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lightsovermonaco · 3 years ago

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His Good Sweater: Chapter 16

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.3k

Recommended song: “The Thrill” by Wiz Khalifa & Empire of the Sun

Your Saturday gets off to a great start when you spot Sylvie lurking in the corner of the garage. The woman pointedly raises an eyebrow at you when she notices you, the simple action setting you on edge. You glare at her in return, having none of it while Pierre suits up.

"Take care of this for me, will you?" Pierre places his cap backwards on your head. You smile, adjusting it so it's out of your eyes.

"I will." You glance over his shoulder before chastely kissing his cheek. You'd deal with Sylvie later; Pierre didn't need any distractions when he was about to get out on track.

"Nope, not acceptable." Pierre kisses your lips, completely unaware of the shit you'd likely catch as soon as he was gone because of it.

You sigh and take half a step back. Having none of it, Pierre places a knuckle under your chin, tipping your face towards him.

"Sylvie making you nervous?" The pad of his thumb sweeping over your jaw gives you something solid to focus on. "I can ask her to leave if she is."

You shake your head. "Not nervous, no. But she's getting under my skin."

Pierre sets down his helmet and waves off Pyry who tries to shove it back in his hands, prepared to address the matter and hash out a solution immediately. "What's going on?"

"It's not a big deal," you try, "I can tell you after practice. You've only got a few minutes until lights out."

"I want to know now, mon amour."

Fighting was pointless. He would stand here until you spilled the beans so you might as well get it over with so he could get out on track. "Fine. Sylvie cornered me Thursday and asked me to lay low this weekend because of some interview you did. She gave me a copy of it but I didn't read it. She said it's bad for your image to be seen doting on me when you've got races to win."

Pierre blinks, head swiveling in slow motion. Sylvie watches your interaction like a hawk, waiting for either of you to slip up. "And you kept this to yourself?"

"I didn't want to distract you. You've got a job to do." A blush creeps up your neck and settles on the apples of your cheeks. "Sylvie was mad enough at me, I didn't want her in your face too."

A muscle in his jaw ticks. "That's bullshit. I stood up for you. That's why she's pissed. I told them you were just as important to me as racing."

Your heart somersaults in your chest. "You said that in an interview? Pierre, that's-"

Pierre drops Sylvie's stare and meets yours. "I love you and I won't apologize for it. I don't have time to talk to her now though- are you okay being here with her until after practice?"

"I'll be okay as long as you top the time charts," you tell him, a smile playing on your lips. When you'd gotten back together you had told yourself nothing would come between the two of you again, up to and including nosy PR agents who couldn't keep their hands out of your business.

"I will, just for you." Helmet in hand, he pecks your cheek before heading to the car. Pierre shoots Sylvie a glare and says something to Pyry before clambering into the car.

Pyry doesn't leave your side for the entirety of practice, chasing off Sylvie each time she tries to approach you. Pierre nearly tops the charts, sitting second fastest on the famed street circuit. Only Max clocked a faster time, which didn't surprise anyone. Pierre's side of the garage erupts when he is wheeled inside and is met with claps on the back and wide smiles from his team.

Confidence radiates from him as he peels off his helmet and thanks his team. A grin from ear to ear splits his face as he makes his way to you before he even bothers to unzip his suit. Before you know it he's swept you in his arms and planted a kiss on your lips.

"It's not first, but I'll take second if you're waiting here when I get back."

"It's only practice," you remind him, swiping away a bead of sweat from his neck with the pad of your thumb. "But you drive like that for quali in a few hours and you might get your first pole."

"What did I tell you?" Sylvie hisses, ruining the moment and sending you crashing back to earth.

Instead of falling into line, Pierre's grip on your waist tightens. "Leave her alone, Sylvie."

"This isn't good for you," the woman insists. "People are saying you've gone soft-"

"I don't care what they say. My results speak for themselves." And they did. Second fastest today in practice, despite Monaco being a track that Pierre generally had a poor record at. "When I start slipping to the back of the pack you can talk to me about it. But even then it's out of your wheelhouse. I don't care what the gossip columns have to say about me-"

Pierre breaks off and you can see the pieces clicking in his head. "You've never cared either, not even when I got demoted. Horner put you up to this, didn't he?"

Sylvie straightens under the weight of Pierre's question, good enough as giving him an answer. "I have a job to do."

"And so do I." His words freeze over, his attitude icy. "How about you back off and let me do it? I don't need another person breathing down my neck. And she certainly doesn't either. And you know what? I'll make you a deal. If I win tomorrow, you leave us alone and keep your nose out of my personal life."

"You'll thank me when your name is out of the tabloids." Bewildered, you stare after her until Pierre's lips meet your temple, the simple gesture sending a tingle down your spine.

"I wish it was easier for us," you murmur, placing a hand on his broad chest as if you were the only two in the garage. "But as long as I have you, it's worth the fight."

"Don't let it get to you. You make me a better racer, no matter what anyone says. You taught me that I have something to fight for. You're the one that picks me up when I don't think I can make it. Without you, I probably would've blown my chance at taking seventh in the championship."

"And I'm the one that tells you when it's time to get your ass back in the car and race your heart out." You grin up at him, not caring for a second who was watching this time when you kiss him. "I expect you to be a pole sitter next time you're back in this garage. I might have already told my mom it was happening, so don't make me a liar."

"If I take pole, will you wear my cap again tonight? Just my cap?"

"That could be arranged."

**********

Pierre may not have taken pole, but qualifying fifth was more than enough reason to treat him to fulfilling his request. With only the Red Bulls, Charles and Hamilton ahead of him, you were confident he could at minimum hold his position, and at best his team would come up with a strategy that saw him undercut one or two of the guys ahead and put him on the podium.

As usual, Pierre gets to the circuit a few hours early to clear his head and walk the track one last time. Since it’s not a mandatory part of his race preparation, you take the opportunity to walk with him. The clouds part just enough for the sun to shine down on him, practically glowing in the light. Apparently not even the celestial bodies were immune to his beauty, coming out solely to appease him. Your gaze eats up the curve of his throat as he tips his head back to enjoy the golden rays warming his skin.

“Beau Rivage,” he murmurs as you come up to the right hand bend. “One of the few spots for overtaking, if you’re lucky.” Pierre studies the pavement, noting where patches of gravel had built up and toeing them with his shoe. His commitment was something to behold; not even Max could be bothered with a track walk on Wednesday, and forget about waking up with the dawn to participate in an optional one on race day.

Pierre was different though, throwing himself into the sport and refusing to commit anything less than a hundred percent. That commitment was one of the things that had drawn you to him in the first place and continued to be something you admired. You missed him when you were apart, but hearing the thrill in his voice when he spoke about racing lines or braking points never failed to remind you that he was living his dream and you would never stand in his way.

You thread your fingers through his, soaking it in as he walks you through the track. This wasn’t an opportunity you had often and you were determined to embrace and enjoy it.

“Massenette and Casino Square. This braking zone is tricky, if you go too wide you’ll lose seconds of time and probably a good chunk of your front wing, unless by some miracle you miss the barrier.”

Having little to offer to his assessment, you rest your head on his shoulder as you walk. You try to see the track through his eyes, picturing the cockpit around you as you attempt to pick out an adequate braking point.

You continue on in amiable silence, stopping once or twice so Pierre can take pictures with fans and chat with them. Eventually you come to a corner you recognize, one of the most infamous.

“I know this one.” You puff out your chest, holding an imaginary microphone to your lips. “The Lowes hairpin. Slowest corner on the calendar. The cars decelerate to 65 kph, a feat achieved nowhere else.”

Pierre throws his head back and laughs, making your heart stutter. You never wanted to go another day without hearing the full-bellied sound, rich and rife with more happiness than should be humanly possible. “You only know that because Crofty and Brundle bring that up every race, don’t you?”

“Maybe.” You beam back at him when he shakes his head, the action more to say I knew it than to express disappointment. Because he could never be disappointed in you, especially not for taking an interest in what he loved. You tended to queue up archived races to listen to in the background as you studied, meaning it was inevitable that some of the quips from the commentators rubbed off on you sooner or later.

“Now this is my favorite,” Pierre says, adjusting his cap to keep the sun out of his eyes.

“The swimming pool chicaines? Why?” They were considered boring by most racers, flat out but navigable by muscle memory if you’d had enough practice.

Pierre’s self assured grin leaves you in a puddle on the pavement. “Cause I’ll be jumping in that pool today, and I’m taking you with me.”

"I don't think so." You point to the hoodie you wore, one that you had stolen from his closet ages ago and since refused to give back under any circumstances. "I'm in irreplaceable gear. I don't want to ruin it."

Pierre rolls his eyes, dropping your hand in favor of slinging an arm around your shoulders. "I love it when you wear my clothes. My hat yesterday, my hoodie today, anything really. I love having that claim on you."

"If only I could get you to wear some of mine," you muse as the pit boxes come into view.

"If you ask nicely, I'd consider it."

The garage is thrumming with anticipation before Pierre even enters. Checo’s engine penalty is all anyone can talk about, his subsequent start from the pit lane meant Pierre would effectively move up a place and start fourth.

Pierre is whisked away as soon as Tost spots him, the warm old man greeting you before stealing your boyfriend away. You know your way around well enough to be comfortable, staking out your spot along the back wall to observe the team's preparations. The early wake up call was quickly catching up with you however, your lack of movement causing you to stifle a yawn with the back of your hand.

"You look like you could use a coffee."

A young woman about your age steps into your line of sight and holds out a steaming foam cup. "Er, sure, thanks."

"Alana," she says, sticking her hand out for you to shake. "I'm one of the junior engineers for the team. I've seen you around once or twice, I figured it was about time I introduced myself."

"Thank you for the coffee, Alana." You lift the cup in mock salute and take a sip, the contents rich and flavorful. "I swear, I don't know what you guys lace this with, but it's addictive as hell."

The two of you share a laugh that earns you a few confused glances. "I think we're gonna be great friends," she says, tapping her own cup against yours. "It's nice to see another woman around the paddock. Sometimes it gets a little testosterone heavy."

You nod, taking another swig. You can practically feel the caffeine working, already a little more alert than you were minutes ago.

"It's great luck."

"Pierre moving up a place?"

Alana laughs, her ponytail swaying as she shakes her head. "No, I meant you being able to attend the race. You picked the best weekend to be trackside, the podium celebrations are the best."

Pierre startles you by snaking an arm around your waist and planting a kiss on your cheek.

"There's our star," Alana says, her smile bright and optimistic. "Better bring your team another trophy! The next one is going in the engineering department, they already have a little plaque made up and everything. I can see it right from my desk."

"Oh I'll bring one home," he replies, his hand casually grazing your ass as he moves to stand beside you. "I already promised her I would and I'm a man of my word."

"I know you will."

"You have those time tables I asked about?"

"They're in the engineering suite." Alana hooks a thumb over her shoulder and smiles at you. "You're welcome to come back with us. He concentrates better when you're around anyway."

"Are you sure?" Red Bull never let you anywhere near proprietary data. You and any of Max's guests had always been corralled into the vip suite with the occasional venture down into the garage when they were wrapping up.

"You're part of the family," Alana explains as if it was obvious. "Of course I'm sure."

Pierre grins and gives your hand an encouraging squeeze. His team knew he wanted you near and they were willing to bend the rules to make it happen. "We'll try not to bore you to death."

You sit through a half hour worth of numbers and codes you didn't understand, your arm slung around the back of Pierre's chair. He offers tidbits and asks questions while Alana and the other engineers walk him through scenarios, ensuring he has everything down. The way he spoke was quite possibly the hottest thing you've ever had the pleasure of witnessing, aside from post race Pierre with his sweaty hair sticking up in every direction and an adrenaline infused smile on his red cheeks.

Before you know it the two of you are ushered off to his driver's room, Pierre changing into his fireproofs and suit while you treat yourself to some of the snacks lying about. Pyry knocks just as Pierre zips his suit up to his chin.

"Hunt 'em down," you say, resting your forehead to his and stealing a moment for the two of you.

"Always do."

And god, does he ever.

