formula1andbeyond

[formula1andbeyond]

Favourite colour - Carlos Sainz Jr

Pairing: Carlos Sainz x PiastriSister!reader

Summary: You are Oscar Piastri’s older sister, who decided to wear blue to a race. Carlos Sainz accidentally mistakes you for a Williams crew member. Hilarity ensues.

Wordcount: Smau (aka no idea)

Warnings: None, I think? It's just fluff

A/N: Just as I finished this, half of it disappeared. So idk if the plot makes sense now. I tried to fix it, but couldn't remember everything so (I cried. Smau's takes way to much time)... If your name really is Katherine… use your imagination please hahaha. Also, I know there are more Piastri sisters, but I only use Hattie because I am lazy. Timeline? Don’t know her. Don’t think about it hahaha

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Liked by NicolePiastri, OscarPiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Outfit so good, Carlos Sainz though he was my boss🕶️

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User738: GIRL🤤

User43: Slay mama

User76: So, let me get this straight, Carlos thought you were someone who works at Williams racing, just because you’re wearing blue…? (Liked by Y/nPiastri)

Y/nPiastri: @/user76 he claims we look alike🙄

Lilymhe: This is hilarious🤣🤣🤣

HattiePiastri: Mom is too busy laughing to comment

NicolePiastri: I am not. You look beautiful honey, but that shirt... Carlos is excused.

User34: Not Nicole Piastri favouring Carlos over her oldest child hahahah

NicolePiastri: @/user34 I am a Carlos Sainz fan first, mother second🤭

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Liked by CarlosSainz, NicolePiastri and others

OscarPiastri: Happy birthday to my amazing sister, Katherine. You’re a mess. Love you❤️

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Y/nPiastri: Shut up, i hate you.

Y/nPiastri: No, im sorry. I dont hate you. Thank you little brother❤️ Love you too🥰

User334: OMG Carlos liked this hahahaha

HattiePiastri: Happy birthday queen! 🥳🥳🥳

User34: Not Carlos in the likes!

User29: I thought her name was y/n???

User99: Oh, my sweet summers child hahahaha

User56: Fumbled so hard he had to stalk her brothers insta.

CarlosSainz: Williams blue is a good look🧢

User3: CARLOS! I AM GAGGED

HattiePiastri: This feels inapropriate...

Y/nPiastri: I just happen to LIKE BLUEEE😭😭😭

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Liked by Mclaren, HattiePiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Making sure no one thinks I work for them this time📙🥕🧡

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User19: A MAN?!?!?

lilyzneimer: Beautiful🧡🧡🧡

HattiePiastri: So just so we agree, I will be borrowing that Hermes bag🥰

Y/nPiastri: In your god damn diggity daggity dreams little child🔪 HattiePiastri: So what I'm hearing is a maybe...?

CarlosSainz: You look better in blue🫐

user500: Horny on main I see...👀 user45: MR SAINZ!😂

User58: Don't think you can hide him away in the last photo. Who is the guy?????🔍

User30: WIld idea, but what if that is Carlos? That would be such a hilarious turn around🤔

User38: @/user30 I like your delulu User77: No, but she might have a point. He's been commenting on all posts about her. And he's always in the likes... User30: OMG I'm not alone in my delulu!!!

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Liked by user49, user284 and others

F1updates: Carlos Sainz was spotted on a walk in Barcelona hand in hand with Oscar Piastri's older sister, Y/n!🤯🤯🤯

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User1: THIS IS GOLD

User94: What is thiiiiisssss

User301: Did not see this coming🤔

User48: They are so stunning😍😍😍

User795: She is wearing THAT shirt!!!👕

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Liked by CarlosSainz, NicolePiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Hard to say no when blue is my favourite colour💙

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CarlosSainz: It really is your colour🦋

Lilymhe: Alex claims he figured it out weeks ago

Y/nPiastri: Girl, I didn't even know weeks ago hahaha

HattiePiastri: I knew you couldn't afford that hermes bag on your own😶🕵️‍♀️

NicolePiastri: Best day of my life❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Lilyznimer: Congrats you two! Oscar is slowly loosing his mind looking at this

User355: Nicole Piastri must be loosing her marbles!!!

NicolePiastri: Haven't stopped crying since she told me

User94: GOALS🥅🏁

user89: This is the old money blueprint

User30: The most stunning couple😍

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BONUS:

Liked by CarlosSainz, OscarPiastri and others

Y/nPiastri: Finally got to meet Katherine from Williams Marketing!

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HattiePiastri: Oh, I think Carlos might be excused...🔍

NicolePiastri: Didn't know I had yet another daughter...

User16: This is actually hilarious

User55: Now I feel bad for making fun of Carlos

Lando: What do you mean. This is the same person???🥸

CarlosSainz: I can tell the difference now, mi amor💙

OscarPiastri: You can? Because I'm actually struggling

Y/nPiastri: OSCAR DON'T RUIN THE MOMENT

[formula1andbeyond]

This is the life - T.W.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader

Summary: hey 😊💞could you do a sequel to the one shot on toto where the baby is already 1 year old and he is a daddy's son. he cries when he sees Toto leaving for work and he sticks constantly to Toto when he is at home and the first children of Toto Rosa and Benjamin love their little brother very much. And the baby looks more like Toto.

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings: Almost smut. Almost…

Notes: This is part 2 of my story Queen of the Paddock, but they can totally be read separately:) Also, no, Oscar is not named after Oscar Piastri. It was just an inchident that I am to lazy to change.

“Oscar, sweetie!” You call after the little boy. Your one year old son doesn't even look back at you, instead running full speed down the driveway. You stop chasing him, and slow down as Oscar reaches the car that has just parked.

“Papa!” The small boy shouts, and flings himself into your husband's arms as he gets out of the car. A fond smile creeps onto your smile, as you watch the two biggest loves of your life interact.

Toto picks the boy up, wide grins on both their faces. Once again, it takes your breath away just how much the two look alike. There is little in his appearance that suggests another person was involved in the creation of Oscar. He’s Toto through and through. You adore it though.

“Hello, my darling,”  Toto greets you with a kiss. You smile as your eyes lock with his. Love fills you from your head to your toes. The way this man makes you feel, even after seven years of marriage, is magical. The babbling from your son brings the two of you out from the intense eye contact.

Toto feigns interest as he listens to Oscar go on about his day. Most of it is impossible to understand, as he is still just one year old, but with his father’s encouragement the boy keeps up. The three of you head inside, and Toto sinks onto the couch, Oscar settling on his lap happily.

“ A drawing?” Toto says, “You must show me!”

Oscars nods fast, sliding down to the floor, and takes off towards the kitchen as fast as his chubby legs will take him. In the boy’s absence, Toto reaches out for you, pulling you towards him by the belt loops on your jeans.

“I missed you today,” he whispers. You run your hands through his hair, and lean down towards his sitting frame for a kiss.

“And I you,” You say when his lips release yours. In the kitchen, you can hear Oscar making a mess of something. Luckily, you’ve babylocked all the cabinets. The only thing he can possibly have reached is his own plastic cups. Toto turns his head towards the kitchen, and frowns.

“How was he today?” he asks quietly. You sigh, and sit down in Toto’s lap, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“It’s not getting any better.” Toto leans his head against your shoulder. For the past few weeks, you’ve had an issue with Oscar. Every time Toto leaves, whether it be for work or just a trip to the store, Oscar completely melts down. Screaming, crying, tantrums, everything. It’s destroying you, seeing your little boy so distraught every day.

“I wish I could do something,” Toto sighs. You run a hand over his back, soothingly.

“We’ll figure something out. He calmed down a little quicker today.” Toto sends you an unimpressed look.

“What,” he says dryly, “he calmed down after an hour and ten minutes instead of an hour fifteen?”

You roll your eyes, and are about to answer when a small hand pushes on your butt.

“Mommy!” Oscar says from the floor. “I sit papa!”

You can't help but laugh, and with a little kiss on Toto’s lips (and a few more tiny impatient taps on your behind from the meddling child), you get up from your husband's lap. Toto squeezes your hand, before letting go. Quickly, Oscar seizes his opportunity, and climbs onto his dad’s lap.

Proudly he presents his drawing to his father.

“Wow!” Toto says loudly, wide eyes watching the drawing. It’s just six really bad and messy circles, in a variety of colours. The circles have all gotten faces (clearly supervised by you), and names written under each (also done by you).

“Mommy, papa, Rosa, Benjamin, and Uncle Lewis,” Toto reads, as he points to each circle.  The nearly two years old boy squeals in delight, and points to one of the circles.

“Rosa, Rosa, Rosa!” He shouts. Toto laughs, and moves his son's finger from the Lewis circle, to the Rosa circle.

“This is Rosa,” he explains to the boy. Oscar doesn’t seem to care in the least. He continues to sing his sister's name loudly. Toto smiles. He’s happy all his children get along this well.

“You know, Rosa and Benjamin are coming over tomorrow. And papa doesn't have to go to work, because it's the weekend.” He knows Oscar doesn't understand all he says, but it feels good to say it. Two days before they next have to worry about another tantrum. It never sits quite right with Toto, having to ignore his screaming child each morning, leaving you alone to pick up the pieces. He hates it.

“And mommy is very happy about that,” you say with a smile, giving Toto a kiss, before moving into the kitchen.

“Oh, great,” you mutter, taking in the sight before you. While the baby locks worked, that hasn't stopped the little rascal from tearing out every single plastic cup and bowl in the house. And, to your utter disappointment (mostly in yourself for forgetting them on the counter), Oscar has somehow managed to tear down the four eggs you had laid out for the cake you were planning on making. They lay in a little puddle of sticky yolks and shells. The glorious and luxurious life of a toddler-mom.

—-----------

You always love when Rosa and Benjamin come over. The smile on Toto’s face when he is surrounded by all his kids could make any woman melt, you’re sure of it. And to see the two older kids play and entertain their brother warms you up. You couldn’t have gotten luckier in the step children department.

“Dinner was delicious, y/n!” Benjamin says, with a large grin. He looks just like a younger Toto as well. Very much like Oscar. Your baby is pushing green beans into his face with his chubby fingers.

“Thank you, Ben, but actually, your dad made dinner.” you explain, as you force Oscar to let go of the beans, and try to hand him his little fork. Rosa raises her eyebrows at your answer.

“Papa made this?” she gestures to the chicken on her plate. Then shakes her head. “No way.”

