Dennis Hauger on the Norwegian Good Morning Show (2021)
Me 🤝 Dennis
playing depressing playlist in the middle of the day.
Dennis you good bro?
Choose your fighter F1 Spotify edition
[excuse the bad quality]
Can someone be the Dennis Hauger to my ‘always racing on that one track in Norway with Porsches’
My two brain cells doing their absolute best to power my brain and generate a Thought:
"Pluto is not considered a planet anymore, which is a shame" YES KING BE A PLUTO TRUTHER
What planet shares its name with a dog?
My Crushes <3 Part One
1. Mick Schumacher
2. Logan Marshall Green
3. Drew Starkey
4. Oliver Stark
5. Dennis Hauger
6. Jacob Bertrand
7. Alex Schroeder
8. Chris Wood
9. Charles Leclerc
10. Lance Stroll
Dennis Hauger. Red Bull Athlete & F3 Champion.
I'm unwell babe.
I think about this a lot
Choose your fighter F1 Spotify edition
[excuse the bad quality]
When Mick said to Dennis "I am so proud of you" my acne cleared.
MICK SCHUMACHER ONESHOT
headaches and taylor swift
( WARNINGS: mentions of a crash (not real), injury, fluff )
word count: 2.1k
It was highly abnormal to wake up before Mick in the event that he’d sleepover at yours or you at his. He was an early bird, waking up with the sun. It was pretty convenient considering his job required fairly early mornings sometimes, in which he’d crawl out of bed — not disturbing the covers — and tiptoe around the room getting ready for the day ahead, before sneaking around to your side of the bed, placing a gentle kiss on your cheek and leaving the house, all without waking you up.
It was pretty impressive to say the least, but it was the little gestures and concerns he appreciated the most.
This time, however, you’d woken up before him. It was half past ten in the morning and Mick Schumacher was still fast asleep, the duvet pushed down to his waist and tangled in his legs, exposing the silk-soft skin of his bare torso, his face angled in your direction, cheek pressed into the pillow.
Your fingertips danced along the ridges of his midriff, the feeling of the divine warmth of your fingers eliciting goosebumps to raise on his skin. Your eyes were fixed on the large, purple blotches of skin on his side. The bruises trailed up his entire left side; from his waist right up to his shoulder, the severity varying in certain places. You leant forwards, lips tracing the curves of his arm as delicately as you could, pressing soft kisses on his shoulder, being especially mindful of the blossoming lesions marked on his skin.
It didn’t take long for his body to tune in with your sensitive touches, his skin tingling with a burning anticipation as his eyes fluttered open. You greeted him with a soft smile, your eyes searching his cerulean blue for any trace of uncomfortability.
“I can hear you worrying.” He croaked, blinking heavily and resisting the urge to wince as he lifted his arm up, inviting you to shuffle closer into his warm embrace.
You rolled your eyes, “At least it’s within reason.”
You felt his lips curl into a smile against the skin of your collarbone.
“I know.” He sighed, before wincing, inhaling a sharp breath of air, the arm slung over your waist clutching onto your shirt tighter as he finally registered the pain, a wave of agony shooting through his head. He let out a quiet whimper in response, and you slowly peeled yourself from his grip, taking care of his sore side as well.
“Is it a headache?” You asked carefully, making sure your voice remained low and soothing as you traced a tender finger along his cheekbone, your heart hurting with an overwhelming sense of helplessness.
He nodded, moving your hand to rest against his temple, seeking relief in the warmth of your palm.
“Hang on,” you removed your hand, ignoring the huff he let out, and reached over to your bedside table, the research you delved into last night paying off as you grabbed the glass of water and the painkillers.
You encouraged him to sit up slightly, wanting nothing more than to wrap him up in a hug as he held his side, his eyes slamming shut to prevent a bout of inevitable dizziness.
