#Fiat Panda Cross

[italiancarssince1946]

2006 Fiat Panda Cross

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[pucksandpower]

Car Trouble

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: in which it starts with Max insisting that you borrow one of his many cars while yours is in the shop and somehow turns into you being dragged away in handcuffs because (according to your jealous housemates) the only way you could ever afford a car like that is by having stolen it … suffice to say, your protective boyfriend is less than amused

Warnings: law enforcement abuse of power

The thing is, you know it’s a gamble the moment you put the key in the ignition. Your little car, a 2004 Fiat Panda with a chipped paint job and a suspiciously rattling exhaust, has been teetering on the edge for months. But it’s all you have, and it’s gotten you this far.

Except now, as you sit in Max’s driveway, the dashboard flickers ominously, a banner of orange warning lights. You groan, lean your head against the steering wheel, and curse under your breath. Maybe it’s the alternator. Or the battery. Or the car’s just finally decided it’s had enough.

Max is at his kitchen window, a mug of coffee in hand, his eyes narrowing as he watches you. He steps out, still in his Red Bull Racing hoodie, hair a mess, and jogs over. You don’t even get the chance to open your mouth before he’s leaning down, peering through your open window.

“Car trouble?” He asks, but it’s more of a statement than a question.

“Take a wild guess,” you mutter, throwing your hands up.

He chuckles, low and warm. “Let me have a look.”

He gestures for you to pop the hood, and you do, reluctantly. Max circles around, lifting it with a practiced ease, his brow furrowing as he inspects the engine. You know he’s not a mechanic, but he knows enough to recognize that it’s bad news.

“I think it’s, um, all of it,” he says, voice laced with amusement. He looks up at you. “You really drove all the way here like this?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” you say defensively. “It was fine when I left. Mostly.”

Max gives you a pointed look but lets it slide. He straightens up, wiping his hands on his jeans, and nods toward the house. “Come on. I’ll call someone to get it towed.”

You hesitate. “Max, I can-”

“I know you can,” he interrupts gently, eyes locking with yours. “But why should you?”

He has this way of cutting through your defenses with a single look, and it’s infuriating. You sigh, climbing out of the car and slamming the door shut. Max winces, raising an eyebrow.

“Easy. I think she’s suffered enough,” he teases.

You glare at him, but he’s already dialing a number, one hand braced on his hip, the other holding the phone to his ear. He’s so calm, so unbothered, like this is just another Friday, and your car isn’t smoking in his driveway. It makes you feel small, somehow, and a little embarrassed.

“Hey, mate. Got a Fiat here that needs towing. Yeah, looks pretty bad. Can you get someone here today?” Max pauses, glancing at you, then back to the ground. “Nah, it’s not mine. It’s my girlfriend’s.”

The word hangs in the air, filling the space between you. It’s not the first time he’s called you that, but every time he does, it sends a little thrill through you. You shove your hands into your pockets, kicking at the gravel with the toe of your shoe as he finishes up the call.

“Right,” he says, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “They’ll be here in an hour or so. Want to come inside?”

You nod, following him up the steps and into the house. It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath your feet. Max leads you to the kitchen, where the smell of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air. He pours you a cup without asking, handing it to you as you sink into a chair.

“So,” he begins, leaning against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. “What’s your plan?”

You shrug. “Get it fixed, I guess. If it’s even worth fixing.”

“It’s not,” he says bluntly. “That thing’s a death trap.”

You know he’s right, but hearing it out loud stings. “I can’t just buy a new car, Max.”

“I’m not saying you should,” he replies, voice softening. “But you can’t keep driving that. It’s not safe.”

There’s a beat of silence, the kind that makes you feel like you should say something, but you don’t know what. Max watches you carefully, like he’s trying to figure out what’s going on in your head. He always does that — wants to fix everything, make it all better. And it’s sweet, but sometimes, it’s exhausting.

“Look, I have an idea,” he says finally, pushing off the counter and walking over to you. “You can use one of my cars until yours is sorted.”

You blink up at him. “Max, I can’t-”

“You can,” he insists, a determined edge to his voice. “And you will. You need a car, and I have plenty. It makes sense.”

“It’s too much,” you protest, shaking your head. “I can’t just borrow one of your cars like it’s no big deal.”

“It is no big deal,” he counters, his gaze steady and unwavering. “It’s a car. I have, like, a dozen of them. And I want you to be safe.”

The logic is sound, but it still feels wrong. You open your mouth to argue, but Max holds up a hand.

“Let me finish,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re here for the weekend, right? We’ll get your car towed to a shop, see what they say. In the meantime, you use one of mine. If they can’t fix it, we’ll figure something else out.”

“Max-”

“No arguments,” he interrupts again, smiling faintly. “Please. For me.”

You huff, staring down at your coffee like it might provide some kind of answer. When you look up, Max is still watching you, his expression soft and earnest. He’s not going to let this go, you realize. And maybe, just maybe, he’s right.

“Which one?” You ask, finally relenting.

A slow grin spreads across his face. “The DBS.”

Your eyes widen. “The Aston Martin?”

He nods, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yep.”

“You’re insane,” you say flatly. “I can’t drive that.”

“Sure, you can. I’ll teach you.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then?” He steps closer, dropping to a crouch in front of you so you’re eye to eye. “That you don’t want to accept help from your boyfriend? Because, if that’s it, we’re going to have a problem.”

His words catch you off guard, and you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I want you to have it. Just until you’re sorted.”

You let out a long breath, your shoulders sagging as the fight leaves you. “Fine. But I’m not keeping it.”

“Deal,” he says instantly, a triumphant gleam in his eyes.

There’s a beat of quiet as he stands, pulling out his phone again. He’s about to dial when you speak up.

“Wait.”

He pauses, glancing at you. “Yeah?”

You chew on your bottom lip, considering your next words carefully. “Are you sure? I don’t want to scratch it or-”

“Hey,” he cuts you off, voice gentle. “It’s a car not a piece of priceless china. It’ll be fine.”

His nonchalance is almost infuriating, but you can’t help the way your heart swells at his unwavering confidence in you. He believes in you, even when you don’t.

“Okay,” you whisper, and it’s like something shifts in the air between you. Max’s gaze softens, and he reaches out, squeezing your hand.

“Good. Now, let’s go get the keys.”

***

It’s raining, and the house smells like damp clothes and stale toast. Chloe stands by the living room window, holding her cup of tea, her gaze idly drifting over the dreary street. The drizzling rain matches her mood, which is sour on a good day and worse now that she’s been stuck inside with a mountain of uni work she has no interest in.

A sigh escapes her lips, louder than she means it to, but no one’s around to hear. Her housemates — well, most of them — are scattered across campus, probably doing something useful with their lives. And then there’s you. Always flitting in and out with your head held high, like you’re too good for this dump of a house.

Chloe rolls her eyes at the thought of you. She’s been harboring this quiet disdain ever since you moved in. It’s irrational, she knows that. You haven’t done anything to her, not really. But there’s something about the way you carry yourself, always so composed, so put together, that grates on her nerves. And lately, you’ve been acting … different. Happier, even. Chloe’s seen you, the way you disappear for the weekends, only to return with that smug smile. It’s not hard to guess why.

Chloe knows you have a boyfriend, though you’ve been annoyingly tight-lipped about it. She’s overheard snippets of conversation, seen the texts you try to hide when someone else walks into the room. But still, she can’t figure out why you’re with someone who clearly has money. A lot of money. The kind of money girls like you — girls like them — don’t get near unless there’s some major luck involved.

As she stares out the window, she suddenly sees something that makes her pause. Her tea sloshes dangerously close to the rim of the mug as her hand freezes. There, pulling into the lot, is an Aston Martin. Glossy, sleek, and roaring like a mechanical beast as it glides through the rain. The headlights cut through the fog, and the car comes to a slow, calculated stop directly in front of their house.

Chloe’s brow furrows, her pulse quickening. What in the world …

She watches, transfixed, as the driver’s door opens, and you step out, closing the door behind you like it’s no big deal. You glance around the street, pulling the collar of your jacket higher against the rain, completely oblivious to the fact that Chloe is practically burning a hole through the window with her gaze.

“What the hell?” Chloe breathes, her voice sharp in the stillness of the room.

Her eyes narrow as you cross the street, keys jingling in your hand, moving with an air of confidence that has no right to belong to someone pulling up in a car like that. Chloe watches every step, every casual flick of your wrist as you lock the car and walk toward the front door.

She should turn away, pretend she didn’t see anything, but her brain is spinning, trying to process the absurdity of the situation. That’s a three-hundred-thousand-pound car. You can barely afford rent, let alone something like that. Her mind races with the only plausible explanation — there’s no way in hell that car belongs to you.

Chloe slams her cup down on the coffee table, not caring that it splashes tea everywhere, and darts toward the stairs. She takes them two at a time, bursting into her flatmate Amelia’s room without knocking.

“Amelia! You won’t believe this.”

Amelia looks up from her laptop, startled. “Chloe, what the-”

“Come here. Now.”

She doesn’t wait for a response, spinning on her heel and rushing back down the stairs, Amelia reluctantly trailing after her. Chloe pulls her toward the window, jabbing a finger in the direction of the car still parked outside.

“Look,” she says breathlessly, her words tumbling out too fast. “Look at that.”

Amelia leans closer to the window, blinking at the car through the rain-streaked glass. “Is that an Aston Martin?”

“Exactly.” Chloe’s voice is a mix of disbelief and something darker. “And guess who just stepped out of it?”

Amelia frowns, her brow creasing. “No way. You’re joking.”

“I’m dead serious. She just parked it like she owns the place. What the hell is going on?”

Amelia lets out a low whistle, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, that’s … that’s not normal.”

Chloe folds her arms, pacing the length of the room now. “She’s probably stolen it. I mean, there’s no way she could afford something like that. Do you know how much that car’s worth?”

Amelia shakes her head slowly, eyes still glued to the car outside. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s her boyfriend’s?”

“That’s what I thought,” Chloe snaps, “but come on, who does she know that has that kind of money? I don’t care who her boyfriend is, something’s off.”

They both fall silent for a moment, the only sound the rain tapping against the window. Chloe’s mind races, jumping to conclusions faster than she can keep up. Everything about this feels wrong. She’s always suspected there was something up with you, but this? This is something else entirely.

Amelia breaks the silence, her voice hesitant. “Maybe she’s just lucky? I mean, maybe he’s, like, rich-rich. You know?”

Chloe scoffs. “No one gets that lucky. And she’s been acting so secretive lately. What if she’s involved in something shady? I mean, who just pulls up in a car like that?”

Amelia shrugs, clearly unsure how to respond. But Chloe’s not done. There’s a fire in her now, a burning need to know what’s going on. You’ve always been too quiet, too private, and now it’s all starting to make sense. There’s no way you’re as innocent as you pretend to be.

She whirls back around to Amelia, eyes blazing. “You know what? I’m going to call the police.”

“What?” Amelia’s eyes widen in shock. “Chloe, are you serious? You can’t just-”

“Yes, I can,” Chloe cuts her off, already reaching for her phone. “She’s clearly up to something, and I’m not going to sit here and let her get away with it.”

Amelia tries to protest, but Chloe’s mind is already made up. Her fingers fly across her phone screen, dialing the non-emergency number. Her heart pounds in her chest as the call connects, and she presses the phone to her ear, pacing as she waits for someone to pick up.

“Chloe, this is crazy,” Amelia says again, her voice laced with anxiety. “You don’t even know-”

“Shh!” Chloe hisses, waving a hand to silence her.

Finally, the line clicks, and a calm voice greets her. “Thames Valley Police, how can I help you?”

Chloe takes a deep breath, her voice steady as she launches into her story. “Hi, I’m calling to report a suspicious vehicle. It’s parked outside my house, and I’m pretty sure it’s been stolen.”

The operator asks for details, and Chloe rattles off the make and model of the car, her eyes never leaving the Aston Martin still parked outside. She glances at Amelia, who’s biting her lip, clearly uncomfortable with the whole situation, but Chloe’s too far gone to care.

“I just … I know the girl who’s driving it, and there’s no way she could afford a car like that,” Chloe explains, her tone sharp. “I think she might have stolen it.”

The operator asks a few more questions, and Chloe answers each one with growing confidence. She can feel it in her bones — something’s off, and she’s not about to let it slide.

When the call ends, Chloe lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, her hands shaking slightly as she lowers her phone.

“Chloe, you didn’t have to do that,” Amelia says quietly, her voice full of worry. “What if you’re wrong?”

“I’m not wrong,” Chloe insists, her jaw clenched. “You’ll see. The police will sort it out.”

She turns back to the window, her eyes narrowing as she watches the car, half-expecting something to happen. But nothing does. The car sits there, pristine and out of place, mocking her with its sheer audacity.

And you? You have no idea what’s coming.

***

It’s supposed to be a quiet afternoon — one of those rare breaks between classes when you can actually catch your breath. The rain’s let up, and a misty sun filters through the clouds, casting a soft glow over the pavement outside. You’re halfway up the stairs to your room, your backpack slung over one shoulder, when there’s a loud knock on the door.

The sound is sharp, authoritative, and it echoes through the house, stopping you in your tracks. You glance down, frowning slightly. It’s not like you’re expecting anyone, and the others aren’t home yet. Maybe it’s just a delivery.

But then the knocking comes again — louder, more insistent. Your unease deepens as you drop your bag and head back down the stairs. By the time you reach the door, a faint prickle of anxiety is buzzing under your skin.

You pull the door open, and there they are — two uniformed officers standing on the doorstep. They look serious, their expressions neutral but firm, and you feel your heart sink. This isn’t a casual visit.

“Can I help you?” Your voice is steady, though confusion laces each word.

One of the officers, a tall woman with cropped brown hair and a no-nonsense gaze, steps forward. “Are you the owner of the Aston Martin parked outside?”

The question takes you by surprise. “Um, no,” you say, blinking at them. “It’s not mine, but-”

“We’re going to have to ask you to step outside, please,” the other officer, a man with a stern jawline and dark eyes, interrupts. He glances over your shoulder, as if assessing whether you’re alone.

“What’s this about?” You can hear the uncertainty in your voice now, a sharp edge creeping in. “The car belongs to my boyfriend. I’m just borrowing it-”

“Step outside, miss,” the woman repeats, her tone brooking no argument.

Swallowing hard, you do as you’re told, stepping out onto the front stoop. The chill of the autumn air hits you, and you wrap your arms around yourself instinctively. This isn’t making any sense.

