Aurora

There’s something about June that feels like light spilling into places that were once kept in the dark. Pride Month isn’t just a celebration, it’s a reminder. A reminder that so many people have had to fight, quietly or loudly..... just to exist as themselves in a world that didn’t always make space for them.

For every person who had to lower their voice, hide their name, soften their love or shrink their truth just to feel safe, this month says: you don’t have to do that anymore. You were never “too much.” You were never “wrong.” You were just living in a world that hadn’t learned how to hold all your colors yet.

Everyone deserves sunshine. Not the kind that only shows up when you’re “acceptable” or “understood,” but the kind that finds you exactly as you are. The kind that warms your skin after long winters of silence. The kind that says you belong here, not in spite of who you are, but because of it. To the ones still figuring it out in secret. To the ones who have finally stepped into the light. To the ones who are still scared to do so, you are not alone. There are so many hands reaching out, so many voices saying “me too,” so many hearts that will never ask you to change in order to be loved.

Love is not something that should require permission. Identity is not something that needs justification. You are not a question to be answered, you are a story unfolding, beautifully and in your own time.

And if the world ever feels too heavy, too loud, or too unkind, remember this: there are people who will celebrate your existence just as fiercely as you do. There are places, and moments, and hearts where you will always be safe to be fully, unapologetically you.

Everyone deserves sunshine. And you are not an exception to that.

Summary:

A drunk Vegas joke turns into a very real wedding, a silver ring and one catastrophic FIA database update. Suddenly there are two Verstappens on track, the paddock loses its mind and Max absolutely refuses to stop saying “my husband” on live TV.

Las Vegas GP smelled like burnt rubber, champagne, and bad decisions.

Exactly how Max Verstappen liked it.

The race had ended hours ago, Red Bull’s champagne showers still staining his fireproofs, and the neon lights outside glared like a challenge: what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

He didn’t believe that for a second.

Especially not with Carlos Sainz laughing beside him, cheeks flushed from champagne and neon reflections, hair still messy from his podium cap.

They had escaped the afterparty because Max said it was “too loud,” and Carlos, with that fond smile he reserved only for Max, had followed without question.

Now they were sitting in a near-empty diner at 2:47 a.m., still wearing their team hoodies, drinking like teenagers who’d stolen the world’s fastest cars.

Carlos squinting across the table. “Never thought I’d see Max Verstappen drink something that isn’t an energy drink.”

Max shrugged.

Carlos snorted, head tipping back in laughter.

His laughter always did something strange to Max ... something that made him want to hear it again, to make Carlos look at him like that again.

That soft, tired joy.

The kind that came only when they were alone, when the world wasn’t watching.

Max took another sip, eyes lazily dragging over Carlos’s face. “Carlos Verstappen has a nice ring to it, no?”

Carlos blinked. “What?”

Max leaned back, smirking. “Just saying. Sounds good. Like a name that wins races.”

Carlos tilted his head, grin blooming. “Why not? I love it.”

A beat of silence. A spark of challenge in the air. Carlos didn’t look away. Neither did Max.

“Don’t say things you don’t mean,” Max murmured, his voice somewhere between teasing and something much deeper.

Carlos’s smile widened. “I meant it.”

Five minutes later, they were running down the Strip.

….

The Wedding (Of Questionable Legality and Undeniable Passion)

The sign blinked in gaudy gold letters: “24-Hour Elvis Chapel of Love - Walk-ins Welcome!”

Max stopped, breathless, hands on his knees. “You’re joking.”

Carlos, already halfway up the stairs, grinned over his shoulder. “You said it sounded good.”

“We’re drunk.”

“We’re not that drunk.”

“We are,” Max insisted, though he couldn’t stop smiling. “This is ridiculous.”

Carlos looked at him, eyes warm but with a hidden hopeful expression, steady. “You don’t want to?”

And that ... that did him in.

Because of course he did.

Of course he wanted Carlos. Not just for a night or a podium celebration or the way he always smiled at him like he knew something Max didn’t.

He wanted this.

“Fine,” Max said. “But if we’re doing this, I’m keeping my Redbull hoodie on.”

“Deal.”

….

The officiant looked barely awake, sunglasses perched on his nose, a gold jumpsuit glittering in the fluorescent light.

“Do you, uh…” he squinted at the paper, “…Max Verstappen, take this here Carlos Sainz, to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Yeah,” Max interrupted. “Sure. Yes.”

Carlos bit back a laugh. “Yes,” he said, softer.

“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Nevada and the spirit of Elvis Presley…” The officiant yawned. “…you may kiss your husband.”

Max blinked. “That’s all?”

Carlos grinned, tugged on Max’s hoodie, and kissed him before he could think twice.

The world went quiet ... just neon lights and warm lips and a spark that felt too real to be a joke.

Someone in the background yelled, “Yo, I’m livestreaming this!”

Neither of them cared.

…..

Max woke to sunlight stabbing him through the blinds and the faint smell of vanilla milkshake.

Carlos groaned beside him. “Where’s my hoodie?”

“Where’s my sanity?” Max muttered, sitting up.

Then he froze. His hand. A silver ring gleaming on his finger.

He turned. Carlos blinked awake, looked down at his own hand, and then up at Max.

“…Well,” Carlos said slowly, “that escalated quickly.”

Max ran a hand through his hair. “Do you think it’s legal?”

Carlos squinted at the coffee table. “There’s paperwork.”

They stared at each other. The same thought crossed both their minds. They were actually married.

Carlos started to laugh first, shoulders shaking. “We’re married idiots.”

Max couldn’t stop the smile spreading across his face. “Happily Married idiots.”

….

Carlos, ever the responsible one, handled things like an adult.

He sent in the paperwork for his name update.

The problem? Williams PR noticed.

They thought it was a brand collaboration or some Prank.

So they updated the FIA driver registry.

And at the next Grand Prix…

🟦 VER | Williams 🟥 VER | Red Bull

The paddock went nuclear.

Crofty, live on SkySports: “Wait... there are two Verstappens on track?! Has Max swapped teams? Is Carlos related to him now?!”

Ted Kravitz, sprinting down the paddock with a mic: “ARE THEY BROTHERS-IN-LAW NOW OR WHAT?!”

Alex Albon was laughing so hard he nearly dropped his helmet. Lando Norris changed Carlos’s phone contact to “Mr. Verstappen 💍.” Williams’s social media team posted a cryptic meme:

“A new era with Mr. Verstappen  ❤️”

Laurent’s nearly had a heart attack when the FIA database pinged his phone:

Carlos Verstappen - Williams Racing He called legal immediately. “Did we just… accidentally trade a driver?”

Meanwhile, the two newlyweds were in the motorhome, calmly sipping coffee.

Carlos wore his wedding ring openly. Max’s was under his glove.

“Should we tell them?” Carlos asked.

“Nah,” Max said, smirking. “Let’s see how long it takes.”

….

Carlos walks into the garage, hair damp, Williams polo slightly unbuttoned. Max doesn’t even look up from the telemetry. “Morning, Mr. Verstappen,” he says, like it’s the most normal greeting in the world. Carlos freezes, then glares ... but the corners of his mouth betray him. “Max...” “Yes, husband?” Alex bursts out laughing somewhere behind the pit wall.

….

They’re in their Monaco apartment, sunlight spilling across the kitchen. Carlos is cooking; Max is stealing strawberries from the bowl. When Carlos catches him in the act, Max leans against the counter, lazy grin in place. “Careful, Mr. Verstappen,” he drawls. “That knife looks dangerous.” Carlos rolls his eyes. “You only call me that when you’re about to start trouble.” “Or when I want to kiss you.” Max gets both the kiss and a strawberry thrown at him.

….

Reporter: “Max, how do you feel about Carlos’ performance today?” Max: “Oh, brilliant as always. I told him before the race ... my husband doesn’t lose.” Carlos: “Stop calling me that in public.” Max, grinning at the cameras: “Sorry, Mr. Verstappen.”

…

Max 💙: good luck today mr verstappen 😏 Carlos 😴: i told you stop texting me that before quali Max 💙: superstition. every time i say it I end up ahead. Carlos 😴: …fine. mr verstappen loves you too.

….

Carlos is on the couch, reading. Max sprawls on top of him, head in his lap. “You’re heavy,” Carlos murmurs, carding his fingers through Max’s hair. “Weight of love, Mr. Verstappen,” Max mumbles against his thigh. Carlos laughs so softly it vibrates through his skin. “You’re ridiculous.” “Married ridiculous,” Max corrects.

…

Max finds Carlos in parc fermé, helmet still on. Without caring about the cameras, he pulls him into a hug. “Good drive, Mr. Verstappen,” Max whispers against his ear, low enough that only Carlos can hear. Carlos chuckles breathlessly. “You sound proud.” “I am.”

…

During an interview, Max gets asked about his future plans. He starts listing things ... “more wins”... and then, without thinking, adds, “and a honeymoon to wherever Mr. Verstappen wants to go.” He realizes a second too late what he’s said. Carlos is grinning off-camera. The interviewer’s jaw drops. The internet explodes.

…

By Sunday, the rumors were uncontrollable.

Every journalist wanted answers. Every fan had conspiracy theories.

One reporter finally asked during the post-race interview:

“Carlos, can you explain why your name says Verstappen on the board?”

Carlos, completely deadpan: “Because I married him.”

The room exploded.

Max just smirked beside him, leaned toward the mic, and added, “And now he can’t DNF without taking my name down too.”

The paddock went feral.

Oscar fell off his chair. Charles Leclerc yelled, “YOU WHAT?!” Lando started slow-clapping, a bit confused but supportive.

….

Elvis ... yes, that Elvis from the chapel ... showed up at a Red Bull press conference two days later, still in his glittering jumpsuit.

“Boys,” he said solemnly, “you left your bouquet.”

By Sunday night, half the paddock had seen it.

Max’s mom texted him:

“So… should I call him mijn schoondochter now?”

Carlos’s dad pretended to be horrified. “Married to a Verstappen?” he said dramatically ... before adding, “Mi yerno favorito, you better treat my son right.”

The FIA’s official Twitter account even posted:

“We may need a new regulation for name consistency after marriage 📝 #CarlosVerstappen #VegasEdition”

….

That night, back in their hotel room, the world buzzing outside, Max looked at Carlos’s ring again.

Carlos was scrolling through memes about their wedding, grinning at the chaos.

“Do you regret it?” Max asked quietly.

Carlos looked up. “Never. Do you?”

Max shook his head. “No. I think… it makes sense. You’ve been mine for a while anyway.”

Carlos’s smile softened. “Then I guess it was about time we made it official.”

Max leaned in, kissed him slow. “Carlos Verstappen,” he whispered. “You really do have a nice ring to it.”

….

A month later, the FIA still hadn’t sorted the naming mess.

Carlos started hyphenating: Carlos Sainz-Verstappen. Max called him Mr. Sainz-Verstappen in interviews just to make him blush.

PR tried to spin it as a “bonding stunt,” but someone (probably Lando) leaked the actual marriage certificate online.

For two entire races, the official timing sheet still listed:

VER - Red Bull VER - Williams

Fans started calling them “The F1 power couple.”

James Vowles had to sit through a meeting with lawyers explaining why their driver’s husband was technically driving for a rival team.

Carlos and Max just shrugged, holding hands under the table.

Because maybe it started as a joke, or a dare, or a drunken Vegas impulse. But when the engines roared and the cameras flashed, Max’s eyes always found Carlos’s ... a secret grin, a little tilt of the head that said ours.

And under the chaos, the noise, the laughter…

It really was.

Because sometimes, love isn’t a grand plan. Sometimes it’s a 2 a.m. drink and a bad Elvis impersonator.

......

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

Clueless - Carlos poly

Auditioning for love - Versainz

Anti-Romantic dates - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

When the Cupids decide that the paddock’s hottest single Carlos Sainz deserves a love story, their matchmaking spirals out of control complete with staged falls, accidental kisses and fanfics that come true. By the time the chaos settles, Carlos isn’t choosing between Max and Charles… he’s choosing both.

......

The Mercedes motorhome buzzed with suspiciously cheerful energy. Confetti littered the floor, a glittery banner hung across the room reading: “Cupids Council Meeting - Celebrating Our Legendary Successes.”

Kimi Antonelli stood at the front with a laser pointer and a PowerPoint slide titled “Previous Missions: Love Conquered, Chaos Achieved.”

“Gentlemen,” Kimi began proudly, “before we embark on our newest operation, let us applaud ourselves for spreading love across the grid.”

Ollie tapped the clicker. A photo of George and Alex flashed on screen, the two caught mid-laughter in the paddock. “Mission ‘Married Couple Energy’ success!” Gabriel cheered. Everyone clapped.

Next slide: Lando and Oscar, arms around each other, mid-celebration. “Operation McLaren Soulmates!” Franco announced. More clapping.

Isack pointed to the next picture, Lewis and Nico smiling beside each other at a charity gala. “Mission ‘Enemies to Lovers: The Redemption Arc.’ Honestly, I still can’t believe that worked.” Laughter erupted.

“And let’s not forget our most chaotic masterpiece…” Kimi clicked again, revealing Yuki and Isack holding hands in the AlphaTauri garage. “Ah yes,” Ollie said dramatically, “Operation Tiny Fury Finds Love.”

The group burst into applause. They stood, raising their juice boxes in a toast.

“To us,” Gabriel said, “the matchmakers, the meddlers, the fanfic writers…” “…and to the chaos we bring,” Franco finished proudly.

Then Kimi grinned, clicking to the next slide: a picture of Carlos Sainz, smiling in golden sunlight. “Now, gentlemen… for our next conquest.”

The room went still. Ollie whispered reverently, “The Spaniard.”

Kimi nodded solemnly. “Operation Saint Sunshine begins.”

And the Cupids clapped again because clearly, nothing could go wrong.

(Spoiler: everything would.)

…..

“Gentlemen,” Kimi Antonelli began solemnly, standing on a chair inside the Mercedes motorhome, a makeshift whiteboard behind him reading ‘Operation Saint Sunshine ☀️ ... Mission: Get Carlos a Boyfriend(s)’.

Toto Wolff walked by, froze at the door, sighed heavily, and muttered something about “needing a vacation” before letting the chaos continue. He could never say no to Kimi’s puppy eyes.

Around the table sat the rest of the Rookie Cupids™ ... Ollie Bearman, Isack Hadjar, Gabriel Bortoleto, and Franco Colapinto ... all armed with iPads, spreadsheets, and suspiciously glittery pens.

…..

Ollie slapped a photo of Carlos Sainz on the table ... a candid one from the paddock, sun hitting his hair, smile warm enough to start a fire.

“Behold,” Ollie said dramatically. “The most eligible man in Formula One. He’s single. He’s charming. He says ‘smooth operator’ and somehow makes it sound sexy.”

“Agreed,” Isack said, leaning forward like a detective. “And the fandom adores him. The angst potential is off the charts.”

Gabriel nodded sagely. “And he deserves love. We must act.”

“Question is,” Franco interrupted, “who do we match him with?”

Everyone went quiet. Then Kimi, with the confidence of a man about to start a war, pulled out two printed photos and slapped them on the table.

“Option one,” Kimi said, pointing to the first. “Max Verstappen ... Ex-teammate, grumpy Dutchman, known to look at Carlos like he wants to throttle him and kiss him at the same time.”

Ollie raised an eyebrow. “That’s literally enemies to lovers perfection.”

“Option two,” Isack said, sliding forward the second photo. “Charles Leclerc ... Ferrari prince, current teammate, heart-eyes emoji in human form. The man practically swoons every time Carlos laughs.”

Franco hummed. “So, we’ve got the grumpy/sunshine childhood exes arc versus soft domestic poet x disaster energy arc.”

“Exactly,” Kimi said, adjusting imaginary glasses. “We must choose wisely.”

…..

To make their decision “scientifically,” the Cupids gathered around Ollie’s laptop. He’d made a shared Google Doc titled: Carlos Sainz Love Analysis.xlsx

Kimi: “Let’s vote.” Isack: “I vote Max. Childhood friendship, tension, unresolved longing ... that’s prime slow burn material.” Kimi: “Agreed.”

Ollie: “Charles. He literally said ‘Carlos is like my sunshine’ on camera once. That’s poetry.” Gabriel: “Charles. The Tumblr girlies will eat it up.” Franco: “Also Charles. Because his Italian accent saying ‘Carlos’ sounds like a love confession.”

The room went silent. The vote was 2 for Max, 3 for Charles.

Kimi slammed his hands on the table. “Unacceptable. The council is divided!”

Franco rolled his eyes. “Then we just… do both?”

Four heads turned toward him.

And thus, the disaster was born.

…..

“Alright,” Isack said, typing furiously on his iPad. “We’ll run two fanfic series. One Versainz, one Charlos. Whichever gets more traction, we’ll push in real life.”

“What’s the plan?” Gabriel asked.

“Step one,” Ollie grinned, “write fanfics.”

….

Fanfic #1: ‘The Sunshine and the Storm’ (Versainz AU)

Summary: Carlos and Max are stranded in Monaco after a storm. There’s only one bed. You can guess the rest.

Posted anonymously on AO3 by ‘KimiLovesChaos’.

Within two hours, Max found it.

“Carlos,” Max said, walking into the paddock with his phone. “Why is there a fanfic about us sharing a bed?”

Carlos blinked. “A what?”

“A very descriptive one.”

Carlos turned red. “Madre mía.”

The rookies cheered from the motorhome as Kimi whispered, “Phase one complete.”

…..

Fanfic #2: ‘The Red Affair’ (Charlos AU)

Summary: Two Ferrari drivers. One scandal. Infinite longing.

Written by ‘OllieTheBearman’, this one included lines like:

“Charles looked at Carlos like the world began and ended in his smile.”

Carlos read it, blushed for thirty minutes, and refused to make eye contact with Charles all weekend. Charles, however, was beaming. “So they think we’d make a good couple, no?”

The Cupids high-fived.

…..

Plan: The Great Fall Setup

Location: Ferrari motorhome hallway Mission Codename: “Gravity’s on Our Side”

“Okay, Franco, you’ve got the water bottle?” Kimi whispered into his earpiece like a secret agent. “Affirmative.” “Ollie, position status?” “Ready near the corner. Carlos incoming.”

Carlos, blissfully unaware, was scrolling through his phone as he walked down the corridor. Right on cue, Franco “accidentally” spilled his water bottle, sending a slick trail across the floor.

“Go, go, go,” Kimi hissed.

At the same moment, Max turned the corner ... carrying two coffees.

Carlos’s foot slipped.

Time slowed.

He wobbled, eyes wide... Max dropped both coffees, lunged forward... And caught Carlos by the waist.

Carlos landed against his chest, palms flat against Max’s shirt. For a moment, they both froze ... too close, too warm, too startled.

Max muttered, low and rough, “You okay?”

Carlos nodded, cheeks pink. “Sí… I think so.” He was still half-held, Max’s hand splayed across his hip.

From behind the nearest wall, the rookies exploded into silent cheering.

Franco fist-pumped. “Operation Saint Fall successful!” Ollie whispered, “That hand lingered for three seconds. I timed it.”

….

When Carlos and Charles were laughing at something in Carlos’s phone, a passerby aka Kimi passed by, bumping Charles forward ... right into Carlos.

Their lips brushed ... a whisper of contact. Both froze, eyes wide.

“I... I didn’t...” Charles stammered, his ears glowing red. Carlos laughed nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… accidents happen, no?”

Behind a stack of tires, Ollie whispered into his mic, “We got a lip touch! Repeat, a lip touch!” Gabriel squeaked. “Oh my god, this is better than Netflix!”

….

Location: Monaco restaurant Mission Codename: “Candlelight Catastrophe”

Carlos was supposed to have a quiet dinner alone,  the Cupids had other plans.

Isack had “accidentally” sent both Max and Charles the same message:

Hey, Carlos wants to discuss something over dinner. His treat!

Cue: Carlos arriving, only to find Max already seated. “Why are you here?” Carlos asked, smiling, though clearly confused. “dinner, no?” Max frowned. “You invited me.”

Before either could clarify, Charles appeared, bouquet in hand. “I didn’t know we were doing flowers, but...” he paused, spotting Max... “Oh. This is… new.”

