#alpha oscar

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Oscar Piastri watched the chaos unfold from the relative quiet of a corner table, a half-eaten protein bar in his hand. He hadn't been this focused since the opening lap in Monaco. Today was the culmination of months—years, really—of carefully measured intent.

Lando, bright-eyed and buzzing, was currently wrestling with a ridiculously oversized balloon shaped like a number four, while someone filmed him laughing. Even under the bright lights and the pressure of the race weekend ahead, Lando smelled wonderful—a sweet, slightly sharp scent of citrus and rain, amplified by the joy of the day.

Oscar had been courting him for so long that it had become canonical within the team hierarchy. It wasn’t a secret; it was a known fact, like the colour of the cars or the persistent drizzle in Silverstone.

Andrea Stella often sighed dramatically when discussing strategy, only to amend, “And Oscar, please remember that Lando needs his sleep, regardless of how late your protective instincts keep you lingering outside his hotel room.”

Oscar had never denied it. His courtship was a steady, immovable force—polite, patient, but absolute in its intent. He never pushed Lando into a public claim or boundary-setting behavior that the Omega clearly wasn’t ready for, yet he always ensured his presence was known.

He brought the best coffee, remembered Lando’s exact stress levels based on his scent profile, and provided a steady, grounded presence that stood in stark contrast to the whirlwind life they lived.

Lando finally wobbled over, the balloon trailing behind him. “Oz! You are annoyingly quiet for someone who just had two thousand people scream at him to wish me a happy birthday.”

Oscar’s lips curved into a slow smile. “Happy birthday, Omega. Don’t you think I’ve been practicing that line for months? I couldn’t waste the delivery.”

He reached across the table and placed a small, velvet-wrapped box next to Lando’s bowl of Fruit Loops. “This is the placeholder. Something shiny for the circuit.”

Lando’s eyes widened. Inside was a sterling silver friendship ring, plain and polished. “A placeholder?”

“Yes. You can’t wear the real gift here,” Oscar murmured, his voice dropping low so only Lando could hear. It was a subtle display of private ownership, a hint of the Alpha beneath the usually reserved exterior. “I require you for the evening. No press, no team dinner, no Twitch stream. You are mine from six o’clock sharp.”

Lando’s scent spiked, a rush of nervous energy mixed with curiosity. “Mine? Oscar, I have a million things to do. The team—”

“Zak already approved,” Oscar cut in smoothly, taking a deliberate sip of his water. “He told me to ensure I finally get you to stop ‘dithering.’ I believe his exact words were, ‘If you don’t lock that boy down tonight, Piastri, I will find a more decisive Alpha to be his teammate.’”

Lando flushed, the idea of external intervention clearly annoying him, yet the confirmation that the whole team was invested in his happiness—and his relationship with Oscar—was strangely comforting.

“Fine,” Lando said, shoving the placeholder ring onto his index finger. “Six o’clock. But if this involves a spreadsheet detailing the optimal routes to avoid traffic, I’m ordering a pizza instead.”

“No spreadsheets,” Oscar promised, standing up. “Only intentionality.”

The clock ticked down slowly through the afternoon. Practice sessions felt endless, and debriefs dragged. Lando was acutely aware of his Alpha’s eyes on him—a silent watchfulness that was both proprietary and deeply reassuring.

At 5:58 PM, Lando found Oscar waiting by a sleek, unmarked black car parked discreetly outside the paddock gates, away from the usual branded chaos. Oscar was dressed impeccably in simple black trousers and a soft, charcoal sweater that smelled faintly of pine and the deep, rich scent of his own Alpha pheromones—a scent that had already begun to register as 'safe' in Lando's Omega instincts.

“I’m impressed,” Lando said, sliding into the passenger seat. “No traffic spreadsheets.”

“There were multiple iterations, but I deleted them,” Oscar conceded, starting the engine. They pulled away from the circuit, leaving behind the roar of engines and the flashing cameras.

Lando watched the city lights transform into softer, quieter country roads. “Where are we going? Out of the city?”

“We are going somewhere you can breathe,” Oscar said, glancing over. “Somewhere quiet, where the air isn't thick with competitive Alpha energy and race fuel.”

