microphones - marcus armstrong x reader
requested
Friday mornings were their favorite.
The place was empty; they could snag the cozy booths in the corner and pour as much maple syrup as they wanted, while soft music played in the background and the waitresses, still a little sleepy but smiling, floated between tables, ready for the weekend.
It was their love language in a way—meeting on that day, every week, over pancakes and avocado toast, to talk about anything and everything: her studies, or the latest embarrassing moment from their travels.
It became the day they both looked forward to, whether at home or on the road, before a race or during a break.
They didn’t care about dressing up or rushing. And anyone who was at that café on a Friday knew Marcus and she would be there, unapologetically taking their time over brunch and sleepy conversations.
That day, the Kiwi had already gone for a run and had swung by to pick her up straight after, hair still damp from the shower, wallet and phone clutched in one hand, leaning casually against the wall outside her place, eyes fixed on the street where a few bikes rolled past and dogs stopped to sniff at each other.
They had taken their usual spot at the café, ordered the same dishes as always, and were sipping on their smoothies when Marcus's phone started buzzing nonstop, making her frown.
"Who died?" she asked.
She had her blue-light glasses pushing her soft hair back from her face, and was wearing a ridiculous T-shirt with a dinosaur on it that said “I’m an anxious rex,” making Marcus chuckle every time he looked at her. She sat cross-legged on the seat, looking fresh and awake despite having only been up for an hour.
"Nobody. Yet. But if you keep me waiting like that again—"
"Yeah, yeah. What's the emergency?"
Marcus, for his part, wore one of his dark polos that made his green eyes pop and that familiar about-to-ask-a-favor expression that usually meant he was about to drag her into some kind of trouble.
He leaned in slightly, resting his chin on his clasped hands as if presenting her with the opportunity of a lifetime.
"Screaming Meals. Guest episode. Special: ‘The people behind the drivers.’ You. Me. James. Clem."
She didn’t even pause before setting her glass down and taking her glasses off, placing them neatly on the table.
"You didn’t even think about it!"
And so began the impossible mission of the IndyCar driver: weaponizing their friendship at every chance he got, slipping his proposal into conversations wherever he spotted even the tiniest glimmer of hope, flashing that charming smile and using that rare charisma.
On the subway, where the noise of the tracks made it almost impossible to hear:
“Screaming Meals, you and me—” he yelled over the clatter.
"I can't hear you," she shouted back, a mischievous grin on her face.
She could hear him—he knew she could. She was just messing with him.
At a beachside dinner with Marcus’s sister and a family friend, candles flickering on the table, the sunset casting a reddish hue over the town:
Paris had gone to the bathroom, and the other guy was mid-monologue, one she was only half-listening to out of politeness. Her gaze flicked between him and Marcus, who was sitting beside her.
Marcus seized the moment, lifting his napkin to reveal a clumsy scrawl:
“Be on Screaming Meals or I’ll dramatically fake fainting at this restaurant.”
She frowned at him, surprised by the new tactic.
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms, mouthing the words:
"I will commit to the bit."
At absurd hours, when he was still across the ocean in America in his race suit and she was enjoying the European spring, her phone would light up with messages she really should have been ignoring in favor of sleep:
“what if you did Screaming Meals and became an internet icon overnight... just saying”
“your laugh could literally carry the whole show. considering rebranding.”
“would let you run me over in a shopping cart if you said yes ❤️”
He used every excuse: while gaming, begging her to go easy on him in exchange for dropping it, or while grocery shopping, juggling bags of lettuce and tomatoes teetering dangerously in his arms:
"So if you were hypothetically free Thursday, and hypothetically extremely charming, would you hypothetically come on Screaming Meals?"
"No," she said, snatching the box of tomatoes from his hands.
"Okay, Friday?"
He hit her weak spot, and she threw a box of tissues at him, making it clear he’d scored.
The green-eyed pilot knew he had won.
A few Fridays later, they were in their usual spot. Marcus wore his favorite shirt, looking like he was attending an important corporate meeting, the black ring on his finger making him seem even more serious as he locked eyes with her.
"Listen to me. You’re smart. You’re funny. You know me, you know James, you know Clem. You’re the perfect guest."
"Uh huh," she said, taking a sip of tea and peering at him over the rim of her cup.
"I need you," he whispered dramatically, letting his head fall onto the table, stretching his hands toward hers.
"And yet, you like me anyway."
Marcus sat back up, wearing his best pleading look.
His face lit up so much she immediately knew she’d regret it—but he looked so damn happy that she couldn’t take it back.
"Get ready for Screaming Meals world domination," he announced proudly.
A few days later, he dragged her to the studio he and the others had thrown together, carrying gear and treating her—his new guest—like the most prized possession he owned.
"I’m not funny. I’m just going to sit there and blink. I’m not good at the whole... talking... thing."
She was lost in her phone, looking a little nervous, hair tied up, a big hoodie engulfing her, and a carabiner clip full of random stuff hanging off her jeans.
Marcus thought she looked adorable.
"You don’t have to be funny. You just have to be you," he said, parking the car. "And if you’re terrible, we’ll just edit you out. Easy."
She turned to him, eyebrows raised.
