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#this one's a little different from usual i guess

babygorewhore · 2 days

Text

Greedy

Older! Rafe Cameron x fem reader!

Rafe is normally selfish in bed, doesn’t care about anyone’s pleasure but his own until he meets you.

This is a little blurb. Less than 1k words.

Warnings! Age gap! Reader is 25 and Rafe is 33! Oral! Fem receiving! Unprotected sex! Rafe covers your mouth so idk if that’s choking because I’m stupid. Also not proofread because I don’t have the willpower today. Dividers by the sexy, @xxbimbobunnyxx

Rafe normally didn’t eat a lot of pussy; he didn’t usually care enough to. If he didn’t pound someone until they saw stars right away, if he was feeling generous, he would sometimes use his fingers first. But you? The twenty five year old girl who was dog sitting for him, he literally dreamed about burying his face between your legs.

At thirty three, he was very used to female attention. You were different. You interested him, made him laugh and you made him feel…soft. He wanted to take care of you, take away all your troubles and of course fuck you until you literally couldn’t walk. And now, Rafe finally had opportunity after two weeks for you to stay over. It was late and dark outside. He didn’t want a young woman as yourself to drive home and he asked you to stay.

He half expected you to hesitate but you surprised him with a “Yes.”

Obviously, he had a guest room but he needed you in his room. And you didn’t have any clothes to change into to sleep in. So, Rafe told you, “You can sleep in one of my shirts.” You were wearing a Halloween shirt, black skirt and boots. Your nails were painted black, you fiddled with your rings as you stood in the doorway of his room.

He picked out a t shirt, nothing else and held it up for you. “Here. This one is comfortable.” Rafe crooked a finger at you as you lingered on the edge, giving you a smirk.

You cleared your throat and approached him, reaching up for the material.

You did the sneaky girl thing where you changed shirts without actually showing him anything in the corner but he didn’t want to scare you into leaving. However, when you looked at him, shirt only going to your thigh and wide eyes peering at him, Rafe extended his hand to you.

“C’mere, doll. I want you to sit down for me.” He guided you to sit on his bed and you did. He nudged your knees apart with leg and he moaned quietly as your panties peeked through. “Fuck, I guess it was pointless for me to give you that shirt. Since I want to just rip it off,”

You shivered and bit your lip, a tinge of shyness overtaking you. “I didn’t think you noticed me like that.” You trialed off and Rafe snorted with a quirked eyebrow.

“Didn’t notice you? Baby girl, normally I’d never be this fuckin nice. Lean back for me and let me taste your sweet pussy.”

You seem to hesitate for a second and Rafe wasn’t going to have it. “None of that overthinking shit, princess. Be a good girl and lay down.” You laid on your back and Rafe kneeled on the ground, pushing your legs apart. He pulled off your panties, the sticky material in the center and your cunt tightened around nothing.

He leaned forward, licking a firm strip around your clit before he flattened it and gripped your thighs. He pushed your legs up, exposing as much of you as possible as he shoved his whole face in. You whimpered and whined, your hands burying in his hair as he moved his head around and tongue fucked your pussy.

“Being so fuckin greedy, hiding this pretty pussy from me.” He grunts as he slurps and sucks your clit, he buries two fingers inside you and curls them upward. Rafe loved how you bucked your hips, moaned and clawed at him as he lapped your cunt.

He had been fucking missing out and he savored every single drop. Rafe slapped your ass and you cried out, “cream on my face, princess. Then I’m gonna fuck you, get it all wet for me.”

Seconds later and you came all over his mouth. Rafe was relentless as he tasted it, keeping his pace with his fingers as you rode out your high and he pulled away. He didn’t bother to wipe his lips as he crawled on top of you and smashed his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

He tugged down his pants and underwear down, ripping away from your mouth with a pant. Rafe pumped himself a few times before he pressed his dick inside. You mewled and threw your head back as he thrusted, his cock splitting you in half. “Shit, you’re so fuckin tight, baby girl. Squeezing me so hard I can barely move, must of really needed this, huh?” He huffed as he moved.

“Mhm, you could have cum from eating me out,” you pointed out and he latched his lips to your neck, hovering above you.

“Can you blame me? You have a fuckin porn star pussy. Bein all selfish and keeping it from me.” He said against your skin and he covered your mouth with his palm.

Your eyes rolled back as he gave you a particularly hard thrust, his balls slapping against your ass before his cum emptied inside you. Your substance mixed with his as you followed suit, you groaned against his hand as he sloppily kept going.

“Aw, my bunny so cock drunk you can’t talk?” He mocked as he removed his palm. You managed to nod as he wickedly smiled. “I’m not fuckin done, princess. Get on your hands and knees. I think you owe me a few more.”

Tagging, @marchsfreakshow @oceandriveab @starkeysprincess @drewstarkeyslut @gri959 @redhead1180 @rafescurtainbangz @rafeinterlude @rafesthroatbaby

518 notes · View notes

sports-on-sundays · 1 day

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two for one / LN4 & OP81 / Part 1

Summary: Lando x female!Australian!McLaren marketing unit worker!reader x childhood best friend!Oscar - Two Formula 1 drivers who just so happen to race for McLaren also just so happen to have fallen for you. Takes place from Australian Grand Prix 2024 to Monaco GP 2024.

Warnings: cussing, jealousy, flirty friendship, angst, manipulation, lying, OH THE DRAMA, confusion, mention of throwing up, not feeling well

Requested?: No.

Author's Note: I feel like this idea is so unoriginal but I don't care. The work of the reader is not mentioned much at all because there's no way I'm putting the energy into that.

"We should have Oscar over!" your mother exclaims. "I'm sure he's going to b-"

"Wait, Oscar's coming over?!" your younger sister exclaims.

"No, no, no," you sigh. "He's not. Mum, he's busy. We can't be bothering him with that. He's got too much on his plate. It'll just be a burden for him."

"No, it won't! Oscar's always nice!" your sister, Ava, remarks.

You sigh. "He's polite. He's very good at being polite. But it would still be a burden for him."

"You get to see him, like, everyday-"

"Not everyday-"

"-but me and Mum haven't seen him in ages. Oscar's like an older brother!"

You roll your eyes. "I'll see what I can do."

You're surprised when it's Oscar who brings it up. A week before the Grand Prix, he comes to dinner, which is nice for your sister and mum, you suppose.

But it's after he leaves that your mum makes a comment you're not sure you like.

She sighs and says, "Oscar's so sweet, Y/n. I'm sure that boy loves you."

"Sorry?" you look up in surprise. It was said so casually, you weren't expecting such a comment.

"He's such a sweet boy," she starts, as though he's still the sweet boy from down the street that used to babysit Ava with you, and not a famous Formula 1 driver. "You've known him for so many years. I would completely approve of him as a boyfriend for y-"

"Mum, I'm twenty-two! I don't need you to approve who I date! " you sigh, rolling your eyes.