“I don’t understand,” you say again, a little louder this time. “What’s going on?”

The officers exchange a look, and then the man speaks. “We received a report that the vehicle may have been stolen. We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Stolen?” The word feels foreign on your tongue. “No, it’s not stolen! I told you, it belongs to my boyfriend-”

“Do you have any proof of ownership?” the woman asks sharply, cutting you off. “Registration documents, anything like that?”

You open your mouth, then close it, frustration building. “The registration is in the glove compartment. If you just let me get it-”

“Stay where you are,” the man says firmly, holding up a hand to stop you. “We’ll check it ourselves.”

“Can’t you just let me show you?” You take a step forward, but both officers tense, their hands hovering near their belts. Your heart stutters in your chest, a cold trickle of fear sliding down your spine. “I’m telling the truth! I can unlock the car and show you. Please, just let me-”

“Miss, please calm down,” the woman says, her tone laced with a warning. “We’re following protocol here. If you cooperate, this will go much smoother.”

“But I am cooperating!” The words burst out, your voice rising despite yourself. “I’m not lying. It’s my boyfriend’s car, he let me borrow it while mine is in the shop-”

“Miss, we need you to step away from the vehicle,” the man says again, more forcefully this time. He pulls out a small notepad, flipping it open. “What’s your boyfriend’s name?”

You hesitate, caught off guard. “Max,” you say finally, your voice faltering slightly. “Max Verstappen.”

There’s a pause — one that stretches uncomfortably long. The officers exchange another look, something almost skeptical passing between them.

“Right,” the woman says slowly, like she’s testing the words in her mouth. “And you expect us to believe that Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 driver, lent you his Aston Martin?”

“Yes!” Your hands are shaking now, anger and disbelief mixing with fear in a volatile cocktail. “Why would I lie about that? Just let me-”

“Miss,” the man interrupts, his tone hardening. “We need you to turn around and place your hands behind your back.”

The words hit you like a slap, knocking the breath from your lungs. “What? No, you can’t-”

“Turn around and place your hands behind your back,” he repeats, each word clipped and precise.

You look from him to the woman, desperation clawing at your throat. “Please, just let me open the car. I can prove it’s not stolen. Please-”

But they’re not listening. Before you can say another word, the woman steps forward, reaching for your arm. You flinch back instinctively, panic flaring in your chest.

“Don’t-”

“Miss, don’t make this more difficult than it needs to be,” the woman says sharply, grabbing your wrist with practiced ease. She spins you around, her grip firm but not painful, and then you feel the cold, unforgiving bite of metal as she snaps a pair of handcuffs around your wrists.

“No, wait-” You twist, struggling against her hold, but it’s useless. The cuffs dig into your skin, and you can’t breathe, can’t think.

“Please, I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!”

The man steps closer, his face impassive. “You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defense if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence …”

His voice blurs, the words running together in a nauseating hum. You shake your head, tears stinging your eyes. “No, no, please, I didn’t steal anything! Just call Max, he’ll explain-”

“Miss, we’re taking you down to the station,” the woman says, steering you away from the house and toward their patrol car parked at the curb. “We’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” You stumble, the cuffs biting into your wrists as they push you forward. “You’re not listening! The car isn’t stolen! If you just let me get the registration-”

But they ignore you, their grips unyielding. The street seems to tilt and blur as they guide you toward the back of the car, your shoes scuffing against the wet pavement. Everything feels surreal, like you’ve been dropped into a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

The woman opens the back door, and the man gives you a gentle but firm shove. You fall into the seat, the leather cold against your legs. They close the door with a solid thunk, the sound reverberating through your bones.

“Please,” you whisper, leaning forward as much as the cuffs allow. “You’re making a mistake. I’m telling the truth …”

But they’re already walking away, their voices low as they talk to each other. You catch fragments of their conversation — words like “protocol” and “standard procedure” — but it all feels distant, unreal.

You slump back in the seat, staring blankly out the window as the patrol car starts up, the engine a low, steady hum. The world outside blurs into a swirl of gray and green as they pull away from the curb, and your mind races, panic and disbelief tangling together in a messy knot.

How did this happen? One minute you were heading to your room, and now you’re being carted off to a police station like some sort of criminal. It doesn’t make any sense.

You try to replay the last few minutes in your head, searching for something — anything — you could have said or done differently. But there’s nothing. They weren’t listening to you. They didn’t care about your explanation. They just saw a girl with an expensive car and decided you must be guilty of something.

Tears prick your eyes again, and you blink them back furiously. You can’t fall apart now. You have to think, to figure out what to do next.

Max. You need to call Max. He’ll sort this out. He’ll tell them the truth, and they’ll have to let you go. But how are you supposed to do that when they’ve got you locked up in the back of a patrol car?

The drive to the station feels like it takes forever, each second dragging out in painful clarity. You try to keep calm, to breathe through the panic tightening in your chest, but it’s hard when every bump in the road makes the cuffs dig deeper into your skin.

Finally, they pull up in front of the station, and the officers get out, coming around to your side. The door opens, and the woman leans down, her expression unreadable.

“Come on, miss. Let’s get this sorted out.”

You nod numbly, letting them help you out of the car. Your legs feel shaky, your whole body trembling with a mixture of fear and anger. They lead you up the steps, through the front doors, and into a small, sterile room that smells faintly of disinfectant.

“Please,” you say one last time, your voice breaking. “Please, just call him. He’ll explain everything.”

But they only exchange another glance, and the woman shakes her head slightly. “Let’s get your statement first, miss.”

And then they’re sitting you down, the lights glaring down from above, the cuffs still biting into your wrists. And all you can do is sit there, your heart pounding in your chest, as the nightmare continues to unfold around you.

***

The fluorescent lights above hum softly, the cold, sterile environment of the police station pressing down on you from every angle. It feels like you’ve been here for hours, your wrists still red from the handcuffs, a dull ache in your joints from sitting on the hard chair. Every second stretches, torturing you with the weight of waiting.

You're trying to stay calm, but your thoughts keep spiraling — back to the car, back to the police showing up at your doorstep, back to the way they refused to listen. Your voice shakes every time you try to explain, but it’s like they can’t hear you. It’s suffocating.

Across the room, the officer — her name’s Thompson, you think — sits at her desk, flipping through some paperwork. The sound of pages turning feels louder than it should. Every time you shift in your seat, she gives you this look, like she’s annoyed by your very presence. Like she’s waiting for you to break.

Finally, you can’t take it anymore.

“I want to make a phone call,” you say, your voice cutting through the stillness. You sit up straighter, your hands balled into fists on your lap.

Thompson doesn’t even look up. “You’ll get your chance,” she says dismissively, still flipping through the file.

“No,” you say, firmer this time. “I want to make it now. I have the right to make a phone call.”

This time, she looks up, her expression flat. “You’ll have to wait.”

“I’ve waited long enough,” you snap, surprising yourself with the force in your voice. Your patience is gone, the fear of being trapped in this nightmare pushing you into desperation. “I know my rights. I’m allowed one phone call, and I want to make it.”

Thompson raises an eyebrow, like she’s weighing whether or not you’re serious. After a beat, she sighs, pushing the stack of papers aside and standing. “Fine,” she says curtly. “One phone call.”

She leads you to a small side room — bare, with only a table, a chair, and a landline phone sitting in the middle. You sit down, and Thompson places the phone in front of you like it’s some kind of offering.

“One call,” she says again, her eyes narrowing. “Make it count.”

You don’t hesitate. You dial Max’s number, your fingers trembling slightly as you press the buttons. The ring tone fills the room, each ring stretching out the time between your breaths. You press the phone closer to your ear, your heart pounding.

It rings once. Twice. And then-

“Hello?”

Max’s voice comes through the line, smooth and steady, as if he’s just woken up from a nap and isn’t even remotely phased by the sudden call. But you know him better than that — there’s a sharp edge beneath the surface, a protective tension that’s always there when it comes to you.

You swallow hard, fighting back the lump in your throat. “Max …”

There’s a pause, and when he speaks again, his tone shifts �� serious, focused. “What’s wrong?”

“They arrested me,” you say, the words rushing out before you can stop them. “The police — they think I stole your car.”

There’s silence on the other end, just for a second. Then his voice drops, low and dangerous. “What?”

You feel the weight of his anger through the phone, and for the first time since this nightmare began, you feel a flicker of relief. He’s going to fix this. He’s not going to let them treat you like this.

“They showed up at the house,” you explain, your voice trembling slightly. “They wouldn’t let me get the registration. They didn’t believe me when I said the car was yours. They just-”

“Where are you?” His voice cuts through your explanation, sharp and commanding. “Which station?”

You glance around the room. “Bedfordshire Police Station. They won’t let me-”

“Stay where you are,” he says, his voice brooking no argument. “Don’t talk to anyone else. I’m on my way.”

The line goes dead before you can respond, the dial tone ringing in your ears. You stare at the phone for a moment, your heart racing. You know Max is angry — no, furious — but that anger isn’t directed at you. It’s for them, the people who put you in this position.

Thompson steps back into the room, her expression unreadable. “Finished?”

You nod, handing the phone back. She doesn’t say anything as she leads you back to the main room, but you can feel her eyes on you, judging, assessing.

You sit down again, your legs shaky, but now there’s a quiet fire burning in your chest. Max is coming. He’s going to make this right.

The minutes tick by, painfully slow. Thompson goes back to her paperwork, the other officers moving around the station like it’s just another day. But for you, every second is excruciating, the tension building in your chest like a storm.

Then, finally, the door to the station swings open with a heavy thud, and you hear the low murmur of voices — followed by a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

Max.

You can’t see him from where you’re sitting, but you can feel the shift in the room. There’s a sudden stillness, the officers glancing up from their desks, their postures stiffening. Even Thompson’s face changes, a flicker of surprise crossing her features before she composes herself.

You strain to hear the conversation at the front desk, but it’s muffled. Still, you catch bits and pieces — his name, the car, your name. And then there’s the sharp, unmistakable edge of authority in Max’s voice as he says something that makes the desk officer sit up a little straighter.

Moments later, the door to the holding area swings open, and there he is. Max strides in, every movement purposeful, his eyes locking onto you immediately. There’s a fire in his gaze — controlled, but fierce — and the tension in his jaw tells you everything you need to know.

He’s not just angry. He’s livid.

“Max …” Your voice is small, a mixture of relief and shame. You hadn’t wanted to drag him into this mess, but you also know that no one else could’ve handled it the way he can.

He crosses the room in a few quick strides, his hand reaching for yours. “Are you okay?” His voice is low, steady, but you can hear the tightness underneath it.

You nod, but tears prick at your eyes. “I-I didn’t know what to do. They wouldn’t listen to me …”

He squeezes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’ve got it from here.” His tone is resolute, his eyes never leaving yours.

Then, without another word to you, Max turns to face the officers. His entire demeanor shifts, his posture straightening, his presence filling the room with an air of control that demands respect.

“Who’s in charge here?” He asks, his voice calm but unmistakably authoritative.

Thompson steps forward, though there’s a flicker of hesitation in her movements. “I am,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady. “Officer Thompson.”

Max doesn’t waste time with pleasantries. “You arrested my girlfriend under suspicion of theft. I’d like to see the evidence you have for that.”

Thompson falters, her eyes flicking over to the other officers. “We … we received a report of a stolen vehicle, and-”

“And instead of verifying the ownership, you decided to arrest her?” Max’s voice is cold, each word measured. “Did you even check the registration in the glove compartment?”

Thompson’s jaw tightens. “We were following standard procedure. She became agitated and-”

“She was agitated because you were treating her like a criminal,” Max cuts in, his tone sharp. “You had no reason to arrest her. If you had checked the registration, you would’ve seen my name on it.”

He takes a step closer, his presence towering over Thompson, making her shift uneasily on her feet. “Do you know who I am?”

There’s a beat of silence. The room feels like it’s holding its breath.

Thompson nods slowly. “Yes. Mr. Verstappen, we-”

“Then you know how much trouble you’re in,” Max says, his voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re going to release her. Now. And then you’re going to issue a formal apology.”

Thompson blinks, clearly taken aback by his bluntness. “Mr. Verstappen, I understand your frustration, but we were simply-”

“Don’t patronize me,” Max interrupts, his voice sharp enough to cut through the tension in the room. “You’ve already made a mess of this situation. Don’t make it worse by pretending this was some kind of mistake. You arrested her because you assumed she didn’t belong in that car. Because you didn’t bother to listen.”

Thompson opens her mouth to argue, but Max doesn’t give her the chance. “I’ll be contacting my legal team,” he says, his tone firm. “And if you don’t release her immediately, I’ll make sure this becomes a very public issue.”

The threat hangs in the air, thick and heavy. Thompson hesitates for a moment longer, and then — finally — she nods.

“Release her,” she says quietly, signaling to one of the other officers.

The relief that washes over you is immediate, your heart pounding in your chest as the handcuffs are removed. Max’s hand is on your shoulder in an instant, grounding you, his touch warm and reassuring.

“Let’s go,” he murmurs, his voice softening as he looks down at you. “We’re getting out of here.”

You nod, letting him guide you out of the station. But before you step through the door, you glance back at Thompson, who’s still standing there, her expression strained.

Max pauses, following your gaze. He meets Thompson’s eyes, his expression unreadable. “Don’t ever treat her like that again,” he says quietly, the words carrying more weight than any threat could.

And with that, he leads you out into the cool night air, his arm wrapped protectively around you as you step outside.

***

Max’s fingers are wrapped tightly around your wrist, his grip firm but not painful, as he guides you toward his car in the station’s dimly lit parking lot. It’s quieter out here, the cool air thick with the scent of autumn leaves and something sharper — the lingering smell of petrol. The night is still, almost peaceful, a stark contrast to the whirlwind of chaos you’ve just been dragged through.

But Max’s silence is unnerving. He’s holding onto your hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.

He stops in front of a sleek, black Porsche 911 GT3 RS, the kind of car that turns heads and raises eyebrows. It’s an aggressive machine, all sharp edges and raw power — just like Max right now.

“Get in,” he says, his voice low and controlled, as if he’s holding back a storm. He opens the passenger side door for you, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

You hesitate for a second, looking up at him, trying to gauge his mood. “Max-”

“Get. In,” he repeats, enunciating each word with a finality that leaves no room for argument.

You slip into the passenger seat without another word, the leather cool against your skin. The car’s interior is immaculate, everything in its place, the faint smell of new leather lingering in the air. Max rounds the front of the car and slides into the driver’s seat, his movements tight and controlled. He doesn’t say anything as he starts the engine, the car roaring to life with a low, throaty growl.

