, “turf war. You know, prison gangs can get rowdy. Especially when they find out the feds are coming.”

You raised your eyebrows, grateful you couldn’t see Spencer’s expression. “Oh, yeah,” he said quietly.

Then you were in front of a serial killer, someone who had been put away years ago, but the way he looked at you sent shivers down your spine. “Marshal Lukins?” You confirmed.

“Why hello, pretty lady,” Lukins responded, rising from the chair. His legs were chained to the ground, but his hands were free.

Behind you, Spencer cleared his throat, “Sit down,” he ordered. Taking a tone of authority that you weren’t sure you’d ever heard from him.

Taking your seat across from Lukins, you looked him in the eyes, “You may call me Agent Y/L/N.”

Your interviewee shrugged, “I’ll call you whatever I want in my mind later.”

Ignoring the hairs that stood up on the back of your neck, you rolled your eyes at the skeevy pervert. “If you want to be transferred, you’re not making a very good first impression,” Spencer intervened, likely aware of your discomfort.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t the first criminal to make a pass at you, and in your line of work, it likely wouldn’t be the last.

“I’m not much worried about first impressions, people usually have a first opinion about me before they even hear my voice,” he responded, leaning back in the chair.

You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from responding, yeah, that happens when you murder eight women. “What would you rather our opinion of you be? That you’re misunderstood? Did you find god in prison, Marshal?” You asked him.

He leaned over the table ever so slightly, yellowed teeth flashing beneath the fluorescent light that hung above the interrogation table, “Would you like me to show him to you?”

Raising your eyebrows, you maintained a bored disposition while flipping open your files, “No.”

With custodials like this, you weren’t allowed to have photos in your files. Lukins was a sexual sadist, and the profile that Aaron Hotchner had put together was damning, describing the man in front of you to a T. He even got the age correct, right down to the receding hairline. Even though Lukins was in prison, you’d never provide him with visual aids to relive his crimes.

“Why did you request this interview if you weren’t interested in playing nice?” Spencer asked, setting his own files on the table in front of him, but he refrained from opening them. He managed to memorize their contents on the drive from Quantico, enabling him to weaponize his memory.

Lukins put his hands up in mock surrender, “I was hoping they’d send me someone nice to look at, make a good conversation with, and boy am I glad I took that chance.”

Spencer clasped his hands together and set them on the steel table, “Thank you,” he responded, keeping himself stone-faced in the presence of the killer.

“I wasn’t talking to you,” the criminal in front of you snapped, jutting his chin in your direction.

Bored, your partner spoke up again, “Yes, you are,” he corrected. You were unable to communicate with Spencer without tipping off Lukins, so you let him continue, trusting that he knew where he was going with this. “In your trial, you said all of your victims were your sheep,” Spencer recalled from the file, “Is that why you shaved their heads before gutting them?”

Lukins scoffed, bored easily within the confines of the interview, “My sheep were my friends, but every sheep needs a wolf. Isn’t that right, Bo Peep?” He asked you, meeting your gaze despite the fact that Spencer all but told him not to engage with you.

You narrowed your gaze at him, tilting your head innocently, “Would you have let me be one of your sheep?”

He gave you a look that made you feel like you needed a shower, “You would’ve been a nice addition, could’ve rounded out my numbers.”

He reached out a hand, trying to take a piece of your hair between his grimy fingers, but you stood up quickly, stepping back from the table and almost tripping over your chair in response.

A few prison guards came in at the sudden movement, and Spencer had a vice-like grip on Lukins’ wrist, keeping him away from you. Tossing his arm back at him, Spencer glared at the killer, “No touching,” he instructed, looking back at you to check-in. He opened the door to the room, ushering you out before looking at the guards, “I want him in cuffs.”

With a hand on the small of your back, Spencer herded you to the private space that the two of you were expected to inhabit for the day. “Hey,” you spoke to him once the door was shut behind you.

Spencer was filled to the brim with nervous energy, shaking out his hands in an attempt to expel his nerves, “We should just go back to Quantico.” He shook his head, brown curls fanning out around his face, “There’s no way he can tell us anything that will get us to endorse his transfer.”

Watching him like this made your chest ache, and you had no idea what to do with that emotion. Your relationship with Spencer was strictly horizontal—usually—and you found yourself floundering when it came to how to act outside of bed. You wanted to take his hand, desperate to run your fingers over his knuckles and find the familiar callus from where his pencil rests on his finger, but you just couldn’t get yourself to reach out.

You hadn’t known Spencer before he was arrested in Mexico, but you made your mark on him without ever letting him lay his eyes on you. You sent letters to him along with the rest of the team, refraining from talking about cases and instead choosing to use your letters as a personal diary, chronicling your first three months with the Behavioral Analysis Unit with your prison pen pal. Periodically, you put money in his commissary account, despite the rest of the team telling you that you shouldn’t feel inclined to.

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes tracked his pacing in the conference room before you started to voice your concern, “We have to go back in, Reid.” You grabbed a water bottle from the counter and twisted the cap off before handing it to him.

He took the water begrudgingly, glaring at you as he did so, “Why do we have to go back in, exactly?” After taking a sip of the water, he handed it to you so you could have some. You could’ve grabbed your own, but surely this was quicker.

“Lukins said I would’ve rounded out his numbers,” you told him, nervously fiddling with the cap of the water bottle as you waited for him to get it.

Spencer adjusted his tie, pulling the silk fabric further from his neck, “Yeah, I heard him.” It bothered him, the slightest implication that you were endangered in that interview room put him on edge, but all you could do was sit down and watch him.

You sighed, “We only have a record of eight victims. We don’t know what he’s rounding to, but that’s at least two more bodies that we don’t know about.” Lukins could be rounding up to ten, which would be the closest option, or you were looking at the possibility of a considerably higher body count. Your fear was that he would use those additional kills as a bartering tool to get a transfer.

He stopped in his tracks while he processed what you were telling him. Spencer turned to you, lips parted before he nodded, eventually agreeing with you even if it pained him to do so. “We should call Emily and let her know what’s going on,” he told you, taking a seat across from you and placing his head in his hands. “I’m gonna step outside for a second,” he said, getting up just as quickly as he took a seat and swinging the door open, leaving you alone in the conference room.

Holding your tongue, you stopped yourself from voicing your approval, even though you did think some fresh air would be good for him. Instead, you watched the door click shut before fishing your phone out of your pocket, tapping on Emily’s contact before bringing the phone to your ear.

“How’s it going?” Emily asked you as soon as she answered, and you couldn’t help but picture your unit chief waiting by her phone, hoping to hear from you or Spencer.

You sighed, inadvertently cluing her into how the custodial interview was going, “We might have a problem,” you told her. Continuing on to explain what had happened between you and Marshal Lukins, all the way up through your discovery that he might have a higher victim count.

Prentiss clicked her tongue on the other end of the line, “What does Spencer think?”

The question didn’t come as a surprise to you, neither did the fact that her inflection told you that she was sneakily trying to ask you how Spencer was. Wiping your free palm along the fabric of your pants, you leaned against the table, “Reid thinks Lukins is out for blood.” You opened your mouth to continue but were interrupted by an alarm being tripped, your head snapped up as lights started to flash on the walls.

“What’s going on?” Emily questioned you over the phone, but you could barely hear her over the blare of the alarm, a low-pitched buzzing sound that made your brain feel like it was vibrating within your skull.

Clambering to your feet, you grabbed your water bottle and walked out of the room, slamming the door shut behind you as you looked aimlessly around the prison for someone who could offer you an explanation. “I’ve gotta go,” you blurted into the receiver, stuffing your phone in your pocket and making your way to the front of the prison, ignoring the men who shouted at you from behind bars.

You looked down the walkway, watching as the failsafe on the doors was triggered and they slowly started to shut, triggering you to try and make a run for it. “Y/N,” Spencer called out your name, picking up his own pace from the opposite direction.

It didn’t take you long to realize that you weren’t going to make it, skidding to a halt as the bars clicked shut in front of you. You weren’t scared until you watched Spencer pull at the door, frantically trying to slide it open, “Reid,” you said his name, trying to get his attention. “Reid,” you shouted that time, trying to make sure he heard you over the alarm.

He didn’t pause to look at you, he simply continued to pull at the bars.

“Spence,” you said desperately, and that time his eyes snapped to yours. Wide brown eyes bore into yours as you placed one of your hands on his, both of them encircling the bar. “It’s not going to open,” you reminded him. A fact he was well aware of but didn’t want to acknowledge.