Ten minutes later, the three of them were seated awkwardly at one table.

And just when things started to actually get a little soft ... laughter, teasing, easy warmth ... the lights dimmed.

“Did the power go out?” Carlos blinked. No. In the shadows, the Cupids were manually dimming the lights with a fuse box, Ollie holding a Bluetooth speaker.

Soft jazz music began to play.

Max sighed. “This feels… suspiciously staged.” Charles chuckled. “Oui, but… I don’t hate it.” Carlos hid a smile. “Maybe the universe ships us.”

Up in the control booth, Kimi grinned. “Universe = us. Mission success.”

…..

Location: Paddock, after a surprise rainstorm Mission Codename: “Wet and Wild”

The Cupids “forgot” to tell Carlos that rain was expected, as they were the ones pumping water from the hose around the paddock. He was walking back from media duties and the ‘rain’ poured down and, as if on cue, Max’s car pulled up beside him.

“Need a ride?” Max asked, smirking. “You planned this?” Carlos teased, sliding into the passenger seat, water dripping down his hair. Max looked at him ... at his soaked shirt, clinging skin, and soft laugh. “No. But I’m not complaining.”

From behind the nearby parked car, the rookies filmed discreetly, Isack whispering, “We got it, we got it, this is cinematic.”

When Max handed Carlos his hoodie, the collective sigh of the Cupids could be heard across the paddock.

…..

By Silverstone, both Max and Charles had started competing for Carlos’s attention ... unknowingly inspired by fanfics written by teenagers. Carlos found himself invited to dinner by Max one night and serenaded by Charles the next.

“Why are they both suddenly flirting with me?” he asked Lando.

Lando, trying not to laugh, replied, “They are both courting you, dude”

Carlos groaned. “Oh god”

…..

One night, Carlos stormed into the Mercedes motorhome, where the Cupids were busy plotting their next fic.

“Did you... write ‘Saint of Two Hearts’?!” he demanded.

The rookies froze. The fic in question? A polyship AU where Carlos ends up with both Max and Charles.

Kimi coughed. “Hypothetically.”

Carlos stared. “Do you know what happened after that fic dropped?”

Silence.

He slammed his phone down on the table ... showing photos of Max and Charles sitting on either side of him at dinner, both glaring at each other but offering him dessert.

“They’re trying to one-up each other like I’m a prize!”

Ollie grinned. “So… it’s working?”

Carlos pinched the bridge of his nose.

….

By Monza, Carlos had a realization.

He liked Max ... the intensity, the quiet understanding, the shared history. He also liked Charles ... the warmth, the laughter, the ridiculous serenades.

And somehow, both made his heart beat faster in entirely different ways.

…..

It was the team’s post-race celebration. The Cupids had one last move.

Gabriel set up the seating chart “by accident” so that Carlos sat between Max and Charles.

Midway through dinner, Charles leaned in to whisper something, laughing softly. Max glanced over, smirking. Carlos turned his head at the same time ... and both Max and Charles kissed his cheeks. At the same time.

The table went silent.

Carlos blinked, laughing. “Okay, you two are impossible.” Charles smiled shyly. “We can stop if it makes you uncomfortable.” Carlos looked between them ... Max’s fond stare, Charles’s nervous smile ... and shook his head. “No, actually… I think I like it.”

From behind the plant decor, the Cupids lost their minds.

“POLY ENDGAME UNLOCKED!” Ollie screamed, almost falling over. Kimi high-fived Isack so hard it echoed. Franco declared, “Fanfic prophecy fulfilled!”

And as the three men at the table shared a quiet laugh, the rookies slipped away, triumphant.

Toto Wolff spotted them leaving and groaned. “Tell me you’re not matchmaking again.” Kimi grinned. “Not matchmaking. Just… manifesting.”

Gabriel gasped. “No way... our fic came true.”

…

Weeks later, a new fanfic dropped on AO3.

Title: The Saint and His Two Sinners Summary: Sometimes the heart doesn’t choose one person. Sometimes it chooses both.

Posted by ‘SaintlyMatchmakers’.

Carlos left a comment under it:

“10/10. Accurate. Would read again.”

And somewhere in the Mercedes motorhome, the Cupids screamed in victory, while Toto Wolff walked past muttering, “I’m calling PR.”

…. They wanted to make Carlos fall in love. They just didn’t expect him to fall for both. 💘 Endgame: Max x Carlos x Charles 💘

......

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

Fool my heart - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

The rookies are at it again - but this time, it’s personal. Armed with Gen Z vibes, questionable matchmaker instincts, and way too much time during media day, Kimi, Oliver, Gabe, Isack, and Jack have one mission: MAKE VERSAINZ CANON. Whether Carlos and Max like it or not.

....

It started, as most disasters do, with a group chat named “🏹 Baby Cupids.”

“New target,” Kimi typed.

“Mission: Make Versainz canon,” Ollie added, followed by 67 sparkles, a Carlos gif, and a Max side profile pic labeled “pining energy.”

The group Kimi, Oliver, Gabe had already matched Lawjar.

Now, with Isack distracted lovingly by Liam’s jawline during every Racing Bulls media duty, the rest needed something else to obsess over. That “else” came in the form of Max Verstappen and Carlos Sainz, two grumpy men so obviously in love it was honestly embarrassing.

“We just have to push them,” Isack said dramatically over FaceTime, while Liam silently handed him juice like the domesticated boyfriend he totally was.

“Push how?” Jack asked, chewing a pen cap.

“Easy,” Kimi said. “We send Max to Fernando for Spanish lessons.”

Everyone stared.

“That’s not matchmaking,” Gabe muttered. “That’s emotional terrorism.”

But it was too late.

…

The next step? Soft launching.

Kimi stole Max’s phone and “accidentally” posted a story showing his lock screen—Carlos holding a cat in a cowboy hat, smiling like sunshine.

“WHAT THE HELL,” Max screeched, snatching his phone back too late.

Carlos, who saw it instantly, walked up to Max twenty minutes later during the paddock walk.

“That your lock screen?”

Max blinked. “That’s Norris in a hat.”

Carlos crossed his arms. “That is me. That is my cat. And my hat.”

Max sighed. “So… you remember that weekend from torro rosso days.”

Carlos turned bright red. Max fled. Yuki screamed.

….

“I think we need to go further,” Gabe declared during their “Team Meeting” in catering (aka throwing French fries at Jack).

“Let’s bait Carlos,” Kimi grinned. “Make Max look desired.”

They roped Pierre into a “friendly PR photo” with Carlos—arm over his shoulder, laughing. Two seconds later, Max appeared.

“What is this?” he demanded, lips pressed tight.

Pierre blinked. “A media moment?”

Max’s eye twitched. “Why is your hand on his shoulder?”

Pierre raised a brow. “Why do you care?”

Max didn’t answer. He just growled and dragged Carlos away mid-interview.

Charles watched from the side, delighted. “Ah, amour fou(crazy love).”

….

Max Verstappen was pacing. And grumpy. And deeply confused.

“Why did he go to lunch with Charles?” he muttered, arms crossed, glaring at nothing.

Checo, who was literally just trying to tie his shoelaces, blinked up at him. “Maybe because they’re friends?”

“They shared dessert,” Max snapped.

“…You sound jealous.”

“I’M NOT JEALOUS,” Max growled, kicking the air. “Why would I be jealous? It’s Carlos. I just—I just don’t want him flirting with other people. Especially Charles. Charles flirts with air.”

Checo wisely decided to pretend his shoelace was complicated and didn’t reply.

….

Meanwhile, in a suspiciously well-lit Racing Bulls trailer—

“Operation: Emotional Kidnap is a go,” Kimi whispered.

“Let’s be clear: we’re not actually kidnapping Max,” Jack said, holding snacks.

“No, no,” Isack agreed. “Just a light abduction of the soul. Like therapy. But illegal.”

And so, after tricking Max into the trailer with the promise of Red Bull and maybe a rumor about Carlos shirtless in the gym, the door slammed shut.

“You’ve been interventioned!” Ollie declared.

“What the—why am I tied to a bean bag?!”

“Relax,” Gabe said. “You need to face your truth.”

“My truth is I want out!”

“No, your truth is you’re in love with Carlos,” Isack corrected, flipping open a whiteboard dramatically labeled: MAX VERSTAPPEN IS DOWN BAD — THE EVIDENCE 📉

Kimi stepped up with a pointer. “Exhibit A: You punched a water bottle when Carlos said Logan has nice hair.”

“Exhibit B,” Ollie added, “You growled when Carlos hugged Charles. Growled.”

“I did not growl.”

Yuki popped in from the side door. “You did. I was there. It was like a territorial Pomeranian.”

Max groaned. “I’m not in love, I’m just... intensely aware of his existence.”

Silence.

Everyone collectively tilted their heads.

“Bro,” Jack said slowly. “That’s literally just being in love.”

…

Max Verstappen—reigning world champion, tactical genius on track, and certified menace in paddock corridors—had one glaring weakness.

Carlos Sainz.

And now that he had finally realized (under mild rookie-induced duress) that he was head-over-racing-boots in love with the Spaniard, there was only one logical thing to do next.

Beg for help from children.

"Okay," Max said, standing awkwardly in front of the rookies' media corner, "I need your help."

Gabe dropped his phone. Jack spit out his Red Bull. Kimi blinked like Max just said “I want to knit a sweater.” Ollie squinted suspiciously. “You are asking for help to US ROOKIES? Help… with?”

Max looked around, then whispered, “Romance.”

Isack shrieked. “EVERYONE STAY CALM—WE HAVE A LIVE ROMANTIC CRISIS.”

….

“Just compliment him,” Ollie said. “Make him feel special.”

Max approached Carlos in the motorhome, cleared his throat, and said:

“Your hair looks like… sunlight. Like, mustard coloured sunlight.”

Carlos stared at him. “Did you hit your head?”

Max panicked. “No—I just—I was trying to say you're not bald.”

Carlos walked away mid-sentence.

,…..

“Learn his language,” Gabe said. “Make it personal.”

They recruited Fernando for a five-minute crash course.

….

Two days later, Max was sitting in Aston Martin hospitality watching Fernando do yoga and mutter “soy sexy( I am sexy)” while shirtless.

“This is how we stretch the racing muscles,” Fernando said, smug.

Max blinked. “I came only for Spanish lessons.”

At that exact moment, Carlos walked in with sunglasses and a protein bar, stopping short at the door. His eyes scanned the scene: Verstappen, on the floor, mimicking Fernando’s cobra pose. Sweat glistening. Close. Too close.

Carlos dropped the protein bar.

“Oh,” he said flatly. “So you like abs now.”

Max scrambled up, nearly toppling over Fernando. “No! I mean yes—but no. I mean—your abs are better—I mean—”

Carlos was gone before Max could explain.

Back in the group chat, Ollie typed: Mission Update: Jealousy unlocked. Carlos angry. Max confused. Fernando suspicious. We’re thriving.

….

Max walked up to Carlos in the paddock, nodded once, and said confidently:

“Tu cara es... queso caliente.”

Carlos blinked. “Did you just call me hot cheese?”

Max fled.

….

“That went well,” Gabe lied.

“Why does my heart hurt?” Max asked, face down on the beanbag.

“It’s called love,” Isack said, dramatically. “Also maybe internal bleeding from all those attempts.”

Jack patted his shoulder. “You’re not hopeless. Just… deeply chaotic.”

“Carlos hates me,” Max groaned.

Kimi rolled his eyes. “Carlos doesn’t hate you. He just thinks you’re malfunctioning.”

….

It was a quiet evening at the Red Bull motorhome, stars twinkling above and chaos thankfully absent—temporarily. Max sat on the balcony, looking out into the night, munching miserably on a churro Charles had bribed him with post-slap.

Carlos stepped out quietly, leaning on the railing beside him. For a while, neither of them said anything.

Then—

“Max.”

“Yeah?”

Carlos sighed. “You don’t need to do… all this. The ham, the flirty Spanish disasters, the dramatic arm brushes that nearly kill our race engineers—”

“That last one was accidental!” Max protested. “Mostly.”

Carlos turned to him, eyes warm but exasperated. “You’re trying so hard. But I already—”

Max held his breath.

“I’ve been in love with you since Toro Rosso,” Carlos admitted softly.

Silence.

Max blinked. “You—what.”

Carlos looked away, cheeks slightly pink. “You were this grumpy, fast, emotionally constipated guy who didn’t smile unless he was winning. I hated how much I liked you.”

“I—” Max’s brain momentarily rebooted.

“And now you’re still grumpy, fast, emotionally constipated, but… apparently also a romantic menace with a rookie army.”

Max blinked again. “Wait… you like me back?”

Carlos finally smiled. “I love you, Max. I have for years. So maybe... let’s stop the horror show of courtship attempts?”

Max lit up like a Christmas tree. “So I don’t need to learn Spanish?”

Carlos deadpanned, “No, you definitely still do. You butchered a sentence so badly Fernando almost cried.”

Max grinned. “But you’ll teach me?”

Carlos leaned in, forehead to forehead. “Only if you stop calling me queso caliente(hot cheese).”

Max kissed him. “Deal.”

….

Isack whisper-shouted, “THEY’RE KISSING! MISSION SUCCESSFUL!”

Gabe cheered. Kimi nodded once. Ollie fist-pumped. Jack cried a little. Yuki screamed.

George took notes for future operations. Charles filmed it all. Daniel was already editing a montage.

Checo shook his head, sipping champagne. “I can't believe it worked.”

“Believe it,” Ollie smirked. “Versainz is real.”

….

Fill your ideas/ requests here: https://forms.gle/ikRqsAe2FEumBTX28

....

Author’s Note

Okay LISTENNNNNNN. I was supposed to stop. I really was.........haha .. But then Max looked at Carlos with his feral raccoon eyes and suddenlyyyyyy I was on my fifth Google Doc and planning soft launches like I worked in PR. You cannot blame meeeeee. The heart wants what it wants

Stay messy. Stay nosy. Stay shipping.

Ria

.....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

Fool my heart - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

Four emotionally unstable rookies, one beloved Carlos Sainz, and a heartbreak that launched a polyamorous mission. What began with gelato-fueled tears turned into a fanfic so powerful, it manifested real forehead kisses and confessions from Max, Charles, Oscar, and Lando. Now, Carlos is in a polycule—and the Rookie Squad? Absolute legends.

.....

Starring: Four emotionally unstable rookies, too much gelato, and one very beloved Carlos Sainz.

It started with a single tear.

No one knows if it belonged to Ollie, Kimi, Isack, or Gabe, but it fell—tragically—after their 397th Charlos Instagram edit in a single night after Carlos’s leaving Ferrari …. Carlos leaving Charles

“He looked at Charles like he hung the stars!” Isack wailed into his triple-chocolate sundae. “Did you see Charles’s face in Monaco ‘21? That’s not just teammate energy—that’s soulmates,” Gabe added, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion and too much cookie dough ice cream.

By the time they hit edit #432—one where the audio whispered “I was made for loving you” while Charles longingly watched Carlos walk down the paddock—they were in shambles.

But they were also ready. The rookies stood, gelato-stained and mascara-smudged (Isack insisted on committing to the aesthetic), and said in unison: “We’re getting Charlos back together.”

….

Phase 1: Emotional Reconnaissance. Step one: hang out with Carlos. Easy. He loved them. Called them his “babies” and brought them home-baked cookies in Tupperware. Papa Sainz energy, full throttle.

So they loitered around him at the track the next day. Casual. Innocent. “Carlos, have you…spoken to Charles lately?” Ollie asked, twirling a Red Bull can like a nervous ex-girlfriend.

Carlos blinked, paused, and then gave a soft, slightly pink-cheeked, “Sí…he texted me a meme.”

They almost cried. Communication. A sign! A spark!

But then Kimi, ever the sharp-eyed observer, elbowed Isack hard and hissed, “Look. Max is looking at Carlos. Like—like—he’s seeing his whole future.”

And indeed, Max Verstappen, Deadpan King, was eyeing Carlos from across the hospitality tent like a man looking at the only thing that tethered him to life.

And then Oscar walked by, smiled politely at Carlos, and Carlos blushed.

And then Lando arrived with a “CARLITO!” and an arm thrown around Carlos’s waist—and Carlos leaned into it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The rookies were frozen. Phase 1: inconclusive. Or rather, conclusively more complicated than they thought.

….

Phase 2: Ship Watch.

What began as Charlos healing spiraled into full-blown espionage. Their hotel room became the operations center, a conspiracy wall of screenshots, Instagram comments, on-board radios, and coded glances.

They divided tasks:

Kimi was in charge of Versainz edits.

Isack handled Carlando content.

Gabe trawled the depths of the Carcar tag.

Ollie? Still team Charlos, but... open to polyamory now.

“We can’t choose for him,” Gabe said wisely one night. “But we can give him the environment to choose…all of them.”

…..

Phase 3: Fanfic Therapy.

There was only one solution left. They wrote fanfic.

Collaborative, 50k slow-burn fluff/angst/smut fic titled: "The Sainz Effect: Love in Four Corners" Featuring:

Jealous Charles punching a wall

Max pretending he’s not soft for Carlos (failing)

Oscar stuttering through his feelings

Lando nearly proposing by accident

Carlos being adored and loved and finally realizing he can have it all

They published it anonymously under the pseudonym TheRookieSquad55.

Within hours, it trended on AO3.

Charles liked a suspiciously emotional tweet about it. Max posted a photo of Carlos with the caption: “Mine?” ofcourse under a very fake account with the username ‘DutchLion’ but the only flaw was that the account was followed by Max’s real account. Pretty dumb. Pretty bold.

Lando posted a meme about “sharing is caring.” Oscar sent a playlist titled “If I could tell you.”

The rookies shared a knowing glance.

Mission status: In progress… but love is inevitable.

…………

The rookies read the fanfic they wrote for the 5th time because they just can’t get over it.

Scene 1: Charles Punches a Wall (a.k.a. The Monaco Incident)

“You were mine first.” The words tasted bitter on Charles’s tongue, like champagne turned to vinegar.

He watched as Carlos laughed—soft, golden, that little crinkle at the edge of his eyes—at something Lando whispered in his ear.

Lando. Lando who knew how Charles felt. Who had the audacity to touch Carlos’s shoulder like he belonged there.

The sound of knuckles hitting concrete echoed around the garage wall.

Charles didn’t even feel it. Not the pain. Only the heat in his chest, and the way Carlos turned around at the sound—worried, soft, Carlos—and looked at him with something fragile in his eyes.

Don’t make me choose, that look said.

But Charles already had.

……………

Scene 2: Max Cracks

Carlos always made him feel like a man unraveling slowly—thread by thread, too stubborn to admit he’d already come undone.

So when Max found him sitting alone in the motorhome—head in his hands, hair mussed from his helmet—it should’ve been easy to walk away. To pretend he didn’t care.

But Carlos looked up. Just once. One single, vulnerable look. And Max sat beside him.

Not touching. Just breathing. Like he was afraid he’d break something sacred if he moved too fast.

“I know what it looks like,” Carlos whispered.

“I don’t care,” Max said. “I just want you to look at me the way you look at him.”

And when Carlos finally did?

Max forgot how to breathe.

………..

Scene 3: Oscar’s Confession (ft. Panic and Adorable Meltdown)

Oscar Piastri did not do feelings.

He drove fast, thought faster, and panicked in silence like any good Aussie boy with emotional repression and a secret crush the size of Spa.

So when Carlos brushed a bit of confetti off his shoulder post-podium and said, “You looked beautiful out there, mate,” Oscar short-circuited.

He choked on his drink. Then said, “You too. I mean, no—that you looked beautiful—wait—actually, you kind of always look beautiful—I MEAN FAST—NO—”

Carlos just blinked, then smiled gently and said, “Gracias, cariño.”

Oscar blacked out for five seconds and then wrote a 5,000-word love letter in his Notes app. That he will never send. Probably. Maybe. …Eventually.

………….

Scene 4: Lando Accidentally Proposes (??)

Lando had a plan. It was called: Be Normal Around Carlos.

It was going great until Carlos showed up to a team dinner in a navy button-up that did things to Lando’s brain chemistry.

