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"Charles," Pierre says, his voice light and sweet and only slightly slurred, "you are a little too drunk for this, I think."
"No, no I'm not. Tell me what you want to say.â
Â
Or: Charles can think of no one better to spend his win with than Pierre.
READ ON AO3 || Graphic Credit
It is really no surprise to Charles that at some point during the night, Pierre ends up in his arms. It's cool outside on the balcony, and he had been enjoying a few moments of quiet away from the club and the celebrations of his win to simply gaze out at the water and feel the air against his face. Pierre, apparently, has similar intentions and comes stumbling out moments into Charles' respite with a goofy grin on his face and sunshine lit up in his eyes.
And somehow, in between the here and there, they end up tangled together in a messy, mostly drunken hug.
"Mm, your heart is so fast." Charles whispers into the shell of Pierre's ear, focusing on the rapid beats that flutter against the side of his chest. At first, he had assumed it was his own heartbeat, but his is slower, steadier, and throbbing in a way that he can feel from the tips of his fingers to the tips of his toes.
Pierre chuckles at that, holding on just a little bit tighter to Charles' waist. "I am excited for you. This is a big night."
Charles hums in acknowledgement, swaying softly on his feet. Pierre tightens his hold and keeps him firmly upright - impressive, really, because he knows Pierre has had more to drink than even he has.
"Yes, but it is very fast," Charles insists, bringing one of his hands up to place firmly above Pierre's heart. This way, he can keep track of it better than trying to feel the fleeting beats against the side of his chest. "It's racing."
Charles watches Pierre's throat flex as he swallows thickly, and slowly trails his gaze up to Pierre's lips, and then to his eyes. He can see the cloudiness of the alcohol swirling about in the bright blue irises he adores so much, and it makes him smile warmly.
"I am also very drunk. Excited and drunk." Pierre counters, as if that should answer every question that Charles could have from now until the next morning when they inevitably both wake up with a slamming hangover and handfuls of regrets.
Charles takes a single step backwards, still swaying slightly, and really looks into Pierre's gaze. Pierre is looking back just as intensely, as alert as he can be for as tipsy as he is, and he's smiling at Charles in such a sweet and gentle way that it makes his chest clench up with emotion. "It is not because of me then?"
Pierre has the wherewithal to look confused for a moment, eyebrows furrowing as he continues to stare Charles down. "You - what? I thought that was obvious at this point."
"Obvious?" Charles blinks back shock, his mind swirling with different thoughts and emotions that he can't seem to make sense of. The alcohol makes him so very brave, but also so very, very vulnerable with his heart. "So it is going fast because of me?"
"Charles," Pierre says, his voice light and sweet and only slightly slurred, "you are a little too drunk for this, I think."
"No, no I'm not. Tell me what you want to say.â
Pierre raises an eyebrow at Charles, then, looking partially confused, partially shocked, and partially amused. The alcohol is almost certainly slowing his brain down in the same manner as Charlesâ, and he ends up shaking his head after a few moments. Charles, ever impatient, leans in closer to him and nearly bumps their noses together in the process.Â
âCharles -â
âDo you want to kiss me, Pierre?â Charles asks, effectively shutting him up before he can get too deep into another scolding. âIs that why your heart is racing? You can kiss me, you know, I would like it.â
Pierre laughs, then, and Charles canât help feeling a little self conscious. He doesnât think this is very funny at all. In fact, this is the most serious heâs been about something in a long time. Surely he hadnât misread all the signs that Pierre has been sending him all these years. Surely he didnât just make the biggest mistake of his life, offering himself up so boldly like that. Oh, god, heâs stupid. Heâs stupid and Pierre is going to hate him now, and â
âYou are thinking too much.â Pierre whispers, and when had he gotten closer? When were his lips so close to Charlesâ that his breath was ghosting across them?Â
Charles sucks in a breath, and Pierreâs lips are on his own before he can even think to exhale.
Itâs so painfully sloppy, with their poor, drunken aim and teeth gnashing against lips, with Charles too needy and Pierre too cautious - it takes them longer than it should to find a rhythm that works for them. Charles, ever eager, already has his lips parted for Pierreâs tongue and when it finally slides into his mouth, he hungrily envelops it with his own tongue like itâs precious oxygen that he needs to survive. He can feel Pierre just lightly swaying on his feet, his breathing short and shallow through his nose, and at that moment Charles does not care how sloppy or needy this kiss is. He doesnât care that theyâre both a little too tipsy, or that this might make for a pretty hefty conversation in the morning. None of that matters right now, not when heâs here on this balcony alone with Pierre, kissing him like his life depends on it (and maybe it does, maybe his whole life has been leading up to this one particular moment).
And when Pierre breaks the kiss apart to try and catch his breath, Charles feels a stirring in his lower belly for more. A need so raw and beautiful that it can hardly be ignored. Pierre looks absolutely breathtaking in the moonlight, with his lips swollen and dark red and his eyes glittering with an emotion Charles isnât quite ready to process. Oh, if he could spend forever out here with Pierre, it simply wouldnât be enough.
âPierre - you -â
âFeel my heart now.â Pierre softly commands, taking Charlesâ trembling hand into his own.Â
He presses Charlesâ palm into the curve of his chest, against his sternum where his heartbeat is firing away madly. Charles tries to count the beats as they fall into his hand, but his mind is too slow, and Pierreâs heart is beating too fast. He grins, sloppy and content, and leans into Pierreâs shoulder hoping to be held. The silent plea is answered immediately as Pierre snakes an arm around his waist and holds him close.
âNow it is going absolutely crazy.â Charles remarks, his voice full of amusement and affection. âBut that is fine, mine is too.â
âYeah?â Pierre prompts, leaning down to gently nuzzle their noses together in such a gentle and tender way, it almost makes Charlesâ teeth ache.
âYeah.â Charles breathes in response, leaning into the touch like heâs starved for affection and has never been touched before, not once in his life. He hears Pierre chuckle, but it simply doesnât matter.
Nothing does. It is just the two of them alone, the gentle breeze in their hair as they stand there entwined in each otherâs arms, watching the yachts sail in over Port Hercule.
Warnings: Car accident, hospitals, angst, whump (mental and physical), ect ect.
Graphic credit: @watercolor-hearts <3
Pairing: Pierre Gasly & Esteban Ocon. (Side Esteban/Male OC and Charles Leclerc/Male OC).
âPierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.â
âYou were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -â
âNo,â Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, âNo, no. Thereâs a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.â
Or: Tragedy strikes for Pierre one week ahead of the Austin GP. Esteban is left with no choice but to pick up the pieces in the aftermath.
When Estebanâs eyes flutter open, the room is dark. The curtains are pulled tightly across the hotel room window, but even through the cracks and creases in the fabric, Esteban can tell it's just as dark outside as it is inside the room. This means it is nowhere near morning yet, and the option to roll back over onto his side and sneak in a few more hours of sleep is tantalizing to his groggy brain.Â
To his left, Esteban can hear Gabrielâs gentle breathing, slow and steady, and can reasonably conclude that he is still tossed far into the wiles of slumber as well. Sucking in a breath, Esteban rolls himself over onto his left side and drapes an arm delicately across Gabrielâs hips as to not disturb his peaceful sleep. His eyes fall shut once more, and the rhythm of Gabrielâs breathing up against the weary pull of sleep work together to push him further and further into a state of unconsciousness himself.
That is, of course, until the harsh and frantic âbuzzâ of Estebanâs cellphone cuts through the otherwise serene silence.
In his half-aware state, Esteban cracks only one eye open slightly, as if it would somehow sharpen his senses to the noise coming from his bedside table. He doesnât know exactly what time it is - just how early or how late into the night or morning it could possibly be, but phone calls between this window are rare and, dare he suggest it, aggravating. He groans slightly, picking his head up from the pillow and pulling his arm back from around Gabrielâs waist. The soft motions come with a sharp intake of breath from Gabriel, who almost immediately pops open both eyes and furrows his brows in tired confusion.