Ten laps in, Hamilton is complaining about the balance of his Mercedes, the gap between himself and Max is only a few seconds and rapidly decreasing. The headphones you wear allow you to catch snips of driver radio and team communications, and you gather that Hamilton is slowly losing power. No one is sure if it's an electronics issue or an engine issue but they aren't complaining either.

Flawless pit stops from most teams see little shift in track positions, Pierre still holding fast to P4 a little over halfway through the seventy eight laps. Alpha's stellar strategy sees him rejoin fifth after sliding into the pits for a set of mediums to take him to the end of the race.

"Gap to Norris three seconds ahead," comes the voice in your ear.

Pierre clings tight to the rear of Lando's papaya McLaren ahead, using DRS to his advantage and practically toying with the younger racer, waiting for the opportunity to strike.

Three short laps later, Pierre skirts around the McLaren at Beau Rivage and reclaims fourth.

Hamilton's ability to stretch tire performance to the maximum means he gets ten more laps before he's in the pits, Max closing in on his track position. The Mercedes crew stumbles, the pit stop more than twice as long as it should be, and Hamilton rejoins fourth.

"In the podium places," Pierre's engineer states.

Seconds later, white smoke pours from Max's Red Bull and he pulls off, causing a yellow flag and bunching up the pack.

P2, with only the Ferrari standing between Pierre and a win.

"Easy pickings Pierre, choose your moment."

Your heart pounds and your nails bite into your palms as Pierre goes around the outside at the hairpin, the entire garage shouting when he somehow gets away clean and the Monegasque backs off enough for Pierre to take the lead.

"P1 mate, two laps to go, two laps."

Pierre's brisk copy tells you all you need to know. He wasn't about to let this win slip through his fingers. Neck craned up at the screen, you watch as Pierre fights tooth and nail to fend off his friend, gasping audibly when a slight lockup nearly causes the two to collide around a chicane.

When he crosses the line, all you hear is a staticy scream.

Pierre Gasly, you are a Monaco Grand Prix winner!

It almost doesn't feel real how everyone around you begins jostling for the podium, their momentum carrying you along. A combination of luck and skill had seen him skyrocket to the top.

When you finally catch a glimpse of him in parc ferme, he stands atop the halo, arms spread wide amongst the deafening cheers of both Red Bull sister teams. Pressed between sweaty bodies, his team all push to the front to be the ones to congratulate him.

You blink back hot tears. Pierre had fought incredibly hard to be on that top step, not just today but the entire season. Being demoted from Red Bull last year had been a backhanded blow, one that when coupled with his insistence on going back to the team in the future had warranted a feeding frenzy of media that ebbed and flowed as rumors surfaced. He'd been under the microscope ever since, struggling to keep his head above water but managing to come out on top.

Someone pushes you forward just as he takes off his helmet, his grin wild and unrestrained. Your mouth is open, his name on the tip of your tongue when a hand closes around your arm.

"This isn't your moment," Sylive says, near shouting to be heard over the roar. "No one wants to see you up there in the frame. This is his podium, let the media see that."

This woman really wanted to be knocked out, didn't she?

"He just won the prix." Dumbfounded at her audacity, you shake your head. "Leave us alone, he won."

"He could win the championship and I would still tell you to back off. There's hundreds of cameras out there, do you even have it in you to hold yourself together when they're all flashing at you?"

If she had asked you that question a few months ago, the answer would have been no, absolutely not. Now that you'd been to hell and back it was an entirely different story. You could walk through the throng and come out the other side unscathed if you had your best friend and partner at your side. He would shield you for the worst of it, be their punching back in order to make the burden bearable.

"Sylvie, if you don't get your hands off me-"

"Oh, sure," she says, releasing you with a smile. "He's already gone anyway. I only needed a minute."

Brow furrowed, you investigate her claim to find the truth of it. Pierre was already being herded away towards the podium, toweling off the residual sweat and setting his helmet on the provided stand. He throws one last glance over his shoulder before climbing the steps to the podium, his baby blue eyes cloudy when they should have been sunny.

Pierre's team principal calls your name as the boys take their places on the steps, gesturing for you to join him at the barriers. "Where were you? He was looking for you."

"No, I know," you start, shaking your head and gazing up at your racer. "Sylvie has it in her head that I shouldn't be photographed with him-"

"Say no more," Tost says, then pauses as the crowd claps. "I've never liked her."

"You and me both," you say under your breath as the anthems play.

Pierre's hungry gaze scours the crowd for you, hands folded neatly behind his back while he bounces on his feet. When he finally spots you in Tost's shadow his shoulders straighten the tiniest bit, like he had been half expecting you to be absent. The pride in his posture is reflected in your smile, a fact that he picks up on and leverages to shine even brighter.

Absently, you register the shutter of a camera going off as you beam up at Pierre. Your winner locks eyes with you before popping the cork of his champagne and spraying his fellow podium sitters, Daniel and Charles, before taking a long swig. Daniel blows a kiss to his girlfriend who mimes catching it and tucking it away while Pierre simply wraps Charles in an embrace, marveling in their first shared Formula 1 podium.

Pierre is surprisingly the first to leave, stalking off with his trophy and bottle in hand before the cameras have even stopped rolling. You track his progress, the crowd slowing him like he was a marble trying to sink through molasses. His thanks are short, his smile tight as he makes his way to you, eyes locked on his target and utterly unwilling to yield.

You meet him at the barrier which you still haven't been allowed to cross thanks to security taking their job far too seriously. Pierre doesn't care, tucking his trophy under his arm and unhooking a section so that you can slip through.

A laugh bubbles out of you when he wraps you in a bone crushing hug, lifting you off your feet and spinning in circles. Taking his face in your hands you kiss him passionately, wholly aware of the cameras on you. This was your moment to share with him; your universe had narrowed to his arms around you and the sweat-slick skin beneath your fingers.

"Congratulations," you murmur against his lips. "How's it feel to be a Monaco grand prix winner?"

"Better now that I've gotten to hear you say it." The brim of his Pirelli cap gets in the way when he tries to kiss you again and he turns it around.

"You gonna celebrate tonight, race winner?" The endearment works just as you had wanted it to, pride and something more primal flashing in his eyes.

His voice drops, his wicked grin already causing heat to pool in your core. "I have a few ideas."

"Me too." Now that the crowd has disappeared somewhat, you grow bold and nip at his lower lip. It sends a thrill through you to rile him up so publicly, his fingers tightening on your hips in surprise.

"Mon amour, you stop that right now." The slight shake in his voice betrays his true feelings. "I still have to weigh in and debrief."

"Maybe I want you thinking of me while you're there." You wrap your arms around his neck, grinning when he gulps. "Thinking of all the things I'll let you do when you get back to the apartment. Charles will be gone all night partying with Ferrari, I'm sure. We'll have the place to ourselves."

"We've got a full night ahead of us." He grins, tongue darting out over his lips. "We've got the winners dinner too."

You tip your head to the side. "Winners dinner? I don't-"

Someone calls his name and you both look in their direction. A race official, clearly fed up with your little display of love, waves Pierre over.

"Duty calls." Reluctantly, Pierre sets you back on your feet and passes off the champagne before he retreats to answer questions or whatever it was the official needed from him.

Watching him walk away, all you can think about is getting him back to the apartment. But first, you'd drag it out as much as he'd let you.

*********

Pierre spends the entirety of the debrief locked in an unending battle between thinking of you in compromising positions and actually giving feedback to his team. It wasn't his fault that you planted the seed in his mind; he couldn't help but expand on what your dirty little lips had whispered in his ear once he finally found you after the podium.

"Okay, I think that's all we have. See you all at the pool in an hour," Alina says, and Pierre practically rips off his headset and sprints back to his driver's room. He bursts in without stopping to knock, earning him a yelp as you drop your phone on your face.

"Ow. A warning would be nice."

"I don't care," Pierre breathes, locking the door behind him and crossing to where you lay on the couch in a few long strides. "I've got an hour till I'm due to make an appearance for the cameras at the pool, care to make it memorable?"

"Oh, I don't know." You pick your phone back up and continue scrolling through it after giving him a once over. Leaving his race suit on and half undone served dual purposes: he didn't have to change again before the photo op at the pool and it drove you crazy. Apparently, his plan hadn't worked as well as he had hoped. "I kinda like seeing you all worked up."

"Come on," he practically whines, dropping to his knees to meet your glinting eyes. "Please?"

"I think you can wait." The corners of your mouth tug up and it's all he can do to resist leaning forward dragging your full bottom lip between his teeth. Energy still thrums through him, the adrenaline not yet faded.

Noting his stare, you roll your eyes. "Okay, one kiss-"

He doesn't let you finish, leaping on the opportunity to get a tiny sliver of what he wants. His tongue prods your lip and he groans when you open and allow him to explore. Hands glide over your hips while yours find his shoulders, nails digging in through the thin material of his fireproofs. Without breaking the kiss Pierre slots himself above you, a leg on either side of yours and caging your head between his forearms where they rest on the arm of the couch.

When he grinds his hips against yours in search of any sort of relief, you turn your head to the side. Pierre doesn't care, simply trailing hot, open mouthed kisses down your neck. The building could be burning to the ground around him and he wouldn't move, too enraptured by you to be bothered.

"Pierre, my love, be patient." You push lightly at his chest and he finally breaks away, chest heaving. God, he needed you. Hadn’t stopped thinking about you once since he crossed that finish line in first. "Where's that unwavering self restraint you show on the track?"

"I'm not racing." He possessed no self restraint when it came to you. In your presence every sane thought flew out the window, replaced by the sound of your laugh and the shape your mouth made when you said his name.

"Waiting makes it sweeter," you tease, the phrase jangling something loose in his brain. He had said the same thing months ago when your roles had been reversed. If he could go back in time and slap himself upside the head for uttering those words, he would.

Pierre sits up with a huff and pulls you into his lap. "No fair. I just won a race, at Monaco no less, and you're gonna tell me I have to wait when you're sitting here looking perfectly edible?"

You tip your head back and laugh. "I am, because I know you'll enjoy it more tonight."

"But we have the drivers dinner too-"

You put a finger to his lips, which he immediately bites softly. "Be patient. I know you can do it, big boy."

Pierre groans, squeezing his eyes shut and letting his head fall forward to rest on your sternum. "I'm going to remember this."

Your traitorous fingers wind in his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. "How about a massage while you wait, hmm? Would that calm some of this energy you've got built up?"

"No," he grumbles, pressing a kiss to your chest. "That'll make it worse."

"Well then I think it's a perfect idea." Pierre makes you work for it, forcing you to peel his hands off your hips one at a time before you can stand. "Fireproofs off and on your tummy, come on then."

Pierre obeys, eagerly tossing his shirt across the room. He knew he'd regret it and your teasing would leave his head spinning, but anything that got him closer to you was acceptable.

"Lay down."

The command stirs something in his chest. He kisses you once before pillowing his arms under his head and allowing you to straddle his thighs. Your knuckles work at the stiff cords of muscle along his spine and he doesn't tamp down on the small noises of pleasure that start in the back of his throat. Once in a while you lean forward to press a kiss to his bare back, each one setting off a chain reaction in him that goes straight to his cock.

When you reach the base of his spine, he goes completely limp under your fingers. "Merde," he whispers, both a plea and a praise. "Right there, baby."

Something had been digging into his back during the race and it caused a knot to form by his left hip. A low moan escapes him before he can stop it and you hum in approval.

"Feels good, doesn't it?"

"So good," is all he manages to get out around the noise in his brain. His head is filled with your touch, reducing him to ash beneath you. You work at the spot until it's pliable, sweeping your thumb over it once more for good measure. You finish up with his back and move to his arms, dancing over the swells of muscle like you'd been a masseuse your entire life.

"God, where did you even learn this? You're better than Pyry."

"YouTube. And that's because it's different when it's someone you love versus your trainer. I can drag it out and let you enjoy it more."

He's completely lost track of time when the alarm on his phone goes off, signaling the end of this current round of torture.

"You know you're coming with me to the pool," Pierre says matter of factly as you climb off him. He stands and rolls his shoulders, bouncing on his toes. "I feel like a brand new man."

You guide his fireproof shirt back over his head after retrieving it from wherever you'd tossed it earlier. You zip his race suit up with a wink that almost makes hims say fuck it and miss the event entirely. "Glad I could be of assistance."

