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pucksandpower · 11 months ago

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Moments of Glory

Oscar Piastri x Brown!Reader

Summary: notoriously calm and collected Oscar meets his match in the outgoing and extroverted daughter of his boss

Note: this is not the maiden win any of us wanted for Oscar but that doesn’t make it any less deserved — McLaren’s ability to jumble strategy should not take away from his amazing drive

The McLaren Technology Centre hums with energy as Oscar steps through the sliding glass doors, his eyes wide with wonder. It’s his first visit since signing with the team, and the gravity of the moment isn’t lost on him. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.

As he walks further into the lobby, a burst of laughter catches his attention. Oscar turns to see a group of people gathered near the reception desk, centered around a vivacious young woman with a contagious smile. Your presence seems to light up the entire room.

“And then I told him, ‘Dad, if you don’t make some cuter merch, I’m going to have to support a different team!’” You exclaim, causing another round of laughter from the group.

Oscar finds himself drawn towards the commotion, his feet moving of their own accord. As he approaches, you notice him and your eyes lock. For a moment, the world seems to stand still.

“Well, hello there, stranger!” You call out, breaking the spell. “You must be our new golden boy. I’m Y/N Brown, resident troublemaker and daughter of the big boss.”

Oscar feels his cheeks flush as he stammers, “H-Hi, I’m Oscar. Oscar Piastri.”

You grin, stepping closer. “I know who you are, silly. I’ve been watching your career for years. Welcome to the family!”

Before Oscar can respond, you’ve wrapped him in a warm hug. He stiffens for a moment, unused to such casual physical contact, but then relaxes into the embrace.

As you pull away, you wink at him. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that sort of thing.”

Oscar’s eyes widen, and he lets out a nervous laugh. “I, uh ... I don’t ...”

You laugh, patting his shoulder. “Relax, I’m just teasing. Come on, let me show you around. I bet I know this place better than any of the official tour guides.”

As you lead Oscar through the facility, he finds himself captivated by your energy and enthusiasm. You point out various areas of interest, peppering your tour with amusing anecdotes and insider information.

“And this,” you say, gesturing dramatically to a seemingly ordinary hallway, “is where Lando once tried to skateboard down the stairs. Spoiler alert: it didn’t end well.”

Oscar chuckles, finding himself more at ease. “I can’t imagine that went over well with management.”

You lean in conspiratorially. “Oh, Dad was furious. But between you and me, I think he was more upset that Lando didn’t invite him to join in.”

As you continue the tour, Oscar finds himself opening up more. “So, how long have you been involved with McLaren?” He asks.

You grin, twirling around to face him as you walk backward. “Oh, pretty much since Dad got hired to run it back in 2016. But I’ve been working here officially for about two years now, in PR and social media.”

Oscar nods, impressed. “That must be exciting, being so close to the action.”

“It has its moments,” you agree. “But enough about me. Tell me, Oscar Piastri, what makes you tick? What drives you to risk life and limb hurtling around tracks at breakneck speeds?”

Oscar pauses, considering his words carefully. “I guess ... it’s the thrill of pushing myself to the limit. The constant challenge of improving, of finding that extra tenth of a second. And the teamwork aspect, knowing that every person plays a crucial role in our success.”

You smile softly, a hint of admiration in your eyes. “That’s beautiful, Oscar. I can see why Dad was so keen on signing you.”

As you reach the simulator room, Oscar’s eyes light up with excitement. You can’t help but chuckle at his reaction.

“Want to give it a go?” You ask, gesturing towards the state-of-the-art equipment.

Oscar nods eagerly. “Can I? I mean, I don’t want to overstep ...”

You wave off his concerns. “Please, you’re part of the team now. Besides, I want to see what you can do.”

As Oscar settles into the simulator, you lean against the doorframe, watching him with interest. He takes a deep breath, centering himself before starting the virtual lap.

You observe silently, impressed by his focus and skill. As he completes the lap, you let out a low whistle. “Not bad, Piastri. Not bad at all.”

Oscar grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “Thanks. It feels good to get a feel for the car, even if it’s just a simulation.”

You step closer, your eyes twinkling with mischief. “Want to make it interesting? I bet I can beat your time.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow, a hint of competitiveness creeping into his voice. “Oh really? You’re on.”

For the next hour, you and Oscar take turns in the simulator, trading friendly jabs and encouragement. To Oscar’s surprise, you prove to be a formidable opponent, matching him lap for lap.

As you finish your final run, you jump up with a whoop of victory. “Ha! Beat you by two-tenths!”

Oscar shakes his head, laughing. “I can’t believe it. Where did you learn to drive like that?”

You shrug, a hint of vulnerability showing through your confident exterior. “Growing up around racing, I guess. But I never had the nerve to pursue it professionally. Too much pressure.”

Oscar nods understandingly. “I can’t blame you. It’s not an easy path.”

A comfortable silence falls between you, broken only by the hum of the equipment. Oscar finds himself studying your face, noticing the way your eyes crinkle when you smile and how animated you become when talking about something you love.

You catch him staring and smirk. “See something you like, Piastri?”

Oscar blushes furiously, stammering, “I, uh ... I was just ... you’re really ...”

You laugh, but there’s a softness to it. “You’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

Oscar takes a deep breath, gathering his courage. “Listen, Y/N ... I know we just met, but I was wondering if maybe ... I mean, if you’re not busy ... would you like to ...”