He peels out of the parking lot with a precision that feels almost surgical, his eyes locked on the road ahead, his jaw clenched. The silence between you is heavy, charged with an emotion you can’t quite name.

“Max-”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” His voice cuts through the quiet like a blade, sharp and accusing. His knuckles are white against the steering wheel.

You blink, taken aback by the question. “Tell you what?”

“That they arrested you,” he says, each word bitten off like it’s leaving a bad taste in his mouth. “That they-” He breaks off, shaking his head like he can’t even bring himself to say it. “Why didn’t you call me immediately?”

You swallow hard, your gaze dropping to your lap. “I-I didn’t want to worry you. You were probably busy, and-”

“Busy?” He lets out a short, humorless laugh, his eyes flashing as he glances at you. “You think I care about being busy when something like this happens? When you’re involved?”

“Max, I didn’t want you to-”

“To what? Be pissed off? Too late for that,” he snaps, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. He takes a deep breath, his grip on the steering wheel loosening slightly. “What happened, exactly?”

You tell him, your voice halting at first but gaining strength as you recount every detail — the officers showing up, the handcuffs, the questions, the disbelief when you tried to explain the car belonged to him. Max’s expression darkens with each word, his jaw set in a hard line.

“They just … wouldn’t listen,” you finish softly, staring down at your hands. “I told them it was yours. I even tried to show them the registration, but they didn’t care.”

“They didn’t care because they had already made up their minds,” Max growls, his voice a dangerous rumble. “They saw you and assumed you didn’t belong in that car.”

He exhales slowly, trying to steady himself. You can see the struggle in his eyes, the way he’s fighting to keep his temper in check.

“Why would they think the car was stolen in the first place?” He mutters, more to himself than to you. His fingers tap restlessly against the steering wheel, his mind clearly racing.

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. “Someone must have reported it,” you say slowly, the realization dawning on you as you speak. “Someone must have seen me with it and assumed …”

Max’s gaze snaps to you, sharp and focused. “Who would do that?”

“I-I don’t know.” You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “It could’ve been anyone. The car … it stands out. Maybe someone thought it looked out of place at the house.”

Max’s frown deepens. “No,” he says firmly, his eyes narrowing. “No, it wasn’t just anyone. It was someone who knows you. Someone who knew that wasn’t your car.”

The words hang in the air between you, heavy and damning. Someone who knew you. Someone who saw you with the Aston Martin. Someone who-

“One of your housemates,” Max says, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous murmur.

You open your mouth to protest, but then you stop, the pieces falling into place in your mind. One of your housemates. One of the people who knows you can’t afford a car like that, who might have thought — wrongly, jealously — that you had gotten your hands on it through some shady means.

Max’s eyes are hard, unyielding. “It has to be,” he says, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Someone saw you with the car and called the police. There’s no other explanation.”

You take a deep breath, the realization settling in your chest like a lead weight. “But … why would they do that? Why would they assume I stole it?”

“Because people are idiots,” Max mutters, his gaze flicking back to the road. “Because people are jealous. And because they didn’t like seeing you with something they thought you shouldn’t have.”

There’s a bitter edge to his words, and it makes your heart ache. Max has dealt with his share of jealousy, of people looking at him like he doesn’t deserve what he’s earned. He knows what it’s like to be judged, to have assumptions made about him based on nothing but surface impressions.

But this is different. This is personal.

“Whoever did this,” Max says, his voice low and controlled, “is going to regret it.”

Your eyes widen, a pang of fear and something else — something almost like excitement — flaring in your chest. “Max, wait-”

“We’re going to your house,” he continues, his tone brooking no argument. “We’re going to find out who made that call, and I’m going to make sure they understand exactly what kind of trouble they’ve caused.”

“Max, no,” you protest, your voice rising. “You don’t have to do that. I-I can handle it. I’ll talk to them, I’ll-”

“No, you won’t.” He glances at you, his eyes blazing. “You’ve been through enough tonight. I’m handling this.”

You open your mouth to argue, but the look on his face stops you cold. There’s a steely determination in his eyes, an unshakeable resolve that tells you there’s no point in fighting him on this.

He’s already made up his mind.

“Max, please-”

“Enough,” he says softly, but there’s no gentleness in his tone. “I’m not letting them get away with this.”

You fall silent, your heart racing as the car speeds down the quiet, empty streets. The tension in the car is suffocating, but there’s also a strange sense of relief. Relief that he’s here, that he’s taking control, that he’s going to make this right.

You know you should feel bad, should feel guilty for dragging him into this mess. But right now, all you feel is a fierce, overwhelming sense of gratitude.

Max’s hand finds yours again, his fingers lacing through yours, squeezing gently. “It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, his voice softening just a fraction. “I’m going to take care of it.”

You nod, swallowing back the words you want to say — the apologies, the pleas for him not to do anything reckless. Because you know it won’t make a difference. Max is stubborn, determined, protective to a fault. And when it comes to you, he’s willing to do whatever it takes.

The drive to your house feels both too long and too short, every second charged with anticipation. When Max finally pulls up outside your shared house, he cuts the engine and turns to you, his expression unreadable.

“Stay in the car,” he says firmly.

You blink, surprised. “What?”

“Stay. In. The. Car.” He enunciates each word with that same controlled intensity, his eyes boring into yours. “I’m going inside.”

“Max, you can’t-”

“I can and I will,” he interrupts, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I’m not letting you go in there and face them after everything that’s happened tonight.”

He reaches out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, his thumb brushing over your skin in a soft, soothing gesture. “Just stay here, okay? Let me handle it.”

You want to argue, to tell him it’s not necessary, but the look in his eyes stops you. There’s a fierce protectiveness there, a determination that makes your chest tighten.

“Max …”

“Please,” he murmurs, his voice softening. “Just this once. Let me take care of it.”

You hesitate, then nod slowly. “Okay.”

He leans forward, pressing a quick, firm kiss to your forehead before pulling back. “Good.”

And with that, he steps out of the car, the door closing with a soft thud behind him. You watch as he strides toward the front door of your house, his shoulders squared, his posture radiating confidence and control.

But the second he disappears from view, you find yourself reaching for the door handle. You know he told you to stay in the car. You know he wants to protect you.

But you can’t just sit here and let him fight your battles for you.

Taking a deep breath, you push the door open and step out into the cool night air, following him up the path toward the house.

***

The door swings open with a resounding bang, ricocheting with enough force to make the picture frames on the adjacent wall rattle. Every head in the common room snaps up, eyes wide and startled as they turn toward the unexpected intrusion.

Max stands in the doorway, the very picture of barely restrained fury, his presence so commanding it seems to suck the air out of the room. His gaze sweeps over the small group of people lounging on the mismatched sofas, taking in their shocked expressions and slack-jawed stares with a level of disdain that’s almost palpable.

“What the hell is going on?” He demands, his voice a low, dangerous growl that reverberates through the room.

No one answers immediately. They’re all too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden appearance of the tall, broad-shouldered stranger radiating aggression. It’s Chloe who finally finds her voice, pushing herself up from her seat on the sofa and taking a hesitant step forward.

“Um, excuse me, but who are you?” Her voice wavers slightly, but she lifts her chin defiantly, trying to project an air of authority. “You can’t just barge in here like this.”

Max’s eyes lock onto her, and something in his gaze makes her flinch back, the confidence in her stance faltering. He doesn’t bother answering her question. Instead, he turns his head slightly, calling out over his shoulder.

“Come in here,” he says, his tone softer but no less commanding.

You step into the doorway behind him, hesitant and unsure, your gaze flicking nervously between Max and your housemates. You don’t miss the way their expressions shift when they see you — surprise, confusion, and something darker, more judgmental, flickering across their faces.

“Y/N?” It’s Amelia who speaks this time, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What’s going on? Who is this guy?”

Max’s jaw tightens, his gaze still fixed on Chloe. “I’m Max,” he says curtly, as if the name alone should explain everything.

It clearly doesn’t. The blank stares from around the room make that abundantly clear.

“Max Verstappen,” he adds, impatience lacing his tone. Still no recognition. “Formula 1 driver? Y/N’s boyfriend?” He tries again, a hint of disbelief in his voice now.

A flicker of something like realization crosses a few faces, but Chloe just scoffs, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yeah, sure,” she mutters, rolling her eyes. “And I’m Lewis Hamilton.”

Max’s lips curl into a cold, humorless smile. “Trust me, I would never want to be him.”

The comment flies over Chloe’s head, but it’s enough to send a ripple of laughter through the room. Max’s smile fades as quickly as it came, his expression hardening once more.

“I’m her boyfriend,” he says again flatly, jerking his head in your direction. “And I’m here to find out which one of you decided it was a good idea to call the police and have her arrested.”

The laughter dies instantly. The air in the room thickens with tension, eyes darting from Max to you and back again.

“Arrested?” Amelia repeats, her voice rising in pitch. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Max snaps, his gaze still boring into Chloe, like he can see straight through her. “One of you called the cops and reported her for driving a stolen car. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

A murmur of confusion ripples through the group, genuine bewilderment on most faces. But Chloe’s eyes dart away, a flicker of guilt crossing her expression before she schools it back into one of indifference.

“What — no, that’s ridiculous!” She says, her voice a touch too high-pitched. “Why would any of us do that?”

Max’s gaze narrows, his eyes zeroing in on her like a hawk spotting prey. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice dangerously quiet. “You tell me.”

There’s a beat of silence, thick and heavy. Chloe shifts uncomfortably, her gaze flickering toward the others as if searching for support. But no one says anything. No one moves.

“Look,” Chloe finally says, trying for a breezy tone that falls flat. “If she got arrested, that’s … that’s not our fault, okay? Maybe there was a misunderstanding or something.”

Max’s eyes flash, and you feel a shiver run down your spine at the barely restrained fury simmering beneath the surface.

“A misunderstanding?” He repeats, his voice deceptively calm. “Yeah, I’d say there was a huge misunderstanding. Like the fact that you assumed she couldn’t possibly be driving that car legitimately. Like the fact that you assumed she’d have to steal it to have something that nice.”

He takes a step closer to Chloe, and she instinctively steps back, her expression faltering. “Whoever made that call didn’t just cause a ‘misunderstanding.’ They caused a whole lot of trouble for no reason other than pettiness and jealousy.”

“Hey, wait a minute-” One of the other housemates tries to interject, but Max doesn’t even spare her a glance.

“Do you know what it’s like to get a phone call telling you the person you love is sitting in a cell?” He asks, his gaze never leaving Chloe’s face. “Do you know what it’s like to hear that they were treated like a criminal just because someone here,” — he practically spits the word — “decided to be a self-righteous, vindictive bitch?”

The room goes deathly silent. Chloe’s face has gone pale, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, no words forthcoming.

“Max, maybe we should-” you start, reaching out to touch his arm.

He cuts you off with a quick shake of his head, his eyes still locked on Chloe. “No. She needs to hear this.”

You shrink back slightly, your stomach twisting with a mix of anxiety and something else — something like relief. Because as harsh as Max is being, there’s a part of you that’s grateful. Grateful that he’s standing up for you, that he’s putting words to all the anger and frustration you’ve been bottling up since this whole nightmare began.

“You don’t get to treat people like that,” Max continues, his voice low and cold. “You don’t get to make snap judgments about someone based on what you think they deserve. And you sure as hell don’t get to sic the cops on them just because you’re too insecure to handle seeing someone else with something you want.”

Chloe’s lips tremble, her eyes darting around the room as if looking for an escape route. “I … I didn’t …”

“Didn’t what?” Max demands, his voice rising. “Didn’t think it would matter? Didn’t think about the consequences? Or didn’t think you’d get caught?”

The accusation hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. No one moves. No one breathes.

“I didn’t think-” Chloe starts, but the words catch in her throat. She swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I just — I thought …”

Max lets out a short, harsh laugh. “Yeah, you thought. That’s the problem.”

He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. When he speaks again, his voice is lower, steadier, but no less cutting.

“You know what? I don’t even care what your excuse is,” he says quietly. “Because there is no excuse. Nothing you say is going to change what you did. Nothing is going to make up for the fact that you had her dragged off in handcuffs for no reason other than your own messed-up assumptions.”

Chloe flinches at the words, her shoulders hunching as if she’s trying to make herself smaller. You almost feel a pang of sympathy for her — almost. But then you remember the cold metal of the handcuffs around your wrists, the humiliating feeling of being treated like a criminal, and the sympathy evaporates.

“So here’s what’s going to happen,” Max says, his tone brooking no argument. “You’re going to apologize. Right now. To her.”

He steps back slightly, giving Chloe a clear line of sight to you. She hesitates, her gaze flicking up to yours, and for a moment, she just stares at you, her eyes wide and fearful.

“I … I’m sorry,” she finally mutters, the words barely audible.

Max’s gaze hardens. “Louder.”

“I’m sorry,” Chloe repeats, her voice trembling. “I-I didn’t mean for things to get so out of hand. I just … I thought the car was … that it wasn’t …”

You raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to finish. But she trails off, her face crumpling with guilt and shame. It’s not much of an apology, but it’s more than you expected.

You take a deep breath, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you say quietly. “Thank you.”

Max nods once, satisfied. “Good. Now, if I ever hear about you pulling something like this again,” he says, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, “you’ll regret it. Understand?”

Chloe nods frantically, her face ashen. “Y-Yes, I understand.”

“Great.” Max turns away from her, his gaze softening as it lands on you. “Come on,” he murmurs, reaching out to take your hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

***

The Porsche purrs along the quiet stretch of motorway, the engine’s deep growl a steady undercurrent to the conversation hanging in the air. It’s late — well past midnight — but neither of you seem in any hurry to get home. There’s a lingering tension, a heaviness that neither of you know quite how to disperse.

Max’s hand grips the steering wheel tightly, his knuckles stark against the leather. You watch him from the corner of your eye, the faint glow of the dashboard casting shadows across his face. His jaw is set, his gaze fixed firmly on the road ahead, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that betrays the frustration simmering beneath the surface.

He hasn’t said much since leaving your house. Just a few clipped sentences, terse reassurances that he’s not mad at you, that you didn’t do anything wrong. But the words feel hollow, inadequate against the weight of what happened tonight.

After a few more minutes of silence, Max finally speaks, his voice low and controlled. “I talked to the mechanics earlier today.”

You blink, taken aback by the abrupt shift in conversation. “The mechanics?”

“Yeah.” He glances at you briefly before returning his gaze to the road. “About your car.”