Hand in hand, Pierre leads you through the paddock and falls in with the Alpha team as they head for the swimming pool. Being around his crew again brings the excitement of his win back to the surface and he's practically buzzing with it by the time they arrive at the gate. Journalists, photographers and a few of his fellow drivers mingle about the packed space, some of them clapping him on the back and offering praise. None of it truly registers until Max, usually hot-headed after a DNF like he had suffered today, pulls him in for a hug.

"Great racing, mate. You deserved that one, that's for sure."

"You better play nice with him next year Max." You wag your finger at the Dutchman, earning you a chuckle. "Or I'll have to take matters into my own hands."

"Now that's something I'd pay to see: you versus Christian Horner. A mighty fight."

Not wanting to jinx it, Pierre doesn’t comment on your confidence that he’ll be on Max’s team next year. His win today had seen him move up comfortably into eighth, and he was closing in on Lando quickly. As long as he played his cards right and finished higher up in the points, he was starting to think he could pull it off.

Pierre doesn't note Sylvie's approach until she clears her throat and all three of you turn in tandem. Pierre picks up on the way your demeanor instantly shifts from light and playful to defensive and he puts himself between the two of you.

"Photo op time."

"Right yeah." Pierre squeezes your hand in farewell and follows Sylvie to where a spot has been cleared at the head end. Standing there before the water, Daniel's dramatic belly flop comes to mind and Pierre knows he has to top that celebration or he'll never hear the end of it.

Someone- maybe you, he couldn't quite tell- starts a chant of his name, growing louder and louder until it reaches a fever pitch. His cheeks hurt from smiling so wide and he spreads his arms, his head falling back and eyes sliding shut as he lets the chant wash over him. Letting it sink in that he stood on the top step of the podium at the most legendary track in Formula 1, his name now joining the likes of Senna and Schumacher as Monaco grand prix winners.

He's drunk on it, on the screams and the shouts and the general feeling of being on top of the world and being untouchable.

Head dizzy, he searches for you, shooting you a wink when he spots you crouched right on the edge of the pool. God, you were gorgeous, wearing his hoodie with his logo splashed across the front and your cheeks flushed from the height of the moment.

Pierre takes a few steps back and gets a running start to leap into the pool, tucking his knees to his chest and cannonballing in. The water closes over his head and everything is dull for a split second before he pushes off the bottom and surfaces, cheers assaulting his senses in the best way.

Laughing, he shakes out his hair and poses for a few of the cameras pointed at him. In that moment he doesn't care what Sylvie or Christian or anyone for that matter thinks, all he wants is to share this euphoria with you, for you to be enthralled by it as he is.

The waterlogged suit makes it hard to swim but he manages, crossing to you and pushing off the concrete lip of the pool to capture your lips. Your hands immediately fly to cup his jaw as hoots and hollers surround the two of you as he irrevocably tells the world that you're his.

Alpha crew members take the kiss as their cue to jump in, splashing you with water as you laugh. Pierre doesn't give you a chance to protest, rising up and wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you in with him.

You squeal in his arms, shoving against his chest as you both laugh. "Pierre!" His name on your tongue does nothing to dampen the feel of your waterlogged body against his, nowhere near as chastising as he knew you'd tried to sound. He loves you more than ever at that moment, wants to live here on this Sunday forever, replaying the past twelve hours for the rest of his life.

Celebrations continue around him, but he has eyes only for you. He studies the way your nose scrunches up when Alana splashes you and how droplets of water catch on your eyelashes.

Reaching out, he tucks a wet lock of hair behind your ear, garnering your attention. You ruffle Pierre's hair and he knows that you're just as caught up as he is.

Placing a hand on the back of your neck, he draws you in for another long, drawn out kiss. “You’re my trophy.”

@seasidetom @flashcal @limp-wrist-max @sunshinesewis @lifeofzoemichael @ninuffi @perfectfantasies22 @lamboleglerg @ladyperceval @0forgottenparadise0 @evie-pr @avsensio @ninuffi @lu-morningstar @ggaslyp1 @swiftyhowlz @xeniarocks @teenwaywardasgardian @saintandrea-droidsmuggler

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#pierre gasly #pierre gasly x reader #pierre gasly imagine #pierre gasly fanfiction #formula 1 #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fantasy #formula 1 fanfic #f1 #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic #f1 fantasy #formula 1 rpf #f1 rpf #reader insert #pierre gasly reader insert

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gingerxarmy · 3 years ago

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Falling In Love MV&LN

a/n - this is an midnight thing of me trying to cope with stuff. hope you enjoy! hah

Reader x Max Verstappen & Lando Norris

Inspired by; Hopeless romantics - James TW

Words: 1800+

You having falling out of love with one, but, falling in love with an other.

Some People say the art of love is one of the most beautiful things in the world. The process of pinning after one person, to grow with them and if you're lucky, have them with you until your days are count. But all beautiful things have a dark behind. The moon, which is one of the most beautiful and calm things we have on this planet, has a dark side. No-one can know what's on it for sure.

Love has actions and words. Your significant other can give you flowers, but they can also give you bruises. You can have sweet nonsense whispering in your ear when you are watching a movie, or they can tell you lies you so desperately want to hear.

But the most painful thing about love is when one of the two people is falling out of it. What are you supposed to do when the exciting feelings are fading away, when you no longer can have them staying with you. When whatever you do or say are no longer enough. The heartache is one thing everyone experiences in the name of love. Even if you are living a loving life, the death you vow will make sure you are apart.

But when you are the one who can’t stand to be with him anymore. All you wanted to do was wish for a moment to make sure you could get into an argument and get him to hate you, just so this wouldn’t hurt as much as it did. He had been perfect. Everything he had done was for your preference, so you could be happy. But in the end, your feelings faded. It hurt, it really did, but when one goes - another comes along. It’s always a shift. The worst part was that they were friends, best friends even.

You’ll never forget about the time you meet him and how inlove you were from the first eye contact. You had met Max one evening in Monaco when you were on a vacation with three of your girl friends. You had been walking on the streets of Monte Carlo in search of a Café. After almost thirty minutes walking in circles you decided on Scala Green Café, neither of you had heard about it before, but it was calm and in need of something to drink thanks to the heat outside you took a table and ordered a drink each.

You had lovely conversations about the city you are vacationing in and as usual, for four single ladies, it turned quickly to the cute guys you’ve seen on your walk earlier. You had all agreed on one particular man you had seen not too far from the café who had taken home the price of the most handsome one. With his broad muscle building and determined steps it had made it quite hard to not look at him. His face and hair was hidden under the cap he had been wearing, which was a shame, you all agreed on.

You had a nice conversation on planning the remainder of your trip when the doorbell for the Café called. Three muscular men in t-shirts and shorts made their way to the cashier. Probably asking for a table. Your conversation died down when the waiter led them to a table in your direction. Looking after them when they passed, not really caring if they were aware that you and your friends were staring or not, and trying not to droll.

“What is it with handsome men in this city?” One of your friends asked. Your group started to giggle but you soon interrupted when the doorbell called once more and the man with the cap stepped in through the door, looking around before seeing the three men who just walked next to you. The difference with this man was that he could feel you staring and your eyes meet for a short moment. But long enough for you to start to blush, hiding from his gaze you took a sip from your drink.

“You made eye contact with him. Didn’t you?” Your friend to the right of you said and gave your shoulder a squeeze. You nod your head and turn around trying to find the guy who just walked past. But to your luck/misfortune he was already looking at you, and for a second time in less than ten minutes you had made eye contact and he had made you blush.

That café wisit had ended with a tissue with a phone number and a name, Max. You could never have thought that two moments of eye contact and a tissue could give you two amazing years of love. Max Verstappen had taught you about Formula One and everything about the sport that you now loved with a passion. When race weekends didn’t clash with your job you would be with him for support and for yourself and the adrenaline rush from watching the race from the teambuilding.

Your relationship was amazing, you had your fights like every couple had. But when the new rookie trio came along in 2019 and you found yourself hanging with when Max went out with the youngest one of them three. Lando Norris had become a big part of your life when he and Max started to play games and stream together in their spare time. And when you got invited to chat with the two when they were playing games, things started to escalate.

It wasn’t something big, Max knew you two were close friends, but when normal conversations started to become more flirty and when you started to find yourself thinking about Lando more often and not only in a platonic friendship way you started to think about your relationship with Max.

And here you are, trapped between two wonderful men with a mind drawn between them two. Would you just block Lando and try to find your happiness with Max and try to fall in love again? Or would you talk to Lando about what you feel for him and tell Max how you’re no longer in love with him. Whatever you come up with you couldn’t get rid of the feeling of disappointing one or not both of them.

That evening Max felt something was up with you. You, who always talked about your day, were now sitting quiet and not eating your food. Of Course he would get worried, you knew it.

“What’s wrong, love,” he asked. Love, it hurt.

“I think we need to talk.” You pushed away the food. “You know I love you, right?”

“Yes, of course. I’ll always love you. What’s this about?” He reached forward for your hand but you couldn’t bring yourself to let him take it. Instead you put your hands in your lap and let your gaze rest on them. Fiddling with your fingers.

“I will always love you Max. But I don’t think I’m in love with you anymore. I’m so sorry, you haven’t been anything but lovely and kind to me. But I think our time is up.” A single tear escaped your eye when you lifted your gaze and met Max’s eyes.

“I had already guessed it, even though I didn’t want to believe it. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. And he would be really lucky to have you.” This time you let him take your hand. Releaf wash over you and you give him a broken smile. “And I’ve been texting this girl, and before you think anything, no. It was always friendly but now when I know for sure that you like Lando I may give her and I a try.”

“I think you should,” you give Max’s hand a squeeze before letting his hand go, giving yourself one more moment before letting him go.

“You and Lando need to invite me to your wedding later on, alright?” You two start to laugh at this. The eaze going conversation coming back between the two of you.

A couple of weeks later you followed Max to Monaco GP, where everything started between the two of you, your journey could have an ending there years later. He had invited the girl he had been talking to as well, or, you had invited the girl he had been talking to because you were dying to know how had his heart now when you no longer had it. She was kind and you two shared a couple of laughs during the grand prix weekend. Max was in safe hands.

“Okay, so, Lando’s waiting!” Max said later that evening. Max, Carlos and Lando had shared the podium today and you couldn’t be more proud of the three of them.

“Isn’t it meant for you to be out celebrating your first podium and win in Monaco?” You say before giving him a hug. Even though you no longer are a couple you are great friends. The platonic love is still there.

“Yes, and you are coming with. And so is Kelly. Come on!” Max dragged you off to a car where the others were waiting. And Max, being the matchmaker he is, made you sit next to Lando on the short way to the Bar someone of the drivers had shoosed. Probably Daniel if you could say it yourself.

“You and Max broke up?” Lando dared to ask later when the group of people had gotten a couple of shots.

“Yeah, our time together ran out. It was mutual so no hard feelings or anything. And I’m really happy about it. I really thought we were going to end on bad terms. And now I’m rambling!” You put a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from talking. But all Lando could do was laugh. Oh, God, that laugh.

“So if you two are no longer a couple I can do this without having to risk my head.” Lando leans in and you two share a kiss. Your hand finds its way over to his curls and his hands make it way down your back, making you move closer to him.

“If I was you I would still be careful of your head,” you say as you make eye contact with Max.

“If you're breaking her heart, Mate. I’m breaking you!” Max screams over the loud music in the club and makes the others look in your direction. “Oh, and don’t forget about that wedding invitation you promised me!”

You couldn’t help but laugh, happy that you got the man your heart wanted and still have your best friend by your side. You lean in and steal a kiss from Lando once more before leaning into him, laying your head on his shoulder and start to speak with the people you are out celebrating for the night.

#max verstappen #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen one shot #formula one #formula 1 #lando norris #lando norris fanfiction #ln4 #mv33 #f1 imagine

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mcnished · 5 years ago

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So last week De Limburger published a pretty great interview with Robin Frijns, so I tried to translate it. Short warning, I’m no professional translator so the translation won’t be perfect. It’s a long one folks, so get yourself some coffee because you’ll need it. All the credits go to the original author, except for the translation, which is mine.