Silently, he leaned back into the wall, sliding down the side of it and looking up at the ceiling, pulling at his tie again, this time taking it all the way off. “It’s a lockdown,” he panted helplessly, “They’re in a lockdown.”

You nodded softly, having drawn that conclusion on your own, “It’s okay,” you told him softly, reaching through the bars and taking one of his hands in yours. “You’re alright, Spence,” you continued, your tone bordering on a coo.

He pulled his knees to his chest and slung his free arm over his legs, hugging himself.

It broke your heart to watch him like this. You pointed in the direction he came from, “Look. Hey, you could be free to leave, I’m the one who’s locked in,” you told him, highlighting the fact that the bars were blocking you, but Spencer could make his way back to the entryway.

“Not helping,” he told you, his voice almost a gasp as he tried to regulate his breathing.

Your shoulder’s slumped forward slightly, “I’m sorry. What can I do?”

Spencer just shook his head, squeezing your hand in response when you started sweeping your thumb over his knuckles. You ignored the buzzing of your phone in your pocket as you watched him, completely focused on making sure he was okay before you did anything else.

With your free hand, you grabbed the water bottle that you took from the conference room and slipped it through the bars. “Here, take this,” you murmured, setting it on the ground next to him when he didn’t take the bottle from you.

He visibly relaxed when the alarm stopped going off, but the lights were still flashing, which offered somewhat of an explanation as to why the door hadn’t opened yet.

You fiddled with his hand, opening up his palm and tracing the lines on his hand with your index finger, “Have you ever had your palm read?” You asked him, twisting your head to get a better look at it.

He looked at you, the panicked look in his eyes had subsided, promptly replaced with incredulity, “When have I ever struck you as the kind of person who would get my palm read?”

Shrugging, you slowly traced his love line, “You like Halloween, I thought maybe you’d let your curiosity get the best of you.” Although you supposed if Spencer really wanted to have his palm read, he’d just do it yourself. “When I was in college, my summer job was reading palms in a booth at an amusement park,” you informed him.

Spencer chuckled at your revelation, and the sound made your heart sing, “That is… oddly endearing.”

Nodding, you looked at his hand again, “Chiromancy says men were born with their left hand, and their right is what they accumulate throughout life,” you told him softly, sliding your other hand through the bar.

“Actually, I was born with both of my hands,” Spencer responded, a teasing lilt in his voice.

You rolled your eyes, studying his left hand intently, “You have water hands,” you said, showing him his own palm as if he’d never seen it before.

Spencer raised his eyebrows at you, “Well, now you’re just making things up,” he openly teased you that time, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Humming, you furrowed your brows and pointed at his hand, “This is your head line,” you explained. “See how it’s long and straight? It sort of tapers off before the end of your palm—that means you tend to think realistically.”

“I could’ve told you that,” he challenged, but his eyes were following along as you pointed at his palm.

You shook your head and sighed, “Here’s your life line,” you said, pointing to a different line and tracing it with your fingertip. “It’s straight and goes down to the edge of your palm, which means you’re cautious about relationships,” you continued softly, leaning your head against one of the bars of the door.

He was silent after that one, briefly taking his bottom lip between his teeth and looking down at his hand. You could tell that even though he didn’t quite believe what you were saying, he was perfectly fine with humoring you.

“This is your fate line,” you told him, entirely expecting to lose him the moment you began discussing fate. “It’s broken down the middle and curved in different directions, and that means you’re prone to a lot of changes in life. Changes influenced by external forces.”

Gently, Spencer pulled his hand away from yours, flexing his hand before looking down at it, “You’ve officially lost me.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up, “I’m surprised you lasted this long.” Just long enough apparently, the doors buzzed soon after, and you withdrew your hands from the slots as the bars slid into a hole in the wall.

Spencer got up first, dusting off his hands before he extended a hand to help you up. Your hand lingered in his for just a moment too long, the exchange oddly intimate for the two of you before his arms dropped to his side, “Thank you,” he murmured, a shy smile on his face.

Shrugging, you crossed your arms in front of your stomach, “There’s nothing to thank, Reid.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d think that it was disappointment that flashed across his face at your reply.

The warden had rather unceremoniously asked the two of you to leave, citing security concerns and letting you know that he’d be in contact with Emily to reschedule. Emily had called you six times during the lockdown, but you’d texted her once everything was clear.

Which left you heading back to the SUV with Spencer, there were prisoners out in the yard, so he walked on the inside, blocking your body from the view of the inmates. “Are you alright?” You asked him, feeling more free to inquire now that you were in the open air.

He nodded, “I’m fine, I just really wasn’t expecting something like that to happen when I asked Emily to send me on this custodial.”

Your footsteps faltered at his words, “You asked to go on this custodial?”

Spencer frowned, “I was on this case originally ten years ago, so I asked Emily to let me go.”

“And she said yes?” You asked incredulously.

Spencer opened the back door for you to place your bag in, “Not initially, but eventually she realized that I’d be her only option if she wanted to get it done today.” He shut the door and shoved his hands in his pockets, “It’s a lot earlier than I thought we’d be getting back, do you want to stop and get lunch on the way back to Quantico?”

Your eyes went wide and you were grateful that he couldn’t see your expression, “Uh, sure. Why not?”

“Perfect,” he said, “Maybe I can get you to tell me why you avoided reading my love line.”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #spencer reid x fem!reader #written by margot #margotober #angstober

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valyrielwrites · 4 months ago

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As You Are

Part 2/? (full fic available on Ao3)

Relationship: Aemond Targaryen / AFAB Reader Word Count: 2308 Summary: Set one month after the wedding, you and your husband Prince Aemond come to terms with the growing love that blooms within the bright flame of desire. Warnings: Smut, 18+ themes, Oral, Sex

Author Note: This is a follow up to what was originally a oneshot that I posted back in 2023, which can be found here (Part 1). However, this can also be read as a stand alone ✨ enjoy!

You woke to the sound of chirping birds, squinting as your bleary eyes adjusted to the warm morning light that filtered through the half-opened curtains. Last night's sheets were still wrapped around your tender body as you rolled over to find your husband's side of the bed, empty and unmade.

Prince Aemond sat a short distance away, his unbound silver hair tucked behind his ear as he remained perched in an armchair by the open window, a leather-bound book in hand.

It had only been a month since the wedding, and although you had your own personal quarters, you still spent most of your mornings like that - warming your husband's bed, reluctant to part from him unless necessary, relishing the comfort that his company brought you.

"Come back to bed..." you hummed, your throat hoarse and heavy from your slumber.

He looked up at the sound of your voice, the sapphire in his eye refracting ever so slightly in the light, "I couldn't sleep."

"We do not have to sleep," you said.

A small smile broke the focus on his face as you carelessly sat up, allowing the silk sheets to slip and expose your bare breast in an open invitation.

"You're incorrigible," he sighed and raised a brow, yet put his book down all the same.

You gave him a wicked smile, "Am I?"

Aemond stood and walked slowly toward the bed, his hand ghosting the knot at his waist that barely held his robe together, those long fingers sliding carefully in but pausing just short of unfastening the loop.

"Here I am, enjoying a perfectly good book, and yet you are determined to drive me to distraction..." he stopped at the foot of the bed and looked down at you with a warm smile that betrayed his scolding tone.

You playfully kicked out your leg, stroking along the length of his thigh with your foot as you pouted, "I am terribly sorry, my prince."

"My wife ought to know her place," he teased, a considering look in his eye as he trailed his fingers along the curve of your calf. "Hmm, I dread to know what others at court might say about your behaviour."

"Well, 'tis hard to know my place when my husband so cruelly abandons me come dawn..."

"Abandons?" he scoffed. "You would accuse me of being so heartless? When I simply wished not to disturb your slumber?"

You squealed in delight when he grasped your ankle to drag you slowly across the mattress, your back slipping against the silk sheets with ease as you offered no resistance. Your body ached for him, something dark and consuming pooled in the pit of your stomach as he set you down against the edge of the bed beneath his towering figure.

"Ah - I humbly beg my Lord husband's forgiveness for any offence caused," you giggled unapologetically, sitting up and shaking your tousled hair out of your face to better see his mock disapproval.

Aemond's hand caressed your jaw, carefully lifting your gaze to meet him as he stroked his thumb along your bottom lip, "How shall you make it up to me?"

"I have a few ideas," your voice was low, desperate with wanting.