"Yes, yes, I know. But don't you see the way he looks at you? He talks of you so fondly. He's just so kind with you- extra kind. More kind than how he is with other people."

You sigh, looking down at the tablecloth, picking your nails. "Well," you murmur, "if he really feels that way, he can let me know. But for now, I'm not interested in him... I... I don't think..." your voice fades off.

"Y/n. Haven't you had a crush on him for years? What changed that?"

You shrug, and murmur embarrassed, still not looking up, "I guess I just... moved on to someone else?"

"Y/n! You have a boyfriend?" your immature sister giggles.

"No! Just friends. But... I kind of like him, and I think he might like me, too."

"What's his name?"

You clear your throat, glancing down. You're not sure how to get out of this, so you decide simply to get up, saying you'll clean the dishes.

Because you know your mother would be, to say in the least, unhappy to know that rather being interested in Oscar, you're interested more in his teammate, Lando.

Or, at least, you think you are.

As you rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher, you think. Lando really is your type, in looks and personality. Everything you want in a guy. He's got a good sense of humour, a kind heart, and an adventurous spirit.

Not to say Oscar doesn't have all those things. It's just different.

Besides, you like Lando's curly hair. You like his greenish eyes and easy smile. You like his tanner skin and dark eyebrows. You like his build, you like his hands; you're just more attracted to him.

On the surface, maybe Lando and Oscar don't seem so different. But to you, one is your best friend, and the other, you want, just maybe, as a little bit more.

Are you not appreciating Oscar? You don't know.

But you sure know how you feel, and nothing is going to change that.

Or, at least, you don't think anything will.

The whole weekend after that goes as usual, but you're happy to be in yours and Oscar's homeland. After the practice sessions, you're seated, sipping from a your water bottle, when Lando plops down next to you. "Hello."

"Hey," you nod to him with a smile. "How's it going?"

He smirks like the stupid idiot he is and says, "Better, now that I'm with you."

You roll your eyes, and look up to see Oscar walking over he sits down on the other side of you, and you comment, "It's pretty crazy, isn't it?"

"What is?" Oscar asks.

"We used to play in this park, you know? Remember, dragging Ava along behind us?"

Oscar chuckles, nodding. "And my three little sisters. It was you and me, dragging around the four younger ones because our parents wanted a break."

"Yeah, your mum had Pilates or something," you joke.

He nods again with a grin. "Yeah. Probably something like that."

Then Oscar gets up and walks off, and Lando says, "So you two really have known each other forever?"

"Yeah, pretty much. Both born in Melbourne, a little over a month apart."

"So when's your birthday?" Lando inquires, crossing his arms across his chest.

"May 26. Funnily enough, that's the Monaco Grand Prix."

"Oh boy. I guess that means we'll have to drive well that weekend, even better. You know, for you."

"Yeah," you chuckle. "You're going to dedicate the whole Monaco Grand Prix to me?"

"Well, you certainly deserve it," he grins, patting your back before standing up and walking away.

Gosh, do you like both those guys so much!

"Ayy!" you grin, high-fiving Lando. "Let's go, baby! A podium. Nice job! And you too, Osc! Nice job, dude!" you add as he passes. He beams almost as big as Lando and nods, thanking you, before walking off.

"Well, what a gift," Lando winks. "To have you greet me after the Grand Prix."

"You're hopeless," you grin, rolling your eyes. "Good race, though. Solid, from both you and Oscar."

Lando suddenly wraps you in a hug, which makes your body practically turn to stone. "Thanks so much. You're so encouraging."

"O- Of course, Lando. Always."

"M-hm, and that's what I like about you," he says, pulling away from the hug, before walking off.

You're standing there, blushing softly, at the fact that Lando Norris just hugged you, when you turn your head, and, unexpectedly, see the brown eyes of Oscar lingering on you. As soon as your eyes meet, though, he swiftly turns his crestfallen face down, away from your face.

All the sudden, you feel a large, nervous stone in your throat.

Did he see you hug Lando?

Is that what that look about?

Or is he just down about not getting a podium at his home race?

Yeah, maybe that's just it. Anyone would be, right?

But, inside, you know that's not it. You know Oscar. He keeps cool. He's a good sportsman- a really good one. He's polite. He understands what had to be done.

So what's that look about?

Your brain can only reach one conclusion, and you're not sure if you like it.

Oscar takes a deep breath and starts walking toward you. Maybe it's time to say what he's thinking. If there's any chance of things going on with you and Lando, it's probably good for you to know how he feels, right? Just so there's no confusion.

At least that's what Oscar's figuring.

But, who knows, when he stands up and walks over, if he's actually going to admit it. For years, he's felt this way, and he's never had to guts to just say it, knowing you don't feel the same way.

Oscar wouldn't say he's scared of it, but he's definitely not keen on the idea of being rejected, which he assumes he likely will be.

You're just getting some coffee before you get back to your work, and Oscar, though he's really not thirsty or in want of any coffee right now, is ready to pretend he is.

The excuse is that he's tired. Perhaps it's too far-fetched, since it's pretty much a known fact throughout all of McLaren HQ that Oscar Piastri loves sleep, but-

Yeah.

He's 'super tired.'

You fill your paper cup up with coffee, in deep thought about work, and nothing else. Just as you're about to walk back to your desk and get back to the work, as you're turning around, a smooth hand grabs your forearm, and you spill your coffee on your McLaren T-shirt in surprise. "O- Oscar!" you exclaim, stumbling a bit at the utter closeness. "H- Hi!?"

"Hi," he says with earnest eyes. "I'm.... sorry."

"It's okay. Luckily it wasn't too hot. Oh well. I'll just go change; I have an extra shirt, sorry about that! Anyway, see you around!" And then you're off, leaving your half-full coffee cup sitting on the counter.

Oscar is left standing there, staring at the cup, his hand still out from where he had touched your arm.

Alright then. Well, maybe it's not meant to be.

Oscar's terrible timing is that he calls you the moment you're sitting next to Lando in his car, talking.

Lando is yapping. "-so then the girl said some spunky comment or whatever, and she reminded me a lot of you. You know, because I would've been the tough macho man in the movie that saves you from the fucking murder men, ri- Wait, who's calling?" he inquires, leaning over closer.

You laugh a bit at the interruption of his silly talking, and don't even think to not let Lando see who's calling. "It's Oscar..." you say vaguely, before looking up to meet Lando's eyes. "Why would he be calling?"

Lando shrugs, a curious streak in his expression. "Well, pick up, and see."

So you do. "Hello, Oscar?"

"I'm sorry for spilling coffee on you today," he says immediately, which causes a small laugh to escape from your lips.

"Osc, it's fine. I spilled it on myself. Did you call just to say that?"

"No," he laughs. "I was just wondering if tomorrow night you wanted to hang out or something..."

"Oh... yeah, sure, that'll work for me."

"Oh, nice. Alright. Also, one more question. I swear it's not related, either."

