The Fake F1 Paddock

#1 Logan Sargeant defender till the day I die Follower of Jesus, spreading love 🤍 I like watching rich men in fast cars go in circles OP81 + LS2 🇺🇸🇲🇽

[freedomsargeant]

Drive. | Harry Styles (Mafia AU)

Description: In which Mafia Boss Harry is accidentally kidnapped by a girl in a 2005 Subaru Outback, trying to make money to buy a labubu

Warnings: Language (mild profanity), Gun violence (non-graphic), High-speed car chase, mentions of alcohol.

Pairing: Harry Styles x OC

Authors Note: Hello loves! I wanted to make this One-Shot for my birthday, sort of as a present to myself. I will warn you, it's unedited and very chaotic so read at your own risk! I really hope you enjoy!

I don’t normally take Uber requests this late, especially not in neighborhoods that look sketchy as crap. But rent is due, I still owe my cousin for accidentally ordering that 3-foot Squishmallow off his Amazon account, and there’s this limited edition Labubu I’ve been looking at on eBay for three weeks. Long story short, I needed the cash. (Especially for that Labubu) So I took the request thinking what’s the worst that could happen?

“Pick up: Felix Simineaux. 11:47 PM. Coniston Road.”

Sounds like a location someone has been murdered at before, but okay. I pull up in my trusty 2005 Subaru Outback, or as my mom likes to call it, the Beige Beast. She rattles when I hit 50, smells like wet cats and cinnamon chewing gum (weird combo, I know), and has seen better days, but she’s mine. I roll down the window just an inch and glance at the shadows.

There’s a guy standing under a streetlamp. Really tall. Black coat. Lots of expensive looking riings glinting on his fingers. Tattoos peeking from under his sleeves and shirt collar. He looks like trouble. He also looks like a Felix to me.

I lean over and shout, “Are you Fe-”

“Drive.” His voice is low and sharp like a two edged sword. He swings the door open and slides into the front seat like he owns the dang car. How rude.

I blink. “Wait, are you—?”

“Drive. Now.”

I panic. Like, full body sweat, hands shaking, heart migrating to my throat, panic. I hit the gas, the tires screech, and we race down 7th. He ducks slightly, looking through the side mirror, and that’s when the first shot rings out.

CRACK.

My back window shatters. I scream like I’m in a horror movie. The wheel jerks an the car swerves.

“What the heck is happening?!?!”

“Keep driving!” He shouts, pulling something from his coat. It glints.

Is that a freaking gun?

That’s a freaking gun.

Another shot– He rolls the window down and fires back like this is just a completely normal Tuesday night.

I swerve yet again. “You’re gonna get us both killed!” I shout, staring at him in fear. Which was probably very unsafe, considering I was going 80MPH without looking at the road. 

“You’re the one driving like a drunk goat!”

I almost corrected him but then we hit a pothole the size of Australia and my carr makes a noise like it just gave up on life. I swerve and drive us down an alley I vaguely remember from that one time I got lost trying to find a vegan taco place. Then I hear a loud bang and realize I just ran over to trash cans. The stray dogs and raccoons will have a field day with them.

Thank the Lord above,, the shooting stops. I drive another two blocks before pulling behind a closed down McDonald’s. My fingers are literally gripping the wheel like a cat would to climb a tree.

He exhales, rolls his shoulders, and finally (Thank the Lord again) lowers the gun. I start driving again, slower this time, unsure where I’m supposed to be going now.

“Call Louis. Tell him I’ll be back at base in twenty,” he says, mostly to himself. He pulls out a phone, clicks on a contact, and speaks in fast British. Something a Southern all-American gal like me can’t understand. All I catch is “territory,” “wrong car,” and “situation handled.”

That’s when it hits me. He’s not Felix. He’s not an Uber customer. He’s a mafia boss. And I just…sort of kidnapped him.

Oh sweet baby Jesus

I go still. Slowly turn to look at him. “You’re not Felix, are you.”

He lifts an eyebrow. “No.”

I slam on the brakes so hard it sends the guy jerking forward, almost hitting the dashboard.. “Okay. Alright. Um. Please don’t kill me.”

He tilts his head.

“I didn’t know! I swear! I was just trying to make some extra money so I could get this Labubu–it’s like a collectible toy, okay, and it’s really important to me, and–”

He’s just staring at me like I have two heads.

“I haven’t even bid on it yet!” My voice cracks and a single tear rolls down my face. “I can’t die without bidding!”

Complete silense. And then for some reason, he starts to laugh. Just a low, dry chuckle, like this whole mess is the funniest thing that’s happened to him in years.

❯❯❯❯❯

Apparently, when a mafia boss says ‘base,’ he means a cute little house behind an abandoned bowling alley, with a freaking porch that looks like it could be off of Southern Living Magazine. Honestly, I don’t know what I was expecting, but I definitely wasn’t expecting this. We pull in through a rolling metal door and my poor Subaru Outback sputters to a stop next to a matte black Range Rover and something that might actually be a tank (How does this house look so small on the outside yet huge on the inside?) I try not to cry. She was doing her best.

Harry, which was what the guy Louis said his name was on the phone, steps out like he owns the world. I stay in my seat until he opens my door like I’m some kind of house guest.

“Come on,” he says. “You’re already in it.”

So I go. Inside, the place looks like a Bond villain’s Airbnb. Maps, Monitors, you name it. A fridge stocked with beer, almond milk, and a jug of tea. Sadly, the tea was Great Value, and in fact not Milo’s tea. There’s a half-assembled table of guns in the corner and–oh look, snacks. Granola bars. I must be dreaming.

That’s when I see him. Messy blonde hair, Hoodie on, looks like he’s running on two hours of sleep. A cup pf Guinness in hand.

“Piper?”

I blink. “Niall?”

He squints. “What the heck are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing!”

Harry just raises a brow like he’s got no clue what the heck is going on.

“You told Auntie Maura you worked at Target!” I point an accusatory finger at my cousin.

“I do! I mean–part time!”

“Part time running guns for the freaking British mafia?!”

“Shhh!” Niall throws his hands up. “She doesn’t know that part!”

“I’m telling her.”

“No! Please! Piper, I swear to God–don’t tell Mum! She’ll make me go to confession! You know she still thinks I’m allergic to alcohol!”

“She’s gonna crucify you and your little gang buddies.”

“Piper,” he whines. “You can’t. I’ll do anything. I’ll buy your limited edition Labubu and not make you pay for the Squishmallow you bought.”

“Swear on One Direction.”

“I swear on Zayn’s cheekbones.”

Harry is looking between us like we’re speaking in another language or something. Eventually, he mutters, “I’m getting a headache,” and walks off.

❯❯❯❯❯

I thought I was finally free. I thought I could, you know, go home, glue plastic over my busted window, and pretend none of this ever happened. But then Niall texted.

 Nialler

Harry said Come to the lot at 5. Trust me.

So I did. Why? I honestly…don’t know. But I showed up anyways, curious why a Mafia Boss wanted me to meet up with him. And there it was. Parked in the lot. A brand new Nissan Rogue.

Black exterior and interior. Fancy Leather seats, unlike my faux leatherr ones in the Beige Beast. A touchscreen the size of a pizza box. Harry stood next to it, like those bad boys in all cheesy dark romance movies do.  Like this was a normal Wednesday thing he does—give out expensive cars to an Uber driver that he almost had shot to death.

“What… is this?”

“You need a car,” he said simply. “Yours is… not a car anymore.”

“That’s a brand new Nissan Rogue.”

He shrugged. “Consider it reimversement.”

I stared at him, then at the car, then back at him like a total idiot.

“…Does it come with car insurance or a hitman in the trunk?” I say, timidly peeking into the window of the car as if this was some kind of prank, and someone was waiting inside to scare me.

Harry smiled. “Just the usual paperwork.”

For a second, we just stood there. Me, still processing. Him, probably thinking about turf wars or whatever mobsters think about when they’re not buying girls cars.

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “For… not killing me. And for the Nissan.”

He nodded once. “Don’t crash it.”

I was gonna say something witty, but instead I looked at him and gave him a sheepish grin. And for a guy who’d probably killed people, he didn’t look so scary anymore.

[freedomsargeant]

The Portrait | C. Leclerc (Royalty AU)

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Warnings: None!

This one's pretty short but I hope you enjoy loves!

The grand hall of the palace was suffocatingly elegant. Servants flitted about, nobles whispered behind jeweled hands, but none of that mattered to you. Not when, after years of nothing but letters and stiff royal portraits, you were finally meeting the man you were destined to marry.

Charles Leclerc.

You had grown up with his name woven into your life, a promise made between monarchs before you were even old enough to understand what it meant. Engaged since childhood yet strangers until now.

And as he stepped into the hall, dressed in a fitted navy coat adorned with gold embroidery, his presence commanding the attention of everyone in the room, one thought crossed your mind.

His portraits really don’t do him justice.

Charles approached, offering a small bow, his green eyes studying you with equal curiosity. "It seems we are finally face to face."

You inclined your head, a polite smile playing at your lips. "Indeed, Your Highness. Though I must admit, you look quite different from the paintings."

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Better or worse?"

You let your eyes sweep over him, taking in the sharp jawline, the tousled brown hair that looked far too effortlessly perfect, the way his ceremonial attire did little to hide the strength beneath it.

"Much better," you admitted.

Charles chuckled, tilting his head. "I was about to say the same about you."

A warmth crept up your neck, though you masked it well, years of royal training ensuring your expression remained composed. "I suppose that makes this arrangement slightly more tolerable, doesn’t it?"

"Slightly?" he echoed, his smirk deepening. "And here I was, hoping you’d be falling for me already."

You scoffed, though the flutter in your chest betrayed you. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Your Highness. We’ve only just met."

Charles stepped closer, dropping his voice so only you could hear. "Then allow me the pleasure of changing that."

And as the orchestra began to play, as his hand extended in invitation, you found yourself thinking that maybe—just maybe—this engagement wasn’t such a curse after all.

[freedomsargeant]

Reception | C. Sainz

Description: In which Carlos finds the receptionist of the hotel he is staying at hot and decides to give her a call.

Warnings: none!