Somewhere between dessert and Carlos licking chocolate mousse off a spoon, Lando blurted out:

“I’d marry you.”

The table went silent. George dropped his fork. Zhou gasped. Charles blinked very hard.

Carlos looked stunned. Then—he smiled. Not teasing. Not amused. Just soft.

“Let me know when you’re serious,” he said.

Lando didn't sleep for three days.

……….

Carlos Finds the Fanfic

Carlos Sainz was just trying to look up tyre stats when his search history accidentally autocompleted to:

“the sainz effect love in four corners ao3”

Curious, he clicked.

What he found was…a 60k word slow burn polyamorous epic starring himself, and four very emotionally constipated men who loved him.

He read the entire thing in one night.

He laughed. He cried. He questioned if the scene where Max cries into his hoodie after Carlos gets a cramp was too accurate.

Then he scrolled to the author notes. “For Carlos, who deserves to be loved by everyone and get fed grapes while lying on a throne. Signed, RookieSquad55.”

Carlos smiled.

The next day, he showed up to the rookies’ room with cookies and quietly said:

“If I had to choose between the four… I wouldn’t. So maybe you're right.”

…………

The rookies had a simple morning plan:

Wake up.

Cry a little over Carlos’s Monaco 2022 onboard.

Check AO3 stats on “The Sainz Effect: Love in Four Corners.”

Maybe write another chapter where Carlos gets pampered in a silk robe.

But when they opened their fanfic dashboard—

1,243 NEW COMMENTS. Total Bookmarks: 897. Kudos from: “madmax33_😡❤️”, “landoNO1sainzfan4eva”, “silentPiastri”, and more.

They froze.

Gabe: “No way. No actual way.” Kimi: “They found it. They found the fic.” Isack: screaming into a pillow Ollie: “We’re so dead. We wrote smut! “

…..

Comment Highlights (and Rookie Reactions)

-

User: madmax33_ 😡❤️

“Honestly the Max scenes are the most accurate. Especially the part where he tries to act cool but secretly wants to hold Carlos’s hand forever. Not that I would know.”

Kimi: “Okay that’s just Max. That’s literally Max trying not to admit he cried at chapter 9.” Isack: “Why is there an angry emoji and a heart? That’s a summary of his entire personality.”

….

User: landoNO1sainzfan4eva

“i would NEVER accidentally propose. also carlos would look hot in a wedding tux just saying.” (left under Chapter 7: The Accidental Proposal)

Ollie: “I think he just doubled down on the proposal.” Gabe: “Carlos is totally reading this. I bet he’s blushing.” Isack: “I bet Lando knows he’s blushing. And is smug about it.”

….

User: silentPiastri

“The Oscar confession was a little dramatic… but realistic. Also, his playlist would be better than the one in the fic. No offense.”

Gabe: “Oscar made a playlist. We invented canon.” Kimi: “Wait, he just admitted he’d confess. Oscar’s in love and in denial.”

….

User: monegasqueCaveman

“Charles is NOT dramatic. He is FRENCH. I mean MONEGASQUE. This is defamation. but also yes he punched a wall. he would do it again.”

Isack: “That’s Charles. That’s absolutely Charles.” Ollie: “He capitalized MONEGASQUE like it’s a personality trait.” Gabe: “Also? He would do it again.”

….

User: sainzsimp08 (username changed 4 times in 2 days)

“beautiful. emotional. i cried. carlos deserves to be adored by everyone. 11/10. also can you write a scene where he gets a forehead kiss from each of them? hypothetically.”

Everyone: “Carlos.” Kimi: “This is his fourth username. Yesterday it was ‘sunshineinspanish’ and before that it was ‘softandsainz’.” Isack: “He’s requesting forehead kisses . For himself. I love him so much.”

…

User: totosdaddy99

“i do not understand what is happening here. but i approve.”

Ollie: “...Toto?” Gabe: “OH MY GOD.” ….

User: sebiswatchingyou

“Ah, young love. Brings a tear to the eye. And some therapy bills.”

Everyone: “Sebastian Vettel reads our fanfic. We can die now.”

_

The Rookies’ Group Chat (Immediately After)

Isack: “Operation Polycule is no longer fanon. It’s manifesting.” Ollie: “Do we write a sequel? Or a scene where they all move in together?” Gabe: “We write Carlos getting a forehead kiss. Immediately.” Kimi: “Also a smut chapter. Max deserves to be feral.” Everyone: “Agreed.

………..

It starts with Max.

He’s the first to find Carlos’s comment—hidden under the username sainzsimp08—and he stares at the screen like he’s trying to decode a love confession written in Morse code.

"Can you write a scene where he gets a forehead kiss from each of them? Hypothetically."

There’s nothing hypothetical about it.

…..

Max (in the Red Bull garage):

“He wants forehead kisses.”

Lando (from behind a helmet rack):

“Excuse me???”

Oscar (who has been very quiet since Chapter 13):

“That’s—wait—he asked them for kisses? Like us-them? Like the fic versions of us?”

Charles (ripping off his gloves):

“I knew that was him. Mon dieu. If he wants forehead kisses, he gets forehead kisses. Not fanfiction ones. Mine.”

-

Scene: The Great Motorhome March of 2025

Carlos was just trying to take a nap. He had no idea a revolution was headed his way.

The door to his Ferrari motorhome swings open dramatically.

Carlos (sitting up, groggy): “Max?”

Max: “Get up.”

Carlos: “Why—”

Max (crossing the room): “You asked for forehead kisses. So you’re getting forehead kisses.”

He gently cups Carlos’s face and leans in. The softest touch of lips to Carlos’s forehead. Quick. Firm. Dangerous.

Carlos (blinking): “What the—”

Charles (bursting in, rage powered by love): “You wrote that comment?! You absolute, soft idiot! You deserve to be kissed. So I will do it every day for the rest of your life.”

Forehead kiss. Then a cheek kiss. Then one on the tip of his nose.

Carlos forgets how to breathe.

…

Oscar (appearing awkwardly in the doorway):

“Uh. Hi. Sorry. I didn’t plan a speech. But... I really like you. More than just platonic, ‘I wrote a fanfic about you’ kind of like. And I don’t know how to say it, so...”

He walks up, looks at Carlos with reverent hesitation, and presses a feather-light kiss to his forehead.

Carlos (eyes wide, voice shaky):

“Oscar…”

Oscar (blushing furiously):

“I made you a playlist too. Just. FYI.”

…..

Lando (last to enter, voice unusually quiet):

“Did you really think you could drop a forehead kiss request and not expect me to do something insane about it?”

He walks straight up to Carlos, curls a hand around his neck, and presses his forehead against Carlos’s for a second before kissing it firmly.

“I’m in love with you. And I don’t mind sharing. But I’m not stepping back. Not anymore.”

……

Scene: Carlos Sainz.exe Has Crashed

Four beautiful men. Four forehead kisses. Four confessions.

Carlos stares at them. Red to the tips of his ears. Teary-eyed. Stunned silent.

“I… I didn’t think anyone would actually… I mean, I thought it was just a silly fic. I didn’t think you all—"

Charles: “We all did. We just thought you didn’t.”

Max: “Turns out we’re all idiots.”

Oscar: “But compatible ones.”

Lando: “So. Polycule?”

Carlos (choking a laugh through a tear):

“Only if I still get more forehead kisses.”

…..

All four (in harmony):

“Deal.”

…

Tagline: Carlos Sainz now lives in a polycule. We did that.

Location: Rookie Squad Headquarters (aka Ollie’s hotel room) Time: 3:42 p.m. Status: Screaming.

The boys were innocently checking AO3 stats when the chaos began.

Ollie (yelling):

“GUYS. HE GOT THE KISSES. HE GOT THE F***ING KISSES.”

Isack (in a blanket burrito):

“What? What do you mean—”

Kimi (already on Twitter):

“Live footage. Max kissed his forehead. Charles double tapped. Oscar almost fainted and Lando looked like he proposed through a forehead press. It’s happening.”

Gabe (drops his soda can):

“I am a god.”

-

The Rookie Group Chat

Ollie:

🥹 guys we did this THEY’RE REAL

Isack:

do we get credited in their wedding vows or

Gabe:

I want them to kiss in front of us just so we can sob dramatically

Kimi:

should we write a sequel where they all adopt a dog and name it after a tire compound

__

Rookie AO3 Author Notes Update

Chapter 15: Forehead Kisses IRL

Author’s Note: GUYS. GUYS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. The fic is now a DOCUMENTARY. Max kissed Carlos’s forehead. Charles confessed. Oscar BLUSHED. Lando threatened our hearts. WE. DID. THAT.

Please leave kudos in the form of real-life validation or pictures of Carlos smiling.

P.S. Thank you for 50K hits. And thank you to sainzsimp08, wherever you are. You beautiful, soft man.

Rookie Victory Dance (as seen on Ollie’s Insta Story)

Kimi holding up a sign that says: “LOVE WINS. SO DOES OUR SHIP.”

Isack fake-sobbing with a tub of gelato.

Gabe wearing a handmade “#TeamPolycule” shirt.

Ollie dramatically reenacting the forehead kisses using a pillow labeled “Carlos.”

Background music: “Can’t Help Falling in Love” but it’s a sped-up nightcore remix.

Final Line:

Gabe (looking into the distance, emotional):

“We watched 400 edits. Ate 3 tubs of ice cream. Wrote a fanfic that broke the internet. And now… Papa Sainz is loved like he deserves. By four chaotic men who’d kiss him on the forehead even at Parc Fermé.”

Ollie:

“This is better than winning a world title.”

Isack:

“We’re not just rookies. We’re cupid-certified content creators.”

.....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

Fool my heart - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

Oscar Piastri never meant to fall for Carlos Sainz. But between Lando’s constant rambling about his “bestie Carlos,” Carlos’s blinding sunshine smile, and the fact that Carlos once shared his last croissant with him… well, oops. Love happened. The problem? Carlos is so sweet and oblivious he thinks Oscar just really likes sharing helmets and staring deeply into his eyes for no reason. Desperate, Oscar turns to the Rookie Cupids: Kimi, Ollie, Isack and Gabe. And so Mission CARCAR begins.

The Obsession Begins

Lando:

“—and then Carlos lent me his towel. Oscar. That man is like, god-tier best friend material. Do you think I should make a scrapbook? Wait—why are you blushing?”

Oscar:

“...No reason.” (Oscar furiously scribbles “Carlos towel moment 😳” in the back of his race notebook)

Oscar never meant to fall for Carlos Sainz. But Lando wouldn’t shut up about him, and then Carlos had to go and be kind and gorgeous and smile like that. Now it’s 2025, and Carlos is with Williams, being a sunshine angel with Alex Albon, and Oscar is fully, irreversibly gone.

…………

The Rookie Cupid HQ

Setting: The suspiciously high-tech, very illegal “Love HQ” trailer parked somewhere behind the media pen. A red “NO FIA ALLOWED” sign blinks on the door.

Oscar Piastri, F1 driver, quiet chaos, romantic at heart, nervously sits in the only chair in the center of the room. He's surrounded by four rookies and an aggressively suspicious cat named Princess, who seems to be acting as emotional support animal/judge/jury.

Kimi Antonelli (stoic, clipboard in hand):

“State your full name and intentions with Carlos Sainz.”

Oscar (blinking):

“Um. Oscar Piastri. And—I... intend to love him gently?”

Oliver Bearman (typing furiously into a laptop):

“Noted. Hobbies?”

Oscar:

“Engineering documentaries. Chess. Reading Jane Austen adaptations.”

Isack Hadjar (raising an eyebrow):

“Are you secretly 80 years old?”

Oscar:

“Possibly.”

Yuki Tsunoda (dramatically gasping):

“WAIT. Did you say Jane Austen?”

Oscar:

“Yeah. My favorite scene is from Persuasion. When the captain writes that heartbreakingly soft letter because he still loves her—” (He stops. Realizes. Everyone is staring at him.)

Kimi (blinking, slightly moved):

“...We have a nerdy romantic.”

Oliver (suddenly invested):

“A softie?? With emotional depth???”

Gabe Bortoleto (popping out from a suspicious trapdoor, wearing a cape):

“Say something flirty. We need to test the Carlos Reaction Potential.”

Oscar (thinking hard):

“I told Alex if Carlos smiled at me one more time I was going to propose with an F1-themed ring. And then I did design one from scratch. It's in my hotel room.”

Yuki :

“HE’S DOWN BAD. I REPEAT: DOWN. BAD.”

Isack (trying not to smile):

“You’re really into him, huh?”

Oscar (quietly):

“He called me ‘mate’ and touched my shoulder and I almost dropped my water bottle. I want to build him a Lego garage and tell him he’s my favourite driver every morning.”

Kimi (writing furiously on clipboard):

“Nerd. Romantic. Has a spine of marshmallow. Genuinely wants to cherish Carlos.” (He nods solemnly.) “Approved. Mission CARCAR is officially go.”

………..

Operation: Catch Carlos Begins

Strategies suggested:

Kimi: “Push him into a lake. He’ll be grateful when you save him.”

Oliver: “Write him poetry. But, like, subtle poetry. About tyres and muscles.”

Gabe: “Challenge him to a cooking battle. Feed him your love.”

Yuki (mouth full of chips): “Gift him mochi. That wins everyone.”

Actual plan chosen: Oscar will “accidentally” crash a team event at Williams and “need Carlos’s help.” It is a disaster. Oscar ends up holding a confused Alex Albon’s cat, spilling juice on James Vowles, and Carlos hugs him out of sympathy.

Oscar (brain static): Carlos smells like cinnamon and dreams. Carlos (smiling):

“You okay, mate? You’re shaking.” Oscar: “Haha. No.” Kimi (watching from a bush): “He’s so doomed.”

………..

Oscar tries writing Carlos a love letter. Carlos finds it and thinks it’s… a prank? A game?

“Haha, Oscar, you’re so funny. Did Lando put you up to this?” Oscar, internally combusting: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

Oscar storms the Love HQ.

Oscar:

“HELP. HE THINKS I’M JOKING.” Oliver: “He thinks you’re joking because you used a glitter pen and signed it ‘with tyre smoke and respect.’” Isack: “You literally drew hearts with his name on a Venn diagram.”

………..

Location: Paddock. Bright day. Birds chirping. Cupids scheming. Pierre being Pierre (read: shamelessly charming anyone within ten meters, specifically Fernando Alonso, again).

Esteban, dressed like he stepped out of a Dior ad and fuming like a French espresso machine, walks straight into Cupid HQ.

Esteban (hands on hips, eyes narrowed):

“If my boyfriend gets to flirt with that ancient legend for your missions—then I get to flirt with someone too.”

Oliver:

“Are you... jealous?”

Esteban (gasping in French):

“No! I’m fair. Equal. Symmetrical. Romantic justice.”

Yuki (clinging to Isack like a crab):

“He’s so jealous it’s funny.”

Gabe:

“Okay, who do you want to flirt with?”

Esteban (instantly):

“Oscar.”

Kimi:

“...Bold. We approve.”

………..

Carlos is leaning casually against the wall, sipping his espresso, chatting to Alex about tyre strategy and pretending not to stare at Oscar. Meanwhile, Oscar is busy tinkering with some telemetry sheets—glasses on, focused, adorable, utterly clueless.

Enter Esteban, perfectly groomed, mischief in his step, and with the Cupids’ stamp of approval. His mission? Flirt. Hard. With Oscar.

Esteban (leaning casually on Oscar’s desk):

“Bonjour, Oscar. I heard you like nerdy boys with devastating cheekbones and long legs.”

Oscar (blinking, confused):

“I like Carlos Sainz.”

Esteban (momentarily stunned):

“I—what?”

Oscar (completely serious):

“Did I say that out loud?”

Meanwhile, from across the garage, Carlos is halfway through sipping his espresso and chokes.

Alex (smirking):

“Mate. You okay?”

Carlos (glaring at Oscar and Esteban):

“Does he always talk to people like that?”

Alex:

“You mean like a functioning human? Yes.”

Carlos:

“No. Like... charming. Too charming. Look at the way Esteban is smiling. I don’t like it.”

Back at the desk:

Esteban (recovering fast):

“Right, well... how about we grab a smoothie sometime? I know a place in Monaco—very private.”

Oscar (mildly horrified):

“Are you flirting with me because of Pierre’s antics or because you genuinely like smoothies?”

Esteban (caught):

“...I plead the fifth.”

Oscar (shaking head):

“I’m not allowed to flirt unless it's with Carlos Sainz. It’s a personal rule.”

Esteban pauses. Looks up at the sky.

“I respect the hell out of that.”

Oscar shrugs and goes back to his telemetry.

“He smiled at me yesterday when I handed him a pen. I almost passed out. There’s no space for other men in my heart.”

😳 Meanwhile, Carlos:

Carlos is now pacing behind the Williams garage like a man possessed.

Carlos (to himself):

“Who goes for smoothies? Why Monaco? What kind of flavor does Oscar like? I didn’t even know he liked smoothies. Maybe I should ask him. No—cool. I must be cool.”

Alex:

“You’re spiraling.”

Carlos:

“He said “Beautiful” when we took a walk last night.”

Alex (grinning):

“Oh yeah? Sounds like a moon lover.”

Carlos (dead serious):

“He looked at me when he said it.”

Esteban tries again….and fails

Carlos is loitering in the Williams garage like he doesn’t have a schedule, trying not to look at Oscar like a lost golden retriever.

Oscar is, as always, looking devastatingly soft and focused, probably trying to organize his stickers by emotional meaning.

Suddenly...

Esteban (sauntering up to Oscar):

“Bonjour again. You look very... blue today. Like a calm ocean. A blue raspberry. I like it.”

Oscar (blinking slowly):

“I like Carlos.”

Esteban:

“...Is this a reflex?”

Oscar:

“Probably. I have a Pavlovian response to his name. I once got a nosebleed when he said ‘good job’ in the radio.”

Esteban (completely caught off guard):

“...Wow. You’re worse than me with Pierre.”

…………..

Esteban returns to the Cupids with a clipboard.

Esteban (reading aloud):

“Oscar said he’s in love with Carlos three times. Refused smoothie offer. Blushed when I mentioned Carlos’ accent. Threatened to fight me politely if I made Carlos sad.”

Kimi (nodding proudly):

“He’s in deep. Approve.”

Pierre (popping in):

“Wait—you flirted with Oscar?!”

Esteban (suddenly smug):

“You flirted with Fernando twice. This was mission-based.”

Pierre (suspiciously dramatic):

“But Oscar’s cute. This is betrayal.”

Esteban (grinning):

“You jealous?”

Pierre (pouting):

“Always.”

…………

Across the paddock:

Carlos (from behind a wall of Red Bull crates):

“What the hell is a Pavlovian nosebleed?!”

Alex:

“Carlos. Deep breaths.”

…………

Carlos corners Esteban like—

Carlos:

“Did Oscar say he liked me?! How much? On a scale? Did he rate me? You said blushing—was it cute?”

Esteban:

“Oh you’re so gone for him.”

………

Oscar’s room is dimly lit. A warm hoodie, messy hair, a mug of hot chocolate. The stream is titled “Warzone with the Grid”. Players: Oscar, Lando, Alex, Charles, Max, Daniel, Checo, George… and, sneakily, Carlos, playing under the guest username “TanSmoothie55.”

Oscar has no idea Carlos is in the party.

Lando:

“Oscar, you’re getting WRECKED—”

Oscar:

“I know. It’s because I’m distracted!”

George:

“By what? Me in this digital helmet?”

Oscar (softly whining):

“No… by Carlos...”

Stream silence. Everyone hears it. Except Oscar. Because his brain has stopped registering what he's said aloud. He thinks he’s talking to Lando in a private Discord call, not to the entire Twitch channel + one Spaniard hiding with a sniper rifle behind a tree.

………….

Lando (suddenly WAY TOO LOUD)

“OSCAR—WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY??”

Oscar (still clueless, flopped on his desk):

“I said I’m in love with Carlos. Okay? I’ve been in love with him since like... Bahrain. And I know he’s just nice to everyone and probably thinks I’m boring, and he smells like cinnamon sometimes and I’m losing my MIND.”

Carlos (through his mic, trying to unmute):

“...”