"Go on?"

There's a few moments of silence, before you prompt, "Oscar, are you still there?"

"Yeah. So... I was just wondering... are you dating anyone? Because. I know you and Lando are pretty close friends, and I was just wondering."

"Oh!" you say in surprise, your cheeks involuntarily going pink. And, without thinking, or considering, at all, you blurt, "No, of course not! Just friends!"

Immediately, you feel guilty.

You in no way lied, but you still feel like you just did something wrong.

Both you and Lando would say you're just friends.

But more and more, neither of you seem to want that.

And if Oscar's interested in you...

Oh, God.

"Oh, alright." He sounds somewhat relieved, which makes your heart tighten even more. "Alright, sounds good. Want me to just drive you from work? We could leave, at like, 8:00 P.M.?"

"8:00? What on earth are you doing, leaving at 8:00 in the evening?"

"I have something in mind."

"Uh?"

"You'll see. Trust me?"

"Alright," you shrug, still feeling very unsure.

"Okay. See you later, Y/n."

"Bye bye, Osc," you say, before hanging up.

The moment you do, Lando leans in close, with wide eyes, "What did he say?"

"Just wants to hang out."

One of Lando's eyebrows cock up.

"Lan," you chuckle. "That's all it is. Just like... like, how you and me just hang out."

"Mmm'kay, then..." he nods slowly. He's silent for a few seconds, before commenting. "Lan. That's cute."

"You're cute," you blurt, again, not thinking.

You really should try that more. You know, the whole thinking thing. You're sure you'd get in a lot less trouble if you used that brain of yours once in a while.

Lando immediately shows a pleased, toothy grin. "That's more like it," he comments, slipping his hand into yours, before he starts driving. "Up for an evening drive?"

"Always. Lan."

He winks, bites his lip, and gets driving.

"So, where are we going?" you ask as you walk to Oscar's car.

"I'm not telling you."

"Well, you're wearing a McLaren hoodie and grey jeans, so... somewhere casual."

"Good guess," he smiles, unlocking his car.

He opens the passenger seat door for you and as you're getting in, a piece of paper flies out of your pocket. You feel a lump in your throat as Oscar, with his quick reflexes, snatches it up off the ground.

Formula 1 drivers suck.

"Ca- Can I have that?" you ask quickly.

"Sure," Oscar says, handing it to you.

But it landed facing up. There's no way he couldn't have read the little note from Lando on it.

As Oscar walks around to the other side of the car, you read it over in your shaking hand.

You seem down today angel. If you wanna talk just find me or text me; i'm always here to listen. -lando

You feel your stomach lurch.

He even signed it with his name! The idiot!

And you weren't down! Just deep in thought! About Oscar, actually.

You let air escape from your lungs. You can feel the concern, the tenseness radiating off of Oscar as he drives, before, finally, he says, "Listen, I'm sorry for-"

"I know you read it. It's fine. It's nearly impossible not to. I would have, too."

"Angel?"

You bite your lip, looking out the window. "That's, just, uh, how Lando is..."

He regrips the steering wheel. "Y/n, you know me. If you lied on the phone, I won't be mad. I just want to know."

"I didn't lie, Osc. Lando was sitting right there when you called. I didn't lie."

"What... What were you doing?"

"Just hanging out. Just the same as what we're doing right now. You're both just my friends, okay?"

"Right," he says, but the sound barely escapes his lips, in only a whisper.

Soon, you reach the destination, and you're surprised to see it's your house. "Oscar...? Why'd you bring me home?"

"You'll see," he says with a soft smile. You both get out of the car, and he grabs some stuff from out of the trunk, before walking onto the lawn. You watch with your eyebrows scrunched together as he lays out a blanket. He sits down on it and pulls out a few little packets from his pocket.

"What's that?" you demand, still standing.

He takes your hand and gently tugs you down next to him. "Are you still a Tim Tam addict?"

You grin, holding your hand out to take a pack. "Thanks. And yes, I am."

"You're the most Aussie to ever Aussie."

"I could say the same thing about you."

Suddenly, he flops down on the blanket, laying down on his back, and you finally get the memo. "Stargazing?" you ask him carefully.

"If that's okay with you."

You grin, laying down next to him. "Why not?"

You lie there, side by side, staring up, and Oscar starts talking.

Listening to Lando is different. Lando is excited. Like he likes you so much and just wants to tell you everything. He talks a lot and makes you laugh a lot. Like, doubling over giggling kind of laughing.

Oscar makes little jokes, but just enough to make you softly chuckle. He doesn't go on and on. He pauses, as if he's thinking about what to say next. For you, that's a little awkward sometimes.

You feel awkward in silence.

But you like both of their ways of yapping.

After a while, Oscar is silent for longer than before, and you ask, "You asleep?"

He chuckles. "Of course not."

"Wouldn't put it past you," you tease.

"Fair enough..." he sighs softly, before, suddenly, you feel his warm hand brush yours. And in the dark, his fingers find yours, and he holds your hand in his.

You don't know what to feel. But surprisingly, it's something good.

His hand is smoother than Lando's, but smaller. His knuckles and veins are more defined, and his fingernails feel rougher than Lando's.

Here you are, just comparing the two.

Is that wrong?

But his hand is also radiantly warm, sending heat throughout your chilly body, causing goosebumps to appear on your arms.

You lick your lips, murmuring, "It's kind of cold. Can we go inside?"

There's a few seconds of silence from your friend next to you, before he says, "If the problem is that you're cold, I could fix that."

You look over in surprise, meeting his glimmering eyes, which appear to be merely black orbs in the darkness of the night. "How?" you venture.

Suddenly, he pulls you close to him, enveloping your body with his warm. You gasp a little, your heart rate immediately quickening. All the sudden, you don't feel so cold.

All the sudden, you get why you had a crush on Oscar for years.

All the sudden, the feelings come rushing back.

And in the light of the fact that you feel the exact same things with Lando, you have absolutely no idea what to think, feel, or do.

"So, are you, like, a bowling kind of guy?"

Lando shrugs. "I'm a you kind of guy, so any excuse I can think of to go somewhere with you, I will."

"Brutally honest, no?"

"Nothing's brutal about it," he grins, sipping from his cheap beer. He sets it down and stands up to have his go, before plopping back down on the couch next to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer to him.

"Lan," you chuckle. "You know, when you're bowling with only two people, as you've decided to do, there's not much time for cuddling in between turns." You say it lightheartedly. You don't mean anything by it.

But Lando does, apparently, because he says, "Ah, you know neither of his care about bowling. I care about you."

"Is this when I'm supposed to say I care about you, too?"

"Yeah, well, pretty much."

You lean closer, resting your head on Lando's shoulder. "I care about you, too. You're a great friend."

"Ah. Yeah, you too." He runs his hands through your hair for a while, before finally prompting you to take your turn. He stands up with you, as he has every time you've gone. You deliver the ball, but take just a step too forward, and slip.