Toto looks a little shocked, and you can't help but laugh. The wide eyed expression from your husband moves to you, and you laugh harder.

“Rosa actually has a point though,” You say when you calm down. The girl grins and nods. Toto scofs.

“How?” He asks, looking between you and his daughter.

“You never cook!” Rosa shoots in from the side.

“When would I have the time, princess?” Toto turns back to his daughter with a raised eyebrow. Rosa just shrugs and shoves a green bean into her mouth (with a fork. Unlike Oscar, who is back to using his fists).

You send Toto a small smile. He has a point too. You know he loves to cook, but due to his busy schedule, it’s a rarity that Toto gets the time. You adore it when he does have the time though. He’s a great cook, and a passionate one at that. And there is just something about a sexy man in an apron. It’s a great look for him.

“No way, no way, no way,” Oscar chants from his high chair, seemingly very happy with his new expression. Around the table, everyone bursts into laughter. Oscar looks proud of himself, and continues chanting. Your eyes meet Toto’s across the table.

There is something soft in his gaze, the way his eyes seem to swallow you, and keep you. Heat flutters through your entire body. The look is broken when Ben asks Toto something. The devoted dad goes straight into explanatory mode, but every now and then, he shoots you a quick glance. It’s a promise of something more. Eye contact isn't everything you're getting today.

—---------------

You slowly close the door to Oscar’s room for the last time this evening. Oscar has been asleep for hours, but you still need to check. He’s your baby after all. Rosa and Benjamin have also both gone to bed, after having watched a movie with you and Toto.

A smile creeps onto your face, as you make your way to your bedroom. Every part of you knows what's waiting for you there. It’s been on Toto’s face all day. In every single look he’s given you, every seemingly accidental touch, and every soft kiss. You can feel yourself getting warmer just thinking about it.

The door to your room is partly open, and when you push it further, Toto is in bed. Already under the covers, a book in hand, glasses perched on his nose.

“Hi, old man,” you say teasingly as you crawl in beside him. Toto scoffs.

“Not that old.” He mutters, not taking his eyes off the book. You grin, and crawl closer. Slowly, you slide your hand over his bare torso.

“Not that old,” you agree, when his eyes finally meet yours. They’re darker than they've been all day. Wide and hungry. You feel flushed and heat surges through your entire body. The effect this man has on you. Slowly, almost painstakingly so, Toto leans down to you, and presses his lips to yours, almost teasingly.

“I’ve missed you today,” he whispers against your lips, his warm breath fanning your face. You can’t help but close your eyes. It’s almost embarrassing how weak you are. Desperately, you run both hands through Toto’s hair, and pull him down to you in a heated kiss. You feel him grinning, but you don’t care. It’s messy and hot. Your nose keeps bumping into his glasses. It’s impossible to keep from laughing, when Toto pulls away, and looks at you. His glasses are sitting diagonally on his face, and his hair is sticking straight up.

“You think it’s funny?” Toto’s voice is teasing, but you can hear something else underneath. It makes you sober up quickly. Toto removes his glasses, and puts them on the nightstand with his book. When he turns back, you barely have time to think, before he pounces. Your back is pressed hard against the mattress, as Toto leaves warm, sloppy kisses up your throat. One of his hands works it’s way under your shirt, he smirks when he feels you're not wearing a bra. The moan that escapes you would be embarrassing if this wasn’t your husband.

Your shirt disappears a few seconds later. Toto presses his body against you. His tall, lean frame presses against your smaller one. You can feel how hard he is, rubbing his clothed area against yours. You moan again, and begin tugging at the drawstrings on his pants.

Your hand has just made it’s way into his boxers, Toto uttering an almost animalistic sound, when the startling sounds of the baby monitor cuts through the tension.

“Papa, papa, papa.” You jump, pulling your hand back as if burned. Oscar's voice through the monitor keeps chanting. Toto groans, and puts his forehead against your shoulder. He groans again. You can’t help but giggle. And your giggle turns into full on laughing. The weight of Toto on top of you is not helping, as he’s pressing you chest. Your laughter is getting hysterical.

Your husband finally pushes onto his arms, lifting himself from you.

“You are a minx,” he tells you, while grinning. With a smile, you flutter your eyelashes at him. Toto finally gets out of bed, as the sound of Oscar’s chanting turns to sniffling that’ll soon turn to crying. Toto pulls a t-shirt over his head, keeping his eyes firmly on your bare chest.

Just before he’s leaving, he jumps back in bed, and kisses you hard.

“I am not an old man,” he whispers, “And I intend to prove that when I come back in five minutes.”

Then he disappeared out the door, and you’re left there, panting, while staring at the roof. What did you ever do to deserve such an amazing man? You can hear his voice through the baby monitor, and smile to yourself. This is the life.

[formula1andbeyond]

hey! can i make a request with pierre? where he and reader date and one day before the race she is very sick and goes to the hospital but asks no one to tell him. After the race when he finds out he runs to see her… sorry if it got too detailed! Thanks 💕💕

Finally got around to writing this! Really hope you like it, despite it being so delayed! :D

Right? - Pierre Gasly

[formula1andbeyond]

Right? - P. G.

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x Reader

Summary: Right before a race, Y/n, long time girlfriend of F1 driver Pierre Gasly, gets seriously ill, and is sent to the hospital. Pierre has to focus on the race, so it's totally okay not to tell him. Right?

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warning: Mentions illness, fainting and hospitals

Notes: First of all, I am so sorry for this delay. I know this request came a few months ago, but unfortunately, life has gotten in the way. Between getting covid and dealing with that, trying to finish school and just the stress that comes with attending boarding school and never having a moment to myself, my motivation to write has been below zero. But hopefully I’m back now, and can try to post more regularly (emphasis on try). I really enjoyed writing this at least, so that’s a good sign. Hope you enjoy! 

ALSO! My french is 100% google translate. Please feel free to correct me if something is horribly wrong.

Ever since you woke up this morning, there has been this weak throbbing behind your eyes. It sort of feels like your brain is pulsating. But you tell yourself it’s nothing. You’ve had migraines before. They’ve never gotten much worse than this, and they wear off once you eat. So instead of going to bed and rest, you put on a light summer dress, your favourite pair of shoes, and grab your boyfriend's hand.

Your headache doesn't let go throughout the morning. In the car to the track, it worsens. From only being a weak throbbing behind your eyes, it now feels like your brain is trying to burst out of your skull. But it’s manageable. You have to be supportive. Pierre is so excited. Of course he is. It is France, his home grandprix. This is the most important race for him. His whole family is here to watch. He’s almost bouncing behind the wheel. Still he notices how unnaturally quiet you are.

Normally on the way to races, you’ll talk, laugh and help Pierre keep his nerves in check. But not today. You can’t do much but focus your eyes on the road in front of the car. Moving too much makes your head spin.

“Amore, est-ce que tu vas bien?” He asks. Are you okay? You shake your head, flicking some hair from your face. The world spins. But there is no need to worry him unnecessarily. You smile widely in his direction.

“Yeah, of course. Just tired. I slept badly.”

Pierre sends you a quick glance, but keeps his eyes on the road as you pull into the parking lot. You can sense that he’s sceptical. As he parks the car, he grabs your hand, and squeezes it.

“You can sleep in my room,” he says, and kisses you hand. He doesn't press for more information. He knows you too well, you think, and force a smile onto your face. God, your head is swimming. Holding down the feeling of wanting to vomit, you get out of the car. Together with Pierre, you head into the Alpha Tauri hospitality, being greeted by many people you know along the way.

Pierre kisses your head, and helps you lay down on the sofa in his driver room. You sigh softly, your eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. In the background, you can hear Pierre speaking to someone.

“She’s not feeling too well,” he says. You want to protest. Pierre isn’t supposed to be worried. But you can’t even open your mouth, balancing in the area between awake and sleeping.

“I’ll keep an eye out for her.” You recognize the voice of Pyry Salmela, Pierre’s good friend and performance coach. You like Pyry. He’s nice. Then your head spins, and sleep overtakes you, knocking you out.

—----------

You have no idea where you are when you open your eyes at first. The room is completely dark. You blink a few times. Colourful stars dance through the space, but still you can't make out the shapes in the room. You feel sick, and force yourself to swallow the vomit that is making its way up your throat.

You feel around yourself as you sit up. Pierre’s drivers room. You recognize the feel of the awful coach. The light switch is by the door. Pierre must have turned the light off when he left. Blood is flowing behind your ears, sounding like screams through your head. God, you feel shit. As you walk, you have to keep a hand on the wall. It is so dark, and it’s like the floor is swinging back and forth, like the deck of a ship.

In the dark, the track to the door is abnormally long, but you reach it in the end. Pressing the light switch, you wait. And nothing. You press it again. Nothing. You flick it on and off a few times. Nothing. A lumb settles in your throat. You can feel fear creeping up your back.

Getting more and more stressed by the second, you fumble for the handle, and pull the door open. More darkness. You can feel your chest tightening. Head pounding. It’s like your body is trying to explode in on itself.

“Hello?” You whisper, tears running down your cheeks. In the distance you hear the familiar sound of a car starting up. You can’t focus beyond that. You call again. Your voice sounds weak, and you need to concentrate all your effort on not vomiting. A few steps forward, holding on to the wall. You need to find someone.

The floor still feels uneven under your feet. You're fully crying at this point, moving your head from side to side as you walk. The colourful spots are still dancing around your head.

“Y/n?” a voice says behind you. Still holding on to the wall, you turn around slowly, in the direction of the sound.  Someone is standing close to you.

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” the person asks again. You recognize the voice. Thank God.

“Pyry?” You whisper. A hand grasps your elbow softly.

“Hey, yeah. What’s wrong, y/n?” He asks. You feel your legs start shaking. You can barely keep yourself up anymore. You let out a sob.

“I- I can’t see anything,” you tell him, hoping you're looking even close to his face. Then your legs give out. The large man is lucky to grab you before you hit the floor.

“Shit” you hear him mutter. Your eyes feel so heavy. The vomit is coming back to you. Not able to hold it anymore, you roll away from Pyry, and just manage to stand up on all four, as the meagre breakfast you had earlier comes back up.

“Shit,” Pyry mutters again. You hear him call out, as you heave for your breath. “Hey! You! Call an ambulance! And get me some help.”

You feel numb, empty and tired. Pyry manages to sit you up against the wall, and forces some water down your throat. You nearly cough it up again, but once it goes down, it feels good. Your head still throbs.