Lando leaned back, letting the smooth vibration of the car wash over him. He smelled the strong, reliable scent radiating from Oscar. It was the scent of commitment, of unwavering presence.

There was a vulnerability to Lando that few people saw. Despite the public bravado and the stream-focused chaos, his Omega instincts craved structure and unwavering loyalty. Oscar knew this better than anyone. That's why his courtship had focused less on grand gestures and more on consistent, reliable support.

After thirty minutes of driving, they turned onto a private drive leading up a gentle hill. Lando gasped when he saw the destination: a beautifully restored, rustic stone house bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. It wasn't ostentatious; it was homey.

“I rented this for the night,” Oscar explained, pulling the handbrake. “It has no Wi-Fi, no signal, and no connection to the outside world.”

Lando laughed, a genuine, delighted sound. “You absolute menace. You kidnapped me.”

“I provided sanctuary,” Oscar corrected, opening Lando’s door. “And dinner is waiting.”

The inside of the house was warm, dimly lit, and smelled perfectly neutral—no lingering scent markers from previous visitors, which Oscar knew was paramount for an Omega needing to settle. A fire crackled gently in the hearth, and a simple but elegant table was set for two overlooking the valley.

“It’s beautiful, Oscar. Really,” Lando said softly, feeling a tightness loosen in his chest he hadn't realized was there.

Oscar simply nodded and led him to the dining table. The meal was prepared by a private chef who had departed before their arrival: Lando’s favorite comfort food, elevated— carbonara and meatballs, spring rolls, and brownies.

As they ate, the conversation was easy, flowing from the banality of tire compounds to the deep seriousness of their shared future in the sport. But beneath the surface, the air was crackling with the acknowledgment of the unspoken reason they were there alone.

"So," Lando finally said, pushing his plate away. "Zak told you to 'lock me down.' You think I'm a stray heeled shoe?”

Oscar leaned back, his eyes steady on Lando. “I know you are not. But I know what you need, Lando, and I know I can provide it.”

Lando’s chest tightened. “What gives you the right to assume that?”

“The fact that you let me,” Oscar responded honestly, without a hint of arrogance. “You have rejected every other Alpha’s attempt over the past two years. You allow me to linger, you allow me to scent-mark your belongings, and you trust me to know when you are nearing exhaustion. That doesn’t happen by accident, Omega.”

He reached across the table and took Lando's hand, his thumb stroking the back of the smaller hand in a slow, rhythmic motion—a simple, deeply soothing gesture.

“I have never been impatient with you,” Oscar continued, his voice resonating with deep intention, the Alpha tone barely contained. “I have always prioritized your comfort and your readiness above my own desires. I have been courting you publicly for exactly seventeen months, twenty-two days, and four hours, and I have treated you with the respect you deserve. Tonight, however, the courtship ends.”

Lando sucked in a breath. “It ends?”

“Yes. Because tonight, I am asking you to choose. If you want me, you stop treating this like a game of ‘will he, won’t he.’ You stop treating the idea of a serious bond like something terrifying, and you let me take care of you. If you don’t, I will stop. The persistent attention, the protective instincts—all of it stops, and we go back to being competitive teammates only.”

Lando felt a cold rush of fear at the thought of losing the steady, dependable pressure Oscar exerted. It was terrifying to face commitment, but far more terrifying to face the future without his Alpha’s anchor.

“You’re giving me a contract ultimatum, Piastri,” Lando whispered.

“I am giving you clarity,” Oscar countered, lifting their joined hands and pressing a warm kiss to Lando’s inner wrist, right where his pulse beat rapidly. “I want you. Completely. I want to build a nest with you in the off-season. I want to be the one you call when the pressure is too much. I want to be your Alpha.”

He stood up then, walking to the armchair beside the fireplace. On the seat, folded neatly, was the real gift. It wasn’t flashy or expensive in the way of sponsorship deals; it was deeply, profoundly personal.

It was a soft, cashmere blanket the color of midnight blue, intricately embroidered with the McLaren insignia, but the key element was the scent. It was heavily infused with Oscar’s strongest pheromones—a deliberate, deep scent-mark, meant for nesting and comfort. Beside it lay a heavy, leather-bound journal.