Checo:

“...Did he say cinnamon?”

Charles:

“He did. He really did.”

Daniel:

“HE SAID HE’S IN LOVE. ON A PUBLIC STREAM. THIS IS CONTENT.”

Alex:

“CINNAMON.”

George:

“This is better than The Bachelor.”

Max:

“I’m screen-recording this. For safety reasons.”

…………..

Oscar (realizing slowly... painfully):

“Wait… wait are we—Lando… was my mic on for everyone?”

Lando (grinning like a demon):

“Yup. Twitch, Discord, Carlos included.”

Oscar (screaming):

“I HAVE TO GO—”

[DISCONNECTED]

………..

[OFFLINE STATUS: Oscar Piastri] [NEW STATUS: Ghost Mode – 3 Days Straight]

Oscar vanishes. No paddock sightings. No texts. Deletes his Twitch app. Avoids Alex (who knows everything). Literally fake coughs to skip meetings.

Carlos is devastated. He spent 48 hours replaying the recording. (Checo sent him a clean version with background music and subtitles.)

……….

🚨 Everyone Tries to Get Oscar Out of Hiding 🚨

Daniel:

“He’s acting like he proposed. He just said he was in love. Baby steps!”

George:

“It’s romantic. Iconic. His ghosting? Less so.”

Lando:

“I threatened to leak his browser history if he doesn’t show up.”

Alex:

“Carlos made cookies. With heart shapes.”

Max:

“He made what now?”

…………….

 Meanwhile, Carlos is Sad Sainz

Carlos sits alone on a Williams tire blanket, holding Oscar’s favorite glitter sticker (“YOU'RE SPEEDY HOT”) and sighing like a man who watched a romcom marathon with no resolution.

He even made Cookies and left them in Oscar’s sim room.

Note on top:

“You don’t have to say it again. I heard it. I liked it. I like you.”

……………

Oscar Has Taken Over HQ (AKA Oscar is in full emo lock-in mode inside the Cupids’ Headquarters and refuses to come out, so the Cupids lure Carlos in like a raccoon into a glitter trap.)

[Scene: Cupid HQ – aka a suspiciously pink RV parked behind the Williams motorhome]

Oscar Piastri is curled up on the Cupids' couch, swaddled in a puffy blanket, eating heartbreak snacks from a tub labelled "Do Not Eat – Property of Kimi Antonelli."

He hasn’t moved in three days.

Oliver (arms crossed):

“He’s starting to smell like heartbreak and despair.”

Isack (half buried under Yuki, who refuses to let go):

“He's not even blinking anymore. Like a sad little koala.”

Kimi (typing furiously):

“Just writing a ‘get well soon’ card and forging Carlos’s handwriting. Maybe it’ll coax him out.”

Oscar (muffled from blanket fort):

“I can hear you. I’m not coming out. Ever.”

Gabe (eating Oscar’s chips):

“This is a bad look for the sport.”

🚨 INTERVENTION TIME: Enter Checo Pérez 🚨

Checo (wearing aviators indoors):

“I’ve handled two Red Bulls and a Max Verstappen. We can handle this.”

The rookies nod. They are terrified and in awe.

Checo:

“Here’s what we’ll do. You want Carlos to talk to him, right?”

Checo (grinning):

“Then we bait the trap. Classic honey pot.”

Ollie: ”

Step 1: Tell Carlos there's an emergency Cupids meeting about his “emotional cinnamon aura” (he will come). Step 2: Send Yuki to “accidentally” text Carlos a voice memo of Oscar crying to the background of Taylor Swift. Step 3: Lure Carlos into HQ. “

Checo looks unimpressed: “Just text him you have Oscar idiots, He will come running”

Carlos (at Williams):

“I received message. ‘Oscar is at headquarters?’ Is he okay?”

[Scene: Inside Cupid HQ. Carlos is lured in. Doors lock with dramatic click.]

Carlos:

“...What is this?”

Oscar (from the couch):

“OH MY GOD THEY TRAPPED YOU TOO?!”

Carlos (smiling gently):

“No, I came for you.”

Oscar throws himself back into the blanket like a fainting Victorian widow.

Carlos (kneeling beside the couch):

“You said you loved me, Oscar.”

Oscar (groaning):

“It was a glitch. A mic malfunction. I was drunk on hot chocolate.”

Carlos (holding Oscar’s hand):

“You said I smell like cinnamon.”

Oscar (blushing):

“...I stand by that part.”

Carlos (smiling softly):

“Good. Because I’ve been trying to tell you I like you back. But I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

Oscar:

“You could never. You make me... extremely comfortable. Like a weighted blanket. But fluffy.”

[Cue soft background music. The Cupids spy through the walls like emotionally-invested raccoons.]

Isack (sniffling):

“They’re so in love. I can’t.”

Yuki (suspicious):

“If you cry, I’ll bite you.”

[Carlos pulls Oscar into a hug. The rookies release confetti cannons. The FIA issues a noise complaint.]

Oscar looks at Carlos, still half in his blanket cocoon, and Carlos — the sweet, golden boy with cinnamon scent and emotional restraint of a damp sponge — reaches up.

Carlos (softly):

“Can I kiss you now? Or do you still want to hide in your shame cave?”

Oscar (blushing 1000%):

“If you don’t kiss me in the next three seconds I will combust.”

Carlos:

“Fair.”

[And they do. It’s slow, warm, and slightly awkward because Carlos nearly elbows the confetti cannon, but also perfect because Oscar melts like a marshmallow in the sun.]

[Scene: Cupids HQ – hidden corner]

Checo Pérez, hidden behind a large potted plant (which was definitely stolen from the Alpine motorhome), sniffles loudly. He’s watching the kiss like it’s the season finale of his favorite novela.

Checo (wiping a tear):

“Dios mío... the yearning... the tension... the payoff...”

Oliver:

“Are you crying?”

Checo (sobbing harder):

“I want in. I want to join your noble institution of matchmaking. I have lived... but I have never witnessed.”

Kimi (clipping on a glittery rookie badge that says “MATCHMAKING INTERN – PÉREZ”):

“Welcome to the team, Tío Checo.”

Checo (chest puffed):

“I want to be there when people realise they’re idiots in love. I want to help. I want to weep more.”

[Oscar and Carlos pull apart. Cheeks flushed. Hands clasped. Oscar still hiding half his face in the blanket.]

Carlos (smiling):

“You kissed me like you meant it.”

Oscar:

“I’ve been mentally married to you since Silverstone last year.”

Carlos:

“...I brought you empanadas that day.”

Oscar:

“They were warm. You were warm. I fell in love and had indigestion. It was a lot.”

[Back to Checo, now making hot chocolate for everyone in the Cupids HQ]

Checo:

“SO , WHO’S NEXT?”

................

🚨 AUTHOR’S NOTE ALERT: YOU. YES, YOU. READ THIS OR I’LL MAKE PIERRE GASLY FLIRT WITH YOUR CRUSH 🚨

Yes. YES. You read that right — Checo is now an official part of the Rookie Cupid squad. He may have started as a guest star, crying like an abuela over Carlos and Oscar’s kiss, but let’s be real: that man? He gets it. He’s soft. He’s dramatic. He belongs.

Listen, I am not emotionally stable enough to pretend like Checo didn’t deserve more after everything. He was dropped like an unlabeled grocery bag at the end of a season and I refuse to let him fade into a paragraph of history. Not on my watch. He is here. He is loved. He is a Cupid now, wearing a little pink badge with glitter around the edges that says “Emotional Support Tío.”

But let’s shift gears. Let’s talk about me for a second. Yes. Me. The author. The exhausted soul behind this madness. You see, by day I’m a Computer Science student — that’s right. A weary warrior battling bugs, typos, and JavaScript mood swings. I fix one thing and five others break. I blink, and suddenly there's a semicolon uprising. I open a terminal window and pray.

But by night? I write fanfics where Pierre Gasly is under flirting surveillance, Oscar Piastri is sobbing into Cupid HQ beanbags, and Carlos Sainz is the softest oblivious romantic dumbass on the grid. I live in this double life — debug by day, destroy hearts by night.

Do you know what it’s like to spend your day making sure code compiles without error, then spend your evening making sure my ships kiss with the right amount of angst before the fluff drops? Emotional whiplash. I fix code with my logical brain, and I write pining scenes with my deranged romantic braincell that survived on nothing but Spotify playlists.

Anyway, I wrote all this because I needed you to know that I am one screen error away from quitting tech and opening a matchmaking company where Checo Pérez will be my co-founder, Max Verstappen will deny he’s in love while baking heart-shaped bread for Daniel, and Oscar Piastri will cry again because Carlos Sainz said “I like your curls.”

In conclusion:

Checo is here.

Love is real.

Coding is hell.

❤️ Your ever-suffering author. Powered by heartbreak, caffeine, and the fact that someone has to keep this grid emotionally healthy

Cupid & Co. never rests.

.....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

Fool my heart - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

After suffering from the Cupids matchmaking, now its time for the grid to matchmake Kimi and Ollie(aka 'We are just besties').

....

After helping the chaos trio matchmake Charlos, Brocedes, Maxiel, Landoscar, and now Tsusack... the entire paddock finally turns around like:

“Wait. Those two? The chaos gremlins? The baby strategists of love? Yeah. They’re in love. They just don’t know it yet.”

And so begins the most unhinged, revenge-motivated, collectively organized matchmaking mission in F1 history:

🏁 Operation: Bearnelli Endgame 💘

🎤 The Official Bearnelli Love Awareness Seminar

Presented by: Zhou Guanyu (Host), with unasked but enthusiastic contributions from Lando Norris, Yuki Tsunoda, and an emotionally exhausted George Russell on tech support. Audience: Kimi & Ollie, sitting in the front row like hostages.

🖥️ SLIDE 1 – "Welcome to Delulu-ville"

Zhou: “Welcome to the conference you didn't ask for. The topic? Your unresolved romantic tension. Buckle up.”

Kimi: muttering “We’re just friends.” Ollie: “This is unnecessary.” The Grid: cackling in the background

🖥️ SLIDE 2 – “The Stats Don’t Lie, But You Two Do”

Graph of “Times They Looked at Each Other Too Long”

Bar chart comparing “How Often Kimi Smiles at Ollie” vs “Anyone Else”

A suspicious pie chart labeled “% of Time Spent Staring at Lips (Don’t Deny It)”

Zhou:

“This data was collected by Max. Against his will.”

Max, sipping Red Bull with dead eyes:

“I had to rewatch 48 hours of footage. I hate you all.”

🖥️ SLIDE 3 – “You’re Not Subtle, Actually”

Photos of them sitting way too close.

Compilation of Ollie calling Kimi “mate” in that tone.

Screenshot of a text from Ollie to Kimi: “I miss u already bro” (sent 4 minutes after leaving the garage).

Lando (yelling from the back):

“WHO MISSES THEIR BRO AFTER FOUR MINUTES???”

🖥️ SLIDE 4 – “Let Me Be So Serious Right Now”

Yuki’s slide opens with an auto-play video of dramatic violin music and a fanvid titled “Oliver Bearman & Kimi Antonelli – Lover by Taylor Swift <3”

Ollie: “Wait. That’s us?” Kimi: “When did we stand in the rain like that?” Yuki: “I edited the rain in. For drama.”

🖥️ SLIDE 5 – “Things You’ve Said That Are Suspiciously Romantic”

A list of actual things they’ve said:

“He’s the first person I see when I wake up and the last one before I sleep.”

“I drive better when he’s around.”

“No one understands me like Kimi.”

“Ollie always brings me water without asking, like he reads my mind.”

George, deadpan:

“Do you want us to print your vows now or later?”

🖥️ SLIDE 6 – “Counterpoints You Might Try (That We Already covered)”

“We’re just close friends.” → Wrong. So were Charlos.

“We don’t want to ruin the vibe.” → Maxiel tried that.

“He is my bestfriend.” → Landoscar tried that.

“We’re just chill.” → Alex and George literally got matching sweaters that say ‘NOT DATING’... which made it more George: “We were just being funny—” Yuki: “SO FUNNY THAT YOU HELD HANDS IN A SPA?”

“He is just beautiful, I like admiring , that’s all.” → Tsusack tried that.

“We’re not like that.” → Then why do you have matching bracelets and a Spotify playlist titled ‘Bearnelli Vibes’ huh?

🖥️ SLIDE 7 – “This is Your Brain. This is Your Brain On Love.”

(A blank slide. With just a blurry zoom-in of Kimi staring at Ollie while he ties his shoe.)

Yuki whispers:

“He’s in love.”

🖥️ Final Slide – “In Conclusion: Please Just Kiss. We're Tired.”

The outro is literally a TikTok compilation of their moments, set to “Invisible String” by Taylor Swift, auto-edited by Lando at 3AM. Toto stands in the back whispering to himself: “I am in charge. I am the team principal. I am in charge.”

Kimi: “So what’s the point of this?” Ollie: “Yeah we’re just teammates.” The Entire Room: SCREAMING IN FRUSTRATED AGONY.

At the next drivers’ meeting, Seb appears via video call. He says it’s an inspirational message about teamwork.

Instead, it's a 3-minute video of Kimi and Ollie moments.

Ollie patching Kimi’s hand after karting.

Kimi cheering for Ollie’s podium.

Them laughing at 2AM over pizza.

Background music: “You Are In Love” by Taylor Swift.

Kimi: “...Is it dusty in here?”

Ollie: “Can someone pause it I need a minute—”

The yacht party is buzzing and Pierre Gasly is bored and dangerous.

Pierre: spots Oliver Bearman “Oh look, it’s the baby Brit. Let’s annoy him.”

He struts over, all smug grins and French charm.

Pierre: “Ollie, darling, how about you ditch the Ferrari boys and come with me to Monaco for a real weekend?”

Oliver, blinking: “Uh…”

Kimi Antonelli appears out of nowhere, literally sliding in like a goblin with a vendetta.

Kimi: to Pierre “Don’t you have your own boyfriend to annoy?”

Pierre: confused, blinking “I don’t have one.”

Kimi: “Well, get one. I’ll find you one. But not this one.”

Pierre: “But—”

Kimi: arms crossed, staring him down like a pissed-off cat “Shoo.”

Pierre stares. Squints. Looks between them.

Pierre: “Seriously? I lose Isack to Yuki and now this?”

Kimi: gritting teeth “Yes. Now go.”

Pierre: defeated, muttering in French “No one wants me anymore...”

He slinks away dramatically like a raccoon who got kicked out of a trash can.

Ollie turns to Kimi, biting back a grin.

Oliver: teasing “Sooo… I’m your boyfriend now?”

Kimi: blushing instantly but trying to be tough “Shut up.”

Oliver: “You said it, not me.”

Kimi: grumbling “He was being annoying.”

Oliver: smiling stupid wide “Yeah, but still. I’m your annoying then?”

Kimi: deadpan but red as hell “You’ve always been mine.”

Kimi just pulls Ollie in and kisses him.

Soft. Quick. A little awkward. But real.

Ollie: blushing, stunned, breathless “So we’re…?”

Kimi: grinning for the first time all night “Not soft launched. Fully launched.”

Somewhere, Pierre screams into his second baguette of the week. Max throws his champagne glass off the side of the boat and says “Finally.”

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

Fool my heart - Versainz

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

In a cooking class meant for couples, Carlos and Max two accidental partners and even worse chefs discover that love can rise beautifully from the mess. What began with burnt lasagna and laughter soon turns into something sweeter than any recipe could promise.

....

Carlos should’ve known agreeing to this class was a bad idea.

He stood at the door of the small culinary studio, watching couples spill in, hand in hand, smiling like they’d walked into a romantic movie montage.

Aprons were tied in bows, fingers laced together, little whispered jokes floating in the warm, buttery air. The instructor wore an offensively cheerful smile and a chef’s hat that screamed I love love.

Carlos, however, stood alone.

His friend who was supposed to come with him...Lando, of course...had texted him two hours ago:

“Sorry mate, I can’t make it. You’ll survive though. You’re charming.”

Charming. Right.

Carlos adjusted the strap of his apron, already feeling out of place. He considered bolting. But before he could, a low voice broke through the noise.

“Are you here alone too?”

Carlos turned. The man in front of him was tall, broad-shouldered, with a mop of slightly messy hair and blue eyes that were both annoyed and a little lost. His apron hung crooked, like he didn’t care enough to fix it.

“Yeah,” Carlos admitted. “My friend bailed.”

The man nodded. “Same.”

The instructor clapped her hands. “Alright lovebirds! If you’re here solo, don’t worry. We’re pairing up. Cooking is better with a partner!”

Lovebirds. Carlos wanted to melt into the floor.

But then... “Looks like we’re partners,” the guy said, not quite smiling but something softer ghosted across his face.

“Yeah,” Carlos replied. “I’m Carlos.”

“Max.”

….

They started with lasagna. How hard could it be? Carlos thought. He soon found out the answer: very hard when Max is involved.

“Max… why are you pouring sugar into the sauce?”

Max paused, the bag in his hand. “I thought it was salt.”

“It literally says ‘sugar’ on the bag.”

“…oh.”

Carlos snorted, covering his mouth as Max groaned. They tried to fix it. They made it worse. Max burned the edges; Carlos dropped the pan; the sauce ended up on Max’s apron and somehow in his hair.

The instructor hovered nearby, her smile too polite. “Creative interpretation of lasagna,” she said carefully.

They sat at their little station afterward, poking at their culinary crime. Carlos burst out laughing first. It wasn’t graceful or polite ... it was loud, helpless laughter that filled the room.

Max stared at him for a second, then cracked a smile too, like he couldn’t help it.

“Well,” Carlos wheezed. “At least we didn’t burn the kitchen down.”

“Yet,” Max said dryly, and that earned another laugh.

….

By the third class, something had undeniably shifted.

They arrived early, both pretending it wasn’t on purpose, lingering just outside the warm, buttery-smelling kitchen, claiming to “stretch” or “check their knives.” Carlos slid into the seat next to Max with an ease that surprised even him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Max, in turn, set a small paper cup of coffee in front of Carlos with a sly smile. “I passed a café on the way,” he muttered, brushing his fingers across the rim. “Thought you might need a little fuel before we burn the kitchen down.”

Carlos smirked, taking a careful sip. The coffee was strong and bitter, just the way he liked it, but what made it perfect wasn’t the taste ... it was Max’s crooked grin, the way his eyes sparkled with some quiet mischief that made Carlos’s chest tighten without warning.

“Disaster couple, reporting for duty,” Carlos teased, bumping his shoulder lightly against Max’s.

Max tilted his head, pretending to glare. “I think that’s our official title now. Maybe we should get embroidered aprons.”

Carlos laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, echoing across the studio. Max’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, lingering on the curve of Carlos’s jaw, the way his laughter seemed to fill the entire space. He found himself leaning slightly closer than necessary, drawn to that warmth, though he would never admit it out loud.

When the instructor assigned today’s dish ... pasta with a delicate tomato cream sauce ... the playful tension only escalated. Carlos chopped vegetables with careful precision, glancing at Max every few seconds, curious if he was paying attention. Max, predictably, had his own rhythm, reading the recipe like it was some sort of battlefield strategy, lips moving in silent muttering as though arguing with the instructions.

And then it happened. A rogue flick of Max’s wrist sent a small arc of sauce sailing directly onto Carlos’s apron.

Carlos gasped, frozen for just a fraction of a second. “You did not just do that.”

Max smirked, a slow, teasing curl of lips that made Carlos’s stomach flutter uncomfortably. “I did.”

“Oh, you’re dead,” Carlos hissed, eyes narrowing in mock indignation.

The next thirty seconds were chaos incarnate. Sauce splattered across aprons and countertops, a misplaced flick of water sent droplets flying over the tiled floor. Laughter erupted from both of them ... pure, unrestrained, impossible-to-stop laughter that bounced off the high ceilings. Other couples shot amused glances, some whispering quietly, but neither Carlos nor Max noticed. The world had narrowed to the two of them, the smell of garlic and tomato, the warmth of the oven, and the way Max’s sleeve brushed against Carlos’s as he reached for a spoon.

By the time they finally collapsed against the counter, breathless, the pasta lay in ruin.