Before he can finish, an alarm on your phone goes off. You check it and grimace. “Shoot, I’ve got a meeting in five minutes. Rain check on whatever you were about to say?”

Oscar nods, trying to hide his disappointment. “Yeah, of course. No problem.”

You start to leave but pause at the doorway. Turning back, you say, “Hey, Oscar? For what it’s worth, I hope you were about to ask me out. Because I’d say yes.”

With a wink and a wave, you’re gone, leaving Oscar standing in the simulator room, a mix of excitement and nerves swirling in his stomach. He takes a deep breath, a smile spreading across his face as he realizes that his journey with McLaren might be even more exciting than he initially thought.

***

The hot Qatar air shimmers around Oscar as he stands before the camera, sweat glistening on his brow. His race suit clings to his body, still damp from the grueling sprint race he’s just won. The interviewer leans in with her microphone.

“Oscar, what an incredible performance today! How does it feel to secure your first sprint victory in Formula 1?”

Oscar’s eyes shine with a mix of exhaustion and elation. “It’s ... it’s honestly surreal,” he says, his voice slightly breathless. “The team did an amazing job with the car, and everything just clicked out there. I can’t quite believe it yet.”

The interviewer nods encouragingly. “You showed remarkable pace throughout the race. Was there any point where you felt particularly challenged?”

Oscar opens his mouth to respond, but before he can say a word, a blur of motion catches his peripheral vision. Suddenly, you crash into him at full speed, nearly knocking both of you off balance.

“You did it! You actually did it!” You squeal, throwing your arms around Oscar’s neck and peppering his sweaty face with kisses.

Oscar’s eyes widen in shock, his cheeks flushing a deep red that has nothing to do with the desert heat. “Y/N! What are you-”

But you’re not listening. You’re too busy showering him with affection, right there in front of the rolling cameras and the stunned interviewer. “I’m so proud of you, you beautiful, talented man!” You exclaim between kisses.

The interviewer clears her throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “I ... um, it seems we have an unexpected guest. Miss, could you perhaps-”

You turn to face the camera, your arm still draped around Oscar’s shoulders. “Oh, don’t mind me! I’m just here to celebrate with the star of the show.” You plant another kiss on Oscar’s cheek for emphasis.

Oscar, for his part, looks like he’s torn between embarrassment and delight. He awkwardly pats your back, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism. “I’m sorry about this,” he says to the interviewer. “This is Y/N, she’s ... well, she’s ...”

“I’m his girlfriend,” you announce proudly, beaming at the camera. “And the daughter of the CEO, but that’s not important right now. What’s important is that this guy” — you ruffle Oscar’s hair — “just drove the race of his life!”

The interviewer, recovering from her initial shock, decides to roll with the unexpected turn of events. “Well, Y/N, since you’re here, what did you think of Oscar’s performance today?”

You launch into an enthusiastic analysis, gesticulating wildly. “It was absolutely brilliant! The way he managed those tires in the closing laps, fending off Verstappen ... I was on the edge of my seat the whole time!”

Oscar watches you with a mixture of amusement and affection. When you pause for breath, he gently interjects, “I think you might be a bit biased, love.”

You turn to him, eyes sparkling. “Biased? Me? Never! I’ll have you know I’m a highly objective observer of the sport.”

The interviewer, sensing an opportunity for a more personal angle, asks, “Oscar, how does it feel to have such passionate support from your girlfriend?”

Oscar’s expression softens as he looks at you. “It’s ... it’s incredible, honestly. Y/N’s been my biggest cheerleader since day one. Even on the tough days, she always believes in me.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, momentarily subdued by the sincerity in his voice. “That’s because I know how amazing you are, even when you don’t see it yourself.”

The interviewer smiles, clearly charmed by the display. “It’s wonderful to see such support. Y/N, did you have any doubts during the race?”

You straighten up, your energy returning full force. “Doubts? About Oscar? Never! Although,” you add with a mischievous grin, “I did consider commandeering a golf cart and driving onto the track myself when Verstappen started closing that gap in the final laps.”

Oscar chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m glad you restrained yourself. I don’t think that would’ve gone over well with the stewards.”

“Oh please,” you scoff playfully. “I would’ve told them I was delivering a vital message about tire strategy. They would’ve believed me.”

The interviewer laughs along with you. “I have to say, this is one of the most entertaining post-race interviews I’ve ever conducted. Oscar, how do you keep up with such a vibrant personality?”

Oscar grins, his earlier embarrassment fading. “Honestly, I’m still trying to figure that out. Y/N keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You beam at him, then stage-whisper to the interviewer, “He loves it, really. I add much-needed excitement to his life.”

“As if driving a Formula 1 car at over 300 kilometers per hour isn’t exciting enough,” Oscar retorts good-naturedly.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Details, details. Now, are we done here? Because I have plans for celebrating this victory, and they involve a lot less talking and a lot more-”

Oscar quickly cuts you off, his cheeks reddening again. “And on that note, I think we should wrap this up. Thank you for the interview,” he says to the journalist, who’s trying hard to stifle her laughter.

As Oscar begins to lead you away, the interviewer calls out one last question. “Oscar, any final words for your fans watching at home?”

Oscar pauses, considering for a moment. “Just ... thank you for all the support. It means the world to me. And to the team, of course. We couldn’t do this without you all.”