“This,” Oscar said, gesturing to the blanket. “Is for your apartment. When the circuit smells are too much, or when you’re traveling and need to feel grounded. It is my presence, without my physical body. Use it, Lando. Let it comfort you.”

Lando walked over, his legs feeling shaky. He sank his face into the impossibly soft cashmere, inhaling deeply. It was overwhelming—that rich, complex blend of pine, fresh linen, and Oscar’s unique, grounding musk. Tears pricked at his eyes. This wasn’t just a gift; it was a promise to care for his Omega needs.

Then, he picked up the journal. It wasn't blank.

“What is this?”

“Open it,” Oscar prompted.

Lando opened the book. The title page was dated from a year and a half ago, right after Oscar’s debut race.

Journal Entry 1, Bahrain: He smells like victory and anxiety. I must remember to bring the calming tea next week. Note: Must learn how his stress scent differs from his excitement scent.

Lando flipped further.

Entry 47, Monza: He was furious about the tire choice. I let him vent in the cool-down room for twenty minutes before offering strategy advice. He relaxed slightly after I brought him the spicy miso soup. Patience is key.

It was a detailed record of their interactions, Lando’s emotional landscape, his scent shifts, his favorite foods, his insecurities, and plans for how Oscar intended to support him—all meticulously noted by the Alpha. A record of the long, persistent courtship.

“This is… this is insane,” Lando choked out, leaning against the cold stone of the fireplace, clutching the book and the blanket.

“It is my commitment,” Oscar said. “It is the evidence that I don't just say I care, Lando. I study you. I prioritize you. This is the level of foundational dedication I bring to a bond.”

Lando finally looked up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. He saw Oscar waiting, standing tall, radiating a calm certainty that settled the frantic buzzing in Lando’s core. The Alpha didn’t need to shout his intent; it was written in eighteen months of service and observation.

“You are,” Lando managed, his voice thick with emotion, “the most thorough person I have ever met, Oscar Piastri.”

“I’m thorough about what is important to me,” Oscar confirmed, taking a slow step toward him. “Are we doing this, Lando?”

The Omega scent in the room turned sweet, the sharp citrus mellowing into a heady, intoxicating honey. Lando dropped the journal onto the armchair, the cashmere blanket still clutched to his chest.

“Yes,” Lando breathed out, the word a soft surrender. “Yes, Oscar. I choose you.”

He dove forward, not tentatively, but with the full force of his realized need. Oscar caught him instantly, wrapping strong, reassuring arms around his waist.

Lando pressed his face into Oscar’s neck, taking a deep, affirming inhale of the warm, powerful pheromones. It felt like coming home after a thousand miles of driving.

Oscar didn’t kiss him immediately. He held Lando tightly, letting the Omega settle into the physical embrace, letting his presence scent-mark Lando fully, reinforcing the sudden, beautiful shift in their dynamic.

“Happy birthday, my Omega,” Oscar murmured into Lando’s hair, and the sound of the possessive word sent shivers of deep satisfaction down Lando’s spine.

Then, Oscar tilted Lando’s chin up, his eyes dark with the long-suppressed desire of an Alpha given permission to claim.

The kiss was everything the long wait had promised: deep, patient, and utterly consuming. It was firm, tasting of commitment and the subtle sweetness of the lemon tart they had just shared. It was a seal on the contract written not in ink, but in shared respect and undeniable attraction.

When they finally broke apart, Lando was flushed, breathing heavily, feeling more grounded and focused than he had in years.

“So,” Lando said, running his fingers lightly over the cashmere blanket. “What now?”

Oscar smiled, that rare, full, confident Oscar smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He picked Lando up effortlessly, holding him against his chest with the ease of an Alpha claiming his mate.

“Now, my birthday present,” Oscar said, carrying him towards the stairs, “is to give you the most restful, scent-filled, and safe night of sleep you have ever had. And tomorrow, we go back to the circuit, and everyone will know.”

Lando leaned his head on Oscar’s shoulder, smelling the rich scent of absolute victory. “And the spreadsheets?”