The sauce had congealed in uneven clumps, noodles stuck together in a sad, limp tangle. The countertop looked as though a minor food apocalypse had occurred. Yet neither of them cared. Carlos leaned back, hand pressed to his stomach as laughter escaped him in short bursts, hair sticking to his forehead in damp, floury strands. Max, still grinning, offered a fork as though it were a peace offering.

“We should at least try it,” Max said softly, his voice quieter now, the teasing edge gone, replaced by something… tentative.

Carlos peeked at the forked mass of burnt pasta, grimaced, then shrugged. “It’s burnt.”

“So?” Max prompted, leaning closer, blue eyes catching the light in a way that made Carlos’s heart stutter.

Carlos took a tentative bite. The taste was terrible ... slightly bitter, overcooked, laced with tomato that had scorched on the pan. He scrunched his nose, ready to protest, but then he looked up at Max and froze.

The question hung silently between them. Max’s eyes were fixed on him, unwavering, a subtle warmth behind the mischief. And suddenly, the flavor didn’t matter. Not even a little.

“It’s terrible,” Carlos admitted, laughing breathlessly, though there was a strange flutter of something dangerous in his chest.

“Then why are you still eating?” Max asked, his tone low now, intimate, almost shy, like he was letting the guard down.

Carlos’s gaze locked on his. For half a second, the world narrowed until there was nothing but Max and the way the corners of his mouth quirked in that stubborn, infuriating grin.

“Because you made it,” he whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

And just like that, everything changed. The warmth in the room shifted ... it wasn’t just from the oven or the midday sunlight spilling across the kitchen.

It was something heavier, something electric.

Something that wrapped around their hearts and left them dizzy.

Their eyes lingered too long and Carlos felt a heat rise to his cheeks he couldn’t explain.

Max tilted his head slightly, a flicker of realization crossing his face, though he didn’t say a word.

He just let his gaze hold Carlos’s, soft and steady, and in that silence, the room felt brighter, warmer, and impossibly intimate.

The ruined pasta, the sauce-streaked aprons, the chaotic kitchen ... it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this moment, suspended in time, where laughter, mess, and unspoken feelings hung thickly in the air, palpable enough to taste.

Carlos leaned back against the counter, heart hammering, a laugh trembling in his chest.

Max’s hand hovered near his own, almost brushing, almost touching, and it was too close, too warm, too everything. He swallowed, trying to focus, but it was hopeless. He wanted to reach for that hand. He wanted to taste the sauce again ... this time, from Max himself.

And maybe, he thought with a small, dangerous thrill, Max felt the same way.

….

Setting: Decorating cupcakes for the first time.

Carlos smudges frosting on Max’s nose.

Carlos: “You’re looking a little… frosted.” Max: “And you’re dangerously sweet. I might have to taste you.” Carlos (mock gasp): “I think we’re starting to batter up some feelings here.” Max (laughs & leans closer): “Careful, I might whisk you away.”

…,,

On the final day, the instructor announced, “Couples cook-off!”

Carlos and Max exchanged a look. “We’re doomed,” Max said.

They were. But they also laughed harder than anyone else in the room.

When Carlos forgot the salt and Max set the timer wrong, they didn’t argue ... they high-fived like idiots. When Max accidentally flung sauce on the wall, Carlos nearly fell over laughing.

When they finally presented their dish, the instructor took one bite, blinked, and said: “You two might be the messiest pair I’ve ever seen… but you’re also the happiest.”

Carlos flushed, ducking his head. Max stared at him like he’d just realized something important.

That sound. That smile. That warmth that sat quietly under Carlos’s skin. He didn’t want it to end.

….

The class emptied out slowly. E

veryone had someone to hold hands with, to walk home with. Everyone except them.

Carlos lingered by the doorway, tying his apron back onto the hook. He tried not to think about how quiet tomorrow would feel without this. Without him.

“Carlos.”

He turned. Max stood there, holding something behind his back.

“We forgot dessert,” Max said.

Carlos tilted his head. Max pulled out a small cupcake ... messy frosting, lopsided, clearly from the bakery next door. But he held it like it mattered.

“What’s this?”

Max took a slow breath. “A peace offering. And maybe… a question.”

“A question?”

“Would you like to go out with me,” Max said, quieter now, “somewhere we don’t have to set off a fire alarm?”

Carlos’s heart stuttered. He took the cupcake carefully, like it was delicate. Then he grinned and smeared a bit of frosting on Max’s cheek.

“Only if you promise to let me teach you how to boil water properly.”

Max laughed ... really laughed ... and nodded. “Deal.”

They walked out together, sharing the cupcake under the glow of the streetlights, shoulders brushing with every step. It wasn’t grand or dramatic.

It was soft. Warm. The kind of beginning that sneaks up on you when you’re too busy laughing to notice it happen.

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

Carlos Sainz met one baby and instantly lost all sense of selfcontrol. Now, armed with baby fever, seductive shirts and zero subtlety, he’s on a mission to make his four himbo husbands actual fathers, whether they notice or not.

Carlos Sainz gets full-blown baby fever after spending one afternoon with Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber’s adorable baby girl, Grace. He comes home starry-eyed, hormonal (in his mind), and ready for a baby. The only problem? His four himbo husbands...Max, Charles, Lando, and Oscar...are as observant as a bag of rocks.

……….

Carlos sees baby Grace, holds her once, and something in him breaks. He comes home whispering:

“She was so small. So cute. Smelled like powder and dreams.”

Max: “I like powder.” Charles: “You can buy dream-scented candles.” Lando: “Do you want…a pillow that smells like Grace?” Oscar: “I could knit something.”

Carlos stares. The baby fever intensifies.

……………

Carlos starts:

Leaving books on baby names around.

Casually Googling “best baby monitors 2025” while screen-sharing.

Sighing loudly during Disney movies and clutching his stomach.

Max thinks Carlos has a stomach ache. Charles gives him mint tea. Lando orders lactose-free milk just in case. Oscar offers yoga.

Carlos: “I am surrounded by morons.”

…………….

Carlos is trying. He’s really trying.

He’s baked. He’s decorated. He’s researched ovulation cycles like he’s prepping for a thesis. And still...still...he is being ignored.

Today, he’s pulled out the big guns.

The Bookshelf of Desperation

Carlos lines the living room bookshelf with subtle classics like:

“100,000 Baby Names from Around the World”

“Co-Sleeping for Poly Families”

“The Bump and the F1 Calendar”

“How to Tell Your Four Husbands You’re Ready to Be Knocked Up”

Charles walks past, eyes the books, hums.

“Aw, That’s such a good name for our next pet.”

Carlos stares at the ceiling.

Carlos (to himself):

“Why are French men so pretty and so dense?”

……

Seduction Mode: Activated

Carlos enters the kitchen wearing a crop top that reads “FERTILE AF.” It clings like it was painted on. His sweatpants are dangerously low. He’s not wearing underwear. He’s also “bent over” the counter at an angle OSHA would object to.

Max walks in, yawning.

Max:

“Carlos, your shirt looks tight. You sure it’s not cutting circulation?”

Carlos:

“Maximilian. Seriously?.”

Max (nodding thoughtfully):

“Yeah, definitely tight. I’ll order the next size up.”

Carlos slams his head into the marble.

….

Carlos stretches dramatically infront of Charles,

His back arches. He moans. Moans. Like he's in a Calvin Klein ad directed by Lucifer himself.

Across the room:

Pierre:

“Mon Dieu...”

His smoothie hits the floor.

Yuki (screaming):

“He’s ascending! Cover your eyes, Isack!”

Daniel (dazed):

“It’s beautiful.” Walks directly into the tire rack.

Ollie (shielding Kimi’s face):

“No, baby, look at the floor. Look at the floor.”

George (from across the garage, sipping tea):

“See, this is why I only talk to Toto and my cat.”

Charles:

Do you want a massage, love?

…

Carlos corners Oscar in the kitchen. He’s shirtless, glistening with suspiciously strategic oil, biting into a strawberry.

Carlos:

“Wouldn’t it be so sexy if you bred me against this kitchen counter, right now? Like, filled me up until I can’t walk?”

Oscar:

“Do you want to remodel the kitchen? I’ve been telling Lando that counter height’s too low.”

Carlos’s soul leaves his body.

....

George (hosting):

“Welcome to ‘Drivers Who Have Accidentally Witnessed Carlos Sainz’s Heat Phase.’ Let’s go around the circle.”

Pierre (shaken):

“I still see the crop top when I close my eyes.”

Yuki:

“I’ve forgotten my mother’s face.”

Daniel (dreamy):

“He was so shiny…”

…

Carlos escalates further:

Leaves baby clothes on the bed.

Sends Max an ultrasound meme with “soon?” in the caption.

Calls himself “Mama Sainz” in the groupchat.

And still… nothing.

Until Charles finally goes:

“Wait, are you ovulating?”

Carlos: “I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET YOU TO BREED ME FOR TWO WEEKS.”

Max: “I thought you had a cupcake kink.”

……

Meanwhile in Paddock Hell

The paddock is in full chaos.

Alex Albon is now carrying holy water.

Daniel Ricciardo is laughing but nervously.

Zhou has a “DO NOT LET CARLOS NEAR YOU” sticker.

Lance just mutters “not again” and walks away whenever Carlos appears.

Christian is chasing Toto, yelling “If Carlos gets a baby I WANT A BABY TOO.”

Toto: “Christian this is harassment...AND THAT’S NOT HOW BABIES WORK.”

……

Location: A meeting room in the Mercedes hospitality suite. Attendees:

Toto (regretting his entire career)

Christian (carrying holy water and a baby rosary)

Fred Vasseur (drinking)

The rookies (huddled together like ducklings)

George (appointed moderator against his will)

Special guest: Sebastian Vettel (for spiritual guidance)

George (serious voice):

“We’re here today because we believe Carlos Sainz has been... possessed.”

Christian:

“By a fertility demon. A very horny one.”

Ollie (whispers):

“He looked at Toto and said ‘Are you next?’”

Toto (monotone):

“I have not known peace since Abu Dhabi 2021. But this is worse.”

……

Seb (gently):

“Carlos, darling, I support you. Just… maybe wait until someone notices your heat pheromones before you melt the paddock.”

Carlos (throws hands up):

“Thank you, Sebastian. At least one German understands me.”

…

Charles (blinking):

“Wait… Carlos wants to be pregnant?”

Carlos (deadpan):

“You’re the smartest Ferrari driver in years, babe.”

Oscar:

“But you were just being… weird.”

Carlos:

“I wore a shirt that said ‘fill me up like a tank on strategy day.’”

Max:

“I thought it was a fuel efficiency thing.”

….

Carlos finally explains it clearly. All four husbands nod. There’s a pause.

Max (already shirtless):

“To the bedroom?”

Carlos:

“Make me a father, Verstappen.”

Lando (dragging Carlos):

“No more hints. Next time just text ‘breed me now.’”

Meanwhile, the rookies:

Ollie (to Kimi):

“...Do you think we’ll ever understand adult love?”

Kimi (eating cupcake sperm):

“No. But it’s funny.”

Isack and Gabe:

"We are happy to have a baby sibling"

…

 One Year Later

Baby Alejandro Verstappen-Leclerc-Norris-Piastri-Sainz is born.

Pierre is the honorary gay uncle.

Toto refuses to talk about “The Incident.”

Carlos is glowing, smug, and keeps calling himself “Mamá of the Year.”

............

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

Dear HR, It's a love story - Versainz

The Christmas Pitstop - Carlos poly

The Haunted flatshare - Carlos poly

Summary:

A chaotic F1 group chat confession spirals out of control, prompting Max to impulsively fly across the world to confront Daniel about their feelings.

Daniel sat on the edge of his bed, phone clutched in his hand, still chuckling from the chaos that had unfolded in the driver group chat. Lando and Pierre had somehow decided that Max and Daniel’s friendship or, as they were now calling it, “definitely something more” was the perfect source of entertainment.

F1 Drivers Group Chat

Lando: GUYS. I think I’ve solved the greatest mystery of F1 history.

Pierre: oh no… what now?

Lando: I’ve been seeing… a LOT of Maxiel edits, fanfics, memes… and honestly… I think Daniel and Max dated. Or were in love.

Daniel: 🤨 Lando. Please.

Lando: WAIT hear me out. During their teammate days, Daniel was too extra about Max on and off track. And Max… well, the smiles, the gestures, the way he never said no to Daniel’s stupid pranks… IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW.

Pierre: 😳 lmao are you saying… like… canon Maxiel?

Daniel: Guys. Stop. I don’t want to know how many of you are making fanfics about me and Max.

Sebastian: sips tea I… am intrigued.

Charles: lol I mean it wouldn’t surprise me. Daniel’s entire vibe screamed “in love with my teammate.”

Daniel: CHARLES. 😡

Pierre: but think about it… remember that Monza race when Daniel almost ran over Max trying to “help” him on track? That wasn’t help… that was… something else.

Daniel: 🙄 Pierre.

Valtteri: I mean… I saw them hugging after every podium like it was a secret ritual or something.

Lando: EXACTLY! Even Toto was confused, I bet.

Carlos: I mean… I shipped it in secret, not gonna lie.

Daniel: Carlos! You too???

Daniel: 😭 You guys are insane. I never told any of you.

Sebastian: Not even me. I respect the secrecy, Daniel. But yes, the signs were there.

Pierre: Guys… someone needs to check Max’s Instagram likes from back then. It’s 100% proof.

Lando: omg Pierre. you’re a genius. I bet Max’s feed is just… Daniel posts from 2016… liked repeatedly… 😏

Daniel: PLEASE. Stop. I beg you.

Kimi: …huh. Never noticed. But okay.

Daniel: Kimi. You’re supposed to be silent. Not judging.

Charles: This is peak F1 chaos. I can’t.

Pierre: WAIT WAIT WAIT. I just remembered the Barcelona test day. Daniel spilled coffee on Max… ON PURPOSE… just to help him “warm up” 🤯

Lando: YES YES YES. The subtle flirting!

Daniel: Flirting? That was CLUMSINESS. PURE. CLUMSINESS.

Carlos: Sure, sure. We all saw the way you hovered over Max. Every. Single. Race.

Daniel: YOU DID???

Sebastian: Obviously. I’m watching from the pit wall, mate. You were radiating… emotions.

Pierre: lol imagine Daniel trying to hide his feelings like a spy. Mission failed.

Daniel: 😭 I did not spy on Max. I… I… cared. Yes. But not like… romantic… maybe… 😅

Lando: maybe? Daniel. It was MAXIEL LEVEL OBVIOUS.

Charles: Wait wait wait. The fanfics aren’t just fanfics anymore. This is history rewriting itself.

Daniel: CHARLES. You are the worst.

Pierre: Daniel, you’re literally blushing through the phone right now. Admit it.

Daniel: I AM NOT.

Sebastian: …you are.

Daniel: FINE. I… might have… liked Max. quietly whispers a lot.

Lando: YES. Finally. Truth bomb.

Carlos: Sooo… when did this happen? During teammate days? Or now?

Daniel: SHUT UP.

Pierre: lol imagine Max reading this right now. 😏

Daniel: STOP TALKING ABOUT MAX.

Sebastian: I mean… we all know he’s going to see this eventually. So… maybe just embrace it.

Lando: Daniel, if Max sees this… what would you do?

Daniel: I… I… don’t know. Pretend I was joking?

Pierre: lol Daniel pretending to joke is peak comedy.

Daniel: I am joking, Pierre!!! Its just a prank guys. I AM KIDDING

Charles: This is so messy. I love it.

Daniel: YOU ALL ARE THE WORST.

Lando: ❤️ But also… we are the truth-tellers of F1. You owe us a story now.

Daniel: 😭 I hate you all.

Lando: Love you too. 😏

He laughed nervously, thinking how ridiculous it was to confess in a group chat of prank-happy drivers. He didn’t notice the silence that followed or that Max hadn’t responded at all.

“Whatever,” Daniel muttered. “He’s asleep. Probably tired from Monza GP.” He tossed the phone onto the bed and collapsed under the covers, completely oblivious to the fact that somewhere across the globe, Max was reading every word, heart hammering.

….

Max sat on the couch in his hotel room, phone in hand, scrolling the group chat again. He had read it once, twice, and now a third time. Lando, Pierre, Carlos, Sebastian… even Charles. Every single one of them teasing Daniel, dissecting his “feelings,” and somehow confirming what Max had always suspected.

Daniel… likes me.

The thought had been swimming in the back of Max’s mind for months. During races, interviews, team events...he’d caught those fleeting looks, those moments when Daniel’s attention lingered a little too long, the way he always had Daniel’s back. But seeing it all laid out like this… in such an absurdly blunt way… it was undeniable.

And then that one line from Daniel…

“…maybe… for fun? I’m kinda… in love with him 😬”

Max’s stomach tightened. For fun? Or… real?

He couldn’t wait. He couldn’t sit here, scrolling endlessly, second-guessing himself. Every moment he hesitated felt like it was slipping away. The F1 calendar, the press, the logistics...it didn’t matter. Daniel needed to hear the truth. Now.

Max’s fingers moved almost of their own accord, pulling up flights, checking schedules. He was barely thinking about the exhaustion, the time difference, the jet lag. His mind was singularly focused on Daniel.

“Now or never,” he muttered under his breath, voice barely audible over the quiet hum of the hotel room air conditioning.

He booked the first available flight to Australia. Minutes later, he was sprinting to catch a cab, racing against the clock. Every second that passed made his decision feel more urgent. Max couldn’t explain it fully...maybe it was obsession, maybe it was instinct, maybe it was something he had ignored for too long...but he knew one thing: if he didn’t confront Daniel now, he might never get the chance.

By the time the plane doors closed behind him, Max’s mind had calmed into a single clarity. He had a mission. He was going to Melbourne, and he was going to find Daniel. And he wasn’t leaving without answers.

Daniel, I’m coming. And you’re going to tell me the truth.

……

The next morning, Daniel was barely awake, his hair sticking up in every direction, when the doorbell rang. Groaning, he swung open the door, only to freeze mid-step.

Max. Max Verstappen. Standing on his doorstep, windblown hair, racing jacket zipped up, and eyes that were unreadable but intense.

“Max?” Daniel croaked. “What… what are you doing here? You were in Monza last night!”

Max didn’t smile. Didn’t even blink. He simply crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering.

“Was what you said in the group chat… about being in love with me… real?”

Daniel’s brain short-circuited. For a full five seconds, he just stared. Then he burst out laughing. “Wait, are you… did you… fly here? You actually came to Melbourne because of a chat message?”

Max’s jaw tightened. “I needed to know. I couldn’t ignore it. You can’t just say something like that and leave me hanging.”

Daniel felt his chest tighten, a mix of disbelief, embarrassment, and… something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Well,” he said, voice unsteady, “I… I was half-joking. Sort of. But also...” He stopped, realizing just how seriously he sounded. “Okay, I wasn’t joking. I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. But yes. I like you. A lot.”

Max’s expression softened, just slightly, and he stepped forward. “A lot?”

Daniel swallowed hard, heart hammering like it was on the starting grid. “Yes… I mean, yeah. I didn’t think you felt the same. I didn’t want to embarrass myself in the chat, or...”

“Daniel,” Max interrupted, voice low but steady, “I don’t care about embarrassment. I care about you.”

Daniel blinked, shocked. Max was standing so close now, warm and real, and for a moment, the world felt impossibly small.

“You… flew here. Just to hear me say that?” Daniel whispered.

Max nodded. “I didn’t want to wait for the next race, the next chat, the next stupid comment from Lando. I wanted to know now. Are you really in love with me, Daniel?”

“I… yes,” Daniel admitted, breath hitching. “I’ve liked you for so long. And I didn’t want to admit it, not here, not there...” He gestured vaguely at the group chat. “But… I can’t hide it anymore.”

Max’s lips curved into the faintest of smiles. “Good. Because I feel the same way.”

Daniel’s heart nearly stopped. “You… do?”

Max’s hand brushed against his, tentative at first, then firmer as if to anchor himself. “I’ve been waiting for you to say it. And now you have.”

Daniel laughed, nervous and joyous. “You mean… all this time, we were… secretly… this close?”

