Celina

a safe place for anyone &; I'm always here for you! || 22

[charlesslut16]

masterlist

Here you can send in requests if you want to loves (: 

CHARLES LECLERC 

CARLOS SAINZ 

GEORGE RUSSELL 

LEWIS HAMILTON 

ANDREA KIMI ANTONELLI 

MAX VERSTAPPEN 

DANIEL RICCIARDO 

YUKI TSUNODA 

PIERRE GASLY 

FRANCO COLAPINTO 

ESTEBAN OCON 

LANCE STROLL

(send in requests!)

LANDO NORRIS 

OSCAR PIASTRI 

ALEXANDER ALBON 

LOGAN SARGEANT 

SEBASTIAN VETTEL 

TOTO WOLFF 

(send in requests!)

MICK SCHUMACHER 

LIAM LAWSON 

ATHUR LECLERC 

DEZEMBER MASTERLIST 

december masterlist 25' 

I LOVE YOU

[charlesslut16]

-him.-

summary : you and pierre meet again after many years...

PAIRINGS : pierre gasly x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you will like this, i am not that big of a fan, as it took so long.... Have a great day, loves! Do you want a part 2?

masterlist  

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You almost didn’t go. You didn't want to go.

Your friend had been talking about the race for weeks, sending you clips, explaining things you barely understood, and you kept nodding like you cared more than you did. 

It wasn’t that you hated it, it just wasn’t your world anymore, not like it used to be. Not like when everything somehow revolved around one boy and a kart that was way too loud for your liking.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” your friend insists again, practically dragging you through the crowd. She loved everything involving cars and Formula 1, it was her thing.

You laugh under your breath, adjusting your  black leather jacket as the noise of engines echoes in the distance. “If I get run over by a car, I’m blaming you.”

“That’s not how this works,” she replies, rolling her eyes.

You’re about to say something back when a voice cuts through the air. Not loud. Not even directed at you. But familiar. Like it was a voice you would or could never forget.

You freeze.

Your body reacts so quickly, like you still have muscle memory from years ago that you thought you'd grown out of. Your heart picks up, your chest tightening before your brain even catches up.

No. It can’t be.

You turn slowlyy, almost scared of being wrong.

And then you see him.

Pierre Gasly

He’s standing a few meters away, talking to someone, dressed in team gear that makes him look like he belongs on magazine covers now instead of the dusty kart tracks you remember. 

His hair is shorter, his posture more confident, but it’s still him, your pierre. It’s so obviously him it makes your throat go dry. You thought you would never see him again.

“Oh my god,” you whisper.

Your friend looks at you. “What?”

“I-” You can’t even finish. Because suddenly you’re not here anymore.

You're ten years old, and you're sitting on the sidewalk with your legs crossed while he works on his go-kart. He has grease on his face and acts like it doesn't bother him when you make fun of him. 

You’re thirteen, watching him win a race and act like it’s no big deal, even though you know he practiced every single day for it. You were so proud of him, like no other.

You’re sixteen, standing in your room, next to all the packed-up boxes, staring at your phone, rereading your last conversation over and over until it feels too stupid to reply. You needed to let go.

“Hey, are you okay?” your friend asks again, softer now. You blink, snapping back. “Yeah,” you say quickly. “I just, I know him.” Well, more than that, there was a full childhood.

“That’s Pierre Gasly,” she says in disbelief. I mean, you knew how much she loved Formula 1, but you never thought you would need to explain or ever see him again.

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “Yeah. I know.” She looks between you and him, confused. “Wait, like… know him know him?” You hesitate. How do you even explain this?

“He was my best friend,” you say finally. “When we were kids.” Your friend’s eyes widen. “You’re joking.”

“I wish I were.” You look back at him. And it’s like nothing has changed and everything has at the same time. It was Pierre, that boy that you loved and wished he would too.

He laughs at something the other person says, and it hits you all over again how many times you heard that laugh, how it used to mean he was about to say something stupid or tease you about something small. You loved his laugh.

God. You shouldn’t go over there. It’s been years. He probably barely remembers you.

But then again...

He was your whole world once. Before karting became his whole world instead. Your feet move before you decide. “Where are you going?” your friend asks. “Just—give me a second,” you say, barely above a whisper.

Each step feels heavier than it should. Like you’re walking straight into something you’re not ready for. Well, you weren't. This was irrational and not a good decision. You stop a few feet away.

Close enough to hear him clearly now. Close enough to turn around. But you don’t. Not this time. He finishes his sentence, the other person nodding before walking off, and for a split second, Pierre is alone.

This is it. You swallow. How many times had you wished to talk to him about everything, but you two weren't friends or talking, for that matter, and now you were scared. Funny, isn't it?

“Pierre?”

He turns.And everything stops. Like, actually stops. His eyes land on you, and for a second there’s nothing, just confusion, like he’s trying to place you. Thinking if he knows you and how.

Then it hits. You see it happen. Recognition.Shock.Something softer underneath. Like he knew exactly who you were and what you had or do men to him.

“No way,” he says, almost to himself.

You give a small, nervous smile. “Hi.”

He just stares at you.

Then he laughs, but it’s not the confident kind you saw earlier, it’s surprised, disbelieving. How could you be here, in front of him? Was he dreaming? It felt like it.

“Hi?” he repeats. “That’s what you say after, what, ten years?”

“Okay, wow, sorry,” you say, laughing awkwardly. “I didn’t exactly rehearse this.” Did he not want to see you? Did he hate you for leaving? Maybe he was happy you moved away.

“Clearly,” he says, but he’s smiling now. And it’s the same smile. It hits harder than anything else.  He takes a step closer. “You’re actually here,” he says, like he still doesn’t believe it.

“I could say the same about you,” you reply. “You kind of went and became… this.”

He huffs a small laugh, glancing down. “Yeah, I guess.”

There’s a pause. Not uncomfortable. Just… full.

“So,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets. “When did you get back?”

“Just today,” you answer. “I didn’t even know you were racing here until, like, two days ago.” “Seriously?” he asks. “Yeah. I’m clearly very informed.” He smiles at that. Then his expression shifts slightly.

“You didn’t reach out.” The words are quiet. But they land heavily. He was hurt and had every right to be, but so had you. You were best friends, and from one day to the other you never spoke again.

You blink, not believing you heard right.“You didn’t either.” “I did,” he says quickly. “At first.” You frown, not knowing what to say. “Pierre, you were always busy. I didn’t want to-”

“To what?” he cuts in.  “Interrupt,” you finish heavily.

There’s a beat. Then he exhales, shaking his head. “I thought you stopped caring.” That hits deeper than you expect. “What?” you say. “Why would you think that?”

“Because every time I texted, it felt like I was forcing a conversation,” he admits. “Like you had already moved on.” You stare at him. “I thought the same thing about you.”

Silence. And then Pierre laughs. And you do too. Because it’s so stupid.

“So we just… both thought the other one didn’t care?” he says. “Basically, yeah.” “Wow,” he mutters. “We’re idiots.” “Completely.” Another pause. But it’s lighter now.

“I missed you,” he says suddenly.You never thought he would say that, you left nd there was no contact after that. The tought that he hated you still lingering in you. Your chest tightens.