Ah, fuck.

But suddenly, Lando grabs your wrist and pulls you back up, so you stumble right into him. He steadies you, wrapping his arms around you, and says, "Careful, there, Y/n. You okay?"

You clear your throat, blushing as butterflies swarm your stomach. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. Thanks."

He smirks. "No problem. That's what friends are for, eh?"

So, they both like me. And I like both of them. They're both so different in their own ways, but I like them both for different reasons.

And both likely expect the other likes me.

But regardless, they're both getting closer and closer to me. And I'm starting to

"Y/n-"

You slam your notebook shut, looking up to see Oscar. He's brought you on a few more...

Well, if you were to call a spade a spade, you'd say 'dates.'

But you just can't do that, because then you'd be saying you're dating two guys at once.

Neither of them have officially asked you out. Neither have ever even gotten close to calling you their partner.

So, that's how you convince yourself there's nothing wrong with it.

So they're not dates. You just don't know what to call them.

Either way, since the Tim Tam Stargazing Romantically Cuddling Under The Moonlight Night, Oscar has also taken you to dinner for his birthday and to a museum.

Oscar is different. He plans stuff out and then asks you if you're available. Lando asks if you're available first, and then just sort of-

Well, you never plan with Lando. You just do and go what and where you want that day.

It's different.

And yet again, you couldn't say which you like better.

"Y/n?" Oscar repeats, sounding more concerned now, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"Oh- yeah, what?"

He sits down next to you. "I know you'll be busy, just like the rest of us, since Miami is coming up fast, but..."

You smile nervously. "Yeah...?"

"Want to come over to my flat tonight? Or something?"

You swallow a lump in your throat as the picture of Lando's text from earlier today appears in your head.

I'm feeling good for Miami. Want to come over to my place tonight?

You had said 'sure.' You knew sometime soon, plans would overlap, and...

And that time is now.

"Y/n? Are you okay?" Oscar asks, placing his hand on your shoulder. "You look pale."

"Just... uh... Lots of..." you clear your throat. "Lots of work to do before the Grand Prix. Just... you know, stressed. I don't think I'll be able to tonight. But thank you," you put on a weak smile.

Oscar's lips curl into a concerned, thin line, but he nods, taking his hand off your shoulder. "If you ever need someone to talk to, just remember- I'm right here."

Same exact words Lando says to me all the time.

"R- Right. Thank you, Osc."

He nods. "Of course."

As soon as he's gone, you text Lando, letting him know plans abruptly changed, and that you're busy tonight after all.

You end up being very busy laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, emotions swarming in your stomach as you come to the realization that you can't keep going on like this. Soon enough, you're going to either have to choose one and break the other's heart, or let go of both of them.

And for some reason, just that thought makes you start to cry.

The rush of adrenaline is enough to make you crazy. Enough to make someone do stupid things that they never, ever should.

But when Lando Norris, race winner Lando Norris, is there, in front of you, you scream his name. When he sees you, his whole face lights up, and he throws his arms around you, lifting you up. "Nice work!" You kiss him on the cheek.

He giggles. "Wouldn't have been able to do it without you and the whole team!"

"Ah, shut up and give yourself the credit for once."

He grins wider. "Yeah, I guess for once I do deserve it."

"Shut your face, loser- or, I guess, winner."

"No, you shut yours," he murmurs, and when he's sure no eyes or cameras are on you, pecks your lips, before pulling away and running off.

And you're left there, a dizzy mess of adrenaline and embarrassment.

Later, you're walking in McLaren, and suddenly, you hear Lando's voice, "Y/n, come here."

You look up to see him peeking out of his driver's room. "What?"

"Just come on. I've got something for you." He's looking at you like an excited little puppy.

You grin and shrug, walking in with him.

The door latches behind you.

"What have you got for me, Lan?" you ask, glancing around at his contained mess.

Suddenly, your back is against the wall, and Lando's face is merely inches away from yours. You gasp, staring at him, feeling his breath on your face. "This," he mutters softly, before his eyes flutter closed and his lips meet yours.

Excitement and guilt hit you at the same exact time.

But as Lando invites you, you lean into the kiss, and any thoughts of Oscar slowly leave you as you're consumed by the bliss of this intimate moment with Lando.

But when you finally pull away from each other, panting, you murmur, "We never, ever mention this again, okay, Lan?"

He just grins, his hand slowly caressing your cheek. "Of course. Friend."

You sigh shakily. "You supposed that was your little reward for winning your first race, huh? You already got a trophy."

"Ah, sure. But you're my real trophy."

Oh, Lando, and his so-called 'silver tongue.'

After literally just making out with Lando, it feels thoroughly terrible to pat Oscar's shoulder and tell him 'sorry' about P13. Yet you manage to keep composure, despite the heavy guilt, as you say, "It's just the luck of the draw sometimes, no? But there's always next race."

You want to break down crying. You want to say something, but at the same time, you don't.

You don't regret kissing Lando.

You like him.

You think you have a better chance with him than you do with Oscar.

But you like Oscar, too. And just doing that feels like...

A betrayal.

No matter how much you say you're just friends, when do labels stop counting?

Your head is absolutely spinning. You feel sick.

"Y/n, what's wrong?" Lando asks, surprised to see you sitting in the hallway outside the offices, back in McLaren HQ, hugging your knees to your chest, staring somewhat vacantly, at nothing whatsoever.

"Hm? Hi, Lando," you say tiredly.

He slips down the wall next to you and says gently, taking your hand. "You can tell me. You haven't been yourself lately."

You swallow but don't respond.

He squeezes your hand and whispers, "Was it the kiss? Y/n, I'm sorry... I didn't-"

"No, no... It's... nothing."

Lando sighs. "So I take it I won't be able to be getting you to talk, huh?"

"S'pose not..." you sigh. There's no way you're telling him. He's fifty percent of the problem.

And Oscar's the other fifty.

So he wraps his arms around you, rubbing your back softly. You automatically lean your head into his chest, and he presses his lips into your scalp, gently kissing your hair. "I'll be ready to listen whenever you're ready to talk. But if you never are, I'll be here for you anyw-"

"What the-"

Both of you look up in shock to see Oscar looking right back at you.

Oscar's teeth clench. He's usually, nearly always, such a calm person. But now he doesn't look angry. He just look deeply hurt.

You bite back a very sudden sob.

And out of his hurt, for once, Oscar Piastri doesn't think before he speaks, and the bitter words fly out of his mouth: "Alright then! Just lie to me! Just give me fucking false hope for no reason, Y/n! That's great! Thanks a lot! Thank you! Lando, why don't you keep comforting her? Clearly she'd like that much more than anything I have to offer."

And then he turns on his heel and walks away, down the hall.

"What the hell is wrong with him?" Lando snaps indignantly. "The asshole!"

Oh, Lando. He doesn't know. Not one bit.