Inspired by a true story just slightly altered hehe

(I never can find any good GIFs 😭)

"Mate, you won’t do it," Lando teased, laughter rippling through the hotel suite.

"Bet I will," Carlos shot back, twirling his phone in his fingers as he lounged on the couch, a cocky smirk plastered across his face.

The truth was, he didn’t need a dare to do this. He just needed an excuse.

The hotel receptionist—Sophie—was probably the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. She had this easy confidence, this way of looking at him like she wasn’t impressed by the fact that he was, well, him. It was equal parts infuriating and intriguing. So, really, it was only a matter of time before he found a way to get her number. The fact that his friends were egging him on? Just an added bonus.

With a self-satisfied grin, he scrolled through the hotel’s contact list and pressed the button for the front desk.

"Good evening. This is Sophie. How may I help you?"

Bingo.

"Ah, hola, Sophie," he drawled, leaning back against the couch. "Listen, I have a bit of an, ah… interesting request."

There was a brief pause before she sighed. "Please don’t tell me you’re out of towels already."

Carlos chuckled. "No, no. I have plenty of towels, thank you. But, see, my friends are making me do this dare, and I’m afraid I have no choice."

"A dare?" she repeated, unimpressed. "Should I be concerned?"

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "They just want me to ask for your number."

Silence. Then, a soft laugh. "That’s the worst excuse I’ve ever heard."

Carlos grinned. "I know, but it’s true. And now that I’ve risked my dignity, don’t you think I deserve a reward?"

"A reward?" she echoed, amusement in her voice. "For making a phone call?"

"For being brave enough to call the most beautiful woman in the hotel, sí."

"Wow, you really don’t give up, do you?"

"Not when I see something I want."

Another pause. Then, finally, she sighed in mock defeat. "Fine. But if I give you my number, you have to actually use it. None of that ‘I’ll text you later’ and then never following through."

Carlos sat up straighter, his smile widening. "Oh, I promise, hermosa. In fact, how about I use it right now? What are you doing after your shift?"

Sophie hummed, pretending to consider. "That depends. Are you always this confident?"

"Only when it works," he admitted. "So? What do you say? Dinner with me?"

There was a small chuckle on the other end. "Alright, Carlos. Sure, why not."

And just like that, the dare turned into something a whole lot more interesting.

[freedomsargeant]

Got bored and decided to fill out this little thing!

[freedomsargeant]

TWO SHADES | Max Verstappen

(Part 1)

Mafia Boss AU

Max Verstappen x OC

Description: Max Verstappen's illegal car empire is built on silence—bought, blackmailed, or buried six feet deep. The blood on his hands is invisible beneath the oil stains, but he feels it every time he closes his eyes—he sees their faces and wonders if they'd forgive the boy who swore he'd never be like his father. Max didn't choose this life; it was carved into him the day he watched his childhood burn, the day he learned that power comes not from trust but from control. And while his business thrives, every deal reminds him that the cost of survival was his soul—and the pieces of himself he can never put back together.

Isla's empire rose on the backs of those silenced, those ruined, and those whose names she could no longer bear to remember. And though her name gleamed in the light of success, Isla couldn't unsee the darkness she had sown behind her, every victory stained with the bitter taste of the lives she had scorched to get there.

Something happens to cause these two to cross paths. A missing car worth millions. A deadline that leaves no room for mistakes. And a death sentence hanging over Max's head if they fail.

Warnings‼: contains mild language, blood, gore and death, descriptions and mentions of violence, and injuries. 

༄˖°.🖤.ೃ࿔*:･

The phone buzzed on the desk, rattling against the stained glass ashtray with an obnoxious hum. Max Verstappen leaned back in his chair, the Miami skyline glittering in the reflection of his office window. Neon pinks and electric blues danced along the glass as the city pulsed with life outside. The air smelled of old cigars and a faint hint of motor oil.

Max reached for the phone, his expression sour. It wasn't the call he wanted to take, but he knew better than to ignore it.

"What?" he barked into the receiver.

"It's here," came the voice on the other end—Gino, one of Max's more reliable guys. "The shipment came in late, but everything's unloaded."

Max's jaw tightened. "And?"

There was a long pause. "We're missing one."

"What do you mean, missing one?" Max stood up, his chair rolling back and hitting the wall. His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. "I don't pay you to 'misplace' cars, Gino. Which one?"

Gino's voice was hesitant now. "The, uh... the Skyline. The red R34."

Max swore under his breath, pacing the room. "The red one? The one for Salvatore?" He could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. This wasn't just any car. The Nissan Skyline R34 GTR wasn't just a rare find—it was a personal request from one of the most powerful, dangerous men Max had ever dealt with.

"Look, boss," Gino stammered, "we're trying to figure out what happened. Might've been swiped at the dock, or—"

"Or you're incompetent," Max cut him off. "I don't care if you have to tear apart every warehouse in Miami. Find the car, Gino. You've got twenty-four hours."

He slammed the phone down without waiting for a reply. The Skyline was more than just a sale; it was leverage. A deal with Salvatore "Sal" DiMarco wasn't the kind of thing you let fall apart. The man was a kingpin of the underground racing scene, a collector of rarities, and a ruthless enforcer when it came to people who crossed him.

As if on cue, the phone rang again. Max's stomach twisted. He didn't need to check the caller ID to know who it was. He took a deep breath and picked up.

"Sal," Max said, forcing an air of confidence he didn't feel. "Good timing. I was just about to call you."

"Max," Salvatore's deep voice drawled, smooth but dripping with menace. "I hope you're calling to tell me my baby's ready."

Max hesitated for a fraction of a second. Sal picked up on it immediately.

"What's going on?" Sal demanded, his voice sharp now. "Don't mess with me, Verstappen."

"There's been... a delay," Max admitted, carefully choosing his words. "The shipment came in, but the Skyline isn't accounted for. My guys are on it—"

"You lost my car?" Sal's voice rose, thunderous now. "Do you have any idea what that car is worth to me?"

Max swallowed hard. "We'll get it back. I promise."

Sal laughed, but it was cold and humorless. "A promise? That's cute. Here's my promise: if I don't have that car in five days, I'll put a bullet in your head and send your pieces back to Maaseik."

The line went dead. Max stared at the phone, his chest heaving.

"Five days," he muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair. "Perfect."

Max paced the room, his mind racing. The Skyline wasn't just gone—it had been taken. And in Miami, where everyone was playing some angle, it wasn't hard to guess who might've had the guts to pull off something this bold.

His instincts told him to start with one name: Isla.

༄˖°.🖤.ೃ࿔*:･

Max's sleek black BMW M5 tore through the Miami streets, the engine growling in sync with his mood. The humid night air whipped past the open windows as he gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white. Isla's place wasn't far—a dingy warehouse tucked into the outskirts of the city's industrial district—but Max drove like every second mattered.

By the time he screeched into the gravel lot outside, the roar of the car had already alerted everyone inside. He shoved the door open, slamming it behind him, and stalked toward the office door. He didn't bother knocking.

Inside, Isla sat behind her cluttered desk, feet up on a stack of invoices, lazily flipping through her phone. The dim office lighting cast shadows on her sharp features, her light blue eyes flashing with amusement as she looked up.

"Well, look who it is," she drawled, arching a brow. "To what do I owe the pleasure, Verstappen? You lose another car?"

Max slammed his hands on the desk, rattling the coffee mug and spare spark plugs scattered across it. "Cut the crap, Isla. Where's the Skyline?"

Her smirk didn't falter, but her feet hit the floor as she leaned forward. "Skyline? You think I stole your precious car?" She gestured to the chaos of papers around her. "You think I have time to add grand theft auto to my already thriving business?"

"I'm not in the mood for jokes," Max snapped, his voice low and threatening. "I know you've got connections. You're the first person I check when things go missing."

Isla sighed, pushing back in her chair. "Alright, alright. Let me see the shipping records. You have a bill of lading or something?"

"Obviously." Max tossed a crumpled paper onto her desk.

She smoothed it out, her brow furrowing as she scanned the details. "Okay, looks like it made it on the ship in Italy. But... hold on." She turned to her computer, typing quickly. "If it was here, I'd have a record of it clearing customs."

Max watched her silently, his anger bubbling under the surface. He hated this—being out of control, having to rely on someone else to clean up his mess.

"Ah," Isla said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. "It made it on the ship, but there's no record of it coming off. Either it fell into the ocean—unlikely—or someone got to it before customs did."

"Someone like you?" Max growled.

She gave him an exasperated look. "Do I look like I'd waste time swiping a Skyline? Please, Max. That car's a magnet for heat, not to mention way too conspicuous for my tastes. Besides..." Her voice turned serious as she grabbed her phone. "Let me call Franco, the guy who handles the dock inventory. If anyone knows what happened, it's him."

Max didn't bother thanking her. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as she dialed.

"Franco," Isla said when the line connected. "Yeah, it's me. Got a question about a shipment—red Nissan Skyline, Italy to Miami. Ring any bells?"

She listened, her expression growing darker by the second.

"So you're saying you checked the containers, and it's not there?" She paused, tapping her nails on the desk. "Yeah, fine. Thanks for nothing."

She hung up and glanced at Max. "It's gone. Either stolen at the dock or somewhere before that. But if you're thinking of heading back to Italy to sort this out, you're on your own. I'm not flying across the Atlantic for one of your screw-ups."

"You're coming with me, Isla. This is your guys' mess up, you need to fix it" Max said, stepping closer. His voice was calm, but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.

"Over my dead body," she shot back, standing to meet his glare. "You can threaten me all you want. I'm not your babysitter."

A cold smile spread across Max's face. "I thought you might say that." He nodded toward the corner of the office, where Isla's prized Mazda RX-7 was parked just outside, its gleaming body visible through the grimy window. "Be a shame if something happened to that beauty. Or if, say, I told the cops exactly where to find your little operation."

Her jaw tightened. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Max said. "Five days. That's how long I've got to get the Skyline back. If you don't help me figure this out, your RX-7 disappears, and you can explain to the Feds why your shipping records don't line up."

Isla glared at him, her fists clenched. The room felt suffocatingly tense, the weight of his threat hanging in the air.