Max shrugged, a mischievous glint finally appearing. “Seems like it. But now we can stop hiding behind jokes and rumors. We can… be us.”

Daniel felt like the world had been flipped upside down in the best possible way. “So… what now?”

Max leaned in slightly, close enough that Daniel could feel the heat radiating off him. “Now,” Max whispered, “we figure it out. Together.”

And Daniel, heart racing faster than any F1 car he’d ever driven, nodded. “Together.”

Max grinned, just a little, and in the quiet Melbourne morning, Daniel finally realized that all the jokes, the chaos, and the silly group chat rumors had led to this exact moment.

The moment they were finally honest with each other and with themselves.

And somehow, Daniel knew this was only the beginning.

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

4 times the PR team panicked + 1 time they gave up - carlos poly

Our boyfriend is a Vampire? - Carlos poly

Spanish for dummies - Carlos poly

My Neighbor Hates Me: So Why’s He Bringing Me Soup? - Versainz

Summary:

Carlos thinks he’s sneaking into Charles’s room undetected, but at Ferrari, his nightly visits are the cutest, most obvious secret ever + Brocedes sneaking too, cuz why not?

Carlos Sainz tossed and turned on the crisp, too-quiet sheets of his Williams hotel room.

The silence was unbearable.

Every creak, every hum from the AC felt like it was mocking him.

He rolled onto his side and stared at the ceiling, remembering the faint rhythm of Charles’s snoring, the warm weight of him shifting beside Carlos until he finally drifted off.

Now, without Charles in the adjacent room, sleep felt impossible.

It had been three nights, three torturous nights of tossing, staring, and fighting the urge to text Charles a ridiculous number of heart emojis.

Finally, with a dramatic sigh that made his pillow groan in solidarity, Carlos decided: I can’t do this. Not another night.

By 2:17 a.m....because of course he’d timed it perfectly...Carlos slipped out of his room in his softest socks, each step deliberate, like he was performing some high-stakes heist.

The hotel hallway was bathed in dim, amber light, the kind that made every corner look like it could hide a lurking PR disaster.

The carpet muffled his steps, but every creak of the floorboards beneath him felt deafening, echoing in the silence of the night.

The air smelled faintly of antiseptic, espresso, and that peculiar, faintly metallic scent of a luxury hotel...everything mingling into a perfume that made his stomach tighten with nerves.

He could hear the soft hum of the elevators, the distant clink of glasses from the 24-hour bar somewhere behind him, even the faint whir of an air vent that seemed unnervingly loud in the quiet.

Every shadow along the corridor became suspiciously alive. That smudge on the wall? Surely someone was peeking out to see him.

That dark corner by the fire exit? Definitely a PR officer waiting to catch him in flagrante delicto.

His pulse was a frantic drumbeat in his chest, each beat a reminder that if he were caught, it wouldn’t just be awkward...it would be a PR nightmare of epic proportions.

He hugged the wall like a seasoned spy, peering around corners, ducking under light fixtures that threatened to expose him.

The soft squeak of his socks against the polished marble floor made him flinch each time. He had memorized this path from countless previous “missions,” but tonight, every corridor felt like an obstacle course, every step a gamble.

Carlos’s mind raced. If anyone sees me, it’s over. Over. Over. And yet, a tiny, defiant part of him...the part that loved the thrill of sneaking...smirked at the absurdity of it all. This wasn’t just a mission; it was love in stealth mode.

Finally, he reached the Ferrari floor, his heartbeat slowing just slightly as he caught sight of Charles’s door down the hall, a warm light spilling from underneath.

He paused, inhaling sharply, savoring his victory. This was it. Almost there. Almost… safe.

….

Carlos had perfected his “midnight mission” over the past few weeks.

By 12 a.m. sharp, he would slip out of his Williams room, each step calculated, every corner memorized, socks gliding silently across the polished hotel floors.

In his mind, he was a spy on an impossibly dangerous covert operation...every creak of the floorboards, every distant cough from the hotel staff, every flicker of light was a potential threat.

He reached Charles’s door and paused, chest tightening with anticipation.

This is it. The ultimate stealth maneuver. Slowly, carefully, he nudged the door open. And there he was...Charles, lying innocently on the bed, hair a messy halo, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that made Carlos’s heart skip.

Slipping in, Carlos pressed himself against Charles’s chest, arms wrapping tightly around him. The warmth, the steady heartbeat, the soft brush of lips against his temple...it all worked like magic.

The tension in his shoulders melted, and for the first time in hours, sleep felt possible. Charles, half-asleep but always attentive in these moments, whispered something unintelligible and kissed Carlos’s forehead.

Carlos closed his eyes, sighing contentedly. Stealth mission accomplished. No one noticed. Perfect.

What he didn’t realize, however, was that he wasn’t nearly as stealthy as he imagined.

From behind the doors and CCTV monitors, Fred and the Ferrari engineers had front-row seats to Carlos’s nightly theatrics. They watched with barely suppressed laughter as he tiptoed past the elevators, froze dramatically in shadows, and peeked around corners like some over-dramatic secret agent. Some nights he would even whisper to himself: “If I move too fast, they’ll see me.”

Fred, nursing an espresso, shook his head with a grin. “Oh, he thinks he’s James Bond. Look at him, tiptoeing like a cat. He’s practically doing a ballet across the corridor.”

One engineer snorted. “And now he must be hugging Charles like a koala. Stealth mode: activated.”

Carlos, meanwhile, felt victorious every night. I am invisible. I am untouchable. No one sees me. He pressed himself closer into Charles’s warmth, reveling in the intimacy that made every sleepless night worth it. And in the mornings, before the world woke up, he would slide out just as quietly, returning to his own room like a phantom, heart still racing from the closeness, stomach fluttering at the thought of doing it all again.

The reality? Everyone at Ferrari had been watching all along. And every night, Fred and the engineers silently celebrated Carlos’s ridiculous dedication and clumsy attempts at being the ultimate spy. They thought it was hilarious, cute, and completely harmless. Carlos’s inner spy fantasy was perfect...except for the audience of amused adults who found his every move adorable.

And Carlos? Completely oblivious, dreaming he was untouchable.

…..

Charles, lying on his back with the bedside lamp casting a warm glow, watched quietly from under half-lidded eyes.

He stifled a laugh, heart tugging at the sight of Carlos curled against him like a spy who had just completed a dangerous mission.

“Shhh…” Carlos whispered, pressing his face into Charles’s chest. “No one can know I’m here. If anyone sees me… PR nightmare…”

Charles hummed softly, kissing the top of Carlos’s head. “Mm-hmm,” he said, perfectly patient. In truth, he was utterly entertained. The whole Ferrari floor knew. Fred and the engineers had been silently watching for weeks and teased Charles about it, and yet Carlos remained blissfully oblivious. Every exaggerated tiptoe, every careful glance around corners, every dramatic pause...priceless.

Carlos sighed contentedly as Charles wrapped an arm around him, holding him close. “I’m… really careful. You don’t even notice me, do you?” he murmured.

Charles smirked, pressing another soft kiss to his forehead. “Not at all,” he said. In reality, he could hear Fred chuckling behind the corridor CCTV footage, could imagine the engineers stifling laughter as they followed Carlos’s every move on camera. But seeing Carlos so earnest, so oblivious to the fact that he was the most obvious secret in Ferrari, was too adorable to ruin.

Carlos nuzzled closer, convinced that he had executed the stealthiest, most dangerous infiltration of the century. Every night, he repeated the ritual...sneaking in at midnight, attaching himself to Charles, being held close, drifting off to sleep… completely unaware that he was the least stealthy person on the entire floor.

And Charles? He just held him, amused, and silently adored the ridiculousness of his boyfriend. If he only knew how obvious he is… Charles thought, smiling against Carlos’s hair. But for now, he let him believe he was a master spy. After all, a little obliviousness made Carlos all the more endearing.

….

It wasn’t just Carlos who believed in the art of the midnight “mission.” Nico Rosberg, now working with Sky Sports, had somehow decided that sneaking into Lewis’s hotel room was the pinnacle of romantic ingenuity.

Fred, monitoring the Ferrari floor with his usual espresso in hand, sighed audibly. “And here I thought we had the tightest security,” he muttered to an engineer, eyes rolling as he watched Nico tiptoe like a cartoon spy toward Lewis’s door. “French people are romantic, huh? Or… wait, Germans?”

The engineers chuckled, glancing at Fred. “Honestly, who needs late-night TV when you have live espionage romance?”

Nico froze dramatically at the door, hand hovering like he was defusing a bomb, while Lewis, already half-asleep, muttered something about “midnight madness” before letting him in.

Fred just shook his head, swirling his espresso. “Yep. We got the most romantic team after all.”

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

4 times the PR team panicked + 1 time they gave up - carlos poly

Our boyfriend is a Vampire? - Carlos poly

Spanish for dummies - Carlos poly

My Neighbor Hates Me: So Why’s He Bringing Me Soup? - Versainz

Summary:

Just Carlos trying to learn Dutch using Google translate to impress Max, but failing spectacularly but atleast Max finds its adorable, so its okay.

Carlos is trying.

That’s the important part.

He’s got a crush on Max the size of Brazil, no, wait, bigger than Brazil. A Brazil-and-a-half. Possibly two. Every time Max so much as breathes near him, Carlos forgets how to function like a normal human being. His heart gallops. His brain misfires. He says things like “you are a soft cow of the moon” because apparently that’s what happens when you panic-Google “you look cozy tonight” and trust the first result.

In other words: Carlos is in deep.

And the only thing standing between him and smooth, cinematic, fireworks-in-the-sky romantic success is… language.

Okay. And maybe the fact that Max is really pretty. Like, “sunlight-catching-on-curls, cheek-dimples-when-he-laughs, entire-fairytale-narrative-in-one-smile” kind of pretty. And every time Max so much as turns to look at him with those ridiculous eyes, Carlos short-circuits a little.

But mostly?

Mostly it’s the Dutch.

See, Carlos knows just enough to get by. Polite greetings, how to ask for the bathroom, how to say “I’m not from here” (a phrase he uses far more often than necessary, especially when Max is near, because it buys him time to stop blushing).

But Max? Max is fluent. Witty. Fast-talking. Effortlessly clever. And when he texts, he uses phrases Carlos has never even seen before. They’re probably charming. Probably sweet. Carlos assumes at least 40% of them are flirting, right?

So naturally, Carlos turns to the most trusted, reliable, dependable source of language help in his life:

Google Translate.

And not just once. Not occasionally. He becomes a full-time translator junkie. A habitual phrase-checker. A “copy, paste, edit, double-check, pray” kind of guy.

…

It starts innocently.

Max sends him a meme with a caption in Dutch. Carlos doesn’t get the joke, but he wants to laugh. He needs to laugh. So he plugs it into Translate, tries to piece it together, and replies with:

“Haha! Yes, the pigeons do look extremely full of judgment!”

Max reacts with three laughing emojis and a heart.

Carlos nearly combusts on the spot.

He takes that as a green light.

From then on, he starts texting Max daily. Tiny, awkward sentences, translated and carefully polished.

“Your hair is like fire but good.”

“I am enjoying the rhythm of your movements.”

“You make my belly feel like soda bubbles.”

Max, to his credit, plays along. He never corrects him. Never mocks him. In fact, he seems… fond. Amused, maybe. Warm. There’s always a little smiley at the end of his replies. Sometimes a voice note that sounds like a chuckle, low and unguarded.

Carlos is floating.

….

Carlos had never been the texting type. He preferred phone calls, voice notes, face-to-face words with all the emotion carried in his eyes. But Max… Max was different.

Max texted. He spoke less but texted a lot. And Carlos couldn’t resist replying, even if he had to wrestle every sentence through Google Translate like it was a Rubik’s cube in a hurricane.

Their first real conversation had started with a message that read:

“Hello Max. I am excitement to see you today. The day is full of sky because you exist.”

Max stared at it for a full ten seconds. Then snorted so hard his coffee nearly went down the wrong pipe. He didn’t correct it. Didn’t mock it. He just smiled, wide, crinkly-eyed, boyish, and texted back:

“It’s full of sky for me too, Carlos.”

Carlos, thinking he’d nailed it, took that as encouragement.

From then on, their texts came daily.

“Your eyes are like soft rabbits.”

“I am hunger to be beside you.”

“You smile and my inside go flippy like soft bread.”

Max started saving them. Not to laugh at Carlos, but because he found them utterly disarming. Like love poems accidentally typed by someone trying their best in a language not his own. Max thought maybe Carlos was just that poetic. Or maybe he was messing with him. Either way, it was cute.

What Max didn’t know was that Carlos agonized over every message.

Every night, after training or class, Carlos would curl up in his bed, headphones in, notes app open, and whisper phrases in Dutch under his breath.

He had separate folders:

"Grammar – formal sentence structure"

"Verbs that make me confused"

"Romantic words that sound okay"

“Do not say this again (it’s weird)”

“Cute things to say to Max 💙”

In that last folder were sentences Carlos had practiced again and again:

“Jij bent mijn lievelingsmens.” (You are my favorite person.)

“Mag ik je hand vasthouden?” (Can I hold your hand?)

“Je lach is mijn thuis.” (Your smile is my home.)

He hadn't sent those yet. He was saving them. For when he was brave. For when Max looked at him like that again, like maybe Carlos wasn’t just a sweet, fumbling mess of translation fails and fond glances.

…..

One afternoon, Max is over at Carlos’s apartment. They’re watching something dumb, sharing popcorn. Carlos is in the kitchen refilling snacks.

The movie is still playing in the background, something animated and ridiculous, all bright colors and chaotic sound. Popcorn rustles in its bowl. The sun outside has dipped low enough to stain the apartment a warm, sleepy gold. It stretches across the living room floor, casting long shadows and turning Max’s hair into spun fire.

Carlos hums in the kitchen, his voice trailing up and down as he sings something under his breath in Spanish, off-key and soft. Max can’t make out the words, but the melody tugs at something in him, something slow and fond and tender.

He glances at the couch where Carlos’s phone lies, screen faintly glowing. It buzzes once. Battery low.

Max picks it up on instinct, intending to plug it into the charger dangling from the wall. His fingers brush the screen to wake it up.

And then he sees it.

The Notes app is open.

Not just open, wide open to a folder labeled:

“Cute Things to Say to Max 💙”

Max freezes.

There’s a long beat where the world seems to narrow to just those six words and the tiny blue heart. The popcorn fades. The cartoon voices dissolve. All he hears is the rustling sound of Carlos still in the kitchen, oblivious.

Max’s thumb hesitates over the screen. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But his heart is already thudding, because deep down, some part of him knows. Knows this isn’t just a joke or a draft or a meme. It’s something more.

So he taps it open.

And there, nestled in the simple font of Carlos’s phone screen, are dozens of sentences.

All in Dutch.

Some typed in lowercase, some half-finished. Some with corrections beneath them. Phonetic pronunciations in parentheses. Tiny notes to himself in Spanish.

“Je hebt de mooiste glimlach die ik ooit heb gezien.” (You have the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.)

“Ik ben nerveus wanneer je naar me kijkt.” (I get nervous when you look at me.)

“Je maakt mijn hart sneller kloppen.” (You make my heart beat faster.)

And then, written in bolder letters, with a tiny heart scribbled beside it:

“Jij maakt mijn wereld mooi.” (You make my world beautiful.)

Max feels the air leave his lungs.

All this time, all the weirdly poetic texts, the metaphors about bread and rabbits, the moments when Carlos stammered through a compliment with a shy flush on his cheeks, it wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t Carlos being awkward on purpose.

He was trying.

Trying to speak in Max’s language. Trying to understand him. Trying to meet him halfway.

Trying… because he cares.

Max’s throat tightens. Something fragile and bright swells in his chest. He reads the sentence again, just to feel it break him a little more.

“Jij maakt mijn wereld mooi.”

He doesn't notice Carlos returning until the rustle of a popcorn bag makes him look up. Carlos rounds the corner into the living room, holding a fresh bowl and a grin that falters the instant he sees Max standing there, still holding the phone.

Carlos stops short. His smile slips. His eyes widen just enough to betray the panic. “Max?” His voice is light, wary.

Max says nothing at first. Just looks at him.

There’s something different in his eyes, something Carlos can’t read. Not laughter. Not judgment.

Something warm.

Something devastating.

Max walks over slowly, deliberate and quiet. He holds out the phone, presses it gently against Carlos’s chest, right over his heart.

“You… you really did all this?” he asks, voice thick, barely above a whisper.

Carlos blinks, cheeks turning a violent shade of pink. His fingers close reflexively around the phone, like he might hide it, or himself, if he could.

“I, ” he stammers. “I was going to delete it. It’s stupid. I sound stupid in Dutch. I didn’t want to sound… stupid to you.”

He doesn’t look up. He can’t. His ears are burning. His heart is somewhere near his throat, choking him.

But Max reaches out, gently, like Carlos is something fragile, and cups his cheek. His thumb brushes lightly across Carlos’s skin, soft and grounding.

“Carlos,” Max says, and there’s something reverent in the way he says it. “You didn’t sound stupid.”

Carlos finally looks up, uncertain.

“You sounded,” Max murmurs, “like someone who wanted me to understand him.”

That makes Carlos inhale, sharp and shaky. His lips part like he might speak, but no words come.

So Max takes one more step closer, eyes locked on him.

And then, softly, carefully, he leans in and says, in slow, halting Spanish:

“Entonces escúchame… yo sí entiendo. Y yo también quiero.”

(Then listen to me… I do understand. And I want the same.)

Carlos’s breath catches.

He stares at Max like he’s not real. Like maybe he dreamed this moment in one of those late-night language study sessions, curled up in bed with nothing but hope and a screen full of Dutch.

“…You speak Spanish?” he whispers, incredulous.

Max gives him a half-smile. A little sheepish. A little radiant.

“I’ve been learning,” he admits. “For you.”

And just like that, Carlos laughs, a breathy, overwhelmed, stupidly in-love sound, and wraps his arms around Max’s neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Okay,” he whispers, burying his face in Max’s shoulder. “Okay.”

And Max, grinning now, holds him tighter and says softly:

“Your belly feels like soda bubbles?”

Carlos groans, mortified.

But he’s smiling, too.

Because even across the bridge of broken languages and clumsy sentences and Google Translate chaos, they understood each other just fine.

….

Lots of soft kisses. Max offering to help Carlos learn real Dutch. Carlos teasing Max with overly formal phrases like “Your essence is pleasing to my soul.” Max texting back: “Bread heart. Flippy inside. Always.”

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

4 times the PR team panicked + 1 time they gave up - carlos poly

Our boyfriend is a Vampire? - Carlos poly

Spanish for dummies - Carlos poly

My Neighbor Hates Me: So Why’s He Bringing Me Soup? - Versainz

Summary:

Carlos runs away from his arranged marriage to marry Charles whom he loves, with Lando & Max's help. Charles is doing the same. Spoiler: They are arranged to marry each other.

Carlos Sainz Jr. hated many things. Rain delays, slow Wi-Fi, people who clapped when the plane landed, and Max Verstappen’s playlist. But right now, he hated arranged marriages more than anything else on earth.

“I’m twenty-nine!” he whisper-screamed at Lando, pacing across his bedroom in a perfectly tailored suit he didn't ask for. “Twenty-nine! Not ninety-nine. Not dying. Not looking for a retirement companion!”

Lando, lounging dramatically on Carlos’s four-poster bed like a bored cat, was eating grapes off a silver tray.

“Technically, retirement companion sounds kinda hot. Do you think he has a yacht?”

“I don’t want a yacht,” Carlos growled. “I want Charles!”

Silence.

Lando dropped a grape. “You said that out loud.”

Carlos froze mid-pace, eyes wide in horror. “No I didn’t.”

“Yes. You did. Very clearly. You just said you want Charles.” Lando grinned like the little chaos goblin he was. “This is better than reality TV.”

Carlos groaned and faceplanted into the bed. “I can’t marry some mysterious rich guy my parents found on LinkedIn or wherever they shop for husbands. I can’t....”

“They didn’t say his name?” Lando asked.

“No! Just that he’s ‘perfectly suited for me’ and ‘from a good family’ and ‘will keep the Sainz legacy alive.’” Carlos made gagging sounds into a silk pillow. “What does that even mean? Am I a breeding stallion?”

