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synopsis: You're way too trusting for your own good. Garrett realizes quickly that he has to step in to make sure you're not taken advantage of. And if he ends up getting you in the process, well, that's just a bonus.
It kind of just happened, given how impossible it was for him to take his eyes off you.
He didn't recognize you as one of Briar U's infamous puck bunnies, mainly because there wasn't a group of sophomore hockey players surrounding you. You stood near the fridge in the hockey house kitchen, nursing a red Solo cup, a cute pink purse tucked under your arm and held close to your side. The way your wide eyes wandered around the room gave him the impression that you were a little out of your depth.
If he were anything like Dean, he would've approached you already and figured out your deal.
Why did you smile politely when partygoers pushed past you?
He watched as a dude fully grabbed your hip. Your body jolted at his touch, and he could read your lips as the word sorry left them.
Sorry.
To the guy who'd touched you.
Your eyes lit up when a tall redheaded girl in an impossibly short black dress approached you. She stood in stark contrast to your mom jeans and light pink tube top.
Your friend, Garrett assumed.
She leaned down to whisper something into your ear. Your face fell for only a moment before you nodded.
He was almost sure your response was:
"Okay, that's fine."
He understood your disappointment moments later when Dean made his appearance, shirtless and drunk off his ass. He swept up your redheaded friend and started carrying her toward the back hallway.
Garrett had no excuse for not approaching you now.
If you were waiting for your friend to finish hooking up with Dean, you'd be waiting a long while.
Garrett took a swig from the one beer he was allowing himself on a night before a game.
Unfortunately, someone else had the same idea.
He recognized the guy immediately. Tall. Lanky. One of Beau's fraternity brothers. A senior on the swim team.
Mark.
Or Mateo.
Probably not Michael.
Whatever his name was, he wanted to fuck you.
Curious, Garrett decided to keep his distance. He watched from across the room as he approached the speaker blasting '80s rock music. He grabbed Logan's phone from the table and changed the song, all while keeping one eye on you.
It was almost offensive how forward the guy was being.
He had a hand on your shoulder, and he was standing so close that you were forced to tilt your head back to look at him.
"Yeah... we talked upstairs. Remember?"
You politely shook your head.
"I don't think it was me."
Your voice was sweet.
Garrett could tell that much.
Wanting to hear more of the conversation, he lowered the volume of the music.
"I know I'm so fucking drunk right now, but we ran into each other outside the bathroom. I remember. You're so hot I know I'd remember you. You don't want to kiss me again?"
He grabbed your hand.
"Uhm, no, thank you. B-but... I really don't... uhm—"
The guy started pulling.
And your feet followed.
Your eyes were panicked, but your body moved anyway.
Jesus Christ.
He wasn't getting the hint.
It didn't help that you still had that polite smile on your face.
Fuck.
Were you seriously so polite that you were going to let this idiot drag you away even though you'd clearly never met him before?
Absolutely fucking not.
Garrett's feet moved before his brain really registered what he was doing.
He shoved himself between you and Swim Team Whatever-His-Name-Was and forced your hands apart.
He wasn't trying to embarrass the guy.
He shoved his shoulder just hard enough to make him stumble.
"She said no."
"What the fuck?"
Bold and clearly running on liquid courage, the guy took a step toward Garrett.
The standoff lasted all of three seconds.
Then recognition dawned.
Because Garrett Graham was standing in front of him.
"Are you dumb?" Garrett asked. "Can't you tell she doesn't want to talk to you?"
The guy gritted his teeth.
"I was just..." He looked at you. Then back at Garrett. "She's all yours, man."
And just like that, he stumbled away in search of another vulnerable girl.
Your eyes looked just as panicked when Garrett turned back toward you.
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene."
Garrett savored the chance to finally look at you up close.
Your makeup was soft. A light dusting of blush colored your cheeks. Your lips were glossy and glittered faintly under the kitchen lights.
Your hair was pulled back with a floral headband.
Worst of all, you smelled like lavender and vanilla.
Garrett stepped closer.
Shielding you from the crowd.
Blocking you in until your back met the kitchen counter.
He wasn't sure how subtle it was when he leaned closer just to breathe you in.
"I know it's your party..." you whispered.
Your voice trailed off.
You stared up at him as if he were a wolf and you were prey.
Honestly?
The comparison wasn't far off.
If Garrett had to compare you to an animal, it would be a baby deer.
Wide-eyed, nervous and completely unaware of how vulnerable you were.
"You're..."
"Garrett," he finished for you. "What's your name?"
"Y/N."
The answer came out almost too quickly.
Too trusting.
Y/N.
It bounced around inside his head while his imagination immediately started building a picture of who you were.
A picture he already suspected he'd be thinking about later tonight.
"You're not really sorry, right?" he asked. "Because that asshole was the one trying to trick you into hooking up with him."
"I don't think he was..."
Garrett stared.
You genuinely seemed to be considering it.
As if you'd only just realized the guy had been hitting on you.
"I think he was just confused."
All Garrett really knew about you was your name.
But he'd already decided you were perfect.
Seriously lacking in street smarts.
But perfect nonetheless.
His jaw ticked.
He regretted not putting the guy through the floor.
"I think he's lucky I'm a nice guy."
You completely missed the meaning behind that statement.
He could tell because you immediately replied:
"Your house is really nice too. Thank you for having me. I mean, you didn't really invite me. Dean invited my roommate, but—"
You stopped yourself.
Realizing you were rambling.
"I mean, it's a good party."
Garrett grinned.
"Thank you. Your roommate is the redhead?"
You nodded.
"She just disappeared with Dean."
"Is she your ride?"
Garrett planted a hand on either side of you.
Close enough to feel your breathing change.
Close enough to know he was overwhelming your senses.
"Yeah. I was just gonna wait for her to... you know. Get done."
"You might be waiting a while."
Your mouth parted.
Then closed.
Had that possibility genuinely not occurred to you?
"Well, that's okay." Your smile was small. "If it gets too late, I can call someone. There's this guy in my Instructional Tech class who said he'd give me a ride if I ever needed one."
Garrett's brows immediately knitted together.
"A random guy in your class?"
"He's not random. We have class together."
"Have you ever hung out with him outside of class?"
"Well, no. But he's nice. And I can't really afford an Uber all the way back to my apartment."
Another guy who wanted to fuck you.
And you had absolutely no idea.
Garrett was beginning to notice a pattern.
He was already starting to hate the idea of letting you leave this house and return to your own devices.
"Your friend kinda sucks for bringing you here and then abandoning you."
The words came out before he could stop them.
Instantly, he regretted it.
Your face fell.
"I-I wanted to come."
"You like parties?"
"I like parties."
You practically struggled to force the words out.
A terrible lie.
Your discomfort was written all over your face.
"And she's a good friend."
"Hmm."
Garrett pushed away from the counter, finally giving you room to breathe.
"There's a good chance they're going to fuck all night, Y/N. If you want to crash here, there's a spare bedroom. If not, I can drive you home. I've only had one beer."
"You don't have to do that, Garrett. It's so out of the way. I'll find a ride."
Say my name again.
Please.
"You're adorable, you know that?"
You smiled immediately.
Embarrassed.
"Are you making fun of me?"
"Never," Garrett replied sincerely. "Let me drive you home."
Because an adorable little bunny like you wasn't getting into a car with some random loser from class.
"I..."
You pressed your lips together under the weight of his stare.
Had you ever told anyone no before?
"I should check in with my friend first—"
Garrett's hand found the small of your back.
"Sure."
He guided you toward the hallway.
"If my predictions are correct, they're probably in the laundry room."
Not a single word of protest left your mouth.
The irony of the situation dawned on him. He didn’t want someone else to take advantage of you, and yet he was practically doing the same, but Garrett was nothing like the guys who only wanted to fuck you. He actually had substance that backed up his bravado. Everyone at Briar knew that, and Garrett was watching as you came to the same revelation. Hockey captain. Six-foot-whatever. He was someone not to be fucked with. Maybe that’s why your body relaxed under his touch, and you let him lead you to the end of the downstairs hallway.
Garrett would bet a million dollars that his best friend Dean was fucking your red-headed friend with the door wide open. He pushed you ahead of him, his other hand finding the other side of your hip, holding you as you peeked into the doorway. As if you’d seen a ghost, Garrett watches as your hands slap against your own eyes.
Garrett couldn’t hold back the deep rumbling in his throat as he laughed. He took his own peek and found your red-headed friend bent over the running dryer as Dean pounded into her from behind. You turned around quickly, practically pressing your face into his chest, “Oh my goodness. Why did they leave the door open?”
“As you can see, your friend is occupied. Are you ready to go now, princess?” Garrett grabbed you by your chin, forcing your frightened eyes to look up at his.
You nodded, long eyelashes batting up at him. He takes another mental picture for later. He imagined his cock down your throat, that same look of fear and wonder in your eyes. He clears his throat, pushing the lewd thought out of his mind, “Then let’s get you home.”
Your apartment building might as well have been condemned.
It was a rude thought born from privilege, but Garrett couldn't suppress the uneasy feeling creeping up the back of his neck.
Of course you lived on the worst side of town.
During the twenty-minute drive, he'd learned how you'd ended up at Briar and, subsequently, at the hockey house.
You'd transferred in January and had been forced to find housing at the last minute.
That's how you'd met Paige, the redheaded puck bunny.
Apparently, she was renting out her couch and charging you half the rent.
“It pulls out.”
“What?”
“The couch.” You glanced over at him. “I'm not just sleeping on her couch. It pulls out and turns into a bed.”
Garrett shot you an incredulous look, taking his eyes off the road for a second.
“Where do you keep all your shit?”
“We turned the coat closet into my personal closet.” You smiled proudly. “It's actually more convenient than you'd think. And I don't have that much stuff anyway.”
You paused before adding softly,
“The important thing is that I'm here. You have no idea how long I've wanted to go to school here.”
Your eyes were bright and hopeful, standing in sharp contrast to the darkness outside the Jeep.
“And you're an education major?”
“Yeah.” You answered quickly, pleased that he'd remembered. “Elementary education.”
“That's cool.”
Garrett pulled into a parking space in front of your building and shifted the Jeep into park. The engine died and silence crept inside the vehicle.
He tucked his keys into the pocket of his sweatpants before leaning across the center console and unclipping your seatbelt.
His face ended up a little closer to yours than necessary.
“I'll walk you up.”
“You don't have to, really.” You offered him a small smile. “This is already too much.”
Too much.
The phrase irritated him more than it should have.
Was basic kindness really that foreign to you?
“I'm a gentleman, princess. Of course I have to.”
You laughed softly.
“Paige talks all the time about how hockey players are the exact opposite of gentlemen.”
Your roommate is an idiot, princess.
“Then let me prove her wrong.”
The words came out low and certain.
Garrett realized, as he climbed out of the Jeep and rounded the front of the vehicle to open your door, that he'd never meant anything more.
“Oh, I get it now. This is the same girl from the party.”