You can’t resist adding your own message. “And remember, kids: if you work hard and believe in yourself, one day you too could have an incredibly attractive partner tackling you with kisses on live television!”

With that, you pull Oscar away from the cameras, both of you laughing as you disappear into the paddock.

Once you’re out of sight of the media, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “I can’t believe you did that,” he says, shaking his head.

You grin unrepentantly. “Oh come on, it was fun! And admit it, you loved it.”

Oscar tries to maintain a stern face, but his lips twitch upwards. “It was certainly ... unexpected.”

“Unexpected is my middle name,” you declare proudly.

“I thought your middle name was Trouble,” Oscar quips.

You gasp in mock offense. “Oscar Piastri, are you sassing me? I’ll have you know that Trouble is my first name. Y/N is just a cover.”

Oscar laughs, pulling you close despite the sweat still clinging to his race suit. “Well, Trouble, what do you say we get out of here and start that celebration you were talking about?”

Your eyes light up. “Now you’re talking! But first ...” You lean in, your voice dropping to a whisper. “I believe I was interrupted earlier when I was showering the race winner with well-deserved affection.”

Oscar’s breath catches as you close the distance between you, your lips meeting in a kiss that’s far more heated than the ones shared on camera. When you finally pull apart, you’re both a little breathless.

“Wow,” Oscar murmurs. “If that’s how you react to a sprint win, I can’t wait to see what happens when I win a Grand Prix.”

You wink at him. “Keep driving like that, and you’ll find out soon enough. Now come on, hero. Let’s go find somewhere more private before my dad shows up and ruins all our fun.”

As if on cue, Zak’s voice echoes down the paddock. “Oscar! There you are! Hell of a drive out there, kid!”

You groan dramatically. “Speak of the devil. Quick, hide me in your helmet!”

Oscar chuckles, keeping an arm around your waist as Zak approaches. “I don’t think you’d fit, babe. Besides, I’m pretty sure he already knows you’re here. The whole world probably knows after that interview.”

You shrug, unabashed. “What can I say? When I’m proud of my man, I want everyone to know it.”

Zak reaches you, clapping Oscar on the shoulder. “That was some fantastic racing out there, Oscar. You should be proud.”

Oscar nods, a shy smile on his face. “Thank you. The car felt great, and the team’s strategy was spot on.”

You roll your eyes affectionately. “Always so modest. Dad, tell him how amazing he was!”

Zak laughs. “I think you’ve done enough of that for all of us, sweetheart. I saw that interview, by the way. Quite a show you two put on.”

You bat your eyelashes innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. I was merely congratulating our star driver on his well-deserved victory.”

“Uh-huh,” Zak says, clearly not buying it. “Well, try to keep the congratulations a bit more PG in the future, alright? We do have sponsors to think about.”

Oscar looks mortified, but you just grin. “No promises. But I’ll try to restrain myself to just one tackle per race weekend.”

Zak shakes his head, a mixture of exasperation and fondness on his face. “What am I going to do with you two? Oscar, I hope you know what you’ve signed up for with this one.”

Oscar glances at you, his expression softening. “I think I have a pretty good idea. And I wouldn’t change a thing.”

You feel your heart swell at his words. “Aww, babe. That’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said. Well, second sweetest. The sweetest was when you told me my driving in the simulator was ‘not bad.’”

Oscar groans. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Nope!” you say cheerfully. “I plan to remind you of it at least once a week for the rest of our lives.”

Zak watches your banter with amusement. “Alright, you two. Oscar, the team wants to debrief before you head out. Y/N, try not to cause any international incidents while I’m gone, okay?”

You salute dramatically. “Yes, sir, Team Principal, sir! I shall endeavor to be on my very best behavior.”

As Zak walks away, shaking his head and muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “God help us all,” you turn back to Oscar.

“So, hotshot,” you say, running a finger down his chest. “How long do you think this debrief will take? Because I have some very important plans that involve you, me, and a bottle of champagne I may or may not have ‘borrowed’ from the hospitality area.”

Oscar raises an eyebrow. “Borrowed, huh? You know, as a representative of the team, I should probably discourage such behavior.”

You lean in close, your lips barely brushing his ear. “And as my boyfriend, what do you think?”

Oscar’s arms tighten around you. “I think,” he murmurs, “that I’m the luckiest guy in the world. And that I’ll try to make this the quickest debrief in F1 history.”

You pull back with a triumphant grin. “That’s what I like to hear. Now go, be brilliant, and hurry back to me. I’ll be waiting.”

As Oscar jogs off towards the team garage, you watch him go with a soft smile. Your eyes linger on the PIASTRI emblazoned across his back, and you feel a surge of pride and affection.

“That’s my guy,” you murmur to yourself. “My brilliant, amazing, race-winning guy.”

And as you head off to prepare for your celebration, you can’t help but think that while Oscar might have won the sprint race today, you’re the one who truly hit the jackpot.

***

The Hungaroring erupts in cheers as Oscar crosses the finish line, securing his maiden Grand Prix victory. The McLaren garage explodes with jubilation, team members hugging each other and pumping their fists in the air.

As Oscar completes his cool-down lap, his voice crackles over the team radio, breathless with excitement. “We did it! We actually did it! Thank you, thank you to everyone. I can’t believe it!”