“I missed you too.”

And there it is. Everything you tried to ignore. The way your heart still reacts to him like no time has passed at all. He looks at you more carefully now. Like he’s trying to read something.

“I thought about you a lot,” he admits. Wow thats also new information, You could say you were in shock.

Your breath catches slightly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says. “Especially after you left.” You don’t know what to say to that. So you just stand there. Letting it settle in you. He missed you. He did never not care bout you.

“I kept thinking I should’ve said something before you moved,” he continues. “Like what?” He hesitates for a  short second, contemplating what to say and runs a hand through his hair. Laughs softly like he’s embarrassed.

“This is going to sound so dumb now.”

“Pierre.”

He looks at you and  suddenly he looks exactly like he used to. Nervous. Real. Like the boy you knew and loved. Your Pierre not the formula 1 driver that everybody knew.

“I liked you,” he says. Your heart stops. WHAT? 

“Back then,” he adds quickly. “I just didn’t think you felt the same.”

You stare at him. Because of course. Of course this is how it goes. It is always like that. I books and movies, each and every time it is like that but that it could be you, was never even a thought.

“I did,” you say. He blinks. “You did?” “Yes.” There’s a pause. A long one. Then he lets out a breath, half laughing, half something else. “You’re kidding.” “I’m not.” He looks up at the sky for a second like he needs a moment.

“All this time…” he mutters. “Yeah.” He looks back at you and something shifts. Not just nostalgia anymore. Something present. Something real. Like there could be something. Even somethibg small.

“So what now?” he asks. You shrug slightly, even though your pulse is racing. “I don’t know. We’re not kids anymore.” “No,” he agrees. Then he steps a little closer. “But we’re also not strangers.”

Your breath catches in your dry throat.“No,” you say quietly. “We’re not.” There’s noise around you again. People calling his name. The world coming back. But neither of you moves. Not yet, because everything could go away, if you did.

“Can I see you again?” he asks. Softer now. You smile at that. If you would say no, you would be the dumbest woman on this entire eath. Second chances are rare.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’d like that.”

And this time,i t doesn’t feel like something that’s going to slip away forever. It was a chance at something new and fresh, something you both very much needed.

[charlesslut16]

I'm back....

hey lovies, i am so sorry for not writing for such a a long time. I had so much going on mentally, that i couldn't motivate myself for anything...

But now i am back, slower, but back nonetheless.

Please send in requests! A Pierre Gasly fic will come out tonight and do not worry the christms masterlist of 2025 will be continued.

Your Celina

[charlesslut16]

-thanking you on christmas day-

summary : charles gifts you roses out of love....

PAIRINGS : bf!charles leclerc x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : IT IS CHRISTMS YAAYYYY

masterlist ; december masterlist 25

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Christmas morning arrives quietly, wrapped in pale winter light that slips through the curtains and settles gently across the room. You’re still half asleep, curled beneath warm blankets, when you feel the mattress dip slightly beside you and a familiar warmth press closer. Charles is awake already, which you immediately know because he’s never subtle when he’s trying not to wake you.

You keep your eyes closed, smiling to yourself, feeling him brush a soft kiss against your hair, then your temple, then your cheek, like he’s carefully mapping out all the places he loves most. His hand rests at your waist, steady and grounding, and for a moment the world feels impossibly calm.

“Merry Christmas,” he whispers, his voice low and full of warmth.

You turn toward him, opening your eyes to find him watching you with that look, the one that’s gentle and deep and so full of feeling it almost makes your chest ache. 

“Merry Christmas,” you reply softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He hesitates for just a second, like he’s nervous, then slips out of bed and disappears from the room. You frown, confused, until he returns moments later holding something behind his back, his smile a little shy, a little excited.

“For you,” he says, stepping closer.

He reveals a bouquet of roses, deep red, fresh, and beautiful, their color rich against the soft light of the morning. You inhale sharply, surprised, your heart fluttering as he places them carefully in your hands, as if they’re something precious.

“Charles…” you breathe.

“I know they’re not very original,” he says quickly, running a hand through his curls, “but I wanted to give you something that says everything I don’t always manage to put into words.”

You bring the roses closer, breathing in their scent, feeling your eyes sting just a little. “They’re perfect.”

He smiles softly, relief washing over his features, then grows serious again. He reaches for your free hand, lacing his fingers through yours, grounding himself before he speaks.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” he says quietly. “Something I think about all the time.”

You nod, heart beating faster, giving him your full attention.

“This year,” he continues, his voice steady but emotional, “has been full of noise, races, travel, pressure, and expectations, but every time I come home to you, everything becomes quiet again. You’re my calm. You’re my safe place. You’re the person I want to tell everything to, even the things I don’t understand about myself yet.”

He squeezes your hand gently. “I don’t always get it right. I know that. But loving you has been the easiest, most natural thing I’ve ever done. Loving you feels like breathing.”

Your throat tightens as you watch him, every word landing deeply.

“I want Christmas mornings with you,” he continues, voice softening even more. “I want ordinary days, and hard days, and days when we do nothing at all. I want to grow with you. I want to choose you every day, even when it’s difficult, especially when it’s difficult.”

Tears blur your vision now, but you don’t look away.

“You’re my home,” Charles finishes, leaning his forehead against yours. “And I love you more than I ever thought possible.”

You don’t speak at first. Instead, you set the roses aside and pull him into you, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he exhales into your shoulder, holding you just as firmly. When you finally pull back, you kiss him slowly, deeply, pouring every unspoken feeling into the moment.

“I love you,” you whisper.

He smiles, wide, relieved, and glowing, and presses another loving kiss to your red lips, then your nose, then your forehead. “Best Christmas ever,” he murmurs.

Later, the roses sit in a vase on the table, glowing red against the soft holiday décor, while you curl up together on the couch, wrapped in blankets, Christmas music playing quietly in the background. 

Charles keeps one arm around you, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your skin, like he’s memorizing this moment. Outside, the world is cold and bright.

Inside, held in Charles’ arms, Christmas feels warm, safe, and full of love,the kind that lasts far beyond the season. 

[charlesslut16]

-three people next christmas-

summary : you suprise liam with a small present...

PAIRINGS : bf!liam lawson x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : pregnancy

note : love youuuu, happy christmas eve

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

Christmas Eve always feels a little different at night, like the world slows down just enough for important moments to find their way to you. The house is quiet except for the low hum of music playing softly in the background and the gentle crackle of the fireplace, lights from the tree reflecting off the windows and casting warm patterns across the walls.

Liam is in the kitchen, humming absentmindedly as he pours hot chocolate into two mugs, still wearing the sweater you bought him that he insists is “ridiculous” but wears anyway. 

You sit on the couch, hands folded in your lap, heart beating faster than usual, a small red box resting beside you that suddenly feels much heavier than it should.

You’ve replayed this moment a hundred times in your head, but now that it’s here, your thoughts feel fuzzy, emotional, and fragile all at once. What would he say?

“Hey,” Liam says, walking back in and handing you a mug, smiling easily. “You okay? You’ve been quiet all evening.”

You nod quickly, then hesitate, fingers tightening slightly around the warm ceramic. “Yeah. I just… there’s something I want to give you tonight.”