âBabe, your phone.â Gabriel says, his voice gravelly and low. âWho the fuck is calling atâŠâ a soft glow of light comes from Estebanâs left, where he notices Gabriel has turned on his own phone. âTwo in the morning?â
âFuck if I know. Hold on.â Esteban hoists himself up to a sitting position in the bed, running a hand over his face to try and wake himself up a bit more. He reaches over and swipes his phone from the table, eyes snapping immediately to the caller information. To his confusion, the number isnât one that is registered in his contacts. The area information reads âAustin, TXâ with an American phone number printed beneath, but no further insight into who this mystery caller is. Now that his curiosity has reached an all time high (and perhaps a bit of nervous dread is mixed in as well), Esteban accepts the phone call and presses the speaker button so Gabriel can listen in as well. âHello?â
âHello. Is this a mister Esteban Ocon?â greets a disinterested voice from the other end of the line. Esteban can hear quite a commotion in the background behind her, and something inside his stomach begins to churn.
âYes, who is this?â
âIâm calling from Saint Davidâs North Austin Medical Center in regards to Pierre Gasly.âÂ
Estebanâs eyes widen in disbelief. He steals a glance over at Gabriel, eyebrows furrowed in confusion and even a hint of anger, only to find a very similar expression painted across his face as well.Â
âPierre - what? Why are you calling me? I do not have anything to do with him.â
âYou were listed as his only emergency contact, sir. If you would please -â
âNo,â Esteban interjects, waving his hands about as if she can actually see him, âNo, no. Thereâs a mistake here or something. I can give you a different number to call, but I do not have anything to do with him.â
âSir-â the woman sounds annoyed now, a bit louder and more insistent, âThere was an accident, and we are required to make phone calls to all listed emergency contacts. I cannot call a random phone number you give me due to American HIPAA laws in place to protect Pierreâs privacy. Are you able to come up to the hospital with proof of identity within the next few hours?âÂ
âI -â at a loss for words, Esteban locks his gaze with Gabriel, who is beginning to look less irritated and more concerned with every passing second. âWhat did you say was the name of this hospital again?â
âSaint Davidâs North Austin Medical Center.âÂ
âIâm looking it up.â Gabriel says softly, pulling his phone back out and tapping aggressively at the screen. Flashes of color illuminate the room as Gabriel switches from google to google maps, and Esteban leans over to get a glimpse of their position in regards to the hospital. âItâs only fifteen minutes. We can go.â
âUh, yes, yes, I can come. Can you just - is heâŠis he alive?â Estebanâs voice comes out small and meek, almost like a scolded child who has just served a most unjust time-out. His stomach is flopping about even more viciously now, and all of the anger that had boiled his blood only minutes ago is dissipating into anxious energy. Pierre is not his friend, but that does not mean Esteban wants anything bad to happen to him.
âI cannot divulge any further information over the phone, Mr. Ocon. Once you get here and prove your identity, weâll be able to give you a much more detailed overview of the situation. Weâll see you soon.â
The âclickâ of the other line disconnecting and the immediate three-beep âdropped callâ tone sounds in Estebanâs ears before he can even finish processing the womanâs words. His phone dims now that itâs no longer in use, and it slides from his knee as Gabriel shifts the mattress to stand to his feet. Esteban, still in shock, looks up at Gabriel and blindly follows his motions by lifting himself off of the bed as well. He is going to need his keys, his phone, his wallet, his passport, what little bit of American cash he has on him, and -
âHey, Este, itâs okay.â comes Gabrielâs voice, now closer to him than Esteban remembers them being moments ago. A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he sucks in a deep breath to try and regain his bearings. âIt sounds like protocol to me from the hospital. I am sure Pierre is okay, and you can add this to the list of shit he owes you for, right?â
âRight.â Estebanâs voice is tense, but he does find the strength to offer the barest smile at Gabrielâs efforts to calm his racing thoughts. âThat asshole.â
âThat asshole, yes. Now get dressed and hand me your keys, you are not driving right now.â
It is a welcome relief that comes with Gabrielâs words. Driving, of course, is more than second nature - almost as involuntary as breathing to someone like Esteban - even when stress and conflict and feelings are built up into a tight ball in his chest the way they are now. But to have the privilege of handing that responsibility off, well, he would take that in a heartbeat. And so he does.
âHere,â he says, grabbing the keys from his side table and tossing them over into Gabrielâs expectant hands, âGo on ahead. I will meet you outside so I can just jump in the car and we can go. Get the GPS ready and all that.â
âYes, boss.â Gabriel shots back with a mock American salute, earning a half-hearted chuckle from Esteban in the process. He is out the door within seconds and as soon as Esteban hears the click of the strike, he lets out a massive breath that feels far too heavy in his lungs.
Surely, he thinks, Pierre will be fine. It was probably a stupid, drunken stint at a fancy club down the road from their hotel that may have landed him a broken nose or a harmless concussion. Surely, in two hours time Esteban will be curling back into bed with Gabriel to catch up on the precious sleep they missed while being Pierreâs babysitters. Pierre has been looking particularly forward to the American Grand Prix, as Esteban had overheard in the garage after their last race, so it would only make sense if he had gone out and partied with Yuki and some of the other drivers that had flown in a week early as well.
At least that is what he is going to tell himself for now, as he shrugs into an Alpine t-shirt he had discarded on the floor earlier that night, aptly strewn beside a pair of dark jeans that will suit this spontaneous hospital trip just fine. Once he finishes dressing, he grabs his passport from his bedside table along with his wallet and one of his watches, and then his phone from the middle of the bed where it has slid off of his knee a few minutes prior.Â
âComing downstairs now. Have the car ready by check in.â Esteban types sloppily on his phone, not caring to check for any errors as he hastily sends the message to Gabriel and all but jogs down three flights of stairs and out to the lobby, where if he garners a strange look or two from the late night desk clerks, he pays absolutely no mind.
As expected, Gabriel already has the car pulled around under the awning of the hotel check-in lane when Esteban bursts through the doors and into the night. Humidity hits him like a brick wall as soon as he steps outside, the air feeling heavy in his lungs as he rushes forward towards the passenger door.
âI have to make a phone call to Charles, do you have everything you need on your phone to get us there?â Esteban asks, slamming the passenger door shut behind him. Gabriel hits the gas hard enough for Esteban to jolt forward, but he pays it barely any mind as he quickly squirms himself into his seat belt and pulls up his contact list on his phone.
âDonât worry about anything, Esteban, do what you need to do.â Gabriel replies firmly, his voice tender and full of a kindness that works to help ease the nerves Esteban feels swirling around in his chest.Â
He tells himself, yet again, that Pierre is fine. He probably just hurt himself doing something stupid while he was drunk, and as soon as they get there, they can load him up into the car and take him back to the hotel without much of a fuss. Nonetheless, he canât manage to shake this feeling of dread clawing its way up the back of his spine and into his chest. He swallows thickly, swiping his finger down his screen until he finds the contact name he was looking for. He taps Charles Leclercâs name with a trembling finger, and then brings the phone up to his ear.
It takes Charles nearly four rings to answer, though Esteban can not blame him given how early in the morning it is. In fact, he is surprised Charles even answers at all.
âSomeone had better be dying.â Comes Charlesâ groggy voice on the other end of the line. And oh, the irony of his statement - if he only knew. Esteban heaves an unsteady breath into his lungs to clear those thoughts out of his mind; Pierre will be fine, no one is dying. But the rate of his own heartbeat and the tension in his chest would say otherwise - and Charlesâ offhand greeting does not do Estebanâs anxiety any favors.
âGood morning to you too, Charles.â Esteban shoots back, working to keep his tone any semblance of ânormalâ as to not worry Charles unnecessarily. âHopefully no one is dying, but I got a phone call regarding Pierre.â
The other line is silent for a moment too long, long enough for Esteban to wonder if perhaps Charles has fallen back asleep. He finally hears distant shuffling in the background, followed by a very sleepy groan.