Aemond took a sharp breath as you pulled apart the knot that keeps his robe together, his hardening cock suddenly freed from the fabric as you took him in your hand and stroked slowly from the head to the base. You wet your lips and leant forward to press a delicate kiss against the shaft, your grip tightening just ever so slightly as his fingers entangled themselves amidst your hair.

He smirked, "Enlighten me?"

Aemond twitched when you gazed up at him, desire blazing through your eyes as you carefully flit your tongue along the pre-cum that gathered at the tip, watching eagerly when his lips parted and a small gasp caught in his throat.

You took your time, slowly but surely wrapping your lips around him as you lowered your mouth onto his considerable length, relaxing your jaw to take him as far as you could before the urge to breathe again had a chance to spoil your fun.

"Fuck -" Aemond plead, his hand stroking the crown of your head as he guided you.

You let out a hum of satisfaction while you swirled your tongue around his cock, bobbing your head, and watching the way that your husband's head rolled forward with a low groan. Aemond grunted and held you in place when you swallowed, a feverish heat prickling up his spine when you groaned around his cock and pushed yourself as far as you can go before your breath escapes you.

He drank in the sight of you, your body flush with desire, with the insatiable hunger that had alighted between you. It took everything he had not to buck his hips, to chase the pleasure that you coaxed from him, to allow you the power to unravel him so perfectly.

You withdrew with a gasp for air, your lungs desperate for relief, the laughter shaky in your throat as Aemond quickly leant down to steal a kiss.

"Am I forgiven?" you moaned softly into his mouth, his tongue hot as it caressed your own.

"Not yet," he whispered, his teeth grazing your lower lip. "But if this is the kind of apology I can expect to receive, perhaps we should bicker more often?"

"Only if you extend the same courtesy to me," you replied.

"Hmm... " he grinned. "It would be my pleasure."

You felt his hand cup the swell of your breast, his touch was warm against the cool morning air as his thumb traced circles around your nipple, his kiss softening as he lowered himself to kneel on the edge of the mattress.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes half-lidded, your forehead resting against his own. Aemond allowed you a moment to catch your breath, for you to weave your fingers through his silver hair and graze the nape of his neck, before he slowly shifted and pulled you into his lap. His hands stroked along the outline of your body, charting every bend and curve in his endless endeavour to know you as no other man could.

He brought his lips to yours again, his voice low as his hand wandered to the apex of your thighs, "Here?"

"Aemond -" you let out a ragged breath, a wordless plea for more as his forefinger began to run slow clumsy strokes against your clit.

"You're already so wet for me," he hissed as you deepened the kiss, his finger slipping inside with ease. "I could take you right now," he withdrew to the knuckle and slowly pushed back in with a second digit. "Is that what you want?"

You whimpered as his thumb stopped at the bud, pressing firm as his fingers thrust in and out with agonising precision, pleasure pooling in your belly as you rocked your hips forward. His lips found the crook of your neck as your head rolled back, playfully nipping the sensitive skin as you reached for his cock and found it harder than ever before.

Aemond groaned, the pace of his fingers quickening as you stroked him, overcome by an aching need to bury himself inside you. Acting entirely on impulse, before he even realised what he was doing, he removed his fingers and brushed your hand aside to move you so that your body was finally flush against his.

"I need you in me," you begged him as he angled his cock beneath you, the tip brushing perfectly against your swollen clit on its way to your entrance. "Seven hells, Aemond... Fuck -"

You locked eyes as he raised his hips, and the length of him finally pushed in, his gaze intent and unwavering as he sheathed himself as deep as he could go. He stared and stared at you, holding your head in place so that you couldn't look away, and a deep and unspeakable sense of belonging closed the space around you until you were all that was left in his world.

You let out a restrained groan at the way that your body tightened around him, at how full he had made you. Your hands gripped the strong muscles around his shoulders, pulling him into an eager embrace, as if clinging to him could ground you somewhat - to remind you of who you were when the rest of your senses escaped you.

Aemond closed his eye and buried his face into your neck as his hands rested at your lower back, his cock twitching inside of you as he breathed in your scent, for a moment unsure how to tell where he ended and you began. All that he knew, all that he could be... You were his, and he was yours, joined body and soul to become two parts of a greater whole.

You rolled your hips forward as naturally as breathing, a pulse of relief flooding your veins as your body relaxed into him with a gratified shudder. You felt Aemond's mouth on your neck, trailing kisses up and alongside your jaw, his breath hot and heady as you leant back far enough for his lips to find your own again, muffling the sounds that you made.

He matched your movement, rocking his hips in time with your own as the pace gathered a sense of urgency, a longing call for release that heightened with every thrust. Aemond could feel how close you already were, the way your muscles tensed, how frantic your moans had become, as you locked your legs around his waist to try to gain some leverage and drive him deeper.

"-Not yet," he gasped, his voice commanding and raw, as he suddenly lifted you again and shuffled up the bed, tossing you onto your back against the pillows.

You whined at the unforeseen pause, watching the way his cock glistened with your arousal as he adjusted his position, yearning for him to be inside you again before you could realise how empty it feels when he is not.

"Put it back in," you pleaded. "Please... Oh gods, I love how you feel when you're inside me."

Aemond knelt upright, pulling your legs up over his shoulders as he brought the head of his cock back home again.

"You love it, hmm?" he asked as he leant forward and bore his weight with both arms.

"Yes-" you tilted your hips up, chasing that connection, brow furrowed in frustration as you only got as far as the tip.

Aemond let out a huff of laughter, his head dipping even closer as he brought his forehead to rest against yours, "... Do you love me?"

You swallowed, stopping as you finally met his gaze again and felt the weight of the air between you, your chest heaving with each ragged breath. You already knew the answer, and he did too, but neither of you had breathed truth into those words yet.

It was strange how something so simple could mean so much, how the dull flame of desire could burn into the brightest love you had ever known.

You reached up to tuck a silver strand behind his ear, your fingers tenderly stroking his cheek as a sweet smile breaks across your face and said, "always, Aemond."

"Ñuha jorrāeliarzy..." his eye closed as relief washed over him.

"Is that Valyrian?"

"Mmm," he hummed in confirmation. "It means 'my beloved'."

He didn't give you the chance to reply, his lips were already on yours again, his tongue sliding into your mouth as he finally pushed his cock back into your heat. You cried out in ecstasy when he hit you at exactly the right angle, your walls tightening around him as he relentlessly drove into you.

Your back arched off the bed as he pulled himself upright again, his arm pinning your legs in place as he fucked you hard and deep, the sound of nothing but your grateful moans and skin against skin to keep his tempo.

A few thrusts more, and you were approaching the precipice, pleasure sparking through your core as you writhed beneath him. He let out a strangled groan when he felt you tense around his cock, the sight of you so thoroughly undone bringing him closer to the edge, too. He looked down at himself, at the way you took him so perfectly in, at how you trembled as your orgasm peaked, and he couldn't stop himself from falling with you.

You shuddered as you felt him empty himself inside, relishing the immense heat of him when he buried himself to the hilt, a feverish look in his eye as his hips gradually stilled. Your legs slipped from his shoulders as he slumped forward to kiss you, a languid and sweet relief as you brought your bodies flush again.

"When does it end? This want that I have for you," he murmured against your lips, his thumb slowly stroking the outline of your cheek. "I can scarcely remember what I was doing before you distracted me."

"I don't recall either, my love," you whispered.

Aemond releases a content sigh as he unsheathed himself and rolled onto his side, reaching for a nearby towel so that he had something to clean the mess that he had made. He let out a soft laugh and pressed a kiss against your breast as he wiped between your thighs.

You settled back under the covers together, cradled in his arms as if the world outside the room no longer existed, as if there was nothing else worth getting up for. You knew that you couldn't stay like that forever, and that eventually duty would call him away - but for now, you were both exactly where you belonged.

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valyrfia · 1 year ago

Note

I'm sorry the who slept with whom rumours??? 😀 Because I'm very much a Måneskin and F1 fan but I don't usually use social media, so this post just slapped me in the face

Ah anon, let me introduce you to the wonderful world in which Charles Leclerc the Formula 1 Driver and Damiano David from Måneskin may know each other carnally, or at least, Charles has Damiano wrapped right around his pinky finger.

So it all begins at Monza 2023, where Damiano turns up in potentially one of the sluttiest outfits to ever see a grand prix, blushing and making eyes at Charles like any good Italian man would.