“Should we tell Pierre? They just started the formation lap,” a voice you don’t recognize says some place above you.

“No,” you whisper. “No, don’t tell him.”

You have no idea what is happening around you, but before anyone can answer you, you can hear the sound of several feet coming closer.

“She’s here,” someone says, and suddenly you're surrounded by strangers, asking you questions in rapid french, moving you around.

“They want you to come with them to the hospital,” Pyry says, rubbing your hand. You agree quietly, and allow the large man to help you onto the stretcher. Once they start rolling you away, you fumble blindly for Pyry’s hand. He allows you to take it, but strokes a hand over your hair.

“I can’t go with you. But I'm going to get Pierre’s mother. She can come with you.”

You smile weakly. Pascale will join you. Pascale is nice. The best actually. She’ll take care of you. The stretcher starts rolling again, and you can feel yourself drifting out of consciousness. Just as you’re about to accept sleep, there is something in front of you. A light, something red in your side view. Your sight is coming back, right as you let sleep take you. No one stops you.

—----------

P4! Pierre is grinning so wide he’s surprised his head is still fitting inside the helmet! P4 is great! Exactly what he needed!

“Great job, Pierre! Really amazing!” his engineer shouts in his ear, as Pierre pulls into the pitlane. All around him, all he sees is the sea of french flags. His flag. His home. It’s a feeling like none other. He stops the car, and waits as his team removes the steering wheel, before jumping out of his car. For a few seconds, he pose for some photos by the car, before turning to the garage.

His eyes scan everyone. People are clapping his back, pulling him in for hugs and congratulating him left and right. But something is off. No one seems to quite want to meet his eyes.

“Pyry!” Pierre shouts, and greets his trainer, the two embracing.

“Great job, mate,” Pyry says, but his voice doesn’t sound quite right. Pierre tries to meet his friend's eyes, but no luck. The Frenchman spots his dad a few metres away. But not his mother. A cold lump settles in his stomach.

“Pyry, where is mama?” Pierre asks slowly. His eyes scan the area again. He feels dread creeping down his back. “And y/n? Pyry?”

The large man takes a deep breath. Pierre frowns. Finally, Pyry meets his eyes.

“Y/n got really sick. Like, really really sick. We sent her to the hospital. Your mom went with her.”

Pierre doesn’t need to hear more. At first he feels frozen to the floor. Then he’s moving, running through the garage, as he tries to pull off his race suit at the same time.

“Pierre,” his dad calls after him. Pierre is already in his room, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head, but freezes at the sound of his dad's voice.

“Papa-” the young man says, his voice breaking. Jean Jaques grabs his son’s shoulder.

“Je vais te conduire.” I’ll drive you. Pierre can only nod his thanks.

—---------

It feels like breaking the water, after having dived too deep down. It’s the only way to describe the relief in your body as you feel yourself awakening. The headache is gone. Left behind is only a slight numbness. Slowly, as if you’re afraid, you open your eyes. Millimetre after millimetre. Light floods your senses.

You let out a sigh of relief, as Pascale’s kind face comes into focus beside you. You can barely dare to blink. Afraid she’ll disappear. But she doesn’t. You’re about to say something, when the door is pulled open. And there he is. Your man. The only man for you. The love of your life.

Pierre lets out a visible sigh of relief when your eyes meet his. With determined steps, he walks closer until he’s right by your side. Suddenly he seems nervous. Pascale excuses herself, and exits the room. You barely register it.

“ ‘ello,” Pierre says, smiling a little. A tear rolls down your cheek.

“Hi,” you answer. Pierre gently strokes the tear away. Softly, as if scared he’s going to hurt you, Pierre leans down and barely touches his lips to yours. You chuckle, and whisper: “I can take a bit more than that.”

Pierre laughs loudly, and grins, but still presses his lips firmly to yours. It feels like heaven. Like coming back home after being away. You really love this man.

“I got really scared when papa told me-” Pierre begins. You shake your head. The worry and fear is written on his face.

“I’m sorry I didn't say anything.” You admit to him. He brushes some hair from your face. He’s leaning on the side of the bed, his face inches from yours.

“Why wouldn’t they tell me immediately? What if it had been something worse than a migraine. You could have been dying and I wouldn’t know it. I was just driving some stupid car around. It’s ridiculous. I’m stupid. Should have seen the signs this morning-”

You silence his rambling with a kiss.

“I’m not dying, my love.” You say, grasping his hand in yours. “None of this is your fault. I told them not to tell you. It’s your home grand prix. I wasn’t about to ruin that for you!”

Pierre shakes his head, and leans his forehead against yours. His hand squeezes yours hard, as if he’s worried you’ll disappear. You sigh in contentment, and close your eyes. Sitting here with PIerre, you’ve never felt safer. His warmth engulfs you, and his smell floods your senses.

It’s these moments, when he’s close to you, that you really remember how much you love him. Not that you don’t love him all the time, of course you do. But it’s easier to remember the feeling when he’s next to you, and not racing around on the other side of the planet. Your eyes shoot open in shock. You completely forgot!

“Your race! How did it go?” You ask hurriedly, wide eyes searching his. Pierre looks confused for a second. Then he grins. A wide, shit eating grin that makes your insides melt.

“P4.” He says, slowly, just for you. A shout escapes you. Not caring much that you’re weak and sick, you throw your arms around him, pulling him down on the bed.

“P4 Pierre! That is amazing! Why didn't you say that?” Pierre just laughs and kisses you hard on the lips.

“We heard shouting-” Pascale enters the room, Jean Jaques and two nurses right behind her. Pierre pulls away from you, blushing.

“He got P4!” You say, a big grin on your face. Pascale gasps, and runs forward to hug her son. You can’t help but feel a few tears trickle down your cheeks. It’s been a long day. But this news, this ending, it’s so worth it. Despite you currently being in the hospital, you’re just happy you're here with Pierre. It could have been a dusty attic for all you care. As Pierre grabs your hand again, you know you are home.

[formula1andbeyond]

Picking up the pieces - G.R.

Pairing: George Russell x Williams!Reader

Summary: After the loss of your grandpa, formula 1 legend Frank Williams, you call the only person you can think of. George. But nearly two months after your break up, will this affect anything?

Wordcount: 1.8k

Warning: Post break up, mentions of death, sad!George, swearing

Notes: Sorry for not being active for a while. School. Anyway, this has been laying in my drafts for a while, but I figured I could just release it now. So enjoy my first George Russell fanfic!

George clutches his phone with both hands. His whole body is frozen, the small black bubble of your message still lighting up his phone. He can barely breathe, his focus shifting in and out. This isn’t possible. He blinks. No, your message is still there. Three small words.

Y/n: Grandpa is dead.

He reads it over and over again. Ignoring the fact that the last time you texted him was more than a month ago. His thumbs move without thinking. Sending the only thing he can. The only thing he wants to say.

George: I’ll be right over.

George is out of his chair, and pulling on shoes and jacket in just a few seconds. He’s never been more happy that your apartment is only a few minutes walk from his own. He runs the entire way. Less than five minutes after sending you the text, he knocks on your door. Anxiety suddenly takes hold of him. The two of you haven’t spoken in over a month. Perhaps you don't want him to come.

But he’s already knocked, and it’s too late to take it back. Behind the door he hears some soft shuffling, and the lock turning. He inhales, just as the door opens, and you come into view.

You look tired. Your eyes are red, and your face slightly puffy from crying. George takes half a second to note that you’re wearing his hoodie, before he talks.

“Hi,” Is all he manages to say. It’s like watching something crumble in slow motion, as your eyes well up with tears.

“Hi.” you sniffle. George doesn’t waste a second. With one step, he’s inside the apartment, wrapping his long arms around you and pulling you to him. He can feel you shake as the sobs echo through your body. A single tear falls from his own eyes, as he kisses the top of your head and mutters soft words.

After a few minutes, you quiet down, and push slightly away from George. You wipe your nose on your sleeve.

“Sorry.”

George just shakes his head. You don't have to say sorry. Your grandpa just died. Frank Williams might have been one of George’s biggest idols, but he was your family.

George manages to lead you to the coach, finally taking off his shoes and jacket. He knows how particular you are about removing your shoes before entering the apartment. In his socks, George shuffles around, making two cups of tea, and pulling out a pack of your favourite cookies. He’s been here so many times he knows where everything is.

The two of you sit in silence as you sip the tea. It’s hot, but clearly what you need. George can see your eyes drying, and only soft sniffles erupt from you every now and then. He takes a breath, and speaks.

“When did it happen?” you jump, as if you’ve forgotten he’s even there. George doesn’t take it personal.

“Um, I texted you as soon as mom called.” George nods. You bite your lip and look down, then continue. “I wasn’t sure you would come.”

George sighs. Deeply. He runs a hand over his face, as if he’s annoyed. Then he looks at you.

“Of course I would come, y/n. God, you know I always come when you call.” You nod, not meeting his eyes. George can see your throat move as you swallow hard, clutching your teacup. Whether it’s for warmth or comfort, he can’t tell.

“Grandpa was very upset when I told him about the- Uh, break up. He said I was stupid.” You say, finally meeting George’s eyes. Yours are soft and red and scared. His are secure and steady, but filled with something you don't recognize.

“I agree,” is all George says. You cuckle dryly, and roll your eyes a little.

“Seriously, George, we ca-”

“I’m going to another team! I’m not going to war!”

“George…” you sigh. He gets up from his chair, and sits down next to you on the couch, grasping both your hands.

“Please, y/n. I love you!” your eyes well up with tears once again.

“I love you too,” you whisper. “But I can’t do this. Not today. Please, not today.”

George swallows thickly, but nods. It feels like something is stuck in his throat, like he can’t speak. Instead, he drops both your hands, and stands up quickly. You feel cold immediately.

“More tea,” George croakes out, his voice hoarse, and then he disappeared into the kitchen. You sit for a second, before following him. Your slipper clad feet are quiet against the floor. You dont think George hears you. He’s leaning against the kitchen counter, his back to you. The kettle is boiling beside him. You see his shoulder shake. You made him cry.

“George..” you whisper. He takes a deep breath and straightens.

“I shouldn’t have come over.” he says hurriedly, before turning around and nearly bolting past you. You call his name again, following him into the hall. Tears are slipping down your face.

“I’m sorry!” you choke out. George straightens and looks at you.

“You keep saying that, y/n! And yet you broke up with me. Why?”