Garrett watched as Dean dug into the huge pile of food on his plate. The dining hall was bustling at lunchtime, and the conversation his friends were having was almost loud enough to cloud his thoughts of you.
Almost.
Until Dean brought up Garrett's new favorite subject.
You.
“Maybe you can invite her friend over again tomorrow since Tuck has people coming over?”
“Who’s her friend?” Dean asked, and Garrett stared back at him, forcing his gaze to remain steady to prevent his eyes from rolling.
“The redhead? Kinda moans like a goat?”
Dean’s lips pulled into a mischievous smile.
“Ah, I see. Freaky Paige. She said her roommate was, like, a super religious virgin and then something else about her growing up in a cult. Which kinda tracks. She just stood there alone smiling at everyone the whole night.”
“What the fuck? Y/N did not. And Paige is full of shit.”
Dean chuckled.
“It doesn’t matter. Paige said that was the last time we were hooking up because she’s getting back with her boyfriend.”
Your roommate really sucks, Bunny.
“Here’s your opportunity, G,” Logan spoke up, abandoning whatever conversation he'd been having with Tucker. He jerked his head toward one of the double doors.
You walked through alone, your hair thrown up in a high ponytail and a pink backpack slung over your shoulder. Although you weren’t smiling, you looked happy, and Garrett could only assume you’d just gotten out of class.
You headed toward the salad bar.
Garrett stood immediately.
He patted Logan on the back in gratitude before making his way over to you.
Your eyes widened in surprise before quickly brightening with unmistakable joy.
You were happy to see him.
“Hey,” he said, even though there was so much more on his mind.
You almost forgot you were filling your tray.
“Hi. How are you?”
“Good.”
Amazing, actually. More like it, now that you’re here.
“What about you?”
“I’m really good. I love Mondays. No afternoon classes.”
“So you’re free the rest of the day?”
Your lips parted in surprise.
You glanced down nervously as you added more toppings to your salad. Garrett followed alongside you.
“Well, yeah. I was gonna do some homework and then... start a new book.”
Jesus.
He even found the idea of you reading alone in your apartment adorable.
“I, uh, wanted to get your number. Totally forgot to ask when I dropped you off the other night.”
“My number?”
“For chauffeuring reasons, of course. Don’t want you getting stranded and having to call Instructional Tech Guy.”
That made you giggle.
“Really?”
“Really.”
You reached the end of the salad bar and started toward the register.
Garrett grabbed the tray from your hands.
“Let me get this.”
“I-I have dining dollars, Garrett. You don’t have to—”
“Save ’em.”
He’d do any small thing he could to take care of you.
At least until he figured out how to have all of you.
Garrett could practically feel his friends’ stares as he carried your tray away and abandoned them completely.
They knew this was more than him trying to score.
Girls threw themselves at Garrett.
In all his years at Briar, he’d never had to chase one.
“Let me see your phone.”
Garrett was already reaching for it before it was halfway out of your pocket.
Your lock screen was a collage of pink aesthetic photos and an orange cat.
“You have a cat?”
“Oh, yeah. That’s Mouse. I’ve had him since middle school, but it didn’t feel right bringing him here. Taking him away from his home.”
“He’s cute,” Garrett commented as he held the phone in front of your face and unlocked it. “Hey, are you religious?”
You blinked up at him.
Up.
Because Garrett was sitting beside you and was still massive even while seated.
“No. Uhm, not really. Wh-why do you ask?”
Stupid, freaky Paige.
“I was, uh, just wondering where you’re from.”
Garrett quickly learned you were from a small town in upstate New York.
From what he gathered, your home life was far from cultish. Nothing toxic.
You just seemed sheltered.
An only child.
He took the opportunity to enter his number into your phone and send himself a text.
“I’m serious about calling me if you need a ride somewhere.”
“You make it seem like Briar is a scary place. Everyone I’ve met is very nice. Including you.”
“I’m flattered, princess. And I agree that most people are nice. But this place has freaks and weirdos, and I’d prefer it if you weren’t anywhere near them.”
He was entitled.
What did it matter what he wanted for you?
He didn’t own you.
He’d met you two nights ago.
And yet you didn’t argue.
Almost as if you already trusted him.
“I’m working to save up enough money for a car, so hopefully I won’t have to bother you or Paige.”
“Where do you work?”
The question came out a little too quickly.
Garrett reminded himself he might scare you off if he didn’t pace himself.
And you did look a little nervous.
But you were an open book.
“I always work game days at the campus bookstore, so I’ve never gone to a game. And then I nanny during the week.”
“Well, if you’re free tonight, let me take you out.”
“Take me out?”
“To dinner.”
“Oh.”
You stared at him, eyes wide and beautiful.
“Why?”
“Why dinner?”
“A dinner date?”
“Yeah.”
“As friends?”
“The opposite, actually.”
Your lips parted, then closed again.
Garrett watched as you intentionally took a deep breath.
In through your nose.
Out through your mouth.
“I’m really trying to keep up here, Garrett.”
Too much.
Too fast.
He was pretty sure that’s what you wanted to say.
You just didn’t want to hurt his feelings.
“Hey. Relax, okay?”
His tone softened immediately.
The deep quality of his voice remained, but there was something undeniably gentle underneath it.
“It’s not a big deal. Just dinner. If you want, you could come over to my place and we could order something. Watch a movie.”
Another deep breath.
“Uhm... and then what?”
And then he’d probably kiss you. And touch you as much as he could before you became a bundle of nerves. So you weren’t completely innocent. Part of you, deep down, knew what dinner and a movie often lead to.
“There’s nothing to be nervous about. I like you, Y/N.”
“I like you too. I mean, I think you’re nice and...”
“And...?” Garrett prompted.
“Handsome.”
You winced as soon as the word left your mouth.
Not because you didn’t mean it.
Because you were worried it was the wrong thing to say.
“I’m sorry. If I’m being honest, I haven’t really been on a date since high school. And I’m a little confused that, out of all the boys at Briar, you—”
Garrett immediately shook his head.
“Are you questioning my taste?”
“Of course not!” you whisper-shouted.
“You’re pretty. You’re sweet. And I haven’t met anyone like you.”
His gaze settled on yours.
“I’d like to keep seeing you. So, I’m gonna drop you off at your apartment. You can read your book and do your homework. Then I’ll come back tonight and pick you up for our date.”
“Are you sure?”
Garrett gave you a look that was just stern enough to make you squirm.
“Okay, okay. That sounds... good.”
You waited until his expression softened before taking another breath.
“Now finish your lunch, baby.”
You nodded quickly and picked up your fork, finally beginning to eat.
dividers by @/strangergraphics
pls reblog with your thoughts to be added to my off campus taglist :)
❤︎ |5,7k| Summary: Lando and Y/n are fated mates and meet in the paddock. Their connection is strong but Lando’s alpha instincts are difficult to control.
The roar of engines still echoed in your ears as you followed Lily through the McLaren garage. It was your first time at a Formula 1 race, and honestly, you were completely overwhelmed. The smell of fuel, the organized chaos, the sheer energy of the place—it was intoxicating.
"You doing okay?" Lily asked, turning to you with a bright smile. Her hand was intertwined with Oscar's, who was still in his racing suit, looking exhausted but satisfied after practice.
"Yeah, just... a lot," you admitted, trying to take in everything without looking like too much of a tourist.
Lily laughed, squeezing your hand. "You get used to it. The paddock parties are way more intense than this."
"Great," you muttered sarcastically, making her laugh harder.
Oscar leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to Lily's cheek. "I need to shower and debrief with the team. You two going to be okay for a bit?"
"We'll be fine," Lily assured him. "Go be a professional race car driver."
With a wink in your direction, Oscar disappeared into the team area, leaving you and Lily to navigate the maze of engineers, mechanics, and team personnel.
"I'm going to run to the bathroom," you told Lily, pointing in the general direction you thought the facilities might be. "Don't leave without me."
"Wouldn't dream of it," she promised, already engaged in conversation with one of the McLaren PR people.
You navigated through the crowd, trying not to bump into anyone carrying expensive-looking equipment. The McLaren garage was a world of its own—orange and black everywhere, screens displaying telemetry data, people speaking in rapid-fire technical jargon. It was fascinating but intimidating.
After finding the bathroom and freshening up, you stepped back into the main area of the garage. That's when it hit you—a strange sensation in your stomach, like butterflies on steroids. It wasn't just nervous excitement; it was something deeper, more intense. Your heart started racing for no apparent reason, and you felt a warmth spreading through your body.
You paused, leaning against a wall to steady yourself. What was happening? Maybe it was just the overwhelming environment getting to you.
And then you heard it—a low growl that seemed to vibrate through the floor, through your entire body.
Your head snapped in the direction of the sound, and suddenly, everything else faded away. The noise of the garage, the people moving around, the music playing somewhere in the distance—it all disappeared.
There, standing not twenty feet away, was the most handsome man you'd ever seen. Tall, lean but clearly muscular beneath his racing team polo, with messy brown curls that fell across his forehead. But it was his eyes that held you captive—a vibrant green that seemed to glow with an inner light.
He was watching you, his head tilted slightly, and as your eyes met, his lips parted to reveal canines that were longer and sharper than normal. Almost like... fangs.
You couldn't look away. There was something primal about him, something that called to a part of you you didn't even know existed. He took a step toward you, and another, his movements fluid and predatory. The growl came again, deeper this time, and you realized he was showing off his teeth, almost like a mating dance.
Your knees felt weak, your heart hammering against your ribs. You should have been scared, but instead, you felt an inexplicable pull toward him.
Before you knew it, he was closing the distance between you with impossible speed. One moment he was across the garage, the next he was right in front of you. And then you were falling, thrown off balance by... something. You braced for impact with the concrete floor, but it never came.
Instead, you felt strong hands—one beneath your head, the other under your ass—cushioning your fall. The impact was absorbed by his hands as they hit the floor, leaving you suspended just above the ground for a moment before he gently lowered you the rest of the way.
You were now lying on the garage floor with this stranger hovering over you, his green eyes intense, his canines still prominently displayed. His hands were still cradling your head and hip, the touch sending sparks through your body.
"Who—?" you started to ask, but the words caught in your throat.
He leaned closer, and for a wild moment, you were sure he was going to kiss you. Your eyes fluttered closed, your lips parting in anticipation.
But instead of lips against yours, you felt something wet against your cheek. Your eyes snapped open to find him... licking your face? Like an actual wolf marking its territory?
He kept licking, long strokes of his tongue against your skin, and to your absolute shock, you felt yourself becoming aroused. The sensation was strangely intimate, and the low moans he was making against your skin weren't helping matters.
That's when you felt it—something hard pressing firmly against your thigh. Even through both your jeans, you could feel the unmistakable outline of his erection, and it was... substantial.
Before you could process this, his hands moved to pin your wrists to the floor above your head. The grip was firm but not painful, and there was no mistaking the strength in those hands.
He shifted, his weight pressing you more firmly into the floor, and then he was leaning in again. This time, he gently bit your nose with those sharp canines, just enough pressure to make you gasp. Then he scraped his teeth against your cheek, the sensation sending shivers down your spine.