"Fine," she spat, grabbing her jacket from the back of the chair. "But if this blows up in my face, Verstappen, I swear I'll make you regret it."

"Good," Max said, smirking as he opened the door. "Pack light. We're leaving tonight."

༄˖°.🖤.ೃ࿔*:･

The sleek private jet sat on the tarmac, its polished exterior gleaming under the floodlights. Max leaned against the side of a sleek black SUV, scrolling through his phone impatiently. He glanced at his watch for the third time in five minutes before looking up to see Isla sauntering toward him, dragging a massive suitcase in each hand, with two more trailing behind her on rollers.

Max raised an eyebrow, pushing off the car as she came closer. "What the heck is all that?"

Isla smirked, letting the suitcases clatter to a stop in front of him. "It's called packing. You should try it sometime."

"Four suitcases?" Max gestured incredulously. "We're going to Italy for five days, not moving there."

She shrugged, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. "I like options. A girl's gotta be prepared."

"You look like you packed for an entire year," he muttered, hoisting one of the bags onto the jet's staircase. It was heavier than it looked. "What's in here? Bricks?"

"Shoes," she said matter-of-factly, brushing past him to climb into the jet. "And maybe a hairdryer. Or two."

Max sighed, muttering curses under his breath as he hauled the rest of the luggage aboard. By the time he stepped inside the jet's luxurious cabin, Isla had already claimed one of the plush leather seats, reclining with her feet up on the ottoman. She was scrolling through her phone, looking as relaxed as if she owned the place.

"Make yourself at home," Max said dryly, dropping into the seat across from her.

"Oh, I plan to." Isla smirked, kicking off her sneakers. She pulled a sleep mask from her bag and slipped it on, then produced a pair of matching pink pajamas from another. She vanished into the small bathroom and emerged minutes later, fully changed and carrying a fluffy blanket.

Max stared, incredulous. "You can't be serious."

"What?" she asked, draping the blanket over herself as she curled up in the seat. "It's a long flight. I'm getting some beauty sleep."

"Yeah, because running from the law really takes it out of you," he muttered, but she ignored him, pulling the mask over her eyes and settling in. Within minutes, she was out cold, her soft breathing the only sound besides the low hum of the jet engines.

Max leaned back, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."

But his irritation didn't stop his gaze from lingering on her. For the first time, he took a proper look at her features without the usual sharpness of her expression or the constant spark of defiance in her eyes. Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail, a few loose strands framing her face. Her fair skin looked smooth and untroubled in sleep, her lips slightly parted as she breathed evenly.

She looked like the quintessential "dumb blonde," but Max knew better. Isla wasn't dumb—far from it. She was sharp, cunning, and infuriatingly resourceful. At just 24, she was running her own illegal import business, dodging customs and staying just ahead of the law. She might act carefree, but her success wasn't a fluke.

"Too bad she's so dang annoying," Max muttered, shaking his head as he pulled out his tablet.

A few hours later, Isla stirred, pulling her mask off and yawning as she stretched. "Morning, sunshine," Max said, glancing up from his tablet. "Sleep well, princess?"

She shot him a withering look. "Like a baby. Thanks for asking." She reached for her bag, pulling out a travel-sized espresso machine.

Max blinked. "Is that... seriously? You brought a coffee maker?"

"Unlike you," she said, plugging it into a nearby outlet, "I enjoy decent coffee. Want one?"

"I'll pass," Max replied, watching her as she busied herself. "You know, you've got a lot of nerve treating this like a vacation."

She smirked as she sipped her espresso. "You dragged me into this mess, remember? The least you can do is let me enjoy the ride."

Max shook his head. "You're impossible."

"And you're insufferable," Isla shot back. "What a team we make."

They fell into an uneasy silence, neither one wanting to speak.

Max broke it first. "You're smart," he said grudgingly, leaning back in his seat. "I'll give you that. But you can't tell me you've made it this far without stepping on a few toes."

"Oh, I've stepped on plenty," Isla replied, her voice laced with amusement. "The trick is knowing which ones you can step on and which ones you can't."

"Care to enlighten me?"

She looked at him over the rim of her cup, her blue eyes sharp. "You're one to talk, Mr. Illegal Car King. Tell me, Max, what's your 'trick' for dealing with people like Sal DiMarco?"

Max's expression darkened. "I get results. That's all they care about."

"Well," she said with a smirk, "you better hope we get results in Italy. Or it'll be more than toes we're stepping on."

Max didn't respond, but the tension in his jaw said enough. The stakes were high, and despite their bickering, Isla knew they were both in deep.

༄˖°.🖤.ೃ࿔*:･

 The flight had been long, but the discomfort between Max and Isla made it feel even longer. By the time they arrived in Rome, Isla was practically bouncing on her heels, ready to stretch her legs and explore. Max, however, looked as stoic and unbothered as ever, navigating the busy airport with his typical no-nonsense attitude.

Outside, a sleek black sedan waited for them. The driver nodded curtly as Max held the door open for Isla.

"Well, look at you," she quipped, sliding into the car. Her voice lowered. "A gentleman and a criminal. Who knew?" Max rolled his eyes and shut the door before getting in on the other side. "Save your jokes. We're on a schedule."

   The drive into the city was filled with stunning views of ancient ruins and cobblestone streets, but Isla barely had time to take it all in before they pulled up in front of a grand hotel. Its marble facade gleamed under the afternoon sun, the golden lettering above the entrance spelling out its name: Hotel Palazzo Venezia.

Isla blinked, looking up at the opulent building. "Are you sure this is the right place? This looks more... five-star than my usual style."

Max smirked, already pulling her luggage out of the trunk. "I'm not cheap, Isla. Contrary to what you might think, I prefer to work in comfort."

"Comfort," she echoed, snorting as she grabbed one of her smaller bags. "This is luxury, Verstappen." But Isla wasn't complaining, she enjoyed the luxury style.

    Inside, the hotel lobby was even more breathtaking-vaulted ceilings adorned with frescoes, glittering chandeliers, and a marble fountain bubbling in the center of the room. Isla looked around, trying to act unimpressed, but the sparkle in her eyes betrayed her.

At the check-in desk, Max handed over his card without hesitation. "Two rooms," he said to the receptionist, who smiled warmly and handed them their key cards.

Isla raised an eyebrow. "You're paying for my room, too? Didn't take you for the generous type."

Max didn't respond, his lips twitching as if suppressing a retort. Instead, he headed toward the elevator, leaving Isla to trail behind with her mountain of suitcases.

When they reached the elevator, Isla tried to cram all four of her suitcases inside, but the narrow space refused to cooperate.

Max sighed, stepping forward to help. "How do you even manage to travel with this much stuff?"

"I'm resourceful," Isla replied, grinning as he awkwardly maneuvered the largest suitcase into the elevator.

"You're ridiculous," he muttered, pressing the button for their floor.

"Aw, thanks, neighbor," Isla teased as the elevator began its ascent. "Or should I say, roommate?"

"Don't even think about it," Max shot back, giving her a warning glance.

When they reached their floor, Max handed Isla one of the key cards. She opened her door and stepped inside, her jaw dropping as she took in the room.

The suite was massive-high ceilings, velvet curtains, and a king-sized bed with crisp white linens. A vase of fresh flowers sat on the coffee table, and the balcony offered a stunning view of the skyline. The minibar was stocked with expensive-looking drinks and snacks, including a bottle of sparkling cider and one of apple juice.

"Holy cow," Isla muttered, kicking off her shoes and heading to the fridge. She grabbed the apple juice and poured it into a fancy crystal glass she found on the counter. "Might as well drink like royalty," she said to herself, taking a sip as she settled at the sleek mahogany desk.

She pulled out her laptop, booting it up with a quiet hum. The screen glowed as she opened her files, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she searched for anything that might explain the Skyline's disappearance.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced at the screen: Fernando Alonso.

She smirked as she answered. "Miss me already?"

"Always," Fernando's smooth voice said. How's Rome? Enjoying the sights?"

"Not exactly a vacation," Isla said, leaning back in her chair. "I'm here with Max, trying to track down a missing car. Long story short, someone swiped a Skyline from the shipment before it even left the dock."

Fernando let out a low whistle. "That's bold. You think it's connected to Sal DiMarco? Like someone who can't stand him?"

   "Could be," Isla replied, sipping her apple juice. "But right now, I'm just trying to keep Max from having a meltdown. He's got this whole ticking clock situation with Sal threatening his life and all."

Fernando chuckled. "Sounds like fun. Let me know if you need anything. I've got contacts in Rome-might be able to dig something up."

"I might take you up on that," Isla said. "Thanks, Fernando."

"Anytime. And Isla?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't let Max drive you crazy. That's my job."

She laughed. "Too late for that."

   They ended the call, and Isla stared at her screen for a moment before getting back to work. Whatever had happened to the Skyline, she knew one thing: this trip was only going to get more complicated

༄˖°.🖤.ೃ࿔*:･

   Isla sat cross-legged on the plush bed in her hotel room, her laptop perched on her knees as she stared at the screen. The more she dug into the shipment records, the clearer it became that whoever had taken the Skyline was operating on inside knowledge. Frustrated, she grabbed her phone and scrolled to a contact saved only as "L".

She hesitated, chewing her lip, before hitting the call button.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. "Hey, kid. What's up?"

"Are you still in Italy?" Isla asked, keeping her tone casual.

"For now," came the reply, his voice calm. "Work's got me hopping all over, but yeah, I'm in Rome. Why?"

"Can you meet me?" she asked. "Dinner. Someplace nice."

There was a pause. "This isn't just dinner, is it?"

Isla smiled faintly. He knew her too well. "I just need to talk to you. That's all."

"Alright," he said. "Pick the place and send me the details."

By the time Isla hung up, her mind was already working on the details. She had packed for every contingency, including a dress that screamed "old money"-a sleek, ivory number with delicate gold accents. After slipping it on, she brushed out her blonde waves until they cascaded perfectly over her shoulders and added a pair of understated earrings for polish.

She grabbed her clutch and headed for the door, but the moment she stepped into the hallway, Max was there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his tone equal parts suspicion and irritation.