His race engineer responds, emotion evident in his voice. “Fantastic job, Oscar. You drove brilliantly. Enjoy this moment, mate. You’ve earned it.”

Meanwhile, in the paddock, you’re practically vibrating with excitement. You’ve been pacing back and forth, unable to contain your energy as you watched the final laps unfold on the screens. As soon as Oscar crosses the line, you sprint towards parc fermé, determined to be there when he gets out of the car.

You weave through the crowd, your McLaren bomber jacket with Oscar’s number emblazoned across the back drawing curious glances. As you reach the barriers, you see Oscar’s car pull up, the Australian already unclipping his helmet.

“Oscar!” You shout, waving frantically. “Over here!”

Oscar’s eyes scan the crowd, lighting up when he spots you. He clambers out of the car, his legs a bit shaky from the adrenaline and physical exertion. As he makes his way towards you, his gaze locks onto the jacket you’re wearing, and his steps falter.

You notice his reaction and grin mischievously, doing a little twirl to show off the jacket. “Like what you see, champ?”

Oscar’s eyes are wide, his mouth slightly agape. “That’s ... wow. Is that my number?”

You nod, beaming. “Sure is. Thought I’d support my favorite driver in style. Although,” you add with a wink, “I have to say, it will look much better on the ground next to your bed.”

Oscar’s face flushes red, and he glances around nervously. “Y/N! We’re in public!”

You laugh, reaching out to ruffle his sweat-damp hair. “Oh, relax. Everyone’s too busy celebrating your win to pay attention to us. Speaking of which ...” You grab the front of his race suit and pull him close, planting a passionate kiss on his lips.

When you finally break apart, Oscar looks dazed but happy. “I could get used to that kind of celebration,” he murmurs.

“Well, keep winning races like that, and you’ll have plenty more where that came from,” you tease. “Now go, do your podium thing. I’ll be waiting to continue this ... discussion ... later.”

As Oscar heads off for the podium ceremony, you turn to make your way back to the paddock. That’s when you spot Lando chatting with some engineers. Your eyes narrow as you remember how a McLaren strategy mistake had allowed Lando to undercut Oscar, nearly costing him the win. Even though it wasn’t really Lando’s fault, you can’t help feeling annoyed at him.

You’re about to march over and give Lando a piece of your mind when you spot something that makes you pause — Fernando Alonso’s unattended scooter, parked just a few feet away. A mischievous grin spreads across your face as an idea forms.

Glancing around to make sure no one’s watching, you casually stroll over to the scooter and hop on. You rev the engine, drawing Lando’s attention.

“Hey, Y/N!” Lando calls out, waving. “Congrats on Oscar’s win! Some race, huh?”

You smile sweetly, maneuvering the scooter towards him. “Oh, it sure was, Lando. Especially that bit where you refused to give the lead back to Oscar until the last minute. That was ... interesting.”

Lando’s smile falters slightly. “Come on. You know it wasn’t my fault. The team made the strategy call.”

“Oh, I know,” you say, inching the scooter closer. “I just thought I’d give you a little reminder about team spirit and timeliness.”

Before Lando can react, you accelerate the scooter, aiming straight for his foot. There’s a yelp of pain as the wheel rolls over Lando’s toes, followed by a string of colorful expletives.

“Oops!” You exclaim with faux innocence. “So sorry, Lando. These things are just so hard to control, you know?”

Lando hops on one foot, glaring at you. “What the hell? That bloody hurt!”

You shrug, still perched on the scooter. “Funny, that’s probably how Oscar felt when you wouldn’t let him by. Karma’s a bitch, isn’t it?”

As Lando opens his mouth to retort, a stern voice cuts through the air. “Y/N Brown! What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

You wince, recognizing your father’s voice. Zak strides towards you, his expression a mix of exasperation and disbelief.

“Hi, Dad,” you say sheepishly. “I was just ... congratulating Lando on his race?”

Zak pinches the bridge of his nose. “By running over his foot with Alonso’s scooter? Jesus, Y/N. I can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

You hop off the scooter, trying your best to look contrite. “In my defense, it was a very gentle running over. Barely a love tap, really.”

Lando snorts, still rubbing his foot. “Love tap my arse. I think you broke my toe!”

Zak sighs heavily. “Lando, go get that checked out by the medics. Y/N, you’re coming with me. We need to have a serious talk about appropriate behavior in the paddock.”

As your father leads you away, you can’t help but call back over your shoulder, “Hey Lando! Next time, maybe think about giving the position back sooner, yeah?”

Zak groans. “Y/N, please. You know Lando was put in a tough spot. You’re not helping your case here.”

You follow your father to a quiet corner of the McLaren garage, trying to suppress your grin. Despite the impending lecture, you can’t bring yourself to regret your actions. Nobody messes with your Oscar and gets away with it.

Zak turns to face you, his expression serious. “Y/N, I know you’re excited about Oscar’s win, and believe me, I am too. But you can’t go around assaulting our drivers, even if it’s just with a scooter.”

You nod, attempting to look suitably chastised. “I know. I got carried away. It won’t happen again.”

Zak raises an eyebrow. “Why do I have a hard time believing that?”

Before you can respond, there’s a commotion at the garage entrance. Oscar bursts in, his face flushed with excitement.

“Y/N!” He calls out, spotting you. “There you are! I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You turn to him, your face lighting up. “Oscar! Congrats, babe! I know I already said it, but you were amazing out there!”