His mouth moved to your neck, and you felt him take a long, deep inhale, his nose grazing and tickling your sensitive skin. He was scenting you, you realized with a jolt.
"Please," you whispered, though you weren't sure if you were asking him to stop or continue.
He responded by gently biting your neck, just where it met your shoulder, his teeth scraping against your skin. A moan almost escaped your lips, but you bit it back just in time.
That's when awareness came flooding back—you were lying on the floor of a busy garage, with this stranger pinning you down, and anyone could walk by at any moment. Anyone could see them!
As if reading your thoughts, he began rubbing his nose against your neck, a gesture that was both possessive and strangely comforting. He shifted his body even closer, putting more weight on you as if trying to eliminate any space between you. You felt yourself growing wet, your body responding to his despite your brain screaming that this was insane.
"Lando!"
The female voice was sharp, cutting through the fog that had settled over your mind. "Get off her. Now."
The man—Lando—growled, actually growled, and pressed more weight onto you in response. You felt a tug on his arm, but he didn't budge.
"Lando, I'm not asking again. Go to your drivers room. Now."
Something in her tone must have reached him, because he reluctantly began to move. But instead of letting you up, he pulled you with him, keeping you pressed against his body as he stood.
He started walking, and you had no choice but to follow, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist from behind, his body flush against your back, his head buried in your neck. It was difficult to walk like this, with him essentially clinging to you, but somehow you managed.
The woman led you through a maze of corridors to what you assumed was Lando's drivers room. Once inside, she left, closing the door behind her.
The moment you were alone, Lando started moaning against your neck again, his hips grinding into you from behind. You could feel his erection pressing against you, hard and insistent.
"Stop," you said softly, trying to gently push him away. "Please, stop."
Instead of listening, he gripped your hips tighter and ground harder, his movements becoming more frantic. He was making a mix of moans and other sounds—low growls and whimpers that weren't quite human.
"Lando, stop," you said more firmly, but he only tightened his grip.
"Charlotte," he managed to say, his voice strained. "Call Charlotte."
He fumbled with his phone, eventually managing to hand it to you. You quickly found Charlotte in his contacts and dialed.
"Charlotte? It's... I'm with Lando in his drivers room. He's... not acting right. Can you come help?"
Before she could respond, Lando tightened his grip on you again, starting to whimper. "Sorry," he breathed against your neck. "Can't help it. Can't stop."
You said nothing, too shocked to form words. Within minutes, the door opened and Charlotte entered, followed by two large bodyguards.
They moved quickly to grab Lando, and he immediately snarled and growled loudly, trying to shake them off. When that didn't work, he started whimpering, and you felt your heart clench at the sound. You could see tears in his eyes, and the desperate sounds he was making were breaking your heart.
Charlotte pulled a syringe from a box, the liquid inside a bright yellow.
"What is that?" you asked nervously.
Before Charlotte could answer, the bodyguards had managed to restrain Lando enough for her to administer the injection.
"It's a sedative," Charlotte explained as Lando's struggles began to weaken. "It will calm him down and knock him out for a while. When he wakes up, he'll be more in control."
Lando's eyes began to flutter, and he made grabby hands toward you. The bodyguards carefully moved him to a massage table in the room, and Charlotte nodded at you.
"It's okay," she said gently. "You can go to him."
You approached slowly, your heart still racing. As you got closer, Lando's hand shot out, grabbing yours with surprising strength for someone who was supposed to be sedated.
"Stay," he mumbled, his words slurred. "Love you."
Then his eyes closed completely, and he was out, his breathing deep and even, his mouth slightly open.
You stood there, staring at him, your hand still held tightly in his. The reality of the situation was just beginning to sink in. You looked up at Charlotte and the bodyguards, expecting some kind of reaction, but their faces were completely neutral, as if this was just another day at the office.
"What... what just happened?" you finally managed to ask.
Charlotte gave you a sympathetic look. "We'll leave you two alone for a bit. When he wakes up, we'll come back to help you both to the car. We need to make sure you're safe and that he stays calm."
With that, she and the bodyguards filed out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.
You were alone with him again—well, with his unconscious form, anyway. Your mind was reeling, trying to make sense of everything that had happened. The intense connection, the possessiveness, the way your body had responded to his...
You pulled out your phone with your free hand, your fingers trembling slightly as you dialed Lily.
"Hey! Where did you disappear to? I was about to send out a search party," Lily's cheerful voice came through the phone.
"I... uh... something happened," you said, not sure how to even begin explaining.
"Are you okay? You sound weird."
"I'm fine, I think. Can you come to Lando Norris's drivers room? Alone?"
There was a pause on the other end. "Lando Norris? As in the driver? Why are you in his drivers room?"
"It's... complicated. Just please come?"
"Okay, okay, I'm on my way. Don't move."
True to her word, Lily arrived a few minutes later, knocking softly before entering. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene: you standing there looking nervous with what you could only imagine was a deep crimson blush on your face, and Lando completely knocked out on the massage table, his hand tightly gripping yours.
"Oh my god," Lily whispered, her eyes darting between you and the unconscious driver. "Are you... are you mates?"
You nodded, unable to form words.
Lily let out a squeal that she quickly muffled with her hand. "This is incredible! I can't believe it!"
She rushed forward, hugging you tightly before pulling back to look at Lando again. "But why is he knocked out? What happened?"
You took a deep breath, trying to organize your thoughts. "He got... a little too excited. Aggressive. He couldn't let go, so they had to sedate him."
A wide grin spread across Lily's face. "Wow. I can't believe how lucky you are! You found your fated mate! And he's such a powerful alpha!"
Your eyes widened at the word "alpha." "Alpha? What do you mean alpha?"
Lily laughed at your expression. "You didn't realize? With that aggressive behavior? The possessiveness? The instant connection?"
You shook your head, feeling completely out of your depth.
"Oh, honey," Lily said, patting your arm. "He's Lando Norris! The most powerful alpha in Monaco. One of the strongest in all of Europe. He's feared and admired. And millions of girls would kill to be in your position right now."
You felt yourself blush even deeper. "Is it... is it normal that he said he loved me before he passed out?"
Lily jumped up and down with excitement. "Yes! It's normal for an alpha to feel that way almost immediately, but usually, no alpha says it first. It's almost always the Luna who says it first because she's under the alpha's influence."
You couldn't help but glance at Lando, your heart fluttering strangely. You reached out with your free hand, gently caressing his cheek. His skin was warm, and even unconscious, there was something about him that drew you in.
"Aren't you excited to go to his house?" Lily asked, practically vibrating with energy.
"Of course I am," you admitted softly. "But I'm also really nervous. What if he gets aggressive again when he wakes up?"
Lily's expression softened. "That's understandable. But Charlotte and the team will make sure you're safe. And once he's more in control, he'll be different. The initial mating frenzy can be intense, especially for someone as powerful as Lando."
You nodded, trying to absorb everything. It was all so much to take in—finding your fated mate, discovering he was one of the most powerful alphas in Europe, the intensity of your connection...
As if sensing your thoughts, Lando's fingers tightened around yours even in his sleep. You looked down at your joined hands, marveling at how right it felt, despite the chaos of how you'd come to be here.
"You should probably call your parents," Lily suggested gently. "Let them know you won't be coming home tonight."
Your eyes widened. "Oh god, I hadn't even thought of that. What am I supposed to tell them?"
Lily shrugged. "Just say you met someone special and you're staying with a friend. You can give them the full story later, once things have settled down a bit."
Nodding, you quickly made the call, your parents accepting your vague explanation with surprising ease. Maybe they sensed the excitement in your voice, or maybe they were just used to your occasional spontaneous adventures.
As you hung up, there was a soft knock on the door. Charlotte entered, followed by one of the bodyguards.
"How is he?" Charlotte asked, checking Lando's pulse.
"Still out," you replied.
"That's good. It'll give him more time to recover his equilibrium." She looked at you kindly. "Are you ready to go to his place? We have a car waiting."
You nodded, though your stomach was doing flip-flops.
"Don't worry," Charlotte assured you. "He'll be much calmer when he wakes up. The initial surge of mating hormones can be overwhelming, especially for someone with Lando's... particular genetics."
The journey to Lando's home was a blur of city lights and silent tension. You sat in the back of the sleek black car, Lando's unconscious form beside you, his head resting on your shoulder. Even in sleep, his grip on your hand remained firm, as if afraid you might disappear.
Charlotte sat opposite you, occasionally checking her phone but mostly giving you space to process. The silence was heavy with unspoken questions, but you weren't sure where to begin.
Finally, the car turned into a private driveway, and your eyes widened at the sight before you. Lando's home wasn't just a house—it was a stunning modern villa that seemed to float above the Mediterranean, all white walls, glass panels, and clean lines that screamed expensive taste and even more expensive architects.
"Wow," you breathed, unable to hide your amazement.
Charlotte smiled faintly. "It's something, isn't it? Lando designed most of it himself."
The bodyguard who had been driving opened your door and then moved to help with Lando. Between the two of them, they managed to get him inside without waking him, his feet dragging slightly on the polished marble floors of the entrance hall.
"His bedroom is this way," Charlotte said, leading you down a wide hallway lined with what looked like original artwork. "We'll put him in there."
The bedroom was as impressive as the rest of the house—a massive space with floor-to-ceiling windows that offered a breathtaking view of the moonlit sea. The bodyguards carefully laid Lando on the king-sized bed, his curly hair spreading across the pristine white pillows.
Charlotte turned to you, her expression serious. "There are some things you should know about alphas, especially ones as powerful as Lando. They're... different from other wolves—betas, omegas, even regular alphas."
"Different how?" you asked, your eyes still fixed on Lando's sleeping form.
"Their instincts are stronger, more primal. The mating bond hits them harder, faster. What happened earlier—that's just the beginning. The need to claim, to protect, to possess... it's overwhelming for them. For Lando, it's even more intense because of his status."
You nodded slowly, trying to absorb this information. "So what you're saying is... this might happen again?"
"It's not a matter of if, but when," Charlotte confirmed gently. "And it might be even stronger next time. The sedative gave him time to recover some equilibrium, but the mating hormones are still surging through his system."
You felt a tremor of fear mixed with something else—excitement? Anticipation?
"I think it would be best if we had someone come over to explain things more thoroughly," Charlotte continued. "Someone who specializes in alpha-luna dynamics. I can send a lady tomorrow morning, if that works for you? She can tell you everything you need to know."
"That would be... helpful," you admitted. "Thank you."
Charlotte gave you a sympathetic look. "You're handling this remarkably well, all things considered. We'll leave you two alone now, but we'll be nearby if you need anything. Just call."
With that, she and the bodyguards filed out of the room, closing the door softly behind them.
You stood there for a moment, alone with Lando's unconscious form. The silence of the room was broken only by his deep, even breathing. You had no idea how long he would sleep, and suddenly, you felt restless.
Taking one final look at him, you couldn't resist reaching out to touch his face again. His skin was warm, slightly rough with stubble, and even in sleep, there was an intensity to him that drew you in.