“Right, Doc’s cleared you. Let’s get you back to the hotel. Your dad’ll stay with you for observation.”

Lando snaps his head up to look at his trainer, immediately regretting it as the sterile room spins, and he can feel the stiffness in his neck and shoulders.

“Noooo, wha’?”

“That’s the condition of not staying here overnight. We take you back to the hotel with someone there to monitor you ourselves.”

“Well yeah, m’not staying ‘ere,” Lando presses, rubbing his forehead. The lights in the room are slightly dimmed for him, but it’s still uncomfortable. “Wanna go back with’team.”

The three men in the room all look at him with incredulous looks. Lando folds his arms as he sits against the pillows of the hospital bed. He’s sat on it, rather than in it, as they’ve finished all the necessary tests and scans, and everyone is happy with the results. He should be fine within the next few days.

Oli scoffs. “Bro, you cannot be serious. You have a head injury. You can barely talk!”

“Leave m’alone,” he snaps back. Yes, his head hurts and his mouth hasn’t quite connected back with his brain yet, but he’s an adult and he can do what he likes, thank you. Oli has his own family, including pups to go and be with.

“Boys,” Dad sighs.

“I wouldn’t recommend it, Lando. We need to keep you away from lights and noise. The team are absolutely not expecting you at debrief. You don’t need to be there.”

“Coz I’ve got nothing t’say? Cheers, m’aware,” he huffs.

“Come on, mate, it wasn’t even your fault.”

“Well, nobody else crashed there, di’they? Jus’ me.”

Dad rubs his back. “Why do you want to go back to the paddock so bad? We can set you up in your nest with all the lights off and make sure you won’t be disturbed other than for concussion checks.”

Lando whines. Of course he wants to be back in his nest, buried beneath the blankets in the darkness and sleep. But there is one big, obvious thing missing!

“Let me guess: he’s Australian, also drives a McLaren F1 car, and just happens to be an Alpha?”

Lando flips his brother off. And if he blushes, so fucking what. He sticks out his tongue for good measure. “Shuddup. M’hurt.”

“Which is exactly why we should be getting you back to the hotel,” Jon tries again.

Lando stands up and sways dangerously, saved from toppling over by his dad’s arm around his waist. He buries his head against his shoulder, sighing at the relief from the lights.

“Careful!” Dad scolds, gently kissing his head.

“Wanna see Osc n’ say sorry to th’team.”

He hears Jon sigh.

“It’ll make me feel better,” he adds. “Promise.”

There are a few seconds of silence, and Lando knows they’re silently communicating over his head. He wants to be safe in his nest. His omega instincts, even through his injuries, are screaming that he needs to be protected and cared for. Not that his family can’t do that, but Osc is his Alpha.

Except he’s not, but his omega chirps at the easy acceptance anyway.

He needs to see Osc as soon as possible.

“Don’t make us regret this,” Dad says, and Lando’s smile isn’t forced. He’s relieved and content that comfort is coming his way.

“You’re wearing sunglasses and a cap for the lights, and your hood up for the cold. I can’t promise the media won’t leave you alone, but we’ll do our best to stop them.”

“Kay. Cheers,” he manages.

“If you change your mind, you tell us.”

Lando waves them off and makes for the door. There’s a persistent itch that needs soothing, and he chirps, except it comes out as more of a grunt amidst the nausea.

~

He decides not to knock and just barges right in. Even with his eyes covered, the blazing fluorescent lights make him hiss.

There’s a beat of silence before a wall of noise.

“Lando?”

“What on earth are you doing here?”

“Who the fuck made him come back here?”

“Lando, please. Go and sleep.”

He puts his hands over his ears and screws up his eyes. It makes him lose his balance, and he panics, but then there’s a warm, steadying arm around his waist, and his breath catches because he knows it’s Osc.

His omega recognises the alpha on instinct, immediately relaxing and gripping his jacket, burying his face against his neck. Well, he tries at least, but it’s awkward with his cap and sunglasses on his face. He whines, and he feels the alpha rumble in comfort.

“I’ve got you, Lan,” comes Oscar’s voice, smooth and soft and gentle in his ear. He rests his head against his chest instead, Osc’s arms around him. Safe. Protected.