"To eat," she said breezily, walking past him.

"Not alone you're not," Max said, falling into step beside her.

Isla stopped and turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. "I don't need a babysitter, Max."

"Maybe not, but I don't trust you," he shot back. "You're sneaky, and sneaky people don't just 'go out to eat.'"

She huffed, throwing her hands up. "Fine. You want to tag along? Be my guest. But if you ruin my night, I'm making you pay for my therapy."

"Deal," he said with a smirk, already pulling out his phone to call for their car.

A/N - Hey loves! Hope you enjoyed part 1 of TWO SHADES, and if this story starts to get traction, I'll start working on part 2! Other than that, I hope you all have a simply lovely week! 🤍

[freedomsargeant]

Pastry | Oscar Piastri

Hey loves! Hope you enjoy this sweet little one-shot idea I had! Also, I won't be using Y/n in this.

Description: The reader tries to come up with nicknames for Oscar.

Warnings: None! All fluff.

It had started as a simple request.

"Come on, Oscar, let’s go for a walk," she had said, leaning against the doorway of his hotel room with that mischievous glint in her eye. He had considered refusing, claiming he was too tired or that he had better things to do, but who was he kidding? He always gave in eventually.

So, with a sigh and a barely concealed smirk, he grabbed his hoodie and followed her out.

As they made their way down the hall, she suddenly glanced back over her shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. "C’mon, Oscar Pastry."

There was a brief silence before a laugh escaped him, shaking his head. "Hey! That’s not my name!"

She grinned, unfazed. "It is now. Unless you want me to call you Oscar the Grouch instead…"

Oscar rolled his eyes, falling into step beside her. "Why don’t you just call me by my real name? You know, the one that doesn’t make me sound like a pastry or a trash can monster?"

She hummed, stepping up to the elevator and pressing the button. "Hmmm… I’ll think about it."

Oscar scoffed, crossing his arms. "You will, huh?"

She shot him a playful look, tapping her foot against the floor as she waited for the elevator to arrive. "Mhm. Might take me a while, though. You’re kinda starting to look like a croissant to me."

"Oh my Gosh." He groaned dramatically, but the small smile tugging at his lips gave him away. "You’re impossible."

The elevator doors slid open, and she stepped inside, leaning against the wall as Oscar followed. "And yet, here you are, voluntarily spending time with me."

He sighed, shaking his head with a mock exasperation that didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Against my better judgment."

She grinned, nudging his shoulder with hers. "C’mon, Oscar Pastry. Let’s go."

And despite his protests, despite the ridiculous nickname, Oscar Piastri wouldn’t have wanted to be anywhere else.

[freedomsargeant]

Just A Rant

I hate it when I say what my religion is after people ask and they just automatically start acting rude towards me. Like I did nothing to you and you're gonna treat me like that. I never judge others based on what they believe or what they don't, and I respect them. All I ask in return is you show me some respect. I guess what I'm trying to get at is please don't make assumptions about others based on a stereotype or image you have created about them. I know this isn't my usual content but I've been really upset because of people that have been doing this. And not just on Tumblr but on other platforms! Just all I ask is that you treat everyone with kindness even if you don't agree with what they think!

[freedomsargeant]

Afraid With You | Charles Leclerc

This story is based on the song Afraid With You by Tauren Wells.

Charles X OC

warnings: Mental Health problems. Please let me know if there is anything else I forgot to mention!

Word count: 606

Charles sat on the floor next to Violet, his back against the cold wall of her small apartment. The soft hum of city sounds filtered in through the windows, but everything felt distant, muffled. He could see the remnants of her pain in the tissues scattered around her, the way her shoulders were tense, and the sadness she was trying so hard to keep buried.

She’d always been strong, but tonight, the walls had finally started to crack. And Charles…Charles didn’t have the words to make it all better. He didn’t know how to fix what was hurting her so deeply. But he wasn’t going to let her sit there alone.

Quietly, he lay down beside her, close enough that their shoulders brushed. She shifted, glancing at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Charles, you don’t have to. I don’t want to drag you into all this…mess.”

He shook his head, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Vi, I don’t want to be anywhere else.” He reached for her hand, letting his fingers intertwine with hers. “I can’t stop your tears, but I can be here. You can talk to me, or not, but I’m here.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and she bit her lip, fighting back the urge to let go completely. She’d always been the one to handle things alone, to hold it all together. But here he was, offering her something she didn’t know she needed—someone who would stay with her in the storm and feel it all with her, no matter how messy it got.

“Charles…I don’t even know what to say. I’m scared,” she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m terrified of…everything. The future, the pain. It feels like a piece of me is gone ever since what happened...”

Charles’s grip on her hand tightened. “I might not have all the right words, and I might not be able to fix the hurt you’re feeling. But one thing I will say is it was not your fault, Cherie, and you’re not alone in this.”

A silence settled between them, a comfortable one, as she absorbed his words. She’d always thought her fears were something to carry alone, something no one else could understand. But he was here, offering his own vulnerability, his own comfort, letting her know that she didn’t have to hide anymore.

Charles turned to face her, his gaze soft and steady. “Oh ma chérie, viens ici.” He says hugging her tightly, the scent of vanilla immediately surrounding him.

Slowly, she nodded, letting the walls she’d built up come down, piece by piece. “I don’t know how to…be open like this,” she whispered. “I’ve always felt like I needed to keep what happened to myself ”

“I get it,” he said, his voice gentle. “But you don’t have to do that with me. I know some of what happened and I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Cherie.”

They stayed that way for a long time, neither of them moving, both taking comfort in the presence of the other. He could see her tension easing, her breathing slowing, as she started to calm down. And in that quiet moment, Charles realized that love didn’t always mean fixing things. Sometimes, it meant standing side by side, holding onto each other, and facing the fears together.

Finally, she looked up at him, her expression softening. “Thank you, Charles. For being here…for not letting me go through this alone.”

He leaned closer, brushing a tear from her cheek. “I’m not going anywhere, Violet. Whatever happens, I’ll be here. I’ll be afraid with you.”

[freedomsargeant]

Complete | Paul Aron

Hello loves! Thought I would make another book now that I'm on Thanksgiving break. My requests are open if anyone would like me to write them a little something! I hope you enjoy it!

Paul Aron X OC

Summary: Paul is unhappy with the race results and Olivia decides to spend the rest of the day trying to cheer him up

Warnings: none, it's all fluff!

Paul leaned back against his car, eyes fixed on the ground. The pit area was quiet now, the buzz of the race weekend already fading into the usual background of his life. But today was different. Today, disappointment felt heavier. He was lost in thoughts of missed turns and split-second miscalculations when he heard familiar footsteps approaching.

"Hey, you," Olivia said, her voice bright and comforting as she walked up beside him. Her smile, as usual, softened the edge of his frustration, if only a little.

"Hey, Liv," he murmured, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

She tilted her head, looking him over. “Rough day, huh?”

Paul nodded, swallowing back the urge to vent his frustration. His races mattered to him more than anything, and today’s loss—well, it stung. “Could’ve done better. I don’t know...everything felt off.”

Without a word, she leaned against the car beside him, shoulder to shoulder. He felt a familiar warmth, the same comfort that Olivia always brought. They'd been close for years, ever since he'd started racing in junior karting leagues. She’d seen every high and low and somehow never wavered in her support.

“Hey, I have an idea,” she said suddenly. “How about we leave the pit and just...do something fun? Like, something not-racing related?”

He couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth. Olivia always had a way of making things better, even if he didn’t quite understand how she did it.

“Alright,” he said, surprising himself. “What do you have in mind?”

* * * *

They found themselves at a small park overlooking the city, and Olivia had come prepared with a blanket and a bag of snacks she’d picked up on the way. Paul realized how rare it was to see this side of life, away from the endless noise of racing, the thrill of speed. He hadn’t really just...stopped in a long time.

They sat down, and she handed him a snack without a word, her usual sense of timing impeccable. She knew he needed a little time to shake off the disappointment.

“It’s okay to feel let down sometimes,” she said, as if reading his mind. “You’re always so focused, so hard on yourself. But, Paul, it’s also okay to just...be.”

“Be?” He chuckled lightly, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s in my programming, Liv. You know that.”

She laughed, nudging him with her shoulder. “I know. But you can try for one afternoon, can’t you?”

He looked over at her, really looked this time. Her bright eyes, her steady presence...for a moment, the frustration of the day melted away. She wasn’t here to talk about the race, to criticize his laps, or even to ask him why he was feeling low. She was just here for him, exactly as he was.

“You know, I don’t say this enough,” he said quietly. “But...thanks. For being here, I mean. For always knowing exactly what to say and when to say it.”

A soft smile spread across her face, a look he hadn’t seen before, or maybe had never really noticed. “It’s nothing, Paul. It’s just...I know you. I know how much racing means to you. And it’s okay to be disappointed. But you’re more than one race, you know?”

Her words lingered in the air, and for the first time, he found himself really seeing her, understanding what she meant to him. Olivia had been there through every victory, every setback, her presence as constant and grounding as the road beneath his tires. She wasn’t just his friend—she was his anchor.

He took a breath, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting, their shoulders brushing, their faces just inches apart. There was a spark between them, something he’d brushed off or ignored, thinking it was just the comfort of a close friendship.

But now, in the quiet of the park, with her gaze soft and knowing, he realized he didn’t want to ignore it anymore.

“Liv...” he started, his voice catching. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to speak the words he’d been holding back. “I...I don’t think I could do this without you. Racing, life—any of it. You make it...better.”

She looked up, her eyes searching his face, her expression softening. “Paul, I’ll always be here for you. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you to be...you.”

He felt his heart pound, realizing just how precious she was to him, how much he’d come to rely on her presence, her quiet strength. Without thinking, he reached over, letting his hand find hers. It was a simple touch, but it said everything he couldn’t quite find the words for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he didn’t feel the weight of the race, the disappointment, or the pressure. He just felt...complete.

As they sat there, watching the city lights blink to life in the distance, he realized that maybe—just maybe—he’d found something even more valuable than a win on the track.

[freedomsargeant]

Hiii pooks! I Just started reading Last Christmas and may I say love I am in total awe of this book! You did such a wonderful job with the characters and plot I simply can’t wait for the next book you write!