"You stay here," he suddenly says angrily. "I'm going after him."

"Lando..." you sigh, burying your face in your hands. "Please, no..."

"Y/n..." Lando looks at you, uncertain.

You sigh again. "Okay, whatever." It's not like it can get any worse, can it?

So then Lando's off, and you're left to drown in your complete and utter regret.

Lando jogs down the hall, and the moment he sees Oscar's back in front of him, walking away from him, he calls, "Oscar, wait up."

He spins on his heel to face the Brit. His jaw is tight, and his eyes tender. "What?" he breathes.

"What the hell, man? What's wrong?"

"I'm not blind, Lando," Oscar sighs, leaning his back against the wall, shutting his eyes, tilting his face up towards the ceiling.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lando demands, facing him.

"I know you two are dating. It's fine. I was kidding myself. Playing pretend, yeah? Just like me and Y/n used to always do. It's fine. You know I'm the type of guy to adjust. I always do. That's what I've learnt. So, I wish you two luck, but I ought to be off now." Oscar then leans off the wall to keep walking away.

But Lando grabs his shoulder. "What? I still don't get it?"

"It doesn't matter. Forget this ever happened." The Australian doesn't sound bitter or angry anymore. Disappointed and resigned, for sure, but also accepting. "It's for the best. Just go comfort your girlfriend. She needs it."

"She's not- I mean- we- I-" Lando trails off, at a complete loss for words.

Oscar stares ahead, not facing Lando. "Lando, I like you. Let's not make this dramatic. I'm sorry; I slipped. Should have kept it to myself. Like I have for years. Never should have said a word."

"I..." Lando begins, but stops. "Oscar, I..."

"You don't know what to say?" Oscar asks, suddenly looking over to Lando with an actual, genuine smile on his face, surprisingly enough. "That's okay. Probably means you shouldn't say anything. Maybe you talk too much sometimes anyway."

It's just meant to me a light, friendly tease, but in this situation, it doesn't seem right. Knots twist up in Lando's stomach, and Oscar's words don't feel like a joke at all.

Lando knows more needs to be said, but there's nothing more to say.

Then, suddenly, to his somewhat shock, Lando hears your voice behind him. "Oscar," you say, walking toward the McLaren driver. You swallow. Keeping composure.

Oscar looks at you expectantly, tentatively taking a step forward, almost involuntarily.

You suddenly throw your arms around him in a hug.

"Hey, Osc," you begin whispering. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for what it might look like. But me and Lando are just friends, just like you and me are just friends. Like I said before- Lando is just like that. Besides, if you saw me sad, wouldn't you help me out in just the same way?"

"I... uh... O- Of course..."

"See? So there's nothing to be upset about. I wasn't lying to you."

Oscar's unsure eyes soften, and his eyebrows scrunch together. "I- Alright... Okay. Uhm."

"I forgive you, Oscar. It's okay," you smile gently, stroking his cheek.

You want to throw up.

Y/n. You lying, evil snake. Listen to yourself. So manipulative, and for what?

To save yourself.

To save Oscar.

But it is all selfish though, isn't it?

You're just trying to cover all your bases.

You take your hand away from Oscar's warm skin and say simply, "Lando- I think my problem earlier was just that I'm not feeling very well... Must have picked up some kind of virus... I... I should be getting home now."

And you run out, leaving the two McLaren boys standing there in the hallway, both absolutely speechless.

After quite an awkward week or so, the Imola GP comes around, and, like racing always does for you, the passion is too much to let any barriers soften your excitement.

You see Oscar first, who you congratulate with a high five. But he hugs you, saying, "How are you?"

"Huh?" you ask in surprise. "Great! Another super solid weekend for the team. P4 for you!"

"Hah, yeah," he smiles. "Well, I'm glad you're doing just as good as I am."

And later, wen you see Lando, your first comment is, "You could have won this one, too!"

"I know!" he laughs. "After knowing how it feels, P2 doesn't seem so glorious."

You click your tongue. "Don't worry, Lando. It'll come."

Well, in that following week, somehow, the two busy drivers both find times to ask you out.

As friends.

Lando tries to pry out of you what really happened that day with Oscar. You refuse to say it. Say it's personal, having to do with things from yours and Oscar's childhood.

More twisting the truth.

You're starting to hate how good you are at these disgusting games.

When you go to dinner with Oscar, it hurts your heart to see how trusting he seems. Even after it all, he thinks he's the one in the wrong. And he thinks all is well. That nothing wrong is happening. He asks you one more time if you're dating Lando.

You say no.

Because you're not.

Right?

And then, it seems, before someone can say 'I'm in love with two McLaren Formula 1 drivers,' you're walking into the Monaco paddock, the week flies by so fast.

You love Monaco. Doesn't everyone? It's one of the best Grand Prixs of the season in your opinion, if not the best. The atmosphere, the sea, the people- it's all just slightly different in Monaco.

Everything shines brighter in Monaco.

And, apparently, you do, too, because both Lando and Oscar are being particularly affectionate towards you this weekend. You can't tell if you like it, or if it's stressing you out. Likely both.

"So... Piastri-Leclerc, is it?" you ask Oscar with a chuckle.

"Yeah, that's right," Oscar says with a little chuckle.

Suddenly, one of your other coworkers nudges you and says teasingly, loud enough for Oscar to hear, "Ah, Y/n, that means you'll have to be Y/n Piastri-Leclerc when you marry him. What do you feel about that?"

Before you can say anything, Lando seems to materialize out of the depths of the McLaren garage to comment, "You know, Y/n Norris has got a lot better ring to it."

"The confidence!" your coworker laughs at Lando as Lando laughs genuinely and you and Oscar likely laugh more nervously than anything else.

That night, as you lay in the bed in your hotel room, you're having a sinking feeling, deep down in your chest, that soon enough, you'll have to choose.

You'll have to make a decision.

If you keep up this game any longer, one of you are going to get killed in the process.

You just have to be honest.

Who do you love more? Who would be better for you?

You've known Oscar longer. You connect with him better.

But you enjoy being with Lando more. You have more of the same interests.

Lando is always positive and confident. Oscar is always sensible and even-keeled, relaxed, and calm.

Lando's wild card or Oscar's solid rock?

They both care for and about you so, so much.

Oscar for all these years, was too scared to admit how he felt to you, and was only convinced to confess it when he saw how you and Lando were with each other.

So, essentially, jealousy was what convinced him to admit his feelings.

He hasn't even admitted it.

Lando has, many times. You've got Lando's number. He's straight with you. He's not scared to say it.

But at the same time... you've never believed in soulmates, but there's definitely something to the story of your life, and the way it always seemed to result in Oscar. He was always the one at the end of every tunnel.

You've known Oscar for a lifetime. You've known Lando for... what, two years?

You sigh deeply.

What the hell?

"P2, Oscar! P2! In Monaco!"