Oscar sweeps you up in a hug, spinning you around. As he sets you down, his eyes once again lock onto your jacket. “God, you look incredible in that,” he murmurs, his voice low.

You smirk, running a hand down his chest. “Oh yeah? Maybe I should wear it more often then.”

Zak clears his throat loudly, reminding you both of his presence. “While I’m thrilled about the win, could you two maybe tone down the PDA a notch? We are still in a professional environment.”

Oscar steps back, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I got a bit carried away.”

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Oh, come on, Dad. Let the man celebrate! It’s his first win, after all.”

Zak sighs, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face. “Fine, fine. But try to keep it family-friendly, alright? And Y/N, we’re not done talking about the scooter incident.”

Oscar looks between you and your father, confusion evident on his face. “Scooter incident?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just a little misunderstanding with Lando. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s brow furrows. “What kind of misunderstanding involves a scooter?”

Before you can answer, Lando limps into the garage, his foot wrapped in a bandage. “The kind where your girlfriend tries to maim me, apparently,” he grumbles.

Oscar’s eyes widen. “Y/N, you didn’t ...”

You shrug, trying to look innocent. “It was an accident! Besides, he had it coming after that stunt he pulled during the race.”

Oscar runs a hand through his hair, looking exasperated but also slightly amused. “Y/N, you can’t just go around running people over because you’re unhappy with their racing.”

“Watch me,” you mutter under your breath.

Zak throws his hands up in defeat. “I give up. Oscar, congratulations again on the win. Y/N, try not to cause any more chaos for at least the next hour, okay? I need to go do damage control with the press.”

As your father walks away, Oscar turns to you, his expression a mix of fondness and exasperation. “What am I going to do with you?”

You grin, stepping closer to him. “I have a few ideas. Most of them involve you, me, and licking champagne off each other’s skin.”

Oscar’s breath hitches, his eyes darkening. “Y/N,” he warns, but there’s no real heat in his voice.

You lean in, your lips brushing his ear. “What do you say we get out of here, champ? I think it’s time for your real celebration.”

Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs your hand, leading you towards the exit. As you pass Lando, you call out, “No hard feelings, right, Lando? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before playing dirty on track.”

Lando rolls his eyes but can’t help cracking a smile. “Yeah, yeah. Just keep her on a leash, will you, Oscar?”

Oscar chuckles. “I don’t think anyone could keep Y/N on a leash if they tried.”

As you leave the garage, the sounds of celebration still echoing through the paddock, you can’t help but feel on top of the world. Oscar’s first win, your successful (if slightly unorthodox) defense of his honor, and the promise of a private celebration to come — it’s been a perfect day.

You squeeze Oscar’s hand, looking up at him with a mischievous glint in your eye. “So, hero, ready to show me just how much you like this jacket?”

Oscar grins, pulling you closer. “More than ready. But maybe we should wait until we’re somewhere more private. I don’t fancy giving the entire paddock a show.”

You laugh, the sound bright and carefree. “Spoilsport. But fine, I suppose I can be patient. For now.”

As you walk hand in hand towards the team motorhome, you can’t help but think that while Oscar may have won the race today, you’re both winners in the game of love. And that’s the best victory of all.

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dazzelmethat · 7 months ago

Photo

Happy 8 years to this post creating Deci. I can’t believe it’s been that long already.. (and no I have no idea what 2016 meant by that summary, she isn’t even a robot anymore. She is a ghost now).

I’ve always wanted a robo character so I made one and a little plot to go with it. Robot is sent back in time to hopefully kill off humans before they evolved to be what they would eventually be. She ends up in the wrong era because of running into an alien in space time. (alien who wants to colonize humans). Shenanigans ensue.

I’m thinking about it.

#wow.. deci is 8 years old tomorrow #happy birthday to this post and happy birthday to deci #art reblog #it is funny that she used to be a robot #I have no fucking idea what 2016 me meant by that plot summary

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brittneyspears6 · 3 months ago

Text

Sky sports love | NR6

Nico Rosberg x Reporter!fem!reader

summary: Nico and you are a reporter pair on sky sports and somehow unserious banter turns into something real really quick..

warnings: none, a kiss

not proofread

a/n: I wasn’t sure if you wanted smut in it, so I left it out for now but there are smut fics in work for our dear britney 🙂‍↕️

masterlist | rules | prompts

The thing about working in F1 is that you learn to hold your own.

You’ve spent years perfecting the art of the quick-witted interview, of slipping between charm and challenge with just enough finesse to get the answers you need without stepping on too many toes. You know how to banter with drivers, how to navigate the politics of the paddock, how to keep your cool when tensions run high.

And then there’s him.

Nico Rosberg, 2016 World Champion turned pundit, whose on-screen presence is equal parts insightful and insufferable. He challenges you in a way most don’t—whether it’s an on-air debate about tire strategy or a smug comment about your latest post-race interview. He’s sharp, calculated, always looking for the upper hand.

So, naturally, you push back.

It starts small—pointed remarks, playful eye rolls, the occasional dramatic sigh whenever he insists on proving a point. The fans eat it up. Clips of your interviews together rack up views, Twitter threads dissect every exchange, and soon enough, you’re both leaning into the dynamic.

But somewhere along the way, it stops being just for show.

It happens in Monaco.