That's Exactly what I love to see 🥹 I'm so happy everyone has been loving reading Last Christmas, I really enjoyed writing it! I love you all so much 🫶🏼

[freedomsargeant]

Fa-La-La-In Love | Franco Colapinto

Hey loves! Yet another Christmas fanfic. I think I'll continue making these until Christmas ends. This is an x OC since I don't really like writing x readers. I hope you enjoy it!

Summary: In which Alayana thinks she's alone only to find Franco watching her dance terribly

Warnings: Literally nothing just a bunch of fluff

Fa-La-La-In Love

The cabin was quiet as Alayna stood by the window, watching her friends disappear into the forest with their skis and snowboards, their laughter echoing back to her. She didn’t mind staying behind—skiing wasn’t really her thing, and the idea of curling up with some hot cocoa by the fire sounded way better. She turned back inside, feeling cozy in her Christmas sweater and fuzzy socks, surrounded by twinkling lights and the scent of pine from the Christmas tree.

What she didn’t know was that Franco had stayed back too.

He was in his room, taking a break from the relentless pace of the racing season, finally getting a moment to just…breathe. But as he walked toward the kitchen, he heard something that made him pause—a familiar tune, cheerful and unmistakably Christmas-y, drifting from the living room. He followed the sound, stopping just outside the doorway when he saw Alayana, oblivious to his presence.

She was completely in her own world, swaying to “All I Want for Christmas is You” by Mariah Carey, belting out lyrics, despite a complete lack of rhythm. She was dancing with absolutely no coordination, twirling in her oversized socks and making big, terrible gestures as if she were in her own Christmas music video.

Franco bit back a laugh, leaning against the doorway, arms crossed as he watched her. She was just enjoying herself and he felt something warm and unexplainable growing in his chest as he took in the scene.

When she finally spun around and caught sight of him, she froze, her face going pale for a second before flushing bright red. “Franco! Oh my gosh! I— I thought you went skiing!”

He raised his hands in mock surrender, a playful grin on his face. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt the concert,” he teased, his tone gentle, laced with warmth.

She covered her face, mortified, then dropped her hands, trying to laugh it off. “I, uh...guess my dancing could use some work,” she mumbled, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear.

“Nonsense,” he said with a chuckle. “It has...character.”

She rolled her eyes, still embarrassed but finding herself grinning back at him. Just then a slow Christmas song started playing, filling the room with a soft melody.

A mischievous glint lit Franco’s eyes. “You know, if you’re gonna dance, you might as well do it right.” He extended his hand to her. “What do you say?”

Her cheeks turned an even deeper shade of red, but there was something so gentle in his gaze, something warm and inviting, that she found herself taking his hand. “I...I don’t know how to waltz,” she admitted.

“Perfect,” he said, stepping closer. “Then you won’t notice if I’m bad at it.”

She laughed, feeling her nerves settle as he placed one hand on her waist, keeping his other hand steady in hers. “Alright, first step. Just follow my lead.”

They started to move in small, tentative steps, Franco guiding her as they turned slowly, the Christmas lights casting a warm glow around them. The world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the soft music and the warmth of his hand in hers.

“You’re a natural,” he murmured, his voice low and encouraging, his eyes never leaving hers.

She let out a shy laugh. “Pretty sure you’re doing most of the work.”

“Maybe,” he said with a soft smile. “But you’re making it look good.”

They continued to dance, her awkwardness slowly melting away as she relaxed into his arms. She could feel the warmth of his gaze on her, and suddenly, she wasn’t worried about her lack of rhythm or her terrible dancing. All she could think about was how close they were, the gentle pressure of his hand guiding her, the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room. Well, she was, but she was positive if it was filled with people he would only be looking at her. 

As the song began to stop, their steps slowed, neither of them willing to let go just yet. The last notes of the melody faded, leaving a comfortable silence between them. She looked up at him, breath catching as she realized just how close his face was to hers.

Franco’s gaze softened, his thumb tracing small circles on her hand. “I’m glad you didn’t go skiing,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

She felt her heart race, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the holiday lights or the fire crackling nearby. “Me too,” she whispered back, a small smile playing at her lips.

For a moment, they just stood there, frozen in the glow of the Christmas lights, in a world that seemed to have shrunk to just the two of them. And in that quiet, snow-covered cabin, with the faint echoes of Christmas music lingering in the air, it felt like the most perfect place in the world to be.

****

Hey Loves! This story was pretty short but I hope you all enjoyed it! As always I love you all and I'll catch you on the flippity flop!

[freedomsargeant]

Last Christmas | Max Verstappen

Hello loves! This is my first time making a fanfiction so please be kind! This is an x OC since I don't particularly enjoy writing x Readers. My requests are open so feel free to request I write something! This story is inspired by the two songs 'Last Christmas' by Wham! and This Christmas by Donny Hathaway. Also, the Christmas candle I picked up from DG :D

Max Verstappen x OC

Summary: In which Lando's sister spends Christmas with the same person that broke her heart last Christmas.

Warnings: none

Last Christmas

Hannah Norris tugged her suitcase through the crisp snow, the wheels sticking every few inches in the uneven terrain. She muttered under her breath, exasperated but warmed by the thought of seeing her brother again. Lando’s invitation had been insistent, pleading almost, as though he’d known just how much she’d needed a break. He hadn’t come right out and said he missed her, but the fact that he’d practically guilted her into coming was enough of a tell. 

After nearly a year of dodging race weekends and inventing excuses to miss events, she’d missed him too.

A soft glow came from the cozy log cabin nestled against a line of snow-dusted pines, warm lights spilling onto the porch. She could already hear familiar laughter inside and was surprised by how much she missed the rowdy, laid-back energy of Lando’s friends.

She climbed the porch steps, stomping the snow from her boots, and the door opened before she could reach for the handle. Daniel Ricciardo appeared with a wide grin, his eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Hannah Norris! Long time no see,” he beamed, pulling her into a warm, bear-like hug that lifted her off the ground.

“Hi, Daniel!” She laughed, surprised but grateful for the enthusiastic welcome. Her nerves instantly eased.

“Finally! The last Norris has arrived,” called another voice. Hannah looked up to see Max Fewtrell, his smile genuine as he reached for her suitcase. “Here, let me get that.”

“Thanks, Max,” she replied, letting him take her bag. She glanced around the cozy room, the scent of pine and cinnamon filling the air, blending with the warmth of a crackling fire. Oscar Piastri waved at her from the sofa, raising a cup of hot chocolate, already looking at home in plaid pajamas and fluffy socks. Next to him was Lily Zneimer, her eyes instantly lighting up as she saw her. 

“Hey girl! Glad you decided to come!” She said waving and grinning from ear to ear.

But then her stomach dropped. She noticed him at the same time he seemed to notice her.

Max Verstappen stood near the fireplace, his expression unreadable, arms crossed and eyes fixed on her. The laughter around her faded, and time seemed to slow as the memories from their last encounter resurfaced, like an old scar she’d almost forgotten.

She hadn’t seen him in nearly a year—had tried her best to ensure it. Memories of their last Christmas, of his sudden disappearance without a word, flooded her mind, stirring up hurt she’d thought she’d buried.

Lando appeared beside her, beaming. “Well, Hannah, Merry Christmas! We’ve all missed you,” he said, but his eyes flicked between her and Max with a hint of suspicion, as if he’d just noticed something was going on.

Hannah swallowed hard, pasting on a smile as her brother introduced her to everyone again, acting oblivious. But all she could feel was Max’s stare, both familiar and distant, and the unresolved silence between them hanging heavier than ever. 

❄❄❄❄

The brief introductions lingered in Hannah’s mind as she unpacked in her small, cozy room. She took in a deep breath, forcing herself to push past the last, unbearable moment she’d had with Max last Christmas. It’s been almost a year, she told herself, folding her sweater a bit too precisely, almost willing the repetitive action to keep her calm.

When he’d left without a word, she’d tried to convince herself it had all been a mistake—she’d misread him, the feelings she’d thought were mutual. For months, she’d avoided places she knew he’d be, keeping her distance from the racing world to avoid any chance of running into him. She was here for her brother and her friends, she reminded herself, and nothing more. She’d enjoy herself, stay busy, and just avoid him.

Easy enough, she assured herself.

After she’d finished unpacking, she made her way back to the living room. Lando and the others were sitting around the coffee table, laughter filling the room as they played a game of Uno. She slid into the spot beside Oscar, trying to focus on the game and enjoy the moment. But every so often, she’d catch a glimpse of Max at the edge of her vision, his gaze occasionally darting her way, and the tension would settle in again. It was like a knot that refused to untangle.

“Oh, come on, that’s unfair!” Lando protested, tossing down a draw-four card with a scowl as Oscar grinned, claiming victory for the second time. The others burst into laughter, and Hannah found herself smiling despite the awkward tension.

The next morning, Lando proposed a shopping trip to the nearby town. They all piled into the cars, with Daniel, Oscar, Lily, and Max in one, and Hannah, Lando, and Max Fewtrell in the other. Once they reached town, Hannah fell back, letting the group’s energy fill the gaps in her mind as she strolled among the holiday lights and decorations, taking in the scent of fresh pine and hot chocolate from the street vendors.

As they drifted into a small shop lined with wool scarves and handcrafted trinkets, Daniel hung back, catching her eye. “Hey, let’s grab a coffee while they’re shopping?” he asked with an easy smile.

“Sure,” she replied, managing a small smile as they ducked out of the shop and into a little café down the street.

The warmth of the café was a welcome contrast to the icy air outside. Daniel ordered two coffees, and they settled into a booth by the window, watching snowflakes drift past as Christmas music hummed softly in the background. But Daniel’s gaze was keen, seeing right through the wall she’d built around herself.

“So,” he began, crossing his arms over the table. “Something’s off with you. Spill.”

She took a sip of coffee, trying to decide how much she wanted to reveal. Bottling it up for months had felt easier, but with Daniel’s calm, familiar presence, the words began to surface almost on their own. “It’s… just complicated.”

Daniel raised an eyebrow, his gaze steady. “It’s about Max, isn’t it?”