"Charming," she muttered, stealing a smile from him.
Clement and James had set up a few tripods and cameras in the backyard of a typical English house, throwing together armchairs with colorful cushions and a little table stacked with chips and sparkling water bottles.
It had Screaming Meals written all over it: casual, chaotic, not a serious podcast in sight.
She knew the guys pretty well by now, after spending countless weekends between races hanging around them, getting used to how playful and genuinely funny they could be.
They were part of the package deal that came with Marcus—and honestly, she didn’t mind.
Not even when they endlessly teased her and Marcus whenever they caught them together.
The guys clipped a microphone to her hoodie, then they all plopped down in the garden, starting what would become the most hilarious episode yet.
"Today’s theme is: the people who make drivers possible. And, lucky for Marcus, he brought his personal therapist," Clem said, wearing a sweater that made him look like a perfect English countryside local, holding a glass of wine from his own brand.
"And chef. And security detail," added James, in his white shirt and mischievous grin.
"I hate to admit you’re not wrong," Marcus said, slouched back in his chair, grinning over at the couch where she and Clem were sitting.
She warmed up way faster than she thought—maybe because, as Marcus said, it was just another conversation like the thousands they’d already had.
Or maybe because her introverted side had given way to her ambiverted self, the one that came alive around people she trusted.
"So, ____... how does one end up becoming Marcus Armstrong’s life coach?"
"Mostly by accident. He kind of... adopted me?" she laughed, curling into her hoodie, legs tucked under her, a soft smile on her face.
"But genuinely, you’re the person he turns to when he’s in full meltdown mode, right?"
"I guess. I’m just... there. I listen. I make sure he eats sometimes."
"And tells me when I’m being a moron," Marcus chimed in, fiddling with a receipt he’d swiped from a restaurant.
"That’s a full-time job," she shot back, glancing at him with that relaxed, teasing look he adored.
Out of all three, she probably vibed the most with Clement: easygoing, witty without trying to hog the spotlight, always ready to jump into some dumb idea without making it childish.
Marcus’s humor was obvious, a little louder.
James’s was pure chaos.
Clem was effortless.
She fit right in.
"Tell us the worst Marcus story you’ve got," James said, sliding her some snacks.
"Only one?" she joked, pretending to think.
"Here we go," Marcus sighed, eyes sparkling with a small smile as he watched her.
"Oh, this is going to be good," Clem laughed, rubbing his hands together.
"Okay, so Marcus once decided we had to hike this random trail he found online.
No research. No map. He said—" she turned toward him, knowing he was already shaking his head, "—'It’s barely a walk. Easy.'"
"Three hours later, we’re lost, it’s getting dark, no phone signal, and he’s swearing the real path must be around the next corner."
"I thought we were going to have to eat berries and establish a society."
James and Clem burst out laughing.
It was so Marcus—getting mad at the GPS while mosquitoes feasted on him and she stood there, hands on her hips, hair in braids, amused and exasperated.
"Never trusting you to tell this story again," he said, giving her a gentle nudge, ignoring James who sat wedged between them.
Then she really started exposing Marcus.
The others had found their new favorite pastime.
"He’s the king of stubborn. No one else would mute the team radio mid-race because he decided it was ‘giving bad vibes.’"
"It’s his secret ingredient for both success and catastrophe," Clem joked, glancing at her.
"Blink twice if you're being held against your will," James added seriously.
"Honestly, some days it feels like that," she teased, hugging one knee to her chest, that sweet light always twinkling in her eyes.
"She knows you too well, mate. Dangerous."
"Starting to think you’re a mole."
"Wouldn’t need to be. You’re very easy to read."
James and Clem exchanged a look, one only they understood.
That’s how the episode closed: hours later, sun dipping below the English countryside, a small adventure that nudged her out of her comfort zone.
When the cameras finally clicked off, she lounged back, nibbling on chips while the boys debriefed, already laughing about how the episode would crush it online.
Talking about the crazy life of drivers—and the way it changes the lives of the people who love them, too.
Maybe she would’ve stayed hidden in her own little bubble without Marcus: stressed about her studies, doubting herself.
Instead, here she was, laughing, feeling like the main character of some indie movie about being young, wild, and full of life.
And maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all—being alongside someone like Marcus: chaotic, yes, but someone who somehow always brought out the best parts of everyone he loved, with that irresistible grin and that sharp wit.
"God, why did I think this was a good idea?" Marcus groaned, watching his fellow Kiwi cooking dinner, while she and Clem were out on the patio laughing about something.
"Because you’re an idiot in love, mate."
Marcus almost choked on his wine, eyes locked on the pair outside.
"Jealous she’s vibing with us better than with you."
It was beautiful, seeing her like that.
Talking. Laughing. Making every little moment magical.
Building little traditions with him.
Seeing him pretend to be jealous, watching her find her place not just with him, but with his people too.
It was beautiful, how she always ended up laughing at him.
In one of her oversized sweatshirts or silly T-shirts.
With that bright, brilliant smile that kept Marcus grounded.
And made him feel lighter than he ever thought possible.
this was requested by a beloved moot of mine, and I hope I did your idea justice!