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Another present? I thought we agreed to keep it small this year.”

You let out a soft laugh, the sound a little shaky. “This one’s… different.”

His smile fades into something more attentive as you reach for the small box and hold it out to him. “Open it,” you say gently.

Liam takes it, turning it over in his hands with curiosity before carefully lifting the lid. At first, he just stares, confused, and then you see it, the moment it clicks. His breath catches, eyes widening as he looks from the tiny pair of baby socks inside the box back up to you.

“… Is this real?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your eyes fill with tears as you nod. “I’m pregnant.”

For a second, the room feels completely still, like time has paused just for the two of you. Then Liam sets the box down slowly and stands, crossing the space between you in two quick steps. He kneels in front of you, hands coming to rest gently on your knees as if he’s afraid to move too fast.

“Are you serious?” he asks again, voice thick with emotion.

You laugh softly through your tears. “I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

The smile that spreads across his face is slow and stunned and absolutely full of wonder. His eyes shine as he pulls you into his arms, holding you tightly, like he’s trying to protect you and the tiny life growing inside you all at once.

“Oh my God,” he murmurs into your hair. “We’re… we’re having a baby.”

You nod against his chest, overwhelmed by how real it suddenly feels. “Merry Christmas,” you whisper.

He laughs softly, a sound full of disbelief and happiness, and pulls back just enough to look at you, hands moving to cradle your face. “This is the best Christmas present I’ve ever had,” he says honestly, leaning in to kiss you gently, carefully, like the moment deserves nothing but tenderness.

Later, you sit together on the couch, his arm wrapped around you, one of his hands resting protectively on your stomach as if he’s already memorizing the feeling. Outside, snow starts to fall, soft and quiet, and the lights on the tree glow steadily, filling the room with warmth.

Liam presses a kiss to your temple and smiles softly. “I don’t know what next year will look like,” he says, voice calm and sure. “But I know it’s going to be amazing.”

And for the first time all evening, you let yourself fully believe it.

Because this Christmas Eve isn’t just about lights or presents or traditions anymore, it’s about beginnings. 

[charlesslut16]

-remembered for generations-

summary : you and george decorate ornaments with his niece and nephew...

PAIRINGS : bf!george russell x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : Should i watch the polar express?

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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The living room is already filled with soft Christmas music when you sit down at the table, the smell of pine from the tree mixing with the faint sweetness of hot chocolate. 

The table is covered in plain ornaments, glass ones, wooden ones, a few shaped like stars, and small pots of paint that George had insisted on buying “just in case the kids feel creative.” 

Now, looking at the absolute mess already forming, you’re pretty sure he knew exactly what he was doing. But you loved him for that, for always being positive and creative.

George’s niece is sitting across from you, tongue poking out in concentration as she carefully paints a snowman far too big for the ornament, while his nephew has somehow ended up with paint on his nose, his jumper, and the table, but not very much on the ornament itself. 

George stands behind them, hands on their shoulders, laughing quietly and shaking his head like he’s already accepted defeat. He loved them too much to argue or say a thing.

“Okay,” he says gently, crouching down so he’s at their eye level, “remember, the ornament is the round thing. Not your sleeve.”

They both giggle, completely unbothered, and George just sighs fondly before meeting your eyes and smiling, that soft, genuine smile he saves for moments like this.

You hand him a brush and an unpainted ornament, nudging him playfully. “Your turn. No pressure.”

He raises an eyebrow, pretending to be serious. “This is important. This ornament will be remembered for generations.”

You laugh as he carefully dips the brush into red paint, moving slowly, like he’s afraid to mess it up. His nephew immediately scoots closer, watching intently, while his niece leans over your shoulder to see what you’re working on. 

The four of you end up crowded together, elbows brushing, laughter filling the room in a way that feels effortless and warm. This was the best idea; ornaments were the way to go.

George paints a simple little car on the ornament, neat and careful, and when he finishes, he looks almost shy  and unsure about it. “It’s not perfect,” he says quietly.

“It’s you,” you reply, smiling. “That makes it perfect.”

The kids agree loudly, and George’s ears turn just a little pink as he clears his throat and pretends to focus very hard on putting the brush down.

After a while, the table looks like a festive disaster—paint splatters everywhere, ornaments drying on paper towels, and glitter somehow appearing out of nowhere. 

You help the kids wash their painted hands while George starts hanging the finished ornaments on the tree, lifting them up so they can decide where each one goes.

“No, higher!” his niece insists.

“That one needs to be next to mine!” his nephew argues.

George follows every instruction without complaint, lifting them up when they can’t reach, smiling proudly every time one of them gasps at how “perfect” it looks. 

You watch him from across the room, heart full, noticing the way he listens so carefully, how present he is, and how natural he looks in this role. You knew he would be the perfect father.

When the last ornament is finally on the tree, the kids collapse onto the couch, tired and happy, wrapped in blankets with mugs of hot chocolate clutched in their hands. George sits down beside you, close enough that your shoulders touch, his hand finding yours without thinking.

“Thank you for this,” he says softly, eyes on the tree as the lights blink gently. “I didn’t realize how much I needed something… normal.”

You squeeze his hand. “This is Christmas. This is normal.”

He turns to look at you then, expression warm and calm, and for a moment the world feels very small and very perfect, just paint-stained hands, soft laughter, and the glow of a tree decorated with love and slightly crooked snowmen.

George leans in and presses a gentle kiss to your temple, voice low so only you can hear it. “I’m really glad they get to have this with you.”

You smile, resting your head against his shoulder as the kids start whispering excitedly about cookies and movies next. Outside, the night is cold, but inside, surrounded by family, laughter, and the quiet joy of being together, Christmas feels exactly how it should. 

[charlesslut16]

-francos family comes to you for christmas-

summary : francos family comes to you at christmas to make franco feel completed

PAIRINGS : bf!franco colapinto x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : this is so cute!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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Christmas comes quietly this year, slipping in through early sunsets and cold mornings that fog the windows just enough to make the world feel softer.

Franco has been pretending he’s fine about it, laughing it off whenever someone mentions family traditions or going home for the holidays, but you know him too well to miss the way his smile falters just a little every time the topic comes up. 

Racing has taken him far from home, and this year, going back simply isn’t possible. You had bought your first home here, and it simply wasn't possible to leave and see his family.

You don’t say anything at first. You just listen.

He talks about Argentina the way people talk about places they love deeply but don’t dare miss too loudly. About loud kitchens and late dinners, about music playing when no one remembers who turned it on, about Christmas being chaotic and warm and never quiet. 

He jokes that Christmas here feels too calm, too neat, but when he looks out the window afterward, his eyes linger just a bit too long. You knew his family was his weak spot.

That’s when you decide.

The plan comes together slowly, carefully stitched together between errands and late nights when Franco is busy or distracted. You make calls in whispers, triple-check times and connections, and hold your breath more than once when flights almost don’t line up. 

His family is just as surprised as he will be, voices breaking over the phone when they finally understand what you’re trying to do. You wanted them to come and spend Christmas with you.

“You’re sure?” his mother asks, still stunned.

You smile, even though she can’t see it. “I’m sure.”