âWhat about Pierre?â
âThe hospital nearby gave me a call. Apparently I am still his emergency contact.â Esteban informs him tensely, drowning out the sound of Gabrielâs GPS as the shrill voice spits out instructions towards the hospital. âI donât know the details, they will not tell me this over the phone. I am heading there now to find out what happened. I thought maybe it would be good that you knew, just in case.â
âJust in case what?â Charles asks, and his voice sounds much clearer and steady now. âDid they say it was bad?â
âThey told me nothing at all, Charles. Itâs some sort of American law or something, I donât really know. You are staying at the same hotel as Pierre, no?â Estebanâs words are a bit frantic, perhaps even laced with an involuntary bite of annoyance. Already, the conversation has dragged on for longer than he wanted. The car can only move so quickly and yet it feels too slow, as well. Esteban is pitched forward in his seat, almost like heâs ready to jump out at any given moment. If he could just focus his attention -
âYes,â Charles answers curtly, and his anxiety is almost palpable through the phone. Esteban would commiserate with Charles right now, if only he had the space in his chest for it. âTell me the hospital he is at and I will be there as quickly as I can.â
âHow about I text it to you? I will send you the directions and everything.â
âThatâs fine. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about Pierre.â
âI will,â Esteban replies, feeling more anticipation and anxiety build in his chest as Gabriel finally turns the car into the parking lot for the hospital. âWe are here, so I should know something soon. I will call you in a few moments.â
âGood, thank you.âÂ
The call drops almost immediately, so Esteban lowers the phone from his ear and works on unfastening his seat belt so he can be out of the car as soon as Gabriel parks it. The hospital is far larger than any of the medical centers he is used to seeing - even the parking deck goes up more levels than he can comprehend. Thankfully, at this time of night, the normal visitor parking out in front of the hospital has some empty space, so Esteban watches as Gabriel pulls the car into the closest spot he can find.
âGo, go go, I will catch up.â Gabriel says, urging Esteban out the door as soon as the tires come screeching to a halt. Esteban nods, offering a grateful pat to Gabrielâs shoulder before opening the door and darting out into the humid night. He loops around the back of the car, breaking out into a light jog as he makes his way towards the entrance of the hospital.
Around him, it is surprisingly peaceful. There are lights in the parking lot that keep the area well-lit, and he can see a few nurses and other hospital staff huddled around a bench for a ten-minute smoke break off in the distance. Otherwise, the night is eerily still and quiet in a way that Esteban did not realize America could be.
It feels like it does not bode well.
As he approaches the entrance to the hospital, the automatic doors part with a quiet hum and he doesnât even need to slow his pace. He continues his jog right up to the front desk, where an employee is typing furiously on her computer. She hardly looks up when he approaches.
âCan I help you?â she asks, eyes still fastened on her computer screen. Esteban clears his throat to try and keep his voice level and even, before reaching into his pocket to pull out his passport.
âYes, my name is Esteban Ocon. I was called by someone from this hospital maybe twenty or thirty minutes ago because I am an emergency contact for Pierre Gasly. I was told to come with proof of my identity so I could get an update on his condition.â Esteban explains carefully, opening his passport up and pushing it forward on the desk.Â
She finally looks away from her screen and gently takes his passport, reading the information and studying his photo before looking back up and making eye contact with him. âThank you, Mr. Ocon. Give me just a moment to pull up his information. You said his name was what?â
âPierre Gasly.â He says, feeling anticipation rise up into his throat now that heâs so close to knowing whatâs going on. His heart is thumping quickly in his chest, and he shoves his hands in his pockets to keep them from trembling. It's funny, really, just how nervous he is - he keeps trying to tell himself that it is nothing major, that Pierre just did something stupid during a drunken night of fun with his friends. But Esteban can feel something tense in the air - he can feel the dread churching his stomach and even though he hopes heâs wrong, he fears this may be worse than even he can imagine.
âPierre Gasly, yes, it seems heâs currently in the ICU with very limited visitation. I will page his doctor to come talk to you about his condition, and then you can be taken to see him.â the receptionist informs him, her voice calm and even, as if she hadnât just told Esteban that the person heâs here to see is in the intensive care unit. As if that isnât one of the most devastating things you could tell someone.
Estebanâs breath halts in his lungs, and a cold feeling washes over him that starts at his temples and drags all the way down to the tips of his toes. The ICU - the most critical place Pierre could possibly be. His heart feels strained as it beats even faster, and if he had not been leaning against the front desk so heavily, he might have stumbled over in shock.
âI - thank you. Thank you.â He sputters, taking one of his hands out of his pocket to grab his passport back from the woman. Her eyes finally flash a hint of sympathy as she looks him over. He must look just as terrified as he feels. âCan I - is there a place to sit?â
âOf course, go down to the right a bit and thereâs a waiting area. Iâll call you up when the doctor arrives, okay? It shouldnât take too long.â
Esteban nods, stuffing his passport back into his pocket and pulling in a shaky breath. At that moment, he sees a flash of movement to his left, and Gabriel is at his side in an instant.
âHey,â he whispers, grabbing onto Estebanâs shoulders. âYou are shaking. What happened?â
Esteban leans back into Gabriel with perhaps a bit too much of his bodyweight, swallowing a mouthful of emotions back as he stumbles to take a step forward. He feels Gabrielâs grip on his shoulders tighten, holding him firmly to keep him from swaying.
âPierre is in the intensive care unit.â Esteban chokes out, the tightness in his chest only growing as the reality of the situation bears down on him. His mind can only race with possibilities now of what could have happened to Pierre - especially so early in the morning, with no one else around. Did someone hurt him? Had he been in an accident?Â
âOh my god. What happened to him?â Gabriel asks, gently leading Esteban down the short hallway towards the waiting area. âDid they tell you?â
Slowly, Esteban finds himself maneuvered into a chair. He stretches his legs out and turns onto his side, the side where Gabriel sits next to him, and reaches for his hand. Gabriel is more than happy to offer his hand in response, giving Estebanâs a little squeeze of support.Â
âThey did not say yet. I have to wait for the doctor to come down and talk with me. ButâŠthis means it is very serious. I thought it would be something stupid, like a broken nose or maybe even a concussion or something.â Esteban squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, holding it in his lungs for a few seconds before exhaling it out sharply. âOh fuck, I did not text Charles.â
He worms his free hand around in the pocket opposite his passport, grabbing his phone out with little struggle. He quickly presses his thumb against the fingerprint scanner, and scrolls through a series of old conversations until he finds one with Charles from over a month ago.
His hand is shaking so badly, he nearly misses clicking on Charlesâ name three times.
âBaby, do you want me to do it?â Gabriel suggests, his breath warm against the crown of Estebanâs forehead where he is resting his lips. Esteban sighs, surrendering his phone over and resting the weight of his head against Gabrielâs.Â
âDo not tell Charles that Pierre is in the ICU. I do not want him driving here worried. He just needs directions to the hospital.â Esteban tells him gently. Gabriel hums in acknowledgement, and Esteban listens to the soft sound of the phone keyboard clicking as Gabriel types one-handedly.
Estebanâs anxiety is only going from bad to worse as the minutes pass, waiting for the doctor to make their way down to him. Logically, he understands this hospital is full of people who need help and families who need support, but the longer he waits to find out what happened to Pierre, the more the scenarios in his mind worsen. Intensive care could be indicative of so many different things - is Pierre unconscious and critical but breathing on his own, or is he on a breathing device as well? Is he in one piece or multiple pieces? Will he look like a shell of the man Esteban knew, or will he just look like heâs sleeping peacefully? Why didnât Pierre pull Estebanâs name off of his emergency contact list?
He hears Gabrielâs tip-tapping on the phone stop, and he looks down at their entwined fingers. The phone screen is dark, indicating that Gabriel has already finished the message and locked the phone. Esteban does not reach out to take it back, instead closing his eyes and focusing on the rise and fall of his own chest as he breathes. Itâs all he can do to keep his mind busy and away from all of the horrible scenarios running through it.
Gabriel is blessedly silent beside him, offering a gentle kiss to his temple every so often, and his thumb consistently rubs over Estebanâs knuckles in a pattern that is easy to focus on in tandem with his breathing. He has almost managed to reach a point of calm, almost victorious in bringing his heart rate down from frantic to just slightly elevated, until he hears the woman at the front desk call his name.