“Sorry for the surprise interruption. He didn’t want to leave without apologising, and we didn’t wanna cause him any more stress,” Jon says from the doorway.

“M’sorry, everyone,” he says, and he can feel Osc shake his head. “Fucked the car. Wanted a cuddle.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologise for, Lando. We’re just glad you’re okay, and we wish you a fast recovery. Oscar, go and take care of him. We’ll see you both in Abu Dhabi.”

Lando peeks back over at Zak, who is smiling brightly at them.

“No punishment?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. Go and take care of yourselves, kiddos.”

There’s a general chorus of well-wishes and waves, and Osc grabs his stuff and leads him out of the room. Keeping an arm around him, he shakes hands with his dad and clasps hands with Jon before they make their way out.

Once out into the freezing November air, Osc drops his hold, but his dad is right there offering his arm. He stands and pouts as his brain can’t process what’s happening and why Osc is suddenly avoiding him when he’s standing there shivering.

“Paddock. Photographers,” Dad says as he offers his arm again. Osc gives him an encouraging nod, and he obeys.

He stays close, though, and Lando appreciates it. They’re all wearing scent blockers, which Lando’s omega despises with a passion when he’s distressed, but as soon as they’re in the car back to the hotel, the patches come off and the crisp, cold leather is quickly replaced with apples, chocolate, and lavender.

Jon drives, and Lando sits between Osc and his dad. Oli had already gone back to his wife and pups. He carefully lays his head against the alpha’s shoulder, and Osc pokes his leg periodically to keep him awake.

It’s not really needed, given that the jostling from the moving vehicle upsets his stomach, and he grabs hold of Oscar’s hand as he breathes.

~

He barely survives the trip up to his room. The lift throws his sense of balance completely off, and they barely make it inside the suite before Osc is barrelling them into the bathroom and he’s emptying his stomach into the toilet.

He moans, throat and eyes stinging. Osc rubs his back, placing the fallen sunglasses on the sink.

“You gonna be alright with him, Oscar?” Jon asks from the doorway.

“You’re under no obligations to stay,” Dad adds. “I’m more than happy to be here with him.”

Lando shakes his head, but the nausea returns and he’s quickly got his head over the bowl again, coughing and spluttering, only upright because of Osc’s firm hold. There’s a bitter note to his chocolate scent, and his omega whines at making his alpha anxious.

“I think he wants me.” Lando grips his arms like a lifeline, unable to provide a verbal answer. “I’m here, Lan, I’m not going anywhere.”

“If he throws up again while you sleep, complains of pain, or becomes confused, you call us, and we’re going back to the hospital. Anything worse, call 911.”

“Yep,” Osc replies, wiping Lando’s mouth with a towel before helping him stand up.

Dad and Jon both hug him gently before leaving them alone. Osc guides him out of the bathroom and over to his nest.

“Do you wanna get changed?”

Lando doesn’t shake his head, mindful of what happens every time he does. “No, should be fine in my underwear.”

“Okay, sit down, I’ll help you undress.”

“Take me out on a date first, Osc,” he quips, before slapping a hand over his mouth.

Osc quirks an eyebrow with a soft smile, but he’s also blushing as he helps Lando out of his layers, albeit slower than he’d have preferred, as he’s still sore. It makes Lando’s omega want to purr, and of course, it happens before he can stop it. Osc’s alpha rumbles back immediately, though, and he finds himself relaxing again. He really hopes neither of them regrets this in the morning. Lando essentially kidnapped him.

It's Osc giving him a water bottle to wash away the taste of bile that makes him tear up.

“Lan?” he asks, kneeling in front of him.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and sniffles. “M’sorry for dragging you here. Fucking horrible teammate I am, making you take care of me. My dad’s literally here, yet my instincts are calling for you.”

Oh, he’s fully blaming his head injury for the lack of filter. He will regret this after he’s slept, and Osc no doubt regrets everything right now.

The alpha rests a hand on his knee, thumb stroking his bare skin and leaving goosebumps. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna be. I wanna look after you, darling.”