The weekend is relentless—packed schedules, unbearable heat, and a media pen so chaotic it feels like a war zone. By the time Sunday evening rolls around, your patience is hanging by a thread, your feet are aching, and you’re running on nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower.

That’s when Nico finds you, leaning against a barrier near the paddock, sipping the last dregs of a lukewarm water bottle.

“Tough weekend?”

You glance up, too exhausted to throw back your usual sharp remark. “Something like that.”

He studies you for a second, then—before you can ask why he’s still standing there—says, “Come on.”

You frown. “Come on where?”

He shrugs. “Anywhere but here.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re on the deck of a yacht, your heels kicked off, a cold drink in hand. It’s not his yacht, but a friend’s—one of the many floating in the marina, buzzing with post-race celebrations.

Except this one is quiet. Peaceful. Away from the chaos.

You exhale slowly, letting the night air cool your skin. From here, the city feels distant—the bright lights reflecting off the water, the sounds of revelry muffled by the gentle rocking of the boat.

Nico is beside you, leaning against the railing, his expression unusually relaxed.

“You know,” he says eventually, “I think I like you better when you’re not trying to prove me wrong.”

You snort. “That’s funny, because I definitely like you better when you’re not trying to be right all the time.”

He laughs, shaking his head. But then he turns to you, something unreadable in his gaze.

“I’m serious.”

Your smirk falters. There’s something different in his tone—something quieter, more certain.

You open your mouth, but he speaks first.

“I know what this is,” he says, watching you carefully. “What it should be. Just friendly banter, a good TV dynamic, nothing more.” He exhales, fingers tapping idly against the railing. “But tell me you don’t feel it too.”

Your breath catches.

You should say something—something logical, something that keeps things uncomplicated.

But the truth is, you do. You have for a while now.

The teasing, the debates, the way your eyes always seem to find each other across the paddock—it’s always been more than just professional rivalry. You just weren’t sure if he felt it too.

Until now.

The silence stretches, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

Finally, you swallow, forcing yourself to speak. “And if I do?”

A slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Then I guess we have a problem.”

But he doesn’t look troubled at all.

And maybe, just maybe, you aren’t either.

The weight of his words lingers in the air between you, thick like the Monaco humidity.

“Then I guess we have a problem.”

You should be more cautious. You are cautious—your whole career has been built on staying sharp, keeping things professional, never giving anyone a reason to question your position in this world.

And yet, standing here, under the glow of the city lights, with Nico watching you like he already knows what choice you’re going to make… you can’t bring yourself to step away.

Instead, you tilt your head, lips curving slightly. “And what exactly do you propose we do about this problem?”

His smile is slow, knowing. “Well,” he says, eyes flicking over your face, “we could ignore it.”

You arch a brow. “That doesn’t sound like something you’re particularly good at.”

Nico exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “No, I suppose not.”

Silence settles again, but it’s different now—charged, crackling like the air before a storm. His fingers are still tapping against the railing, but you notice now that it’s more deliberate, like he’s holding himself back.

You could walk away right now. You could turn this into nothing more than a fleeting moment, something to laugh about later when you’re both back under the bright lights of the paddock, playing your parts in front of the cameras.

Or..

You take a slow step forward. Not enough to close the space completely, but enough to make your intention clear.

Nico doesn’t move back.

“So if we’re not ignoring it,” you say carefully, “what’s the alternative?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, his gaze drops briefly—to your mouth, then back up—before he finally says, voice quieter now, “We see where it goes.”

Your stomach flips.

“See where it goes.” That sounds simple. It sounds like something two rational adults could do without too much trouble. But nothing about this—about him—feels simple.

You should ask what that even means. If this is some fleeting, post-race, adrenaline-fueled interest, or if it’s something deeper. If he’s thought about this before tonight. If he’s been waiting for you to catch up.

But you don’t ask.

Because suddenly, his hand is brushing against yours—light, tentative, testing the waters. And instead of pulling away, you let your fingers curl slightly, just enough to let him know you’re right there with him.

His breath hitches. Just barely. But you catch it.

Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he asks, “Can I kiss you?”

And the only thing you can do is nod.

Later, when the world is quiet and the night has settled into something softer, you find yourself still standing on that yacht, still wrapped in the aftershock of what just happened.

You should be panicking. You should be overanalyzing every second of it.

But when Nico looks at you, expression warm and unreadable all at once, the only thing you can think is

You don’t regret it. Not even a little bit.

nico in that blue shirt did something to me ✋🫠

#nico rosberg x reader #nico rosberg imagine #nico rosberg fluff #reporter!reader #sky sports

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drinkingbeerfroma · 2 months ago

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Wrote a lil fic inspired by this amazing Subway AU art by @stablefuse, if you wanna check it out :))

Subway Rats and Weird Men

Summary:

Steve's weighing his chances if he’s strong enough to punch the guy and make a run for it, but he thinks he’s too lithe to carry any actual weight into his fist. God knows Steve hasn’t won a single fight in his entire life and thinks this time may not be an exception. Guy’s all bricked up.

—

Steve rides the train late at night, tries to solve a mystery, meets a hot stranger, a creep and a stalker, and gets himself a boyfriend, all while trying not to fall asleep and get bitten by rats.