âShit.â he hisses beneath his breath, and Gabriel gives his hand a reassuring squeeze. âThey will not let you in because you are not the emergency contact.â
âI know. Will you be alright?â Gabriel asks earnestly, and it causes something to squeeze a little too tight in Estebanâs chest. No, heâs not alright, and no he wonât be alright. At the very least, having Gabriel with him would offer some form of comfort when he needs it the most. But, there is no time to waste, and this isnât about whether or not Esteban can handle it.
He can. He will. Just like he always does.
âYes. JustâŠhope that it is not horrible news.â
Esteban untangles himself from the comfortable positioning he had managed to worm into, looking down at Gabriel with a tight-lipped and uncomfortable smile. Gabrielâs eyes are soft and sad, and his smile is equally as cautious. It makes Estebanâs stomach flip in the worst ways.
But heâs dawdling, and he cannot do that. Pierre could very well be dying, and â
He pushes those thoughts aside and makes his way back up to the front desk, feeling the trembling in his limbs returning. As he reaches the reception area, he sees the same woman from before, conversing with a tall, dark-haired doctor in a stereotypical white coat at her side. Her hair is tied up in a bun and sheâs wearing thick-rimmed glasses. Her features are soft and gentle, but there is an obvious tension in the crinkle of her brow and the way her smile doesnât quite reach her eyes, either.
âMr. Ocon, this is Doctor Maynor. She will give you an update on Pierreâs condition and take you to see him, okay?â The receptionist says, and her tone is noticeably more carefully chosen than it had been when Esteban first walked into the hospital. None of this is easing his anxiety in the slightest. It is clear that everyone is walking on eggshells, and walking on eggshells means that they have bad news to deliver. Esteban can only hope that Doctor Maynor is blunt, concise, and rips the band-aid off so his poor heart can just take all the damage in one swoop.
âThank you.â He says, looking over to the doctor and politely holding out a hand for her to shake. She does so, and her hand is warm as she grips his firmly. He hopes she cannot feel him trembling.
âGood morning, Mr. Ocon. Let me take you somewhere a little more private, okay? We can talk outside of his room.â Doctor Maynor suggests, motioning down the hallway towards a set of double doors that Esteban assumes lead into the ICU. He swallows thickly.
âYes, of course. My partner is here with me, I know he cannot hear anything about Pierreâs condition, but can he come with me to the ICU?â He asks, almost fearing what the answer might be to such a question. The receptionist earlier had mentioned âlimited visitationâ and that alone might be enough for them to keep Gabriel from him.
However, her polite smile never falters, and she offers a nod. âOf course. I canât allow both of you into Pierreâs room at the same time, but there is a separate waiting area for the ICU that he can be situated in.â
Estebanâs sigh of relief must be palpable, as Doctor Maynorâs smile twitches towards something more genuine. Esteban jogs ahead of her towards the waiting area where Gabriel is still sitting, and he whistles softly to get his attention. Gabrielâs head snaps up instantaneously, and Esteban urges him over with a frantic hand gesture. âCome, we are going to the ICU.â
Esteban watches as Gabriel fumbles to collect his belongings. Itâs clear he must have thought he would be there for some time, as he was lounging with his feet up and both his phone and a book open to his side. He grabs everything and shuffles to his feet, meeting up with Esteban at the same moment Doctor Maynor joins them as well.
âGood morning. Mr. Ocon has requested you to be with him in the ICU. Iâll show you where the waiting area is, and Iâll have a chat with Mr. Ocon in private about your friendâs condition.â
Esteban barely contains a snort at the word âfriend.â Perhaps one time in the past, they were friends. Perhaps one time in the past, they were even more than that. Perhaps something went wrong somewhere down the line, and their hearts lost touch. Perhaps from that moment, they never saw each other in a positive light again. âFriendâ - the way that makes Estebanâs heart ache so painfully in his chest. They are not friends. He doesnât even know what they are anymore, really. Maybe just teammates, and nothing more.
Nonetheless, Esteban nods towards Gabriel, who responds with a very polite, âYes maâam.âÂ
As they approach the double doors of the intensive care unit, Doctor Maynor tugs on a badge clipped loosely to her coat and holds it against the sensor. The doors spring to life, opening slowly to allow them inside, and Esteban forces himself to take a deep breath as he crosses the threshold into his new and frightening territory. The ward is alive with the sounds of beeping monitors, nurse chatter, the clicking of keyboards as theyâre furiously typed upon, and the sound of wheels against linoleum flooring where monitors and other sensitive equipment are being carted around by the medical staff. Each door is spread quite far apart from the other, all numbered in ascending order, with even numbers on the left and odd ones on the right.
Doctor Maynor comes to a halt right at the end of the hallway, where Esteban can see a small carpeted area full of couches and chairs. Itâs all very similar to the waiting room outside of the emergency ward, and he knows this is where he loses Gabriel.
This is where he knows things may never be quite the same ever again.
âHereâs the waiting area. Pierreâs room is not too far from here.â Doctor Maynor says, using her arm to gesture towards the empty chairs in the room. Gabriel sucks in a breath and Esteban immediately turns to face him, feeling that same awful, ice-cold dread fill him from head to toe once again.Â
âI will be right here, Esteban. Itâs going to be okay.â Gabriel tells him, leaning in close to bump their foreheads together. Esteban nods, not trusting the way his voice might sound if he dares to speak. âItâs okay, baby.âÂ
Gabriel presses a feather-soft kiss to the bridge of Estebanâs nose, and then he steps back to head into the waiting room. Estebanâs hand twitches at his side, a longing feeling at the tips of his fingers to reach out and grab hold of Gabriel, to stop him from leaving, but that would only prolong the inevitable. Something Esteban has already been doing too much of.
âAre you ready, Mr. Ocon?â Doctor Maynor asks softly, and Esteban can appreciate that her voice is full of sympathy and warmth. Itâs in stark contrast to the woman at the front desk who, (through no fault of her own, really, Esteban knows this is her job after all), had been less than gentle giving her side of the news.Â
âYes,â he replies after a moment, his chest clenching in on itself with the desperate anxiety he feels buzzing in his veins. âIâm ready.â
As she begins to walk off towards Pierreâs room, Esteban is hot on her heels. Even amongst the dread and the nausea and the raw fear heâs fighting off, deep down he wants nothing more than to just know already. And the faster they get to Pierreâs room, the faster he gets that information.
Doctor Maynor stops so abruptly in front of room 158 that Esteban nearly trips over her in the process. His head snaps over towards the door, where Pierreâs name is written neatly up on the board hanging beside the window. The curtains are shut tight, however, and to his dismay (or perhaps to his benefit), nothing can be seen inside the room other than the faint glow of the light peeking out through the corners of the fabric.
âOkay, have they told you anything about whatâs happened to Mr. Gasly yet?â She begins, pulling her tablet out from her pocket. Esteban assumes that is where all of Pierreâs data is being kept, an entire record of whatâs happened to him since he set foot inside of this hospital. He has to fight the urges to just reach forward and grab it from her hands, and read all the data himself.
âNot at all. I did not even know he was in the ICU until ten minutes ago.â
Doctor Maynor frowns, sliding her finger across the tablet as she scrolls through pages of data. Esteban watches her intently, his heart pounding so fast he can hear it clearly in his ears.
âMr. Gasly was in a horrible car accident. He was brought in about an hour ago in critical condition. His injuries are extensive and range in severity, but overall, his condition is still highly critical.â She informs him, and Estebanâs stomach drops to his feet.
A car accident? Of all things?
âOkay, so what are they, then?â He urges a bit impatiently, though doctor Maynor doesnât seem to mind all that much. She sucks in a breath and looks up from the tablet, finally meeting his gaze with a sad smile.