“I- George, can you honestly say nothing will change between us when you join Mercedes? I am just saving both of us a lot of pain by ending this now!”

“Of course things will change! But god, y/n! At least I’m willing to try.” he checks his watch. And mumbles. “I have to leave. My plane departs early tomorrow. I'm just going to assume you won't be coming to the race in Saudi Arabia.”

You shake your head, confirming his statement. George ties his scarf around his neck, and opens the door. Just before he closes it behind him, his eyes meet yours.

“Sorry for your loss.” he says, and then the door closes. As the lock clicks into place, you break. Sliding down against the wall, sobs shake your body, nearly choking you. From the kitchen you can hear the kettle wailing, the water boiling. You just can't seem to care. This feeling of utter despair and emptiness is new to you, but it feels like it’ll never leave. You just made everything worse.

————

You watch the Saudi Arabian gp from the safety of your couch, tucked under a thick blanket, wearing George’s hoodie and eating ice cream. December be damned, you needed this.

When George crashes out, you want to throw up. In that moment, you realise the unbelievable mistake you’ve made. He might be hurt, and you’re not there! You’re not there for him! On instinct, you pick up your phone, then think the better of it. He probably doesn’t want to hear from you right now. Tears slip down your face. George could have gotten seriously hurt today. And you’ve just thrown him away like nothing. You sniffle. No matter how much you regret everything you’ve done, George deserves better than you.

A few hours later, as you're half sleeping, half watching a movie, dried tears on your cheeks, a message pings into your phone. The moment you realise it’s George, you’re fully awake and sitting up.

George: I’m stopping by tomorrow evening.

No more, no less. Shakily, you reply with a little «okay», and close your eyes. Clearly George wants to talk. And you can do that. You have to do it!

————

You’re a nervous wreck. George could be here any minute. During the day, all you’ve managed to do is clean, and then clean again, and then a little tidying. It feels ridiculous. This is George!

George is supposed to be easy. Your best friend. The guy who knows all your secrets, who you’ve spent all your spare time the last three years with. You hate feeling nervous about him.

A quarter to seven, there’s a knock on the door. It’s pouring down with rain outside, as it can only do in England in December. You pull open the door quickly, not giving yourself time to overthink the situation. Outside, a dripping wet George is standing, brown hair falling into his eyes like seaweed. You inhale sharply.

“George-” He shakes his head, and mumbles for you to be quiet. All you can do is step back, and show him into the apartment. You're about to speak up again as you close the door, but George gets to it before you.

“y/n,” he says. You nod, and watch him with wide eyes. His eyes meet yours. Blue eyes piercing you. There is an intensity there that you’ve never seen in him before. He steps closer. On instinct, you take a step back, but hit the wall. George swallows.

“I had a lot of things I wanted to say,» he whispers, as he peers down at you. «I was so fucking angry! But now I don’t remember a single thing, because I just want to kiss you, so so bad,”

Without thinking, you nod. George moves slowly, caressing your face with his hand, before cupping your face. He whispers: “No going back now.”

The kiss is hard and desperate, like he’d a dying man grasping for breath. George is shifting his anger, showing you his feeling through the kiss. It’s intense. The most intense one you’ve ever shared.

After you come up for air, the kiss changes. It’s suddenly soft, and warm and exactly like you remember. You try to pour all your emotions into it. Proving how sorry you are for breaking up, how much you miss him, how much that crash scared you. George pulls slightly away, still cupping your face with both of his hands.

“That crash-” you being. George shushes you.

“It was nothing, love. I’m fine,” he whispers. A tear slips from your eyes, and you sniffle.

“But it could have been something! And all I could think about was how I had thrown away our entire relationship over something stupid. I hate myself for it.” George is shaking his head slowly, drying your tears with his thumbs.

“Shhh, love. You haven't thrown anything away. I’m still here. I’ll always be here.” He kisses you again then. You can taste the salt from your own tears, but they drown away in the incredible feeling of love George is pouring over you. You can’t help but smile.

“I missed you!” You say as you pull away. George wraps his long arms around your waist, pulling you close. You hug him back, and feel him press a kiss to the crown of your head.

“I missed you too, love. So, so much!”

—---------------

Later that week, you attend your grandfather's funeral, George at your side. He holds your hand through the whole thing, never letting go. He hugs your mum and step dad, and greets your little brother. It’s like nothing has ever happened.

You miss your grandfather, but it’s like you can feel him send you his trademark smile, telling you he’s proud. You fixed what you had broken, and you continued with your life. Just like your grandfather always did.

You accompany George to Abu Dhabi that weekend, grinning and laughing when people tell you they’re not surprised the two of you are together again.

“There wasn’t a chance in hell you two wouldn’t get back together,” Nicholas says with a grin as he greets you in the paddock.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks for convincing me to text her,” George says with a grin. You laugh. Of course Nico had something to do with it. The Canadian grin.

“What are teammates for? Let’s enjoy this one last weekend, man.”

You watch the two men greet their team. Your team. Your family. Everyone is smiling, laughing at something George said. It feels like home. And yes, next year will be different. But you’ll manage. You always do. You’ve tried living without George, and you know now, you never want to experience that again. Ever.

[formula1andbeyond]

Hey ☺️ Can I request a Pierre one ? Where you have a 3 years old little boy from a prev relationship and really scared how pierres family will react boy that instantly fall in love with him just like he did?🥰

A perfect man - P.G.

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x Reader

Summary: Ferrari worker and single mom y/n’s whole life changes when she meets the sweet and charismatic Pierre Gasly. He embraces her and her past immediately, but y/n worries that his family won’t do the same.

Wordcount: 2.4k

Warning: Fluff! Accusations of cheating,

Notes: Okay… so I got a little bit carried away with this. But it was so much fun! I really hope you enjoy reading this, even if I might have missed a bit on the request? Also, I hope I hit Pierre’s personality somewhat. I haven't written anything for him before. My French also sucks (embarrassing since I took lessons for five years), so I hope the absolutely minuscule amount in here is correct, hahaha. Enjoy!

A lot of people had told you it was stupid, ridiculous even, to be a single parent at just nineteen years old. Your own parents had looked at you with disgust, as they gave you an hour to pack your stuff and leave their house. No child of theirs could ever be part of such a scandal. Your boyfriend had denied it. Said it couldn’t be possible for him to be a dad. He told everyone you knew that you had cheated on him, and gotten knocked up. Even your friends turned against you.

So you had left. You, your suitcase and the barely visible bump on your belly. It had taken a few weeks of couch surfing, before a distant friend of yours had put you in contact with her cousin, who had a room to spare.

That was how you’d been introduced to Angela Cullen, and the unbelievable, fast-paced world of F1. Angela had tried to get you a job at Mercedes, to no avail. There were no jobs left with them. But, as you were sending out resumes left and right to every store and coffee shop in the world (at least it felt like that), Angela had managed to get you a job. It was small. A coffee barista for Ferrari f1’s hospitality. But it was something, and you happily joined the circus. Not once did you look back.

It was incredibly fun, getting to see so much of the world, and earning money while you did it. The people you worked with were kind and helpful and understanding. Even the drivers were smiley and funny and took the time to get to know you.

When Noah, your son, was born, you thought your days at F1 were over. How would it be possible to travel with such a small child? But the team gathered around you. They knew how much you needed this job. With the help of all your colleagues and Angela, you managed to continue your job with the team, as well as care for your son. And that was how you met him.

The driver that would soon occupy every thought you had. The man who’s smile lighted up the entire paddock, and who always seemed to have time to talk to the smallest of workers. And even though you for the firs few months only watched him from a distance, there was something about that. Pierre Gasly just had this magnetic energy about him.

—-------------

It had been a pretty normal day, the first time you spoke to Pierre. Friday before the season opener in Melbourne. It was a big one. You and Noah had been hanging out behind the counter of the Ferrari coffee bar, and you were fussing about his tiny red ferrari shirt. A gift from one of your co-workers. A real ferrari fan from day one, you thought and smiled. It was hard to believe he was already six months old. Time really did fly.

“Hey, y/n!” A familiar voice said. You stood up, and smiled at Charles Leclerc, one of the drivers for your team.

“Hi! The usual?” You asked him, and he nodded, as he walked around the counter. You sent him a mock scold when he picked Noah from his chair. The small boy babbled happily, as Charles bounced him slightly.

“He’s getting big,” the monégasque pointed out. You were about to answer, when Chales got distracted, turning away from you. He waved his hand. You looked towards the door, and froze instantly. Pierre Gasly was standing in the door, looking around a little worried. Charles beckoned his friend inside. A panicked feeling began rising inside you.

Had Charles somehow learned of your stupid crush on the french driver? Was he mocking you? Not that you had ever actually talked to Pierre. But he was hot. Like, ridiculously so. And he seemed so sweet. And had a nice smile. A very nice smile.

“This is y/n, who I told you about! And her son, Noah,” Charles introduced you. Charles had talked about you? Why would he do that? Your mind briefly wondered if all the drivers had been told about the stupid ferrari barista who got knocked up at nineteen, but that wasn’t Charles’ style.

Pierre turned his smile to you, and all your worries melted away. No way Chalres had said anything rude about you.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Pierre,” Pierre told you, holding out a long, slender hand. You were about to answer when the milk frother suddenly gurgled, and spat milk in every direction, splashing you down. You groaned and blushed, as Charles laughed, and Noah babbled. So much for making a good first impression. You grabbed some paper from the counter, and began wiping your face.

“Here- I’ll help,” suddenly, Pierre was beside you, grabbing some paper as well, and drying the counter, helping you clean up the mess. You blushed even more. “Thank you.”

Pierre and your friendship only went up from there. He was the sweetest you could ask for. Always helping with Noah, or just stopping by to check on you. Your crush never dwindled, but at least it settled. You could look at Pierre without blushing now, which was a success.

Charles would sometimes tease the two of you, calling you a family or Pierre a dad, joking around with it. You always pretended that it didn’t bother you, but you knew what you wanted. Pierre was just perfect. He hung out with Noah all the time. He was there for his first word (Car) and his first steps. Helped you care for him, played for him, even fed him and changed his diapers. And of course showered him in Alpha Tauri merch. Charles was quick to cover it all in Ferrari merch again. Noah even had his own name for Pierre, calling him Pipie. How could you not like a man like that?