There was a knock at the door.

“CARLOS,” came his mother’s voice, sweet and threatening like poison in honey. “The guests have arrived! Put on your smile or I’ll Botox it there!”

Carlos sat up, dead-eyed. “They’re serious. They’re actually going through with it.”

Lando gave him a salute. “Time for Plan B.”

Carlos narrowed his eyes. “There was a Plan A?”

Lando pulled out his phone. “Max is bringing the helicopter. ETA: ten minutes. You jump from the balcony into the pool for distraction, I throw glitter to confuse the guards, Max lands in the backyard, we disappear into the sunset. Boom. Drama. Netflix.”

Carlos blinked. “What glitter?”

Lando grinned. “I always carry glitter.”

….

Meanwhile, Across Town....

Charles Leclerc was also having a breakdown.

“I am not marrying some Spanish heir I’ve never met!” he snapped, tugging off his bowtie as he stormed through the Leclerc estate’s marble hallway.

“Charles, darling,” Pascale said in her calm voice that meant I will kill you with kindness and guilt, “he’s not a stranger. We’ve known the family for decades.”

“I don’t care if we knew them since birth, you can’t just marry me off like it’s 1864 and I’m a duchess with a scandal!”

“You are exactly like a duchess with a scandal!” Arthur shouted from the stairs, holding a camcorder. “I’m filming this for my YouTube. Title: My Brother Gets Married to a Mystery Man and Cries About It.”

Charles threw a pillow at him.

“I don’t even know this guy’s name!”

“You will at the altar,” Pascale said with a soft smile. “So romantic, no?”

Charles screamed internally.

Then, suddenly, his phone vibrated. A message from Pierre:

🏃‍♂️ Code Red: Operation Groom Out the Window is a go. 🏎️ Lewis waiting in the getaway car. Bring no shame, only Gucci. 💄Optional: Lip balm. Always be kiss-ready.

Charles blinked. “I’m in.”

….

Back at the Engagement Party (aka Ground Zero)

The Sainz mansion was flooded with chandeliers, fountains of champagne, and the ghost of Carlos’s will to live. People mingled. The parents beamed. Someone played a string quartet cover of Despacito.

Carlos stood next to his father in the garden, sweat rolling down the back of his neck.

“Smile,” Carlos Sr. muttered through his teeth. “You look like you’re about to be executed.”

“I AM,” Carlos hissed. “Emotionally!”

His mother appeared with a tray of sangria. “Where’s the groom?” she asked.

“I need the bathroom,” Carlos said and bolted like a feral cat.

…

Moments Later: The Great Escape

Carlos climbed onto the balcony ledge outside his room, Lando holding his legs like a very unqualified stunt coordinator.

“Ready for liftoff in 3… 2....”

“WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?!” his father shouted from the hallway.

Carlos looked down at the pool. “YOLO.”

And jumped.

Splash.

Screams. Champagne flutes hit the ground. Somewhere, someone fainted.

Max landed the helicopter in the tennis court. Carlos scrambled out of the pool, dripping and cackling.

“GO GO GO!” Lando shouted, throwing glitter like a Disney villain.

They sprinted into the copter, Carlos soaking wet and breathless.

Max didn’t even flinch. “You owe me gas money.”

.............

Charles climbed out of the Leclerc mansion window in full tux, cape billowing in the wind like a gay Dracula. Pierre handed him sunglasses. Lewis honked from the Ferrari parked in the driveway.

Charles threw himself into the passenger seat. “Drive!”

“Where to?” Lewis asked.

“I don’t care! Anywhere but....”

Ping!

Both their phones vibrated. A message from Carlos’s number.

just jumped into a pool to escape arranged marriage. now on helicopter with lando. fml.Bcs I wanted to marry YOU

Charles stared.

Pierre leaned in, peeking at the screen.

“…wait a second. Is Carlos the guy you were supposed to marry?”

Charles stared into the void. “I WAS SUPPOSED TO MARRY CARLOS?”

Pierre snorted. “Well, good news. You’re both idiots in love and you both ran away.”

Lewis calmly changed direction. “I’m taking you to him. You two need to scream at each other and kiss or I swear to god I’m locking you in a room.”

..................

The abandoned beach shack looked like a rejected Airbnb listing. Half a roof, a busted surfboard nailed to the wall, and sand everywhere....even in places sand should never be. But to Carlos, it was perfect. Quiet. Isolated. No arranged husbands. Just him and the sound of waves.

And maybe some peace and.... CRASH.

The door slammed open so hard it fell off the hinges.

“YOU!”

Carlos nearly choked on his own scream. “WHAT THE HELL....CHARLES?!”

Charles stood in the doorway like a dramatic soap opera villain. Wind in his hair. Sand on his tuxedo. Eyes blazing with fury and unspoken sexual tension.

“You were supposed to be the groom?!”

“You were the MYSTERY husband?!”

They both pointed accusing fingers at each other. Simultaneously: “WHY THE HELL DIDN’T YOU SAY ANYTHING?!”

Carlos threw his hands up. “BECAUSE I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU!”

Charles blinked.

Carlos froze.

The silence was deafening.

“…oh.”

“…I....me too,” Charles said, voice suddenly small.

Carlos blinked. “You’re in love with you too?”

“No! I’m....” Charles groaned. “With YOU, you idiot.”

“Oh.” Pause. “Ohhhhhhh.”

Silence again.

Then, violently, simultaneously: They lunged.

…

 Kissing. So Much Kissing.

Carlos tackled Charles onto the sand like a telenovela hero. Their mouths met in a kiss that was more teeth and desperation than technique. Charles groaned into his mouth. Carlos made a sound only dogs could hear. The air around them practically crackled.

“You’re so annoying,” Charles gasped between kisses, tugging Carlos’s jacket open.

“You ran away first,” Carlos muttered, hands in Charles’s hair, kissing his jaw like he was starving.

“I ran away for you!”

“You didn’t know it was me!”

“I was hoping it was you!”

Carlos stopped, blinked, and then grinned.

“You’re ridiculous,” he whispered.

Charles rolled him into the sand. “And you’re wet and covered in glitter. What the hell happened?”

“Lando.”

“Say no more.”

They made out like lovesick idiots on the beach, rolling until their shirts were half off, jackets used as pillows, and Carlos was half-laughing, half-kissing, full-simping. At one point, Charles gasped, “Do you want to....” and Carlos said “Yes,” before he even finished.

It was a whole thing.

Until....

….

A flashlight clicked on.

“Okay,” Max said flatly. “Enough horny beach moment. Get up.”

Carlos groaned. “Go away.”

“You’re literally shirtless and covered in sand. You look like a romance novel gone feral.”

Lando popped up behind Max with his phone. “This is my new lockscreen.”

Pierre arrived holding a glittery bag. “You two drama queens are trending on TikTok. Hashtag #RunawayGrooms. Congratulations.”

Lewis followed behind, calm and terrifying. “Your parents are this close to summoning an exorcist. Back in the car. Now.”

Charles blinked blearily. “Can we at least....”

“No.” All four friends said in unison.

Max dragged Carlos up by the collar. “Come on, Casanova. Time to go apologize to your billionaire parents for making them look like rejected Bridgerton characters.”

….

Two soaking, rumpled, kiss-swollen idiots were shoved through the front door of the Sainz estate. Their mothers gasped. Their fathers pinched their noses. Guests murmured.

Carlos Sr. deadpanned: “So. You do know each other, right?.”

Charles nodded sheepishly.

Lando coughed violently.

Carlos smiled brightly. “Surprise! You were trying to marry us off to each other the whole time! Joke’s on you....we’re already in love!”

Pascale looked like she aged five years.

Carlos Sr. looked into the camera that didn’t exist.

“As if we didn't know,” his mother muttered.

“Oh my god,” Charles said, burying his face in Carlos’s shoulder.

“We’re still doing the wedding,” Pascale declared. “You owe me five months of planning.”

“Can we have an open bar?” Charles asked weakly.

“Only if you don’t roll around in the sand before your vows.”

….

The Wedding:

Charles cried first.

Carlos wore white.

Lando was banned from glitter. He used confetti instead.

Lewis played the music.

Pierre caught the bouquet and screamed.

Max actually smiled. Once. Possibly a glitch.

Their parents? Cried. All of them.

The hashtag #RunawayGrooms trended again.

Charles and Carlos kissed like no one was watching. (Everyone was.)

....

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

4 times the PR team panicked + 1 time they gave up - carlos poly

Our boyfriend is a Vampire? - Carlos poly

Spanish for dummies - Carlos poly

My Neighbor Hates Me: So Why’s He Bringing Me Soup? - Versainz

Summary:

Carlos Sainz met one baby and instantly lost all sense of selfcontrol. Now, armed with baby fever, seductive shirts and zero subtlety, he’s on a mission to make his four himbo husbands actual fathers, whether they notice or not.

Carlos Sainz gets full-blown baby fever after spending one afternoon with Sebastian Vettel and Mark Webber’s adorable baby girl, Grace. He comes home starry-eyed, hormonal (in his mind), and ready for a baby. The only problem? His four himbo husbands...Max, Charles, Lando, and Oscar...are as observant as a bag of rocks.

……….

Carlos sees baby Grace, holds her once, and something in him breaks. He comes home whispering:

“She was so small. So cute. Smelled like powder and dreams.”

Max: “I like powder.” Charles: “You can buy dream-scented candles.” Lando: “Do you want…a pillow that smells like Grace?” Oscar: “I could knit something.”

Carlos stares. The baby fever intensifies.

……………

Carlos starts:

Leaving books on baby names around.

Casually Googling “best baby monitors 2025” while screen-sharing.

Sighing loudly during Disney movies and clutching his stomach.

Max thinks Carlos has a stomach ache. Charles gives him mint tea. Lando orders lactose-free milk just in case. Oscar offers yoga.

Carlos: “I am surrounded by morons.”

…………….

Carlos is trying. He’s really trying.

He’s baked. He’s decorated. He’s researched ovulation cycles like he’s prepping for a thesis. And still...still...he is being ignored.

Today, he’s pulled out the big guns.

The Bookshelf of Desperation

Carlos lines the living room bookshelf with subtle classics like:

“100,000 Baby Names from Around the World”

“Co-Sleeping for Poly Families”

“The Bump and the F1 Calendar”

“How to Tell Your Four Husbands You’re Ready to Be Knocked Up”

Charles walks past, eyes the books, hums.

“Aw, That’s such a good name for our next pet.”

Carlos stares at the ceiling.

Carlos (to himself):

“Why are French men so pretty and so dense?”

……

Seduction Mode: Activated

Carlos enters the kitchen wearing a crop top that reads “FERTILE AF.” It clings like it was painted on. His sweatpants are dangerously low. He’s not wearing underwear. He’s also “bent over” the counter at an angle OSHA would object to.

Max walks in, yawning.

Max:

“Carlos, your shirt looks tight. You sure it’s not cutting circulation?”

Carlos:

“Maximilian. Seriously?.”

Max (nodding thoughtfully):

“Yeah, definitely tight. I’ll order the next size up.”

Carlos slams his head into the marble.

….

Carlos stretches dramatically infront of Charles,

His back arches. He moans. Moans. Like he's in a Calvin Klein ad directed by Lucifer himself.

Across the room:

Pierre:

“Mon Dieu...”

His smoothie hits the floor.

Yuki (screaming):

“He’s ascending! Cover your eyes, Isack!”

Daniel (dazed):

“It’s beautiful.” Walks directly into the tire rack.

Ollie (shielding Kimi’s face):

“No, baby, look at the floor. Look at the floor.”

George (from across the garage, sipping tea):

“See, this is why I only talk to Toto and my cat.”

Charles:

Do you want a massage, love?

…

Carlos corners Oscar in the kitchen. He’s shirtless, glistening with suspiciously strategic oil, biting into a strawberry.

Carlos:

“Wouldn’t it be so sexy if you bred me against this kitchen counter, right now? Like, filled me up until I can’t walk?”

Oscar:

“Do you want to remodel the kitchen? I’ve been telling Lando that counter height’s too low.”

Carlos’s soul leaves his body.

....

George (hosting):

“Welcome to ‘Drivers Who Have Accidentally Witnessed Carlos Sainz’s Heat Phase.’ Let’s go around the circle.”

Pierre (shaken):

“I still see the crop top when I close my eyes.”

Yuki:

“I’ve forgotten my mother’s face.”

Daniel (dreamy):

“He was so shiny…”

…

Carlos escalates further:

Leaves baby clothes on the bed.

Sends Max an ultrasound meme with “soon?” in the caption.

Calls himself “Mama Sainz” in the groupchat.

And still… nothing.

Until Charles finally goes:

“Wait, are you ovulating?”

Carlos: “I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GET YOU TO BREED ME FOR TWO WEEKS.”

Max: “I thought you had a cupcake kink.”

……

Meanwhile in Paddock Hell

The paddock is in full chaos.

Alex Albon is now carrying holy water.

Daniel Ricciardo is laughing but nervously.

Zhou has a “DO NOT LET CARLOS NEAR YOU” sticker.

Lance just mutters “not again” and walks away whenever Carlos appears.

Christian is chasing Toto, yelling “If Carlos gets a baby I WANT A BABY TOO.”

Toto: “Christian this is harassment...AND THAT’S NOT HOW BABIES WORK.”

……

Location: A meeting room in the Mercedes hospitality suite. Attendees:

Toto (regretting his entire career)

Christian (carrying holy water and a baby rosary)

Fred Vasseur (drinking)

The rookies (huddled together like ducklings)

George (appointed moderator against his will)

Special guest: Sebastian Vettel (for spiritual guidance)

George (serious voice):

“We’re here today because we believe Carlos Sainz has been... possessed.”

Christian:

“By a fertility demon. A very horny one.”

Ollie (whispers):

“He looked at Toto and said ‘Are you next?’”

Toto (monotone):

“I have not known peace since Abu Dhabi 2021. But this is worse.”

……

Seb (gently):

“Carlos, darling, I support you. Just… maybe wait until someone notices your heat pheromones before you melt the paddock.”

Carlos (throws hands up):

“Thank you, Sebastian. At least one German understands me.”

…

Charles (blinking):

“Wait… Carlos wants to be pregnant?”

Carlos (deadpan):

“You’re the smartest Ferrari driver in years, babe.”

Oscar:

“But you were just being… weird.”

Carlos:

“I wore a shirt that said ‘fill me up like a tank on strategy day.’”

Max:

“I thought it was a fuel efficiency thing.”

….

Carlos finally explains it clearly. All four husbands nod. There’s a pause.

Max (already shirtless):

“To the bedroom?”

Carlos:

“Make me a father, Verstappen.”

Lando (dragging Carlos):

“No more hints. Next time just text ‘breed me now.’”

Meanwhile, the rookies:

Ollie (to Kimi):

“...Do you think we’ll ever understand adult love?”

Kimi (eating cupcake sperm):

“No. But it’s funny.”

Isack and Gabe:

"We are happy to have a baby sibling"

…

 One Year Later

Baby Alejandro Verstappen-Leclerc-Norris-Piastri-Sainz is born.

Pierre is the honorary gay uncle.

Toto refuses to talk about “The Incident.”

Carlos is glowing, smug, and keeps calling himself “Mamá of the Year."

......

FOR MORE FICS OF MINE VISIT: https://riavolkov.stck.me/

4 times the PR team panicked + 1 time they gave up - carlos poly

Our boyfriend is a Vampire? - Carlos poly

Spanish for dummies - Carlos poly

My Neighbor Hates Me: So Why’s He Bringing Me Soup? - Versainz

Summary:

Max and Carlos quietly soft launch their three year relationship through cryptic Instagram hints, sending the F1 world and the driver group chat into chaos.

Carlos had always said Max wasn’t the sentimental type. He wasn’t the kind of man who strung pretty words together, who whispered compliments just for the sake of making you blush. No....Max Verstappen’s affection was something quieter, heavier, something that wrapped itself around you without warning and refused to let go.

It was in the way he dragged Carlos against his chest every night, like gravity itself was insisting they sleep tangled together. It was in the weight of his hands....large, steady, grounding....pressed firm against Carlos’s stomach as if to remind him, I’m here. I’ve got you. It was in the way Max let him ramble, endlessly, about things he only half-listened to: the trajectory of some overtaking maneuver in 2016, the vineyard he wanted to visit one day, a fact about how seagulls supposedly changed formation mid-flight to confuse predators.

Max never told him to stop. He never interrupted. He just listened, silent, like Carlos’s voice filled the empty corners of him.

That night was no different....at first. Carlos was nestled comfortably, his back to Max’s chest, the duvet heavy and warm over them. The low hum of the city outside bled faintly through the hotel window, soft enough to lull but not disturb. His fingers traced idle, absentminded circles on Max’s forearm, sometimes pausing to press against the veins he could feel under skin. He spoke lazily, words rolling out like a steady current.

Max had been unusually quiet, but Carlos hadn’t thought much of it. He liked when Max was quiet. He liked knowing his voice could pull Max under, that he could talk about anything....about nothing....and Max would hold him a little tighter, as if every word mattered.

And then....without warning....Max shifted, lowering his head. A brush of lips ghosted over the back of Carlos’s neck, so soft Carlos thought for a second he had imagined it. The kiss lingered, breath warm against his skin, before Max murmured into him, voice low, almost reverent.

“I want to tell everyone.”

Carlos stilled. His hand froze mid-circle against Max’s arm. The air seemed to thicken between them. “Tell everyone what?” he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

There was no hesitation. Max’s voice came firm, steady, threaded with something Carlos couldn’t quite name....pride, hunger, the kind of certainty that left no room for argument.

“About us. About you. I want everyone to know you’re mine.”

The words burned hot in Carlos’s chest.

For three years, they had built a world out of secrecy. Three years of stolen weekends in quiet towns, of booking separate flights but meeting at the same destination. Three years of careful choreography in public, two men orbiting each other but never touching, never too close, never too obvious. It had been necessary....at first. Fragile things thrived in the dark, and their love was something Carlos had wanted to shield, to protect from the noise.

But the way Max said it now....low, proud, smug in that infuriating Max way....felt different. It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a confession. It was a declaration, as if Max had already made up his mind and all that was left was for Carlos to hear it.

Carlos let the silence stretch, let the weight of it sink in. He could feel Max’s heartbeat against his spine, steady and insistent, like it was daring him to disagree.

Instead, he smiled into the dark, that familiar mischievous curl tugging at his lips. He tilted his head just enough that Max could feel the movement, just enough to let him know he wasn’t resisting.

“Why not, cariño?” he whispered, warmth in every syllable. “Let’s give them something to talk about.”

The grip around his waist tightened. A quiet, satisfied sound rumbled against his back, and Carlos closed his eyes, smug in his own right. He had always thought Max wasn’t the sentimental type....but in this moment, wrapped in Max’s arms, with the promise of their secret becoming something undeniable, Carlos wondered if maybe this was sentiment after all.

Raw, unpolished. Unshakable.

……

Max’s Instagram changed overnight.

First, a picture of his cat, curled contentedly on someone’s lap. At first glance, it looked like any other domestic snapshot....until fans zoomed in. The hand petting her was tanned, elegant, with a thin white scar running across the knuckle. No one recognized it as the scar Carlos had carried since Monaco, 2017.

Then came the “innocent” photo dump. A streak of fire-colored sunset over a coastline. The blurred interior of a car, dashboard lights glowing faintly in the dusk. A restaurant table, with two glasses of Rioja....one nearly empty, one still full, the rim smudged with the faintest trace of fingerprints.

A few days later, Max uploaded a shot of a chessboard. The caption read simply: “2–1.” Fans zoomed in again, desperate for clues. In the reflection of the polished wood, a grin flickered faintly in the background. Sharp jawline, familiar dimpled cheek....someone, someone, they swore they’d seen before.

The comments section exploded.

Who’s the girl?? No way Max is posting thirst-trap soft launches. The wine glass. The reflection. Who is it?? What if it’s someone new??

The speculation churned across fan pages, F1 gossip accounts, even leaked into post-race interviews where journalists asked sly, knowing questions. But the truth never landed anywhere close. Not one person....not a fan, not a journalist, not even anyone in the paddock....suspected Carlos.