Deciding to explore while he was still out, you left the bedroom and wandered through the house. It was even more impressive up close—a grand, white summer villa that seemed to embody luxury and relaxation. The living room opened onto a terrace with an infinity pool that appeared to merge with the sea beyond. The kitchen was a chef's dream, all stainless steel and marble countertops.
You found a glass in the kitchen and filled it with water, sipping it slowly as you continued your exploration. But as you moved further from the bedroom, a strange sensation began to build in your stomach—a discomfort that quickly escalated into nausea. Your head started to ache, and you felt dizzy, as if something essential was missing from your system.
Without really thinking, you found yourself turning back toward the bedroom, drawn by an inexplicable urge. The closer you got, the better you felt, until the moment you stepped back into the room, all symptoms vanished completely. In fact, you felt better than before—energized, centered, whole.
Realizing with a jolt that proximity to Lando seemed to affect your physical well-being, you approached the bed again. As you reached out to caress his cheek, his eyelids fluttered open.
You withdrew your hand quickly, startled. His green eyes focused on you, clear and intense now, not clouded by the frenzy from earlier.
"Hey," he said, his voice still a bit rough from sleep. "How long was I out?"
"Not sure," you admitted. "A few hours, maybe?"
He sat up slowly, running a hand through his messy curls. "I'm sorry about earlier. Did I... did I hurt you?"
You felt yourself blush at the memory. "No, you didn't hurt me. I just got a bit overwhelmed."
Lando looked at you with those striking green eyes, and you could see the sincerity in them. "I didn't mean to be like that. I couldn't stop myself. The moment I saw you... smelled you... something just took over."
"I understand," you said softly, though you weren't sure you did at all.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, standing up and stretching. "I'm starving. How about we make some dinner and talk a bit? If you want to, of course."
"That sounds nice," you agreed, following him into the kitchen.
As you walked, Lando reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. The contact sent a pleasant warmth through your body, and you found yourself smiling slightly.
In the kitchen, he opened the fridge to survey the contents. "Pasta okay with you?"
"Perfect," you replied.
But as he started pulling out ingredients, he encountered a problem—he needed both hands to cook, which meant letting go of yours. He paused, looking down at your joined hands with a frustrated expression, then back at your face.
After a moment of consideration, he guided you to one of the bar stools against the kitchen island. Then, to your surprise, he lifted the entire stool—with you on it—moving it closer to where he was working.
"There," he said with satisfaction. "Now I can see you properly."
You blushed at this unexpected gesture, feeling both flattered and slightly ridiculous perched on the bar stool like a decorative centerpiece. "Can I help with anything?"
Lando looked at you with a heated gaze that made your stomach flutter. "If you just keep sitting there looking pretty, that's fucking amazing. More than I could ever ask for."
You nodded, your blush deepening as you watched him start preparing the pasta. He moved with an easy confidence, his motions efficient and practiced.
"So," he said as he chopped vegetables, "where are you from originally?"
"France," you replied. "But my family moved to Monaco not too long ago."
At this, Lando paused in his chopping. "You live with your parents? How old are you?"
"Yes I live with them, and I’m nineteen."
He nodded slowly. "I'm twenty-four."
You hesitated for a moment, then decided to be direct. "So you're... an alpha? Like Lily said?"
Lando's chest swelled with pride as he answered. "Yes, I am. And I'll take good care of you, always."
The certainty in his voice was both comforting and intimidating.
As he finished cooking, he plated the pasta and set it on the dining table. Throughout the meal, he stayed mostly quiet, just watching you with an intensity that made you self-conscious.
"What?" you finally asked, unable to bear the silence anymore.
"I can't believe how lucky I am that you're my mate," he said simply. "Out of all the people in the world, I found you."
You felt your cheeks flush at his words, touched by the genuine emotion in his voice.
When you finished eating, a practical concern suddenly hit you. "I just realized—I don't have anything with me. No toothbrush, no change of clothes..."
Lando's eyes darkened with desire. "You can just sleep naked."
When your eyes widened at his bold suggestion, he amended, "Fine, you can wear underwear."
"That's not happening either," you said firmly, though you couldn't help but smile at his persistence.
"Then we'll go to your house and pick up a bag," he decided, standing up and reaching for your hand.
You bit your lip, torn. Logically, that was the smartest thing to do, but the thought of introducing him to your parents already—especially when you hadn't even told them about him—made you nervous.
"Okay," you finally agreed, letting him lead you toward the garage.
Your eyes widened when you saw the collection of cars parked there, but you almost gasped when you spotted the bright orange McLaren F1 car displayed like a work of art. You hadn't realized he was rich rich.
Lando opened the passenger door of a sleek sports car for you, even leaning over to buckle your seatbelt when you seemed to be struggling with it. You felt your cheeks flush at his close proximity.
While he drove, you quickly texted your parents: "Coming home to grab something quickly. Be there in 10."
When the car pulled up to your house, you turned to Lando. "Just stay here. I'll run in and grab a bag. It'll only take a minute."
A low growl rumbled in his chest, a sound that vibrated through the car and directly into your bones. "I will do no such thing."
"Lando, please," you pleaded, but you could see from the stubborn set of his jaw that it was useless.
You sighed, opening your car door. "Fine. But wait here."
You thought he understood, but as you walked toward your front door, you felt his hand wrap firmly around your waist. He was right behind you, his body heat seeping into you, his presence a palpable force.
Resigned, you knocked on the door. When your parents opened it, their eyes widened at the sight of Lando standing behind you.
"Mom, Dad, this is—" you started, but they cut you off, laughing.
"We know who he is, sweetheart," your mom said, beaming.
Your confusion must have shown on your face because your dad added, "We watch Formula 1. It's not every day our daughter comes home with Lando Norris."
Before you could process this, Lando was greeting them with a charming smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you both. Y/n has told me so much about you."
To your astonishment, they greeted him warmly, acting as if it was completely normal for their daughter to show up with a world-famous racing driver slash werewolf alpha.
Feeling like you'd stepped into an alternate reality, you led Lando upstairs to your bedroom. As you quickly threw clothes and toiletries into an overnight bag, you became aware of Lando's behavior changing.
He was standing in the middle of your room, eyes closed, breathing deeply. When he opened them, they were almost black with desire, the green barely visible around his dilated pupils.
"What are you doing?" you asked, a note of panic creeping into your voice.
He started approaching you slowly, deliberately. "Your room," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It smells so much like you. It's everywhere. On your pillow, your clothes..." He took another step closer. "It's intoxicating."
Your eyes widened as you realized what was happening. He was about to lose control again.
He came up behind you, pressing his body against yours, his arms wrapping around your waist. You could feel his erection against your back, hard and insistent. He began nipping at your neck, gentle bites that sent shivers down your spine despite your fear.
You held back a moan. "Lando, stop. What are you doing?"
"I can't help it," he breathed against your skin. "Your scent... it's everywhere. I need... I need..."
Realizing he was on the verge of another frenzy, you acted on instinct. You turned around in his arms and pushed with all your strength against his chest. To your surprise, he stumbled back a step, giving you just enough space to escape.
You grabbed your bag and fled the room, calling over your shoulder, "We have to go. Now!"
You practically ran down the stairs, Lando close behind you. "Goodbye, Mom! Goodbye, Dad!" you called out, not stopping to see their reactions.
In the car, Lando immediately placed his hand on your thigh, high up near your hip. You pushed it down to a more appropriate level, but he just growled and moved it right back. After a third attempt, you gave up, letting his hand rest where he wanted it. He squeezed occasionally, a possessive gesture that made your heart race for reasons you couldn't quite identify.
Back at his house, you made a beeline for the bathroom, locking the door behind you. You quickly went through your nighttime routine, trying to calm your racing thoughts. As you turned on the shower, you heard a whimper from right outside the door.
"Are you showering without me?" Lando asked, his voice a mixture of hurt and desire.
Despite everything, you couldn't help but laugh at his silliness. "Yes, Lando. I'm showering alone."
You could hear him sigh dramatically on the other side of the door, which made you smile even more.
After your shower, you changed into the pajamas you'd brought—a skimpy silk set that consisted of shorts and a camisole top with lace trim. It was your favorite sleepwear, but suddenly you felt exposed wearing it in Lando's house.
Taking a deep breath, you opened the bathroom door and stepped into the bedroom. Lando was lying on the bed, propped up against the headboard. When he saw you, he bit his lip and let out a low moan.
His eyes roamed over your body, lingering on the swell of your breasts visible above the low-cut top. "Fuck," he breathed, his eyes darkening with desire.
Before you could react, he was off the bed and moving toward you. In one fluid motion, he had you on the bed, hovering above you. Then he pressed all of his weight down, letting you feel his hard erection against your core. He pinned both your wrists above your head with one hand, his grip firm but not painful. Lando's eyes burned with an intensity that seemed to pierce right through you, his gaze so focused that you felt as if he was looking into your soul. His body hovered above yours, solid and warm, his weight pressing you into the mattress in a way that was both terrifying and thrilling. Your wrists were still pinned above your head in his firm grip, his other hand tracing patterns along your side.
You wanted to push him away, to tell him you weren't ready for this, that this was all happening too fast. But something held you back—a magnetic pull, an undeniable attraction that made your body respond to his despite your mind's protests. Heat pooled in your stomach, your breath hitched as his eyes dropped to your lips.
His head lowered slowly, giving you time to protest, but no words came out. You could feel his breath against your mouth, warm and inviting. Just as his lips were about to meet yours, you turned your head at the last second, causing his kiss to land on your cheek instead.
Lando froze, pulling back slightly. You could see the disappointment in his eyes, a flicker of hurt that made your heart clench with guilt. He had been so vulnerable with you, so open about his feelings, and you had rejected him—even if it was just a kiss.
"I'm sorry," you whispered, unable to meet his gaze.
Instead of getting angry, Lando's expression softened. He shifted his attention to your neck, leaning down to inhale deeply. "You smell so good," he murmured against your skin. "Like vanilla and sunshine."
His lips brushed against your throat, and you felt a shiver run down your spine. He began scenting you again, rubbing his nose against your neck in that possessive yet strangely comforting gesture. Then his teeth scraped against your sensitive skin, followed by gentle nips that made your toes curl.
A moan almost escaped your lips, but reality suddenly came crashing back. You weren't ready for this. You barely knew him, despite the undeniable connection between you.
"Lando, stop," you said, pushing against his chest. "I'm not ready for this yet. For... any of this."
He froze, then slowly rolled off you with a frustrated huff. The bed dipped with his weight as he lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. His breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling rapidly.
"Sorry," he said, his voice strained. "I just... can't control it."
You sat up, pulling the covers around you. "Is there anything I can do to help? Maybe... a cold shower?"
Lando let out a humorless laugh. "That's not how it works for alphas. The mating instinct... it's not just physical arousal. It's a biological imperative. My body is producing hormones that are screaming at me to claim you, to make you mine in every way possible."
You bit your lip, feeling guilty for causing him pain but still not ready to take that step. "I understand. I just... need more time."