âHis pelvis is broken, as well as his clavicle. A few of his ribs fractured as well, and one of them splintered into his lung which caused a puncture and a collapse. He had an open cranial fracture - though minor - and a brain contusion to go along with it. On top of this, he has whiplash, and we are monitoring his neck for any swelling. His right leg is also broken in two spots, but the worst of the injuries is the internal bleeding. It seems on his ride over to the hospital, he went into cardiac arrest once.â
Esteban feels his legs tremble beneath him, either unable or unwilling to hold his weight. His breath is frozen in his lungs, eyes wide in absolute horror as the magnitude of Pierreâs injuries slowly, one by one, register into his brain. He can feel his heart beating in his throat, hard and heavy as if heâd just run up six flights of stairs to get here.
Heâs certain the doctor must be speaking to him, but thereâs a ringing in his ears that drowns out all other sounds.
Pierreâs heart had stopped in the ambulance. His heart had simply stopped beating.
'cause i don't think that they'd understand || ln4 x reader (Part 2/2)
Summary: Lando just wants to walk down to the garage before the Miami race with you by his side. George and Carmen walked in together, Alex and Lily walked in together, so why can't you, as well? Despite your self-consciousness, you agree to walk hand-in-hand with him down to the garage right before the big race, but it's a much harder ask for you than anyone could ever realize.
PART ONE HERE
Plus-size (she/her) Reader x Lando Norris
Warnings: Brief mentions of nausea/being sick, panic, reader is plus-sized and very down on herself about it, weight mentions, ect.
Characters: Lando Norris (your boyfriend) and feat Oscar Piastri as a last minute saving grace for you.
Rating: G.
Tags: @cthgee @hellof-1 @notpeachybby
Notes: Thank you for the feedback on part 1! Feedback is what keeps a writer writing, after all! I started this as an experiment and genuinely did not expect the love that would come with it. I put together a part 2 on the fly (I hadn't planned to write it, actually, I didn't think the response would be this high) and am happy to put this to rest now, to work on some other reader fics. I'm happy to entertain requests, just know that smut is not something I will write in detail (I know, that's what most of you want, I'm sorry). Thank you for the support!
Your eyes flutter open and all you can see above you is a blur of light orange and a bright light. A soft groan escapes the back of your throat, and you turn your head to the side to try and keep the light out of your eyes. Your head is swimming, like thereâs a pressure pushing against your brain that you can feel as far as the back of your eyes as well. You are laying on something warm and soft, but most definitely alive - if the gentle shuffling beneath you is anything to go by, anyway.
You furrow your brows as you hum out another soft, confused sound. Very slowly, you try to sit up, but someoneâs hand presses against your shoulder and applies a little force, enough to keep you from moving in your hazy state.
âLando?â you ask, your voice soft and unnaturally raspy. Something isnât quite right. You donât remember falling asleep - you donât even really know where you are, but it only makes sense that Lando would be the one with youâŠright? As you continue to blink your vision back to clarity, a face comes into view above you - one that is very much not Lando. Itâs Oscar Piastri, that much your brain can at least piece together. Around him, the walls start to come into view. The ceiling, the toilet, the vanity to your leftâŠ
âNot quite, but I promise heâs coming.â Oscar says above you, and you are grateful that heâs barely speaking louder than a whisper. Your head is pounding and your stomach is churning as everything starts to put itself together. Youâre only missing a handful of key puzzle pieces, now.
âOscar?â You mumble, instinctively curling into his warmth for any ounce of comfort you can glean. One of his hands comes up and carefully, thoughtfully brushes stray hair out of your face. You realize heâs attempting to be soothing, as your brain keeps working to figure this out.
âYep, that one.â he replies, flashing you a smile that seems, in your opinion, quite tense. Right, itâs slowly coming back.
The bathroom - Lando led you to the bathroom at your request, and then left to get himself into his race kit. You were sick, and immediately after vomiting into the sink, a panic attack had taken hold of you. And then â
Your eyes widen slightly in horror. Oscar, right. You had forgotten to lock the door and he - oh, god, he â
âHow long was I out?â you ask suddenly, shooting yourself upright in his arms. He blinks back shock, obviously not expecting you to move so quickly, and looks down at his watch for a brief moment.
âUh, three minutes? Itâs not been long.âÂ
âJesus,â you gasp, scrambling out of his comforting grip and backing yourself up against the wall. Oscar looks a bit lost, eyes full of concern as he holds his hands out in front of him, fingers splayed. âIâm sorry - oh my god, thatâs - Iâm sorry.â
âHey, itâs fine. Itâs okay.â he assures you, eerily still as he watches you with a careful gaze. âIâm sorry for touching you without permission. I didnât want you to hit your head when you fell.â
âThatâs not -â you shake your head, feeling your throat tightening with emotion. âNo, thank you. Thatâs not the problem, I promise. I appreciate you.â Anxiety is beginning to swirl in your chest again, but you can feel just how fatigued your body is now. The anxiety, at least, is easier to manage versus pure panic, but itâs making your head spin.Â
âItâs okay.â Oscar says again, a bit firmer this time. âI phoned Lando a moment ago, and heâs making his way back right now. I told him Iâd stay with you until he got here.â
You nod, relieved to know that Lando would be back for you any moment. You are also grateful for Oscarâs company, regardless of the fact that you hardly know him. Clearly, heâs kind and caring - which doesnât surprise you, really. Lando hasnât ever had an off-color thing to say about him.
âThanks, Oscar. Iâm so sorry you had to witness all of-â you swirl your finger around in a circle, searching for the right word, âthat. But it means a lot that you didnât just leave me there.â
âOf course. I donât know whatâs got you so upset, but I hope that you feel better soon, yeah?â
âYeah. I think itâs a little better already.â
Oscar smiles at you, friendly and kind, and before either of you can utter another word, thereâs a frantic knocking at the bathroom door. Oscarâs head snaps back to the door, letting out a small âOhâ as he hops up to his feet and hurries over to unlock the door. Landoâs face comes into view as soon as the door opens, and he looks absolutely distraught. Your chest clenches, knowing that youâre the reason heâs out of sorts, and you lay your head back against the wall.
âWhen did she wake up? Is she okay? What happened?â you hear Lando ask frantically, firing questions at Oscar before they can be answered.Â
Oscar takes it in stride, âShe just woke up a moment ago, and she was a bit dazed. She seems okay now, but I donât know what caused all of this.â
âThanks, Osc.â Lando breathes, and you can hear the genuine warmth in his tone. âIâll take it from here, mate.â
Thereâs a soft âclickâ as the bathroom door closes, and a slightly louder one as Lando locks the door behind him. His footfalls are quick as he rushes over to you, immediately sliding down the wall to sit next to you on the floor. You look over at him, and your gazes meet for merely a second before heâs wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest.
His scent and the warmth of his body is familiar and comforting in ways you couldnât possibly verbalize. Itâs akin to taking a deep, calming breath of air into your lungs and feeling everything inside of you just slow down for a moment. Itâs the relief of the familiarity, the delicacy in which he cradles your head against his heart like youâre his most precious thing.
It makes a lump form in your throat. But you are far too tired for tears, now. Too tired for much of anything but this: sitting here on a dirty bathroom floor, cradled in Landoâs arms.
âI thought you were alright when I left,â he says, so very miserably, âwhy didnât you tell me you werenât? I wouldâve stayed.â
âIâm sorry.â you murmur, your voice muffled by the fireproof suit over his chest. You can hear his heart beating rapidly, a gentle barrage of distressed thumps against your ear, and it twists something so deeply in your own chest. You properly worried him, which was the exact opposite of what you wanted to do. âI thought I could work through it while you were changing and that things would be okay by the time you got back.â
âDo you want to tell me what happened?â he urges ever so softly, his hand running up and down your back in the most soothing patterns. You canât help feeling the warmth of relief encompassing you being back in his presence.