Oh. You feel a pang of anxiety, your stomach twisting unpleasantly. You’d almost forgotten about your poor, beat-up little car, abandoned at some garage in Milton Keynes. “What did they say?”

Max hesitates, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “It’s … not good.”

You swallow hard, your heart sinking. “What do you mean?”

“They think it’s beyond saving.” His voice is careful, as if he’s trying to break the news gently. “There’s too much damage. The engine’s shot, the transmission’s on its last legs … basically, it’d cost more to repair it than it’s worth.”

You stare at him, uncomprehending. “But … but I just had it serviced a few months ago,” you protest weakly. “It shouldn’t be that bad-”

“It’s not your fault,” Max interrupts gently. “That car’s been through hell. It’s a miracle it’s lasted as long as it has.”

“But I can’t just … give up on it,” you say, a note of desperation creeping into your voice. “It’s my car, Max. I need it.”

“You need a car,” Max corrects softly. “Not that car. There’s a difference.”

You shake your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. “I can’t afford a new one right now. I still have to pay for-”

“Hey, hey.” Max’s hand leaves the steering wheel to rest on your knee, squeezing gently. “I’m not saying you have to buy a new car.”

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicion flaring. “What are you saying, then?”

“I’m saying,” Max begins, his tone careful, measured, “that I’ll get you a new one.”

The words hang in the air between you, and for a moment, all you can do is stare at him, your mind struggling to process what he’s suggesting.

“No,” you say finally, shaking your head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

Max’s brow furrows, his gaze flickering to yours. “Why not?”

“Because … because that’s ridiculous!” You sputter. “I’m not letting you buy me a car. That’s way too much.”

“It’s not too much if you need it,” he argues calmly.

“Yes, it is!” You insist, your voice rising. “It’s too much, and it’s not your responsibility. I’ll figure something out-”

“Like what?” Max challenges, his voice sharpening. “What are you going to do, keep borrowing cars you’re hesitant to actually use? Take public transport everywhere? What happens when you need to get somewhere and you don’t have a ride?”

“I’ll manage,” you say stubbornly, crossing your arms over your chest. “I always have.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have to anymore,” Max snaps, his frustration breaking through. “Why won’t you just let me help you?”

“Because it’s not your problem to solve!” You shout back, the words bursting out before you can stop them.

Max goes silent, his gaze turning stony. For a few long moments, the only sound in the car is the steady thrum of the engine and your own harsh breathing.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that makes your stomach twist. “You’re my girlfriend. That means if you have a problem, it is my problem to solve.”

The certainty in his tone makes your breath catch in your throat. You look at him, really look at him, and see the determination blazing in his eyes, the stubborn set of his jaw.

“Max …” you begin softly, but he cuts you off with a quick shake of his head.

“No, listen to me.” He takes a deep breath, his hand tightening on your knee. “I know you’re independent. I know you’re used to handling things on your own. But this isn’t about money, or pride, or any of that. It’s about making sure you’re safe, that you have what you need to get around. And right now, that means getting you a new car.”

You open your mouth to argue, but he presses on, his gaze never wavering from yours.

“Let me do this for you,” he says quietly, almost pleadingly. “Please.”

His sincerity takes the wind out of your sails, your protests dying on your lips. You stare at him, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders.

“But … it’s just … too much,” you say weakly, your resolve crumbling.

Max’s expression softens, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think so. And even if it is, I don’t care. You’re worth it.”

The simple, earnest declaration sends a rush of warmth flooding through you, your heart swelling in your chest. You feel tears prick at the corners of your eyes, and you blink them back furiously, refusing to let them fall.

“Why do you have to be so damn convincing?” You mutter, half exasperated, half amused.

Max’s smile widens slightly, his thumb brushing gently over your knee. “It’s a gift.”

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he says dryly, his eyes twinkling with a hint of humor. “So … you’ll let me do this?”

You hesitate, chewing on your bottom lip. It still feels like too much, like accepting would be crossing some invisible line. But there’s a part of you that knows he’s right — that trying to handle this on your own would be stubborn and impractical and would probably end up causing more problems than it’s worth.

And more than that, you can see how much it means to him. How much he wants to do this for you.

“Fine,” you say finally, letting out a long sigh. “But only because you’re so damn insistent.”

Max’s grin is dazzling, the relief and joy in his eyes almost overwhelming. “Good. I’ll start looking for something first thing tomorrow.”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind the gesture. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably in love with you,” he counters smoothly, his grin widening at your soft, exasperated laugh.

“Cheesy,” you accuse, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you.

“Maybe,” he concedes with a shrug. “But it’s true.”

You shake your head, your heart feeling lighter than it has in days. “I’m still not letting you get me something ridiculously expensive,” you warn, trying to sound stern.

“We’ll see,” Max says noncommittally, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Max-”

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding,” he says quickly, holding up his free hand in mock surrender. “We’ll get something practical, okay? Something that’s safe and reliable and not … ridiculous.”

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. “Promise?”

Max’s smile softens, and he nods, his gaze holding yours steadily. “Promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, a sense of peace settling over you. Maybe it’s not ideal, accepting something so big from him, but … maybe it’s okay to let him take care of you, just this once.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.

Max’s smile is soft and warm and full of so much affection it makes your chest ache. He leans over, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin.

You close your eyes, leaning into his touch. “No, thank you.”

[whimsyfinny]

He’s a Winchester

Chapter 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It's been a long time since (Y/n) and Dean's paths have crossed. Last time they saw each other it was ‘98 and they were young and living in the moment. Nine years down the Line, their paths cross again, but (Y/n)s longest kept secret is about to become Deans reality.

Slow burn (ish), mom!reader, eventual smut

Warnings: language, mention of drugs

Chapter Word Count: 2330

—-MDNI—-

A/N: wooooop new series! I'm trying something new with this one! As a mom myself I loooove reading mom!reader fics, so I wanted to write my own. It's a slightly shorter first chapter, but the following ones should be longer. Any feedback is greatly appreciated, reading your comments makes my day ❤️ and of course, this is proofread only by myself so pls pls let me know of any errors! I really hope you enjoy it. I also didn’t write this at 2am for once so brownie points to me hahaha

Photos from Pinterest

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Chapter 1

“Come on, (Y/n)! You have to tell me all about it! What was he like? Did you kiss? Hold hands? Where did he take you?”

I couldn’t help but smile at the rapidfire questions spewing from Kats mouth. Kat, the stunner sat opposite me with perfect dark skin and the inability to have a bad hair day, was my closest friend. We lived on the same street, drank at the same bar and both hated this small, slightly judgemental town equally. We bonded over the similarities in our lives - like both of us having fallen pregnant at a young age and being dealt the hand of having to raise our kids as single parents. Life was fucking hard sometimes (well, nearly all the time), but my son, Levi, and Kat, made this life worth living.

“Jesus Christ, ok! The date was ok.”

“Uh oh. ‘Ok’? That means it was awful, right?” she raised an eyebrow.

I took a gulp of my coffee.

“The date was ok. But he was…. Seriously not my type. He was too…perfect?” I winced as the words left my mouth, fully aware of how utterly ridiculous that sounded.

“Girl, ‘too perfect’? What the fuck kind of excuse is that?” Kat snorted slightly into her latte.

“I know, I know. But he reminded me of a Ken doll, ya’know? With his white jeans and his Armani sweater over his shoulders - that’s not really… me. The dude gets more manicures than I do. Plus he drives a Fiat Panda. Levi wouldn’t be caught dead getting in and out of one of those.”

“You can’t use your sons taste in cars to dictate the men in your life. That’s a low blow and you know it.”

“Ok then, you go out with Robert and tell me about all the kale facts that you never wanted to learn.” I leant back on the couch, clutching my coffee with both hands to bring some warmth to my fingertips. Kat did the same opposite me, leaning back in the plush armchair as we both took a second to glance out of the large café windows. This was our happy place, right here. It was the place we would come to when we first met and the boys were still in diapers. It was our happy place for the last nine years, and we would come here for every situation: be it a breakup, a catch-up, to discuss terrible sexual encounters or dire situations that need insane back-up plans. But we mostly came here to people-watch. Being the young, single moms that we were, we were constantly under the scrutiny of the small town, having every decision judged by the perfect Jeep-driving soccer moms and the old ladies from church. When we came here, to sit by this window in these comfy-as-fuck couches, it was our turn to do a little judging.

“Vicki Priestley isn't fooling anyone with those sunglasses,” I said, taking another sip of coffee as I watched the thin peroxide blonde across the street repeatedly wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

“Right? We get shunned for…well… fuck all, yet that Paris wannabe can snort coke on a Tuesday school run and everyone turns a blind eye? What a joke.”

“Amen to that,” we watched her for a few more seconds as she climbed behind the wheel of some monstrous four by four and sped off down the road.

“Did you hear that Mrs. Harris caught Mr. Harris with a young mistress? Apparently she works at the bank.”

“Oh my GOD yes I heard!” Kat exclaimed, leaning forward, “and as revenge she put Nair in his shampoo - he's completely hairless, even his eyebrows are gone.”

We both snickered as we raised our mugs.

“To Mrs. H for taking no shit.”

Conversation flowed as topics ranged from the new dessert parlour that opened last week down the road to the extortionate price of kids' Motocross gear.

“I mean the bikes are so tiny, why do they have to cost that much?”

“You're preaching to the choir babes, Toby just outgrew his boots for the third time this year,” Kat grimaced at the thought of how much money she'd spent already.

“Ouch, they're like what? Eighty bucks a pair?”

“Yup.”

“Yeah well, I had to get Levi a new helmet after that little dickhead from the tournament last month crashed into the side of him. That boy was more upset about the stickers he lost than the bruises he got,” I shook my head with a smile on my lips. Kat did the same.

“That's a tough kid you've got there.”

I sighed.

“Yeah I know. Despite never having met him, he's so much like his dad. It's a little concerning actually,” I laughed nervously, instantly regretting bringing up Levi’s father in front of Kat. I glanced up at her, taking a sip of my coffee in an attempt to hide behind the mug. The wiggling of her eyebrows being an indicator of her impending wrath.

“That man is the reason why you’re never satisfied with your dates. He set that bar waaaay too high.”

I scoffed. “He did not. We were young and he just swept me off my feet a bit, that’s all; with that ‘give ‘em Hell’ attitude and handsome face. Plus he had a great car.”

“Last time you said his face was ‘gorgeous’,” Kat cupped her face and fluttered her eyelashes, puckering her lips. I threw a sugar packet at her which she batted right back at me.

There was a moment of quiet as we both looked out the window again, my mind unable to stop itself from racing through old memories.

“Do you think he’ll ever come calling?” Kat asked, some sincerity to her tone. I sighed and slumped back further on the couch.

“I highly doubt it. He doesn’t even know that Levi exists. I tried calling him a few years back but some guy John W. had that number instead. I gave up after that. Plus, he had this kinda dangerous job, and normally if he showed up it was because something was going to go down,” I paused, looking into the dark liquid in my cup, “It’s probably a good thing that he hasn’t just shown up.”

“You say that, but you still have that photo you took together on your vanity.”

I shot her a look, pursing my lips and pinching my brows as she laughed, knowing she'd stumped me there. I quickly downed my coffee and checked my watch before standing and grabbing my bag.

“Come on, let's stop interrogating me and go pick up the boys before all Hell breaks loose at the track.”

“Mom it wasn't my fault, I swear.”

I slammed the car door closed and turned to the boy who stood close enough to be my shadow.

I turned around to face him with a stern expression, “so you did do it? After I called that boys mom a liar? LEVI.”

Levi, my son, looked close to tears, his bottom lip trembling.

“Mom, I'm so sorry! I'll never do it again!”

I narrowed my eyes at him before sighing, already exasperated, throwing the car keys into my bag.

“Did you at least stick to the golden rule?”

His answer was a vigorous nod, the tremble in his lip disappearing.

“‘Never throw the first punch; throw the second and finish the fight,’” he recited the words like a prayer.

“And…?”

“‘Always claim self defence.’”

I smiled and ruffled his soft brown hair.

“Good boy. What started the fight anyway?” I asked, guiding him to walk through the parking lot towards that new dessert parlour.

“He said I was weird for not having a dad.”

I looked down at him, eyes softening and I lifted a hand to rub his shoulder. It wasn't the first time he'd had this argument, and it likely won't be the last. Kids can be assholes. “And then he hit me when I said ‘at least my mom's boobs are real.’”

“Levi!” I stopped in my tracks and looked at him, mortified. I didn't even know where to start with that one. “Where-”

“Jamie from math class told me what ‘implants’ were… and he said that Brad's mom had them.”

He looked up at me innocently, and I knew then that he didn't fully grasp what he'd said to Brad - the kid he'd just punched between the eyes. I sighed for the umpteenth time and started walking again.

“Whatever, just… don't say that to anyone again, ok? You're gonna make me look like a terrible parent.”

“Ok mo- whoa! Look at that car!” It was Levi's turn to stop dead in his tracks as he stood in awe of the sleek black car parked by the sidewalk.

A black Chevy Impala.

“Oh wow,” my words came out slightly breathless, my mind suddenly racing to him and the conversation I'd had with Kat earlier that afternoon.

“So cool!” Levi gushed, walking up close to it but not close enough to touch.

“Yes, very cool. Now let's go inside before they run out of ice cream,” I ushered him to the door, reflexively looking over my shoulder, not knowing if I even wanted to see who could possibly be in the area.

The bell jingled as we walked in and Levi ran up to the counter, pressing his forehead to the glass. My eyes scanned the menu and I was pleasantly surprised to see they served coffee.

“What do you fancy kiddo?” I ruffled his hair again and waited for him to decide, and it wasn't long before he'd made up his mind. After ordering, we headed towards a small table-for-two at the edge of the room, and as Levi slumped down in his chair something familiar caught my attention.

A voice.

My heart quickly became erratic in my chest and my palms grew sweaty. I looked in the direction the voice had come from and was met with a slap in the face from memory lane.

There he was; the same wicked grin and mischievous eyes that had burned themselves into my memory. He dressed the same as he did nine years ago - right down to the necklace and leather jacket. He was engrossed in a conversation with another man, who looked slightly younger than himself, all whilst digging into a stack of waffles.

“Mom?”