Unfortunately, your pretend bliss couldn’t continue, and a little after Noah’s third birthday, something changed. You and Pierre were cleaning up the kitchen of his apartment, where you’d hosted a get together for Noah. The boy in question was sitting on the floor, crashing his toy F1 cars (courtesy of Charles, of course) into each other. A big yawn from the small boy made you laugh.

“I think it’s bedtime, baby,” You said to your boy, leaning down to grab him. But Noah shook his head hard.

“NO!” He shouted, and pointed to Pierre, “Papa!”

Both you and Pierre froze. That definitely wasn't PiPie. Neither of you could even pretend that it was. Noah shouted a few more times, looking between the shocked adults. Pierre, clearly sensing the beginning of a tantrum, snapped out of his shock, and picked up the small boy. They disappeared into the guest room, and you could hear Noah happily talking about something you didn’t understand.

Later you had no memory of when you sat down on the couch, but there you were, Pierre handing you a glass of water.

“So-” He began. You cut him off.

“Pierre, I am so, so sorry- I swear I’ve never told him to say that. He must have heard Charles joking about it or something. I-”

“Y/n, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not. I’ll find a way to tell him to stop.” Pierre swallowed hard, looking into your eyes.

“You don’t have to.” He said. You were stunned, blinking slowly at your friend. Pierre grabbed your hand in his. Nervously, he played with your fingers. He continued talking.

“Listen. This- eh, us. I think Charles has a point. I mean, we just arranged a birthday party for a three year old together. And Noah. I love him so much! Every minute I spend with him is perfect. And that little boy deserves a dad. Not that I don’t think you’re doing an amazing job alone, because you are! But you don’t have to.”

Tears were streaming down your face. How did such a perfect man even exist? Was it legal to be this perfect? You sniffed, as Pierre raised a hand, and brushed some tears from your check. His large hand cupped your jaw. A breath caught in your throat, as his green eyes met your watery ones. Your quick look at his lips was all Pierre needed. Suddenly, his soft lips were on yours and all other thoughts left your head.

After that day, there were no questions. Pierre dived head first into his duties as boyfriend and papa. He continued to be even more perfect than he had been before. Noah seemed to adore him even more, and you felt like the luckiest girl alive.

When the 2021 season came towards an end, you felt the looming presence of Christmas slowly inching closer. You really didn’t want to intrude on Angela’s holiday again. That woman had already done more than enough for you in the last few years. And you, like the coward you were, didn’t want to bring it up with Pierre. You hadn’t dated for that long, and he was probably going home to his family.

In Saudi Arabia, you watched the race with your heart in your throat. The insane ending left you completely speechless. Same with most of the team. But that didn’t stop complet madness from erupting when Carlos got P3, earning the team the much awaited third in the constructors championship. You laughed and celebrated with the others, when someone nudged you from the side.

“Your man’s getting interviewed,” a friend of yours said. You looked to where she was pointing, and saw Pierre walking towards a sky sports interview. With Noah on your hip (he was almost too big now), you walked closer, standing off to the side with a proud smile.

“So, Pierre. What will you do now? Any holiday plans?” the interviewer asked him. Pierre smiled, and shot you a look.

“Yeah, actually. I’m spending Christmas with my family. I want to show my girlfriend France, and where I’m from. We haven’t had the time to go there yet. And Noah should start learning French soon,” he said and laughed. You blushed. Guess that was Christmas solved.

—-----------------

When the day for departure to France actually was upon you, you lost all your confidence. What would Pierre’s family say? You knew Pierre was fine with you having a child from an earlier relationship. But what would his family say? You didn't know them! Despite Pierre’s constant reassurance, you were a nervous wreck. Even Noah picked up on your energy, resulting in him getting antsy and moody.

“I’m sorry,” you groaned, as Pierre once again had to distract Noah away from a tantrum. You rubbed your eyes. “I’m a terrible mother!”

Your boyfriend shook his head, and wrapped an arm around you.

“You are the most amazing mother, amore. Now, please don’t be nervous. I promise my family won't bite.” You laughed a little. Pierre smiled softly, and kissed your head.

“It’s just-”

“Y/n…”

“But what if-”

“No, y/n! I promise my family will love you and Noah just as much as I do. Maybe even more. My mother loves children. And she’s seen tons of pictures of him. My whole family has been begging to meet the two of you. I promise.”

With that as your reassurance, you boarded the plane, and took off towards France. There was no backing down. Noah bounced happily on your lap. He was very used to planes, especially for such a young child. And you, of course, were very used to travelling with a child. You dreaded him getting old enough to start running away at airports.

The plane touched down in France way faster than you had wanted. Biting your lip, you let Pierre handle the luggage, as you wrestled Noah away from the tax free store. He really didn't need all that candy, especially if what Pierre had said about his mothers cooking was true. Before you knew it, the three of you were walking out of the baggage claim.

You were clutching Noah in one hand, and your suitcase in the other. Pierre had his free hand loosely on your back. Outside, the sun was shining, despite the slight cold. Even before she could see the three of you, you found Pierre’s mother in the crowd. You had seen enough photos of her to know how she looked. Her eyes widened, and a grin spread across her face when she saw your little family. Tugging at Pierre’s dad, she walked towards you, arms wide.

You watched with a little smile, as mother and son reunited. The two of them looked sweet, and the smile on Pierre’s face was everything. Once Pascale managed to let go of her son, she turned to you and yours.

“You must be y/n!” She said, grabbing your hands. You nodded once, too nervous to speak. Pascale grinned. “I’ve been waiting so long to meet you. Pierre barely talks about anything else. I’m Pascale, and this is my husband Jean.”

“Nice to meet you-” You stuttered out. Pascale kissed your cheeks, then turned her attention down. Noah was clutching your leg, looking wide eyed at the two new adults. Pascale crouched down to him.

“Bonjour, mon chérie. My name is Pascale. But please call me Mamé.” Noah looked up at you, eyes wide. You nodded with a little smile.

“Mamé?” Noah tried the new word in his mouth. The french pronunciation not quite fitting into his mouth. But it sounded adorable. Pierre’s dad chuckled.

“He will get it soon,” the large man said, and turned to you. “The whole family is waiting for you at home. I hope that is alright. I also made sure to install a car seat in the car. We weren’t sure if you were bringing one.”

Tears began filling your eyes. What had you done to deserve this? Why were these complete strangers so nice to you? Your own family didn't even want you, yet these people did. You felt completely overwhelmed and thankful.

“Thank you,” You said with a smile, and Jean nodded to you. Noah had already started walking towards the car, clutching Pascale’s hand and talking non stop. He was a very trusting child. Jean began following them, pulling your suitcase as he muttered about him being the one with the car keys. You chuckled. A hand snaked its way around your waist. With a content sigh, you leaned into Pierre, and met his eyes. They twinkled down to you. He kissed your forehead softly.

“Do you believe me now, amore? They will love you. Just like I do.”

[formula1andbeyond]

My Masterlist

I write for most of the drivers, and a few other people on the grid as well!

Lewis Hamilton - 1

Carlos Sainz Jr - 1

Pierre Gasly - 2

George Russell - 1

Toto Wolff - 2

Mick Schumacher - 1

F1 drivers

...

Lewis Hamilton

Hold my hand ~ When you see your toxic ex at the store, you enlist the help of the first person you see. Who of course ends up being several times formula 1 world champion, and super sexy man, Lewis Hamilton.

...

Lando Norris

…

Carlos Sainz Jr

Favourite colour - social media AU. You are Oscar Piastri’s older sister, who decided to wear blue to a race. Carlos Sainz accidentally mistakes you for a Williams crew member. Hilarity ensues.

…

Pierre Gasly

A perfect man ~ Ferrari worker and single mom y/n’s whole life changes when she meets the sweet and charismatic Pierre Gasly. He embraces her and her past immediately, but y/n worries that his family won’t do the same.

Right? ~ Right before a race, Y/n, long time girlfriend of F1 driver Pierre Gasly, gets seriously ill, and is sent to the hospital. Pierre has to focus on the race, so it's totally okay not to tell him. Right?

 … 

George Russell

Picking up the pieces ~ After the loss of your grandpa, formula 1 legend Frank Williams, you call the only person you can think of. George. But nearly two months after your break up, will this affect anything?

----------------- 

Others:

...

Toto Wolff

Queen of the paddock ~ Y/n is pregnant, with her husband Toto and her best friend Lewis taking it very seriously. A bit more seriously than what she likes.

This is the life - Domestic fluff. Y/n and Toto spend some time together with their baby boy, and Toto’s other children.

...

Mick Schumacher

A holiday to remember ~ While spending Christmas at your family cabin, you befriend the guy next door. Unknown to you, he’s not just the great skier you think he is. He’s a world famous racer...

[formula1andbeyond]

Hi! Just found your blog, can you make one of Toto and reader where y/n is pregnant and goes with him to every race and gets spoiled by Lewis.

Thaaank you!

Queen of the paddock - T.W.

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Reader / Lewis Hamilton x best friend! Reader

Summary: Y/n is pregnant, with her husband Toto and her best friend Lewis taking it very seriously. A bit more seriously than what she likes.

Wordcount: 1k

Warning: Fluff! Worried!Lewis

Notes: My first request! Sorry it’s a bit short... I still really hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! :-D

You shiver slightly, and rub your arms. It’s not cold, but the evening is dawning. You smile against the stunning sunset. It’s unbelievably beautiful. Nothing like the sunsets back home, you think. This one just seem- brighter, somehow. A hand gently grasps your elbow.

“Hey, are you cold?” It’s Lewis, looking down at you with worried eyes. You roll your own, and shake your head at him. He's such a worrier. Lewis doesn't seem convinced. He’s about to say something again, but you stop him.

“Lewis, I’m good. We’re both good. My jacket is right over there anyway.” Your childhood best friend looks to where you’re pointing, and visibly relaxes. It’s not exactly a thick jacket, but it’s enough. It’s still nearly 22 degrees celsius outside.

“I just have to make sure my god-child is being taken care of.” Lewis states. You laugh. Ever since Lewis found out you were expecting, he’s been all over you, spoiling you. And worrying. It’s sweet and a bit annoying.

“First of all, he’s not born yet. Second, why do you think you’ll be godfather? Perhaps Toto has other plans?” You challenge with a raised eyebrow. Lewis chuckles and shakes his head.

“Toto loves me. He’ll grant me this.” You both look over to where your husband of five years is standing. As if he’s sensing you watching, he turns towards the two of you, and grins. You can’t help but smile back. God, he’s handsome, this man of yours.