“Alpha,” Lando whispers through his tears, and Osc’s hand cups his jaw. It’s so gentle and respectful, like he’s a newly fired piece of pottery.

“I’m here, Omega.”

Osc stands up, moving between his legs, and Lando hugs him around the middle, resting his head against his warm chest. Soft fingers card through his curls, and he relaxes as he feels Oscar’s alpha rumble. He’s purring back, and for just a minute as they breathe together, he feels at peace.

He smiles as the vibrations harmonise with their heartbeats.

~

It was too warm, the cooler humming like a tired animal overhead. Logan barely noticed. His fingers moved on autopilot, sorting receipts at the counter, while the table of omegas near the freezer buzzed with excitement.

“He’s already been scenting me in the mornings,” one said, dreamy-eyed. “You know what that means.”

“I heard Daniel’s gonna run after Caden this year. Finally.”

Laughter. Giggling. Squeals muffled into sleeves. The Full Moon Run was less than a week away, and every omega in town was acting like the mating lottery was about to change their life.

Logan didn’t have the heart to roll his eyes. He just kept counting, ignoring the twist in his stomach. 

The bell above the door rang.

His body recognized them before his mind could catch up. Every hair on his arm raising.

Lando’s laugh came first, deep and loose, care-free. Oscar’s followed. Quieter.

Always together, like two halves of something hungry. Their proximity set Logan’s teeth on edge. Instead of one pair of eyes, he had to worry about avoiding two.

It was worse at university. In the lecture hall, Logan always sat near the back, hoping to disappear. But sometimes he’d look up and find them already watching. Lando, draped across his seat, careless. Oscar, sitting too still, too sharp, eyes already on Logan. Like he was waiting for him to move so he could tear into him.

Worse during games. Logan tried not to go, his friends dragged him anyway. He swore, during certain plays, they’d both look to the stands. Not scanning. Not curious. Looking. At him.

They never approached. Never spoke on campus. Just that awareness. Pressure without contact.

Logan felt like prey in a set trap, waiting to be eaten.

Their combined scents musk, cedar, and something dense and feral beneath it. Something meant to root into the spine and keep you there.

“Evening, Logan,” Lando said, placing a protein bar on the counter. His grin was lazy, practiced, but his eyes weren’t. They flicked over Logan like a hand pressed too hard against skin.

Oscar didn’t say anything. He stood close. Closer than he needed to. His gaze pinning Logan in place, cold and unblinking.

“Big week,” Lando said, tapping the bar. “Full Moon Run.” His smile sharpened.

Logan opens his mouth but Oscar beats him to it.

“Anyone you’re running from?” His voice low and even, but carrying an edge. Like teeth just beginning to sink in.

It was a typical question for omegas, but the way he said it made Logan’s stomach tighten.

Yeah. You, Logan thought. You, both of you, and whatever the hell you’ve turned me into.

Their stares were different as they waited for his response. Lando’s was hot, slow and rolling, predatory. Oscar’s was colder. Focused. Cutting. But both looked at him like he’d already been caught, and they were just deciding who would taste him first.

Alphas . His inner omega had been preening ever since he first felt their attention. The animal side of him liked this game they started, wanted this. The attention. The chase. The teeth. The promise.

His voice comes out thinner than he likes. “No, just running for the sake of tradition.”

Lando smirks. Oscar nods once, as if something had been confirmed.

Lando's lips curve back, “Run fast.” Too many teeth in that smile. “Wouldn’t want your run to end too soon.”

“Or try to hide,” Oscar adds. Still watching him. Like he could already hear Logan panting in the dark. “Unless some beast claims you first.”

—--

Logan should have taken their conversation as a warning, a prelude to the slow torture they had planned for him. From that day on until the run, they were everywhere and nowhere, shadows slipping just out of reach. It made him feel feverish, strung tight between the hunger clawing up from his inner omega and the cold certainty that he was being hunted.

Each morning, when he runs, it’s as if they’ve already passed through. The scent of vetiver and dark chocolate linger, clinging to the damp earth, wrapping around tree trunks. It coats the air, fills his throat, leaves him dizzy.