It helps the words flow much easier, without stopping to doubt or scrutinize everything that comes out of your mouth. âIt was a panic attack, it didnât really pop up until after I had initially calmed down. It happens like that sometimes.â You explain, focusing on the ever-present beating of his heart beneath your ear. âOr - it happens like that a lot for me, I guess. Once the initial fight or flight wears off, the real panic comes out. It made me sick and, I dunno, I guess Oscar startled me when he came in and before I even really knew it, I went down.â
Landoâs grip tightens on you almost protectively as he registers your explanation. âJust went down? You say it like itâs the most casual thing.â He scoffs, but thereâs no mirth or amusement behind it. You can tell heâs still nervous, still trying to process everything. âOscar said pretty much the same. Blessing and a curse you forgot to lock the door then, huh?â
You laugh breathily at that, nodding your head in agreement. Had Oscar not been there, you surely wouldâve hit your head on the tile and that couldâve been a much scarier sight to behold when someone came by to use the restroom later. As embarrassing as it was to break down in front of someone you hardly knew, you were grateful for his willingness to assist. You would have to find him and give him a proper thank you later.
âYeah, heâs a nice guy.â You agree, nuzzling into his chest even further. If it were up to you, you would simply lay here in his arms all day long and not think a single thing of it - but you are distinctly aware of the time and of his looming race. Something he should be putting his entire focus into, and not on you. âNow shouldnât you be out there getting ready for the race?â
âProbably,â he admits with a chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss to the top of your head. âBut I donât want to leave here until I know for sure youâre alright.â
His thoughtfulness never ceases to amaze you. Perhaps youâd found him to be a bit taught and agitated earlier (and, perhaps, you had deserved that sort of response from him, given your nearly blatant refusal to simply walk across the paddock into the garage with him), but heâs back to his normal warmth and gentleness once more. A relief, you think, in and of itself.
âIâm alright now, really.â you say, lifting your head up from his chest to flash him a soft, sweet little smile. It isnât a lie, either. Since heâs come back, youâve felt exponentially better - a result of the panic attack waning and being in the comforting presence of the person you love most in the world. âIâd really like to go see everything else you wanted to show me.â
Landoâs eyes light up in a way that makes your heart skip a beat. Heâs always been a bit reactive, with his heart on his sleeve, and you wouldnât have him any other way if youâre honest. The genuine excitement that sparks on his face is everything you could ever want or need in life. Just to see him happy, itâs enough. It makes every horrible name you call yourself, every fear, every insecurity and every worry melt away into nothing, like it had never even been there to begin with.
âLetâs get some lunch at hospitality first, and then Iâll take you out to see the car afterwards.â He suggests, lifting himself up from the floor and offering you a helpful hand. âI know a little spot we can eat, away from the cameras and all that.â
Even after the hell youâve put him through today, a soft feeling blossoms in your chest to know heâs still holding you to the forefront of his mind. Heâs still looking for ways to make you more comfortable. Heâs still loving you, despite your glaring insecurities. You take his hand, skin warm against yours, and lift yourself up onto your feet with his help.
âI think that sounds lovely.â you reply, reaching up and cupping his cheeks in your hands. You stand on the tips of your toes and lean in, pressing a soft, gentle kiss to Landoâs lips. His breath falters for a mere moment, and then heâs kissing you back just as softly, just as gently. As you pull apart, thereâs a shy smile on his face that makes your cheeks burn and your chest ignite with adoration. Even if you tried, you do not think you could possibly love him more.
âI think youâre lovely.â He shoots back, a glint of mischief in his eyes. Your cheeks burn even hotter at his remark, and you bury your face into his shoulder to keep the blush from being too obvious.Â
âI think youâre going to make me too sick to eat if you keep this up.â
Lando tosses his head back and laughs, genuine and sweet, the sound washes over you with its subtle burst of serotonin - a much needed side effect.
âFine, fine, Iâll save the ooey-gooey stuff for after the race, then. Just one more quick thing though-â he says, wrapping his arm around your waist as he leans in to press a kiss to your temple. This time, you choose not to shy away from his touch, no matter how big and gaudy your body feels wrapped up in his arms. âI love you.â
Your heart flutters like the wings of a caged bird, yearning to break out of your chest and nestle up tight within his own. You smile, tossing all of the bad thoughts from earlier in the day out of your mind completely. Once again youâve learned: as long as you have Lando with you, everything really is okay. âI love you, too.â
The news articles do drop early the next morning, from multiple sources, with their rude and hateful headlines about you, your body type, and your worth in regards to Landoâs love. And, just as you expected, each and every one of them hits like a knife to your gut as you see them pop up one after another on your feed.
But, at the end of every single one of these articles is the same quote from Lando - the only quote he offered the reporters on the matter of your relationship during the entire day.
âQuite frankly, I donât care what anyone thinks of our relationship. It isnât their business, itâs mine and herâs, and I genuinely think sheâs the most beautiful girl in the world. Nothing is going to change that.â
Working on that part 2 of 'i dont think that they'd understand' here soon! Sorry for the delay. Busy schedule, I'm hardly around haha. Thank you so much for the support!
Rating: There is no smut, but it's quite heavily suggestive. 18+
Warnings: Brief, light cardiophilia. Some questionable manhandling.
Summary: Esteban is still smirking, even if the amusement has gone completely from his eyes. His lips are curled in an almost sneer-like grin, eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks down on Pierre. Slowly, his lips part for just a brief moment as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. He looks like he has much to say, and it makes Pierre nervous.
If anything even remotely snarky comes out of Estebanâs mouth, he will put his fist in it.
âIt is not fucking funny,â Pierre spits out, venom laced heavily in his tone as he approaches Esteban. His pace is quick and fierce, and it matters little to him the differences in their height as he comes within inches of Estebanâs personal space. âSo shut the fuck up, stop making jokes, and be fucking serious for once in your life.â
Esteban is still smirking, even if the amusement has gone completely from his eyes. His lips are curled in an almost sneer-like grin, eyes crinkling in the corners as he looks down on Pierre. Slowly, his lips part for just a brief moment as his tongue runs along his bottom lip. He looks like he has much to say, and it makes Pierre nervous.
If anything even remotely snarky comes out of Estebanâs mouth, he will put his fist in it.
âFine,â Esteban seethes, and it catches Pierre a bit off guard, âI will shut the fuck up. But only if you also shut the fuck up.â
Ah, there it is. Pierreâs blood boils immediately, a reaction saved for Esteban and Esteban only, as there is not one single other person in the world who can evoke this kind of raw, guttural anger inside of him. He sees red, his hand twitching into a fist at his side and trembling slightly at the need to bury itself right into Estebanâs nose -
But then thereâs movement. It comes so quickly, so suddenly, that Pierreâs eyes dart around to track Esteban as he leans in. Itâs moments such as these that Pierre is grateful for his reflexes, as he begins to move before his brain has even fully processed just how close Estebanâs face is to his own. He backs away from the advances, feet skillfully dancing around one another to keep him just out of range until â
Until his back hits up against the wall, and Esteban has him pinned like a predator would its prey.Â
Pierre swallows, watching as Estebanâs eyes trail from his eyes to his lips, down to his neck, and then back up again. âWhat the fuck are you doi-âÂ
His sentence is cut short when Esteban reaches forward and grabs Pierreâs neck, both thumbs coming to rest on each of his carotid arteries beneath his jaw. The grip is surprisingly gentle, even though Pierre flinches in anticipation as he expects a squeeze or some form of choking motion - but that never comes.
Startled, and perhaps even slightly scared, Pierre reaches up and circles his fingers around Estebanâs wrists, attempting to pull the grip off of his throat. Esteban holds strong, however, and his hands hardly move in response.
âEsteban?â
âYour pulse is racing.â Esteban says suddenly, like it is the most ordinary and normal thing to say in a situation like this.
Pierre swallows again, feeling Estebanâs thumbs shift with the gentle motion of his throat. âWhat are you talking about?â
Esteban seems unbothered by Pierreâs question, eyes still fixated down on his throat. âIs that excitement or fear?â Esteban asks, his voice low and husky. âOr maybe a little of both?â His eyes slowly trail back up to meet Pierreâs, and theyâre focused and intense - but not angry, not like Pierre expected to see.
âYou are not making sense, fucking let go of my neck.â Pierre bites back, and only then does the pressure of Estebanâs thumbs become a threat.Â
âBoth,â Esteban says, smirking devilishly at Pierre. âIt is both.â
Suddenly, Esteban presses into Pierre with enough force to pin him up against the wall. Itâs not aggressive or forceful, it simplyâŠis. His hands hold firm on Pierreâs neck, never faltering once as he leans in close, lips hovering just a mere breath away from touching.