Once he’d grabbed the glass, you passed him the painkillers, watching with care as he swallowed the tablets, downing as much of the water as he could in the process, before passing the glass back to you, sliding back under the covers, his arm slinging around your waist before you’d even had chance to settle back down.
As soon as you did, however, Mick practically rolled himself on top of you, his head resting on your chest as he let out a sigh of content, the heat of it warming your skin pleasantly.
It was almost automatic, the way your hands threaded through his blonde locks, gently massaging his scalp in a bittersweet attempt at lessening his pain quicker.
“That feels so good.” He murmured, eyes drooping shut in pleasure.
You smiled, although he couldn’t see it.
“You really scared a lot of people yesterday, you know.” You mumbled after a short while.
You felt his arm tighten around you, “I know.”
You were at work when it happened, and in a way you were glad you weren’t watching because you wouldn’t have known what to do if you saw his crash — the wreckage — with your own eyes, live. You hadn’t even known about it until you got a phone call from Dennis Hauger of all people, that Mick had smashed into the wall with such force he’d lost consciousness and gained a concussion, and then in his somewhat delirious state, he’d demanded to be driven to your place, coincidentally only a short half hour away from the track.
Needless to say, when he arrived, he’d had to point Dennis in the direction of the spare key and as soon as he entered the apartment he’d made a beeline for your bedroom, barely giving Dennis any time to shut the front door in the process.
Which was where you found him when you skipped off work early; he was curled up under your sheets, a sickly green tinge to his cheeks, fresh bruises littered all across his side with purple bags under his eyes as he fought off the nausea and dizziness. As soon as you’d thanked Dennis (he refused to stay, saying he knew a friend who lived not far away from here), you made your way into the bedroom, hurriedly climbing in the bed, not bothering to even get changed just yet, and it barely took a second before Mick had wrapped you in a much-needed hug, claiming the contact helped soothe a raging headache and aching bones.
You pressed a kiss to his temple, one hand slowly beginning to trace the warm skin of his face from the bridge of his nose, around his eyebrow, down his cheekbone, outlining his Cupid’s bow, before trailing feather light touches across his jaw.
“How are you feeling?” You asked, taking note of the fact that he did seem a shade healthier than the night before, and those purple bags under his eyes weren’t so purple.
He lifted his head up, his eyes meeting yours.
“Better. Sore, but better.” He propped himself up, his elbows coming to rest either side of your head, although you could see he was relying a little more on his right side, his left quivering fractionally.
You bit the inside of your cheek to suppress a smile at his stubbornness, but he saw right through you, rolling his eyes and collapsing onto the mattress on your other side, one arm folded under his head.
“You know I don’t have to come in today? I’ve been cleared from the race and they told me not to bother coming in if I don’t want to.” You heard the rustle of the pillow; twisting his neck to gauge your reaction.
This time you couldn’t hold back a grin, and by the laughter ringing across the room, the harmonious sound suggested Mick had found exactly what he was looking for.
Just as he reached an arm out in your direction, you rolled out of his reach, evoking a groan of annoyance from the blonde boy, a crease appearing between his eyebrows as he watched you sit up on the other side of the bed, lifting your arms up to stretch, exposing a sliver of skin from where your sweatshirt had risen up.
This time he shuffled closer, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you back towards him. You landed on the sheets, jumper pulled up by your ribs, the elastic on your shorts also pulled down slightly with the descent.
Mick suddenly appeared above you, a frown etched on his face as his necklace hung inches from your nose.
“I don’t want you to leave just yet.” He complained, the frown morphing into a sheepish grin as you folded your arms, raising one eyebrow in question.
“I’m starting to think the reason you came here was just for attention.” You said, pursing your lips, the corner of your mouth unwillingly curving into a smile.
“I came home because I like my favourite person looking after me. The attention is just a given bonus.” He admitted, and you sat up, narrowing your eyes in his direction, a light blush rising to your cheeks at his confession.
You placed your hand on his forehead, pulling a face you realised that he was at the normal temperature.