He nodded, turning onto his side to face you. "I'll try. For you, I'll try."
You lay down, keeping a careful distance between you. The bed felt enormous with the space you were maintaining. Sleep was elusive as you listened to Lando tossing and turning beside you, his restless movements a testament to his struggle.
After what felt like hours, his voice broke the silence. "Can I... can I just hold you? Nothing more. I just need to feel you close."
You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."
Lando shifted closer, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you against him. His chest pressed into your back, his face buried in the curve of your neck. You noticed how he kept a deliberate space between his hips and your ass, and you were grateful for his restraint.
"Thank you," he whispered, his breath warm against your ear.
You relaxed into his embrace, feeling safer than you expected. His presence was comforting despite the turmoil he was experiencing. Eventually, sleep claimed you both.
The Problem He Inherited — 1/8— Charles Leclerc & Lando Norris
Masterlist || Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5 || Part 6 || Part 7 || Part 8
Summary: Everyone remembers how Lando used to handle you. Now you're with Charles... and no matter how hard he tries, he can't control you the same way.
You don't mean to humiliate Charles. Not really. But you can't help yourself. He looks too good when he's frustrated: his jaw clenched, hands twitching, voice caught between restraint and warning. You push because he makes it so easy. So flustered. So soft sometimes. He says things like "bébé, please be good" and touches you like you're breakable.
You're not. And you used to be with someone who never treated you like you were.
Everyone remembers. Your name was practically 'Lando's girl' for a year and a half. Always curled into his hoodie, stretched across his hotel bed, grinning in the McLaren garage like it belonged to you. You were bratty back then too; loud, sharp, quick-tongued. But Lando? He never flinched.
He'd just look at you, once , and you'd stop talking. He had this way of handling you. Everyone saw it. Everyone felt it. That subtle grip on the back of your neck, that murmured warning in your ear, that quiet command that turned your defiance into obedience. People noticed. It was talked about. Even the team principals smirked when you snapped at someone and Lando silenced you with one word.
And then it ended. No drama. No scandal. Just... over.
It confused people. No one knew why. Lando never bit back when asked about it in press. You never aired dirty laundry. You just said it had run its course. And maybe that was true.
But then you started dating Charles.
And Charles... well... Charles tries his best.
The first time it really shows is in Bahrain. You're sitting on the arm of Lewis's chair in Ferrari hospitality, swinging your legs, wearing Charles's team polo cropped and tied at the waist. You're meant to be upstairs. Media day's in session. It's a closed room, only a handful of staff are allowed. But you're here, bored, and no one's stopped you yet.
Until Charles walks in. "Mon ange," he says, gentle but pointed. "You're not supposed to be here."
You tilt your head. "No one said that."
"I told you this morning."
You smile. "You also said you were bringing me snacks. Guess we both forgot things."
Lewis makes a noise that sounds like a choked laugh disguised as a cough.
Charles goes pink. "Please, go back upstairs."
You lick your ice lolly slowly. "Make me."
His mouth opens. Then closes. He doesn't make you. You stay the whole meeting. Legs crossed, licking strawberry syrup off your fingers, ignoring every look he gives you.
Later that night, you try to climb into his lap. Charles grabs your hips and holds you still, voice low. "You embarrassed me."
You blink at him. "Did I?"
"I don't want people thinking I can't control you."
You smile sweetly. "That's because you can't."
He stares at you.
And the worst part?
You know he wants to. You can feel it in the tension in his jaw, the grip of his hands, the heat in his breath when he hisses your name in frustration. You want him to lose it. You want him to snap. You want him to pin you down and remind you exactly whose shirt you were wearing in that meeting.
But he doesn't. He just sighs, and lets you kiss the corner of his mouth.
It keeps happening.
In Saudi, you show up in the media pen wearing Charles's name around your neck like usual, but with Oscar's jacket over your shoulders. You say it was cold. You say Oscar offered. You know exactly what you're doing.
In Australia, you interrupt a post-qualy debrief just to pass Charles a smoothie. You take a sip before giving it to him. He watches you drink it with flushed cheeks and doesn't say a word.
In Miami, you sit between Lando and Carlos in the hospitality suite and blow Charles a kiss.
You're never cruel. Just impossible. And Charles, bless him, tries everything.
He tells you to behave. He tells you to stop. He tells you to be good. And when you pout and roll your eyes and call him soft, he fucks you fast against the bathroom sink, panting into your neck, begging you to stop making things harder than they already are.
But the second you come? You're laughing again. And Charles is exhausted.
He doesn't even realise he's thinking about it until Monaco.
You're out at dinner, legs over his lap in the booth, whispering filth in his ear while Pierre talks about engine modes. You're tipsy. Teasing. Flushed from the wine and flushed from knowing what you do to him.
Charles is gripping your thigh hard under the table. And then Lando walks past. He pauses. You both look up. There's this flicker between them: not hostile. Not jealous. Just history.
And Lando says nothing. Just winks at you, then at Charles, and keeps walking. Charles doesn't speak again for ten minutes.
He messages Lando two nights later.
Charles: Hey. This is going to sound weird.
Lando replies instantly.
Lando: It's about her, isn't it?
Charles: Yes.
Lando: What did she do?
Charles: Everything. She won't listen. Not when it matters.
Lando: Of course she doesn't. You're trying too hard.
Charles frowns.
Charles: I just want her to respect me when I say stop.
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Genre: Omegaverse, coworkers to lovers, smut, romance
Summary: I don't know how to write a summary. So if you can, please tell me how❤️
Ps. English is not my first language, so I apologise in advance for bad grammar and if you see a mistake. Please let me know, so I can fix it🫶
Also first time writing a fanfic, so kinda don't know what I am doing❤️
Masterlist
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The cool, pre-dawn air of Monaco was a sharp contrast to the stifling, pheromone-heavy heat of the apartment.
You had slipped out of the nest with the stealth of someone used to navigating busy paddocks. Leaving them had been physically painful—a literal ache in your chest as the bond protested the distance—but your head was spinning. You needed to breathe air that didn't smell like cedar and citrus.
Dressed in one of Lando’s oversized hoodies to hide the dark, angry-red marks on your neck, you walked along the Larvotto beach. The Mediterranean was calm, the salt spray helping to clear the lingering "heat haze." You were a marked Omega now. Life as you knew it was over.
As the sun began to peek over the horizon, a tall, broad-shouldered man approached you near the promenade. The air around him shifted—the distinct, heavy gravity of an Alpha.
"Excuse me," he said, his voice polite but deep. "I’m looking for the Fairmont. My GPS seems to think it’s in the middle of the ocean."
Because you were still in the tail-end of your heat, your instincts were hyper-sensitive. You pointed him toward the hairpin turn, keeping your distance. He stepped a little closer to see where you were pointing, and for a brief second, his scent—something like leather and sandalwood—brushed against you.
"Thank you," he smiled, his eyes lingering a second too long on the hood of your sweatshirt. "Have a good morning."
While you were watching the waves, the apartment back on the hill was in a state of absolute chaos.
Lando had woken up first, his hand reaching for a warmth that wasn't there. Within seconds, Oscar was up, both of them surging into a primal state of alarm. Their Omega—their unprotected, in-heat, freshly marked mate—was gone.
By the time you turned the key in the lock, the atmosphere inside was vibrating.
"Y/N!" Lando shouted, practically skidding into the hallway. He looked wild, his hair a mess, his eyes darting over you for injuries. Oscar was right behind him, his face a mask of pale, controlled fury.
"Where were you?" Oscar demanded, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register. "We woke up and you were—"
He stopped mid-sentence. His nostrils flared. Lando, who had reached out to grab your shoulders, suddenly froze.
The stranger's scent. It was faint—just a microscopic trace of leather and sandalwood clinging to the fabric of the hoodie—but to two Alphas who had just sealed a bond, it was like a siren.
"Who was he?" Lando rasped, his voice cracking with a sudden, jagged jealousy. He didn't wait for an answer. He hooked his fingers into the collar of the hoodie and pulled you flush against his bare chest. "Why do you smell like another Alpha?"
Oscar moved in on your other side, his expression dark and predatory. He didn't care about the directions or the beach. All he saw was a "stain" on his mate.
"Strip," Oscar commanded, his voice a low vibration of pure Alpha authority. "That hoodie comes off. Now."
They didn't give you a chance to explain. They hustled you back toward the bedroom, their movements frantic and possessive.
Lando stripped the hoodie off you and threw it across the room as if it were poison. He immediately began rubbing his neck and chest against yours, his skin hot and demanding. "Mine," he muttered into your ear, his purr returning but with a sharp, aggressive edge. "You’re ours. I’m wiping him off you."
Oscar sat on the edge of the bed and pulled you onto his lap, his large hands roaming over your body, "tagging" every inch of your skin with his scent glands. He nuzzled into the marks on your neck, his tongue dragging over them to re-claim the territory.
The sexual tension, which had simmered down into a sleepy glow, was suddenly white-hot again. They were frantic, driven by a primal need to saturate you so deeply in their own pheromones that no other Alpha would even dare to look at you for a thousand miles.
The air in the bedroom was thick with a new, sharper kind of tension. It wasn't the soft, honeyed heat of the night before; this was a territorial spike, a jagged edge of Alpha possessiveness that made the atmosphere feel electric.
Oscar held you pinned to his chest, his arms like bands of steel around your waist, while Lando knelt on the mattress in front of you. Lando’s eyes were dark, his pupils blown wide as he stared at the place on your shoulder where the stranger’s scent lingered most.
"Talk," Oscar commanded, his voice a low, vibrating rumble against your spine. He tilted your head back against his shoulder, exposing your throat—and the fresh, dark marks they had left—to the cool air. "Who did you see? Why were they close enough to leave a scent on you?"
"It was just a tourist," you gasped, your heart hammering against your ribs. The bond was making you hyper-aware of their agitation; you could feel their heartbeats racing in sync with yours. "He was lost. He asked for directions to the Fairmont. I didn't even touch him, I swear."
Lando leaned in, his nose dragging along your jawline, inhaling deeply before let out a sharp, dissatisfied huff. "He was too close, Y/N," Lando muttered, his voice thick with a jagged jealousy. "He could smell you. He knew you were in heat, and he stayed in your space."
He gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. "Did he look at the marks? Did he see that you're taken?"
"I had the hoodie up," you whispered, reaching out to touch Lando’s chest to soothe him. "He didn't see anything. He just... he just smelled like leather. It was just a second."
"A second is too long," Oscar growled. The hand on your waist slid upward, his palm hot against your skin, as he began to move you.
The interrogation was over; the "erasing" began.
They moved with a frantic, coordinated intensity. They didn't just want to scent you; they wanted to drown you in themselves. Lando pushed you back into the pillows, his body a heavy, welcome weight as he hovered over you. He began to "mark" you all over again, but this time, it was more aggressive. He used his teeth to graze the skin of your collarbone, leaving new, faint blossoms of purple that overlapped with the marks from the night before.
"Every inch," Lando rasped, his tongue dragging over your pulse point. "I want him gone. I want the whole of Monaco to smell nothing but McLaren when you walk by."