The sound of Levi's voice snapped me out of the stunned fog I was caught up in and I quickly sat down, trying my best to focus on my son and not the man who was sitting only a few feet behind him. Levi looked like he was about to ask another question when a giant chocolate sundae and a coffee appeared at the table. I heard the waitress challenge Levi to finish the whole thing, but it was like I was listening to the world through water. My mind wouldn't stop racing. He's here. Do I talk to him? Will he remember me? Do I tell him about Levi? I hurriedly pulled my phone from my bag and sent her a hasty message before turning back to the boy in front of me, convincing a smile to appear on my lips.

“If you have room in that black-hole stomach of yours then you definitely could've finished your veggies earlier at dinner.”

He smirked slightly, like he always did when he knew he was getting away with murder, and it almost took my breath away. I saw the same smirk grace the lips of the man in the booth behind him. The mans gaze shifted to the side and when his eyes met mine - the same vibrant twists of green and gold that I have tattooed on my memory - I sucked in a sharp breath, my heart leaping in my chest as I tore my eyes away. I clutched my coffee cup, staring intently at the dark swirling liquid, praying to anyone or anything that I'd find the answers to my troubles in the bottom of this mug. The prickling on my skin was unshakable, like his eyes were on me and I was trapped under his intense observation, unable to breath. Minutes felt like hours, and eventually he and his companion stood before heading to the door. The moment they were gone with the bell signalling their departure, the air gushed from my lungs as I dropped my head into my hands, earning myself a confused look from my son. I offered him a reassuring smile which he accepted before returning to shovelling ice-cream into his face.

Just when I thought I was safe, I looked up and locked eyes with him. Our eyes locked through the window just as he opened the car door, leaning on it. It was like time froze, and for a few moments, despite my earlier urgency to not make eye contact, I was now unable to look away. My breath caught in my throat as a smirk pulled at his lips before he ducked down into the driver's seat, slamming the car door closed. I found myself chewing on my bottom lip as he tore out of the parking lol, that familiar rumble of the engine practically rattling the windows and, despite the noise, it was a comforting sound.

Once they were out of sight and the impala could no longer be heard, I sighed, pushing my hair off my face and running my hands through my hair. As Levi polished off the last of his ice-cream, my phone buzzed on the table. Opening it and reading the message, a small wave of relief washed over me as Kat confirmed that Toby would be at his dad's for once so she could come over to drink wine and discuss very important topics. She hasn't got a clue what I need to vent about yet, but I feel like tonight is going to be a very long night.

——————————————————————

Next Chapter: Chapter 2

@suckitands33 @jackles010378 @megara0224 @libby99hb @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Fiat Panda Destriero, 1992, by Stola. A first generation Italdesign Panda redesigned by Aldo Garnero and converted by Carrozzera Stola into a Spiaggetta (beach car). The name derived from the Destriero speedboat project (pictured with the car), an attempt to cross the Atlantic in record time. Originally presented by Stola in 1991 as the "Mirage" the name was changed after Fiat adopted Stola's prototype. The Destriero entered limited production, all cars being finished in Teal with marine-grade interior trim except for one that was built for Fiat CEO Gianni Agnelli and finished in “Agnelli Blue” (pictured).

source

[mixtape-racha]

good girls, bad guys - s.cb

part of the aria birthday series ˖°🦇ִ ࣪𖤐 (will eventually get a part 2)

words: 864 // warnings: bad boy!changbin, mentions of weed, slight angst, situationship to lovers, confessions

seo changbin was trouble. everyone who encountered him knew that, and you were no different. except… you were. where most people ran, crossed the street to avoid him, you welcomed him and his messes into your life with open arms. you gave him a place to stay, a reason to fix up his attitude.

maybe it was your innocent disposition, or the way you clumsily pushed our glasses up the bridge of your nose when he turned up at your door unexpectedly. he didn’t know exactly what is was, but he knew he wanted you in every way humanly possible.

and he really was trying to be better for you, to be the man everyone whispered that you truly deserved when they saw him with you. he stopped fighting, stopped running with the wrong people. he tried to give up smoking, and was even prepared to swap in his old motorbike for a sensible, safe car to transport you around in.

he just didn’t realize that he was throwing away every part of himself that you adored.

honestly, seeing his phone open on a boring fiat panda for sale nearby was your breaking point. he’d been acting so different lately - no longer turning up at your apartment at stupid times of the night, avoiding smoking around you (not even mentioning the word weed as if it was too taboo for your ears to hear). you knew something was up, he seemed to be walking on eggshells.

you were quick to drop his phone back in its place on the table when you heard him leave your bathroom, eyes darting back to a shitty movie on tv to make yourself look less conspicuous. the sofa jolted as he sat back next to you, and your heart ached at the way he didn’t even move to pull your legs over his lap like he usually would. you couldn’t take anymore.

“binnie… what's going on? have i done something wrong?” you sighed, twisting your torso to face him.

he seemed confused at your words, lips curling into a grimace.

“no..? why, what have people been saying to you?”

“nothing! no one’s said anything, i just… you’ve been different lately. i don’t like it.”

the way he simply shrugged and turned back to the tv made your stomach churn; this wasn’t the changbin you knew. it was horrible, and you wanted back the guy that you first met, no matter how everyone around you disapproved, and…. oh.

“bin…” you started softly, hands reaching out to gently take hold of his own. “i don’t care what other people think, you know? i like you - you as you are, the changbin that i first met.”

he huffed, pulling away from your hold to pause the television and turn his body to face you. he looked upset, maybe slightly annoyed, and you wanted nothing more than to fix it for him.

“why? i mean, god,” he scoffed, “you deserve so much better. everyone knows it - everyone goes out of their way to make that abundantly clear to me! i don’t deserve someone as pure, and kind, as you, and god knows i’ve been made so aware of that fact.”

your heart genuinely hurt at the pain in changbin’s voice, and you were baffled on how to make him feel better. he must’ve noticed the sadness in your expression because he moved to pull you into his arms, his warm embrace causing you to whimper back a sob into his chest.

“that doesn’t mean i don’t want you, princess. i do - more than anything. i just want to be what you deserve.”

“fuck what people think i deserve,” your words came out muffled from your position and you pulled back to look the dark-haired man in the eyes as you continued. “i don’t care what they think. i thought we had something good going on here, and i don’t want anything else. i don’t need anything else… i just want you, changbin. and no one else has the right to tell me that that’s not good enough.”

you knew your words came out harsh, your tone fierce, you just didn’t know how else to get through to him.

his eyes trailed over your face, pulling in every detail, and you couldn’t help the way you melted under his stare. you always did - but this time you were going to do something about it. this time you had something to prove, and you weren’t going to let him slip away from you so easily.

“kiss me, bin,” you muttered, cupping his full cheeks in your soft hands. “please.”

and how could he ever deny you such a thing, when he wanted you just as bad?

everything about you pulled him in, your very essence consumed him in a way he didn’t know was possible. the affection in your eyes, the softness of your skin against his, the way your hair fell so perfectly around your face.

he could quite literally keep you forever, and you’d be damned if you were going to let anyone stop him from doing so. you were just as much his as he was yours. utterly, entirely and irrevocably.

taglist: @pretty-racha @chubbyanarkiss @taeriffic @mits-vi @chanssmiles @5kayzee @torixx80 @fawnpeaks @bangtanmix73 @savluvsmingi @boi-bi-ahaha @4evrglow @skz-streamer @demetrisscarf @manj1ro @linocvpid @alextheweeb7 @saintminaa @unsweetenedpeatea @carpioassists @bangtancultsposts @reiheis @happilydeepestwonderland @leemidnightmoon @hwangrimi @americanoopie @ivyisnotokay @puckmaidens @poody1608 @vampcharxter @yeetmehome @prettymiye0n @bratty-tingz @queenfelix

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

Thanks for answering! Your advice is actually really helpful and now I'm pretty sold on a Toyota.

I do wonder though, I was one phonecall away from buying a 2019 yellow fiat panda cross but a sudden and dramatic financial change meant that I had to stick with my corsa. What's your opinion on this lil guy? The safety rating is abysmal but it definitely looks and feels like a rollercoaster to drive which was super fun! I'm still sad I couldn't have this car months later!

I've also heard the Pandas are fantastic little workhorses. Is this true?

I guess it is time to talk about the Panda, isn't it.

Fantastic little workhorses they most definitely are! The original Panda (which prevailing opinion sees as the only one to refer to by the nickname "Pandino") was produced pretty much unchanged from 1980 to 2003, and you most definitely see them all the time around here even after all these years. And in their prime? Forget it! Everyone has a story that involves a Pandino. My father's is my grandpa was teaching him to drive in one and the shifter came clean off and grandpa covered his eyes. Mine involves my ex's family which has a 4x4 Panda they only ever use to navigate the road between their little mountain town and their house, best described as five "there is actually no way we're not there yet"s up its side. I drove it, once, and recorded my thoughts. Here's a loose retelling:

In the phrase "The cabin is spartan" the most unfair word is "cabin". Although you do get a free rocking chair, in the form of the driver's seat. It's not like driving an 80s car, I own an 80s car, it's like driving an excavator - the steering wheel is super far away and the pedals are super close. If you long for that sensation of feeling the underside of a desk and stumbling into old gum, the steering wheel and shift knob will definitely do something for ya. Wiggling the shifter feels like you're making it come apart and slotting it into gear feels like sheer luck - to find something that engages more reluctantly than this reverse you've gotta look into child marriages. When you push the brake pedal, while you definitely get the impression that you are doing something to decrease the speed of the car, it feels like you're using the pedal wrong, the brakes feel like they're asking if you're really sure. The wiper, being a single wiper for the whole windshield, at anything past a drizzle moves in an endearingly hilarious frenzy. Dear God is it a deathtrap. It feels about as stable as our government. I defined it 'dynamic in its stillness' because it sure ain't shifting and yet it's in a constant state of falling apart, like the ISS orbit. It exudes the optimism and hopefulness for the future that defined the 80s. The optimism of designing a car with such care and then handing that design to Fiat. The optimism of pulling that handbrake on a hill. It's like nature. Admirable and fascinating in its design, but clearly fragile and unwelcoming.

And if you're wondering if the ex that supplied the Panda for the review is at all cool with my slander, yes, they were riding with and seconded most of it. The only thing they seemed upset by was my thoughts on the horn.

Follows the exchange "It's like a wounded dog" "You're a wounded dog" "I mean, the Panda is a wounded dog. Let's admit that."

Now, was it good to drive? I think we established otherwise. Was it good at not fogging up? No, as I was driving they had to keep slapping a rug against the windshield to clean it up. Was its metal good at staying undissolved enough for their use of the car to have any semblance of legality? Well why do you think they only use it in a stretch of road cops don't visit. But it keeps moving to this day. Because that's what Pandas are good at - keeping on moving. And that's what people buy Pandas for. You want a Panda because, whether you need to head years into the future, up a volcano, or both, the Panda will Just Fucken Go there. That's why you still see so many. Because there's still that many people in this country that just need to keep going, and the Panda has never stopped delivering on that front. That's what they mean by "fantastic little workhorses", and that's what I mean when I second that.

And I know in my heart that goes for the latest Panda too (seen here atop a volcano because indeed I was not joking) which I also drove (you know how they say that when Germans say "3" they mean "3:00" and when Italians say "3" they mean "3-ish"? Yeah the Panda's shifter definitely has the latter attitude towards gears. It out-vagues my 42yo Golf on 42yo shifter bushings.). In fact, if you look up "Is the Fiat Panda reliable?" the common consensus is that despite Fiat's... less than stellar reputation reliability-wise the Panda's not bad, but hilariously rather than because the things that normally break in other cars don't break or break less it seems to be because they just aren't there in the first place.

But don't get me twisted: the Panda's a good car. In a way, it's too entrenched in my country's identity, and by proxy my own, not to be. Nothing sums it up more succinctly than a saying of ours, "Italians good people". Of course - could we ever bring ourselves to believe otherwise? And no, beyond the blindness of national pride, the Panda genuinely has great efficiency -it's the bread of cars: basic, unimpressive, but boy do you ever get a lot for the ingredients- and as noted above It Just Keeps Going.

And at the end of the day, you know, I can harp about how it's not a nice car, how it feels cheap and unsubstantial, but anyone interested in a Panda is bound to know that going in, right? And at the end of the day, while it's easy to say for someone whose car's been doing fine, it's about what you like. After all, I sure didn't get myself the most reliable car I could find for my money. I got myself something that I liked.

And that I could afford, of course. Because you can't exactly get yourself a McLaren F1, can you.

I mean, you can't, right? I've been assuming your budget is within seven digits, but it's not like I have your tax returns, so what do I know.

Well actually I do know one thing: how we can combine the three. Because when friend of our blog Gordon Murray, a man so obsessed with lightness that he literally has an entire car collection and still owns no car over 2500lbs (~1130kg), was designing the greatest driver's car there had ever been (and 'accidentally' fastest production car for the following decade) with such care for low weight he would task Kenwood with developing a lighter sound system for it, he saw his neighbor's car and decided "That is too fucking cool, I don't care if it weighs more I've gotta do something like that with the F1." Which results in what you see above, a less cool version of what he saw that day.

And what did he see that day?

A four seat Toyota.

And if you've not yet spotted the part where this is cooler than the McLaren F1, well, look back at the F1's doors. Notice how their roof is plebeian, opaque metal? Pfft. Get outta here with that working class stuff and look at how the big kids do it.

Do I need to add further comment? I don't think I do.

And yes, one of these is for sale in England for under 5k.

And it has the pretty important roof shades, the rare super funky sound system and the floormats. Now, normally, I'd make the mistake of wondering who gives a shit about the floormats, but in the case of the Sera...

So, what are you waiting for? These come and go, so act quickly and impulsively!

[pazaryerigundem]

Yeni Fiat 600 Türkiye’de

https://pazaryerigundem.com/haber/189422/yeni-fiat-600-turkiyede/

Yeni Fiat 600 Türkiye’de

FIAT’ın B segmentine dönüşünü simgeleyen iddialı modeli 600, elektrikli ve hibrit motor seçenekleri ile Türkiye’de satışa sunuldu.

İSTANBUL (İGFA) – FIAT’ın, B-SUV segmentindeki iddialı modeli yeni Fiat 600 Türkiye’de satışa sunuldu.  Tam elektrikli ve hibrit motor seçenekleriyle piyasaya sunulan Fiat 600, estetik özellikler ve konforlu bir sürüş deneyimi açısından B segmentinde-Hatchback ve SUV dünyalarının en iyi özelliklerini bir araya getiriyor. Şehir ve doğa tutkunları için ideal bir çözüm olan FIAT 600, markanın İtalyan tarzını ve sürdürülebilirlik değerlerini mükemmel bir şekilde yansıtıyor.