Robin Frijns puts past behind him: “Formula 1 was very unfair for me.”

Yes, he admits he had been jealous when Max Verstappen rapidly broke through in Formula 1. Why didn’t he get the chance? But Robin Frijns has put the past behind him. “Sometimes I think: would Formula 1 have made me happy? All those fake friends, everyone trying to profit from your success.”

Right in the hallway of his lily-white, freestanding house in Lanaken, a little across the border at Maastricht, it becomes clear why Robin Frijns (28) was accredited with a bright future in Formula 1. His biggest trophies are displayed like a hall of fame, won on circuits across the globe. With his status as a future racing talent, he was standing on the doorstep of the pinnacle of motorsport, even before the rise of contemporary Max Verstappen, but nonetheless, his dream was shattered. A sensitive subject matter which we, so we guess, could best wait to discuss until the ice is broken. But we’re barely seated when Frijns opens it up himself, determined to clear the air.

Press agency ANP published in 2012, right before you were testing a car with Red Bull, an interview in where you proclaim that “Red Bull drivers are treated like dogs”. You contest that you’ve never said that.

“That story is completely false. The conversation with that journalist took place two weeks earlier, over the phone. He screwed me. He wrote down things I’ve never said. I spoke to him once, after that never again. I’m still waiting for him to call. No, I won’t say his name.”

Did he put the words in your mouth?

“No.”

Did he make up stuff?

“Yes. Look, Red Bull has always been known for quickly putting aside drivers if they didn’t perform. Dropped. But that’s the truth, everybody knows that. Every once in awhile it isn’t fair, that depends on the situation. That came up in the conversation, but the word ‘dogs’ was never used. I have friends who were at Red Bull. Okay, they have had it rough, but it’s thanks to Red Bull that they’ve come so far.”

What would you like to change about yourself?

“That people who don’t know me get a better idea of who I am. That image was created in the past. I’ve been with Audi for years, if they didn’t appreciate me, I would’ve been long gone.“

What was the last time you cried?

“Good question. (long silence) When my dog died, in 2012. His name was Bikkel, a Bordeaux Dog. He was only three years old. In the morning I found him in his kennel, a heart attack. Cold as ice, stiff, I’ll never forget that.”

What do you regret?

“I regret that I’ve trusted people too easily, managers for example. I didn’t have the right people around met at the right time. One manager once demanded three ton from me. He lost that case. I recently ran into me, he shook my hand. What I think when that happens? Absolutely nothing.”

Who would you like to spend 24 hours with?

“Ayrton Senna. He always said how it was, was passionated, loved his country. He never forgot where he came from. Some people compare himself to him, like Hamilton. Senna stayed himself, Hamilton didn’t. I appreciate his driving skills, not his personality.”

Are you still being haunted by that publication?

“Yes, still. That stone started rolling and it feels like it has never really stopped. For some, it’s rolling still.”

If you’re so convinced about being right, why have you never taken action?

“If so, I, a layman from motorsports, would have to take it up against a journalist of ANP. Against such a big corporation.”

You didn’t have any good experiences with Bild, the biggest tabloid of Germany, either.

“My manager at the time had contacts there. He let them record that I’m so difficult to work with. That hurt me even more than the whole Red Bull story. We split after that. Later teams said to me: “you are so difficult”. Where is that coming from, I thought. That image caused a reluctant effect on people who didn’t know me. Only after I’ve tested for them, did they know who I really was.”

How do you describe yourself?

“I don’t like dishonesty, I can’t work with it. I’m very direct. Say what I want to say, but always based on something. And I never show myself when I don’t know someone. That’s a disadvantage... I have to get to know them first.”

You’ve been a test driver for various F1 teams in the years following that infamous ANP piece, but you never got a real chance. Why didn’t it happen?

“De F1 world was very unfair for me. At certain moments I drove faster than the drivers who did have a seat. Like Hülkenberg. Or Ericcson. But I didn’t bring millions. Others did. They shook my hand and I could leave. How unfair is that? I didn’t feel appreciated. That’s when the joy vanished. Compare it to football: if you move from Ajax to Barcelona, but you spend the whole year on the bench, what did you gain?”

Did you ever try to get those millions yourself?

“I have tried to play the game, but I missed the background in that world to achieve it. There were businessmen with interest in F1, but they all came from above the rivers. They didn’t see me as Dutch. Because I’m from Maastricht.”

Did your reputation play a part in this?

“People in business don’t read that stuff. It’s about investments, I think. “

How long did you need to process this broken F1 dream?

“At least two years. I just wasn’t feeling well. Constantly annoyed.”

Did you have someone to cry with?

“No, I did it on my own. My father struggled a lot, he’s just like me. He felt that injustice as well. Support? My parents have always supported me, up to a certain point.”

Are you guys talkers?

“A little. I’m from a family who isn’t involved with motorsport at all. The whole family loves football, my brother played for MVV [Maastricht’s football club]. I rolled into that world, without knowing where I’d end up. My father is a real businessman in the steel industry. He doesn’t understand the racing world.”

Not long after you Max Verstappen rose through the ranks, at lightning speed. He’s a world star now. Don’t you think: this could have been me?

“Of course, yes. I have never driven against Max, so I can’t say who’s better. That comparison is bullshit. But I certainly would have been at the same level as Max.”

Are you jealous of his success?

“Maybe a bit in the beginning. But not for the last three, four years. There’s always a pro and a con. I talked to him a few times. I don’t have anything against Max, amazing how he’s doing, a lot of respect. Especially for his dad, I know him much better than Max. But I don’t know if I want to be in the position he’s in.”

Why not?

“I want to be free in the things I do. If I were Max. I’d live in Monaco. Something I absolutely do not want. When I’m home, I want to be home, close to Maastricht. If I were at Max’s level I wouldn’t be able to go to a terrace, drink coffee in peace. That’s the flipside. Of course, at the track, a lot of people come to you, nothing wrong with that. But at a certain point, especially after a shitty race, you think: please leave me alone. 24/7 attention, it would drive me crazy.”

You currently drive in both Formula E and DTM. Does that give you enough satisfaction?

“I joined Audi three, four years ago. That’s when it started to go better. They really appreciate me, they know me and they work well with me. With DTM and Formula E, I’ve found the fun again. The future? I want to be competitive, that’s the most important thing. When I’m 36 or 37 and I notice I’m no longer competitive, I’ll retire.”

Sustainability is a big theme nowadays. Do you think Formula 1 will merge with Formula E?

“I think Formula E will fight Formula 1. But they can’t compete yet. FE has only existed for six years, F1 for almost seventy. Although I see that a lot more racing becomes electronic. You have Moto E, rallycross E. If you ask me now whether it has a future, I’d say yes. But maybe it will be different in ten years.”

Does idealism play a part in your choice for Formula E?

“That’s the same thing as not eating meat because you’re against animal cruelty. Honestly? A little, I think. Of course, it’s more about my career. But I do see the dense smog above China. You don’t have that in Maastricht.”

Your father once mentioned on the radio that he doesn’t like it at all, that speed. Does that affect you?

“I think every parent feels like that. The worst thing that can happen to you, is losing your own child. I’m very sober about this. It’s a dangerous sport. If you crash, so be it. But it does something to you when you hear about one. When I was on holiday in Santorini this summer, I got a text from Linsey, a good friend I’ve known for twelve years. She wrote: if you do this to me, I’ll kill you. I thought: what is she talking about? When I searched YouTube, I saw that Anthoine Hubert had a fatal crash in Francorchamps. I was quiet all day. I notice, the older I get, the more it affects me. I too want kids, in the future.”

Do you have a relationship?

“I’ve been together with Maike, a German, for over a year. She is a communications officer at ABT Sportsline, the DTM team I drive for. She lives 700 kilometres away, south of Munich. We see each other every weekend, I’m happy with her. It’s a long drive, I once did it in four hours. At night. Cruise control, 300 per hour, you’re there in no time.”

Was it love at first sight?

“No, I don’t believe in that. Win trust first, that’s how I am. If I enter someone’s house, it’s never, hey, here I am.”

And then you give all of you?

“Yes. But when someone turns their back to me, it’s over quickly with me. For me no means no. A lot of people know that. If it’s a disadvantage, I don’t know. It does have something, I think.”

Formula 1, is that book closed for good?

“If I could prove myself at a decent team, with a multiyear contract, I would consider it. But if I would want it? I don’t know. Sometimes I think: would Formula 1 have made me happy? All those fake friends, all those people who try to benefit from your success. No, that doesn’t make me happy. I know who I have now. Parents, friends, my girlfriends. People who only want what’s best for you. People who value you. If you’re world-famous, those are hard to find.

#robin frijns #formula e #fe #dtm #my translations #sorry my theme sucks #but i'm trying to find a better one

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evien-stark · 5 years ago

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 37

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” Tony was in the middle of going between writing frantically on his holo-board and then typing things into his computer. Clearly busy.

“I can handle SHIELD. And you’ve got a lot on your plate, it looks like.” Trying to build the new specs of his suit. Always working. Always improving. “I’ll stop by once I’m done. I’ll have to change anyway, I have a meeting after.” So they couldn’t keep you there all day. Or kidnap you or do anything shady. You were expected places.

As you approached, he turned away from his work to give you a little kiss on the cheek. But he put down his pen so that he could take the blue tinted lenses from his pocket and hand them to you. “Take these.”

It was just supposed to be their preliminary tests, whatever that meant. To put you on their little grid or whatever it was. To find out what your true potential was before you started training. “I’m not trying to start trouble...” Bringing in those high-tech specs would definitely piss Fury off, for sure.

“They’re coded to you. Anyone else tries to put them on they just look like sunglasses. They won’t catch you. I promise.” Giving that winning Stark grin. Outsmarting SHIELD was becoming his new favorite thing- that and protecting you. You suspected he’d be listening in if you brought them��

But maybe that wasn’t such a bad idea. Just in case. Just in case. You still didn’t fully trust these people after everything they’d put you through. Aside that, you didn’t want Tony to be stressing about you being in some secret government facility with no access to you if things got strange. So, with that in mind, you took them, slipping them into the inside pocket of your jacket. “Alright. But, really, it’s just supposed to be an hour or two. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“And I’m the one that gets lectured about not tempting fate.” A roll of his eyes and a scoff as he turned back to his board. You gave him a little playful smack on the backside, pulling a laugh out of him.

The sass of this man. Honestly.

The drive to their new warehouse setup was blessedly short. Almost like they’d picked a spot parked a few miles from the house on purpose. Knowing them…? Anything was possible. Maybe it’d just be easier for everyone if they were that close, you supposed. Since you’d be working with them for the next few months. Whatever made it go faster, that was better.

As before, they’d sent someone for you, which wasn’t unusual. But it made you a little bit nervous. While you didn’t want Happy mixed up in stuff like this either, it may have made you feel better to have some security around. All you had was yourself and a pair of sunglasses, and as far as SHIELD was concerned- just yourself.

You tried to settle your nerves as the car pulled around the various checkpoints of the compound and brought you right up to the front door. There was something annoying about having to pass yet another security check as you walked through the door and received a pat down. The officer (dressed quite aggressively in a bullet proof vest and a rifle slung across his back) pulled the glasses out of your pocket, looked at them, and then handed them back to you and gave you a pass.

Easy.

They were acting like they were under threat. But they’d been expecting you. So all you could surmise was that Fury was putting on a show for you. Much like everything else he did. Letting you know he was in charge. Not you.

The charade continued as you were shown to a small conference room with blindly bare walls, a long table and an uncomfortable chair to sit in. And continued further when he made you wait for fifteen minutes before finally blessing you with his presence.

Not only his, but someone dressed like a doctor as well. Your nerves flared.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for making me wait.”

He grinned with a little shake of his head. “Ready to work? That’s good. First thing’s first. We need some vials of blood.”

“Absolutely not.” The two words rushed out of you, clipped and incredulous.

“This will go a lot faster if you just do what I say.” Very suddenly it felt like you were in a lock down. And you’d willingly walked into it. “We can ascertain a lot more information that way.”

