#hope u choke 😹

[sttoru]

ok now that those exams are done GET TO WORK

[kuromi-hoemie]

i love making pretty ppl giddy over really mundane stuff (⁠｡⁠ﾉ⁠ω⁠＼⁠｡⁠) don't giggle at me omg..

[effervescentdragon]

u dont have to do this BUT. for ur mean spirited fic meme. if u want. pierre/lance "i hope you choke."

i cant believe im writing this actually 😤😹💖

They crash halfway through the race.

Pierre is fuming. It's only his third race in Alpine, and he now has a DNF under his belt. It won't do, it just isn't fucking okay, because Esteban is in P5, and he isn't leading in the points yet, but if he keeps the position, he will be. The fact that he DNF'd in the first race is of little consolation now. What is of some consolation is the fact that it wasn't Pierre's fault.

"Putain!" he screams after making sure his radio is off. That's a mistake he'll never make again. He takes a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down, then exits the car.

The marshals help him out, and he looks at his car. It's not completely totaled, but it's not looking really good. It's not going to be a good briefing, and he'a already pissed off. He would storm off and maybe punch a wall somewhere, except that this wasn't his fault, and that means he has a more convenient target for his rage.

Stroll is just exiting that green shitbox they call a car, and Pierre storms over to him. He waits for him to wave the marshals off, and doesn't take his helmet off as he gets into Stroll's face.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Pierre asks in French, trying to keep his voice low. "What the fuck was that driving?"

"Fuck off, Gasly," Stroll says. His helmet is still on, but his eyes are visible. "It wasn't my fault. I lost control."

"That's the definition of 'your fault'." Pierre laughs. "Learn how to fucking drive, asshole. I know Daddy can buy you a new one whenever you break one of your toys, but you should take better care of them."

Stroll's eyes flash. "Oh yeah?" he says, and there's a clear insinuation in his voice. "I take real good care of my toys, Gasly. I can demonstrate it for you sometime."

Pierre feels too hot in his race suit. He shifts from one foot to another.

"Shut up, Stroll. I hope you choke on something."

Stroll laughs, and Pierre hates his laugh. It's the epitome of a frat-boy laugh, and it's always grated on Pierre's nerves.

"Oh, Pierre," Stroll says, and Pierre hates his Canadian accent with a passion. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

His eyes crawl down to Pierre's crotch, and Pierre is speechles for a moment, because that's - it's not -

"Fuck off," he huffs, then turns and makes his way to where the track marshal is waiting for him with a bike.

He can still hear Lance laughing as he walks away, and he still feels too hot. Most of all, however, he still hates Lance Stroll.

He does.

Really. He does.