Gerçekleştirilen basın toplantısında konuşan FIAT Marka Direktörü Altan Aytaç; “Yeniliklerle başladığımız 2024 yılını, markamızın ikonik modeli 600’ü pazara sunarak kapatmaya hazırlanıyoruz. Bu yıl Mart ayında, Fiat Topolino’yu tüketiciyle buluşturduk. Temmuz’da ise Türkiye otomotiv pazarının en çok tercih edilen SUV modellerinden Egea Cross, yeni bir özelliğe daha kavuştu. Traction+ çekiş sistemi Egea Cross’un tüm versiyonlarında standart donanım olarak sunduk. Böylelikle otomobil ürün gamımız daha da zenginleşti” dedi.

Türkiye pazarında FIAT markasının hibrit motorlu ürünlerinin satışına 500 ve Panda ile başladıklarına da değinen Aytaç, ardından markanın Türk tüketicisi tarafından çok sevilen Egea Hybrid’in piyasaya sunulduğunu hatırlattı. 2023 yılında ise tamamen elektrikli Fiat 500; 2024’te ise Topolino ve şimdi 600 ile elektrifikasyon yolculuğunu sürdürdüklerine değindi.  

FIAT, TOPLAM OTOMOTİV PAZARI’NDA 5 YILDIR LİDERLİĞİNİ SÜRDÜRÜYOR

Toplantıdaki konuşmasında Türkiye Toplam Otomotiv Pazarı’nı da değerlendiren Aytaç, FIAT markasının son 5 yılda üst üste toplam pazarın lideri olan ilk marka olduğunu hatırlattı. Aytaç ayrıca “Türkiye otomobil ve hafif ticari araç toplam pazarı, 2024 yılı Ocak-Eylül döneminde 849.892 adet olarak gerçekleşti. FIAT markası olarak ilk 9 ayda yaklaşık 101 bin adet satış rakamına eriştik. Yılı toplam pazarda lider olarak kapatmayı ve 2025 yılında da markamızın liderliğini sürdürmesini hedefliyoruz. FIAT, farklı uygulama ve hizmetlerle de otomotiv sektörüne öncülük ediyor. FIAT, bir otomotiv markası olmasının yanında; hayata dair çözümler sunan ve müşterisinin yanında olan bir marka. Ürünlerimiz ve teknolojiyi yaygın olarak pazara sunmaya devam ediyoruz. Fiat 600’de de sunduğumuz bağlanabilirlik teknolojimizle bu alandaki öncülüğümüzü sürdürüyoruz.” dedi”

Aytaç; “FIAT’ın 1955-1970 yılları arasında 5 milyon adet üretilerek en çok tercih edilen aile otomobillerinden biri olan 600’ün ikonik tasarımından izler taşıyan Yeni 600’ün, elektrikli ve hibrit motor seçeneklerinin Türkiye otomobil pazarında beğeni toplayacağına inanıyorum. FIAT’ın B segmentine dönüşünü simgeleyen 600, keyifli bir sürüş deneyiminin kapılarını açıyor. Fiat 600, B-HB ve B-SUV dünyalarının kompakt ve aynı zamanda yerden yüksek sürüş dinamiklerini bir araya getiriyor.” diyerek sözlerine son verdi.

FİAT 600, DIŞI İKONİK, İÇİ DOLCE VİTA (TATLI HAYAT)

Yeni Fiat 600e, adını orijinal 600’den alıyor ve havalı İtalyan tarzına sadık bir görünüm sergiliyor. Otomobilin iç ve dış tasarımı, İtalyan güzelliğini ve İtalyanca’da “Tatlı Hayat” anlamına gelen Dolce Vita’ya atıfta bulunan felsefesini mükemmel bir şekilde yansıtıyor. Kısacası, Yeni Fiat 600e İtalyan DNA’sını en iyi şekilde bünyesinde barındırıyor. 5 kapılı gövdesiyle yeni Fiat 600, 5 koltuğu ve 15 litrelik iç hacmiyle etkileyici bir iç mekan sunuyor. 385 litrelik oldukça kullanışlı bagajıyla geniş bir taşıma alanı sunarken, kullanıcılarının kişisel eşyalarını, örtü ve esnek bardak tutuculara sahip akıllı merkezi konsolda, koltuk ceplerinde ve ön depolama alanlarında saklayabilmelerine de olanak sağlıyor. Eksiksiz bir konfor deneyimi için sürücü koltuğu, elektrikli koltuk ayarı ve sırt masajı işleviyle donatılıyor.

Fiat 600, tasarım mirasını paylaştığı Fiat 500e ile karşılaştırıldığında, daha keskin hatları olan bir yüze, hem önde hem de yanlarda krom 600 imzasına ve yenilenen LED aydınlatma kimliğine sahip. Parlak siyah detaylar, krom vurgular ve arka aydınlatmalardaki parlak yüzeyler dış hatları vurguluyor.

  FIAT 600’ün her iki versiyonu, yakınlık sensörlü anahtarsız giriş sayesinde, otomobilin kapı ya da bagajının açık unutulma olasılığını ortadan kalkıyor. FIAT 600’de ayrıca 360° park sensörleri ve dinamik kılavuz çizgilerine sahip 180° geri görüş kamerası, park manevralarını destekliyor.

FIAT 600, konfor ve bağlanabilirlik açısından yolculukları çok daha keyifli hale getirecek özelliklerle de donatılıyor. Eller serbest elektrikli bagaj kapağı, otomatik klima, karanlık ve yağmur sensörü bunlardan bazıları. Ayrıca navigasyon, kablosuz CarPlay ve Android Auto işlevleriyle 10,25 inçlik bilgi-eğlence ekranı, 6 hoparlörlü bir ses sistemi ve 7 inçlik dijital gösterge ekranı otomobilin fonksiyonel ve konfor özelliklerini tamamlıyor.

  YENİ FIAT 600E, UZUN MENZİLİYLE MESAFELERİ KISALTIYOR

Yeni Fiat 600e çok yönlü kullanım özellikleri dışında uzun menziliyle de dikkat çekiyor. 54 kWsa kapasiteli lityum-iyon bataryasıyla, WLTP ortalama çevrimde 400 km’ye ve WLTP şehir içi çevrimde 591 km’ye varan menzil sunuyor. Bu da yeni Fiat 600e’yi hem şehir içi hem de hafta sonu seyahatleri için ideal yol arkadaşı yapıyor. 100 kW hızlı şarj sistemi ile donatılan 600e’ye yüzde 80 şarj için yarım saatten daha kısa bir süre yeterli oluyor. Mod 3 şarj kablosu ile 11 kW şarjı destekleyen model, evde duvar tipi şarj istasyonunda veya halka açık şarj istasyonlarında 6 saatten daha kısa sürede tam şarj sağlıyor. 600e’nin 115 kW gücündeki elektrik motoru 0-100 km/s hızlanmasını 9 saniyede tamamlıyor. Sürüş gereksinimine uyarlamak üzere eko, normal ve spor olmak üzere üç farklı sürüş modunda kullanım tercih edilebiliyor.

  YENİ FİAT 600 HYBRİD: HER KOŞULDA KONFOR VE PERFORMANS SUNAN ÇEVRE DOSTU SEÇENEK

FIAT, hibrit otomobiller segmentinde artan müşteri talebine akıllı ve kullanıcı dostu bir çözüm olarak Yeni 600 Hybrid’i, sunuyor. Gelişmiş hibrit teknolojisi ile donatılan 600 Hybrid’in Mild-Hybrid (MHEV) motoru, otomatik şanzımanlı bir içten yanmalı motora kıyasla daha düşük yakıt tüketimi, yüzde 15’e kadar daha düşük CO2 emisyonu ve gelişmiş sürüş dinamikleri sağlıyor.

Yeni Fiat 600 Hybrid’in konfor ve performansı garanti eden MHEV motoru, ileri teknolojisi sayesinde gerçek bir hibrit deneyimi sunuyor. Araç, sadece 30 km/s’den düşük hızlarda şehir içinde seyahat ederken değil, daha yüksek hızlarda ve aynı zamanda yokuş aşağı inişte ya da otoyolda gaz pedalı bırakıldığında akıcı ve elektrikli bir sürüş deneyimi sunuyor.

Yeni FIAT 600 Hybrid, içten yanmalı motor ile elektrik motoru arasında sessiz ve verimli bir geçiş sağlayan sistemler sayesinde sorunsuz bir sürüş ve yolculuk deneyimi sunuyor. 600 Hybrid’in başarılı sürüş performansı, 136 bg’ye kadar güç üretebilen 3 silindirli 1,2 litrelik içten yanmalı motor, 48 Volt Li-ion batarya ve çift kavramalı e-DCT6 şanzıman arasındaki sinerjiye dayanıyor.

Hibrit motorun “ekstra” elektrik gücü düşük devirlerde ve kalkış sırasında esnekliği artırarak sürücüye şeffaf ve hızlı geçişlerle sessiz bir kalkış ve hızlı tepki olanağı sağlıyor. Ayrıca bu teknoloji, araç yavaşlarken enerjinin geri kazanılmasına olanak tanıyor. Normal sürüş koşullarında motor, yakıt tüketimini optimize etmek ve otomatik şanzımanlı bir içten yanmalı bir motora kıyasla CO2 emisyonlarında yüzde 15’e kadar tasarruf sağlayacak şekilde tasarlandı.

Çevre dostu hibrit motoruyla 0’dan 100’e 8,5 saniyede çıkabilen Yeni Fiat 600 Hybrid’in anlık tork dağıtım özelliği sayesinde, içten yanmalı motorun performansı, yeniden çalıştırma esnasında seri bir şekilde destekleniyor ve performans optimize edilerek “turbolag” etkisi azaltılırken gaz pedalına anında tepki verilmesi sağlanıyor. Benzer şekilde, motor sadece elektrikli modda başlatıldığında, güç gereksinimine yardımcı olmak için içten yanmalı motor devreye giriyor.

  İLERİ TEKNOLOJİ VE GÜVENLİK ÖZELLİKLERİ

Yeni Fiat 600e günlük hayatı kolaylaştıran ileri teknolojiye sahip güvenlik ve sürüş destek özellikleriyle donatılıyor. Seviye 2 otonom sürüş destek sistemleri ile güvenliğine de katkı sağlıyor. Uyarlanabilir Hız Sabitleme sistemi (ACC), öndeki aracın hızına göre yavaşlama veya hızlanma sunarken, Akıllı Hız Yardımcısı, hız sınırlamalarını okuyor ve uygulanmasını öneriyor. Kör Nokta Asistanı, kör noktaları izliyor ve yan aynadaki uyarı ışıklarıyla herhangi bir engele karşı uyarıyor. Ayrıca Start&Stop, Elektrikli Park Freni, bisikletlileri ve yayaları algılayan Otomatik Acil Durum Freni ve Sürücü Yorgunluk Algılama gibi işlevler de sürücüyü destekliyor.

  RENK TERAPİSİ SUNAN İLK KOMPAKT OTOMOBİL

600e, renk terapisi sunan ilk kompakt otomobil unvanını da taşıyor. Kullanıcılar hem ortam ışığı hem de radyo ambiyansı için 8 farklı renk seçebiliyor. Toplam 64 farklı renk kombinasyonunu mümkün kılan 600e, böylece yolcularına benzersiz bir renk deneyimi yaşatıyor. Yeni Fiat 600e ayrıca maksimum konfor ve seçkin bir ortam için turkuaz vurgulu FIAT monogramlı fildişi deri koltuklar ve 3 kademeli ısıtma özelliği sunuyor.

HAYATI KOLAYLAŞTIRAN BAĞLANABİLİRLİK TEKNOLOJİSİ “CONNECT” FİAT 600’DE

FIAT’ın otomobil ve sürücüyü birbirine bağlayan teknolojisi Connect Fiat 600’de de kullanıma sunuluyor. 600 kullanıcıları, Connect mobil uygulaması üzerinden araç kapı kilit durumu ile el freni durumlarını, park lokasyonlarını uzaktan görebiliyor şarj ve yakıt seviyelerini anlık olarak takip edebiliyor. 600 kullanıcıları ayrıca, bakım randevularını hızlı ve kolay bir şekilde yine Connect aracılığıyla planlayabiliyor.

Kullanıcılar araçlarının olası bir çekilme anında Connect’ten bildirim alıyor. Ayrıca araç seyir halindeyken devreye giren Kaza Kara Nokta bildirimi ile riskli bölgelere yaklaşıldığında daha dikkatli ve güvenli bir sürüş için Connect tarafından uyarılıyor. Olası bir kaza anında ise alınan çarpışma verisinin anında FIAT Müşteri İlgi Merkezine ulaşmasıyla kullanıcı aranıyor. Gerekli durumlarda acil yol yardımı alabilmeleri sağlanırken; yanıt alınamayan durumlarda ise ambulans yönlendirmesi yapılıyor.

ELEKTRİKLİ ARAÇ DÜNYASINA YENİ BİR HİZMET: FIAT E-PLUS

FIAT, 600e hayat kolaylaştıran ve ayrıcalıklı bir hizmeti daha devreye alıyor.

FIAT E-Plus, Watt DC şarj istasyonlarında şarj bitmesi durumunda ücretsiz mobil şarj hizmeti, yüzde 5 indirim, yazlık bölgelere yüzde 50 indirimli transfer imkanı ve ücretsiz vale hizmeti, bu paketin öne çıkan avantajları arasında yer alıyor. Ayrıca, duvar tipi şarj ürünlerinde yüzde 10, lastik satışında yüzde 15 indirim ve ücretsiz lastik depolama hizmeti de kullanıcıların hizmetine sunuluyor.  

Yeni Fiat 600’ün 600e La Prima 1.389.900 Bin TL’den; kasım ayından itibaren satışa sunulacak olan 600 Hybrid Urban ise 1.489.900 bin TL’den başlayan fiyatlarla 23 Ekim 2024 tarihinden itibaren FIAT showroom’larından ve markanın online satış kanalı online.fiat.com.tr üzerinden satın alınabilecek.

BU Haber İGF HABER AJANSI tarafından servis edilmiştir.