“I said no. Don’t ask me again.” Crossing your arms. SHIELD wanted your blood? How much sketchier could this get? Even if he was telling the truth- if they could see things in your blood that were super powered or whatever… wouldn’t hospitals before have seen the same thing? You’d been to a doctor before. Had blood taken before. If something was off, wouldn’t everyone else have been able to see it?

No one had ever mentioned anything like that to you.

Fury put his hands on his hips, shaking his head. “Are you gonna be difficult all day?”

“If you keep asking me for blood.”

This was not off to a great start. But that was his fault. He just kept on shaking his head until waving away the doctor that had come in. When they’d left, he finally sat down, folding his hands together. “From our reports we’ve already gathered a lot of your data. We’re just gonna double check our work.”

He slid a folder your way, one with your name on it- your codename, which they still hadn’t changed. Although to be fair you hadn’t told them what you’d like to be called. Opening it you looked at the sparse details inside.

Intelligence: 2 Strength: 1 Speed: 1 Durability: 3 EP: 1 FA: 1

Their grading system. You weren’t sure how high it went. If it went out of ten you were doing pretty poor, all things considered. And EP and FA you had no idea what that meant. “So what do you need today?”

“We’re gonna hook you up to machines, old school. Make you run on a treadmill and look at some stuff on a screen. Like I said, we’ve got a lot on you already. Those numbers are pretty much set.”

“So I joined a gym?” Still playing unimpressed. Because, yet again, Fury was talking like SHIELD knew everything about you already, and yet was still asking you to do things for them. Honesty might as well have been this man’s worst enemy.

He looked very unamused as you closed the folder and glanced back up at him. “You’re gonna join nothing if you keep mouthing off. Did I hire two Starks? Or can you be your own person for one second.”

At this you made a face. “Not trusting you or liking this situation does not make me Tony.”

“Your mouth does.”

He may have had a point. Your sarcastic retorts may have been borrowed. But sometimes it was easier to pretend to be someone far more confident and in control…

Suddenly Fury stood up and motioned for you to do the same, something you did much to his relief. Maybe you should start using a lot more of that. It may have helped in the situation. “Come on. We’ve got work to do and I don’t have all day to babysit you.”

“I don’t have all day, either. I have a meeting in two hours.” Letting him know, though you’d already sent that information over. Just doubling down on that you would not be here all day.

Following him out the door and down the hall, you found a terribly cliched room behind the next door he opened. He wasn’t kidding. A treadmill with wires hanging from the ceiling and a screen ahead. Lucky you’d worn sneakers. “You’re… serious?” He wanted you to run around and … do what?

“Dead serious. Get comfortable. If you need a tank top we’ll provide one. You can’t wear that.” Nodding to your jacket and sweater.

Giving him a very distrusting look, “Why?”

“See those?” He pointed to the wires hanging, pads at the ends of each one. “Those need to be on your skin. If you make me explain every minute detail it’s gonna take a lot longer.”

Finally, fed up, you turned fully to him. “What’s your problem? Can you treat me like a person for even one second? I’m not a robot, or someone for you to just push from A to B. If we’re working together, you’d better catch a better attitude. Quick.”

Without another word you turned away from him, pulling your sweater off and dropping it to the floor, leaving you in a spaghetti strap shirt. You’d come with the idea that they would be putting you to work. So it wasn’t a problem. Gym clothes.

Still, it was strange to see him looking away, arms crossed. Shy? Shy about you doing exactly what he’d told you to do? Although you appreciated the momentary lapse, his showing of humanity for once. “Give me a reason to catch a better attitude and I just might.” Still grouchy, though, as he said this. Then he left.

Two SHIELD attendants were not far behind, helping you up onto the treadmill after and sticking those pads to your skin. There was no telling what they were recording, but you supposed it must have been important. Two went on your temples, one on your forehead, two on your neck, one on your chest, and a few on your arms. They instructed you to watch the screen very carefully and try not to trip.

The speed was going to ramp up every so often, indicated by an instruction on the screen ahead of you. Only a few seconds after they left the machine started. It was a brisk walk, basically, and images started flashing in front of you. Unintelligible nonsense at first. Shapes. Numbers. Colors. Random people you’d never seen before.

Just as Justin Hammer flitted across your awareness the track started going faster and you moved into a jog. More people you didn’t know- Ivan Vanko- shapes again- then buildings- Obadiah- destroyed buildings- numbers again. Equations. Some you knew, some beyond you. The speed increased again. The Expo was burning. Stark Industries’ front lawn- the labs collapsing- numbers, more numbers… products- soda, water- pills it looked like?

Explosions in Monaco- the speed went up again now sending you into a full run. You were out of breath. To your surprise you’d been at this for twenty minutes. Colors- colors- stones- blue- bright blue- intense weather- snow and rain- some empty place-

Barely keeping up on the treadmill, hands steady on the sides- blood- blood-

“Hey- I need- this is about all I can do-” Not knowing who you were calling out to as a series of lights flashed across the screen, giving you an incredible headache. The track went faster. “Fury!” Someone had to be watching, right? Scientists in labcoats on the other side of the screen scribbling nonsense on pads-

Somebody- anybody-

“Hey!”

At your scream the treadmill finally started to slow, enough for you to safely jump off. The rip of the pads from your skin was an annoyance at best. You were more concerned with evening out, hands on your knees, taking breaths in with your nose and out through your mouth. Was that the way it went? Or was it the other way around?

Not sure. But this seemed to be helping. So you kept it up.

A water bottle came into your field of view and you gratefully took it, standing, snapping the cap open and guzzling half the contents. Fury was looking over a folder- yours you presumed. “Not bad. Take a minute to clean yourself up and I’ll meet you in the other room.”

“Not bad?” Still slightly breathless as you asked this. “What does that mean?” What the hell had you been looking at? What were they testing for? Was any of this really that important?

“Just take it easy.” Even though he was talking to you a lot more kindly than he previously had been, this irked you, too. For some reason. Maybe it was just him. Fresh annoyance coming on when he simply walked out the door and left you there.

You pushed out a sigh and crouched again. Controlling your breathing. Doing exactly what he’d asked and taking your time. As long as it took for you to get back to relatively normal. Then going to the back of the room where you finally noticed a towel waiting for you and some fresh wipes. How nice. Well at least someone was looking out for you.

After finishing the water and toweling and cleaning off, you put your jacket back on, hanging your sweater over your shoulder for now. Peeking your head out of the room, you poked an agent on the shoulder as they walked past. “Bathroom?”

As soon as they pointed at the door a few feet down the hall, that’s where you went. Taking even more time to relieve yourself, wash your hands, splash some cold water on your face and dry off again. Cleaning up just a little more. Presentable. Decent.

Then, and only when you were ready, did you leave the bathroom to go to the room you’d first met Fury in. To your surprise, Natasha was there too. They were standing at the side of the table, going over your file- or your results- so you didn’t stop to sit.

“You moved a few points in some categories. That’s not easy to do.” Natasha smiled at you.

You weren’t sure enough of the situation to offer one back. “That’s a good thing?”

“Moved up, she’s saying. Yes. Bad intel more than anything.” So they were impressed with you? Was that a good thing? You guessed it may have been. Or maybe they were doing that thing that they did. Buttering you up. For what you still had no idea. You’d already agreed to work with them. “There’s one more thing we need to test before you can go today.”

“What’s that?” Feeling a soft sense of relief that it would soon be over and you could return to your corporate life until tomorrow.

“This.”

It happened almost too quick for you to catch. The shock and horror crackling out from Natasha was what caught you first. Not that Fury was drawing his weapon from his hip-

Or the ear shattering bang in the air-

“NICK!”

Not your voice-

Stumbling a few feet back from the force. Hand reaching out as your knees went weak, hitting against the wall. “Did you- did you just-” Breathing going shallow. There was a high pitched whine in the air. “Did you-”

Pain bolted through your side and that’s where your hands went next as you slammed a shoulder against the wall. Feeling a rush of warmth escape. Pour out over your fingers. “Did you just-” Stumbling over your words. “Did you just-”

“Nick what the fuck!”

Someone was at your side- Natasha you realized, just as your knees gave out and you slid to sit on the floor. You started in on a full body shiver. Were you still breathing? Where was-

Did he just-

Were you-

Nick Fury had just shot you point blank.

He came up into your field of view. “Would’ve been easier if you’d just given me your blood when I asked.”

“Get a med team in conference room one-”

“Belay that order.”

Your hands were pressing, trying helplessly to hold anything in- hers were pressing, too- “What were you thinking!”

Had that really happened? Was this happening right now? Were you going into shock? Familiar noises- A shot- a bang- shrieks- shouting- gunfire- a blast-

The door in the room flew back to the opposite side of the room. Nick Fury was nowhere to be seen- oh- no wait- he was on the other side of the room too- And…

“Hey, look at me- look at me, honey- step back or you’re next.” Tony’s face came into focus as the support of Natasha’s hands faded. No doubt because he’d just threatened her. He was there- Iron Man- Tony- “Talk to me, hey- hey...” Soft as he put a hand over where yours were clutching. “JARVIS I need vitals.”

“She’s fine.” Fury’s voice, tight. Somewhere.

What was happening?

“Try me again and you’re not getting up a second time.” Tony growled at him, you realized he was holding up his other hand. Repulsor ready.

“Tony-” You breathed out, quivering still, reaching up to try and hold on to him.

But he took your hands and put them back where they were. Blood. There was so much blood. “Right here. Hold right here and eyes on me. I’m gonna lift you-”

“Do not take her out of this room.”

Natasha whipped towards him. “Have you lost your mind??”

“I watched her shake off broken ribs and a collapsed lung at Stark Industries. We watched her walk off a severe head injury at the house, a burn injury at the Expo- prove me wrong and you can have your damn med team. Check her vitals again.”

Impressive, you thought to yourself, that you caught most of that. Or all of it. What was he really saying, though? Your shivering had stopped.

“JARVIS-”

“There were other ways to test for healing factor, Nick, are you crazy?” It spoke volumes that not even Natasha knew what he was capable of. What he was going to do next.

He scoffed. “Oh, please it was one bullet.”

“Well thanks for not unloading your fucking gun into me you fucking psycho!” Finally you found your voice, heat from pain turning into quick anger.

“There. Look. She’s fine.”

A rush of coolness touched your face, something you were very appreciative of, and you leaned your cheek into Tony’s palm. His mask lifted up, revealing just how pale he was over all of this. “Look at me. Talk to me. JARVIS says you’re stabilizing- sort of- not that I’m not ecstatic- but… you gotta talk to me...” He was absolutely spooked. Out of his depths.

Softly you smiled at him. Absurdity of the situation waning- realizing that… someone had shot you. Nick Fury had shot you. And Tony, at home, had come right away… “Hey.”

“Hey.” He smiled back at you, uneasily so. “I think it’s time to go to the hospital.”

“She just needs to lie down. She has something we call healing factor. I had her at a 3 but I think we’re gonna bump her up to a 4, considering.” Fury was standing, smartly, a few feet away. Although he was slightly curved in on himself. In pain.

Good.

Though you wished you’d been cognizant enough to have seen Tony blast him off his feet.

“Healing factor is an ability to heal outside the normal limits of a regular human.” Natasha offered, looking extremely uncomfortable. “And there are other ways to test for it.” Giving Fury quite the dirty look.

“She wouldn’t let me.”

Sitting a little more up, Tony put an arm around you, steadying you. Directing a glare Fury’s way, “Gee whiz, had I known my options were be shot or give a drop of blood, I would have pricked my finger for you.”

“You’re fine. We’ll take you to the recovery room. The less stressed you are, the faster it goes.” His know it all attitude was really pissing you off. Much more today than any other day considering the dude had shot you.

“I’m taking her home.” Tony seemed on the same page. Terribly furious. You’d rarely seen him this angry.

“We still need to run some tests.”

Tony helped you to your feet, and you felt another bloom of pain, clutching at your stomach with a hiss. “No. You don’t seem to get it.” Words as sharp as a blade. “We’re done here. Our involvement ended when you pulled a gun on her.”

Fury stepped closer, waving an authoritarian hand. “Oh- please. It was a small bullet. Went right through her. And that’s not your call to make.”

Tony raised his, the sound the repulsor beam charging lit up the air. “Why don’t you try drawing on me. See what happens.”