Fast forward about a week. Charles is hosting an event at the Monaco Yacht Club, and Måneskin come out and do a surprise set. After this, they all go back to the Sedici for an afters, and Damiano posts iconic footage of him shirtless on Charles' yacht wearing Charles' helmet with the caption "Thanks @charles_leclerc best gift ever. Lately I see u more that my mum😂".

Two months after all this Måneskin release a song called "The Driver", and uh, yeah. These are the lyrics:

Final nail in the coffin is about a month after that song comes out, Damiano gets a tattoo of a prancing horse on his v-line. Which would be explainable by Italian Stallion being a term for a handsome Italian dude, if not for the tattoo artist literally tagging Ferrari.....

Anyway, I'm just here to present the facts, you come to your own conclusions.

#f1 lore #it's my FAVOURITE piece of f1 lore/gossip it's real to me #charles leclerc #damiano david #måneskin #f1 gossip #i believe in charles giggling knowing he has all of these men wrapped around his little finger

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luckylzclerc · 5 months ago

Text

A Thousand Miles 𓍢ִ໋🏁՞ᰔᩚ (cl16)

sypnosis : Due to your different careers, You both have been in a long distance relationship for quite some time. Charles has been nothing but supportive of you and got himself into a habit of mentioning you nonstop in interviews which sparks the attention from the media.

request : yes! from this request ₊˚.༄

AU : Mixed AU (smau + written au)

genre : fluff

an : first post since 2023 ! I changed my layout and tried to be more aesthetic (kinda..) lmk your thoughts on that! anyway, i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed making it hehe :3 pls don't be shy to request, I'll definitely try to answer them all 💌 anyways, have fun reading this and don't forget to like, comment and reblog!

yourusername posted .ᐟ

liked by charles_leclerc , lilymhe and 160k others

yourusername home 🫂🎞️🍝

view 150 comments ↓

charles_leclerc mon cœur, i miss you

⤷ yourusername ahh Charles, tu me manques aussi bebe

(i miss you too bebe)

lando we miss you here, y/n! 😔

⤷ yourusername landooo!! missing you guys too💘💘

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The paddock is buzzing with excitement as fans from all over the world arrive to watch the 2025 Imola gp. Meanwhile, in the Ferrari garage, Charles is on the phone with his lovely girl, y/n.

"Charles, isn't qualifying starting soon?" asked the girl, interrupting her boyfriends ramble about an inchident that happened the night before. "Huh? shit! it's starting in 20 minutes!" replied the monegasque frantically while quickly gathering all his stuff.

Confused, she raised an eyebrow, "Are you going to end the call, or do you want me to do it?". Charles' panicked face contorts into a pout "Do we really have to end the call?" he asked with a soft tone. On the other end of the line, y/n chuckled "yes, yes have to mon amor. I'll talk to you later yeah? Promise me you'll do your best okay?, good luck". He smiles softly at her "Promise, je t'aime" while clicking the 'end call' button. All he could do now is just hope for the best as he wants to get pole to make her proud.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

"POLE POSITION BABYYY" echoes through the entire paddock as Charles crossed the finishing line with the fastest time amongst all 19 drivers. As the crowd errupt with cheers from the tifosi(s), Charles makes his way to the post qualifying interviews.

interview .ᐟ

still feeling giddy, Charles decides to call y/n to tell her about the qualifying even though she was probably watching the entire time. *ring ring ring* -voicemail "huh?" confused as he can be, he started worrying about the sudden voicemail so, he called her again. twice. thrice. no answer. 'What is she up to?' Charles thought to himself.

Without any warning, Carlos barged into his room to congratulate his teammate. Noticing the monegasque's unhappy face "Carino, you okay ?" asked Carlos with a careful tone. "Yeah, im alright, its just y/n. She's not picking up my calls!". Understanding the situation, the spaniard comforted his teammate "Ah, maybe her device died or, I don't know? She took a nap or something.. theres endless possibilities, don't worry about it too much."

Nodding, "Maybe you're right.. thanks mate" "No problem!Now time to celebrate!!" Still full of adrenaline from the pole position but not feeling like celebrating, he decided to just head back to the hotel to rest "You celebrate, I'm going back to the hotel" said the monegasque. Walking to his car, he thought to himself 'Maybe she's asleep, I'll just call her again when i get back to the hotel' while trying to ignore the constant feeling of worry.

twitter .ᐟ

As upon his arrival at the hotel, Charles still couldn't shake the feeling of a pit forming in his stomach so, after reaching to his assigned room, he quickly calls y/n again.*ring ring ring*

"Y/n are you there?" furrowing his brows while trying to make sense the black screen on his phone. "Charles! Congratulations on the pole, I'm so proud of you, knew you could do it!" said y/n with excitement filling her tone. Charles commented "Thank you! amor, I don't know if its my phone but I cannot see your face". A few moment of silence passed and Charles keep hearing commotion on the other end of the line.. "bebe? are you there? are you out right now..?". Finally, the girl answered short and sweetly "Sorry, got to go, talk to you tomorrow amor! bisous" and the call went dead.

Now he's even more confused. While trying to decide wether to investigate or not, tiredness washes over him. Finally deciding to ignore the paranoid feeling, Charles decides to get ready for bed and bother the girl with more questions the following day.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

As Charles wakes up at the crack of dawn, all his worries about y/n seems to disappear and he decides to just focus on his race today. While getting ready, he receives a notification on imessage from her wishing him luck on todays race, and that alone is enough to make him smile from the words of encouragement.

As soon as he arrives at the circuit, Charles was quickly rushed to the Ferrari garage to get prepped for the race at Imola. Todays goal was to win, make y/n proud and oh! win again. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, Y/n is on the plane flying a thousand miles away to get to the Imola grand prix in time.

Y/n arrives just in time as there were 2 more laps to go. As she quickly rushes to the Ferrari garage, Charles zoomed by the checkered flag in first place. The entire garage was filled with screams and cheers of joy celebrating another win for Ferrari. Outside, y/n could hear the grandstand booming with celebrations as the tifosi(s) celebrate Charles' victory. She couldn't believe it, it was her first time witnessing his win in real life and was feeling overjoyed. Her heart was full of love and admiration.

Charles parked his f1 car behind the '#1' sign and jumped out of the vehicle while doing a celebratory pose. He was feeling so pleased with his results and all he could think about was telling y/n.

As the post race interviews were held, y/n was hiding in the McLaren garage to avoid spoiling the surprise and bumping into her partner.

interviews .ᐟ

"Charles Leclercc!!" echoes through the entire circuit as they announced the winner of the race. Charles walked to the first place of the podium, full of pride and a huge smile across his face. Y/n was standing amongst the crowds watching him stand on the top of the podium filled with excitement and proudness. 'I knew you could do it' she thought to herself, smiling like an idiot.

As the national anthem of Monaco ended, the top 3 winners sprayed each other with champagne and that marks the end of the ceremony.

As Charles makes his way to his motorhome, y/n was hiding in his drivers room with a bouquet in her hand. Other than Charles, his teammate, Carlos was walking alongside him to the motorhome secretly recording the surprise that was about to happen. "Mate, why are u following me to my drivers room?" asked Charles and he twisted the door knob. While still looking at Carlos with a puzzled look, he decides to ask the spaniard again. "Mate???" All Carlos could do was point his head towards the drivers room and there she was. Standing with a huge smile spread on her lips while holding a huge bouquet of red roses.

"Surprise?" said the girl. Charles mouth dropped agape while he stared at her in disbelief "y/n??" as he snaps back into reality, he quickly ran towards his lover and hugged her tightly. "Woah woah! I can't breath Charles" she chuckled. "I can't believe you're here! When did you arrive? How come do I not know? Why didn't you tell me??" Bombarding her with questions. "Mate, calm down" Carlos interjects , which was replied with a glare from his teammate. "Oh you can't believe how much I miss you."

yourusername posted .ᐟ

liked by charles_leclerc , lando and 221k others

yourusername hardest secret to keep❤️👻

view all 57 comments ↓

charles_leclerc Can't believe you're actually here❤️❤️

⤷ yourusername im literally right next to u rn🤨💘

lando not u hiding in the McLaren garage haha!!!

⤷ yourusername CHARLES IS SO BLIND HAHA

⤷ charles_leclerc ??????