Christmas Eve arrives wrapped in frost and quiet excitement. Franco thinks it’s just the two of you this year, another low-key holiday with takeaway food and a small tree you decorated together a week earlier. 

He’s wearing one of his old sweaters, sleeves pushed up, helping you tidy the kitchen while Christmas music plays softly in the background. Spending time with you made the ache less unbearable.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, glancing around at the lights and decorations. “I’m okay, you know.”

You nod, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I know.”

There’s a knock at the door.

Franco frowns slightly. “Were you expecting someone?”

You shake your head, trying to keep your voice steady. “Can you get it?”

He opens the door without thinking much of it, already halfway through turning back to you—until he freezes completely. For a second, the world seems to stop. Then his breath leaves him in a sharp, disbelieving laugh.

“Mamá?” he whispers.

His family stands there in winter coats and scarves, eyes shining, smiles wide and full of emotion they clearly tried, and failed, to contain. His mother steps forward first, and Franco barely has time to react before he’s pulling her into his arms, holding her like he’s afraid she might disappear if he lets go.

“What-how-” He turns to you, eyes bright, stunned, completely undone. “You did this?”

You nod, tears threatening now that the secret is finally out. “You weren’t supposed to be alone for Christmas.”

He crosses the room in two long steps and pulls you into his chest, holding you tight, his voice muffled against your hair. “Thank you,” he murmurs, over and over again, like the words still aren’t enough.

The rest of the evening is loud in the best way. The kitchen fills with Spanish voices and laughter, with stories overlapping and hands moving everywhere at once. 

Franco looks lighter, younger somehow, like a piece of him has finally been put back where it belongs. He keeps glancing at you across the room, smiling in that quiet, grateful way that feels more meaningful than any big gesture.

Dinner stretches long past when it should, plates pushed aside for dessert and coffee, music playing a little too loud while everyone talks at once. Franco sits close to you, his knee pressed against yours, his hand finding yours under the table whenever the room gets too busy.

Later, when things finally slow and the house settles into a comfortable hush, Franco pulls you aside. The lights from the tree reflect softly in his eyes, and his voice is gentle when he speaks.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt this loved,” he admits quietly. “You didn’t just give me a Christmas. You gave me a home.”

You smile, squeezing his hand. “That’s what family does.”

He leans in, resting his forehead against yours, the sound of his family laughing softly in the background, and for the first time all season, Christmas doesn’t feel distant or bittersweet.

It feels full.

And as the night goes on, surrounded by warmth, familiar voices, and the soft glow of lights, you know this is the kind of Christmas neither of you will ever forget, not because it was perfect, but because it was real, shared, and filled with love in all the ways that matter most.

[charlesslut16]

-spending time with the loved ones-

summary : you and toto go visit a christmas mrket with you kids...

PAIRINGS : husband!toto wolff x fem!wife!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : This was requested and i hope that you will like tis love!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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The cold air bites at your cheeks the moment you step out of the car, but it’s the good kind of cold, the kind that feels like Christmas. The children are already buzzing with excitement, bundled up in scarves and coats, their breath turning into little clouds as they laugh and point toward the glowing lights ahead. 

The Christmas market stretches across the square, warm and golden against the dark evening sky, stalls lined up like something out of a fairy tale. You loved this time of year.

Toto comes to stand beside you, slipping his hand into yours without a word, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in that quiet, grounding way of his. He looks relaxed here, away from racetracks and meetings, just a father and a husband enjoying a winter evening with his family. 

You catch him smiling as he watches the kids run a few steps ahead, their excitement impossible to miss. You knew he missed this, spending time with his loved ones.

The market is alive with sound, soft music playing somewhere in the distance, the hum of conversation, and laughter drifting through the air. The smell hits you next: roasted chestnuts, sugar-coated almonds, fresh waffles, and warm spices that cling to your coat as you walk.

 One of the kids tugs at Toto’s sleeve, pointing eagerly at a stall selling wooden toys, and he crouches down immediately, listening like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You wander slowly, not in a rush to get anywhere, stopping whenever something catches someone’s eye. The kids insist on hot chocolate first, and Toto laughs as he carefully balances too many cups in his hands, warning them not to run while they roll their eyes and promise they won’t. 

You wrap your hands around your own mug, the warmth seeping through your gloves, and take a sip that tastes like cinnamon and comfort. Who could say no to hot chocolate?

As you walk, Toto keeps close, occasionally reaching out to fix a scarf, guide a child away from the crowd, or pull you gently back to his side when people pass too closely. 

There’s something about seeing him like this, patient, soft, and fully present, that makes your chest feel full in a way words can’t quite explain. This is his favorite part of Christmas, you know. Not the gifts or the decorations, but moments like these.

One of the stalls plays old Christmas songs, and the kids start humming along, slightly off-key but completely confident. Toto chuckles, leaning closer to you. “We should record this,” he murmurs, amusement and affection clear in his voice. “Blackmail material for later.”

You laugh, nudging his arm, and he grins down at you, eyes warm in the glow of the lights. For a moment, everything feels perfectly still, the noise fades, the cold doesn’t matter, and all you can think about is how lucky you are to be standing here together.

Later, you find a quieter corner of the market, a small table near a fire pit where the kids roast marshmallows on sticks, concentrating intensely as if it’s a serious task. 

Toto sits beside you, shoulders brushing, and wraps an arm around you without thinking. The heat from the fire, the closeness of your family, and the soft murmur of the crowd make everything feel calm and safe.

“This,” Toto says quietly, watching the kids laugh as one marshmallow catches fire, “this is what it’s all about.”

You nod, resting your head against his shoulder, feeling his steady presence beside you. Christmas markets come and go, the lights get packed away, the season passes, but moments like this stay. Warm, simple, and full of love, just like they should be.

When you finally leave, hands full of small treats and tired children, the market glows behind you like a memory already forming. Toto squeezes your hand once more before opening the car door, and you know this night will be one of those stories you tell again and again: a Christmas spent exactly where you belong. 

[charlesslut16]

-home is where leo is-

summary : you and charles spend christmas together

PAIRINGS : bf!ccharles leclerc x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i want a dog so badly omg

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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Christmas morning arrives quietly, the kind of quiet that feels sacred, softened by falling snow and the gentle hum of the heater tucked somewhere in the house. 

You wake up before the alarm, not because of excitement, but because something warm is pressed against your legs and something else is breathing softly against your shoulder. 

Leo is sprawled across your feet without a single ounce of guilt, and Charles is still asleep beside you, one arm slung over your waist like it’s the most natural place for it to be.

You don’t move right away. You just lie there, listening to the sound of their breathing, watching the pale winter light slowly creep across the walls. Leo’s tail gives a lazy thump when you shift slightly, as if he knows it’s Christmas even before either of you say it out loud.

“Merry Christmas,” Charles murmurs sleepily, eyes still closed, his voice rough and warm. You loved his rough morning voice; it was one of your favorite sounds in the world.

You smile, turning just enough to kiss his cheek. “Merry Christmas.”

Leo chooses that moment to sit up, ears perked, clearly deciding that enough rest has been had. He wiggles his way between you, licking Charles’s chin enthusiastically, which earns a laugh and a groan at the same time.