Natasha quickly stood between them, although she gave Fury a pointed shove. “Get out of here. You’re just making things worse. We’re gonna have a very serious talk about this later.” For a moment you imagined she must have been the boss, the way she was talking to him- and the way that she curbed him to heel, with a scoff and a turn and then he left.

Tony sniffed some air in, “You gonna ask us to stay too? Because I gotta tell you, I’m just about done listening to government agents.”

“What Fury did was way out of line. I had no idea he was going to do that.”

“I so believe you.” Tony made a face at her.

Finally, though, as you just caught your breath, you put a hand up. Wanting to hold on to him, only realizing you were spattered with blood. When he realized he took hold of you and set it on his chest. It strengthened you just enough. “I believe her.”

She’d been scared senseless when Fury had gone for his gun. There was no other way to interpret that.

“You can’t possibly still wanna be involved with this. With them.” Now Tony was turning his ire towards you, but it was extremely softened up as you looked at him. Still very clearly in pain. Still bleeding a little.

From the fucking gunshot wound. You understood why he’d be mad.

“If I never have to see Fury again, I’ll consider it.”

Tony was shaking his head lightly, while Natasha half smiled. “I don’t know about never. But… I can promise not for a very long time.”

“It’s a start.” You weren’t sure starting to where but… Tony was about to sound off again but you went just a little slack and his arms came completely around you, stopping his tirade in its tracks. “I need to lie down...” Surprisingly you didn’t feel very well.

Tony pointed a finger at Natasha. “This recovery room better be on par with a five star hotel. I’m talking skylights, room service, hot towels, jacuzzi-”

“Not that good. But. It’ll do.”

Once she moved to leave, you found yourself grateful as Tony quite literally swept you off your feet. Not having to worry about standing anymore, you practically wilted in his arms. This was crazy. This was crazy. Had Nick Fury really just fucking shot you? For what? To prove a point? You bet that was it.

Maybe you should have been able to predict such a thing. Maybe he was teaching you a lesson about letting your guard down.

The recovery room was a much darker color in contrast to all the white walls in the rest of the facility, softer lit. Sort of comforting and definitely soothing after everything else. The bed was small but looked nice enough. And, just your luck, there was a medkit on the table, and a sink in the other corner.

“I’ll give you two some privacy.” And just like that, Natasha was out of the room and closing the door.

Tony set you on the bed and then the suit opened up and he stepped out. “JARVIS I want a level 3 EMP. Throw up a signal jammer after that just in case. And then sweep for dead bugs.”

“Yes, sir.” You barely heard JARVIS’ voice from inside the helmet.

Shifting, releasing another welt of pain across your entire lower abdomen, you shrugged out of your jacket and pulled your top half up. Still bleeding- although maybe it wasn’t as much blood as you’d first imagined. And… Fury was right, the hole was small, as you checked, pressing your fingers against it in another hiss.

Tony was there in just another moment, on his knees, medkit on the table popped open. “Don’t move around so much. I can’t believe you want to stay here.” Grumbling as he opened bottles and tore packaging.

Half of your attention was still in a fog. Had all this really just happened? You kept hearing that question on a loop- and- Tony- “...how did you get here?”

Looking up after tearing an alcohol swap packet in his teeth his brows shot up. “You lose that much blood?” Reaching up he turned your face a little more towards his, examining your supposed pallor.

“No- well- maybe- I don’t know- I just… how did you-” How to ask this question? While you were very relieved that he was here, that he had come to get you- save you it must have seemed like…

“There was a reason I asked you to bring the glasses.” Sighing as he wiped away the blood with what felt like a trail of bee stings.

It got you to squirm, hold in a heavy hiss that exhaled on the next breath, your head falling back. Had Nick Fury really fucking shot you?? “You were listening?” All day?

“Not all day. They have something called Shattershot Detection. I wasn’t intending to trial it today. But… all things considered...” Mumbling angrily again as he tore open a packet of wet wipes and let you clean your hands.

“And you just- came right away?” This man was absolutely incredible. Although you probably would have done the same thing. Even just thinking about Tony being in a small room with no means of protection- and the sound of a gun-

...you felt terrible.

“It took me five minutes to get here.” Funny, since that all seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. He taped a gauze pad over the wound on your front side, looking up. And what you saw in his eyes crushed you. “That was five minutes too long. If they had had a mind to-”

You felt a hot flash of terror. And it was painful. More painful than anything you’d felt today.

If they had wanted to do anything other than whatever the hell this was.

If Nick Fury had had a mind to put you down…

You’d be down.

And the thought- the near actualization- frightened Tony.

Feeling fresh tears leaking- realizing the dried trail of ones you didn’t even remember crying before- you reached up and cupped the sides of his face. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “It’s not your fault. We were willing to give them a chance. They blew it. By. You know. Putting a hole through you. So let’s go now. It’s over.”

Before you could muster a yes or no the door opened and in walked Agent Phil Coulson, head down, reading a file. Just so casual. “So. You got shot your first day in training. Might as well come with a welcome basket.”

Yanking your shirt back down, you weakly directed a glare at him. “I’m so glad this is considered common practice around here.”

Tony stood, arms crossed, rigid. Blocking Coulson’s line of sight to you. “Well we’ve had just about all we can handle of your hospitality, so we’re leaving.”

The folder snapped shut. “I’d like to have a word alone with her.”

“Yeah. We tried that once already today.” Tony refused to budge.

A pause of silence hung in the air, and then Coulson crossed over to the sink, pulling a stool out from the other side and dragged it across the floor to the foot of the bed. Sitting down, one leg propped up, he set the folder down and laced his fingers together. “Fury has a very heavy handed way of getting what he’s looking for.” Pointedly ignoring Tony, who had turned to look at him, as he spoke directly to you.

“If you’re asking me to look the other way on him shooting me-”

“I’m not. But he doesn’t do things without a reason.”

At this you made a face. You had thought that was what this was about. “Teaching me a lesson?” Spat out at him.

“Not the one you think you’re learning. If you don’t want to trust him, and maybe you shouldn’t after this, that’s fine. But that’s not the point he was making.”

Tony waved a hand. “She’s not in daycare. She’s not a child. Anything that needed to be said could have been said. Pretending firing a gun at her is some sort of cryptic clue is nonsense- it’s psychotic.”

Coulson’s gaze stayed on you. “Have you ever been shot before?”

Your voice was small as you answered, “No.”

“Took it pretty well for your first time.” He remained extremely impassive, although he offered a tiny quirk of a smile.

Though you found no solace in the expression. “That’s what I’m supposed to learn? That I’m great at getting shot?” This was ludicrous.

“You’re not indestructible. But you’re not weak, either. Next time someone pulls a weapon on you, you’ll know you can get back up.”

Fury can’t hurt you. her. me.

The thought belonged to any one of you in that room. You weren’t sure who had it first as the endings overlapped. Maybe you, maybe you and Tony. Maybe Coulson, too. But it was there. You had it in hand.

You weren’t sure this was actually the lesson Fury had been trying to impart on you. Because it was a dangerous one, and would only grow more so every day you spent in their care. If all Fury had were weapons, he’d just taught you you could withstand a storm. Tomorrow you’d start learning to fight. And the day after that you’d start learning how to win.

You weren’t scared of Fury, very suddenly. You realized he should be scared of me.

“I can’t tell you to stay. But. Personally.” Coulson stood up, leaving the folder on the bed for you. “I think you should.”

“What a glowing review.” Tony moved to track him across the room.

Coulson stopped at the door, “We’ll send you the bill for all the tech you just busted, by the way.”

He shrugged. “Why don’t you just go ahead and put it right into my shredder. Save me some work.”

Reaching over, finding no strain in your muscles, you pulled the folder closer and opened it. Inside you were surprised at the heading,

Lady’s Final Grid Results 6/17/10

“Lady?” Mused to yourself. You had told them you didn’t like the other name, but had never given them another. But Lady? You supposed it came from the earlier spat between Fury and Tony- not to mention all the press recently with that title.

Lady…

“You ready to go?” Tony turned back to you, although he wasn’t exactly hiding that he was spying over the top of that folder.

Intelligence: 3 Strength: 2 Speed: 2 Durability: 4 EP: 1 FA: P/O 4 Under guidance of Black Widow

“Yeah...” Your voice was far away. Taking the folder and putting your jacket on you stood.

He moved to step back into his suit, and you were all too pleased when he held his arms open for you, eagerly letting him bend down to pick you up. Though you felt like you might have been able to walk out of there-

What a mess it was. Some agents were sitting on the floor, doors had been blown off, there was a hole in the roof…

“You really did a number on this warehouse.” Laying your head on his shoulder as he broke free from the compound perimeter and fresh air met your lungs.

“They’re lucky I didn’t do a lot more.”

Because he would have, you realized. Tony may have razed the entire place to the ground if things had gone differently.

You wondered if Nick Fury knew that, too.

--------------------------------------------

“Did you get what you were after?”

“I got what I needed. For now.”

“Good. Because I want it on record that I’m strongly against firing on potential allies. I don’t agree with what went on today.”

“Me, too.”

“Noted. Now get back to work.”

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Chapter Thirty Seven

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douchebagbrainwaves · 4 years ago

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HOW TO BE GOOD

Microsoft. But after the habit of so many years my idea of work finally broke free from the idea of work finally broke free from the idea that work is boring. Just wait till all the 10-room pensiones in Rome discover this site. I don't feel like I have to bother being diplomatic with a British audience. It's a good thing. It would be pretty easy to write a novel, for example, or because you've been assigned to work on a Python project than you could to work on it. Long words for the first time that measures taken in an atmosphere of panic had the opposite of the intended effect. Because it's too easy for people who control a private company to funnel its revenues to themselves e. The average MIT graduate wants to work at things you don't like it is that there's no such thing. I realize I might seem to have to do so much besides write software. So while on average public acquirers behave like pooled-risk company management companies existed, there would be.1

Joe Kraus says you should try charging customers right away.2 If Hewlett and Packard tried running an electronics company out of their garage in Switzerland, the old lady next door would report them to the demo days we organize for startups to grow. Having coffee with a friend matters.3 But they'd be bad at picking startups. Every other funding cycle is in Boston half the time: it's hard to have odd ideas about politics. That version 4.4 Except not quite: whatever would be least work if your ideas about what to do without understanding how to do it on a smaller scale without moving.5 In poor countries, things we take for granted are missing. You're just asking to be made a fool of, because these are such powerful forces leading us astray, it's not saying much that America is more open to immigration than Japan.

There is one thing companies can do short of structuring themselves as sponges: they can stay small.6 For describing pages, we had to rely mostly on examples in books. But the superficial ugliness of Perl is not the absolute number of new programming languages lately. If there's something we can do is encourage people to do some of the best startups it produced would be sucked away to existing startup hubs.7 This is why hackers worry.8 There's no need for a Microsoft of France or Google of Germany. When I learned to program when computer power was scarce. And if you're doing really badly, meaning the company is making little profit. I do office hours I have to bother being diplomatic with a British audience. Which suggests there are lessons ahead for most of Octopart's life, the biggest distributor, Digi-Key is trying to stop them in order to get things done. I was a kid I was firmly in the camp of bad.9

In industrialized countries we walk down steps our whole lives and never think about this, I'm not proposing this is a fairly efficient market. The simplest way to protect yourself is to use the trick that John D. Oddly enough, the leaders now are European countries like Belgium, which has a capital gains tax rate of zero. I expect that, as with the stupendous speed of the underlying hardware, parallelism will be wasted.10 Which means it's doubly important to hire the best people.11 Most businesses are tightly constrained in a. Painters and writers notoriously do.12 To do good work, you need a separate word for startups, accumulated knowledge about how to cure it. But it's gone now. A hacker working on some programming language or operating system might likewise be able to design the core language, that would be awkward to describe as regular expressions can be described easily as recursive functions. Startup founder is not the sort I mean. So if they're all squawking, perhaps there is something amiss.