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‍‍‍‍‍‍‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎fin.

an : tysm for reading!! I hope you guys liked this!! lmk your thoughts on it as this is my very first time writing. I love to read your comments and dont be shy to ask away in my inbox💌 dont forget to like, comment and reblog ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁!

taglist ⤷ @xf4iryx

#f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 one shot #f1 social media au #formula 1 x reader #f1 x reader #f1 x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #cl16 x reader #cl16 imagine #cl16 #f1

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forlix · 2 years ago

Text

𝘀𝘂𝗯𝘁𝗲𝘅𝘁・l.f.

— in which you forget that your hot housemate follows you on twitter.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀・1.1k 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴・roommate!felix x gn!streamer!reader 𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲𝘀・fluff, flirting, kind of an smau, implied friends to lovers, humor if u count jeongin being a piece of shit

𝗮/𝗻・saw this tweet the other day and it was so painfully lix coded that i knew i had to write something asap. contains a tiny bit of gaming jargon but is hopefully comprehensible. ENJOY ♡

y/n ꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱₊˚⊹ @ y/nxx

if someone brings you fresh cut fruit to your table when you're gaming, they either like LIKE you or it's your mom

11:23 A.M.・Oct. 2023・220.2K Views

bokkie 🐣 liked your post.

“My tweet?”

You read aloud the newest text in your chatroom, and your face brightens when you remember the one in question.

“Oh, about the fruit—no, it’s so true though. And I love my mom, don't get me wrong, but I have an inkling she did it to guilt trip me." You change your posture and adopt your best motherly tone of voice. "‘This is your tenth consecutive hour wasting your young adulthood in front of that damn screen. I am now going to hand deliver apple slices straight to your mouth.’ That kind of vibe, y'know?"

A slew of messages follows your anecdote, but it is a comment from one of your moderators that catches your eye first:

je0ng1n: what about the other option tho 👀

You groan at the sight of his username. “Man, why are you always here? Don't you have a job?"

je0ng1n: i’m on break je0ng1n: taking a dump je0ng1n: ungrateful bitch

You brandish a middle finger to the camera. “Hope the dump sucks."

je0ng1n: HEY je0ng1n: don’t even joke about that :(

An involuntary cackle precedes your next words. “If you’re actually wondering, though, the only person who’s brought me fruit while I’m playing video games is indeed my mother. Heartbreaking, I know.”

At this, the steady flow of messages morphs into a gallery of depressed cat emoticons; your audience never fails to impress you with their way with words.

“But if someone other than your disappointed parent is bringing you fruit,” you go on, “they might as well get on one knee in the process, honestly. That's such an adorable, loving thing to do.”

Suddenly, the words MATCH FOUND splash across your monitor, and you move your cursor to accept the game invite—only to be met with a pop-up window and a familiar error sound that grates on your ears like screeching tires.

You know how this story ends: the lights in your mouse go dark, and you look on in dejected silence.

je0ng1n: LMFAOOOOO je0ng1n: bro’s mouse definitely just exploded again

“You guessed it," you sigh. “Hang tight for a sec, guys."

Half an hour ago, you could’ve sworn you heard sneakers being kicked off, a set of keys falling against plastic. Now, you pull one side of your headphones off and roll your chair a few feet backward, calling through your half-open door: “Lix, are you home?”

You pick up on a soft clunk that sounds like metal hitting wood—the cutting board, maybe?—and then your housemate's low, accented answer bounces off the walls of your shared hallway.

“Yeah, you alright?”

“The mouse,” you say helplessly.

“Ah.” It’s not the first time you’ve summoned him for this. “Be right there.”

A few seconds later, you remember to tack on a hurried disclaimer: “I’m live, by the way!”

“I know.”

This brings a bashful smile to your face, though the expression quickly turns to one of pure dismay when you return to your desk and witness the disastrous state of your chat.

Felix has become a regular guest on your stream by now, always popping in to show you a TikTok or ask for your opinion on a new pair of jeans or simply give your camera an awkward wave��but he may as well own your channel with how completely and unequivocally he has captured the hearts of your viewers. They’re convinced he’s the sexiest person to ever grace the earth, with his chiseled features and coffee-colored eyes; with a grin that could set entire estates on fire and a voice that could scrape the nadir of the Grand Canyon.

Do you agree? Absolutely.

Do you have any intention of voicing this sentiment, so long as you’re splitting rent with him? Absolutely the hell not.

Another of Jeongin’s messages—GET ME HIS NUMBER OR I GET VIOLENT—inspires you to minimize the stream window before Felix gets here. It’s for the best.

A few moments later, the door opens, and the air shifts inside your room. A hand comes to rest on the top of your head; a familiar silhouette appears in your periphery. There is a fond grin plastered across your face and a bright greeting sitting readily on the tip of your tongue.

But then, Felix places a plate of freshly cut fruit in the empty space to the left of your keyboard—here, he hums, the sound falling against the shell of your ear like a drop of melted chocolate. And the gears of your brain grind to a complete stop.

There is no further acknowledgment; no supplementary explanation for what he's just done. He simply picks up your mouse and gets to work.

The words of your tweet swim dizzyingly before your eyes, not unlike those halos of stars and birds that revolve around disoriented cartoon characters. And you’re suddenly, achingly aware of your roommate's arm nudging against yours as he tinkers away; of the aromas of vanilla and laundry detergent that always come with his proximity; of the heat that’s risen to your face, and the plethora of questions that have surfaced to your mind.

A soft huff of laughter follows a gentle utterance of your name, and you snap out of your trance. Felix’s eyes are glinting with amusement when you meet them.

“It’s been recalibrated,” he says, handing back your mouse. “Just give it a few minutes.”

Your fingertips brush over his palm when you accept the object, and even this blink of contact has your heart performing an elaborate hopscotch routine across the plane of your chest.

It’s either your mom, or…

“Thank you,” you mumble, finally retrieving your larynx from the bottom of the Atlantic.

“Anytime,” Felix returns, and you know he means it. “You need a duo, by the way?"

“Yes, please.”

He gives you a warm smile at this, and there’s a hint of something else—something new—in the curve of his lips. “Give me two.” And he’s gone as quickly as he'd come.

You will never know how Felix slips his phone out of his pocket the second he emerges from your room, his pulse hounding his ears as he turns a nervous gaze upon his screen.

There is now a supersonic blur of messages saturating your chatroom, a colorful cacophony of moving emotes and capital letters, but he is focused wholly on the person in front of the camera and how you slowly lift a hand to your mouth, deathly silent despite your every viewer demanding your comment on the matter, your sanguine cheeks visible even through the gaps of your fingers.

That is all he needs to know.

Felix sinks into the leather of his gaming chair and bends to power on his computer. Only after a deep breath blows past his lips does his smile start to stretch into a grin, every bit as embarrassed as it is relieved.

je0ng1n: no way je0ng1n: no fucking way je0ng1n: my heart fluttered je0ng1n: wtf je0ng1n: how’d you pull HIM??

y/nxx has removed je0ng1n as a moderator of this channel.

𝗹𝗶𝗸𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗸? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other works here. thanks so much for the support ♡

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nariism · 2 years ago

Text

ೃ⁀➷ THIEF! ★

Based off this ask by @raphuna-nekomada !!

The first time, Neuvillette brushed it off as if nothing had happened.

He spent the entire morning looking for his dedicated Monday bow, black with silver intricacies that you personally picked out for him many years ago.

"Must be a sign from the universe not to go into work," you hummed from the bed, rolling over and inviting him back under the blanket. He hadn't indulged you on Monday, instead opting to use his Tuesday ribbon and huffing about how he would find the missing article later.

The second time it happened, he was suspicious.

Two days in a row his ribbon had gone missing, now his Wednesday ribbon had been used for Tuesday. It irked him, and while he had no other reason to suspect that you were the culprit, the way you beckoned him back to bed again flicked a switch in his mind.

Ultimately, he hadn't indulged you on Tuesday either.

The third time it happens, he saunters up to your side of the bed immediately.

"My love," he calls, and for a moment you think he hasn't caught you because he's lacking any sort of stern tone— the kind he would address Wriothesley with.

"Yes?" You peer up at him with a glimmer of mischief, clutching something to your chest. His eyes narrow and he kneels onto the bed beside you.

"Have you seen my ribbon?"

"I haven't."

"Are you sure? I'm certain I left it on the dresser last night."

"You must be imagining things, dearest."

You give him a sly, lazy smile and that's when he knows you're nothing but a terrible liar. He nearly scoffs in your face, leaning down closer so he can look at you with a hardening expression.

"And what exactly is your ploy here? Would you like me to wrestle it out of your hands?"