Toto’s suit pants hug his bum just right, and the white shirt he’s wearing shows of the broadness of his back. You feel yourself getting a little hot and bothered, just by Toto’s look. Damn you hate pregnancy hormones. You shiver again. You can see Toto catching it. Lewis immediately grabs your jacket and hands it to you. You're about to protest, but a single look from your friend silences you.

You pull the jacket over yourself, and send Lewis a look that asks if he’s pleased. He nods once. Finally, you think to yourself. You lean down as far as you can, and try to scratch your ankle. Lewis jumps into action.

“I’ll get you a chair,” he decides, and is halfway through the garage before you can say a word. A little shocked, you laugh. You’re following your friend with your eyes, when a shadow falls over you. Looking up, you find yourself staring straight into Toto’s eyes. He looks incredibly handsome, and you grin up at your husband. Toto grabs your small hand in his large one.

“I’m glad Lewis is taking care of you,” he says, and presses a kiss to your knuckles. You roll your eyes. It’s like these men think you’re made of glass. Toto continues talking. “You’re eight months pregnant. Perhaps you should sit down-”

“Way ahead of you,” Lewis says, as he places a chair beside you. It looks like one of the chairs you find somewhere in hospitality. No, it actually looks like the one from Lewis’ drivers room. Why is he like this?

You frown slightly. Being a burden is your worst nightmare. You just wish everyone could move around, not having to help you. But these men are spending way too much of their time taking care of you. They should be planning their race. It’s a big one. You tell them just that. Toto sighs.

“My darling,” he says, “You’re carrying my child. I would gladly lose a race if it means you and the baby are alright. So, please, sit down and allow us to spoil you a little.”

Your eyes soften, and you nod. Toto always knows just what to say to turn you into a puddle. Or it’s just the stupid hormones again. But you’re definitely thankful for your amazing husband.

Toto nudges you a little, and you realise you’re still standing up. Lewis offers you his hand to help you sit down, but you just glare at him. You’re pregnant, not dying. He raises both hands in mock surrender.

Once you sit down, you notice how sore your feet actually are. You don't want the men to know that, but the weight being lifted from your feet makes you involuntary groan. Toto is kneeling in front of you in a millisecond.

“Something wrong?” He asks, worried eyes searching your face. You send him a look that shows just how done you are with their worrying, and shove his shoulder gently. He’s sweet. And overdramatic.

“Go plan your race! I’ll sit right here, and drink this water that has magically appeared. I promise.” The men share a nervous look between them. You play with your water bottle, and sulk down in your chair. Finally they seem to get that they’re annoying you. Toto leans down, and gently nudges your head back with his hand. He places a soft kiss on your lips, then steps away. Lewis is right behind, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“Are you sure you don’t need-”

“Lewis, I swear to god!”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving!” He says, and hurries away. A few of the mechanics around you laugh. You can’t help but smile. These men truly care for you. They’re willing to risk everything for you. Not that you’ll allow that. But it’s still sweet.

With a sigh, and a small smile, you open your water bottle, take a sip, and lean back. A little grin settles over your face, and you can’t help but wonder if Toto will be willing to give you a massage later. Your shoulders are a bit tense after all.

Later that evening, after a superior victory from Lewis that left everyone stunned, you’re lying in bed, scrolling through instagram. You stop at a photo taken by Kym Illman, one of the photographers in the paddock. It’s a photo of you, sitting in your chair. Toto is kneeling in front of you, and Lewis is standing protectively next to you. The caption under the photo makes you laugh out loud.

THE QUEEN OF THE PADDOCK.

There is no question who really runs the Mercedes team. Y/n Wolff has both the team principal and the driver wrapped securely around her finger. And it doesn’t seem like they mind one bit.

[formula1andbeyond]

Hold my hand? - L.H.

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x reader

Summary: When you see your toxic ex at the store, you enlist the help of the first person you see. Who of course ends up being several times formula 1 world champion, and super sexy man, Lewis Hamilton.

Wordcount: 1.5k

Warnings: Some swearing. Mentions abuse (just a question)

Notes: First Hamilton fic! FLUFF! Just needed to write out some feelings after yesterday’s race. Also, wrote this in like, an hour. Not proof read. 

—-----------

“Okay, I know this is out of the blue, but could you just, eh- hold my hand?”

“What?” The extremely handsome, very tall, very fit guy asks, as he raises a perfect eyebrow at you. You blush to the roots of your hair.

“My ex is over there. Can I just, god this is weird, but can I just hold your hand until he leaves?” The guy looks behind you, eyes searching. You can feel yourself start to sweat. This is extremely embarrassing. You must seem like such an idiot to this god-like man you just met at the grocery store. This was a stupid idea. But before you can run away and hide in shame forever, he takes your hand in his tan one, grasping it firmly. You’re glued to the spot.

“Just til he leaves,” the guy says, then turns back to the shelf, looking at the various types of pesto. You just stand there. Your face feels warm and your palm sweaty. You just hope the guy doesn’t mind. He takes two jars of pesto down. “Which one is best?”

You have no idea. You like pesto, but these are fancy types. You usually just buy the cheapest. So you just point. The guy chuckles, but adds it to his basket. Suddenly, he tugs at your hand, pulling you to him, so that you're right up against his side.

“That him?” He asks, with a subtle nod to the left. You quickly glance over, then nod. Yeah. Your ex. Stupid, cheating, asshole, lying ex. Your saviour speaks again. “He looks like an asshole.”

You can’t help but laugh. The guy grins down at you, seemingly pleased with himself. His smile knocks the air out of you. God, he’s handsome. You can sense your ex coming closer. Instinctively, you wrap your other hand around your new friend's biceps. It’s like he’s sensing how uncomfortable you are, because he puts down his basket, puts both his hands on your hips, and turns you around, so that your back is against the shelf, and your view of the store is blocked by his large frame.

Your breath catches in your throat, as a fiery blush cascades down your face and neck. God this guy is fit. It’s like being stuck between a shelf and a wall. Handsome-man leans close, whispering.

“That relationship didn't end well, did it?” He asks. You shake your head nervously. “He cheated?”

You nod. Your new guy is clearly extremely perspective. You can see anger flash over his face, and you nearly flinch. He catches that. His brows furrow, and he frowns.

“Was he abusive?”

“No-,” you said. Which was true. “He just got a bit, loud- sometimes.”

Your friend looks around the two of you. He still has your view of the store blocked.

“He just left.” The guy states. You nod. Neither of you move. You bite your lip, and avoid his eyes. They’re deep brown, and intense. Very intense. “I’m Lewis, by the way.”

You meet his eyes, finally. “Y/N”

It takes a few more seconds of Lewis studying your face, before he lets go of your hips, and takes a step back. You miss his warmth immediately. He looks around, and frowns.

“Something wrong?” You ask him. Lewis turns back to you with a smile.

“No, it’s nothing. Hey, give me your phone.” You raise an eyebrow. Lewis chuckles and smiles at you. “I’m adding my number. If you need someone to hold your hand again.”

When he’s done typing his number, he winks at you, and walks away. You're left all alone in the pasta sauce aisle, back against a row of pesto sauces as you take a few calming breaths. What the fuck just happened?

—---------------------

“So… Want to explain?” Lewis groans, and rubs his face. He’s sitting in a meeting room, Angela and Jade, his PR coordinator, both staring him down with their hands on their hips. If he wasn’t annoyed, he would have laughed at how similar they looked.

“I just met her at the grocery store. She had a creepy ex following her.” Both women sigh. Jade picks up one of the five magazines in front of him. “Playboy-Hamilton seen with a third girl this week.”

“I’m aware that it doesn’t look good, but I swear-” His phone pings, cutting of his sentence. Angela sighs loudly as he picks it up.

“Oh, fuck…” is all Lewis manages to say.

Y/N: YOU’RE FAMOUS???

—-------------------

You pace the length of your tiny living room. Your best friend, Layla, is sitting on the couch, flipping the pages of the gossip magazine she brought over to your apartment.

“I can’t believe you made out with Lewis Hamilton in a grocery store and didn’t tell me,” she says, nonchalantly.

“I didn’t make out with him! He just helped me hide from Evan.”

“And gave you his number. He at least wants to make out.” You send Layla a look that simply means shut up. She rolls her eyes, and smirks. Your phone starts vibrating in your hand, the screen lighting up with Lewis’ name. You and Layla share a panicked look, before she grabs the phone and accepts the call. She presses the phone to your ear as you try to push her away. The phone drops to the floor in the process.

“Y/N? Hello?” Lewis asks through the phone. Swallowing hard, you pick up the phone.

“Hi,” you answer, trying to sound calm. Lewis sighs in relief.

“Y/n, I am so sorry!” He says, actually sounding genuine. Your heart speeds up slightly.

“I feel extremely dumb.” You admit to him, as Layla rolls her eyes.

“Don’t! Trust me, it was actually incredibly nice not being recognized. But I should have been more careful about other people surrounding us. I just wanted to-” Behind Lewis, someone cuts him off, a muffled voice saying things you can’t hear.

“I won't do that-” Lewis protests, not to you. The person speaks again. And Lewis sighs hard. After a beat he speaks up again.

“My PR coordinator, Jade, wants you to sign a sort of, eh- non disclosure agreement. Just to ensure you won't speak about yesterday.” Your heart drops to your feet as a frown settles on your features. They think you’ll speak about this? That you’ll drag Lewis name through the mud after he was so nice to you. It feels like a punch in the gut.

“Trust me,” you spit out, sounding angrier than intended, “I won't say anything.”

Then you hang up quickly, and collapse onto the couch, Layla rubbing your arm slowly.

—-----------------------

It takes two weeks before you hear anything from Lewis again. In that time, you learn everything you can about formula 1 and Lewis Hamilton. You can barely believe the incredible talent and spirit of this man. It’s insane.

You’re just watching a re-cap of one of his races, when the doorbell to your apartment sounds. Not bothering to pause the video, you get up, and walk to the door. Without checking who it is, you pull open the door. Expecting it to be pizza, you nearly slam the door shut when you see Lewis standing there.

“Ow,” he mutters, and you notice his foot between the door and the doorframe.

“Oh, I am so sorry!” You yelp, and pull the door open again. Lewis shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he chuckled. You blush. He mentions towards you, and you shuffle away from the door, letting him through. He looks around.

“How did you find me?” You ask him, he turns towards you, and points to your TV.