“Traitor,” Charles says fondly, rubbing Leo’s ears. “You were supposed to let us sleep.”

Downstairs, the house smells faintly of pine and cinnamon. The tree glows softly in the corner, lights still on from the night before, ornaments reflecting gold and red across the room. 

Leo charges ahead, skidding slightly on the floor, then stops abruptly in front of the tree as if he’s suddenly remembered the most important thing in the world.

“Okay,” Charles says, crouching beside him. “You can open yours first.”

You laugh as Leo attacks the wrapping paper with reckless joy, ripping into it until a new toy emerges. He parades it around the living room like he’s won something significant, tail wagging so hard his whole body moves with it. Charles watches with that soft, unguarded smile he only ever has at home, his hand finding yours without even looking.

Presents come next, slow and unhurried, paper folded carefully, kisses pressed to your knuckles whenever Charles catches you smiling at him like that. Nothing feels rushed. Nothing feels loud. It’s just warmth and quiet happiness, the kind that settles deep in your chest.

Later, you move into the kitchen, Leo stationed firmly at your feet, hoping for crumbs. Charles puts on music, soft Christmas songs humming in the background, and insists on making pancakes shaped like stars, even though they turn out more like abstract blobs. You eat them anyway, standing at the counter, laughing when Leo lets out a dramatic sigh because he’s still waiting.

By the time afternoon rolls around, the snow outside has picked up, thick flakes drifting past the windows. You pull blankets onto the couch, light a few candles, and put on an old Christmas movie you’ve both seen a hundred times. Charles pulls you close, your legs tangled, while Leo curls up against you both, finally calm after a morning of excitement.

Charles presses a kiss to your temple, then another to your hair. “This,” he says quietly, “is my favorite Christmas.”

You turn to look at him, his eyes warm in the candlelight, the soft glow of the tree reflecting in them. “Mine too.”

Outside, the world is cold and white and distant. Inside, the house is full, of warmth, of laughter, of a dog snoring softly between you, of a love that feels steady and real. Christmas doesn’t feel big or overwhelming this year.

It feels exactly right.

[charlesslut16]

-not starting the year without you-

summary : you and pierre find together again.... on new years eve none the less....

PAIRINGS : pierre gasly x fem!reader

WARNINGS : breakup

note : Loving this, wishing for a new years kiss

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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Christmas is supposed to feel warm, full, and safe, but this year it feels sharp around the edges, like everything hurts just a little more than it should. The tree is lit, the room smells like pine and sugar cookies, and yet the silence between you and Pierre is so loud it’s almost unbearable. 

You sit on opposite ends of the couch, pretending to watch the same movie, pretending that the distance hasn’t been growing for weeks now. Pretending as if there wasn't a feeling in between you, tearing you up.

It starts as a quiet conversation, the kind you both know is overdue. He talks about pressure, about feeling pulled in too many directions, and about not knowing how to be everything at once.

 You talk about feeling left behind, about missing him even when he’s right there, about how lonely it can feel loving someone whose life never slows down. Neither of you is wrong, but that somehow makes it worse.

The words come out wrong. They stack on top of each other, heavier and heavier, until they fall into something neither of you meant to say out loud. When Pierre finally stands, running a hand through his hair, his voice is tight and tired.

“Maybe we need space,” he says quietly.

Your heart drops, but you nod anyway, because you’re too proud or too hurt to beg him to stay. He leaves with a soft goodbye, the door closing far too gently for something that just broke you apart. 

Christmas passes in a blur of lights you don’t want to look at and songs you can’t bring yourself to turn off. Christmas was your favorite time of year; you loved spending it with family and friends. And him.

The days between Christmas and New Year stretch endlessly. You go through the motions answering messages, showing up where you’re supposed to, but everything feels muted, like the world is wrapped in cotton. 

You think about Pierre more than you want to admit, replaying the fight in your head, wondering what you should’ve said differently, what he might be thinking now.

By New Year’s Eve, you almost don't go out. The idea of celebrating feels wrong when your chest still aches, but your friends insist, promising it’ll be low-key, just a small party to ring in the new year together.

You put on a smile, tell yourself it’s just one night, and step into the noise and warmth of someone else’s living room. This breakup  will not destroy your start in the new year.

You’re halfway through a drink when you feel that familiar pull in your chest before you even see him. Pierre stands across the room, talking to someone, dressed neatly, hair slightly longer than you remember, eyes scanning the space until they land on you. 

The moment stretches, quiet despite the music, and for a second neither of you moves. It all felt so different, and it wasn't as easy, as it had always been. He’s the one who crosses the room first.

“Hey,” he says softly, like he’s afraid to break something fragile.

“Hey,” you reply, your voice steadier than you feel.

There’s an awkward pause, full of everything unsaid, until the countdown begins in the background. Ten. Nine. Eight. The room fills with cheers, but Pierre isn’t looking at anyone else, only you.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admits, words rushed but honest. “About us. About how I messed up by walking away instead of fighting harder.”

Six. Five. Four.

“I don’t want to start a new year without you in my life,” he says, voice breaking just slightly. “I love you. I always have.”

Three. Two.

You don’t answer with words. You step closer instead, closing the space that once felt impossible to cross.

One.

The room erupts as the new year begins, and Pierre kisses you, soft at first, then surer, full of relief and hope and all the things you thought you’d lost. His hand finds yours like it belongs there, like it never stopped belonging there.

And as the fireworks light up the sky outside, you realize that sometimes love doesn’t end, it just waits for the right moment to begin again.

[charlesslut16]

-the sweetest tradition-

summary : you and your husband max bake cookies with the kids

PAIRINGS : husband!max verstappen x fem!wife!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : i love this!!!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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The kitchen smells like butter, sugar, and something slightly burnt, which Max insists is “caramelizing” and not his fault at all. You stand at the counter in matching Christmas sweaters, flour dusting your sleeves, while your twins sit at the table in little aprons that are far too big for them, swinging their legs impatiently. One of them is carefully lining cookie cutters in a neat row, while the other keeps sneaking bits of dough when they think no one is looking.

“Hey,” Max says, mock-serious, gently tapping the table, “no eating the dough before it’s baked.” Both kids look up at him with identical innocent expressions, and you have to turn away so he doesn’t see you smiling.

You’re on your third batch of cookies now, and the counter is a mess of bowls, sprinkles, chocolate chips, and handwritten recipe cards that Max’s mom sent earlier in the week. 

Max is in charge of rolling the dough, which mostly involves him using too much flour and complaining that it keeps sticking, while you quietly fix it when he isn’t looking. Sometimes, he bumps his hip against yours on purpose, just to make you laugh.

The twins are finally allowed to help press the cookie cutters into the dough, and it turns into a competition almost immediately. One wants stars only, the other insists on trees, and Max tries to mediate like it’s a race strategy meeting, crouching down to their level and explaining the importance of “fair distribution.” They don’t listen, but they giggle, and that’s enough.

When the first tray goes into the oven, you all sit on the floor to wait, backs against the cabinets, the warmth of the oven slowly filling the room. One twin leans against Max’s shoulder, the other crawls into your lap, sticky hands clutching your sweater. Max wraps an arm around you, resting his chin on the top of your head, and for a moment everything feels still and perfect.