Oscar wasn't far behind. He moved to your side, his hands roaming over your hips and thighs, his scent glands working overtime to saturate your skin with his heavy cedarwood musk. The territorial drive was pushing them toward a second peak.
Oscar buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and demanding. He began to "scent-mark" your wrists, rubbing his skin against yours until the friction created a burning heat.
Lando moved down, his mouth finding the soft skin of your inner thigh. He bit down gently, a sharp claim that made you arch your back and cry out. "Mine," he muttered against your skin. "Ours."
The "heat" was no longer just a biological cycle; it was a battleground. They were reclaiming every territory, ensuring that their scent was woven into the very fabric of your skin. As Lando’s fingers found your slick center again, and Oscar’s mouth returned to yours to swallow your moans, the world outside—the contracts, the paddock, the stranger on the beach—ceased to exist.
There was only the nest, the marks, and the two Alphas who were currently making it very clear that you would never be "unprotected" again.
The atmosphere in the room had shifted from protective to purely territorial. The trace of the stranger's scent had triggered something deep and ancient in Lando and Oscar—a primal need to prove, biologically and irrevocably, that you were occupied.
Lando’s hands were trembling as he shoved your legs back, pinning your knees toward your chest. He wasn't being gentle anymore; he was being an Alpha whose mate had been tainted by an outsider’s presence.
"You're going to stay in this bed until you're carrying for us," Lando rasped, his voice dropping into a dark, gritty tone that sent a shiver of pure submission down your spine. "If you’re so eager to go for walks, we’ll just have to make sure you’re too heavy with our pups to leave the nest next time."
Oscar’s eyes blew wide at Lando’s words, hitting him like a physical blow. He leaned over you, his large hand cupping your face, forcing you to look at him while Lando positioned himself.
"He's right," Oscar murmured, his thumb dragging roughly over your bottom lip. "Maybe we were too easy on you last night. Maybe that’s why you thought you could wander off. You need to be filled so deep that you forget what any other Alpha smells like."
They didn't wait for a reply. With the practiced synchronicity of a team, they entered you again. The stretch was even more intense this time, your body already sensitized and swollen from the night before. You let out a broken, high-pitched keen as they filled you, the sensation of both of them stretching you to your absolute limit triggering a wave of submissive heat that made your head swim.
"That's it," Lando groaned, his hips slamming home with a desperate, rhythmic force. "Take all of it. Take it for the team, love. We’re going to fill you so full you’ll be leaking us for days."
As they reached their peak, the biology of the bond took over once more, but with an added edge of possessive cruelty. They didn't just want to finish; they wanted to lock.
First Oscar, then Lando—you felt the familiar, terrifyingly large expansion at the base of their lengths. The knots swelled simultaneously, stretching your internal walls until you felt like you might actually split. You were anchored, caught in a vice of hot, pulsing muscle.
"Look at her," Oscar panted, his sweat dripping onto your back. "Look how she’s taking both knots. She was made for this. Made to be bred by us."
While the knots held you captive, they returned to your neck with a vengeance. Lando bit down on the existing mark on the left, while Oscar did the same on the right, their teeth sinking in deep to refresh the claim. They weren't just scenting you anymore; they were branding you.
"You're going to smell like a nursery by the time we're done with you," Lando whispered, his voice thick with the satisfaction of the knot. "Every Alpha in that paddock is going to know exactly what we’ve been doing to you. They’re going to see those marks and know you’re the Omega who belongs to the papaya boys."
You were pinned, helpless and sobbing with a mix of exhaustion and over-stimulated bliss. The knots were huge, throbbing deep inside you, ensuring that every drop of their combined seed was forced exactly where their instincts demanded.
As they settled over you, their heavy bodies pinning you into the mattress while the knots remained stubbornly locked, the message was clear: the walk on the beach was your last moment of independence. From now on, you were the heart of their nest.
The heat haze had finally lifted, leaving behind a heavy, shimmering bond and two fresh, darkened marks on your neck that would never fade. The apartment felt different now—smaller, quieter, and strangely alien compared to the magnetic pull of the two men sitting on your sofa.
Lando was sitting on the floor between your knees, his head resting against your lap, while Oscar sat beside you, his arm a permanent weight across your shoulders. The frantic, primal energy of the last few days had evolved into a steady, protective hum.
"We need to talk about the 'real world' part of this," Oscar said, his voice calm but brooking no argument. "The marks are fresh. Our biology is... it's a bit on edge, Y/N. We’re going to be more possessive. Probably more protective than you’re used to. Just bear with us while the bond settles, yeah?"
Lando looked up, his eyes soft but serious. "We don't want you here anymore. In this flat. It’s not secure enough, and the nest... it needs to be in our space. Move in with us. We’ve already cleared a room for your things, but we want you in our bed."
You looked around your living room. The chipped coffee table, the view of the quiet street—it was your sanctuary. "This place has always been my safe spot," you whispered. "The one place where I didn't have to be 'the media girl' or even an Omega. It's mine."
"It was yours," Oscar corrected gently, but with that Alpha steel in his tone. "Now, we are your safe spot. We can’t protect you properly if you’re behind a door we don’t have a key to. Let us take care of you. Please."
It took another hour of soft touches and Lando’s persistent, puppy-dog pouting, but you finally relented.
A few days later, the three of you were moving the last of your essential boxes. You were wearing a scarf to hide the marks, but the scent of Lando and Oscar was so heavy on you it was practically a physical cloud.
"Y/N? Is that you?"
You froze. Standing by the moving van was Mark, an old friend from your university days who lived nearby. He was a Beta, harmless and kind, and he immediately stepped forward with a bright smile.
"I haven't seen you in ages! Are you moving?" Before you could react, he reached out to pull you into a friendly, brief hug.
The reaction from Lando and Oscar was like a physical explosion. They had been carrying a heavy trunk, but they dropped it instantly.
Lando was there in a heartbeat, physically stepping between you and Mark, his hand flat against your chest to push you back behind him. His nostrils flared, his scent spiking into something sharp and warning. "Back off," he snapped, his voice a low, jagged growl.
Oscar didn't say a word, but he moved behind you, his hand snaking around your neck, his thumb deliberately brushing over the scarf—right where the marks were hidden. He loomed over you, his eyes cold and predatory as they locked onto Mark.
"She's busy," Oscar said, the words vibrating with a terrifying, quiet authority.
"I—I'm sorry, I was just saying hi," Mark stammered, his face paling as he felt the sheer force of the two Alphas' territorial pheromones. He took three steps back, his hands raised. "I didn't realize... I'll just go."
As Mark scurried away, the tension didn't leave the Alphas. If anything, it intensified. They turned on you, their faces flushed with the adrenaline of the "threat."
"He touched you," Lando muttered, his hands moving frantically over your arms as if he could wipe the contact away. "He was right on your neck. I could smell him on you for a second."
Oscar didn't wait for the street to be empty. He pulled the scarf down, exposing the dark, twin marks to the afternoon sun. He leaned in, right there on the sidewalk, and dragged his nose firmly over the marks, inhaling your scent until he groaned.
"This is exactly why you're moving," Oscar rasped against your skin. "You’re too soft, Y/N. You let people get too close. From now on, you stay between us."
Lando gripped your waist, his fingers digging in possessively. "Inside. Now. We need to fix your scent."
After the encounter with Mark, the air around Lando and Oscar had turned sharp—metallic and jagged with protective instinct.
The moment the door to the new penthouse clicked shut, the boxes were forgotten.
"You’re not wearing that out again," Lando muttered, his hands already working at the hem of your shirt. His movements weren't gentle; they were hurried, driven by a frantic need to remove any fabric that hadn't been saturated by their presence.
He stripped the shirt over your head and replaced it immediately with one of his own well-worn, heavy cotton t-shirts. It was massive on you, the hem reaching your mid-thighs, smelling so strongly of his personal citrus-and-sage scent that it made your head spin.
Oscar followed suit, wrapping his thick, team-issue hoodie over Lando’s shirt. He pulled the drawstring tight around your neck, his fingers lingering on the fresh marks. "There," Oscar rasped, his voice grounding and dark. "Now you smell like us. Only us."
They continued the move, but the dynamic had shifted into something suffocatingly close. You weren't allowed to carry anything light or wander into the other room to unpack.
If you moved toward the kitchen to get a glass of water, Lando was suddenly there, his hand resting on the small of your back, guiding you as if you couldn't walk ten feet alone.
When Oscar went down to the van to get the last of the boxes, Lando stayed glued to your side. When Oscar returned, Lando didn't go down for the next trip; they swapped. One was always within arm's reach, their eyes tracking your every move.
"I'm just going to put my books on the shelf," you said, reaching for a small box.
"I'll do it," Oscar said, his hand closing over yours on the cardboard. He didn't take the box; he just stood there, using his body to box you in against the shelving unit. He leaned down, his nose brushing the shell of your ear. "Stay in my sight, Y/N. The bond is too fresh. Seeing you move away makes my skin crawl."
The "fix" for your scent worked, but their nerves remained fried. Every sound from the hallway—a neighbor’s door closing, the lift chiming—made their heads snap up, their bodies tensing into a defensive line in front of you.
Lando was the more restless of the two, constantly reaching out to touch your arm, your hair, or the marks on your neck, as if to reassure himself you were still there, still marked, still theirs.
"You're being so quiet," Lando whispered, pulling you into his chest while Oscar organized the closet. "Are you mad? We told you we’d be like this. We can't help it."
He looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of regret. The territorial spike was still high, but underneath it was the raw, shimmering vulnerability of two Alphas who had finally found their mate and were terrified of the world catching a glimpse of her.
Lando blinked, his hands still anchored to your waist, caught off guard by the spark of fire in your eyes. Behind him, Oscar paused, a stack of books mid-air, his head tilting as he tuned in to your tone.
"I'm not mad that you're hovering, Lando," you said, your voice steady despite the heavy, sweet scent of Alpha dominance filling the room. You put your hands on his chest, not to pull him closer, but to create a firm inch of space. "I get the instincts. I get that the bond is screaming at you to bubble-wrap me."
You looked over his shoulder at Oscar, who was watching you with that piercing, analytical gaze. "But I am mad that you’re treating me like I’m made of glass. I’ve survived three triple-headers, handled the most aggressive press scrums in F1, and managed both of your chaotic schedules for two years. Being an Omega doesn't make me weak, and it certainly doesn't mean I can’t carry a box of my own shoes."
The silence in the penthouse was thick. Lando looked down at your hands on his chest, then back up at your face. A slow flush crept up his neck—not from anger, but from a mix of sheepishness and an undeniable spike of admiration.
He let out a long, huffing breath, his grip on your waist loosening just a fraction. "Right. Sorry. It’s just... every time you move toward the door, my brain goes into a full-on 'red flag' scenario." He offered a small, crooked smile. "You’re a bit terrifying when you’re bossy, you know that?"