“Why are you watching me on TV?” You blush deeply.

“I was curious,” you mutter. Lewis smiles. Of course. It would take anyone like, three seconds on the internet to find you. It wasn’t exactly hard. Lewis walks further into your apartment, taking off his shoes on the way. You walk nervously behind him. The apartment is always small, but it feels miniature with his large frame standing in the middle.

“It’s usually cleaner,” you say, not knowing what else to say. Lewis laughs, and turns to you.

“I’m sorry about Abu Dhabi-” you say, just as he says:

“I can't stop thinking about you.” Both of you blush. You keep your eyes on your toes, not knowing what to say, and not being able to look Lewis in the eyes. He sighs, but you can hear the smile in it. His feet come closer to yours.

“Thank you. But it just wasn’t my time. And that’s alright.” His hand gently tilts your face upwords. Your eyes lock with his, and it’s like every single butterfly in the whole world is cartwheeling in your stomach. Lewis continues talking.

“I can't stop thinking about you, though. When I didn’t win. My first thought was you. So I’m here to ask if, please, you would wanna go on a date with me.”

You swallow thickly, but you can’t hold back the smile stretching onto your face.

“Yeah,” you whisper, nodding, as Lewis sends you the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen. God, he’s beautiful.

[formula1andbeyond]

A holiday to remember - M.S.

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x reader

Summary: While spending Christmas at your family cabin, you befriend the guy next door. Unknown to you, he’s not just the great skiier you think he is. He’d world famous

Wordcount: 3k

Warnings: A tiny amount of swearing and a bit dialogue heavy.

Notes: My first ever F1 fanfic. It’s set in Norway, and y/n is Norwegian, simply because I wanted Norwegian holiday traditions incorporated:) Enjoy!

You looked at the big, brown cabin. Located near a ski resort in western Norway, the cabin was just one of many nearly identical buildings surrounding you. And yet this one felt like home. It belonged to your aunt and uncle, and it was one of your favourite places to visit.

“Jeg sover på hemsen!” (I’m sleeping upstairs) your brother calls in norwegian as he runs past you with his bag. You roll your eyes at him. He’s sixteen, but behaves like a ten year old. It’s not like you want to share a room with him and your three cousins anyway. They’re fourteen, ten and seven. And really annoying.

“Y/N!” Your aunt calls, a sweet smile on her face as she greets you on the stairs.

“Hei, tante Jorunn,”(hi, aunt Jorunn), you answer her, and accept her hug. You take a deep breath as you walk inside, the sweet, homey smell of the cabin, mixed with gingerbread, fills your nostrils.

You feel excitement building. Two weeks here, spending time with your friends and family, skiing everyday and eating christmas food. It’s literally heaven!

----------

You and your brother spend the entire next day on the slopes, enjoying the fresh cold air, and the excitement of going super fast. It’s something you miss in everyday, student life. Late in the afternoon, when you’ve had your fill, and the lifts close, you reluctantly make your way back to the cabin.

It’s a luxury that you can ski the entire way. As you come to a halt outside the cabin, panting from having raced your brother there, you notice several cars outside the cabin across the road.

“Noen tyskere som har leid den, vist nok,” (Some germans have rented it, apparently) Your brother says, as you both remove your skis. You nod, and are about to head up the stairs to the door, when a young boy, or more man, opens the door to the other cabin.

He’s insanely handsome, you note. Blue eyes, light blonde hair, and high cheekbones. Despite the several degrees below zero, he’s only wearing jeans and a thigh t-shirt. The guy’s fit, you note..

It’s like he feels you watching him, because his eyes meet yours, and he grins.

“Were the conditions good?” He asks, his english slightly affected by an accent. You blush from his intense eye contact. Luckily you're wearing several layers of clothes, and a wool balaclava that covers most of your face.

“Huh?,” You ask, before realizing what he said. You blush deeper, and answer in english, “the light was flat, and the snow was icy. But it’s supposed to snow tonight, so I bet tomorrow will be better.”

He nods, and smiles, before he opens the car door, and grabs a bag.

“Perhaps I’ll see you out there,” he says, before he returns inside the cabin, closing the door behind him. After a second, you break out of your slight trance, and gather your skis, wobbling up the stairs in the clunky alpine boots. You’re very glad the guy went inside, because this is the most un-sexy you’ve felt in ages. When you close the door behind you, your brother is removing his ski pants.

“Han var såååå søøøt” (He was sooo cute) he says in a teasing voice. It’s like you plumet from several meters back into your body. You turn your head and look at your brother.

“Skal vi snakke om Maiken?” (Should we talk about Maiken?) You ask, sweetly. Your brother blushes to the root of his hair, quickly shaking his head. You roll your eyes. “Tenkte meg det.” (Thought so)

----------

You don’t see the handsome guy the next day, but you definitely tell your ski friends about him.

The second day after meeting him, you come outside at eight thirty, ready to head down to the slopes. Your brother decided to sleep in, but you don’t mind. A solo day at the slopes is pretty nice actually. It’s therefore a huge shock to see a tall, blonde and very grinning guy putting on his skis outside.

“Hi,” he says as he straightens, and looks at you.

“Eh, hi?” you say back, the scepticism clear in your voice. The guy’s smile falters slightly, but he's quick with the reply.

“I was wondering if I could join you and your brother today. I’ve never been here before.”

“He’s sleeping in, but, uh, you can join me, I guess.” The guy smiles again, and you can't help but smile back. Though you doubt he can see it behind your balaclava, helmet and ski glasses. You both push off, and skate down to the slope, coming in from the side of the slope, half way up. The guy is great at skiing, you realize, as you take off down the hill.

“Not bad,” You say with a smile as you reach the bottom, and slide into the line for the lift.

“Thanks”, he says. “But not nearly as good as you. That was insanely good.”

You're about to answer, when you hear someone calling your name. It’s your friend Kari. She waves, and lines up next to you in the line.

“Hvem er vennen din?” (who’s your friend) she asks, looking at the guy.

“Oh, this is- eh-” You stop, realizing you’ve never gotten the guy’s name.

“I’m Mick,” he answers for himself, extending his hand to Kari. She tells him her name back, just as you reach the front of the line, and take your seats.

Kari talks the entire way up, as she always does. You don’t mind, but you can see Mick getting slightly confused at times, casting you long glances. At the top of the hill, Kari leaves to join her parents.

You and Mick decide on the not-so-steep blue slope, just to get a feel of the snow.

It’s soft, but not so much that it slides away from you. Perfect, really. The two of you ski down several times. Each time in the lift, you talk. It feels easy to talk to Mick, and he makes you laugh a lot. He’s very nice, his blue eyes always shining towards you.

“Lunch time, maybe?” you ask after a few hours. Mick nods, and you race each other down to the cafe at the bottom of the lift. As you enter, Mick asks you to find a table, then he can buy food.

“I can buy my own food, Mick,” you protest, but he insists.

“I can afford it, trust me!” He says, and gives you a look that shuts you up. With a smirk, you nod, and waddle off to find a table. There’s one in the back, and you sit down, removing your helmet and balaclava. It’s warm inside, and your jacket quickly follows your helmet onto the bench beside you.

With a content sigh, you lean your head on your shand, and look out the window. It’s starting to snow, thick flakes falling down and adding to the magical feeling of christmas. You’ll have to go backcountry skiing soon, with all this powder adding up.

After a few minutes, you seem to hear your name getting called. You look around confused. A few meters away from you, Mick stands, holding a tray. You call his name, waving your hand slightly. His eyes widen, and he walks over slowly.

“Hey,” you say, as he puts the tray on the table. “You okay?”

“Uh, eh- yeah. I just didn't recognize you without all the clothes. You’re, well, uh- you’re not like I imagined” He says with a blush, as he removes his own skiing gear. You blush, a little self conscious. It hadn’t even been on your mind that Mick had only ever seen you with a balaclava and helmet on.

“I hadn’t thought about that,” you say, and push some hair behind your ears.

“Don’t take that the wrong way. It’s meant the very right way. Or- like, you're pretty. Very pretty.” He blushes deeper. You both look into the table, not able to meet eathoters eyes. When you finally look up, Mick gestures weakly to the food.

“French fries and burger to both. And a cola to share. And a hot cocoa to you, and coffee to me. Or we can switch if you don’t want hot cocoa. Also, food in Norway is expensive” He says, as he hands you the food. You smile.

“Yeah, it really is. And I’ll keep the cocoa. I hate coffee.” Mick’s eyes widened.

“How can you hate God’s nectar to the people? This is ambrosia, black gold, everything good in the world!” You scrunch your nose and shake your head. Mick sighs, and shows a fry into his mouth. You laugh, grumpy Mick is cute.

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

The next three days pass in a blur, with lots of skiing and laughing. Mick makes you smile a lot, but you’re definitely ignoring the warm feeling in your stomach. You’ve known the guy for a week, for God’s sake!

In the lifts, you both talk a lot. He talks about his childhood in Switzerland and Germany, his annoying older sister, and his dad’s accident. He’s so open it nearly blows you away.

In return you tell him about Bergen (your hometown), what it’s like growing up in Norway, and about your studies. He listens so intensely to everything you say that you think he probably could tell it all back to you. It makes you feel important. Like he really cares.

Suddenly it’s Christmas eve. You spend the day in the cabin, watching Christmas movies with your brother (Tre nøtter til Askepott is a MUST*), and helping your dad and aunt with the food.

After lunch, where your youngest cousin, Eva, miraculously finds the almond and wins the marzipan pig (as if your aunt hasn’t planted it in her food**), you bring the two youngest cousins out sledding.

You wave at Mick as you pass their cabin. He’s wearing a blue button up shirt, and is wrestling what looks like a huge gift, out of a car.

“My sister is spoiled!” He calls with a smile, and you laugh. His smile is so infectious.

“So are my cousins,” you answer, gesturing to the kids you’re pulling on the sled. Mick laughs. When you return from the sledding, Mick’s gone. You brush the snow of your cousins, and you all pile into the hall, removing wet clothes. It’s time to change into your christmas dress, and before you know it, everyone is sitting at the dinner table, eating a massive feast of delicious food.

After dinner, gifts are passed out. From your parents, you get a new skiing helmet, as the old one is getting, well, old. You also receive some clothes from friends, and a pair of high heeled boots from your aunt. It’s honestly a pretty great evening.

Later, when you lay in bed, texting your friend and feeling so full you might never eat again, a message pings into your phone from instagram.