Rating: Explicit

Category: M/M

Fandom: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Relationship: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington

Characters: Steve Harrington, Billy Hargrove

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Working Adults, Modern AU, Steve Harrington is a little neurotic, Steve Harrington Is a Mess, but a neat freak, Billy Hargrove is Obsessed with Steve Harrington, IT'S DELICIOUS, Billy Hargrove is a creep, But a hot creep, Some light stalking implied, Subway rats and romance go hand in hand, non-linear story telling, Subway AU

#Harringrove #harringrove fic #stranger things fic #billy hargrove #steve harrington #harringrove fic rec #reccing my fic like it's freshly baked bread i want to feed you against your will please read it ohgod #Subway!AU #Harringrove AU #steve harrington x billy hargrove #I will forever come back to this ship

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saintvainglorious · 4 months ago

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Fics I Enjoyed in January - DC Comics Fic Rec List Part 2

I am still neck-deep in DC fandom this month and the fics have been so so good. Unlike last time, I am too tired to write mini summaries/reviews, so I'm going to feature my favorite quote from each fic instead.

My first DC Comics fic rec list is here!

Floor Plans by @oh-mother-of-darkness (Teen & Up, 1k, 2016) “I really didn’t want to die,” he finished. “I was kind of hoping if I laid here long enough, I would remember what that felt like.”

Losing two brothers in six months takes an emotional toll.

almost right by @bitimdrake (Teen & Up, 3k, 2020) He desperately wishes that he didn’t know what Dick’s cheekbone feels like under a gauntleted fist.

Bruce sucks in a breath, hand raising to fix the cowl. Dick flinches back.

but more with love by @danishsweethearts (Teen & Up, 3k, 2022) Dick wakes up one morning, groggy from a dream that he thinks might’ve been about the circus and also about his favourite car and also about how lonely he is, and realizes that he can’t remember what his mother’s voice sounds like anymore.

O Robin, Robin, wherefore art thou Robin?

The Mechanics of a Hug by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 4k, 2017) “You know… that crushing sense of depression? Like,” Dick chews his lip. “It’s. A physical weight. Makes it hard to breathe?” “Yeah,” Tim says, soft. He smiles, wryly. “I sort of hoped you didn’t, though.”

“So,” Tim ventures. “It's… what, a cuddle pollen?” Bruce just shrugs. “Something like that.”

No Pain, All Gain by @sohotthateveryonedied (General Audiences, 1k, 2020) Tim’s eyes go even wider. “You stole my organs?” “Technically,” Jason chimes in, “the doctors stole your organs. We just gave them permission.”

Bruce checks Tim’s IV. “Are you in any pain? Do you need more morphine?” Tim’s pupils are so wide that only the faintest ring of blue can be seen. He watches Bruce the way a five-year-old watches cartoons. “I’m all good, B-dog. All Gucci, like we cool teens say." His words are slurred almost beyond recognition, but Tim doesn’t seem to notice or care. "I could fight Superman right now.”

The Wind Sits in the Shoulder of Your Sail by @birdchildsnest (Teen & Up, 7k, 2020) “Oh my god. Bruce. I can’t even tell if you’re serious. When everybody finally eats the rich—they’re going to eat you first.”

At least, back then, Tim had barely been a teenager. He could almost forgive his own volatility. And he’d been smart enough (scared enough?) not to tell Jack that he didn’t need him. What was his excuse now? Bruce was his dad (at least, in the legal sense), but (surprise, surprise) it turned out that Tim wasn’t any better at being a son. Or Tim and Bruce still have some things to sort through after the adoption.

I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 21k, 2022) He doesn’t want to be loved if being loved is like this.

"I think I'm leaving," Dick whispers. "I think I'm not coming back."

bad boys bad boys (whatcha gonna do) ♫ by @drakefeathers (Teen & Up, 20k, 2014) "They live their lives thinking they can charge through the city with the right to hurt and kill and destroy as many lives as they want. And they do it all without a shred of remorse." “But—” Damian begins, brow furrowed in confusion. “Isn’t that like you?”

a Jason and Damian as Batman and Robin AU!! featuring a bunch of graffiti, a rival dynamic duo, and Cat Jason (a cat named Jason).

The Biggest Mistake by @oh-mother-of-darkness (General Audiences, 1k, 2016) “I could ground him anyway, if it would make you feel better.” “He only said it because I called him ‘a garbage can so ineffective it actually became garbage.’”

"You know what really needs to be addressed? Bruce's truly terrible treatment of Damian." -Me, on a daily basis

been a number and a name by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 35k, 2023) “Turns out if you just say ‘spacetime’ until people’s eyes glaze over they don’t really question anything you say. Also, somehow nobody expects me to be able to actually do enough math to explain it.”

On a field trip, Robin has a close encounter with the newest super in Metropolis, only to discover the hard way that Superboy secretly works for Lex Luthor. They agree to work together on a plan to free Superboy from Luthor’s hold, but Robin isn’t sure how far he can trust him—and his developing feelings only make things more complicated.

clean it like you mean it by @wynterstars (Teen & Up, 70k, 2024) "Wait, ugh, you're not my dead dad, right? If I'm getting a dying vision of my dead dad I want a do-over because he suuuuucked."

When Gotham's crooks have to scrub down their lairs, who do they call? Jason Todd, Gotham's first and only underworld crime scene cleaning specialist. He's spent his life dodging the Bat, but after a chance encounter he saves Robin's life. Tim Drake finds himself drawn to the conflicted rogue, and soon Jason becomes Robin's street informant. But they can only stay on opposite sides of the law for so long before something breaks.