Oscar set the books down and walked over, his presence heavy and grounding. He didn't try to override you. Instead, he stopped a respectful foot away, his hands tucked into his pockets. "She's right, Lan," he said quietly, his eyes locked on yours. "We’re overcompensating. We’re so focused on the 'Omega' part that we’re forgetting who you actually are."
Oscar reached out, his fingers trailing lightly over the sleeve of the oversized hoodie you were wearing—his hoodie. "You're not weak. You're the strongest person in our circle, otherwise we wouldn't have fallen for you in the first place."
He stepped back, gesturing toward a stack of medium-sized boxes near the door. "Okay. You want to help? You take the bedroom boxes. We’ll take the heavy furniture and the kitchen crates. But," he added, his voice dropping into that low, possessive rumble again, "you stay in the apartment. No going back down to the van alone. That’s our line. Deal?"
Lando leaned in, bumping his forehead against yours, his scent mellowing out from 'aggressive' to 'devoted.' "Deal?" he echoed, his eyes searching yours. "We'll let you work, but we're still going to watch you. Consider it... high-performance observation."
The shift in the room was palpable. By asserting yourself, the stifling weight of their overprotectiveness transformed into something more balanced—a high-voltage cooperation. They still tracked your every movement like hawks, but they let you reclaim your agency, watching with a mix of pride and simmering heat as you efficiently organized your life into their space.
The next few hours were a blur of coordinated movement. While you navigated the bedroom, meticulously arranging your "safe" items alongside their gear, the two Alphas handled the heavy lifting.
Every time you passed through the hallway with a box, you’d find one of them there. They didn't take the box from you, but they’d brush their shoulder against yours or let their scent-heavy wrist drag along your arm as you passed—a constant "re-upping" of their claim that felt more like a caress than a cage.
Seeing your books lined up next to Oscar’s technical journals and your favorite mugs tucked into the cabinet beside Lando’s protein shakes made the bond hum. The apartment was no longer a bachelor pad; it was a territory.
By the time the sun dipped below the Monaco skyline, the boxes were mostly flattened, and the physical exhaustion began to outweigh the biological adrenaline.
They refused to let you cook. Instead, Oscar took charge of the kitchen with his usual calm precision, while Lando "helped" by hovering near you as you set the table. The meal was simple but felt like a sacred ritual—the first time the three of you sat down not as colleagues or a driver-and-PR duo, but as a mated triad.
"To the new nest," Lando said, raising his water glass with a tired, happy grin. He looked ruffled, his curls damp with sweat, but his eyes were fixed on the marks on your neck, visible as you moved.
As you ate, the quietness of the apartment felt different. The "Beta" life you had led—the hiding, the scent blockers, the constant fear of being discovered—felt like a distant, blurry memory.
"You're quiet again," Oscar noted, though this time his voice was soft, devoid of the earlier command. He reached across the table, taking your hand in his. His palm was warm and calloused. "Thinking about tomorrow?"
"Thinking about how everything changed in less than a week," you admitted, your thumb tracing the back of his hand. "Going from the private jet to... this."
Lando moved his chair closer, his knee hooking over yours under the table, a constant point of contact. "It’s a lot," he agreed, his thumb grazing your knuckles. "But look at you. You’re wearing our clothes, you’re in our house, and you’re still bossing us around. I think we’re going to be just fine."
The dinner ended with a slow, heavy sense of contentment. The Alphas’ instincts had finally settled from 'alert' to 'satisfied.' You were fed, you were marked, and you were firmly within their walls.
As you helped clear the plates, Oscar caught you from behind, pulling you back against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. "No more boxes tonight"he murmured. "The nest is calling. And I think Lando’s about to vibrate out of his skin if we don't all go lie down together."
Lando appeared in the doorway, already stripping off his shoes, his eyes dark and devoted. "The bed is huge," he promised, reaching out for your other hand. "And it’s finally going to smell right."
The move was officially over, but the bed—the heart of the new territory—didn't quite feel right yet. It was too pristine, too much like a hotel room.
As Lando and Oscar finished locking up the apartment, you took charge. You dragged the softest duvets from the guest room, gathered the worn-out hoodies they had discarded throughout the week, and even swiped the cashmere throw Oscar usually kept on his reading chair.
You worked with a focused intensity, your Omega instincts finally having the space and safety to truly take over. You lined the perimeter with pillows to create a high, protective wall and layered the center with their most scent-heavy shirts.
When Lando walked into the room, he stopped in the doorway, a soft, boyish smile spreading across his face. "Checking out the new architecture?"
"It needs more of you," you murmured, not looking up as you tucked a McLaren team polo into the corner. "It doesn't smell enough like the bond yet."
Lando didn't say a word; he simply stripped off his shirt and tossed it into the center before climbing in. Oscar followed a moment later, moving with more grace, dropping a soft, grey hoodie onto the pile before sliding into the space you had carved out.
The nest was large enough for all three of you, but they still insisted on pressing as close as humanly possible.
You were tucked in the middle, your head resting on Oscar’s solid chest while Lando curled around your back, his chin hooked over your shoulder.
Oscar ran his hand through your hair, his fingers massaging your scalp in slow, rhythmic circles. "You did a good job," he whispered, his voice vibrating against your ear. "It feels right in here."
Lando let out a long, content sigh, his arms tightening around your waist. "Best nest yet. Ten out of ten. Great downforce," he joked softly, though his eyes were already beginning to droop.
For a while, nobody spoke. The only sounds were the distant hum of Monaco traffic and the synchronized breathing of three people who had finally found their center of gravity.
Lando reached out, his hand finding Oscar’s over your stomach. They linked fingers, creating a physical circuit that boxed you in. It was the softest you had seen them—no racing, no PR, no Alpha posturing. Just two tired men and their mate, finally letting the adrenaline of the week drain away.
"You okay, Y/N?" Oscar asked, his voice a sleepy rumble.
"I'm more than okay," you whispered, burying your face in the soft fabric of the nest. "I'm home."
Lando let out a tiny, soft purr—the kind he only made when he was half-asleep and completely happy—and nuzzled into the nape of your neck, his nose brushing against the marks. Within minutes, the heavy, peaceful weight of sleep pulled all three of you under, safe in the fortress you had built together.
⚠️ 18+ only.
⏰ uploads at 10PM BST daily
📖 all are reader!inserts
👀 this may change depending on how i feel with the final versions of the fics (but it shouldn't)
🔥 Day 1 — Max Verstappen
Main kinks: size kink
Other kinks: breeding talk, praise/degradation, manhandling
🏎️ Day 2 — Ollie Bearman
Main kinks: cockwarming, public play
Other kinks: innocence kink
🍯 Day 3 — Daniel Ricciardo
Main kinks: breeding kink, daddy kink
Other kinks: praise, possessive dirty talk
🧸 Day 4 — Lando Norris
Main kinks: overstimulation, edging, tears
Other kinks: praise kink, heavy aftercare
👀 Day 5 — Gabriel Bortoleto & Nico Hülkenberg
Main kinks: thigh riding, voyeurism
Other kinks: overstimulation, praise
💦 Day 6 — Isack Hadjar
Main kinks: sweat kink, scent play
Other kinks: spit/saliva play?, overstimulation hints
🚗 Day 7 — George Russell
Main kinks: car sex, cockwarming
Other kinks: risky exhibitionism, light restraint
🐾 Day 8 — Toto Wolff & James Vowles
Main kinks: anal stretching, pet play, dom/sub
Other kinks: humiliation, obedience
🌸 Day 9 — Mick Schumacher
Main kinks: nipple play, lactation
Other kinks: praise, body worship
🍾 Day 10 — Pierre Gasly
Main kinks: object insertion, toy play
Other kinks: overstimulation, humiliation, praise, control
🕯️ Day 11 — Charles Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton
Main kinks: sensory deprivation, temperature play
Other kinks: wax play, ice play
👩👦 Day 12 — Kimi Antonelli
Main kinks: pegging, mommy kink, lactation
Other kinks: dom!reader, humiliation
🎖️ Day 13 — Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris & Max Verstappen
Main kinks: virgin!reader, group sex
Other kinks: spit sharing, rough handling
📱 Day 14 — Fernando Alonso
Main kinks: phone sex, guided masturbation
Other kinks: degradation, praise, orgasm control
⛓️ Day 15 — Sebastian Vettel
Main kinks: chastity, orgasm denial
Other kinks: orgasm control
🧹 Day 16 — Charles Leclerc
Main kinks: role-play
Other kinks: spanking, humiliation
🎥 Day 17 — Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri & Pato O’Ward
Main kinks: triple penetration
Other kinks: overstimulation, power imbalance
🌙 Day 18 — Lance Stroll
Main kinks: somnophilia, free use
Other kinks: breeding hints, possession, light overstimulation
🩺 Day 19 — Lewis Hamilton
Main kinks: medical kink
Other kinks: humiliation, observation
🪞 Day 20 — Franco Colapinto
Main kinks: mirror sex
Other kinks: dom!reader, innocence, praise
⏳ Day 21 — Oscar Piastri
Main kinks: cockwarming
Other kinks: dom!reader, denial, mental torment
💧 Day 22 — Yuki Tsunoda & Pierre Gasly
Main kinks: cum play
Other kinks: humiliation
👔 Day 23 — Alex Albon & George Russell
Main kinks: sensory deprivation, DP
Other kinks: restraint, edging
🐆 Day 24 — Carlos Sainz, Rebecca Donaldson, Charles Leclerc & Alexandra Saint Mleux
Main kinks: multiple doms, overstimulation
Other kinks: face sitting, bondage
🍫 Day 25 — Arthur Leclerc
Main kinks: food play, chocolate
Other kinks: praise kink
👃 Day 26 — Andrea Stella
Main kinks: face sitting
Other kinks: breath play, squirting
🤝 Day 27 — Pierre Gasly & Kika Gómez
Main kinks: toy play
Other kinks: cum play, degradation
🏁 Day 28 — Lando Norris & Max Verstappen
Main kinks: dom!you, punishment, degradation
Other kinks: humiliation, orgasm control
🐺 Day 29 — Toto Wolff, George Russell & Kimi Antonelli
Main kinks: free use, heavy breeding kink
Other kinks: DP, cum stuffing
💵 Day 30 — Liam Lawson
Main kinks: escort, transactional sex
Other kinks: overstimulation, mirror play
🖤 Day 31 — Esteban Ocon
Main kinks: squirting, lingerie play
Other kinks: overstimulation, praise, degradation
🧡 I’ll also be running a taglist for this — if you’d like to be added, please let me know through comments, asks, or messages 🖤
also i already had rough drafts of the 31 fics (a day for each driver and team principal only) but the majority of you wanted threesomes and WAGs to be included so now i fear i have a spare 11 kinktober fics😔
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DAY THIRTEEN ノ sex tape + spanking ft. george russel
DAY SIXTEEN ノ semi-public + hate sex ft. oscar piastri
DAY NINETEEN ノ biting + mirror sex ft. vampire!franco colapinto
DAY TWENTY-TWO ノ thigh fucking + hand kink ft. daniel ricciardo
DAY TWENTY-FOUR ノ dacryphilia + choking ft. max verstappen
DAY TWENTY-SEVEN ノ edging + scent kink ft. werewolf!lando norris
DAY THIRTY-ONE ノ threesome + voyeurism ft. charles leclerc & carlos sainz
BONUS! AUTHORS PICK... ノ slasher au + mask kink ft. carlos sainz & lando norris
authors note ノ hihihiii!!!! kinktober masterlist is officially complete aside from some formatting stuff. I will try my best to make sure they're all on time, but my schedule gets pretty crammed sometimes so they may be a little off. this is my first year doing this, so hopefully y'all enjoy! all credits to @/chrisssiren for the lace and line dividers. I made the header myself, had to be carlos for the sake of my blog theme 😴
if you would like to be added to a tag list, leave a note!