He's laughing as you throw your arms around him this time. Lando's there, patting him on the back. "Nice job, mate," he congratulates.

"Yeah, mate! Nice job is right!" you giggle.

Oscar leans away, beaming.

Then, as soon as Lando walks off, Oscar kisses your cheek gently, just letting his soft lips brush your cheek.

Your breath catches in your throat.

"Would it... would it be okay if I kissed you later? For real?"

You swallow. "We'll see about that."

But Oscar just smiles. "Will I have to wait until I win a race, too, to get a kiss out of you?"

You laugh, but a lump rises in your throat.

Why is he talking as if he knows?

"Y- Yeah," you breathe. "I reckon so."

He nods and leans away. "Well, happy birthday, Y/n! I've got something for you!" He's about to pull you by your hand, when suddenly, another hand grabs your other hand.

"Wanna see your birthday gift, Y/n?"

You look up to see Lando.

Literally, both of them, about to pull you separate directions.

Yeah, you think almost scornfully, That's right. You can each have a hand.

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hxeluvr · 1 day

Text

Coffee Stains and Misspelled Names

PAIRING: barista!joost klein x fem!regular customer!reader

genre: fluff , comfort

You pushed open the glass door of the small, cozy coffee shop, the bell above the entrance chiming softly. The familiar aroma of freshly ground coffee beans and baked goods enveloped you, instantly putting you at ease. You scanned the room and, as usual, found him behind the counter, a mischievous grin already playing on his lips.

"Good morning, Joost," you greeted, stepping up to the counter.

"Morning, sunshine!" he replied with his usual enthusiasm, his eyes sparkling with that teasing glint you had come to both expect and, reluctantly, look forward to.

"One caramel latte, please," you said, handing over your card.

"Sure thing," he said, swiping it before turning to the machine. "How's your day going so far?"

"Pretty good," you answered, watching him work with an effortless grace that came from months of practice. "Just hoping it stays that way."

Joost glanced back at you, one eyebrow raised. "Well, I'll do my best not to mess up your order too badly," he teased.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help the smile tugging at your lips. "You always get my order right. It's my name you have trouble with."

He laughed, a warm, infectious sound that filled the cozy space. "Guilty as charged. So, how should I spell it today?"

"How about you try getting it right for once?" you challenged, leaning on the counter.

"No promises," he said with a wink, scribbling something on the cup before handing it over.

You took the cup, hesitating for a moment before looking at the name written on it. Sure enough, it was another creative twist on your name. Today, it read "Y/Nelle."

"You know, my name isn't that hard to spell," you said, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I know," he replied, leaning against the counter opposite you. "But where's the fun in that?"

You shook your head, trying to hide your smile. "You're impossible, Joost."

"Maybe," he said, his grin softening into something more sincere. "But I make a mean caramel latte, don't I?"

You took a sip, savoring the perfect blend of coffee and caramel. "I can't argue with that."

As you turned to find a seat, Joost called out, "Same time tomorrow?"

"Wouldn't miss it," you replied, feeling the familiar flutter in your chest as you walked away.

The next day, and the day after that, you returned to the coffee shop. Each time, Joost had a new creative spelling for your name, and each time, you found yourself looking forward to it more and more. His playful nature, the way he seemed genuinely happy to see you – it all became a highlight of your day.

One particularly rainy afternoon, you stepped into the shop, shaking off your umbrella. Joost looked up, his grin widening when he saw you.

"Hey there," he greeted. "Usual?"

"Yes, please," you said, your eyes meeting his. There was something different in his gaze today, something that made your heart beat just a little faster.

He handed over your cup, and you glanced at the name written on it. This time, it read "Beautiful."

You looked up, surprised. "Trying something new today?" you asked, your voice softer than usual.

Joost leaned in a bit closer, his eyes holding yours. "Thought I'd try getting it right for once."

You felt a blush creep up your cheeks. "You did a good job," you murmured.

"So," he said, a hint of nervousness in his voice now. "What are you doing after your coffee?"

You smiled, feeling a rush of excitement. "I guess that depends. What do you have in mind?"

Joost's grin returned, brighter than ever. "How about we find out together?"

As you sipped your caramel latte, Joost stepped out from behind the counter, wiping his hands on his apron before untying it and hanging it on a hook. You noticed he seemed just as excited as you felt. He held out his hand, a silent invitation that you didn't hesitate to accept.

The two of you walked out into the rain, sharing an umbrella. Joost kept it tilted more towards you, making sure you stayed dry even as he got a bit wet. It was a small, sweet gesture that warmed you more than the coffee ever could.

"So," you began, trying to break the silence that was filled with a tension neither of you wanted to acknowledge yet. "Where are we going?"

"There's a small bookshop around the corner," he said, glancing at you. "It's quiet, cozy, and they have the best selection of classic novels. Thought you might like it."

You smiled, touched by his thoughtfulness. "That sounds perfect."

The bookshop was everything he promised – warm and inviting, with shelves packed from floor to ceiling. The smell of old paper and ink mingled with the lingering scent of rain, creating an atmosphere that was both nostalgic and comforting.

As you browsed the shelves, Joost picked up a book and handed it to you. "This one's a favorite of mine," he said. "Maybe you'd like it too."

You took the book from him, your fingers brushing against his. A jolt of electricity shot through you at the contact, and you saw a similar reaction in his eyes. "Thanks," you said softly. "I'll check it out."

You spent the next hour exploring the shop together, sharing your favorite books and discovering new ones. It felt easy, natural, like you had known each other for much longer than a few months of daily coffee visits.

Eventually, you both ended up in a small reading nook at the back of the shop, sitting close together as you shared passages from the books you had picked up. The rain continued to patter against the windows, but inside, everything was warm and serene.

"Do you do this often?" you asked, turning to look at him. "Take customers out for impromptu bookshop dates?"

Joost chuckled, shaking his head. "No, you're the first," he admitted. "There's just something about you. I couldn't let another day go by without getting to know you better."

Your heart swelled at his words. "I'm glad you did," you said, reaching out to take his hand. "I like this – us."

He squeezed your hand gently, his smile widening. "Me too," he said. "So, what do you say? Same time tomorrow?"

You leaned in, closing the small gap between you, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. It was a gentle promise of more to come, filled with the sweetness of new beginnings.

"Same time tomorrow," you agreed, knowing that this was just the start of something beautiful.

@hxeluvr 2024

!! please, do not copy, repost or translate any of my work on other platforms !!