Pierre exhales sharply in one moment, and Estebanâs lips are on his in the next.
It happens so fast that it makes Pierreâs head spin. His eyes widen, and his bodyâs instinct is to push up on Estebanâs hands and free himself from the looming chokehold. But oddly enough, Estebanâs kiss is so gentle. So tender and so sweet, and the polar opposite of everything angry and heated and aggressive thatâs led them up to this very point.
He does what makes the most logical sense in his highly illogical brain, and he kisses back.
Estebanâs lips are warm and soft, and even as Pierre kisses back with a twinge of a bite, they do not falter. Slowly, Pierreâs eyes involuntarily flutter closed as he leans into Esteban, and his hands come to rest over each of Estebanâs wrists, where his fingers curl into the delicate skin above the respective radial arteries.Â
Against the tips of his fingers he feels the feather-light tap of Estebanâs pulse and inhales sharply through his nose, surging forward to deepen the kiss. Esteban hums out a sound of surprise, but allows the kiss to progress into something hungrier. Pierre is not exactly polite when he slides his tongue into Estebanâs mouth, but that doesnât seem to matter. Esteban bends to Pierreâs will, his tongue gliding in tandem with Pierreâs instead of fighting against it as expected. Pierre pushes more, works the kiss harder and more aggressively until Esteban breaks them apart with a desperate gasp for air.
âFuck you.â Pierre pants out, meek and breathless.
Esteban smiles. âOnly if you ask nicely.â
Pierreâs grip tightens on Estebanâs wrists, and the rapid thump of Estebanâs pulse becomes more pronounced at his fingertips. For a moment he had nearly forgotten, but a smirk curls his lips as he looks up, smug and confident, and says, âHey, asshole, your pulse is racing, too.â
âSo it is,â Esteban muses, voice smooth and silky as he bumps his nose into Pierreâs, âAnd yet not nearly as fast as yours.â His thumbs slowly apply pressure against Pierreâs throat, careful not to press too hard and disturb the blood flow.
Pierre makes a noise similar to a mewl, his breathing rasped under the pressure against his throat. He can feel his own pulse thundering against the pads of Estebanâs thumbs and oh, God, he could melt into a damned puddle right there and now - likely would, even, if Estebanâs hands were not holding him up so graciously.Â
âI want you-â Pierre rasps, his voice strained by the force on his throat. Esteban looks all too delighted with himself, but he loosens his grip so Pierre can speak. âI want you to fuck me.â
âAgain, ask nicely.â Esteban taunts, licking his lips in the most insulting manner.
Pierreâs eyes narrow, feeling Estebanâs pulse increase against his fingers. Finally, he has something of an upper hand here. Finally, he has a way to see straight through Estebanâs high-and-mighty bullshit. Esteban wants him just as badly, just as desperately, and with Pierreâs fingers on his pulse, he will never be able to hide it.
âI was not finished. I want you to fuck me to the pace of my heartbeat.â Pierre says, straightforward and firm, with a sparkle of mischief glinting in his eye. âPretty please?â
In one quick motion, Esteban releases his grip on Pierreâs throat and instead grabs his hips, hoisting him up in the air like he simply does not weigh anything at all. Thereâs a fire in his eyes that Pierre has seen only scarcely before, and itâs at that moment he knows -
'cause i don't think that they'd understand || ln4 x reader (Part 1)
Summary: Lando just wants to walk down to the garage before the Miami race with you by his side. George and Carmen walked in together, Alex and Lily walked in together, so why can't you, as well? Despite your self-consciousness, you agree to walk hand-in-hand with him down to the garage right before the big race, but it's a much harder ask for you than anyone could ever realize.
Plus-size (she/her) Reader x Lando Norris
Warnings: Brief mentions of nausea/being sick, panic, reader is plus-sized and very down on herself about it, weight mentions, ect.
Characters: Lando Norris (your boyfriend) and feat Oscar Piastri as a last minute saving grace for you.
Rating: G, for now.
âI want you to walk down to the garage with me.â
You blink in surprise, Landoâs words are so sudden and so firm that it makes goosebumps raise on your skin. Walk to the garage with him? But that would meanâŠ
âWhat? Why?â you ask, folding down the page in the book youâre reading, before placing it down softly on the table beside you. A slugging, churning feeling arises in your gut as you realize exactly what it is heâs asking of you.Â
âWhat do you mean âwhyâ? Youâre my girlfriend, I want you to walk with me into the garage.â He says, as if itâs the most obvious thing in the world. And, perhaps, for any other woman in this world it might just be.
But it isnât for you. This is quite possibly one of the most difficult things he could ever ask you to do, and that alone makes you feel horrible. Lando deserves a normal girlfriend, who can react normally to very normal situations. Not someone who makes his life even more difficult than it already is.
You sigh heavily, knowing if you refuse you will just upset him. âI - are you sure you want to be seen with me? People will talk and they wonât be niceâŠâ
âBabe, weâve had this conversation before. Just one walk down to the garage with me, thatâs all Iâm asking.â
You frown again, daring to look up and meet his gaze. He doesnât seem angry, but thereâs a desperation in his eyes, something that tugs at your heartstrings. What Lando doesnât realize is that the backlash wonât fall too heavily on him - but on youâŠ?
Oh, the fans and the media will eat you up. Lando is dating a fat girl? That will decorate the tabloid headlines for days, perhaps even weeks or months. The thought alone makes you sick. But how can you say no to him when heâs so earnest, when he wants to show you off, regardless if you deserve it or not?
âYeah, okay.â You finally reply, looking away from Lando and down to the floor. He notices this, however, and kneels down in front of you, grabbing one of your hands in both of his own. His hands are so warm and so immediately comforting, working to ease the rapid beat of your heart in your chest.
âItâll be okay. I promise. And just think, youâll finally be able to come see the garage and paddock!â His voice is so cheerful, so genuinely happy and excited for you to be there with him. Itâs touching, to say the least, but you are loath to admit that your excitement level is not nearly on par with his. Not even slightly.
âYeah, I know. Iâve wanted to see them for so long.â The lack of enthusiasm in your voice does dull the excitement in his eyes, but he holds steady. Admirable, really. A trait you wish you could share with him.
âItâs almost time. Why donât you go ahead and get ready, and we can walk down in about an hour?â
An hour? Well - hereâs hoping you can actually make yourself look even somewhat presentable in such a short amount of time.
âYouâll help me pick out my dress, right?â you ask.
The light immediately comes back to his eyes, and he beams at you with the very same smile that won your heart the night you met him.
âOf course! Fashion show time!â
~~
Lando ends up picking the teal colored sundress, something that suits your taste and simultaneously compliments some of your key features. It fits well, with no need for you to suck in your stomach to make it look nicer or more appealing, and hides some of your less than desirable attributes (the rolls, god, the rolls) with ease.Â
You feel comfortable enough, with only a light amount of makeup on your face, and your feet are settled into white flats instead of the heels you had originally picked out. Lando liked them as well, but urged you to go for something more comfortable and carefree.
You genuinely do feel okay, but the bitter taste of anxiety still stirs the acid of your stomach as you think about the amount of eyes that will be on you and Lando in a few moments.
âHey beautiful,â Lando says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist. On instinct, you suck in your stomach to try and lessen the circumference of your belly. Lando tenses, but he doesnât push the issue, keeping you nestled safely in his arms as he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. âYou just about ready?â
âReady as Iâll ever be.â you reply softly, leaning only a portion of your weight back against him. He doesnât let go for a few moments, and you can feel the warmth of his breath against the shell of your ear.Â
âIâm proud of you. I know youâre scared, and I know youâre only doing this for me, but I hope you can manage to enjoy it as well. You may not want the world to know youâre mine, but I do.â Lando explains, nipping at your ear with gentle teeth. It sends a shiver down your spine, and you cannot help but smile at his antics.