Which was exactly how Carlos liked it.

He thrived in the shadows of Max’s hints, watching chaos unravel on Twitter threads full of blurry screenshots and wild theories. He would curl up beside Max at night, scrolling with barely concealed glee, lips tugging into that smug, mischievous smile Max knew too well.

One evening, Carlos was practically shaking with laughter as he read a post claiming Max was secretly dating an interior designer from Amsterdam based on “the wine choice and lighting.”

Max, sitting beside him, glanced up from his phone and raised an eyebrow. “You’re enjoying this too much.”

Carlos set his phone down, leaning into him, smugness radiating off every line of his body. He pressed a kiss against Max’s jaw, soft but deliberate. “Of course. It’s fun when they can’t see what’s right in front of them.”

Max huffed, but his arm slid around Carlos’s waist, tugging him closer until their foreheads almost touched. “One day,” he murmured, lips brushing Carlos’s temple, “they’ll see.”

Carlos’s grin softened into something warmer, fonder. He rested his head against Max’s shoulder, the glow of the phone screen casting them both in silver-blue light. “Until then,” he whispered, “it’s our game.”

And god, Carlos loved games.

Max’s Instagram slowly turned into a trail of love notes disguised as ordinary snapshots.

The Food Shot. Max almost never posted meals. But suddenly, there was a neat plate of pasta, captioned: “He cooks better than I do.” The comments went wild....who was he? Who was feeding Max Verstappen? Carlos, meanwhile, spent the rest of the evening smirking into his wine glass.

The Playlist Screenshot. A Spotify story. A half-second too long on a Spanish song, captioned with nothing but a flame emoji. Fans debated endlessly. Does Max even speak Spanish? Who’s making him listen to this?

Every new post sent fans spiraling further. The paddock whispered too, quietly, always assuming it was some woman hidden away from the cameras. Nobody dared to guess Carlos.

And every time Carlos caught sight of a new post, he’d tilt his head, amused, eyes glinting as he leaned into Max and murmured:

“You’re bold, cariño.”

Max would just press a kiss to his temple and reply, “Not bold. Just proud.”

….

It didn’t take long before the drivers’ WhatsApp chat combusted.

Lando: bro what’s going on with max’s insta?? George: yeah who’s the mystery woman?? 👀 Pierre: I’m telling you, that’s not a woman. Look at those hands. Charles: Hands? Really? That’s your evidence? Pierre: you can tell by the veins, mate. very… masculine. Alex: ngl Pierre might be right. those are definitely guy hands. Lando: WAIT. IS MAX GAY?? Lewis: maybe he’s just soft launching his cat. Oscar: nobody soft launches a cat, Lewis. Valtteri: …why am I in this chat. Lando: bc ur suspiciously quiet?? do u know something?? Valtteri: no. I just don’t care.

Carlos, sitting comfortably in the corner of the Red Bull motorhome, scrolled through the messages with an evil grin tugging at his lips. He didn’t type a single word. He didn’t need to. Every panicked theory, every screenshot zooming in on his own damn hand, was more entertaining than Netflix.

When Max finally came over, towel slung around his neck from training, Carlos was half-curled on the sofa, shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.

“Qué pasa?” Max asked, eyebrow raised.

Carlos turned the phone toward him, screen lit with Pierre’s dramatic hand analysis and Oscar’s cat commentary. His grin was positively wicked.

Max squinted at the messages, unimpressed. “Pierre needs a hobby.”

Carlos bit back a laugh, voice thick with smugness. “They’re all obsessed with you. And they have no idea it’s me.”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Max muttered, though there was a curl of pride in his tone, unmistakable.

Carlos leaned closer, brushing his lips along Max’s jaw, whispering against his skin: “Of course. It’s fun when they can’t see what’s right in front of them.”

Max only hummed, arm sliding around Carlos’s waist as he stole the phone to type one-handed.

Max: stop guessing. you’ll find out soon enough.

The chat exploded instantly. Carlos barked a laugh, burying his face against Max’s shoulder as the notifications poured in.

And for the first time, Max didn’t mind the chaos. He was too busy holding the man everyone was too blind to see.

….

It all came crashing down at Zandvoort.

They’d just finished qualifying, Max on pole, Carlos P2. In the press pen, the mood was light. Someone asked Max about working with Carlos again. Max, distracted, smiling too wide, slipped.

“It’s great. I mean, I’ve been saying it for years....Carlos is the best teammate, and also the best lover.”

The silence was deafening. Cameras clicked. Journalists blinked. Carlos froze mid-step behind him, lips twitching.

“Sorry, what did you say?” the reporter pushed.

Max blinked once, twice, then smiled....smug, unbothered. “You heard me.”

Carlos finally stepped forward, stealing Max’s mic with a grin. “Three years, chicos. You’re very late to the party.”

…

The world combusted. Headlines everywhere:

“Verstappen and Sainz Confirm Three-Year Relationship”

“Soft Launch to Hard Reveal: How the F1 Internet Missed It”

“From Toro Rosso to Red Bull to Romance”

The grid group chat? Utter chaos.

Lando: THREE YEARS??? George: I feel betrayed. Pierre: The hands. I told you. Charles: I need to lie down.

And Max? Max didn’t care. He pulled Carlos close on the way back to the motorhome, lacing their fingers together in full view of every camera.

Because now the world knew what he’d always known: Carlos’s heart was his, and he wasn’t planning to hide it ever again.

.....

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The guest in room 407- Carlos poly

The Threesome investigation - Charles x Max x Carlos

Summary:

Max loses his mind (+ dignity) every time Charles teases him on the radio… and maybe kind of loves it.

Max slammed his helmet against the pit wall for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, the hard plastic reverberating against his skull in a rhythm that matched the racing pulse in his veins.

His gloves slipped slightly against the wall, his fingers curling in frustration, and he could practically feel the heat rising to his face.

"You were way too tight there, Charles! Way too tight!” he yelled, his voice raw from shouting over engine roar and tire squeal.

Charles, leaning lazily against his car with that infuriatingly calm posture, tilted his head just slightly, letting his dark hair fall over one eye, and flashed that smug grin that could drive Max insane on a good day....or completely unhinge him on a bad one. “Oh… you like it when it’s tight?” he said, his voice slow and deliberate, dripping with amusement.

Max froze, the words echoing in his head like a cruel, mocking soundtrack. Tight corner! Not… oh god, don’t let him see me like this! His palms went clammy inside his gloves, and he could feel every member of the pit crew’s eyes subtly on him, their quiet snickers brushing at the edge of his awareness.

Engineers hid behind clipboards, pretending to take notes but failing spectacularly as barely contained laughter betrayed them.

Max’s chest tightened....he wanted, no, needed....to crawl into a gearbox and disappear into mechanical oblivion.

“I....no, that’s not what I meant!” he stammered, words tumbling over each other in a mess of panic, his ears hot with embarrassment.

His face probably matched the engine’s heat under the midday sun, and he felt sure his hair had gone irreversibly damp with stress.

Charles just laughed, a sharp, teasing sound that cut through the pit noise like a scalpel, and Max felt something inside him tighten again. “Relax, Max. I know exactly what you meant.”

Max blinked, stunned, unable to form a coherent thought beyond oh no, oh no, oh no.

He wanted to clarify, to shout over the team and explain the technicality, the corner, the racing....anything to reclaim his dignity....but every time he opened his mouth, the words refused to come.

It was like his brain had short-circuited under the weight of Charles’ smirk, under the heat of the sun, and under the heat of… something else.

Practice went downhill from there.

Every corner, every braking point, became a battlefield of miscommunication.

Max’s internal panic ratcheted with each passing lap.

Every frustrated shout at Charles somehow came out through the comms with an unintended, dangerously flirtatious tone, thanks to some technical glitch that Max now cursed with every fiber of his being.

“You’re so slippery!” he barked after a particularly late-braking maneuver, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white, hoping....praying....that it sounded purely like racing jargon.

Charles’ voice returned over the radio, slow, teasing, and deliberate: “Careful, Max. I might actually enjoy it if you say that again.”

Max groaned, head hitting the steering wheel, as if the vehicle itself could absorb some of the shame he felt. Why does he have to make it sound like he’s enjoying it? Why am I… maybe kind of enjoying it?

His heart thudded erratically, and a part of him....an infuriating, ridiculous, impossible part....didn’t hate the way Charles’ voice drew out the words, stretched them, made them sound like something completely different from what he intended.

Every lap after that, Max found himself oscillating between full-blown exasperation and involuntary distraction.

His normally razor-sharp focus blurred, tires sliding more than usual because he was too busy calculating Charles’ smirk, the glint in his eye, the way the edges of his mouth curved just slightly when he knew Max was flustered.

He clenched his jaw, telling himself to concentrate, to drive, to not let a single thought stray beyond racing lines....but somehow, it always did.

By the end of the session, Max was exhausted, flushed, and painfully aware that he had probably given the entire team a private show of him losing his mind.

And in the back of his brain, a small, shameful voice whispered: Maybe I wouldn’t mind if he teased me like this… again.

….

Later that day, the pit lane had become its usual whirlwind of activity....engine fumes hanging thick in the air, tires squealing, mechanics shouting over each other, and the faint tang of burnt rubber lingering from the morning session.

Max skidded his car into position, tires hissing against the asphalt, heart hammering from adrenaline and barely-contained rage.

He was furious, every ounce of focus sharpened into a single, irritable point: Charles.

Charles was directly in his way, hugging the line like he owned it, completely oblivious to Max’s growing irritation.

“Move your ass faster! I’m trying to get through, Charles!” Max barked into the radio, his voice strained from both shouting and the effort to stay in control of the car.

Exasperation practically radiated off him in waves. Every flick of his wrist, every inch forward felt like a battle, and the red mist of frustration made him see only Charles’ smug car ahead.

Inside his own cockpit, Charles was the picture of calm mischief. He leaned back slightly in his seat, one eyebrow quirked in that infuriatingly self-satisfied way, and tapped the steering wheel with a slow, deliberate finger.

Then he spoke over the radio, voice low, teasing, and impossibly composed: “Hmm… maybe you like a little friction… and thinking about my ass, huh?”

Max’s brain short-circuited.

His eyes nearly bugged out of his skull, hands gripping the wheel so hard that his knuckles went pale. What did he just say? Did he really just....oh no, oh no, oh no!

His whole body stiffened as he waved his arms frantically inside the tight confines of the cockpit, wishing he could somehow telegraph his frantic denial to the outside world. “No! I mean....track friction! Not… ugh!”

Behind them, the pit crew had stopped for just a fraction of a second, eyes darting between the two cars, trying desperately not to laugh aloud.

Engineers whispered under their breath, barely containing their amusement as Max’s flustered voice cut through the radio again and again.

Some stifled giggles slipped past lips hidden behind helmets and visors, while others exchanged incredulous glances, silently agreeing that Max’s “language problem” had officially reached critical levels.

Max could feel heat rising to his cheeks, his ears burning. His heart thudded erratically, half from the exertion, half from the lingering aftershock of Charles’ words, which had settled uncomfortably and deliciously in his mind.

He tried to refocus, to concentrate on the track, on the tires, on the perfect exit of the pit lane....but every time his gaze flicked to Charles’ car, that smirk, that eyebrow, that tap of the wheel....it was like a spark setting off fireworks inside him.

He cursed under his breath, muttering incoherently, frustrated at the track, the traffic, and, most of all, at himself. And yet, buried somewhere under the panic, under the fluster, under the racing adrenaline, there was a tiny, guilty, infuriating thought: Maybe… I kind of like it when he does that.

….

By the next race weekend, Max had become hyper-aware of the comms, nearly paranoid. Every time he opened his mouth to complain, he could feel the weight of Charles’ teasing potential hovering like a predator. The roar of the engines, the scent of burnt rubber, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins made it impossible to think clearly, and Max knew....knew....that one misstep in tone could undo him completely.

Racing through the third corner of the lap, tires squealing against the curbing, Max felt Charles creep dangerously close on the inside line. He clenched the wheel tighter, heart hammering, and shouted into the comms with every ounce of authority he could muster: “Stop grinding me there, it’s too much!”

There was a pause. And then Charles’ voice came back, silky and deliberate, perfectly timed, every word dripping with teasing intent. “Oh, Max…” The smirk was audible even over the comms, a slow, teasing curl in his tone. “You don’t know what I can do with my hands…”

Max’s jaw nearly unhinged in disbelief. His knuckles turned white against the steering wheel as he slammed it reflexively, muttering something incoherent under his breath. “Why is he like this? Why am I like this?” Every rational thought fled, replaced by a flurry of panic, heat, and an alarming flutter in his chest.

The next few corners became a blur. Max alternated between glaring fiercely at Charles’ car, cheeks burning hotter with every heartbeat, and accidentally letting out small, flustered chuckles that he immediately tried to mask with a growl or muttered curse. His racing line faltered ever so slightly, tires scraping curbs harder than usual, but he couldn’t tear his eyes....or his mind....away from Charles, who seemed impossibly calm, utterly unbothered, and devastatingly smug.

Every shift of Charles’ car, every subtle movement, every teasing note in his voice became a tormenting symphony for Max. He gritted his teeth, trying to focus on braking points and apexes, but the image of that smirk, the playful tone, and the insinuating words lodged themselves firmly in his mind. Each corner became a battle not just for position, but for control over his own rapidly spiraling emotions.

By the end of the lap, Max was a mix of exhaustion and exasperation. Sweat clung to the back of his neck under the helmet, and his racing suit felt tighter somehow, suffocating. He took a shaky breath, trying to steady his pulse, and realized, with an involuntary grimace, that a small, infuriating part of him had enjoyed it. That part hated him for it.

And somewhere deep in his chest, Max couldn’t help but know that this....Charles’ smirk, the teasing tone, the dangerously flirtatious timing....was not going to stop anytime soon.

…..

Race day. Max was walking the grid, angrily pointing at Charles’ car. “You’re way too slippery in the turns!”

Charles leaned closer, voice dripping mischief. “Do you like it slippery, or is it just frustrating?”

Max’s face turned crimson. “I....It’s....don’t....Stop that!” Cameras flashed, immortalizing his mortification for the world to see.

The teasing didn’t stop there. As they buckled into their cars, Max yelled over the radio, “Don’t choke me in the chicane!”

Charles’ smirk was audible: “You like choking, huh?”

Max groaned, half wanting to strangle Charles and half wanting to run. “You keep banging into me!” he shouted, then muttered under his breath, “In the track…ugh, not....you know…”

Charles only leaned back, clearly ready to fire another teasing line. “Too hard, huh? I can fix that.”

“Argh!” Max yelled in frustration.

“Sounds like you’re enjoying yourself…”

“Screw you!” Max snapped, collapsing in his seat.

“Careful… that word comes with consequences,” Charles replied smoothly, voice thick with amusement.

….

By the end of the weekend, Max was exhausted and flustered. Every incident....the “tight corner” comment, the “slippery” comms, the pit lane disaster, the grid humiliation....had built a tension between them that was now practically palpable.

As they stepped out of their cars for the podium photos, Charles caught Max’s eye, eyebrow cocked. “You know, Max… you’re adorable when you’re this angry.”

Max turned beet-red. “I am not adorable.”

Charles smirked, hand brushing Max’s arm lightly. “Oh, I think you secretly like it.”

Max sputtered, completely losing his composure. And maybe he did. Maybe all of this chaos, teasing, and embarrassment had been driving him crazy for weeks....and maybe, just maybe, he was starting to like it a little too much.

.....

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The guest in room 407- Carlos poly

The Threesome investigation - Charles x Max x Carlos

Summary:

Grumpy, Christmas-hating Max slowly falls for the holiday with Carlos ...through hot chocolate, tangled lights, and stubborn warmth. By Christmas Eve, he realizes it was never the season he hated, just the loneliness.

Max Verstappen doesn’t hate Christmas. He just doesn’t get the point.

The songs are annoying. The lights are overwhelming. People suddenly pretend to be nice to each other and wear fuzzy sweaters like that will fix anything.

He tells people it’s too commercial. Too fake.

But the truth?

Max hates Christmas because it reminds him he’s always been alone.

He remembers Decembers spent in hotels during testing. Cold mornings. His dad telling him to eat faster, train harder.

The only twinkle lights were the cheap ones blinking in the corner of some race engineer’s office. No stockings. No carols. No family dinners.

Even now, when he's technically not alone — he has friends, a team, fans — he still feels like he's the one always watching everyone else celebrate from a distance.

Then Carlos happens.

And Carlos, his boyfriend is everything Max isn’t — warm, loud, annoying, persistent, and utterly, unapologetically obsessed with Christmas.

...........

Carlos loves Christmas.

Like, obnoxiously loves it.

He decorates on December 1st. He has a playlist. He bakes. He burns things, yes, but he tries. He drags Max to Christmas markets, hums Christmas songs in the garage, and wears holiday socks like a man possessed.

“C’mon, Verstappen,” he says one afternoon, half buried in tangled lights. “Even you can’t be immune to this much joy.”

Max glares at him. “Watch me.”

But Carlos doesn’t back down. He never does.

That’s what makes him Carlos.

...........

It starts with Carlos showing up at Max’s Monaco flat with a tree.

Not a small one. A massive, bushy, pine-scented monster of a thing.

“You’re welcome,” he says, brushing snow off his jacket.

Max blinks. “What is that?”

“It’s a tree, Max. A Christmas tree. And we’re putting it up together.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Too bad. Already in your living room.”

Max grumbles. Carlos smiles like he’s already won.

And maybe he has.

...........

That night, Max ends up helping hang lights.

Carlos hums along to his playlist while arranging ornaments — weird ones, like a clay reindeer and a bauble shaped like an engine. He insists on hot chocolate. Not the packet kind — real stuff with milk, cinnamon.

Max sips it with a reluctant grunt. It’s good. It’s too good. Annoyingly so.

“You’re trying to make me like Christmas, aren’t you?”

Carlos smiles over the rim of his mug. “Is it working?”

Max doesn’t answer.

But when Carlos leans over to stick a star on the tree and his shirt rides up just enough to show skin, Max definitely isn’t thinking about how much he hates the holidays anymore.

.......

A week passes.

More decorations. More cocoa. More Carlos.

They watch Christmas movies on Max’s couch. Max protests — “this is stupid” — but halfway through The Holiday, Carlos catches him watching the screen with soft eyes.

Carlos nudges him. “You’re melting.”

“Shut up.”

One night, Carlos falls asleep on the couch, head on Max’s shoulder. Max doesn’t move for hours.

He just… stays.

And breathes.

And lets himself pretend.

............

It’s Christmas Eve.

They’re wrapping presents together. Carlos is in a red hoodie that says Sleigh My Name, and Max is wearing the reindeer socks Carlos gave him last week, which he swore he’d never wear.

Carlos pauses mid-ribbon and looks at him.

“You don’t hate it,” he says, smiling, but quiet.

Max looks up. “What?”

“This. Christmas. All of it. You don’t hate it.”

Max doesn’t reply right away. His fingers twist the corner of the wrapping paper.

“No,” he admits softly. “I hated being alone during it.”

Carlos’s eyes soften.

“You’re not alone now,” he says.

And that’s when Max kisses him.

Just once. Soft. Sure.

Carlos blinks. And then he’s smiling into it.

............

The lights from the tree cast a golden glow across the living room. Carlos is curled up on Max’s lap, legs draped over his thighs, warm and relaxed. He’s holding a big mug of hot chocolate — Max’s stupid, overcomplicated, cinnamon-laced recipe — and tapping out voice notes in their group chat to Lando, Charles, and Oscar.

“¡Feliz Navidad, idiotas!” Carlos grins into the phone. “Max says nothing, but he’s here and warm and brooding. That’s basically a holiday miracle.”

Max rolls his eyes but says nothing. His arms tighten around Carlos’s waist, one hand slipping under the hoodie to rest on warm skin.

Carlos keeps talking, laughing. He tastes like chocolate and marshmallow when Max presses a kiss behind his ear.

And in that moment, with the tree glowing, and Carlos real and solid and his, Max thinks —

Christmas isn’t bad. Not at all.

Not when it ends like this.

......

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