“You know,” he says quietly, watching the oven light, “this is better than any Christmas I remember.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “Even better than karting Christmases?”

He smiles, soft and genuine. “Especially better than those.”

The timer finally dings, and the twins cheer like they’ve won a championship. The cookies come out golden and warm, some a little crooked, some slightly too brown, all of them perfect anyway. You place them carefully on the rack to cool while Max hands out mugs of hot chocolate, adding extra marshmallows because “it’s Christmas” and he’s decided rules don’t apply today.

Later, as the kitchen slowly gets cleaned and the twins wander off to decorate cookies at the table, you watch Max help them with the icing, his focus intense as if precision really matters here. He lets them cover one cookie entirely in sprinkles, even though it’s clearly excessive, and when they proudly present it to you, he looks at you with a grin that says, Worth it.

You think, briefly, about how full the house feels, not just with noise and laughter, but with warmth, with love, with the kind of happiness that settles deep in your chest and stays there. Flour on the floor, icing on the table, crumbs everywhere, and Max right beside you, leaning in to steal a cookie when he thinks you’re not paying attention.

This Christmas isn’t loud or perfect or polished. It’s messy, sweet, and full of love. And you wouldn’t change a single thing. 

[charlesslut16]

-smells like christmas-

summary : you and wrthur enjoy christmas together...

PAIRINGS : fiance!arthur leclerc x fiancee!fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I am watching scrooge while writing this! One of my all time fvourites!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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You still wake up some mornings and have to remind yourself that this is real. That you and Arthur live like this. That this  Christmas looks like this is one of the best moments of this year.

The house is quiet when you open your eyes, the kind of quiet that feels peaceful instead of lonely, filled with soft warmth and the faint smell of pine from the Christmas tree downstairs. 

Pale winter light slips through the long, white curtains, and for a moment you just lie there in peace, listening to the steady sound of Arthur breathing beside you.

Your fiancé.

The word still makes your heart flutter.

You turn slightly, careful not to wake him, and smile when you see him curled on his side, hair messy, one arm flung across your pillow like he reached for you in his sleep. 

This is your first Christmas in the house you share together, your house, and the reality of it settles over you slowly, gently, like snow. The first Christmas of many to come.

Downstairs, everything looks exactly how you left it the night before. The tree glows softly in the corner, lights twinkling, ornaments scattered with little stories of your relationship, trips you took, jokes only the two of you understand, and tiny handwritten tags Arthur insisted on adding. 

There are  red stockings hanging slightly crooked on the mantel because Arthur refused to measure and said, “It’s more charming this way.” You loved that he could be the chaos and the calm in one person.

By the time Arthur pads downstairs in matching red-and-white striped pajamas, rubbing sleep from his eyes, you already have mugs waiting on the counter.

“Mmm,” he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind and pressing a sleepy kiss to your shoulder and to your neck. “It smells and looks like Christmas.”

“You look like sleep,” you tease gently.

He laughs softly and rests his chin on your shoulder, watching you stir the hot chocolate. “Best smell there is.” He always watched what he ate and drank, but on Christmas there could be an exception.

The morning passes slowly, exactly how you both wanted it to. No rushing, no schedules, no expectations. Just you and Arthur sitting on the couch with your legs tangled together, Christmas music playing quietly in the background while snow falls outside the window like it’s putting on a show just for you.

At some point, Arthur disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a plate stacked with cookies you baked together the night before, slightly uneven, a little overdone on the edges, perfect anyway.

“These are the good ones,” he says seriously, handing you one. “The ones we almost burned.”

You bite into it and laugh. “They’re our specialty.”

By the afternoon, the two of you are wrapped in blankets on the couch, the TV glowing with familiar scenes as The Grinch plays. Arthur insists on narrating half of it, whispering commentary in your ear and trying, unsuccessfully, not to laugh at his own jokes.

When Scrooge comes on afterward, the house feels even cozier. Candles flicker on the coffee table, casting warm light across the room, and Arthur pulls you closer, your head resting on his chest, his fingers absently tracing circles on your arm.

“I love this,” he murmurs suddenly, quietly enough that it feels like a secret. “This… us. Our house. Our Christmas.”

You tilt your head slightly to look at him, his eyes soft, reflective, and full of that calm, cozy happiness you don’t see often on race weekends or busy days. “Me too.”

He kisses your forehead, then your nose, then your lips, slow and warm kisses that feel like home rather than fireworks. Outside, the sky darkens early, the world wrapped in winter, but inside everything feels safe and bright.

Later, when the hot chocolate has gone cold and the cookie plate is almost empty, the movies watched and commented on, Arthur stands and offers you his hand. “Come on.”

“Where?”

He grins. “I want to show you something.”

He leads you through the house, stopping in the doorway of the living room, where the tree lights glow softly in the dark. He pulls you close, one hand resting gently at your waist.

“This is my favorite part,” he says quietly. “Not the tree. Not the movies. Not even the cookies.”

You look up at him, curious.

“It’s knowing I get to do this every year,” he continues. “With you. Here. In our house.”

Your chest tightens in the best way.

You rest your forehead against his, smiling. “Forever sounds nice.”

Arthur’s smile widens, warm and sure. “Forever sounds perfect.”

And as you stand there together in matching pajamas, surrounded by soft light and quiet joy, you realize something simple and beautiful, this isn’t just your first Christmas in a new house.

It’s your first Christmas home. One of many to come. One of the many Christmases that you will enjoy, cherish, and never forget, Christmas is the best time of year.

[charlesslut16]

-racing through snow-

summary : you and george go skying

PAIRINGS : george russel x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I am ashamed to say, that i have never went skying...

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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The mountain air is cold enough to sting your cheeks, but it only makes you laugh harder as you try to keep up with George, who glides ahead of you with far more confidence than you expected.

Snow stretches endlessly around you, bright and untouched, the kind of white that makes everything feel new and peaceful at the same time. You loved it.

“Don’t rush,” George calls over his shoulder, slowing down immediately when he realizes you’re lagging behind. He turns fully to face you now, skis angled carefully, that familiar gentle smile on his face. “We’re not racing.”

You roll your eyes, smiling anyway. “Says the Formula One driver.”

He laughs at that, the sound light and warm, and reaches out his hand toward you. “Come on. I’ve got you.”

You take it, his glove firm and reassuring around yours, and together you push forward again, moving slowly, carefully, enjoying the way the snow crunches beneath your skis. The world feels quiet up here, wrapped in winter and sunshine, far away from schedules and expectations and everything that usually feels loud.

By the time you reach the bottom, your legs are tired and your cheeks hurt from smiling. George unclips his skis and immediately steps closer, brushing snow from your sleeve with an almost instinctive tenderness.

“You did really well,” he says sincerely, like it actually matters to him.

“High praise,” you tease.

He grins. “I’m serious.”

Later, you sit outside a small wooden lodge with steaming mugs in your hands, watching snow fall softly while the sun begins to dip behind the mountains. George leans back beside you, stretching his legs out, his shoulder pressed comfortably against yours.

“This,” he says after a moment, voice calm and content, “is exactly how I wanted to spend Christmas.”

You glance at him. “Freezing and exhausted?”