Your eyes widen in surprise for a moment before you laugh, clearly finding his suggestion humorous. "Would it keep you at home longer if you did?"

The gears turn in his head at your words, slow realization washing over him as you blink up innocently. (Feigning innocence, actually. Poorly.)

Ah, so that's what this is all about.

"You want me to stay home?"

A beat of silence. "And if I said yes?"

"You know my answer." Yet he hasn't pulled away, gotten off the bed, and left for work like he does every morning. In fact, you're pretty sure he's drawn a couple inches closer to you.

The fabric you stole from him suddenly wraps around the back of the neck and you rein him in until he's hovering just above you, arms and legs caging you in on either side.

"Got you," you sing quietly.

His gaze flickers down to your lips and then back to your eyes. "You got me," he repeats in faux defeat, swooping down to capture you in a kiss.

He starts to think that maybe a day off wouldn't be the worst thing in the world, but he has more than one trial today and there is no one to fill his role in his absence.

Still, Neuvillette decides that he can come to a compromise if only to hold you like this before his busy day. Besides, if he didn't indulge you now this would never end.

"Ten more minutes."

"Ouch. Stingy."

He smothers you under his body so you'll stop talking.

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everythingne · 1 month ago

Text

marketing ploy (ln4) - rewrite

McLaren and Red Bull make a deal—a plan to get them both some publicity (and some extra cash). Olivia Piastri (yes, Piastri), the head analyst of Red Bull, has to pretend to date her brother’s teammate.

Oh, and she can’t tell anyone—not even Oscar, it’s not a real relationship.

piastri!oc x lando norris (fc: yesly)

warnings/notes: sort of financial abuse, manipulation from higher authorities, christian horner is fucking insane in this now btw!! fake dating AND brothers best friend trope, rewriting this to hopefully spark some inspiration for new fics over the summer ?

02 March 2023 - Bahrain (Instagram)

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, redbullracing, and 689k more…

oliviapiastri: thx bahrain for rb 1-2

tagged: maxverstappen, oscarpiastri

mclaren: the siblings ever 🧡

user1: so are we gonna talk ab her calling lando NORI during her little interview with kym????

⤷ user2: NO FR??

maxverstappen: only got p1 thanks to you and the team

f1wagsnfamsupport: miss olivia out here with the short hair looking STUNNING

maepiastri: OSCAR IM SCREAMINNGGG

oscarpiastri: what is that photo of me?

⤷ olivepastries: this is what u get for eating my timtams on the plane

landonorris: thanks oli 🧡

redbullracing: the prettiest strategist on the planet

user3: UGH I LOVE WOMEN...

⤷ user4: wuhluhwuh please PLEASE

hattiepiastri: THE PRETTIEST. SO GORGEOUS. WOWOWOW

7 March 2023 - Jedddah (Practice)

“Piastri incoming!” is the call that alerts the group of the presence appearing around the corner. Tall white heels clicking, Olivia--affectionately nicknamed Olive, Piastri steps into the doorway of the main meeting room in Red Bull's motorhome. Her little orange sundress swishing with every step she takes as she pauses to shake Christian's hand--tugging up the sleeve of her white sweater to do so, gold bracelets twinkling and clinking on her wirst, perfectly manicured navy nails securing around Christian's hand.

A small piece of hair tugs on her earring, and Olivia takes pause to slip it out of its confinement, before moving out of the way so Christian can close the door. Two dirty martinis and a shot of tequila down during family dinner, Olivia whisks her way into the room with a breath of floral perfume and a hint of rubber still clinging to her skin from the heat of the night practices in Jeddah. Even post dinner with the WAGs and some of the other women who worked in the sport, like Laura, Susie, and Hannah.

"Thank you again, Miss Piastri, for coming on such a short notice." Christian says as Olivia turns to take in the room in front of her. Three men sit in different stages of formal dress. One off to the side with Alice--Red Bulls CCO, a woman sitting next to Mark Webber in the corner--which is intriguing to Olivia, because they both had just been at dinner. And then when Olivia turns her head further, Zak Brown and Andrea Stella are against the far wall.

She blinks, pauses, and lifts a hand, "Sorry, what is this?"

And in the most casual clothing is Lando, leaned back in his chair like he owns the garage. Which makes Olivia's jaw tick just a bit. Who did he think he was? There wasn't any level of animosity between the two of them, but Olivia finds the whole situation to be quite interesting. Lando was polite, bright and smiley, had managed to get Oscar a little bit out of his shell. Not that Olivia would complain about that, it was nice to see Oscar with a genuine smile, but its Mark in the corner that makes her head tilt.

Mark has a tense line in his jaw Olivia knew meant he didn't necessarily care for what was about to go down. It only grew when Christian clapped Olivia's shoulder and she sent him a glare that had his hand popping off in a second.

"We were waiting for you to get started." Christian ends up motioning for the chair next to Lando that, conveniently, had been left open. Olivia moves forward and pops down next to Lando, offering him a small polite smile he manages to return.

Ah yes, civility. Olivia can work with the bare minimum, it's the usual amount of respect she gets here.

"My Mom had to get a picture of Oscar and I in the paddock here, thats what took so long." Olivia says, setting her little purse in her lap and folding her hands on top of it, "Sorry if I was a bit late."

"Right on time, actually," Christian nods, "As punctual as usual."

"Lets get right to business, we need Lando to be in top shape for tomorrows race. Can't keep him out too late." Zak easily jokes, bringing the attention of the room to him. Christian accompanies with his own laugh softly, taking a seat at his desk and flicking open his laptop. There's an obvious line of tension between the two, it was well known Christian and Zak didn't get along, and so Olivia sends a glance to Mark.

He won't meet her eyes.

So she clears her throat, and kicks Lando's chair with a small smirk, voice coming out monotonous as usual, "Ah, it's all too much for little Lando Norris, right?"

"Little Lando Norris?" He jokingly pouts and Olivia grins, kicking his chair again with a shrug, making him start laughing as he leans back and swats at her foot. His nails scratch along Olivia's ankle and her shiver is visible as she ends up pulling my ankle to the side of my leg.

"Well, this might work better than expected." Andrea comments with a soft grin on his lips, "they already get along well, and have some sort of chemistry."

"Huh?" "What?"

Lando and Olivia both turn to look at Andrea, then both turn their attention to Zak and then Christian in order. The three men laugh along to Andrea, nodding in agreement as the two women jot down some notes, the third woman by Lando huffing with a soft smile on her lips. I point to Mark Webber, my brothers manager and speak softly.

"Wait, so why are we here?" Olivia finally asks and Christian looks to Zak, holding a hand out for the man to explain. He does, standing as he motions around the room, introducing everyone to each other, thankfully.

There's Olivia and Lando settled in two leather chairs, Christian sat his desk with Zak and Andrea standing besides him. Alice, Red Bull's Chief Communications Officer sits next to Steve Atkins, who is McLarens Chief Communications Officer. Then, on the other side of the desk is a woman named Astrid Marina, who is Lando's manager, and then Oscar's manager Mark Webber, who is here to represent Olivia.

"And, we are all here for the two of you." Zak nods, and Lando sends Olivia a sharp look that says nothing but 'what the hell did you do?' which she counters with her best 'I didn't do shit, what did you do?' look.

"You see, tensions between Red Bull and McLaren's racing teams are at an all time high due to how close Lando has been racing with Max." Zak continues after a moment, "and the fans have been eating up the rivalry. It's truly been one of the most intense spikes in merch sales and social media trends we've seen in years on both sides. And, Miss Piastri, that is where you come into the picture."

"Okay? What does this have to do with me, if you don't mind my asking?" Olivia leans forward slightly, eyes glancing up at Zak, then to Andrea, then Christian, then back to Zak's smug smile.

"We need to keep the rivalry alive between us and Red Bull, yeah? And, over the past few weeks when you've been on radio with Max, the fans have noticed the two of you seem to be quite close. And considering you are Oscar's sister..." Zak waves a hand as he comes to take one of Olivia's, squeezing it as he leans down to be my eye level, "we have quite an opportunity."

"I'm not following." Olivia glances to Lando, who sends her a helpless shrug of confusion.

"Well, Miss Piastri." Christian taps his desk and Zak moves to sit down again. Both Alice and Steven whisper to each other as the Astrid and Ada nod to Christian, and he speaks words that should never have been strung together.

"To keep up with publicity, we would like for you and Lando to pretend to date. Just for a season or two."