3:16 by @wufflesvetinari (Teen & Up, 70k (WIP), 2023) “Try to decouple one thing from the other. I’m proud of you, but ice cream isn’t my grand statement about whether you’ve been good or bad today. Good things are good. Happiness is precious. Sometimes you just want caramel chocolate chip.”

The knife pushes thin along Dick’s carotid artery, cupping the indent between neck and jawline—forcing him to angle his chin. The metal is warm, pulled with execution speed from under Damian’s pillow. “Okay,” Dick says quietly, tracking the intricacies of his own heartbeat—counting the space between breaths. “Guess I did need a shave.” (With faltering steps, Dick and Damian become Batman and Robin.)

wolf-king of rome by @mysterycitrus (Not Rated, 25k, 2024) “You go after Joker, but you don’t kill him, because it’s not about the Joker dying, it’s about Bruce breaking his code for you. It’s about Bruce loving you enough to change himself for the worse. It’s about your idea of grieving.”

Jason doesn’t fear Dick Grayson. Fear itself has changed shape for him, since his return from the Pit - it tastes of dirt in his mouth, of drowning, of fire and blood and laughter, more than a tangible face. Still, he’d be stupid not to be cautious. Dick liked playing on an uneven field, and would do anything to keep him off balance, so he just had to stay focused. That’s the nature of the armistice, both waiting for the other to make a move. It’s like balancing on the head of a pin.

Declensions by @dustorange (Teen & Up, 13k, 2018) “Do not tell them your name. Do as I did to survive. I lied. I have always lied. Make one up. Do not let them have you. Say your name is…is…is…Richard Grayson. Or something. They are going to steal you; do not give them anything to steal.”

“My father,” Dick says, “worked the rope. It cut him. His hands were never clean.”

Passiontide by @bigdvmnhero (Teen & Up, 5k, 2025) Despite its faults, the day had tried to be good. He felt young, like someone's son.

On the 96th day Bruce didn't call, Dick remembered their old game. Three things he knew: 1) In three months, it would be Dick's death anniversary; 2) Bruce was still missing his check-ins; 3) Here Dick was, persisting. Imagine the things I'd survive, Dick thought distantly, if I loved Bruce less. Or: Agent 37 and his various crises of faith, on Day 277 at Spyral, Day 150, and Day -0.

the time you won your town the race by @silverwhittlingknife (Teen & Up, 4k (WIP), 2022) Tim. Tim is Dick’s. Death sharpens, clarifies these things. Who will receive the body, decide on the funeral, receive condolences, make all the decisions that matter. No one has questioned it, not even Tim’s friends. There’s a terrible clarity about death. If Dick said, let’s burn everything he owned, Alfred would do it.

He doesn’t know exactly what Tim would say. But he knows what Tim would do. Tim dies. Dick doesn’t take death for an answer. A Red Robin 12 AU.

door, opening by @cowboysorceror (Mature, 70k (WIP), 2024) Dick, with the keys to every locked door Jason has ever tried to open, tucked inside the cradle of his skull; all of that, snuffed out like a candle.

It’s barely audible, but he knows what he heard. A short, four-note whistle, chirping down – E, C#, then jumping up to A, F#, a little trill on the finish. He waits a moment, head turned slightly towards the dim shapes of storage containers between him and the ramp, eyes straining against the blackness. Long, stretching seconds. There it is again. His gloved hand, prickling with cold, closes into a fist. It’s a wood thrush. A small North American songbird that doesn’t sing at night, doesn’t live in the city. He knows what it means. It means hold, steady, not yet. It means wait for me, I’m behind you.

#fic recs #fanfiction #dc comics #batfamily #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #damian wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #kon el #timkon #god i read so many emotionally devastating fics this month my whole soul is a shattered wreck #Floor Plans is my favorite by that author read it back in high school and never forgot will always be haunted by the Tim on the floor fic #almost right hit WAY too close to home uhhhhh maybe i should acquire a therapist #but more with love is 100% how I'd want Dick telling his family about the origins of Robin to go down in canon #(and is also a fic about Bruce fucking up but his relationship with Dick still being repairable which i. desperately needed this month #after reading many MANY other fics where It Will Never Be Okay Between Them (And That's The Point))#I Left My Conscience On Your Front Doorstep aka yet another fic that has made me be like hmmmm maybe i need therapy for my father issues #been a number and a name aka delightful 90s references AND Kon's origin being the Death of Superman animated movies #(my FAV version of his origin ever) AND Tim crossdressing??? rlly what more could u ask for in a Timkon fic chefs kiss #wolf-king of rome literally had me writing an essay to multiple friends explaining how galaxy brained this fic is #the themes of that whole fic series (the body is a haunted house) are once again therapy inducing im rotating them in my mind #Declensions is just straight up literature they just weren't writing Dick fic like this when i was in high school i feel blessed #the time you won your town the race was the only silverwhittlingknife fic I hadn't read yet and oh my god the SCREAMS i SCRAMPT #it was so so hard to pick a favorite quote from door opening that fic has got some spectacular prose #some other quotes I strongly considered for that fic:#“Jason worries sometimes that there’s a piece of him that will be fifteen forever calcified like a little black pearl”#“Gotham is a shade a moon-pale queen withered by the grief of the centuries the crypt of the empire”

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