The way he asked, so matter-of-factly, dissolved her defenses entirely. She sighed, staring into her coffee. “Last year… around this time actually, Max and I, we were—well, things were good, or at least I thought they were. But then one day, he just left. No explanation, no goodbye. He was gone. And it was as if we’d never even known each other.” Her voice dropped, barely a whisper. “It hurt more than I want to admit.”

Daniel’s expression softened. “That’s tough, Hannah. He can be... hard to read. But look,” he said, pausing as he gathered his thoughts, “whatever he was thinking, that’s his mistake to fix, not yours to carry. Just be here for you, yeah? No avoiding the guy; just own the room. This is your holiday too.”

Hannah managed a small smile, feeling some of the weight lift. “Thanks, Danny. I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. Now let’s get back before Lando buys out half the shop.”

They shared a laugh, finishing their coffees before making their way back to the others. For the first time in a long time, Hannah felt like she could take a real breath, determined to enjoy this Christmas on her own terms.

❄❄❄❄

Back at the cabin, Lando wasted no time corralling everyone to the living room. “All right, team! I present to you…” He opened his arms grandly toward the corner, where a tall, slightly lopsided Christmas tree stood, its branches dusted with pine needles and ready to be transformed. “The centerpiece of our cozy holiday.”

Daniel let out a playful groan, but his grin was unmistakable. “Decorating duty, really? Just when I thought I’d get to kick back.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lando grinned, clapping a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “Hannah, Max, and I will handle the tree. You get to be on eggnog and hot cocoa duty with Max #2, Lily, and Oscar.”

“Uh, Quick question,” Max F. queried “Who is Max #2?”

“Why you of course!” Lando exclaimed.

Max F. groaned, “Why do I have to be #2? Why can’t he be #2?” He said pointing to Max V.

“Because, Max Verstappen is #1, not #2 in Formula 1.” Lando insisted.

Hannah, who was already calculating where each decoration would go on the tree, shrugged and said “Seems fair enough to me.” Max #2 was about to say something but just shut up and started walking towards the kitchen mumbling about how he would show him who’s #1.

“Can’t argue with that,” Daniel chuckled, trailing after the others toward the kitchen. 

“Well,” Hannah said sighing “Where are we going to find decorations for the tree? It’s not like any of you brought any.” 

Lando just shook his head and chuckled saying “Come on, Hannah. You really think I didn’t plan before? Have a little faith!” Hannah trusted Lando’s planning skills as much as she trusted Ferrari’s strategists to not mess things up.

Hannah just rolled her eyes and said “Okay Lan, where are these so-called decorations at?”

The tree-decorating trio found themselves climbing into the attic, finding an old, slightly dusty box filled with ornaments of all kinds—wooden stars, silver baubles, strings of tiny bells, and even a few vintage-looking figurines. They carried the box back down and set it beside the tree.

As they started sorting through the decorations, Lando set to work on the lights, grumbling over a particularly tangled strand. Hannah took a few delicate silver ornaments and began spacing them along the lower branches, noticing Max’s silent presence as he worked on the higher branches.

The room was quiet, save for Lando’s occasional complaints about the lights, but the holiday cheer in the air seemed to soften the edges of the silence between her and Max. Every so often, she’d glance up, only to catch him looking at her, quickly turning his attention back to the tree.

Lando finally managed to get the lights untangled, filling the tree with a warm glow that danced over the ornaments they’d carefully placed. With a satisfied nod, he stepped back. “There! Not too shabby, right?”

“Looks amazing,” Hannah said, taking a step back beside him. She couldn’t deny that despite the awkward tension, it was starting to feel a little like Christmas.

The others returned with trays of eggnog and steaming mugs of hot cocoa, the scents of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the room as they settled down to admire the tree. For the first time that weekend, Hannah felt a sense of warmth and contentment, her worries about Max drifting to the background in the cozy glow of the cabin.

****

As the others started heading to bed, Hannah lingered, watching the fire in the hearth until only embers remained. She slipped outside onto her balcony, breathing in the crisp night air, hoping it would help clear her mind enough to sleep.

But as she stepped out, she noticed she wasn’t alone.

Max stood on the balcony next to hers, leaning against the railing and staring out at the snow-dusted pines silhouetted under the moonlight. He turned at the sound of her footsteps, his expression softening just slightly as he met her eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” he asked, his voice quiet but carrying easily in the still night air.

She hesitated, then shook her head. “Not really. Thought some fresh air might help.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, the soft crunch of snow under her boots as she shifted her weight the only sound. After a moment, Max looked away, seeming almost nervous, which was so unlike him that she couldn’t help but be curious.

“I know… things didn’t end well between us,” he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t handle it right, Hannah. I thought leaving was the only way to… deal with things.” 

She was surprised by his openness, feeling the hurt resurface but also the clarity that time and distance had given her. “Max, you didn’t just ‘not handle it right.’ You left without a word, and it felt like none of it mattered. Like I didn’t matter.” Her voice was steadier than she’d expected.

Max’s jaw tensed as he listened, nodding. “You’re right,” he said after a pause, and his honesty, while painful, somehow eased the ache just a bit. “I thought keeping my distance would make things easier. But… I missed you, Hannah. More than I wanted to admit.”

She met his gaze, surprised by the vulnerability in his eyes. It felt like a small bridge had formed between them, built on an honest admission they’d both needed to hear.

“Well,” she replied, offering him a tentative smile, “maybe we could just start over. Without any grand expectations.”

Max gave a small, appreciative nod, his mouth curving into a soft smile. “I’d like that.”

They fell silent again, but this time, the quiet felt comforting. The shared memories, the hurt and confusion, seemed to melt into the background as they stood together under the winter stars.

“Goodnight, Max,” she said finally, her voice softened by a new calm.

“Goodnight, Hannah,” he replied, and for the first time, it felt like a real, hopeful goodbye.

❄❄❄❄

The morning came softly, sunlight streaming through the cabin windows and melting the lingering frost. Hannah stretched, feeling a strange mix of calm and anticipation. Last night’s conversation with Max had been unexpected, but it left her with a glimmer of hope—maybe this holiday wouldn’t be as complicated as she’d feared.

The group decided to have a lazy day indoors, soaking in the cozy charm of the cabin. Lando and Max Fewtrell settled into a video game tournament, Daniel, Oscar, and Lily began setting up an elaborate puzzle on the dining table, and Hannah, itching for something festive, decided to bake cookies.

In the kitchen, she rummaged through the pantry, delighted to find everything she needed: flour, sugar, spices, and even a bag of chocolate chips. As she tied an apron around her waist, she rolled up her sleeves, eager to lose herself in the rhythm of baking.

The first batch of dough was already rolled out when she heard someone walk in. Glancing over her shoulder, she wasn’t surprised to see Max Verstappen leaning against the doorframe, his hands tucked into his hoodie pocket.

“What’s that smell?” he asked, his tone teasing but warm.

“Cookies,” she replied with a smile, gesturing toward the tray on the counter. “I figured we needed some proper Christmas spirit around here.”

Max stepped closer, peering at the dough she was cutting into neat circles. “You bake?”

“I do,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I find it relaxing. And rewarding. People are always happier after cookies.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Max said, the corner of his mouth lifting into a grin. He nodded toward the tray. “They look good.”

Hannah tilted her head toward the counter. “Want to help?”

Max raised an eyebrow, but there was a flicker of curiosity in his expression. “Are you sure? I’m not exactly a pro in the kitchen.”

“Well,” she said, flashing a mischievous smile, “there’s a first time for everything. Come on, I’ll show you.”

Reluctantly, Max grabbed an apron, his movements a bit clumsy but endearing. Hannah handed him a rolling pin and showed him how to roll out the second batch of dough. 

They started with small talk—safe topics like favorite holiday traditions and their plans for New Year’s—but as they worked, their conversation grew more relaxed, filled with shared laughter and the occasional teasing remark.

Max was surprisingly focused, carefully pressing cookie cutters into the dough. “Like this?” he asked, holding up a perfectly cut gingerbread man.

“See? You’re a natural,” she said, impressed.

“Maybe I’ve been hiding my talents all this time,” he said with a smirk.

When Hannah reached for the flour to sprinkle over the counter, a wicked idea crossed her mind. Without thinking too much, she grabbed a pinch of flour and flicked it toward Max, dusting his sleeve.

He froze, staring at the white powder. Slowly, he looked at her, narrowing his eyes. “You did not just do that.”

“Oops,” she said, feigning innocence.

“Oh, you’re in trouble now.”

Before she could react, Max grabbed a handful of flour and tossed it back at her, catching her square on the shoulder. She gasped, both in surprise and amusement. “Oh, it’s on, Verstappen.”

What started as a playful retaliation quickly escalated into an all-out war. Max ducked behind the island, grabbing more flour, while Hannah took cover behind the fridge, giggling uncontrollably as they lobbed handfuls of flour at each other like snowballs.

“You’re terrible at this!” Max called, emerging to throw another handful.

“I’m just warming up!” Hannah shot back, countering with a well-aimed sprinkle that landed right in his hair.

By the time they finally stopped, the kitchen was a disaster. Flour coated the counters, the floor, and both of them. Hannah was doubled over with laughter, her face flushed as she wiped her hands on her apron.

Max leaned against the counter, grinning through the layer of flour dusting his hair. “This is… not how I thought baking cookies would go.”

She laughed, catching her breath. “Me neither, but you have to admit, it was worth it.”

Their laughter died down, leaving a comfortable silence between them. Max looked at her, his expression softer now, and she felt a flicker of the connection they’d shared on the balcony.

“Well,” she said finally, breaking the moment, “we should probably clean this up before Lando sees.”

“Agreed,” Max said with a mock grimace. “But if he asks, I’m blaming you.”

“Oh, you’re definitely taking half the blame,” she teased, grabbing a cloth to start wiping down the counter.

For the first time since last Christmas, Hannah felt like maybe they could find their way back to something—maybe even something better than before.

❄❄❄❄

Hannah was wiping flour off the countertop while Max tackled the floor with a dustpan. The kitchen was finally starting to look somewhat presentable again, though both of them were still dusted in a fine layer of white powder. She couldn’t help but laugh as she glanced at Max, who had an impressive streak of flour across his cheek and hair that now looked a little snow-dusted.