Mickschumacher has started following you.

You tap the message with a slight smile. How he found your account, you don’t know, nor care. Mick is clearly serious about staying in touch. Your eyes scan his account, as your brows crease. He’s verified, you notice. Then you gasp, and sit upright in the bed, clutching your phone with both hands. He has more than two million followers? Holy shit, Mick is famous!

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

You wake the next morning, still processing the information from last night. After seeing Mick’s account, you googled him. You had to. You read article after article. About him, his dad, and formula 1. It was insane! You have been casually hanging out with a world famous race car driver for days. How is that even possible?

Hi! You up?- It’s Mick, dm’ing you on insta.

Yup- you text back. You’re not sure if you’re mad at him or not yet.

I’ve managed to borrow some randonee skis. You wanna go backcountry skiing today?

Mad or not, you can’t say no to that offer. The conditions are too perfect, and you were already considering going. Half an hour later, you meet Mick outside, backpacks on, both of you ready for a day outside. Turning on your avalanche detectors, you start the long trek up the nearly untouched mountain behind the cabins.

“So- I googled you last night,” you burst out half an hour later during a little water break. Mick leans heavily on his ski poles and sighs.

“I figured you would,” he says. You just look at him, and shrug.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re famous?”

He opens his mouth, then closes it. He’s clearly thinking. You swallow hard. It does feel a little like betrayal. He’s clearly talked his way around a LOT of important subjects while telling you about himself.

“I guess- because you really had no idea who I am. Formula 1 isn’t that big in Norway. It’s nice to just be the boy next door. Not Mick Schumacher, famous driver. Not Mick Schumacher, famous son. Just Mick, the guy who likes to ski and enjoys doing it with a pretty girl.”

You swallow hard, and force your water bottle back into the backpack.

“I want to be mad,” You tell him sternly. His eyes get a familiar twinkle.

“But you're not?” He asks carefully. You roll your eyes, but shake your head. A grin overtakes his handsome face. And you can’t help but smile back. Mick seems to be floating the rest of the hike. Willingly plowing the path through the snow, he listens intently when you tell him things about the terrain, and the area. He knows this is your turf.

“One day,” he says, as you stand on the top of the mountain, removing the skins from your skis, “I’ll show you around the paddock. Then it’ll be my turn to explain it all to you.”

You laugh, but a knot forms in your stomach. Mick seems so sure you’ll keep in touch. But he’s famous, and you're, well, you. Not famous. Normal. You don’t say anything. But the whole way down, as you play the perfect powder, you feel the nagging thought in the back of your head. In a week, Mick is returning to Germany. And you’ll probably never see him again.

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

You don’t see Mick for the next two days. It’s a mix between staying away and genuinely being busy. Some friends who live in different places have all come up to the mountains for new years, and you're busy entertaining them. Your family travels back to the city on the second Christmas day, leaving you and your friends in the cabin. It’s a huge amount of trust, and you feel extremely grateful. This really proves they trust you.

On the third day of not seeing Mick, you can't help but crane your neck out the window, looking for him. The kitchen in your cabin is facing right towards his. You would see if he had left for the slopes.

“Kari sier du har fått kjæreste,” (Kari says you’ve gotten a boyfriend) Rebecka, your childhood best friend, says as she sits down at the table, a smirk on her face. You blush wildly.

“Han er ikke kjæresten min!” (he’s not my boyfriend) you answer stubbornly.

“Hvem har fått kjæreste?” (Who’s gotten a boyfriend/girlfriend?) Jostein asks as he enters, kissing Rebecka’s head before grabbing a piece of bacon from the table.

“Y/n!” Rebecka says just as you try to protest not having a boyfriend. “Vist nok er han tysk. Og en fantastisk skikjører. Y/n har ikke hatt noe tid til Kari.” (Apparently he’s german, and a great skier. Y/n hasn’t had time for Kari at all.)

You roll your eyes, and a sarcastic reply is on the tip of your lips, but just then the door on Mick’s cabin opens. You see Mick, and another guy you don’t know, leave the cabin. They’re dressed for the cold weather, but not for skiing.

“Er det han?” (Is that him) Rebecka shrieks, and runs to the window. Jostein, with Mia and Nora who were chilling on the couch, are not far behind.

“Jeg vil se!” (I want to see!) Marcus calls, and comes running down the stairs. They all flock around the small window.

“Hvilken er det?” (Which one is it?) Nora whispers. You sigh.

“Den høyeste. Han heter Mick, og han er IKKE kjæresten min.” (The tall one. His name is Mick, and he’s NOT my boyfriend). You finally groan. Marcus gasps audibly.

“Holy shit, y/n! Det er er jo Mick Schumacher og Dennis Hauger! Dette er helt sykt” (That’s Mick Schumacher and Dennis Hauger! This is insane!). You should have known. Marcus is a huge F1 fan.

When he turns towards the door, you have to physically restrain Marcus from rushing outside for an autograph. He pulls you along the floor, your wool socks sliding along easily. You’re still wearing your pj’s.

“No, no, no, no” You shout at him, as he pushes the door open. Then he turns to you with an evil grin. You can feel yourself go pale.

“Marcus, nei!” He picks you up around the waist, and you barely have time to scream before he has tossed you off the low balcony, into the huge pile of snow outside. You lie there staring up, as a familiar face comes into view.

“Hi,” Mick says. “Cute shorts. Probably a bit cold though.”

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

Your friends all fall for Mick’s charm as easily as you have. Marcus clings to his every word as if it’s gospel. It’s honestly a bit weird. Mick’s friend, Dennis, turns out to be a Norwegian formula driver. He’s sweet and polite, and you like him immediately. It’s cool that you have a norwegian driver. You weren’t aware.

“Eh, y/n,” Mick asks when you return from putting on proper clothes. “Can I talk to you?”

Ignoring your friends whistling, you nod, and lead Mick to your room.

“I just wanted to apologize. For lying. Or not telling the truth. I shouldn’t have done that. And you have every right to be mad at me, but-”

“Mick, I’m not mad,” you say, a little shocked. “I’ve just been a little busy. And well, I guess I’ve been a little distant. I’m just afraid that when you leave, you’ll forget about me and this christmas. I thought it would hurt less if I spent less time with you. I’m really sorry.”

He shakes his head, and lets out a small chuckle. Grabbing your shoulders, he pulls you into a hug, and mutters into your hair. “Trust me, y/n. I could never forget you.

That night, Mick and Dennis join your group for a board game tournament. You and Mick sit close to each other on the couch. Your thigh feels hot where it touches his. In the game Alias, you two destroy the others. The look he gives you as you do a little victory dance, makes you feel like the rest of the world could just disappear. Holy shit, you think. If only he could look at you like that forever.

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

It’s like you're glued together for the next few days. Skiing, both alpine and backcountry, in the days, and in the evening he joins you and your friends for games, jacuzzi (you nearly die seeing him shirtless), and for movie night.

He introduces you to his family one day. His mother and sister turn out to be the sweetest people ever, hugging you, and including you in the conversation.

You are slightly awed, meeting Mick’s dad. Despite never even having heard about Michael Schumacher before a week ago, there is something about his presence. He just feels like someone you should admire. And you do.

On new years eve, you and your friends throw a big party. You’ve invited several other people your age that are staying in the area. And Mick, of course. There is a giddy feeling in your stomach as you pull on the stunning silver dress you have bought for the eve. Hair styled, heels on, you grab your first cider, taking a slow sip.

People have started arriving, and the music is turned on. You take another sip of your far to sweet cider, as a pair of hands land on your hips.

“I barely recognized you,” Mick whispers in your ear. You grin, but a blush still fights it’s way forward and you turn in his arms. He’s wearing a green turtleneck and black dress pants. Hot. He smiles. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks. You too,” You say, matching his smile. If it had been up to you, you would just stay there, gazing into his eyes for the rest of the night. But someone presses a beer into Mick’s hand, breaking the spell.

“Skål” (cheers), you say, as you tap his beer with your cider. Mick wiggle his eyebrow at you, and takes a sip. After a second, he makes a face that tells you he likes it. He offers you a sip, but beer isn't really your thing. Sticking to wine, cider and shots is safer.

The party is great. People are clearly having fun, and getting drunker by the minute. Someone shouts that it’s only five minutes until midnight, and you all scramble to get your jackets and move out onto the patio. You can feel Mick close behind you, his ungloved hand holding onto your waist. It’s nice, and you lean into it.

One minute left, someone shouts. You look up at Mick, and his eyes meet yours. It’s like they sober up instantly. Suddenly they’re much clearer, wide but determined.

TEN!

You smile carefully at Mick.

NINE!

His eyes take in your whole face, memorising it, it seems.

EIGHT!

You blink, feeling the alcohol drain from your head.

SEVEN!

The hand on your waist twists, pulling at your coat.

SIX!

You turn towards Mick

FIVE!

He swallows hard, gazing down at you.

FOUR!

“I’m gonna kiss you now” Mick whispers.

THREE!

You nod, “Okay,”

TWO!

His hands cup your face.

ONE!

His lips feel so unbelievably soft, even as they crush yours in a hungry kiss. You kiss back with just as much vigour. God how you’ve waited for this!

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

He softens his lips, but doesn’t let go of yours. You hope he never will. The butterflies in your stomach are doing cartwheels like crazy. You want to feel like this forever. Your hands grab onto his hair, pulling softly. All around you people are cheering.

“Yeah, y/n! Get it girl!” Someone shouts close by. Blushing, you pull away from Mick. The look in his eyes makes you pant. Pupils dilated, he can't seem to stop gazing into your soul.

“I definitely won’t forget you now!”

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

*The movie Tre nøtter til Askepott (Three wishes for Cinderella) is probably one of the weirdest Norwegian Christmas traditions. It’s a Czech movie from the 70’s, where Cinderella receives three magic nuts, and is granted a wish with each. The whole thing is dubbed by only one man voicing all the characters, from Cinderella and the stepmom, to the king and prince. It’s hilarious. I love this movie with all my heart, and it is literally one of the best traditions in Norway. My brother and I quote it to each other all the time.

** On christmas eve, or just any time during december, it’s tradition in Norway to eat rice porridge for lunch. In one of the bowls there is supposed to be an almond, but no one knows which bowl. The winner (the one who finds the almond) receives a marzipan pig as their prize. It's fun, but surprisingly often the youngest family member wins. Strange...