#joost klein #stand with joost #joostice #justice for joost #free joost #joost klein x you #joost klein x reader #joost klein fanfic #joost klein imagine #joost klein eurovision #joost klein fluff #eurovision 2024 #eurovision joost klein

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fashion-runways · 2 days

Note

Your tag on one of the Moschino posts made think, who exactly IS buying those particularly outlandish clothes? Like you don’t often see their most over the top stuff on a red carpet, or at after parties/events, and that’s understandable given how difficult they would be to pull off. But someone MUST be buying them right, in order for the company to keep making a profit? Do rich people just….buy those outfits and keep them in a closet? Are they sold to charities or museums for display? I understand if you don’t know or don’t feel like answering, or if nobody really knows, just kinda curious.

well, it depends! the craziest or most detailed looks obviously aren't mass-produced or anything, more times than not there's probably only very few (maybe even one? not 100% sure) of each look, i guess it all depends on the designer but it's not like they have 500 of the same dress at hand for anyone to come get. if someone wants it for a red carpet, the designer will either fit it to the celebrity or maybe even make it all over again from scratch depending on the measurements the garment has vs the celebrity, and probably depending on a bunch of other variables that i can't even imagine. i assume level of fame, if they're lending it vs buying it, what event is being used for, maybe if the brand already has a relationship with the stylist or the celebrity. who knows.

a lot of the quirky crazy ridiculous looks are mostly made for editorial rather than events, too. so a celebrity will use it on a magazine, or an album cover, or an ad campaign. there's fashion historians and fashion collectors who will buy clothes for archiving purposes, there is museums and stuff like the met or other exhibitions that move around the world.

sometimes designers also, at least i remember learning this in fashion school, sometimes present a collection that isn't meant to be sold or worn at all? it's more like... a concept, so it's a little crazy and kooky and over the top, and then the clothes they actually sell are like toned down versions of that. im sure if someone asked to buy the crazy dress they might sell it too, but it's usually not like the point when making them.

or sometimes the way the clothes are presented and what the clothes actually are worn are two different things too. i remember a designer from here presented a collection where the models were wearing jeans as like, a top/vest kind of thing, they were held together with a belt iirc? i don't know, it was a while ago, and it was meant to catch the eye, it was shock value to make you actually look and try to figure out what was going on and really look at the clothes, but you're not supposed to buy the jeans and wear them like that, they're literally just jeans wear them as jeans lmao or like sometimes thom browne has a crazy outfit with a jacket and a vest and a button up and a skirt and pants and platform shoes and socks over the pants and another coat on top and it's insane, but you can just... buy the vest. and wear the vest alone, and that's a perfectly normal piece of clothing you can wear anywhere. or just the pants and the jacket. etc.

anyway all that to say that... i don't know but also i kind of know maybe? i don't know what each brand/designer does individually, i have no idea if moschino sells the burger skirt or if they only made one for that shoot and called it a day, but i know there are a bunch of different ways the crazy clothes can still exist out there i guess. and god knows where they are, maybe some people who work in the industry know and i don't because i live in the middle of fuck nowhere and i'm poor lmao but they might be somewhere.

#inbox

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biolumien · 1 day

Text

rooftop smoke

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader mentions of smoking wordcount: 1270

you weren’t drafted into the kaiju war effort because you were particularly strong or even because you were particularly good with handling a gun or a sword.

you’re a ballistics expert.

you’ve helped to perfect the rounds that izumo tech makes for guns, helped perfect missiles in the name of eradicating kaiju. you were hand-picked for the third division by mina ashiro herself, her thirst for revenge against kaiju rivaling your own.

you’d met soshiro hoshina through mina, too.

you remember him, at first. almost twitchy, a fresh-faced stranger to the third division, desperate to prove himself. the two of you had gotten along quite well—enough to share a strained kiss or two after a tough battle or two, initially—but the two of you had never talked about it for any longer than a faint touch of the lips, and you’d tasted something floral and fruity on his tongue, like he’d indulged in some kind of candy before he left to fight.

but you’d never talked about it at all beyond a quick well-wishing for his safety before he holstered the katanas at the back of his suit, and turned away to meet his destiny.

in the days after the fungal honju and yoju attack, you find yourself hanging out with hoshina—there’s an unspoken agreement, here—hoshina could have easily lost his life to kaiju no.8, which was still at large.

“fancy a smoke?” hoshina holds out the pack of cigarettes to you—it’s the kind you like specifically—a little too sweet for most people, with an underlying cloy of tar that gets most people.

“mm. when don’t i?” you say, taking the pack from him. “thought you didn’t. smoke, i mean. doesn’t it ruin your whole…” as you pull a cigarette from the pack, you gesture at him. “your whole image?”

he snickers, a peek of a fang showing at the corner of his mouth.

“i bought them for you,” he says. “lend me your ear for a moment, yeah?”

so that’s how you wind up on the rooftop with hoshina.

he’s staring daggers at the horizon, his jacket ever-so-slightly unzipped to reveal the hints of his collarbones. you definitely don’t stare, not even a little.

tokyo’s skyline is peaceful. quiet. there is still reconstruction to do after the previous honju attacks–but it’s quiet for now, with no kaiju in sight.

you flick open your lighter, snapping it several times to produce a small and unsteady flame. there’s a breeze, strong enough that the flame almost goes out, and hoshina leans forward to cup the flame in his palm, his crimson eyes peeking out for a moment.

“what’s with the intense expression?” you drawl, taking a long drag of your cigarette, letting a puff of smoke escape your lips. “mighty scary there, hoshina.”

hoshina’s usually all smiles—the cold kind that never reach his eyes, and this one is no different. he leans on his cheek, stares at you. he smirks.

“thinking about last night,” he says, the smile on his lips twisting the tone of his words. “might’ve said a few things here and there, y’know. to the newbies.”

you stare for a moment.

the newbies had gotten closer than you’d expected them to—you’d hardly gotten to know your fellow soldiers when you were inducted into the force, quite frankly—your skillset as a ballistics engineer kept you far and away from the majority of any grueling training, of seeing beloved companions being taken away in body bags.

“ah, i get it. you told the newbies they weren’t allowed to fraternize. and now you’re getting cold feet about all of this?” you guess, sharp wit as always. hoshina snorts, pushing back from the railing of the rooftop before stepping closer to you.

his bangs fall in front of his eyes, and in faint moonlight, you can see the faintest blemishes of his skin, where he might have scratched at his face too hard.

“you don’t want this?” hoshina’s voice is quiet.

“i’ve always been honest about what i want, soshiro,” you say. “just wondering if you know what you want.”

“what i want,” hoshina says. he sounds almost bitter as he looks away. “i want to be useful.” the pale column of his neck is something indeed.

“you’re vice captain of the third division,” you say. “and mina’s yet to reach her full potential. she’ll be climbing up there in the ranks, with you by her side.”

“using an obsolete method of kaiju slaying that hasn’t been useful for a century,” hoshina says, his placid demeanor belying bitter frustration underneath. he sighs for a moment. “i’m only useful in the sense that mina might still want something from me. without that, am i truly of use to anyone? am i any better than some toy you pick up for a little while, have your fun with, and then throw away?”

you take another drag of your cigarette, letting the smoke fill your lungs for a moment before you exhale upwards, careful not to get smoke in his face.

hoshina laughs.