Olivia sends a look to Mark, who just keeps his eyes firm on her. There's a sort of silent patience in his eyes she ifnds astounding. Has Mark agreed to this? Olivia finds she can't even bring words to her mouth, the room closing in and feeling crowded as everyone turns to watch Lando and Olivia react.

Luckily, Lando moves first, stadning with a shocked expression, "I'm sorry? What are you on about?"

"Olivia, you will start to spend more time with McLaren." Alice starts to explain, and everyone looks to her, "post more McLaren, wear more McLaren, start to cause a stir. Once we see that stir, we will take photos of you wearing Lando's number and post those. This should start a dating rumor through Australia to Miami."

Olivia's gaze hardens. She's being treated like a Sim.

"Once the rumor really starts, you will both do a 'soft launch' of the other--basically, faceless photos. You'll be caught by paparazzi on a date, you'll be seen together in the paddocks, and such. We'll bring this rumor up and up until about midway through the season when, during a pole position celebration, Lando will go to you for a celebratory kiss--which will cement your relationship." Alice continues, and then Steven takes over,

"We'll run the relationship probably through next season, maybe a little longer, and then you'll both have a peaceful split off and remain friends. No harm done."

Finally, I stand as well, gripping my purse as I swing it back around my shoulder, "You're reading me a film script, not the next twenty months of my life! I'm an analyst, not some--actress you can throw around for publicity points!"

"Olivia, please." Christian stands, holding a hand out like you would to a scared dog, "it's something temporary, and it's no strings attached! There's a pretty big... financial bonus as well."

The room shifts, Lando glancing back to Olivia with a look that reads 'what the hell?' but she can't even find a place in her mind to register that.

"You both will get between ten to twenty-five percent of all revenue made off this stunt. Merch sales, meet and greets... depending on how well you sell this... that could triple or even times both of your salaries by ten." Alice crosses her arms, "and, the deal will be kept to people in this office. Only we will know why this is being done. To everyone else, even Oscar and Max, this relationship is genuine. NDA assured."

There's a long pause, and part of Olivia feels trapped. The amount of money I could make for putting up with a guy I already put up with his obviously extremely appealing. She already makes a good chunk of change but with the extra...

Hell, Olivia could pay off all my student loans at once with that absolute chunk of change.

But what did this say for women in motorsport? I had been so careful with my image until this point. I got my job before Oscar joined McLaren, I worked tirelessly night and day with GP and Hannah, took classes on top of work on top of engineering on the side on top of life for this job.

Would I throw it all away for some ploy?

"Fuck it." Lando says under his breath, so low only Olivia hears the slight scratch of his voice as he sighs and then looks up at Christian, "We're already putting up with each other, what's the harm of some extra cash?"

"Norris?!" I shout as my disbelief hits an all time high. Lando's right hand takes a pen from Christian's left one as he turns back to me, running a hand through his frizzy curls.

"We fake date for a year, and then we go off and do whatever we want after with a large paycheck for something no one knows is fake. How is this a bad deal, Olivia? I already spend almost every weekend with you and Oscar anyway, it'll hardly be different." He says, and a paper is pushed his way, he looks back at me once more in that loose, half buttoned white tee and black dress shorts. His necklaces dangle off his neck as he scribbles down his name without any hesitance, clicking the pen shut and holding it out to me.

"Plus, if we're pretending to be a real couple, you'll be losing out on nothing because I will be buying you pretty much everything for the next twelve months."

Fuck. That's a good point. She could kinda manipulate this to benefit her if all goes to shit. The black pen taunts Olivia, and the way Lando grins and wiggles it in the air towards her hesitantly lifting hand is no different.

Yeah, so much for being shy, Lando.

"I have an image to maintain." Olivia squeaks out as she lowers her hand, and Christian stands then, slowly making his way across the room like he's planning some sort of attack.

"But, you would have more money than you ever need, and a big boost in permanent salary if you do this." Christian smiles dangerously, "plus, if you want to leave after we start this... talk with me, and I'll sort it out. It's really no strings attached."

Olivia looks to Mark for guidance. It's not an ideal situation in any way, but at least she'd have a way out, right? Mark blinks, watching her, and then he raises a hand, "Can I speak with her in the hall for a moment?"

"Lando already signed," Alice stands, clicking her pen shut, "McLaren is free to leave."

McLaren does just that, silently shuffling out. There's a moment of still, of pure silence as Mark collects his words. Christian leans back in his chair, eyebrows raising, before Mark sighs and finally moves off the wall to point at Christian, "I don't respect you."

Olivia can't help the laugh that barks out of her before she immediately slams her hand over her lips.

"I know that." Christian replies, "But its simply business, Mark. A year or so of this bullshit, she gets double the pay shes already got, then shes done."

Mark's reply is quick and flat, "Olivia doesn't just hold her own reputation, she holds the reputation for all women in motorsports. She's a professional, an analyst, and to quote her 'not some actress you can throw around for publicity points.'"

"Her dating a driver wont discredit her value to Red Bull, I assure you." Christian leans forward to rest his elbows on the desk and Olivia scoffs without even thinking about what shes about to say--

"Clearly you haven't read any article about women in motorsports or opened any of our Instagram comments, or listen to the broadcasters, in the past ten years, Horner."

"If I may interject." Alice raises a hand, looking between the two men. Mark huffs, taking a step back towards Olivia, his hand resting on the back of her chair, as Christian lightly lifts his head in suggestion.

"At any point, we can run back what was said, call it all conjecture, rumors, lies and say the two are friends." Alice shrugs, "Olivia and Max had dating rumors what, six months ago over a hug? These rumors come and go in F1, and we are a PR team, we are running the narrative, we can make things work the way we need them to if they get too bad."

"I still don't think it's a good idea." Mark sighs, "if these rumors run too long, they could destroy her future in her career."

Olivia sits there, ankles crossed. Mark has made nothing but good points. But it's Christian's next line that makes her heart sink,

"It would be a shame to replace such a star analyst."

and though the sentence could be morphed to mean it would be a shame to replace her if things get worse, theres a tinge of greed in Christian's eyes. She knows he means it would be a shame to find someone now to replace her, assuming Red Bull just moved her to another series rather than axing her fully.

Mark's hand on the back of the chair taps twice, some sort of signal for Oscar that flies over Olivia's head, and he moves to exit the room. It takes a beat, but Olivia begins to follow.

"Consider this deal closed. She's not doing it." Mark calls, Olivia stopping next to him to keep from colliding into his shoulder as he pauses in the doorway while he speaks. Mark continues down the hall, but Olivia hesitates. Alice folds her files neatly, and Christian speaks softly.

"If you like this job, Piastri..." He makes a vague signing motion and Olivia swallows, before slamming the door shut and chasing after Mark.

8 March 2023 - Jeddah (Qualifying)

Olivia sits restless at her desk, leg bouncing as she stares over the files and numbers and data that soar by. Eyes bore into her skin, and she turns her head to see Christian staring her down. It's been a constant since she left the meeting, and though she told Mark it was nothing to worry about and that she wasn't planning on signing anything...

God, the silent pressure all weekend was practically torture.

After quali, Max wants to go over data, so Olivia sits with Hannah and GP running numbers and showing simulations for a good few hours. The race strategy had worked relatively well, but Max always had room for improvement. It was why he and Olivia were so close and worked so well together, they always wanted to do more, be more. The plan for the quali-to-win is the same is usually is for Jeddah, save for the adjustments of a faster McLaren and a biting Mercedes.

They work well into the after hours, but there's a race tomorrow, and they know at some point this conversation must be pushed for the next day. So, Hannah leaves first, then Max, and finally GP--after finishing some final notes, before bidding Olivia farewell.

She stands quietly in the board room then, packing up her purse and disconnecting form the projector they'd been using. The large black purse--a Coach tote that she could fit her whole life into, had served her better than any backpack ever had. And as Olivia is shooting a text to Max in reply to a question about tire deg, there's a shadow looming in the corner of her eyes.

And much like the monster he's become, Christian breaks into a like sharp toothed grin.

"Miss Piastri." He says simply and Olivia pauses, hand tight on her phone. Slowly turning over her shoulder, she sees Christian in the doorway.

"I already told you Christian, I'm not doing that stupid PR stunt." Olivia tightens her grasp on her phone, feeling her pulse run against the rough plastic edges of the case.

Chrsitian sighs, "While I can't fire you, I will say, we have a lot of offers for new analysts. With two, your pay would cut in half, you do realize that, right? This opportunity is a way for us to grow the team's publicity in harmless way! Just a little fake date, that we completely control, no harm done."