âWell, weâll see what all the news sources are saying in the morning. You know for a fact my issue isnât being seen with you, itâs you being seen with me.â
âWho cares what they say? How I feel about you is what matters, not what the public thinks about a relationship they know nothing about.â Landoâs voice is firm and leaves no room for argument - likely because this IS an argument the two of you have had time and time again.Â
You open your mouth to respond, but Landoâs PR Agent gestures a bit frantically at you both and all of a sudden, Lando is no longer behind you but at your side, lacing your fingers together.Â
âDeep breath, babe. Itâs go time.â
Oh.
You take a deep breath and hold it in your lungs, fearful that if you breathe at all, you might mess this up entirely. Landoâs hand is warm and firm in your own, steady while your mentality feels anything but. Thereâs no time to prepare yourself for the walk - Lando is moving and on instinct, you move fluidly alongside him. Your heart is racing impossibly hard in your chest and somehow only gets faster as you step out onto the grass and the sun shines down upon you and Lando like a blinding spotlight.
You hear the clicking of cameras before you see the media snapping shots of you and Lando as you walk hand-in-hand towards the McLaren garage. You can already hear the shouts of fans at home, screaming about how Lando could possibly be dating someone so fat and unattractive when heâs literally a celebrity and could have anyone he wanted. You can see the offensive articles, wondering whatâs gone wrong in Landoâs head to be dating someone so average and so unathletic when all of the other drivers are dating what could be (and in some cases ARE) models.Â
So many eyes are on you both, and you still havenât been able to take a breath just yet. You feel Landoâs hand squeeze yours, but you are unable to squeeze back. You just want to be at the garage and tucked back away from the eyes of the media so you can regain your bearings.
And then finally, after what feels like a marathon of a walk, you feel the grass turn to solid ground beneath your feet and the smells of the garage hit your senses like a brick wall. Everything slowly comes back into focus and you realize youâve finally made it to the other side. Your gut is churning, but you let out the breath you have been holding since you took your first step out and it eases some of the bubbling tension in your chest.
Landoâs hand leaves yours fairly suddenly, but he immediately pops up in your line of sight, beaming at you like youâve just handed him the sun, the moon, and all the stars. You swallow thickly, hoping to keep down the nausea that threatens you, and offer up a tight smile of your own.
âThat wasnât so bad, was it?â He asks, pulling you in by your waist and pressing a kiss to your forehead. You are still within sight of the media cameras and you hear a few clicking somewhere off to your right, which does little to help quell the nausea.Â
âIt was fine, yeah.â You say, and itâs incredible just how weak your own voice sounds. âCan we, uh - can we go someplace in the back for a minute? Away from the cameras?â
âOf course,â Lando says, and concern begins to blossom on his features. His eyebrows furrow, gaze focused solely on you as you still try your best to smile at him. âI have to get changed into my kit anyway.â
Landoâs hand is back in yours instantly, and he gently guides you through crew members and winding hallways until youâre far enough away from all of the commotion that you can barely hear it anymore. Your breath is shaky as you inhale, but the relief is almost immediate now that you are out of the public eye.
âAre you okay?â Lando asks after a few seconds of studying your face. âIâm sorry, that was too much, wasnât it?â
âNo, no, no.â you interrupt him, taking another deep breath and letting it out slowly. âItâs just a lot. Iâm not used to these kinds of things, not like you are. And there were so many camerasâŠâ
âYou learn to ignore the cameras.â He says, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. âTry not to worry about them, theyâre just an annoyance anyway. Youâre here to watch me race, and I promise you the McLaren crew will take great care of you while you do.â
Your smile feels a bit more genuine now as the nerves begin to drift off. You know youâll have cameras in your face likely the entire time Lando is racing, but knowing that you have the support of McLaren while youâre here helps a bit. Lando has been with these people for years now, you can only imagine theyâve grown quite close in that time.Â
âIâm sure they will. I - uh - is there a bathroom back here somewhere?â You look around a bit frantically, overcome by the sudden intense nausea that hits you now that the worst of the nerves have tapered off. Sweat builds on your forehead and you begin to feel a bit clammy and lightheaded, but Lando either doesnât notice, or youâve managed to keep yourself steady enough as to not rouse suspicion.Â
âOh, yeah, Iâll take you there,â he says, looking around to gain his bearings. He circles his fingers around your wrist and leads you back towards the heart of the garage, but stops before you get to the more heavily trafficked areas. Itâs a small, unassuming restroom meant for one person at a time, but it will do. âHere you are. I actually need to change, so Iâll come back for you once Iâm set up, okay?â
âSounds good.â You confirm, leaning in to kiss him when you see him do the same. He offers you a comforting smile and then takes off into the clamor of the garage to get himself ready for the race. You watch him weave through crowds of crew and media personnel, and once heâs no longer within your sight, you turn around and rush into the bathroom without a moment to spare.
The nausea is almost overpowering, and you canât even make it to the toilet before you feel your stomach rolling. You grasp desperately at the vanity, emptying your nerves into the sink with a violent heave and a shudder. Panic is starting to claw its way up your throat now that youâve been sick, and you grip the sides of the vanity so tightly that your knuckles turn white. The nausea, thankfully, goes away now that youâve emptied your stomach into the sink, but a much worse feeling creeps up to take its place.
You reach forward with trembling hands and turn on the sink, cleaning out the mess youâve just made. Thankfully, a few splashes of water around the sink (and a few swishes in your mouth) manage to clean out everything so thereâs no evidence left of your struggle.
You back yourself against the wall now, feeling your heart beating faster all over again, and the sweat begins to feel cold on your forehead. Panic is no new sensation, but you canât help but curse the timing of this attack. It makes sense - given the overstimulation and the nervousness you just fought your way through, but you had hoped deep in your heart that you would be able to handle this without a breakdown.
You could not have been more wrong.
You begin to take deep, shuddering breaths at far too rapid a pace. You know you have to get your breathing under control, or this will spiral until youâre pathetically hyperventilating alone in a McLaren bathroom. You rush forward to turn the water back on, hoping that splashing some on your face might help snap you out of it, when you hear the handle of the restroom door jiggle.
Your stomach lurches again when you realize in your haste, you forgot to lock the door.
âYeah, mate. Iâll be back in a few.â You hear a familiar voice say, muffled slightly by the noise buzzing around the garage.
As soon as the person steps inside the restroom and your eyes meet, you feel like you could be sick again. Itâs none other than Oscar Piastri, Landoâs teammate and friend at McLaren, and heâs staring at you with wide, concerned eyes.
âHey,â he greets, and itâs so incredibly soft - as if he might be speaking to a cornered, wounded animal. âHey, are you alright?â
You canât reply to him just yet - your breathing is out of control and nausea is hitting you again from the depths of absolute hell. As if this day couldnât have possibly gotten any worse, you WOULD have a mental breakdown in front of Landoâs teammate.
You simply stare back at him in shock, like heâs the most terrifying thing you could possibly see, and you finally manage to choke out a weak and pitiful, âNo.â
You watch as Oscar gently locks the door behind you both - a blessing, really, to keep anyone else from walking in on you in such an embarrassing state. He keeps his expression neutral, only taking one step into the bathroom with his hands palm-up to show he means no harm.
âYou need to breathe, okay? Think you can breathe with me?â Oscar asks, his voice echoing in the small space. He swallows thickly, another sound thatâs easy to pick up in the confined space, but he patiently waits for you to respond.
âI donât - I donât know -â you reply, hands slapping against the wall as you try to find something to grip onto for balance. âI donât know.â
âWhy donât we give it a try, at least?â Oscar tries again, looking far more concerned than you think he has any right to be. He hardly knows you, after all.
âI - I can -â but the words die on your lips as your legs give out beneath you. You fall to your knees on the tile floor and thatâs when Oscar jumps quickly into action. You feel unfamiliar arms wrap around your shoulders, a cushion to keep your head from smashing against the floor, and the last thing you see are Oscarâs frightened eyes above you, the echo of your name frantically erupting from the back of his throat as your vision fades out.
Based on what you know of me and/or my vibes, what F1 driver (current or past) do you most associate me with/think I am most like? Bonus points for WHY.