“You missed a spot,” she teased, pointing at his face.

Max raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” He leaned toward her, smirking. “Like you’re one to talk. You look like a snowman.”

Before she could fire back, the sound of footsteps and muffled voices echoed down the hall. The door swung open to reveal Daniel and Lily, both stopping in their tracks at the sight before them.

Daniel’s eyes widened, his lips twitching as he fought back laughter. “Uh… did we interrupt a food fight or…?”

Lily stood beside him, her gaze flickering between Hannah and Max, her lips curving into a sly smile. “Looks more like a flour fight to me,” she said, tilting her head knowingly at Hannah.

Hannah froze, suddenly hyperaware of how ridiculous they must look—clothes dusted in flour, cheeks streaked white, and both of them grinning like kids caught red-handed. Her eyes met Lily’s, and she quickly shook her head, mouthing, It’s not what you think.

But Lily’s expression didn’t budg. She arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, and gave a subtle wink before turning her attention back to Max, who was now brushing flour off his sleeves with a sheepish grin.

“Honestly, this is tame for Max,” Daniel said, stepping further into the kitchen and surveying the mess. “I half-expected a chocolate chip explosion or something.”

“Give us some credit,” Hannah shot back, crossing her arms. “We were making cookies… things just got a little out of hand.”

“A little?” Lily echoed, gesturing to the thin layer of flour still coating the floor.

Max cleared his throat, trying to maintain some level of dignity. “The cookies are still intact,” he said, nodding toward the tray on the counter. “So technically, we succeeded.”

Daniel finally let out a full laugh, clapping Max on the shoulder. “Well, I gotta hand it to you, mate—turning cookie baking into a contact sport? That’s a new one.”

Lily grabbed a dishtowel and tossed it toward Hannah. “Here, for round two of cleanup. And Hannah,” she added in a lower voice as she passed her, “if you’re just friends, you might want to avoid looking at him like that.”

Hannah’s cheeks flushed as she quickly ducked her head, pretending to focus on wiping the counters. “I’m not—” she started, but Lily just waved her off with a knowing smile.

As Daniel and Lily headed toward the living room, Daniel called over his shoulder, “You two might want to hurry up. Lando’s threatening to start the next Uno game without you.”

Once they were gone, Max turned to Hannah, his smirk returning. “Looks, huh?” he asked, clearly having caught part of Lily’s parting remark.

Hannah rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with the hint of a smile. “Don’t start.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender, still grinning as he finished cleaning the last bit of flour from the floor. “Whatever you say, friend.”

❄❄❄❄

The kitchen sparkled once more, and after an afternoon spent relaxing and recovering from the cookie chaos, the group began preparing for the evening’s event—a Christmas party hosted at a nearby lodge, promised to be a night of elegance and holiday cheer.

Hannah stood in front of the mirror in her room, smoothing down the crimson fabric of her dress. It was simple yet striking—a fitted silhouette with a soft flair at the hem that skimmed just above her ankles. The deep red was complemented by a white fur coat draped over her shoulders, a nod to the winter wonderland outside. Her hair, curled in soft waves, framed her face perfectly. She added a touch of lipstick and a pair of heels to complete the look.

As she gave herself a final once-over, a flicker of nerves ran through her. She hadn’t dressed up like this in a while, and though she loved the way the outfit came together, she couldn’t help but wonder if anyone else would notice.

She stepped out of her room, carefully descending the stairs, and stopped short when she saw Max waiting in the living room. He was adjusting his cufflinks, wearing a sharp black suit with a dark green tie that complemented his striking features. His hair was styled just enough to look effortlessly charming, and when he glanced up, their eyes met.

Max froze, his fingers still on his cuff, and for a moment, he simply stared. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way his eyes softened as they traced over her that made Hannah’s stomach flip.

“What?” she teased, breaking the silence. “Do I have flour on me again?”

Max’s lips parted as though he was about to reply, but instead, he stayed quiet, his gaze unwavering. For once, the sharp-tongued driver seemed to be at a loss for words.

Hannah’s cheeks flushed, and she laughed softly to fill the awkward pause. “Come on, Verstappen. Don’t make it weird.”

He gave a small shake of his head, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You look…” He paused again, his voice quieter now. “Incredible.”

Her breath caught for just a moment before she quickly looked away, smoothing the hem of her dress. “Thanks,” she said, her tone lighter than she felt. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Just then, Lily and Oscar entered the room, the latter holding the former’s hand as they approached. Lily’s eyes lit up as soon as she saw Hannah.

“Oh my God, Hannah!” she gushed, pulling her into a gentle hug. “You look amazing. That dress is perfect on you.”

Oscar nodded in agreement, grinning. “Seriously, you’re killing it tonight.”

“Thanks, guys,” Hannah said, grateful for their kind words.

“Looking sharp yourself, Max,” Oscar added with a chuckle, nodding at the driver, who simply nodded back, though his gaze briefly flickered toward Hannah again.

Daniel appeared next, raising his hands dramatically as if he were presenting her on a grand stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, the real star of the evening: Miss Hannah Norris!” he declared with a teasing grin. 

Hannah laughed, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous, Daniel.”

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” he said with a wink, stepping aside to let her pass. “You look fantastic.”

“Thanks, Danny,” she said, appreciating the friendly compliments.

Finally, Lando burst out of his room, still fiddling with his tie. “Sorry, sorry! It’s not my fault this stupid thing won’t cooperate.”

Hannah walked over, smirking as she adjusted the knot for him. “There. Now you look almost as good as me.”

“Almost,” Lando shot back with a grin, earning laughter from the group.

The group headed outside, where they piled into the cars to go to the lodge. Snow fell softly around them, the night air crisp and filled with the scent of pine. Hannah pulled her coat tighter around her, her heels crunching against the snow as they walked.

Max stayed a step behind her, watching as her curls caught the light from the cabin’s porch. She looked effortlessly elegant, her laughter carried on the cold wind as she chatted with Lily and Oscar ahead. He found himself lost in thought, his usual sharp wit dulled by the way she seemed to glow against the snowy backdrop.

As they reached the car, Lily gave Hannah’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Seriously, Hannah, you’re stunning tonight,” she whispered. “You’ve got everyone looking at you—even Max.”

Hannah rolled her eyes, laughing softly as she leaned closer to Lily. “Stop it,” she murmured, though her cheeks warmed.

❄❄❄❄

The lodge was stunning, draped in twinkling lights and festive garlands, with a towering Christmas tree glittering in the center of the grand hall. The warm hum of conversation and laughter filled the air, accompanied by a live jazz band playing soft holiday tunes. It fel like something out of a movie, the perfect blend of elegance and cheer.

The group stepped inside, shaking off the chill of the night air. Almost immediately, Carlos Sainz and Charles Leclerc waved them over, their girlfriends standing beside them. Hannah smiled as they approached—Carlos was as charismatic as ever, and Charles’ warm grin made it feel like they were all old friends reunited.

“Lando!” Carlos greeted with a hearty clap on the back. “Nice of you to tell us about this party last minute, huh?”

“Didn’t think you’d come, to be honest,” Lando said with a grin. “But glad you made it.”

As everyone exchanged pleasantries, Hannah found herself standing beside Lily and the other girlfriends who were effortlessly charming. They led her over to a table near the dance floor, their laughter blending with the festive atmosphere.

Seated together, the girls sipped on glasses of wine and chatted about everything from fashion to travel plans. Hannah found herself relaxing, enjoying their company more than she expected.

Lily eventually turned the conversation toward the group dynamic. “So, Hannah,” she began, her tone playful, “I’ve noticed you and Max spending quite a bit of time together lately.”

Hannah nearly choked on her drink. “What? No. We’ve just been… baking cookies and decorating trees. That’s it.”

“Oh, come on,” Lily pressed, her grin widening. “I saw the way he looked at you tonight. You’re telling me there’s nothing there?”

The other girls leaned in, their curiosity piqued. Alexandra raised an eyebrow, her voice teasing. “She’s blushing. Definitely something.”

“There’s not,” Hannah insisted, her cheeks growing warm. “Even if I did like Max—which I’m not saying I do—he wouldn’t feel the same way.”

Lily tilted her head. “Why not?”

Hannah hesitated, the laughter fading from her tone. “Because… last Christmas, things between us ended badly. He just left without a word, and I don’t know. It made me realize I probably misread everything.”

The table fell quiet for a moment, the weight of her words settling in. Lily’s expression softened. “Hannah, I know Max can be an idiot sometimes, but… people don’t just look at their friends the way he looks at you.”

Hannah shook her head, unwilling to let herself believe it. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here to have fun, not dwell on the past.”

With that, she stood, smoothing her dress. “I’m getting a drink. Anyone want anything?”

The girls shook their heads, and as Hannah walked away, Lily exchanged a knowing look with the other girls, who both smiled.

At the bar, Hannah found herself chatting with a guy she’d just met—tall, charming, and quick to start a friendly conversation. She wasn’t interested in anything beyond small talk, but it was a nice distraction. She laughed at something he said, resting her hand on the bar as the conversation continued.

Across the room, Max stood with Lando and Charles, his jaw tightening as he watched her. He’d been keeping an eye on her all night, his mind replaying their moments together earlier in the day—the flour fight, the way she’d smiled at him in her dress, the soft warmth of her laugh. Seeing her with someone else sent an unfamiliar pang of jealousy through him, one he could no longer ignore.

“I’ll be back,” he muttered to Charles, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Max crossed the room, weaving through the crowd until he reached Hannah. The guy she was talking to turned, acknowledging him with a nod, but Max barely glanced at him.

“Hannah,” Max said, his voice steady but with an edge she couldn’t quite place. “Dance with me.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his sudden presence. “What?”

“Come on,” he said, his gaze softening now. “One dance.”

The guy she’d been talking to stepped aside, sensing the shift in the air. Hannah hesitated for a moment, searching Max’s eyes for an explanation, but all she found was sincerity. Finally, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said softly.