“Did you just make sure I wasn’t unwell?” He breathed a laugh, now also sat up on his knees, just a bit taller than you.
“Yes.” You mumbled, eyes once again getting drawn to his bruises.
“Why?” He asked, flopping back on the mattress, his head resting back on the pillow as his eyes seemingly raked up and down your figure, a teasing glint reflected in the light of his iris.
“Why?” You repeated, your eyes wide, “Because you used the ‘H’ word.”
He laughed, running a hand through his hair, before it came to rest, tracing patterns on your knee.
“What’s so bad about the ‘H’ word? We’ve said the ‘L’ word before.” He pointed out, eyes dissecting your tilted head and flushed cheeks.
“I know that, it’s just a bit different from the ‘H’ word...I just always assumed it was your house.”
He paused, and you couldn’t tell if he was hesitating to speak or simply thinking.
“I’m going to say something really sappy.” He said, and you groaned, rolling your eyes as he chuckled at your reaction.
“Please don’t.” You implored.
“I have to, though...you know that thing Taylor Swift says in ‘London Boy’?”
“‘God, I love the English’?” You laughed, finding his way of trying to explain whatever it was quite amusing.
Mick dropped his expression, his face becoming a clean slate as he tilted his head in your direction, pursing his lips in annoyance at your chosen lyrics.
“The bit before that.”
“‘Home is where the heart is’?”
He nodded, and you furrowed your brows in confusion.
“You’re my heart.” He whispered quietly, instantly shrinking back under the covers, pulling the duvet up past his head so only a blonde tuft of hair could be seen, just to hide the way his cheeks were flaming up.
You bit your lip at his obvious embarrassment, and tried to hold in a laugh, but the futile attempt only resulted in a snort, your hand immediately flying out to cover your mouth as your eyes widened in shock.
There was a small gust of air as the covers retreated, and Mick reappeared, a mildly horrified look about him.
“Are you okay?” He asked, staring at you with concern.
“Yes. Now about what you just said—”
“No. No. No.” He hid back under the covers, but with the way the mattress was shaking slightly, you could tell he was laughing.
You rolled your eyes fondly, pulling back the covers, your knees placed either side of Mick as you clocked him with one eyebrow raised, the hint of a smile playing at your lips. Your hair tickled his face, and he reached up, tucking the loose strands behind your ears.
“My head hurts.” He said, flashing you a cheeky smile.
“I bet it does.”
“You’ve just had painkillers.”
“It still hurts.”
“Maybe you’re just dehydrated.”
“Hmm...don’t think that’s it.”
“No...Wait, yes, but that’s not it.”
“I can’t think of anything else.” You sighed, casting your eyes off to the side.
“I can.” Mick shot back, almost immediately.
“Don’t you find it weird that I have a headache and you haven’t actually kissed me since last night?”
“Are you sure it has nothing to do with your concussion?”
“I don’t buy it.”
“I’m not selling anything, anyway, so that's a relief.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. You felt Mick hold his breath as you leant forwards slightly, the tips of your noses briefly touching, before you pulled away, ignoring his frustrated groan as you rolled into the spot next to him, climbing under the duvet.
“What? I got cold.” You defended, making an added point of pulling the covers up further.
Mick sighed, turning onto his front, unable to help an adoring smile. It didn’t take long before you felt his familiar, calloused hands creep up your jumper, coming to rest just below your ribs.
“Why won’t you kiss me?” He grumbled, and by the look of faux betrayal painted on his face, you had to resist the urge to kiss it away in itself.
“Because we have the entire day to do as much kissing as we want.”
He whined into his pillow, and you took the opportunity to plant a warm kiss on his neck.
“You missed.” His head shot up, and you could see his eyes become unfocused by the sharp movement, sending his head into a spiral.
You just laughed, “Are you okay?”
“Yep. But now my head really does hurt…”
I love this man.
This is so cute