Or when he walks between lecture halls, heat presses against the back of his neck, sharp and electric. For a split second, it feels like someone is right behind him, breath hot and full of intent. But when he turns, no one’s there.

And at night, his dreams twist. Hands, rough on his hips. A voice, low and dangerous, whispers in his ear, the two of them tangled into one. He wakes up burning, soaked in sweat, aching in ways he’s only known in heat.

The dreams make it harder to ignore them, harder to pretend this isn’t what it is. A hunt. He sees them in his periphery, their eyes cutting through everything and locking on him. Their scents easily picked out in a crowd. The two of them taunting him in and out of his dreams. 

His skin prickles, with anticipation. Surrounded by two alphas circling closer with every heartbeat, wearing patience like teeth. Waiting for the right moment to strike and claim.

—-

Slipping into the lecture hall on the last day before the run, he’s early enough to claim his usual seat. He hears the quiet scuff of boots, as someone lowers into the seat next to him without a word. Oscar. Casual, as if by coincidence but the air shifts instantly. Logan’s pen trembles as he uncaps it. 

His scent moves slowly. Cedar, like someones forced his face against bark. Then vetiver, thick and green. Sage at the edges. It curls into Logan’s throat and stays there. 

Oscar leans back. Legs wide. He doesn’t look at Logan. Doesn’t need to. His scent is doing all the work. It spreads, heavy and warm, turning the air damp. Logan’s grip on his pen tightens. His mouth is dry. Then the back of his neck prickles.

Lando.

The creak of the seat as he slides into the row behind. Not a word. Just heat. His scent pours forward. Dark chocolate, bitter and melting. Then musk, thick and carnal. Pepper cuts through it, sharp enough to bite.

Logan closes his eyes for a second. A mistake. His omega stirs, raw and wanting. Body already open to them. Remembering the dreams. Wanting more.

They were bracketing him. Not touching. Watching. Letting their scents soak into his clothes, his skin. Claiming without a word.

The seat creaks again. A boot nudges the back of his chair.

"Convenient view," Lando murmurs. "Easy to keep an eye on things."

Logan’s pen taps once. His heart stutters. He can smell himself now. Not heat. Not quite. But close. Close enough his thighs press together beneath the desk.

Oscar finally turns his head. Just enough.

"You’ll be ready by the time the full moon rises," he says. His smile flashes, all teeth. "I can smell it."

Logan’s pulse skips. He doesn’t respond. Can’t. The words are trapped under the heat rising in him.

Lando lets out a sound, something quiet and dark. Like he was biting back hunger.

—-- 

The clearing was loud.

Logan stands among the other omegas, breath shallow, heartbeat syncing with the slow throb of ritual drums in the distance. Moonlight spills across the clearing, cold and silver, lighting the trees they are about to disappear into. The air smells thick of earth, pine, and heat—omega heat. Dozens of bodies buzz with nerves and pheromones, shifting, glancing at one another, scenting the air like prey trying to guess who will fall first.

He doesn’t see them.

His eyes scan the alpha line across the field—rows of tall silhouettes, faces half-shrouded in shadow, postures already straining with hunger. Some wear wolfish grins, teeth bared. Others crouch low, vibrating with the need to chase. But Lando and Oscar are not among them.

They haven’t come.

Disappointment coils in his gut. His omega bristles, whining for them. It wants teeth at his heels and breath at his back. It wants to be caught.

But they’re not here.

He swallows hard and stares into the dark. The woods loom dense, root-bound and shadow-choked, filled with the ancient, pulsing rhythm of the Run. This is not his first year, but it feels different now. He has never been hunted before the starting horn. Never been sent into a soft pre-heat days early. Now he has to run and hide for real or risk being taken by someone else.

The horn sounds.

Omegas bolt.

Logan moves on instinct. Legs pumping, lungs burning, he plunges into the trees. Dirt kicks up behind him. His heartbeat roars in his ears. He does not think. He just runs . Branches tear at his arms. Ferns slap his thighs. The air is rich with adrenaline and sweat and fear. Behind him—shouts, a whoop, the crash of bodies in the brush.

The chase begins.

Minutes pass. Or seconds. Or hours. Time dissolves. His legs scream. His breath drags rough through his throat. He doesn’t look back. He thinks he’s alone.