[brookston]

Holidays 8.8

Holidays

Abbey Road Crossing Day

Agricultural Worker Health Center Day

Anjin Matsuri (Ito City, Japan)

ARDS Awareness Day

ASEAN Day

Bā bā Day (Father's Day; Taiwan)

Bonza Bottler Day

Bubble Wrap Day (Japan)

Bullet Journal Day

Burry Man Festival (Scotland)

Colorism Awareness Day

Ceasefire Day (Iraqi Kurdistan)

Dalek Day

The Date To Create

Digital Nomad Day

D23 Day (Disneyland)

Dying to Know Day (Australia)

Eleanor Roosevelt Day

Emancipation Day (Kentucky; Tennessee)

Father's Day (a.k.a. Bā bā Day or 爸爸節; Mongolia, Taiwan)

Five Night’s at Freddy’s Day

Flag Day (Sweden)

Global Infinite Possibilities Day

Global Sleep Under the Stars Night

Happiness Happens Day

Horticulture Day (India)

International Allyship Day

International Cat Day

International Character Day

International Consensual Spanking Day

International Female Orgasm Day [a.k.a. 7.31]

International Mountaineering Day

International Ophthalmologist Day

International War Folly Day

Karkidaka Vavu Bali (Kerala, India)

Kranti Diwas (a.k.a. Freedom Day or Quit India Day; Mumbai, India)

Lion’s Gate Portal Day

Mar-A-Lago Search and Seizure Day

Moon Bear Day

Mount Vesuvius Eruption Anniversary Day (1767)

Namesday of the Queen (Sweden)

Nane Nane Day (Farmers' Day; Tanzania)

National Africa-US Rising Cashew Day

National Anne Day

National Assistance Dog Day

National Boundaries Awareness Day

National Braiders Day

National CBD Day (a.k.a. National Cannabidiol Day)

National Clog Dancing Day

National Dollar Day

National Garage Sale Day

National Infinite Possibilities Day

National Liam Day

National Love Your Inmate Day

National Melvin Day

National Perler Day

National Pickleball Day

National Reporter’s Day (Iran)

National Tarantula Appreciation Day

National Taxi Day (Japan)

National Vaping Day

Nixon Resignation Anniversary Day

Odie Day

Panda Cares Day

Peace Festival (Augsburger Friedensfest; Germany)

Safe Sport Day

Salt Water Day (Uruguay)

Scottish Wildcat Day (UK)

Severe ME Awareness Day

Signal Troops Day (Ukraine)

Silver Dollar Day

Stakeholder Appreciation Day

Tendong Lho Rum Fiat (Sikkim, India)

Thistle Day (French Republic)

Top 8 Challenge Day (Australia)

TR-808

Universal and International Infinity Day

Vore Day

Wakulima ya Nane Nane (Peasants’ Day or Farmers’ Day; Tanzania)

Wear Your Mother’s Jewelry Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Frozen Custard Day

National Africa-US Rising Cashew Day

National Fried Chicken and Waffles Day

National Mochi Day

National Oatcake Day (UK)

National Spam Musubi Day

National Whataburger Day

National Zucchini Day

Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbors Porch Night

Independence & Related Days

Batavia (a.k.a. Duchy of Batavia; Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Cote d'Ivoire (a.k.a. Ivory Coast, from France, 1960)

Delhi (Becomes Capital; India; 1947)

Karachi (Becomes Capital; Pakistan; 1947)

Majerówka (Declared; 2022) [unrecognized]

Montosh (Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Poulo Wai (Declared; 1995) [unrecognized]

2nd Thursday in August

August Thursday (Anguilla) [2nd Thursday]

Crayfish Festival (Kräftpremiär; Sweden) [Date Varies]

Miracle Treat Day (Canada) [2nd Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning August 8 (1st Full Week of August)

Fardagar (Iceland) [Thursday of 7th Week of Summer thru Sunday]

National Hobo Week (thru 8.10)

Festivals Beginning August 8, 2024

Edmonton Folk Music Festival (Edmonton, Canada) [thru 8.11]

Fairport’s Cropredy Convention (Cropredy, United Kingdom) [thru 8.10]

Gone Wild Festival Norfolk (Wells-next-the-Sea, United Kingdom) [thru 8.11]

Grand Tasting Alpharetta (Alpharetta, Georgia)

Henry County Fair (Napoleon, Ohio) [thr 8.15]

Hope Watermelon Festival (Hope, Arkansas) [thru 8.10]

Illinois State Fair (Springfield, Illinois) [thru 8.18]

Iowa State Fair (Des Moines, Iowa) [thru 8.18]

Key West Lobsterfest (Key West, Florida) [thru 8.11]

Melbourne International Film Festival (Melbourne, Australia) [thru 8.25]

Mendota Sweet Corn Festival (Mendota, Illinois) [thru 8.11]

Missouri State Fair (Sedalia, Missouri) [thru 8.18]

Mozamboogy (Lopes, Mozambique) [thru 8.12]

National Blueberry Festival (South Haven, Michigan) [thru 8.11]

Northwest Washington Fair (Lynden, Washington) [thru 8.17]

Podunk Bluegrass Music Festival (Goshen, Connecticut) [thru 8.11]

Reynoldsburg Tomato Festival (Reynoldsburg, Ohio) [thru 8.10]

Skowhegan State Fair (Skowhegan, Maine) [thru 8.17]

State Fair of West Virginia (Fairlea, West Virginia) [thru 8.17]

Sweet Corn Festival (Oakland City, Indiana) [thru 8.10]

Sycamore Steam Show & Threshing Bee (Sycamore, Illinois) [thru 8.10]

The Upstage Music Fest (Clearfield, Pennsylvania) [thru 8.10]

Way Out West (Gothenburg, Sweden) [thru 8.10]

Worldcon (Glasgow, United Kingdom) [thru 8.12]

Feast Days

Altmann of Passau (Christian; Saint)

British Thermal Unit Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Cyriacus, Largus, Smaragdus, and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Dominic de Guzmán, founder of the Dominican Order (Christian; Saint)

Festival of Venus Eve (Ancient Rome)

Finest Fairy Finals (Shamanism)

Four Crowned Martyrs (Christian; Martyrs)

Fourteen Holy Helpers’ Day (Christian)

Friedrich Georg Weitsch (Artology)

Godfrey Kneller (Artology)

Happiness Happens Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Hormisdas, Pope (Christian; Martyr)

International Cat Day (Pastafarian)

International Goat Day (Pastafarian)

Jan Pieńkowski (Artology)

Jean Leon Gerome Ferris (Artology)

Jostein Gaarder (Writerism)

Károly Reich (Artology)

Mme. de Lafayette (Positivist; Saint)

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (Writerism)

Mary MacKillop (Christian; Saint) [Australia]

Rye Day (Pagan)

Sara Teasdale (Writerism)

Season of Bureaucracy begins (Discordian)

Smaragdus and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Spaghettini (Muppetism)

Triskal Day (Celtic Book of Days)

Venus Festival (Ancient Rome; from sunset to sunset)

Virgin Mary Nativity (Christian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Taian (大安 Japan) [Lucky all day.]

Unluckiest Day of the Year (India)

Premieres

Alice the Beach Nut (Ub Iwerks Disney Cartoon; 1927)

Another Side of Bob Dylan, by Bob Dylan (Album; 1964)

The Boss (Film; 2016)

Bully for Bugs (WB LT Cartoon; 1953)

Cardigan, by Taylor Swift (Song; 2020)

Eleanor Rigby, by The Beatles (Song; 1966)

Farewell, My Lovely (Film; 1975)

Folklore, by Taylor Swift (Album; 2020)

Forty Pink Winks (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1975)

Gangsta’s Paradise, by Coolio (Song; 1995)

Heavy Traffic (Animated Film; 1973)

An Innocent Man, by Billy Joel (Album; 1983)

Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, recorded by Les Brown (Song; 1941)

Lego DC Super Hero Girls: Brain Drain (WB Animated Film; 2017)

Lookin’ Out My Back Door, by Creedence Clearwater Revival (Song; 1970)

The Old Oaken Bucket (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1941)

One Crazy Summer (Film; 1986)

Ozark Lark (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1960)

Pest Pilot (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1941)

Pictures at an Exhibition, completed by Modest Mussorgsky (Piano Suite; 1874)

Pink Plasma (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1975)

Revolver, by The Beatles (Album; 1966)

The Sheep Look Up, by John Brunner (Novel; 1972)

She’s Gotta Have It (Film; 1986)

Stand By Me (Film; 1986)

A Storm of Swords, by George R.R. Martin (Novel; 2000) [A Song of Fire and Ice #3]

Straight Outta Compton, by N.W.A. (Album; 1988)

Sunday Go to Meeting’ Time (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

The Wee Men (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1947)

Welcome to the Monkey House, by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (Short Stories; 1968)

Whiplash, by Metallica (Song; 1983)

The Wizard of Arts (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

Xanadu (Film; 1988)

Yellow Submarine, by The Beatles (Song; 1966)

Today’s Name Days

Cyriak, Dominik, Elgar, Gustav (Austria)

Emil, Emilian, Emiliya (Bulgaria)

Dinko, Dominik, Nedjeljko (Croatia)

Soběslav (Czech Republic)

Ruth (Denmark)

Silva, Silve, Silvi, Silvia (Estonia)

Silva, Sylvi, Sylvia (Finland)

Dominique (France)

Cyriak, Dominik, Elgar (Germany)

Triantafilia, Triantafilos Triantafyllos (Greece)

László (Hungary)

Domenico, Emiliano (Italy)

Gotlibs, Mudite, Vladislavs (Latvia)

Daina, Domas, Dominykas, Elidijus, Gustavas, Tulgirdas (Lithuania)

Evy, Yvonne (Norway)

Cyprian, Cyriak, Cyryl, Emil, Emilian, Emiliusz, Niezamysł, Olech, Sylwiusz (Poland)

Oskár (Slovakia)

Domingo (Spain)

Silvia, Sylvia (Sweden)

Amelia, Amillian, Emil, Emily, Fedir, Leonid, Theodore (Ukraine)

Dustin, Dusty, Merrill, Meryl, Muriel, Myron, Myrta, Myrtle, Vic, Vick, Vicki, Vicky, Victor, Victoria (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 221 of 2024; 145 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of Week 32 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Coll (Hazel) [Day 6 of 28]

Chinese: Month 7 (Ren-Shen), Day 5 (Jia-Chen)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 4 Av 5784

Islamic: 2 Safar 1446

J Cal: 11 Purple; Foursday [11 of 30]

Julian: 26 July 2024

Moon: 16%: Waxing Crescent

Positivist: 24 Dante (8th Month) [Mme. de Lafayette]

Runic Half Month: As (Gods) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 50 of 94)

Week: 1st Full Week of August

Zodiac: Leo (Day 18 of 31)

Calendar Changes

As (Gods) [Half-Month 16 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 8.22)

[brookstonalmanac]

Holidays 8.8

Holidays

Abbey Road Crossing Day

Agricultural Worker Health Center Day

Anjin Matsuri (Ito City, Japan)

ARDS Awareness Day

ASEAN Day

Bā bā Day (Father's Day; Taiwan)

Bonza Bottler Day

Bubble Wrap Day (Japan)

Bullet Journal Day

Burry Man Festival (Scotland)

Colorism Awareness Day

Ceasefire Day (Iraqi Kurdistan)

Dalek Day

The Date To Create

Digital Nomad Day

D23 Day (Disneyland)

Dying to Know Day (Australia)

Eleanor Roosevelt Day

Emancipation Day (Kentucky; Tennessee)

Father's Day (a.k.a. Bā bā Day or 爸爸節; Mongolia, Taiwan)

Five Night’s at Freddy’s Day

Flag Day (Sweden)

Global Infinite Possibilities Day

Global Sleep Under the Stars Night

Happiness Happens Day

Horticulture Day (India)

International Allyship Day

International Cat Day

International Character Day

International Consensual Spanking Day

International Female Orgasm Day [a.k.a. 7.31]

International Mountaineering Day

International Ophthalmologist Day

International War Folly Day

Karkidaka Vavu Bali (Kerala, India)

Kranti Diwas (a.k.a. Freedom Day or Quit India Day; Mumbai, India)

Lion’s Gate Portal Day

Mar-A-Lago Search and Seizure Day

Moon Bear Day

Mount Vesuvius Eruption Anniversary Day (1767)

Namesday of the Queen (Sweden)

Nane Nane Day (Farmers' Day; Tanzania)

National Africa-US Rising Cashew Day

National Anne Day

National Assistance Dog Day

National Boundaries Awareness Day

National Braiders Day

National CBD Day (a.k.a. National Cannabidiol Day)

National Clog Dancing Day

National Dollar Day

National Garage Sale Day

National Infinite Possibilities Day

National Liam Day

National Love Your Inmate Day

National Melvin Day

National Perler Day

National Pickleball Day

National Reporter’s Day (Iran)

National Tarantula Appreciation Day

National Taxi Day (Japan)

National Vaping Day

Nixon Resignation Anniversary Day

Odie Day

Panda Cares Day

Peace Festival (Augsburger Friedensfest; Germany)

Safe Sport Day

Salt Water Day (Uruguay)

Scottish Wildcat Day (UK)

Severe ME Awareness Day

Signal Troops Day (Ukraine)

Silver Dollar Day

Stakeholder Appreciation Day

Tendong Lho Rum Fiat (Sikkim, India)

Thistle Day (French Republic)

Top 8 Challenge Day (Australia)

TR-808

Universal and International Infinity Day

Vore Day

Wakulima ya Nane Nane (Peasants’ Day or Farmers’ Day; Tanzania)

Wear Your Mother’s Jewelry Day

Food & Drink Celebrations

Frozen Custard Day

National Africa-US Rising Cashew Day

National Fried Chicken and Waffles Day

National Mochi Day

National Oatcake Day (UK)

National Spam Musubi Day

National Whataburger Day

National Zucchini Day

Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbors Porch Night

Independence & Related Days

Batavia (a.k.a. Duchy of Batavia; Declared; 2019) [unrecognized]

Cote d'Ivoire (a.k.a. Ivory Coast, from France, 1960)

Delhi (Becomes Capital; India; 1947)

Karachi (Becomes Capital; Pakistan; 1947)

Majerówka (Declared; 2022) [unrecognized]

Montosh (Declared; 2009) [unrecognized]

Poulo Wai (Declared; 1995) [unrecognized]

2nd Thursday in August

August Thursday (Anguilla) [2nd Thursday]

Crayfish Festival (Kräftpremiär; Sweden) [Date Varies]

Miracle Treat Day (Canada) [2nd Thursday]

Weekly Holidays beginning August 8 (1st Full Week of August)

Fardagar (Iceland) [Thursday of 7th Week of Summer thru Sunday]

National Hobo Week (thru 8.10)

Festivals Beginning August 8, 2024

Edmonton Folk Music Festival (Edmonton, Canada) [thru 8.11]