“With you,” he corrects gently, turning his head to look at you properly now. His expression is soft, open, and completely unguarded. “That’s the important part.”

You stay there until the cold finally drives you inside, laughing as you stumble over boots and scarves, snow melting into little puddles on the wooden floor. Later that evening, wrapped in blankets by the fire, George pulls you close without a word, his arm settling around you like it belongs there.

Outside, the mountains are dark and quiet, snow still falling steadily.

Inside, Christmas feels warm, slow, and perfectly simple — made special not by where you are, but by who you’re with.

[charlesslut16]

-love lights everything-

summary : the power goes out but the love shines brighter

PAIRINGS : bf!andrea kimi antonelli x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I am watching christmas cronicles right now!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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The power goes out just as you’re placing the last ornament on the tree, the room suddenly falling quiet and dark in a way that makes you freeze for a second before you hear Kimi laugh softly behind you. 

Not a worried laugh, not surprised either, just warm and easy, like he already knows everything will be fine. Kimi always knew how to help and calm you down.

“Well,” he says, stepping closer so you can feel him there even before you see him, “that’s one way to make Christmas more interesting.” How very funny of him.

Outside, the snow is still falling, slow and steady, the streetlights glowing faintly through the windows, and inside the house there’s only the soft hush of winter and the faint crackle of the fireplace.

 You turn to him, and even in the low light, you can see the way his eyes shine, curious and calm, like this is an adventure instead of a problem. But you were worried, to say the least.

“You think it’ll come back on soon?” you ask.

Kimi shrugs, already reaching for your hand. “Maybe. But we don’t need it right now.”

He disappears into the kitchen for a moment and comes back with candles, setting them carefully around the room. One by one, tiny flames flicker to life, filling the space with a soft, golden glow that makes everything feel slower, quieter, and more intimate.

Shadows dance on the walls, and the Christmas tree lights reflect gently off the ornaments, even without being plugged in. The sight in front of you was beautiful.

You sit together on the floor, wrapped in blankets, shoulders pressed close, the air smelling faintly of pine and cinnamon. Kimi hands you a mug of tea he somehow managed to keep warm, and when your fingers brush, he smiles like it’s the best part of the night.

“This is kind of perfect,” he says quietly, glancing around the candlelit room. “No noise. No distractions. Just… us.”

You lean your head against his shoulder, listening to the wind outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing. He starts telling you stories, small ones, silly ones, about past Christmases, about things he wants to do one day, and about how strange and exciting everything feels lately. 

His voice is soft, unhurried, and you can tell he’s happy just being here, in this moment. He was happy being with you after all the stress of the season and the traveling.

At some point, he lights a few more candles and pulls you up to stand with him near the window, where the snow looks like it’s glowing under the moonlight. He sways slightly, not really dancing, just holding you, his hands warm against your back.

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs, resting his forehead against yours.

The lights never come back on that night, but you don’t mind at all. Because surrounded by candlelight, snow, and Kimi’s quiet smile, Christmas feels exactly the way it should: simple, warm, and full of the kind of happiness you don’t need electricity to feel.

[charlesslut16]

-snowflakes and candlelight-

summary : alex comes back to you on christmas after a long f1 season

PAIRINGS : bf!alex albon x fem!gf!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : loving christmas time so much, but something is different

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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You hadn’t realized how quiet December could feel until this one.

The city is dressed for Christmas, lights strung across streets, windows glowing warm against the cold, music spilling softly from cafés, but you walk through it feeling slightly out of step, like you’re watching the season instead of living inside it. 

Everything looks beautiful, yet something is missing, and you know exactly what it is.

Alex.

He’s been away longer than planned, races and commitments stacking up, flights delayed, days blurring into nights. You talk when you can, short calls, quick messages, stolen moments that never feel like enough. 

You tell yourself it’s okay, that this is part of loving someone whose life moves so fast, but Christmas has a way of making the distance feel heavier. Christmas time is for spending it with loved ones.

You stand by your window one evening, watching snow fall in thin, careful lines, wrapping your hands around a mug that’s already gone cold. You think about all the things you planned to do together, decorating the tree, walking through the city lights, sitting on the couch doing absolutely nothing, and you wonder if you’ll get any of it at all.

Your phone buzzes.

A message from Alex.

I’m trying. I promise. I just want to make it to Christmas with you.

Your chest tightens in that familiar way, hope mixed with fear, warmth mixed with uncertainty.

The days pass slowly after that. You keep yourself busy, stringing lights around the apartment, buying a tree that’s a little too big for the space, leaving one side undecorated without fully meaning to. You tell people you’re fine when they ask, and most days you almost believe it.

Then, on Christmas Eve, when the sky is already dark and the snow has started again, there’s a knock at the door.

It’s soft at first, almost hesitant.

You pause, heart beating a little faster than it should, before walking over and opening it.

And there he is.

Alex stands in the hallway, coat dusted with snow, hair slightly messy from the cold, eyes tired but shining in that unmistakable way that always makes you feel like everything might be okay after all. He looks at you for a second like he’s afraid you might disappear if he blinks.

“Hey,” he says quietly, voice warm despite the cold.

For a short moment, you can’t speak. You just stare, trying to convince yourself he’s really there. Your Alex is standing in front of you, after all the time missing him.

“You made it,” you finally whisper.

He nods, stepping closer, his breath visible in the air. “Barely,” he admits with a small smile. “But I wasn’t missing Christmas. Not this one.”

You pull him into a hug before he can say anything else, arms wrapping around him tightly, like you’re grounding him, like you’re grounding yourself. He hugs you back just as hard, face pressed into your shoulder, and you feel him breathe you in like he’s been waiting for this moment longer than he wants to admit.

Inside, the apartment feels warmer instantly, like it recognizes him. Alex shrugs off his coat, glancing around with a soft smile when he sees the lights, the tree, and the little touches you added everywhere.

“You did all this,” he says, quietly impressed.

“Mostly,” you reply. “I saved some for you.”

He smiles at that, not big, not loud, just soft and full, the kind of smile that carries relief and gratitude all at once. “I hate being away,” he says gently. “Especially this time of year. I kept thinking… if I can just make it home, everything will be okay.”

You sit together on the couch later, wrapped in a blanket, shoulders pressed together, the snow falling steadily outside the window. Alex reaches for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“We did it,” he murmurs. “We made it.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the quiet settle around you in the best possible way.

Christmas doesn’t need to be perfect. It just needs this,  being here, together, at last.

And for the first time all month, you feel it fully.

Home.

[charlesslut16]

-merry christmas, i miss you-

summary ; you and daniel share a quiet, snowy Christmas moment where missing turns into finding each other again.

PAIRINGS : daniel ricciardo x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none

note : I LOVE THIS SONG SO MUCH!!!!

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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Christmas always sounds softer at night.

The lights outside blink slowly, almost lazily, like they’re tired from shining all day, and the snow falls in a way that makes the whole world feel hushed, as if everyone has agreed to be quiet at the same time. 

You sit on the edge of the couch with your phone resting in your hand, screen dark, thumb hovering where his name still lives, wondering how something so small can feel so heavy.