Then the forest goes still.

No snapping branches. No heavy footsteps. No victorious snarls. Quiet. Too quiet. He leans against a tree, panting, sweat slicking his neck.

Then—snap.

A twig snaps behind him. His body reacts before his mind. He bolts—gut twisting, lungs burning, heart hammering in his throat. Another step behind him. Closer. Heavier. Controlled. He veers left, hard, trying to lose whoever has found him. The loam shifts under his feet. His breath catches. He feels it now—heat, breath, presence. Behind him.

The scent hits him first. Wet woods and green sage, and Oscar . Thick. Unmistakable. A shape flashes in his periphery. He pushes harder, hurtling through a narrow gap in the trees. 

It was too late.

A solid chest catches him like a wall. Air explodes from his lungs. A snarl curls in his throat. Rough hands seize him, anchoring him in place.

Lando.

“Got you,” he breathes, low and gloating.

Logan thrashes, but it's useless. Oscar moves in behind him, sealing him between them. Heat rolls off their bodies. Logan’s stomach flips as need surges, sudden and sharp.

“I knew you’d run this way,” Oscar murmurs at his ear. “We’ve been waiting.”

Their bodies cage him. Lando in front, Oscar behind. He can feel them—hard, hungry, breath syncing with his. He pants, half from exertion, half from the pressure building inside him. 

“This isn’t fair,” he says, voice ragged.

Lando smiles down at him. “Who said anything about fair?”

Oscar’s voice is barely audible, a whisper at the edge of control. “We told you to run.”

Lando’s hand clamps the back of Logan’s neck. “Or hide.”

Oscar’s grip settles on his hips, strong and steady. “Or some beast would get you. Now you’re caught. By two.”

Logan tries to respond to string words into something sharp and playful. But the game is already ending, and his body has been preparing for this all week. All he can do is dig his hands into Lando’s chest, trembling.

“You ran like you wanted to be chased,” Lando murmurs. His hand tightens on Logan’s neck, fingers digging in, possessive.  “You ran because you wanted to be taken down. You wanted teeth at your throat and hands dragging you to the dirt.”

His fingers dig in hard, forcing Logan to hold still as he leans in, breath scalding against his cheek. “You wanted us to eat you alive.”

Oscar’s hands roam lower, nails scoring over Logan’s thigh like he’s already carving a claim. “You were begging for this,” Oscar breathes, voice curling at the edge of cruelty. “Every time we got near, you soaked the air in heat. Could smell it clinging to your skin.”

Logan gasps, the words stripping him down further than their hands.  

“Thought we didn’t notice?” Lando growls. “Your scent changed every time. Could smell you getting wet just from hearing our voices.”

Logan’s breath comes sharp, shallow. He squirms, but it only makes them press closer.

“You wanted to be hunted,” Oscar bites out. “Wanted to feel us breathing down your neck while you ran. Wanted to be fucked into the ground and ruined.”

Lando’s thumb slides across Logan’s bottom lip, forcing it open. “You kept giving us excuses to chase you. Letting us soak you in our scent. We saw it. Your body winding tighter every day.”

Logan whimpers, unable to deny it. His body betrays him, arching, grinding, silently begging.

Oscar’s voice drops, low and lethal. “You don’t get to pretend anymore. Not when you’re this close.”

Lando grips Logan’s jaw, turning his face up. “Say it. Say what you’re begging for. Or we’ll keep you right on the edge. Wanting. Needing.”

Oscar presses tighter to his back, his breath a furnace against Logan’s skin. “You don’t even know what to ask for, do you?”

“Unless that’s what you want,” Oscar adds, biting the shell of his ear. “To stay helpless and untouched, too desperate to think.” 

“Maybe,” Lando murmurs, brushing a knuckle over Logan’s nipple, “that’s exactly what you want.”

Logan arches helplessly, breath stuttering.

Lando’s voice turns to a growl. “But I don’t think so. I think you want to be used. Fucked. Filled.”

Oscar’s hand wraps around Logan’s throat, not tight, just enough to remind him whose mercy he’s at. “So ask for it. Like a good bunny.”