Max led her onto the dance floor, placing a careful hand on her waist as the music shifted to a slow, jazzy rendition of Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas. The lights twinkled above them, casting a golden glow over the room. Hannah rested her hand lightly on his shoulder, their movements tentative at first, as though they were both afraid to break the fragile moment.

“You look beautiful tonight,” Max said, his voice low.

Hannah’s lips curved into a small smile. “You’ve already said that.”

“I mean it.”

She glanced away, trying to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks. “You’re full of surprises tonight, Verstappen.”

He chuckled softly, his thumb brushing against the fabric of her dress as they swayed. “I guess you bring it out of me.”

For the first time in a long time, the tension between them felt… easy. There was no need for words, no need to revisit the past just yet. In that moment, under the soft glow of the lodge’s lights, it was enough to simply be together.

As the song ended, their steps slowed, but neither of them moved away. Hannah met his gaze, her heart racing. For the first time, she wondered if Lily had been right—if maybe, just maybe, there was something there after all.

❄❄❄❄

The group returned to the cabin after the party, the chatter and laughter gradually fading as everyone retreated to their rooms. Hannah sighed as she kicked off her heels, finally allowing herself to relax. She swapped her red dress for her favorite pair of pajamas—a simple gray set with soft, fleece-lined slippers—and tied her hair up in a loose bun. 

Sliding under the blankets of her bed, she checked her phone, expecting a few mssages from Lando or Lily about the evening’s highlights. Instead, a new text popped up.

Lily: Come downstairs. Bring your cozy self.  

Lily: Don’t worry, I’ve got the cocoa.

Hannah frowned, but curiosity got the better of her. She slipped out of bed, grabbed her own fluffy blanket, and padded down the stairs. 

The living room was softly lit by the glow of the fireplace, casting flickering shadows across the room. Lily sat curled up on the couch, two steaming mugs of hot cocoa on the coffee table in front of her. She looked up as Hannah entered, her expression warm and inviting.

“Figured you might need this,” Lily said, patting the spot on the couch beside her.

Hannah smiled, taking a seat and wrapping her blanket around herself. She picked up one of the mugs, the rich scent of chocolate mingling with the faint aroma of cinnamon. “Thanks. This is nice.”

They sipped their cocoa in silence for a moment, Lily leaning back against the couch with an almost lazy contentment. Hannah, on the other hand, couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to this midnight gathering than just sharing cocoa.

“Okay,” Hannah said, breaking the quiet. “What’s this about?”

Lily grinned, setting her mug down. “What? Can’t I just want to hang out with my friend?”

“Not at midnight when I’m this cozy in bed. Spill it, Lily.”

Lily sighed dramatically, pulling her own blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Fine. I want to talk about Max.”

Hannah stiffened, immediately defensive. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“Oh, come on.” Lily gave her a knowing look. “You two were practically glued to each other tonight. Don’t even try to tell me that was nothing.”

Hannah groaned, setting her mug down and rubbing her temples. “Lily, we danced. That’s it. He probably just felt sorry for me because I was talking to that random guy at the bar.”

Lily raised an eyebrow. “He didn’t look sorry to me. He looked… well, like a guy who couldn’t take his eyes off you all night.”

Hannah shook her head, her voice tinged with frustration. “It doesn’t mean anything. Even if I did like him—hypothetically, of course—there’s no way he feels the same. I mean, you know what happened last Christmas.”

Lily’s expression softened, her teasing replaced with genuine concern. “I do. And I get why you’re hesitant. But Hannah, people make mistakes. I don’t know what was going through Max’s head back then, but I’ve been watching him this trip, and… I don’t think he’s the same guy who left you hanging last year.”

Hannah stayed quiet, staring into her mug as she swirled the cocoa inside. “I don’t know, Lily. I just… I don’t want to get hurt again.”

“I get that,” Lily said gently. “But look at the way he acts around you. He’s always finding excuses to be near you. The way he looks at you—Hannah, it’s not just friendly. It’s like you’re the only person in the room.”

Hannah’s heart skipped a beat, but she still wasn’t ready to let herself believe it. “Even if that’s true… what am I supposed to do about it?”

Lily smiled, leaning forward and resting a hand on Hannah’s arm. “That’s up to you to figure out. But don’t let him slip away again this Christmas. If you like him—and I think you do—you owe it to yourself to find out where this could go.”

Hannah bit her lip, her mind spinning. She hated to admit it, but Lily’s words struck a chord. Maybe there was something worth exploring. Maybe this Christmas could be different.

Lily gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before standing and gathering the mugs. “Now, go get some sleep. You’ve got some thinking to do.”

Hannah laughed softly, watching as Lily disappeared into the kitchen. She curled back up on the couch, staring into the flames of the fireplace. For the first time in a long time, hope sparked in her chest. Maybe Lily was right. Maybe it was time to stop running from the possibility of something real.

❄❄❄❄

The next morning dawned crisp and clear, the perfect day for skiing. The group buzzed with excitement as they geared up, donning ski jackets, snow pants, and helmets. Hannah layered herself in a cozy sweater under her ski jacket, tying her hair back into a neat braid. She grabbed her skis and joined the others outside, where a pair of SUVs waited to take them to the slopes.

The mountain was breathtaking, its snow-covered peaks gleaming under the winter sun. The ski lifts were already buzzing with early risers, and the air was filled with the hum of anticipation. 

Lando, ever the organizer, took charge of pairing everyone up for the lifts. “Oscar, you’re with Lily. Danny, you’re stuck with me. Max #2, find a buddy.”

Hannah started to step toward Oscar and Lily, but Lando, distracted and juggling several conversations, miscounted. “Hannah, you go with Max.”

“Which Max?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

“Verstappen!” Lando called out, already halfway onto the lift with Daniel.

She turned to find Max standing beside her, skis in hand and a faint smirk on his face. “Looks like it’s us.”

She sighed but smiled. “Fine, but if you drop me off the lift, I’m telling everyone.”

He chuckled. “I think you can handle yourself.”

As they settled onto the lift and it began its ascent, Hannah felt a slight flutter in her chest. They were high above the ground, the world below covered in a pristine blanket of snow. The silence was peaceful, broken only by the occasional chatter of other skiers and the rhythmic creak of the lift.

“You’ve been quiet,” Max said, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

“Just taking it all in,” she replied, glancing at him. “It’s beautiful up here.”

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “It is. You don’t ski often, do you?”

She shook her head. “Not as much as I’d like to. Lando’s the one who’s obsessed. He keeps trying to convince me I’m a natural.”

“Well,” Max said with a teasing grin, “guess I’ll find out soon enough.”

They chatted lightly about skiing—favorite slopes, embarrassing wipeouts—until Max brought up the party. “You looked really nice last night.”

Hannah blinked, caught off guard. “Thanks. You weren’t too bad yourself.”

He laughed softly, his cheeks reddening just slightly. “You’re not the only one full of surprises, Norris.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, but her smile lingered as they neared the top of the slope.

The group skied together for most of the morning, racing down the slopes, weaving through the trees, and challenging each other to increasingly daring runs. Hannah and Max stuck close, their competitive sides emerging as they tried to out-ski each other.

“You’re slow!” Max called out as he passed her on a steep section of the slope.

“Only because you cheat!” she shouted back, laughing as she pushed herself to catch up.

At the bottom, both of them were breathless, their faces flushed with cold and exhilaration. Hannah bent over her knees, catching her breath, while Max grinned triumphantly.

“Admit it—I’m faster,” he teased.

“In your dreams,” she shot back, poking him lightly with her ski pole.

By late afternoon, the group returned to the cabin, tired but exhilarated. Hannah went upstairs to change into warm, dry clothes. She chose a cozy set of leggings and a thick sweater, pulling her hair back into a loose ponytail. As she was finishing up, she heard a familiar voice calling from outside her window.

“Hannah! Get out here!”

She stepped onto her balcony, peering down to find Max standing in the snow, his arms crossed and a mischievous grin on his face. “What is it now?”

“Just come down,” he said, his tone playful but insistent.

Curious, she grabbed her boots and coat and headed outside. The moment she stepped onto the porch, a snowball hit her square in the shoulder.

“Seriously?” she called out, laughing as she brushed the snow off her jacket.

Max grinned, already packing another snowball. “Payback for the flour.”

“You’re such a child,” she said, grabbing a handful of snow. “But fine. You asked for it.”

What started as a lighthearted exchange quickly escalated into an all-out war. They ducked behind trees and benches, pelting each other with snowballs as laughter echoed through the quiet forest. Hannah managed to catch Max off guard a few times, landing a snowball squarely on his back or chest, but he retaliated just as quickly.

At one point, she crept up behind him, ready to ambush him, but as she lunged, she slipped on a patch of ice. She let out a surprised yelp as she fell forward, landing right on top of him.

They both froze, laughter fading as their eyes met. Max’s hands instinctively rested on her waist to steady her, and she felt the warmth of his breath in the cold air. For a moment, the world around them seemed to disappear, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the soft crunch of snow beneath them.

“Hannah…” Max began, his voice barely above a whisper.

Before she could think, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. Her breath hitched, and for a second, she froze, surprised. But then she found herself leaning into him, her hands gripping his jacket as she kissed him back.

When they finally pulled apart, both of them were breathless, their cheeks flushed—not just from the cold.

“Wow,” Max said, his voice soft.

“Yeah,” Hannah replied, her heart pounding. “Wow.”

They stayed like that for a moment longer, their gazes locked, before Max finally helped her to her feet. He grinned, brushing the snow off her coat. “Truce?”

“Truce,” she agreed, her lips curving into a smile.

As they walked back to the cabin together, the tension between them felt different—warmer, lighter, and at that moment all of Hannah’s fears and doubts melted away. Last Christmas would be nothing but a memory locked all the way in the back of her mind, she was ready to focus on this Christmas.

****

Hey guys! Thank you all so much for sticking to the end and please don't forget to like! I love you all so much and I'll catch you on the flippity flop!

[valyrfia]

btw the reason why max doesn’t drive as dirty against charles as he does against others is because he learnt at a very formative age that charles wouldn’t hesitate to literally divebomb him off the track

[freedomsargeant]

I- I am at a loss for words.