You haven’t talked to Daniel in a while.  Not really. You wanted to, well, really needed to. You wanted to hear his voice, his laugh, and his jokes that warmed your heart.

Life got busy. Schedules didn’t line up. Conversations slowly turned into shorter messages, then longer gaps, and then that strange kind of silence that isn’t angry, just lonely. Christmas has a way of making that kind of silence louder.

You glance around the room. The tree is up, lights glowing warm and steady, ornaments catching the reflection of everything you don’t say out loud. It’s beautiful. And it hurts a little, too.

You wonder if he’s thinking about you.

The thought comes quietly, without warning, and settles in your chest like it belongs there. You imagine him somewhere else, maybe also looking at lights, maybe laughing with people around him, maybe feeling fine, or maybe missing something and not quite knowing what it is.

Your phone buzzes.

You almost drop it.

For a short second, you’re scared to look, scared it’s not him, and scared that it is. When you finally unlock the screen, your breath catches. How could it not? How?

Daniel: Hey… this is random, but are you home?

You stare at the message, heart suddenly racing, fingers cold despite the warmth of the room. You type. Delete. Type again.

Yeah. Why?

There’s a pause long enough for doubt to creep in, and then—

I’m outside.

You stand so fast the blanket slips off your shoulders, heart pounding as you cross the room and pull the door open. Cold air rushes in, sharp and clean, and there he is. 

Daniel, standing on the step with snow dusting his jacket, hands tucked into his pockets, cheeks pink from the cold, eyes searching yours like he’s afraid you won’t be there.

“Hey,” he says quietly.

“Hey,” you reply, voice softer than you expect.

For a moment, neither of you moves. Snow drifts down between you, and the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Then Daniel exhales, a small laugh escaping him as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I know this is late,” he says, “and I know I should’ve called first, but I just… I didn’t want Christmas to pass without seeing you.”

You step aside without thinking. “Come in. You’re freezing.”

Inside, the warmth settles around him immediately, and he looks at the tree, the lights, the room, and the familiar space with a soft smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“It looks nice,” he says. “You always do Christmas well.”

You shrug. “I try.”

There’s another pause, heavier this time. Daniel shifts his weight, then finally looks at you properly, really looks at you, and something in his expression changes, something honest and unguarded.

“I missed you,” he says, simply, like he’s been holding it in too long. “I kept thinking about texting you, calling you, but I didn’t want to mess things up more. And then it was suddenly Christmas, and I thought, If I don’t say it now, I might never say it.”

Your chest tightens.

“I missed you too,” you admit.

The relief on his face is immediate, quiet, and real. He lets out a breath he’s clearly been holding and steps a little closer, not touching, but close enough that you feel the warmth of him.

“This time of year,” he continues softly, “it makes everything feel louder. The good stuff. The stuff you didn’t mean to lose. I kept hearing Christmas songs and thinking about you, about how you laugh at the wrong parts, about how you always say the lights make everything feel safer.”

You smile despite yourself. “I do say that.”

“I know,” he says gently. “That’s why I remembered.”

Outside, the snow keeps falling, steady and calm. Inside, the room feels full, not loud, not dramatic, just full in the way it does when something important is finally said.

Daniel reaches into his pocket and pulls out something small, wrapped in simple paper. “I didn’t know if I should bring this,” he says, a little shy now. “But it felt wrong showing up empty-handed.”

You open it slowly. It’s nothing big, nothing flashy, just something thoughtful, something that says I saw this and thought of you. And somehow that makes it mean everything.

“Thank you,” you say quietly.

He nods, eyes warm. “Merry Christmas,” he says, like it’s more than just a greeting.

You stand there for a moment longer, the tree lights glowing beautifully behind him, the world outside quiet and white, and you realize something simple and true.

Sometimes Christmas isn’t about grand moments or perfect timing. Sometimes it’s just about showing up. About saying I miss you before the year ends.

[charlesslut16]

-built with snow-

summary : you and max built snowmen...

PAIRINGS : max verstappen x fem!reader

WARNINGS : none?

note : i love building snowmen

masterlist ; december masterlist 25' 

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Snow crunches softly under your boots as you step into the open field, the air cold enough to sting your cheeks but clean and fresh in a way that makes you breathe a little deeper. 

Everything around you is white: trees dusted with snow, fences lined in frost, the sky pale and quiet. And for a moment, the world feels slower, calmer, like it’s giving you permission to just exist.

Max walks a few steps ahead of you, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. He turns back with a crooked smile, eyes bright and playful.

“So,” he says, nodding toward the untouched snow, “you said you wanted to make snowmen. I assume you’re good at this?”

You laugh. “I didn’t say that. I just said I wanted to.”

He smirks. “That explains a lot.”

You drop into the snow anyway, immediately scooping up a handful and packing it together, your gloves already damp. Max watches for a second, amused, before sighing dramatically and joining you, crouching down and rolling a small snowball along the ground.

“This one’s going to be the base,” he says seriously, as if explaining race strategy. “You can’t rush the foundation.”

You glance at him. “Are you applying engineering logic to a snowman?”

“Obviously,” he replies without missing a beat. “Precision matters.”

You work side by side, rolling snowballs bigger and bigger, laughing when one of them collapses under its own weight. Max groans when his snowball breaks apart halfway through.

“That’s not fair,” he mutters. “The snow is against me.”

“You’re blaming the snow now?” you tease.

He looks up at you, deadpan. “I blame conditions all the time.”

Eventually, you manage to stack two snowmen, slightly lopsided but proud nonetheless. Max steps back, arms crossed, inspecting them with exaggerated seriousness.

“They need faces,” he decides. “Otherwise they look… disappointed.”

You dig through your pockets and pull out a scarf, while Max disappears for a moment and returns holding two small stones and a crooked stick. He kneels down, carefully placing the stones for eyes, tongue slightly between his teeth in concentration.

“You’re taking this very seriously,” you say softly.

He shrugs. “If we’re doing it, we’re doing it properly.”

When you finish, one snowman is leaning slightly to the left, scarf wrapped too tight around its neck, while the other stands straighter, stick arms stretched out awkwardly. Max steps closer to you, brushing snow off your sleeve without thinking.

“They kind of look like us,” he says after a moment.

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He nods toward the leaning one. “That one’s you. Always trying, even when things fall apart.” Then he gestures to the other. “And that one’s me. Pretending I’ve got everything under control.”

You laugh softly, heartwarming in a way that has nothing to do with the cold. You lean into his side, and he automatically shifts to keep you close, one arm resting loosely around your shoulders.

Snow begins to fall again, light and quiet, settling into Max’s hair and onto the shoulders of his jacket. He tilts his head slightly, resting it against yours.

“This is nice,” he says quietly. “No noise. No pressure. Just… this.”

You nod, watching the snowmen slowly collect fresh flakes. “Yeah. It is.”

After a while, your fingers grow numb, and Max notices before you say anything. He takes your hands in his, rubbing them gently, his thumbs warm even through your gloves.

“Alright,” he says softly. “Snowmen complete. Mission accomplished.”

As you walk back together, leaving two slightly imperfect snowmen behind, Max squeezes your hand once, just enough to let you know he’s there.

And somehow, in the cold and quiet of a winter afternoon, that feels like everything you need.