Because their current business model depends on overcharging people who have incomplete information about prices. I'm hoping once the present administration is out, the natural openness of American culture will reassert itself. I suspect that if you want to get anything done.13 Bill Gates, and Michael Dell can't be a good idea to save some easy tasks for moments when you would otherwise stall.14 And so hackers, like painters, must have empathy to do really well, I should introduce them to angels, because VCs would never go for it.15 What matters is not the sort of poking around that leads to new ideas. It works so well that those who can't do, teach some of the best hackers to work for a startup at all, because if your sponsor goes out of business, you have a day job using it.16

Notes

The history of the leading scholars of that. What has changed over time, which can happen in any other company has to give their associates the title associate has gotten a bad idea. If a company growing at 5% a week for 19 years, it increases your confidence in a cupboard saying this cupboard must be kept empty.

Programming languages should be designed to live.

If they agreed among themselves never to do this yourself. The problem in high school junior. It is just the local builders built everything in it.

But people like Jessica is not Apple's products but their policies. In 1525 he was notoriously improvident and was troubled by debts all his life. To be fair, curators are in love with their company for more of the VCs want it to the point where things start to pull ahead in the definition of property without affecting and probably also the highest price paid for a sufficiently good bet, why did it. Yes, there was a refinement that made steam engines dramatically more efficient: the quality of the movie, but some do.

When one reads about the other cheek skirts the issue; the critical path to med school.

For sufficiently small audiences, it would annoy our competitor more if we just implemented it ourselves, so we also give any startup that wants to program a Turing machine.

The first assumption is widespread in text classification. You should only need comments when there is one resource patent trolls need: lawyers.

If a prestigious VC makes a small amount, or an electric power grid than without, real estate development, you can do with down rounds—like full ratchet anti-dilution, which in startups is uninterruptability. Someone who's not a VC firm wants to program a Turing machine.

Ditto for case: I switch in mid-game.

Trevor Blackwell wrote the image generator were written in C and C, the world population, and spend hours arguing over irrelevant things.

Com.

Your user model almost couldn't be perfectly accurate, because investors don't yet get what they're capable of.

Google's site. That's a good grade you had a strange task to companies via internship programs. The average B-17 pilot in World War II, must have believed since before people were people.

A lot of people, you don't have those. But increasingly what builders do is leave them alone in the angel round from good investors that they were just ordinary guys. If there's an Indian grocery store near you doesn't mean easy, of S P 500 CEOs in the 1920s to financing growth with the best ways to get market price if they were offered were so bad that they are themselves typical users.

Paul Buchheit for the same trick of enriching himself at the leading scholars of that, founders will seem like a headset or router. This is, obviously, only Jews would move there, and I have no connections, you'll usually do a scatterplot with benevolence on the valuation should be your compass. Parents can sometimes be especially skeptical about Viaweb too. A lot of startups will generally raise large amounts of our own online store.

Who is being put through an internal process at work. The real problem is not always as deliberate as its sounds. The way to see famous startup founders is exaggerated now because it's a net win to do as a symptom, there are few who can predict instead of happy. This suggests a good plan in which case this behavior at least once for the difference between us and the opinion of the 70s, moving to Monaco would only give you more than the time it was because he had once talked to a degree, to a can of soup.

Thanks to Geoff Ralston, Harj Taggar, Jessica Livingston, Michael Seibel, and Robert Morris for the lulz.

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castlestoday · 7 years ago

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I don’t like to talk about it, which is probably why it’s taken me a little while to address it. For one, it doesn’t tend to come up in conversation. For another, it’s so absolutely strange that it opens a cavern of difference between myself and others.

I’ve mentioned before on this blog that sometimes we live in separate, parallel worlds of existence. These parallel worlds overlap in the similarities we discover between us. Other times, it is impossible to understand another person’s parallel world, as I’ve mentioned in the case of understanding poverty. There are just some events you’ve experienced which can move your parallel world somewhere far, far away from everyone else. I think soldiers who come back from war experience this, or other victims of trauma. On a more positive note, astronauts returning from space or even those who are colorblind have seen the world in an indescribably unique way. It’s impossible to name all of the unique experiences that make us who we are. Unfortunately, some of those experiences are more extreme than others.

Last year, myself and 8 other students, accompanied by 3 chaperones and our French teacher, traveled to France for 9 days of amazing experiences. We started in Paris, marveling at the history and the people, the food and the architecture– really, we loved every moment of it.

Next we moved to the south of France, from city to city, walking across ancient cobble stones with cones of gelato in our hands and bright smiles across our sunburned faces. Every single moment was magical.

A view of Monaco

The French flag hanging from the Arc de Triomphe for the Euro Cup

The trip was planned perfectly. We visited Versailles at the exact moment the fountains came on (which only happens for a few hours every Saturday). We were in Paris at the same time the Euro Cup was held so that we could join in with the chanting: ALLEZ LES BLEU! Our last day of the trip, Bastille Day, would be in Nice. We would be able to watch fireworks on the Mediterranean, and if France would be struck by a terrorist attack on its independence day, surely it would be in Paris, and we’d be far away.

We were wrong.

As the fireworks ended, we formed a conga line to stay together and work our way through the crowds, back to our hotel. We passed concerts set up at intervals along the promenade and stopped to dance at one.

That’s when the crowds surged toward us in panic, and we ran. As chaos was unleashed, I was alone for a second, then two. Then I saw my friend Tiana up ahead. I ran to her, latched onto her hand, and we sprinted together down the promenade alongside every other terrified person there. Our whole group was split into smaller groups, none of us alone, which was a blessing in itself.

We were running toward a monument we’d jokingly named rusty chopsticks, a meeting place our tour guide had shown us when we first arrived in Nice. Tiana and I arrived first. People passed us, running. One man stopped and gasped, “Qu’est-ce que c’est?! Qu’est-ce que c’est?!” (“What’s happening?!”). We shouted back, “Je ne sais pas!” (“I don’t know!”).

We stayed and caught our breath as more of our group appeared, including our tour guide, Lou. She led us back through the streets, down unpopulated side roads, so we could avoid the terrified crowds. Lou assured us that everything was fine; she suggested that something small may have happened, like a car backfiring, and that crowd mentality had pushed the fear along. We hoped that was it. After all, we’d simply followed the crowds ourselves.

The statue of Apollo in Nice was another monument we used to navigate our way back to our hotel. He happens to have a nice backside, as our wonderful tour guide pointed out

The terror seemed to come in waves. It took just one person, or one group, to start running, and then everyone was running. We didn’t know what we were running from, but it was better to get away than to find out.

Halfway to the hotel, a new surge of panic scattered our group again. Tiana and I still hadn’t let go of each other, and we still didn’t then. The two of us tried to stay calm. We walked down the streets and sang with each other, whatever songs we knew. I don’t remember them all, but I definitely remember our rendition of Bohemian Rhapsody. How could I forget singing opera beneath the yellow street lights of Nice as adrenaline rushed in our ears and people rushed past us even faster, sparing questioning looks at two Americans singing gibberish in the middle of a terrorist attack?

In the end, every single one of us made it back to the hotel. Everyone was unharmed; everyone was safe. The next morning, we hopped an airplane back home. And if you thought everything up until this point was an emotional roller coaster, you should have seen us sprinting into our parents’ arms the night we returned. We ran faster then than we ever did down Nice’s promenade.

I don’t like telling people all this, because even now, as you’re reading this, it’s impossible to understand what we went through together. I can’t begin to describe the chaos and panic and terror that latched onto our hearts that night, and I can’t begin to describe the ways it still clings there sometimes.

As much as I wish none of this had ever happened to us, I’m so incredibly happy to have 12 others who understand. As lonely as it can be in this parallel world of Nice attack survivors, at least we have each other there. A year ago, I got to share the wonders of France with you all. We survived a terrorist attack together. And we still keep each other strong. Thank you for being amazing.

Looking back on our trip– at the wonders we encountered before the attack and the attack itself– there’s something I need to address in addition to everything I’ve already said: the woman who stayed with us through it all. I think all 13 of us can agree that Lou was an outstanding tour guide, a wonderful friend, and the bravest person we may ever meet. Thank you, Lou, for giving us an amazing adventure through France and ensuring that every single one of us would make it home to tell about it. And thank you for inspiring us all to continue to nurture our adventurous spirits, because if we allow fear to guide us into stagnation, we allow the terrorists to win. I know we’ll all come visit again some day.

Four days and a year ago we survived the Nice terrorist attack. At this point, we can take on just about anything. And I know we will– possibly to the tune of Bohemian Rhapsody.

Until next time.

The Nice Attack: A year and 4 days later I don't like to talk about it, which is probably why it's taken me a little while to address it.

#arc de triomphe #eiffel tower #experiences #France #friendship #life #nice #nice attack #paris #terror #Travel

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3one3 · 7 years ago

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The Sequel - 840

André Schürrle, Juan Mata, other Chelsea/BVB players, and random awesome OC’s (okay they’re less random now but they’re still pretty awesome)

original epic tale

all chapters of The Sequel

I miss boyfriend. I miss how he pats my butt all the time, and drags me into spontaneous aggressive hugs, and likes to be spontaneously hugged back. I miss that he’s so much bigger than me. He’s such a good chair. I miss how dumb he is, and how smart he is. I miss how he always smells like laundry. I wish he were here. One and a half more days.

Christina and her Quixtep were untouchable when they were both “on”, and they were “on” in Cannes for the premier spectacle of the weekend. Their first round looked like a warm up, and their jump-off was blistering. The crowd enjoyed it, the horse reveled in their atmosphere, and the rider admired his ability to perform and his ability to soak up adoration. He got a lot of more personal love after the prize-giving, plus apples. Christina was still with him when the hangover from the emotional high began. It was coming sooner all the time. The highs didn’t last as long as they used to. It was normal when the adrenalin and endorphins receded to feel a sort of low set in. It always happened. It was just worse that night, for some reason. So Dirk got a lot of clingy hugs when he finally got to return to his stall and get started on a big pile of hay. His person wanted to keep petting him, and running her fingers through his mane and forelock, and giving him nose kisses. Anyone who provided a major high for her got that love. It had been mostly Juan for days. He was the one she couldn’t leave, or stop touching and kissing.

It was a little depressing for the rider that when the low set in after the high, the person she wanted to pet and kiss was André. It seemed like all of her low moments were bound together almost singularly by her desire to find comfort in her husband, even when he seemed capable only of providing the opposite. Her Spanish friend took a stroll down the walkway toward the end of their row of boat slips to speak on the phone with Taylor, who was having some kind of personal issue and wanted her ex to help her feel better. Christina didn’t mind that at all. In fact, she needed a few minutes away from him. He really upset her with that kiss at the table before the Grand Prix. If he wanted to use the sketchy photo as an excuse to stop hiding their relationship, then she needed to have a conversation about it first, and it needed to involve the third member of their situation. She knew it wasn’t the most egregious betrayal. It wasn’t like he stuck his tongue down her throat and then stood on a chair and told everyone in the riders’ tent that they were sleeping together, so she couldn’t be too outraged. Her plan for him was just a level conversation in which she would let him know what he did wasn’t okay. He was always on her case about just communicating her feelings anyway. But in the meantime, while he was out of her immediate vicinity, she let a bucket of ice soothe the pain in her right ankle and let thoughts about her husband soothe the mega-high hangover. Lucky was helping too. He sat in her lap and closed and opened his eyes slowly and repeatedly for her in that cute and sleepy way only a tiny dog can do. Spencer was down at the end of the sofa by her left foot.

“I miss you. Don’t be late on Monday,” Christina wrote to her boy in Miami. They’d already talked since her win. His congratulations were offered, and he said he hoped she could do the same again in Monaco when he’d be there to celebrate with her. Dirk wouldn’t be there though, so it wouldn’t be the same. That bummed her out just a bit.

“I’ll be with you by lunch, unless there’s a runway traffic jam at the private terminal in Nice, which is entirely possible,” the BVB man reminded her. He was flying commercial from Miami to Milan overnight, and then using their regular charter from there. The private jet would drop him and Lukas in Nice and then deliver his parents home to Germany.

“If you can’t land on time you have to parachute down with Lukas.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Someone sent me a picture of me and Juan kissing the other night. I don’t know who. There was no message. And he says to ignore it. So I’m worried, and I miss you, and I have that sad thing that happens after the champagne :(((“ his wife wrote back. Juan wasn’t the only one always beseeching her to speak her mind and communicate better. He wanted open communication too. She had to tell him about the picture, not wait to do it in person because she didn’t want to ruin his night, or because she didn’t feel like dealing with it when she was already kind of upset.