"You realize I could report you to HR for this entire conversation, right?" Olivia whispers, but she knows before he laughs that it doesn't matter.

"And how well has that gone for those before you, Piastri?" Christian steps forward, placing a clipboard in front of Olivia. She stares down at it, gnawing her already bitten and chapped lips. And with a nrvous smile, she picks up the pen, hesitating before she asks,

"I can always back out, right?"

"Always." Christian's grin looks downright sadistic. But Olivia bites the bullet, and signs the damn paper. More so for the feeling of Christian off her back than the actual fake dating scenario. And when her asshole team principle leaves the room with a happy grin and an evil glint in his eyes, Olivia slumps back down into one of the chairs, running her hands through her hair and contemplating screaming, or sobbing, or throwing something.

But after a moment, she picks up her bag, plasters on a content look, and forces her way out of garage without as much as a glare in the direction of Christian's office.

9 March 2023 - Jeddah (Race Day)

The Saudi Arabian sun burns across the track, making wiggly lines shimmer on the streets and through the paddocks. Two hours to sunset, four hours to the race. Olivia can taste the heat in the air, her second water bottle already empty. It's miserable. Even more so as she ducks out of a meeting her and Lando had been subjected to in order to 'ensure they seemed legit.'

Olivia just wants to back out already, but if they haven't started earning money, she imagines Christian might axe her.

The thinner uniform shirts for Saudi don't do much to regulate the heat stifling the McLaren garage as they pass through, trying to get back to the motorhomes, but an attentive Oscar cuts them off with a joking smile on his lips but a serious inquiry in his eyes.

"Ready to die in the heat?" He asks, a perfect fist bump shared between the two teammates. Olivia smiles softly, looking around the garage, noticing the camera trained in their direction, the eyes on them. Olivia never left the screen at Red Bull, so seeing her here is an oddity. What's even weirder is when Lando turns after a joke with Oscar, and gives Olivia a proper hug. A full, two arm, squish into the chest and hold type hug.

The buzz begins with Oscar's confused grimace.

To kill the moment, Lando shakes the sweat of his water bottle in Oscar's direction, making him scoff and wipe the icy water off his face. Lando grins, turning and looking at Olivia like she's hung the moon and stars for him. She can't help but be shocked at how easily he can fall into faking utter and complete love. He's a natural.

Someone calls Lando over from the other side of the paddock and as he excuses himself, he places a hand on Olivia's lower back as he moves behind her, and it lingers like the burns of stares and camera lenses. His fingers glide along the fabric of her shirt, nails scratching at the skin underneath enough to make Olivia look over her shoulder at him as he smiles at me one last time before fully stepping away..

"When do you have to be with Red Bull?" Oscar asks, drawing Olivia's attention back to him, "to see your second, more important brother."

"You're so dramatic about Max." Olivia laughs, punching her brothers arm, "and not for another like… ten or so minutes, Hannah's leading the start today."

"Ah. Surprised to see you here, is all." Oscar takes a water from a worker who hands the two siblings ice cold plastic bottles. The two both take a large gulp, relishing in the fact its actually cold, before Oscar is called off like Lando had been. As Oscar turns away, Lando pulls Olivia back to a far corner and lets her rest against it as he hovers in front of her. Shielding me from view as he runs his hands through his curls.

"So, how exactly are we handling media?" He says, "like the paparazzi, the reporters, and stuff?"

"I guess we should just act the same? Maybe a bit friendlier, just... I guess deny all romantic things for now." Olivia hums, looking over at a few media personnel who hover around the car, the team, and Oscar. The paddocks are slowly buzzing to life as everyone's arriving for the day.

"Then, you have to act like you like me a little bit, Ollie." Lando leans in a bit, breath fanning across Olivia's cheek in a tease that she isn't afraid to counter by turning her head so their noses brush. Lando sucks in a breath, his hands hovering, begging to touch to hold, but she just smiles softly.

"Gotta go, Nori." she whispers back, grinning as Lando's eyes flicker from her lips to her eyes twice before he steps back. As Olivia steps out, she calls softly,

"Tell Oscar I said not to fuck this up!"

Luckily no one had passed out during the race.

Olivia's standing at the edge of the paddock, grinning as Max shakes champagne from his hair. He's flushed, still a bit heat-exhausted, but seemingly doing well enough. The rest of Red Bull is packing up, organizers already tearing parts of the track away to free to road within a few hours of the races completion. Checo laughs at something Max says, passing by with a slap to his teammates shoulder as the second place winner goes off to leave for the night.

"We did pretty damn good," Max leans against the wall, taking a water from Olivia's outstretched hand as GP exits the paddock with a wave over his shoulder at someone.

"And we'll keep the momentum up." Olivia chimes, before a flicker of approaching papaya catches her eyes. She blinks up and grins at Oscar's approach to the exterior of the Red Bull paddocks, two steps forward and she tugs him into a loose hug.

"Nice P4." She congratulates, Oscar stepping back with a smile.

"I almost tasted that podium," Oscar smiles, then straightens a bit when he sees the Red Bull staff hovering. Every one of us in shorts and tees, and Oscar in a hoodie like no one communicated to him that it was hot.

"Hey, Max." Oscar says, wiping sweat from his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. Whistling to get her brothers attention, Olivia tosses him a plain white towel, a cold one that Red Bull had frozen for the hear. She swears Oscar almost melts with appreciation when he sees it and then promptly wipes his entire face down and rests the towel around his neck.

"Good to see you, Oscar." Max nods, leaning on the shaded wall next to Olivia. Flushed cheeks and tired eyes making GP nudge the water bottle towards him with a little less sly nature than usual, a look from Olivia telling Max to just suck it up and take a sip.

"Good to see you Max, great win today," Oscar smiles, but quickly continues, "Livie, weren't answering your phone, and I needed to give you your stuff, so I came over to tell you I've gotta stay late, meeting with Mark."

"I'll catch a ride back, no worries." Olivia pats his shoulder and he Oscar nods, lifting his phone to his face and groaning.

"Gotta go, again, see you for dinner tomorrow when you land?" Oscar starts backing up and Olivia nods. The tradition of post-race dinner never a lost art on the Piastri siblings.

"As always! Seven pm, sharp!" Olivia calls to her brothers retreating form and he nods before turning and just taking off in a run to vanish into the McLaren paddock.

"Need a ride back?" Max asks after a beat, GP tugging his backpack up over his shoulders. Olivia goes to say yes, but a whistle takes her attention sideways to Lando approaching.

"Nope. See you guys tomorrow!" Olivia can't help but cheekily grin, slipping off the wall to approach Lando who twirls his car keys absentmindedly. He smiles at her approach, adjusting his bag as he stops so Olivia can meet him midway.

"Nice to see you, Ollie... you need a ride home, right?" He grins, placing a hand on my lower back once more and Olivia doesn't hesitate to lean up to tuck a stray hair back against the others. The same curl that always pokes out of it's spot.

"I do, Oscar's late with Mark tonight." Olivia says, peeking behind her to see Max--and a newly appeared Charles, Daniel, and off to side, Logan and Alex and George, watching the two interact.

"Perfect." Lando's eyes lift to look at the group, and seconds later he's escorting Olivia with flair, his hand naturally slotting to rest a little lower than the small of her back. his steps falling in time with hers as he guides her out of the paddocks with a cheeky, "Starting strong, aren't we?"

Olivia can't help but laugh, hiding her mouth with her hand as they slip into the car park. There's a few lingering reporters here, but no large crowd for once other than some teams that linger their eyes on the closeness of Lando and his teammates sister.

"Strong starts typically lead to strong races." Olivia says as he opens the passenger door to his car for her. The sleek black McLaren a beauty, and Olivia can't hepl the happy sigh as she sinks into the passengers seat. Lando makes sure shes all tucked in, even scooting her purse a bit deeper, before shutting the door as he makes his way around the front of the car and clambering into the drivers seat.

He smirks, "At least they can't say we aren't holding up our end of the contract."

And Olivia laughs, because its true, they are doing everything in their power to make sure this contract works. And it starts making Olivia think, how quickly can she get the hell out of this? She wasn't an actress, thats for sure, but she also didn't want to piss off Oscar.

It was a unique predicament to be in. One she didn't really want. But at least conversation with Lando flows easily as they drive back to the hotel.

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#f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one fanfiction #formula one fic #lando norris fanfic #ln4 fic #ln4 fanfic #lando norris fic

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