Have you seen the TikTok edit of the helmet video with Lando and Oscar?!?! If not look it up!!
AND if you wanted to write a helmet smut fic that would be sooo HOT, please!!!!
safety first - ln4
pairing: lando norris x fem!reader
summary: in which you always had a thing for lando in his helmet OR lando fucks you with his helmet on...
warnings: smut smut smut!, helmet kink, dirty talk, language, literally just pure smut, face fucking, degradation....NOT PROOFREAD (might be typos or things that don't make sense bc I don't like re-reading things I write lol)
word count: ~1.7k
author's note: okay so posting this way earlier than I thought!!! idk if I'm crazy but I'm able to write smut so fast HAHA it just flows nicely for me (blushes like a slut)...anyways hope you guys like this!!! xoxo
◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤
You’re already naked.
Face pressed into the mattress, drooling into the sheets. While he kneels behind you. Slowly stroking his cock, that’s glistening with the slick he already teased out of you.
“You’re fuckin’ pathetic for this, y’know that?” His voice comes through the helmet all muffled. Filthy.
And it makes your legs shake.
“Y’see me in this and just lose every fuckin’ braincell in your head, yeah?”
You whimper, trying to lift yourself onto your elbows. But he slaps your ass. Hard.
“Don’t move.” He grunts. “Not until I tell you to.”
You whimper into the sheet. Clenching around nothing.
“You wanna be treated like a slut for my helmet?” He laughs. “Fine. I’ll fuck you like one.”
And then he runs the tip of his cock through your folds, barely. Before pulling away.
“Soaking,” He chuckles. “Actually fuckin’ dripping onto the bed. All because of this stupid helmet.”
And your hips twitch back. Desperate for touch. Desperate for him.
But he doesn’t give it to you.
“No, no.” He holds your hips. “I want you to beg for it. C’mon.”
You groan. Face hot. “Please…please, fuck. Please give it to me…”
“Give you what?”
He drags the tip of his cock along your entrance again, teasing your clit just enough to make your body jolt.
“Your cock..fuck, Lan…please.”
“Not good enough.” His voice is low. Mean.
And your voice breaks. “I…I need your cock, Lan. Need it in me…while you wear that helmet. Please…please, fuck me.”
And then he’s finally thrusting into you. Deep.
You cry out.
And he groans. Low. Hands gripping you harshly. Pressing into your skin like you’ll wither away if he doesn’t.
“Fuckin’ knew it.” He pants. “Knew this pussy would swallow me the second I put this on.”
You’re shaking. Moaning into the sheets because it’s too much.
And he moves slower. Cruel.
And still fucking talking.
“Didn't even have to touch you properly.”
You sob into the mattress. Soaked. Can feel it dripping down your thighs. Can hear it every time he slips in and out.
“Fuckin’ cockdumb already, yeah?” He laughs. “Barely even started.”
You try to lift your hips and grind against him. But his hand lands sharply against your ass again.
“No. You stay right there.” He demands. “Wanna act like a groupie, hm? Then you’ll get used like one.”
And then he’s fucking into you harder. Steady thrusts that leave you gasping.
“Should see yourself right now,” He pants. “Takin’ it soooo good, baby. Spread out and stuffed, full of me.”
You try to speak. But all that comes out is a soft moan.
“Can’t talk?” He hugs. “What happened to all the whining earlier, baby?”
He leans in closer. Hand dragging up your spine, before resting on the back of your neck. Visor brushing against your skin in the process.
“Fuckin’ tell me you love this. Loved being ruined by me with my helmet on.”
“I…fuck,” His hips move deeper. “I love it.” And your voice is cracking.
“No. Say it right.”
You moan. “I love your helmet. Love being fucked with it on.”
And you scream when he slams in harder. Cock pulsing in you.
And he stays there. Balls deep. Holding. Letting you twitch around him.
And then he pulls out slowly.
“Flip over.”
You’re dizzy. Breathless. Dazed. Moving too slow for him.
And he loses his patience. Pushing you over before grabbing you at your thighs. Yanking you to the edge of the bed. Your legs dangling, wide open.
And he’s looking down at you. Helmet on. Visor down.
And he groans. Head tilted.
“Look at you.” His hand rubs against the tip of his cock. Neck flushed red. Veiny. “So fuckin’ wet. Leaking down your thighs.”
He brings one hand down. Slips his fingers through your folds, and drags your slick. Smearing it over your clit with deliberate circles.
“God, you’re a fuckin’ mess.” He breathes.
You gasp. Arch.
“Turns you on, doesn’t it?” He laughs. “Knowin’ that I can’t even spit on you with this on…so I’ll use your own mess instead. Rub it all over you. Let you fuck yourself on it.”
And then he’s shoving two fingers in.
You cry out. He curls them inside you, fucking you slow.
“Could make you come again, yeah?” He huffs. “On my fingers. Just like this?”
And you do.
Grinding against his hand like you can’t stop. Desperate.
“That’s it,” He groans. “Be a good little slut and fuck yourself on my hand.”
He jerks himself with his other hand, watching you.
And then when your eyes roll back he pulls his fingers out.
“Nu uh.” He grunts. “On your knees.”
You drop to your knees before he even finishes speaking. Hands scrambling to steady yourself, face flushed. Mouth open. Drooling.
And he’s looking down at you.
“That’s it…” He huffs.
Fists his cock once. Slow. Just enough to tease himself. And he’s still wet with your slick. Still hard. Red and twitching.
Presses the tip to your tongue.
“You wanted this, yeah?” He grunts. “Said you wanted me to keep it on one day. So be useful with it.”
You moan as he pushes himself into your mouth. Lips wrapping around him and sucking him. Greedy.
But the second you begin to move your head…to bob your head.
He stops you.
One hand reaching for the back of your neck. Gripping it tight.
“No. You don’t set the pace here.” He squeezes a little harder. “I do.”
And then he’s thrusting his hips.
Shoving himself into your mouth. Into your throat.
And you choke immediately. Spit slipping from the corners of your lips, eyes watering as he holds you in place. His cock twitching against your tongue.
“Look at that,” He pants, head tilted. “Cryin already and I’ve barely fucked your throat.”
He pulls out.
And you gasp. Cough a little bit.
“Yeah, that’s it. Open up again.”
You do. Tongue out. Eyes watery.
And this time he fucks you with it.
No warning. Just one hand at the back of your neck, hair weaved through his fingers in a tight grip. The other on your jaw as he fucks himself into your mouth.
Your nose presses against his pelvis and the room echoes with the sounds of his moans and the choking sounds of your gags.
“So fuckin’ good f’me…” His head falls back. Neck veiny.
He only lets go when you start to shake. Pulling himself out with a pop and long string of spit falling from your mouth.
You gasp. Moan. Cough.
And then he thrusts in again. Harder. Messier.
Your throat squeezes him every time he buries himself in. Spit leaking down to your chest. Tears on your cheeks.
And all you can see when you look up is the black visor.
Your own reflection staring back at you.
“Fuck…just like that..don’t stop. Fuck fuck…oh my…”
And then he groans. Loud. Muffled by the helmet.
And you feel him pulse. Hot.
Pouring into your throat as you swallow around him.
And you’re still trembling when he pulls you back onto the bed. Barely able to catch a breath.
He’s laying flat on his back now. Helmet still on. One hand stroking his cock slowly.
You climb over him. Aching. Straddle him with a shaky breath. Hands braced on his chest.
And for a moment you pause. Just to look at him.
The helmet. Impossible to ignore.
Neon chaos.
Jet black visor. Gloss finish.
And somewhere in that curved reflection, you see yourself. Flushed.
And it makes you clench. Eyes widen as you stare at the helmet like it owns you.
And it does.
Because it’s him.
Lando. Neon. Reckless. Buried under that color, under you….
“Yeah,” he pants, a smirk hidden behind his helmet. “Y’like seeing yourself like that, don’t you?”
You reach down and line him up. Both of you groaning as you sink down. Until your ass is flush against him.
You both breathe for a moment. And then you begin moving.
But his hands are on you immediately, gripping you tight as you roll your hips and grind down. Fucking yourself onto him.
“You’re unreal,” He pants. “Fuckin glowing.”
You bounce harder. Sloppier. Hands on his chest as you fall onto his cock over and over. Moaning.
And then he’s speaking softer. Wrecked.
“Need to kiss you.”
And the words hit you like a punch.
You gasp. Hips stuttering.
“I need it,” He says again. “Can’t…fuck..can’t breathe right in this fucking thing. Can’t even fuckin taste you.”
And then he’s sitting up rapidly, chest pressed to you. His helmet nearly hitting your face.
You clutch his shoulders. Whimpering.
And he’s grunting. Struggling with the strap, hands fumbling until the helmet finally loosens. And he yanks it off.
And then he looks at you.
Flushed pink, sweat-damp curls sticking to his forehead. His cheeks are red and blotchy. Lips parted from panting. His jaw is flexing like he’s trying to keep himself together, but his eyes. His eyes are wild. Dark.
He looks wrecked.
Looking at you like he’s been tortured from not being able to kiss you. And his mouth is so pink, so swollen that it makes you clench around him.
And then he’s grabbing your jaw and kissing you. All tongue and teeth. Hands grabbing your ass, pushing you down onto his cock even deeper.
And he groans deep into your mouth.
“Could fuck you forever,” He’s panting. “But need your mouth. Always.”
You moan into every kiss. Body trembling against him. Riding him with a frantic desperation.
“M’gonna…fuck…gonna come again.” You whisper.
“Good,” He breathes against you. “Wanna feel it.”
And you do.
You sob against his mouth. Clenching around him. Soaking him.
“Wanna come inside you,” He gasps. “Please, baby…please let me come in this…”
You nod.
And he spills into you with a groan so loud that it makes your stomach twist.
Your bodies melt together. And for the first time all night, it’s silent.
Until he's tucking a stand of hair behind your ear.
“Y’let me do all that with the helmet on,” His thumb brushes against your lips. “But it’s this mouth….this fuckin mouth…that’ll be the death of me.”
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- A Package Deal
- A Package Deal - Part 2
- A Package Deal - Part 3
- A Package Deal - Part 4
- A Package Deal - Part 5
- A Package Deal - Part 6
- A Package Deal - Epilogue 1
- A Package Deal - Epilogue 2