Fairport’s Cropredy Convention (Cropredy, United Kingdom) [thru 8.10]

Gone Wild Festival Norfolk (Wells-next-the-Sea, United Kingdom) [thru 8.11]

Grand Tasting Alpharetta (Alpharetta, Georgia)

Henry County Fair (Napoleon, Ohio) [thr 8.15]

Hope Watermelon Festival (Hope, Arkansas) [thru 8.10]

Illinois State Fair (Springfield, Illinois) [thru 8.18]

Iowa State Fair (Des Moines, Iowa) [thru 8.18]

Key West Lobsterfest (Key West, Florida) [thru 8.11]

Melbourne International Film Festival (Melbourne, Australia) [thru 8.25]

Mendota Sweet Corn Festival (Mendota, Illinois) [thru 8.11]

Missouri State Fair (Sedalia, Missouri) [thru 8.18]

Mozamboogy (Lopes, Mozambique) [thru 8.12]

National Blueberry Festival (South Haven, Michigan) [thru 8.11]

Northwest Washington Fair (Lynden, Washington) [thru 8.17]

Podunk Bluegrass Music Festival (Goshen, Connecticut) [thru 8.11]

Reynoldsburg Tomato Festival (Reynoldsburg, Ohio) [thru 8.10]

Skowhegan State Fair (Skowhegan, Maine) [thru 8.17]

State Fair of West Virginia (Fairlea, West Virginia) [thru 8.17]

Sweet Corn Festival (Oakland City, Indiana) [thru 8.10]

Sycamore Steam Show & Threshing Bee (Sycamore, Illinois) [thru 8.10]

The Upstage Music Fest (Clearfield, Pennsylvania) [thru 8.10]

Way Out West (Gothenburg, Sweden) [thru 8.10]

Worldcon (Glasgow, United Kingdom) [thru 8.12]

Feast Days

Altmann of Passau (Christian; Saint)

British Thermal Unit Day (Church of the SubGenius)

Cyriacus, Largus, Smaragdus, and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Dominic de Guzmán, founder of the Dominican Order (Christian; Saint)

Festival of Venus Eve (Ancient Rome)

Finest Fairy Finals (Shamanism)

Four Crowned Martyrs (Christian; Martyrs)

Fourteen Holy Helpers’ Day (Christian)

Friedrich Georg Weitsch (Artology)

Godfrey Kneller (Artology)

Happiness Happens Day (Starza Pagan Book of Days)

Hormisdas, Pope (Christian; Martyr)

International Cat Day (Pastafarian)

International Goat Day (Pastafarian)

Jan Pieńkowski (Artology)

Jean Leon Gerome Ferris (Artology)

Jostein Gaarder (Writerism)

Károly Reich (Artology)

Mme. de Lafayette (Positivist; Saint)

Marjorie Kinnan Rawlings (Writerism)

Mary MacKillop (Christian; Saint) [Australia]

Rye Day (Pagan)

Sara Teasdale (Writerism)

Season of Bureaucracy begins (Discordian)

Smaragdus and companions (Christian; Martyrs)

Spaghettini (Muppetism)

Triskal Day (Celtic Book of Days)

Venus Festival (Ancient Rome; from sunset to sunset)

Virgin Mary Nativity (Christian)

Lucky & Unlucky Days

Taian (大安 Japan) [Lucky all day.]

Unluckiest Day of the Year (India)

Premieres

Alice the Beach Nut (Ub Iwerks Disney Cartoon; 1927)

Another Side of Bob Dylan, by Bob Dylan (Album; 1964)

The Boss (Film; 2016)

Bully for Bugs (WB LT Cartoon; 1953)

Cardigan, by Taylor Swift (Song; 2020)

Eleanor Rigby, by The Beatles (Song; 1966)

Farewell, My Lovely (Film; 1975)

Folklore, by Taylor Swift (Album; 2020)

Forty Pink Winks (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1975)

Gangsta’s Paradise, by Coolio (Song; 1995)

Heavy Traffic (Animated Film; 1973)

An Innocent Man, by Billy Joel (Album; 1983)

Joltin’ Joe DiMaggio, recorded by Les Brown (Song; 1941)

Lego DC Super Hero Girls: Brain Drain (WB Animated Film; 2017)

Lookin’ Out My Back Door, by Creedence Clearwater Revival (Song; 1970)

The Old Oaken Bucket (Terrytoons Cartoon; 1941)

One Crazy Summer (Film; 1986)

Ozark Lark (Woody Woodpecker Cartoon; 1960)

Pest Pilot (Fleischer Popeye Cartoon; 1941)

Pictures at an Exhibition, completed by Modest Mussorgsky (Piano Suite; 1874)

Pink Plasma (Pink Panther Cartoon; 1975)

Revolver, by The Beatles (Album; 1966)

The Sheep Look Up, by John Brunner (Novel; 1972)

She’s Gotta Have It (Film; 1986)

Stand By Me (Film; 1986)

A Storm of Swords, by George R.R. Martin (Novel; 2000) [A Song of Fire and Ice #3]

Straight Outta Compton, by N.W.A. (Album; 1988)

Sunday Go to Meeting’ Time (WB MM Cartoon; 1936)

The Wee Men (Noveltoons Cartoon; 1947)

Welcome to the Monkey House, by Kurt Vonnegut Jr. (Short Stories; 1968)

Whiplash, by Metallica (Song; 1983)

The Wizard of Arts (Animated Antics Cartoon; 1941)

Xanadu (Film; 1988)

Yellow Submarine, by The Beatles (Song; 1966)

Today’s Name Days

Cyriak, Dominik, Elgar, Gustav (Austria)

Emil, Emilian, Emiliya (Bulgaria)

Dinko, Dominik, Nedjeljko (Croatia)

Soběslav (Czech Republic)

Ruth (Denmark)

Silva, Silve, Silvi, Silvia (Estonia)

Silva, Sylvi, Sylvia (Finland)

Dominique (France)

Cyriak, Dominik, Elgar (Germany)

Triantafilia, Triantafilos Triantafyllos (Greece)

László (Hungary)

Domenico, Emiliano (Italy)

Gotlibs, Mudite, Vladislavs (Latvia)

Daina, Domas, Dominykas, Elidijus, Gustavas, Tulgirdas (Lithuania)

Evy, Yvonne (Norway)

Cyprian, Cyriak, Cyryl, Emil, Emilian, Emiliusz, Niezamysł, Olech, Sylwiusz (Poland)

Oskár (Slovakia)

Domingo (Spain)

Silvia, Sylvia (Sweden)

Amelia, Amillian, Emil, Emily, Fedir, Leonid, Theodore (Ukraine)

Dustin, Dusty, Merrill, Meryl, Muriel, Myron, Myrta, Myrtle, Vic, Vick, Vicki, Vicky, Victor, Victoria (USA)

Today is Also…

Day of Year: Day 221 of 2024; 145 days remaining in the year

ISO: Day 4 of Week 32 of 2024

Celtic Tree Calendar: Coll (Hazel) [Day 6 of 28]

Chinese: Month 7 (Ren-Shen), Day 5 (Jia-Chen)

Chinese Year of the: Dragon 4722 (until January 29, 2025) [Wu-Chen]

Hebrew: 4 Av 5784

Islamic: 2 Safar 1446

J Cal: 11 Purple; Foursday [11 of 30]

Julian: 26 July 2024

Moon: 16%: Waxing Crescent

Positivist: 24 Dante (8th Month) [Mme. de Lafayette]

Runic Half Month: As (Gods) [Day 1 of 15]

Season: Summer (Day 50 of 94)

Week: 1st Full Week of August

Zodiac: Leo (Day 18 of 31)

Calendar Changes

As (Gods) [Half-Month 16 of 24; Runic Half-Months] (thru 8.22)

[tifatait]

Vendo Fiat Panda Cross Cross 1.0 FireFly S&S Hybrid usata a Caserta (codice 13549171) | www.automoto.it

[italiancarssince1946]

2017 Fiat Panda City Cross

My tumblr blogs:

www.tumblr.com/germancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/frenchcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/englishcarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/italiancarssince1946 & www.tumblr.com/japanesecarssince1947 & www.tumblr.com/uscarssince1935 & www.tumblr.com/swedishcarssince1946

[stefanorossiautomotiveinternat]

L'Europa dell'auto 2023: i principali dati

Le 10 auto più vendute in Europa anno 2023: (1) TESLA MODEL Y 251.604 (+84%); (2) DACIA SANDERO 234.715 (+18%); (3) VW T-ROC 204.610 (+13%); (4) RENAULT CLIO 201.604 (+42%); (5) PEUGEOT 208 193.679 (-6%); (6) OPEL/VAUXHALL CORSA 188.154 (+15%); (7) VW GOLF 183.716 (+4%); (8) TOYOTA YARIS CROSS 178.285 (+29%); (9) FIAT 500 173.187 (-3%); (10) SKODA OCTAVIA 160.662 (+43%).

I primi 25 Costruttori in Europa anno 2023: (1) VOLKSWAGEN 1.343.740 (+12%); (2) TOYOTA 819.544 (+8%); (3) AUDI 730.690 (+19%); (4) BMW 725.083 (+12%); (5) MERCEDES-BENZ 702.886 (+9%); (6) RENAULT 678.236 (+17%); (7) SKODA 674.464 (+26%); (8) PEUGEOT 635.176 (+3%); (9) KIA 555.033 (+4%); (10) FORD 551.939 (+1%); (11) DACIA 550.889 (+17%); (12) HYUNDAI 528.645 (+3%); (13) OPEL 455.762 (+6%); (14) FIAT 373.249 (-3%); (15) CITROEN 368.973 (-2%); (16) TESLA 362.300 (+56%); (17) NISSAN 291.178 (+23%); (18) VOLVO 286.760 (+16%); (19) SEAT 245.545 (+21%); (20) MG 231.818 (+105%); (21) CUPRA 199.985 (+41%); (22) SUZUKI 187.701 (+43%); (23) MINI 185.143 (+8%); (24) MAZDA 180.854 (+30%); (25) 126.093 (+23%). Totale autovetture vendute in Europa anno 2023: 12.792.151 unità (+14%).

Ratio alimentazioni in Europa anno 2023: (1) BENZINA 35%; (2) IBRIDE 25%; ELETTRICHE 14,6%; DIESEL 13,6% (contro una quota di mercato anno 2022 del 16,4%; quindi continua il trend di flessione per il diesel).

Le 10 auto più vendute in Italia anno 2023: (1) FIAT PANDA 102.625; (2) DACIA SANDERO 48.398; (3) LANCIA YPSILON 44.891; (4) TOYOTA YARIS CROSS 34.981; (5) FIAT 500 32.981; (6) VW T-ROC 32.969; RENAULT CAPTUR 31.128; (8) CITROEN C3 31.059; (9) FORD PUMA 30.804; (10) DACIA DUSTER 30.155.

[drivesolutions]

Ciao a tutti gli appassionati di avventure su quattro ruote! 🚗✨

Abbiamo il piacere di presentarvi la nuova FIAT PANDA CROSS 1.0 FIREFLY 70CV S&S 6M HYBRID, disponibile a soli €218 + IVA al mese! Un'offerta esclusiva e personalizzabile, con un anticipo di soli €3.000 e una serie di servizi inclusi! 🌟

Consegniamo in tutta Italia, offrendo tagliandi e manutenzioni extra, assicurazione completa e assistenza H24. Non lasciatevi sfuggire questa incredibile opportunità di guidare la vostra Fiat Panda Cross!

Chiamate subito 📞050-6207307 o venite a trovarci presso DRIVE SOLUTIONS in VIA SCORNIGIANA 44 OSPEDALETTO (PI) per scoprire di più e cogliere al volo questa straordinaria occasione!

[kleinwagenblog]

Sondermodell zum 40. Geburtstag des Fiat Panda mit Allradantrieb

Vor genau 40 Jahren revolutionierte der Fiat Panda 4x4 den Alltag von unzähligen Outdoorbegeisterten, Landwirten, Jägern sowie anderen Berufsgruppen, deren Tätigkeit regelmäßig auch Touren abseits befestigter oder verschneiter Straßen erfordert. Zum ersten Mal bot ein Kleinwagen die Offroad-Fähigkeiten, die bei der täglichen Arbeit im Wald, in den Bergen oder auf dem Weg zu einem Einsatzort gefordert sind. Bis heute verkaufte FIAT rund 800.000 Exemplare des wendigen Allradlers, der bei Vergleichstests immer noch manch großes SUV in den Schatten stellt. Über die Jahrzehnte gerechnet, entspricht dies einem Modellmix von erstaunlichen 10 Prozent. Aus Anlass des 40. Geburtstages des Allrad-Pioniers präsentiert die italienische Marke jetzt auch für den deutschen Markt den Fiat Panda 4x40°. Das Sondermodell wird nur 1.983 Mal gebaut – eine Referenz an das Präsentationsjahr des ersten Fiat Panda 4x4.

Sondermodell Fiat Panda 4x40°: Erweiterte Serienausstattung für individuellen StilDer neue Fiat Panda 4x40° ist wendig, kompakt und verfügt über eine erweiterte Serienausstattung. Aufbauend auf der Modellvariante Cross, ist der neue Fiat Panda 4x40° an der Karosseriefarbe Elfenbein, zweifarbigen 15-Zoll-Rädern, schwarzen Abdeckkappen der Außenspiegel sowie Plaketten und Aufklebern mit 4x40°-Logo und in Form der Silhouette des historischen Fiat Panda zu erkennen. Elfenbein ist auch im Innenraum die dominierende Farbe, in der Armaturentafel und Soft-Touch-Einsätze der Sitzbezüge gehalten sind. Im Cockpit sorgen 4x40°-Logos sowie rote Ziernähte für den letzten Schliff. Read the full article

[nidricarrentals]

Nidri Car Rental- Rent a car Lefkada- Hire a Car at Aktion PVK airport car rental

Noleggio Auto & Motorini Lefcada- Noleggio Automobili Lefkada

Mietwagen in Lefkada stadt - Mietwagen Lefkas Agios Ioannis Autovermietung lefkada Hafen  - Autovermietungen am Meereshafen von Lefkada- Mietwagen vergleichen - Auto mieten ab Lefkas

If you're looking for car rental in Lefkada town, Lefkas , Agios Ioannis, Ligia, Nikiana, Nidri Lefkada look no further. We offer a great variety of vehicles. Hire a car among of

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[reasoningdaily]

CNN: US tourist fined for driving rental car over medieval Italian bridge