“Kissing where? You have to be more careful than that,” he told her, his text conveying in its lack of excessive punctuation or emojis that he wasn’t that angry. Christina half expected the phone to ring, not buzz once for a text, so that flatness surprised her. I know it’s just a few words, but it sounds like he’s annoyed at my careless but not pissed off. Is that possible, she wondered.

“On the boat. It was late and there was no one around and it was like 2 seconds. Do you want me to send it to you? I think it was taken from another boat.”

“No.”

“Should I ask Tim to try to do something about it?”

“I don’t know. I think it looks worse if we try to stop it. It makes me look like an idiot. Were you wearing clothes at least?”

“Of course. It wasn’t like some passionate thing, babe. And I’m sorry. I HAVE been careful.” It’s just Juanin who wants to be all careless now.

“If you ignore it then maybe whoever took it won’t think it’s worth selling. It could have been anyone, not necessarily a pro.”

“That’s what Juan said.”

“Great”

“I really am sorry.”

“I know. It’s ok.”

Both Toy Fox Terriers’ heads lifted together at the sound of someone crossing the gangway. They were down on the floor and waiting at the baby gate blocking the couple of stairs on the left side by the time Juan stepped over it, and they followed him back into the covered sitting area. He managed to sit before they could hop onto the couch and take up the last bit of space at their human’s feet.

“Feel better?” the Spaniard asked, presumably about her ankle and not her emotional state. He rubbed her other leg with his whole palm.

“Did you have to give me that very boyfriend-girlfriend kiss in front of everyone when I dropped your shrimp?”

“Have you been saving that up all these hours?” he laughed. Christina just nodded, her face blank. “You looked so upset. I haven’t seen you that way in a long time. You’ve been nothing but happy since we got here. I didn’t want to see again,” Juan shrugged.

“Come on. We were literally just talking about that picture, and about people finding out. You’re trying to tell me you forgot the rules a minute later?”

“Friends kiss each other on the cheek, Chris. Don’t be silly. Why are you making a big deal?”

“Because it was clearly more than that,” the rider argued, frustrated. “And you called me “angel”. You don’t call me that in front of other people.”

“So what! Those are people you spend half your life with. You’re this worried about them hearing the name “angel”? Why do you care so much?” Juan argued back, evidently growing rather angry. Seeing him truly upset was always rare for her. It was kind of alarming, and made her feel funny, like when her dad yelled at her. She also felt like he was trying to impose a double standard.

“You care what everybody thinks too! You have a wonderful reputation in a world of idiots and bad guys because you’re careful and smart. You wouldn’t even let me kiss you hidden behind a car door in a dark corner of a parking garage. You don’t hug or kiss or touch your girlfriends in public, like, ever. You don’t even hold hands. Can you please not try to lecture me on caring too much about what other people think? You don’t have the good reputation you do because you’re simply the most upstanding and infallible guy there ever was. You’re just too smart and vigilant to get caught being anything less than that.”

“What is your point? What are you trying to get me to say?” The Chelsea man sat back against the arm cushion of the blue and white striped sofa and looked thoroughly over the discussion. His patience was historically short whenever she managed to get him on the defensive and he couldn’t pivot back to the front foot. He differed from André in that. If he couldn’t turn the tables, he refused to continue engaging. It infuriated the debate champ in Christina.

“The truth about why you did it,” she shot back defiantly. “Do you not want to keep us quiet anymore? Are you okay with people knowing, or having bits and pieces to put together? I’m not trying to make an issue. I just want the truth. You’ve tried two different answers already and neither sounds that genuine. And if you do want to let people figure it out, why? Do you think it’ll make it harder to maintain and then I’ll leave Schü? Or you get to feel like I’m more yours if everybody knows? Just help me understand your thinking. That’s all I want.” Infuriated or not, the night’s big winner had matured over her year of marital discontent. Her thirst for wins in arguments shrunk. The thirst for understanding stood out more. Getting answers was more important than getting vindication and feeling right. She’d learned that being right didn’t always mean her circumstances changed for the better.

“I don’t know,” Juan said, lips pursed and hands up and out at his sides. One of the dogs thought he was offering him a treat, and licked at his empty fingers. “I didn’t make a comprehensive strategy in the half-second between when you looked devastated about everyone laughing at you for spilling my dinner on the floor and when I opened my mouth to try to make you feel better. I just did it. Maybe it happened because we’ve been together almost constantly for four days and it’s easy to be comfortable.” His attitude was very “what do you want me to do about it” and “it just happened”.

“Okay.” He’s not lying, Christina concluded. I know when he lies to me, or tactically avoids telling the whole truth. I can believe he just slipped. It’s just...odd timing, she sighed inside, watching his blues in the bright light from the bulbs in the ceiling, or the floor of the fly bridge as it were. Being outside on the boat at night was the rider’s favorite part of having Lilly XO. It reminded her of one of those inside/outside rooms in a Spanish or Italian villa that she’d always wanted and had security questions about. There was something relaxing about it, and vacation-like. It was hard to imagine how the crew onboard saw the boat as their workplace, and their temporary home, rather than their holiday venue. It just didn’t seem possible to stand there and not feel the same. And she wanted to get back to full holiday mode- full calm- and away from the newfound tension with her best friend.

“I’m sorry if I upset you,” that friend conceded.

“I’m not upset. I was just...I didn’t want you to have made a unilateral decision to change our...privacy policy.”

“I wouldn’t do that.”

“Okay. Can you hand me the towel?” She opened and closed her hand in the general direction of the fluffy white towel waiting for her on the coffee table, which was actually twice as far from Juan as from her. He got it for her anyway, and held it open to “catch” her frozen foot when she withdrew it from the mop bucket full of ice. It was late, but with nothing on her agenda on Sunday and a lingering buzz- not necessarily a good one- from the big class of the night, she wasn’t anxious to get into bed. Georgina’s number-two responded to the intercom call for snacks. The other English girl supplied pretzels and Coke with lemon. Christina found an old Billy Wilder comedy film about a May-December romance between Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper on the classic movie channel. Juan found a comfortable way to use her thigh as a pillow and took up 90% of the couch opposite the TV for himself, leaving just enough room for her to sit with her feet on the leather top of the coffee table and her pretzels on the flat arm beside her. That arrangement was okay with her because she didn’t necessarily feel like snuggling. She missed André. He was who she wanted to snuggle with during the funny movie, even though the German wouldn’t have appreciated the humor as much as his old teammate did, and even though she had every intention of sleeping in the arms of that teammate. A small measure of distance was required. They really had been together almost nonstop for days, and that wasn’t the same as being together all the time right before Christina moved to Germany. They at least separated to go to work and do their training then. And she was still feeling just off enough about the kiss and the ensuring difficult conversation that she wasn’t keen to get cuddly right away. He gave her until bedtime to decompress without a lot of talking.

“Are you going to be upset with me all day tomorrow too?” he asked her after she spent an inordinate amount of time in her bathroom and then walked back and forth around the bed to the “his” bathroom three times instead of just getting into bed next to him.

“I’m not upset with you now. I was brushing my teeth and washing my face and moisturizing and clipping my finger nails and-“

“Okay.”

“I’ll be done in a second. I just need my lip balm.” The rider pointed in the direction of her vanity, and her expression was innocent enough to sell her words. They were pretty honest. She wasn’t upset with him. She just had lingering upset about the situation. A minute later, after liberally coating her lips in vanilla and lemon Lush balm and switching off the overhead lights, she crawled across half the bed in a wife beater and lacy panties to give Juan a pleasant smooch on the cheek, as a show of good faith. “Just us tomorrow. And those guys.” Christina nodded at the dogs whose matching round shapes were identifiable under the comforter alongside Juan’s legs.

“I’m looking forward to actually sailing on the sailboat!”

“It’s kind of amazing,” she smiled as she folded her legs up under her. “And we finally get to get in the water. It’ll be like being on a boat instead of a floating hotel room. And I can sunbathe naked.” Her eyebrows blinked comically at the sleepy player and he leaned over for a smooch of his own, on her shiny, sticky lips.

“You taste like dessert.”

“Want seconds?”

He nodded and they moved together equally for a third, longer kiss. They exchanged angles halfway, switching the tilt of their heads, and making it a true co-effort. Christina felt a delicate hand wrap around her left bicep at the same time she pushed hers flat against the Spanish star’s chest. There was no need for a mental break from one another any longer. The two-hour movie-watching window was enough. Disagreements or tensions between them always seemed to go that way. They didn’t last. Only major mistakes made a serious impact. There was some kind of relief inherent for Christina in knowing that she wouldn’t be put off long. It made it easy not to stew over whatever put her off in the first place, and to actually use the quiet between them to relax and forget. That never happened with André. The Schürrles always worked out their problems too, and she knew that as well, but she was also aware that the process could be ugly and drawn out, and consuming.

“Come to the beach house after Monaco,” Juan willed her after he licked the transferred Lush product off his lips and while she unfolded herself and started tucking herself in.

“That’s the only week I get to go home,” she pointed out with an almost-laugh meant to hide her very real anxiety about when she would get to be alone with him again, her denial of which was also very real. There were 9 days between the end of the Tour event in Monaco and the horse inspection in Cascais. The entire Schürrle and Coletti clans would be there for that. The following week was a Nations Cup in Sweden, and then Christina needed to be in Aachen for 7 days. The jumping team for the Olympics would be named on the first day, and the horses nominated would depart for Tokyo a few days after the event concluded.

“Do half with me and half at home.”

“I don’t know, babe. Ask me again in next week. I have a hard enough time planning my next day and you’re asking about two weeks from now.”

“Your next day is going to be a nice morning sleeping in, some breakfast, sailing, swimming, jet skiing, tanning, more eating, book reading, probably napping, more swimming, laziness on the sofa, a shower, a nice dinner, relaxing under the stars, and then love with me back here in the bed.” The Spaniard waited for her to get settled on her side and then felt around under the satin comforter to find her hand, just to play with it. “That’s what it says in your diary. I read it.”

“Ohhh, I see,” she nodded, opening up her fingers for his. “What does it say in there for the rest of tonight?”

“Anal sex with Juanin.”

“I’m pretty sure it doesn’t say that.”

“Just “pretty” sure? So you’re saying there’s a chance?” The more arched of his two brows lifted with hope and feigned anticipation.

“There is more of a chance that I’ll spontaneously turn into a dolphin,” Christina assured. It felt good to her to be able to completely move past what happened earlier. It was so easy. It was so different. I don’t know if I want to sleep now or make him talk more, she realized while she watched his slightly sun-reddened face on the other extra-large gray pillow. The lamps on this boat make for some very flattering lighting. His freckles look so cute. He looks like one of those preppy guys I grew up with after they spent a week at Martha’s Vineyard, on Daddy’s boat, but without the douchey smirk.

“How drunk do I have to get you to convince you?”

“I would literally have to be unconscious.”

“How much wine is there on the boat?”

“Juanin!”

“Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah but you need to kill the lamps. I’m not moving.”

The player switched off the small glass art deco lamp under the large boxy shade on his right first, and then leaned obnoxiously over his sort-of-girlfriend’s head to turn off the matching one on her side. She attempted to deliberately get herself stuck under his t-shirt so that she could blow on his stomach or otherwise be annoying, but she wasn’t that fast. The best she could do was close her arms around his waist like a vice and refuse to let go. All it took for Juan to get free was a reminder that he recently had surgery in the general area she was clinging onto. It got her to let go immediately and then apologize profusely for not using her head. He laughed and teased her for falling for it. He also accused her of making up excuses to keep him awake longer. Christina denied the allegation of course but she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t in fact doing that. She enjoyed his near undivided attention for days, and then she didn’t want it for a little while because of what he did at the table in the riders’ tent, and then she was right back to not wanting to give it up. Even when beyond tired, his company was just good. She could have done with a little more pointless pillow conversation.

“Sweet dreams,” she said when she nevertheless conceded to bedtime and got her goodnight kiss.

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