“you’re useful to me,” you say. “a cliche line, i know. no romance behind it.”

hoshina watches you, the peek of crimson eyes turning almost bloodred in the faint light.

“useful,” he repeats. “to you.”

“got a problem with it, pretty boy?” you rasp, staring up at him.

his face is boyish when he leans in close, curious as his hand touches your face.

“mm. no,” hoshina says. “pretty boy?” he cocks his head. his thumb touches at your lower lip, right at the corner of your mouth where your cigarette hangs from your lip.

“that’s you,” you say. you lean into his touch subconsciously, chasing the callused touch of a palm that has held up the weight of the world. “if you want to be of use to someone, you can keep being of use to me. by promising you’ll come back alive, to me.”

you’re not the confessing type. you’re not. you’ve never talked about your feelings for soshiro hoshina besides admitting that you’ve had them once to yourself during a smoke break, when you pulled your cigarette from your lips and wished that hoshina was there to close the gap, to kiss you again like he meant it, instead of in a rushed, half-sloppy affair.

hoshina’s eyes consider yours for a moment–searching your gaze for something. his thumb on your bottom lip shifts up, and touches the corner of your mouth. he plucks the cigarette from your lips, and you stare up at him, embarrassingly entranced.

“you’d like that,” hoshina whispers, and then he takes a drag of the cigarette. the tip of the cigarette glows a brilliant orange-yellow, and you wonder if hoshina will make fun of you for staring, before he exhales, half-coughing. “ha. what i get for trying to look cool in front of you, huh?”

his smile is all fangs, barely reaching the cold crimson of his eyes.

you stare at his lips shamelessly, at the way they upturn.

“aren’t you going to kiss me?” hoshina asks.

“huh?”

you blink at him.

“i’ve decided what i want,” hoshina murmurs. “and all you have to do is take it.”

so you do. you pull him forward by the collar of his plain shirt, poking out from his jacket, and he falls against you, presses his lips to yours in a move that might be described as reverent. he tastes faintly of your sweet cigarettes, and you kiss him and kiss him until you hope you can plunge your hands into his chest, and rewrite his core so that he might live and breathe for you.

#kaiju no 8 #soshiro hoshina #soshiro hoshina x reader #hoshina soshiro x reader #kaiju no 8 x reader #x reader #kn8 x reader #how it be

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live-laugh-lenney · 2 days

Note

Hey do you think you could write something like maybe Arthur hill girlfriend going to the mummy’s boy podcast show maybe making an appearance on stage then going out with Arthur George and Arthur afterwards all good if not thanks x

i love the idea of yn going on their significant other's podcasts and being a guest on an episode... we definitely need to expand on this idea...

she was their very first guest on the podcast.

sat at the dining table in lisa's kitchen, with the podcast equipment set up around them, as they were still trying to find their feet and the way they wanted to introduce the podcast episodes themselves. at a time when they were still brand-new to the podcast genre and they were testing out different ways to keep people engaged and as well as humoured.

so it only felt right for her to appear during the live show in london for an exciting night in the timeline of the podcast; not that she would have missed it for the world.

in the dressing room, she could hear the crowd for the night getting busier and busier as it neared the set time they were due out on the stage and she couldn't seem to shake the nerves that had her hands shaking and her legs bouncing. her bottle of water left on the table, alongside her phone and her belongings, and she couldn't keep her mind focused on anything happening around her.

being arthur's girlfriend had her in strange situations; especially for a girl who wasn't in the same line of work. where she worked a typical 9 to 5 job, that had her commuting in the early hours and getting home during rush hour, arthur seemed to live a life that was more sporadic and spontaneous as opposed to organised and scheduled. touring, making appearances on people's youtube channels, being given the opportunities that even had him rubbing his eyes in amazement.

"i thought i was supposed to be the nervous, socially awkward one of all of us tonight," arthur frederick spoke as he sat beside her on the sofa, a bottle of beer in his hand that was on the verge of being done before they took to the stage, "you're scared?"

"a little, i guess. this is the first proper public thing we've done as a couple," yn says as she watches her boyfriend finish getting ready in the corner of the dressing room, "we've been seen out together and people have seen me at his shows but..."

"but this is different to all of that," arthur finishes for her and she nods softly, "it never gets easier for me being so public but i usually feel a lot more at ease when i'm with these guys. you know what it's like."

"i think it's just the pre-stage jitters," yn laughs softly, looking up at the clock on the wall and seeing it nearing even closer, "i'm sure we'll be okay out there. it's not like people don't know who we are or have never seen us before."

"i reckon most people are here for you and lisa anyway," george says and drags his chair across the carpeted floor beneath him, reaching over to squeeze her knee reassuringly, "it'll be fun. just think about us all being in the same room together, without the audience in front of us. nothing different to how we're like around a dinner table."

yn smiles softly and nods in agreement; she was fussing over nothing and she knew it would be a walk in the park. they made her feel at ease, they made her feel comfortable and arthur wouldn't have asked her to be a guest if he didn't think she could do it.

"right, stop fussing over my lady and let me at her," arthur insists and brushes passed george to pull yn from her seat, holding her hands tightly in his, "you have nothing to be worried over. you'll be great out there."

"don't make a fool of me," yn warns him and he holds his hands up in surrender, "arthur."

"i won't, i promise. can't say the same for those two rotten scoundrels over there," arthur shook his head with a smirk on his mouth and she snickers softly, "just give it back to them as they give it to you. like the audience isn't there."

and he was right.

on stage, she sat in between lisa and mr television for the first half of the show. and it somehow made her feel more at ease knowing that her and arthur were a little more social awkward in these situations and that they were able to comfort each other. the enjoyment of the night seemed to progress and she felt herself loosen up a lot more than she had done by the end of the first half of the show compared to when she stepped foot on the stage at the beginning and she was eager to get back out once the first half had concluded.

by the end of the show, she didn't want it to end.

saying goodbye to those who had spent the last hour and a half in the audience, listening to her as she waffled on when giving advice and watching the group of them tease and joke around with each other, she was both pleased and upset that it had come to an end.

pleased because she could feel herself becoming overwhelmed with how people had welcomed her in. pleased because people actually liked her and loved to see her and arthur interact as a couple. pleased because, as fun as it was, she needed to come down off of the high that she was feeling.

"now, how did you find that?" arthur questions her as she squeezes his hand reassuringly, allowing george and arthur and lisa to walk on ahead to allow them the chance to linger behind, "you were great out there. people loved you."

"it was still nerve-racking though," she whines softly and looks up at him with a softening look in her eyes, "i did it but don't make me do it again for a while."

"don't fancy coming out and doing a solo on the tour then?"

she shakes her head rapidly and he laughs at her reaction.

"are you sure? think we could do a good duet, maybe we could do a bit of dolly parton and kenny rogers since you did such a brilliant impression of her during your improv out there," he snickers and she could feel her cheeks heating up, "i'm kidding, i'm kidding." xx

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