I know you've dabbled in Jendo, so what are your thoughts on omegaverse Jendo? My brain immediately jumped to alpha Jenson and omega Lando, but I think there could be an interesting non-traditional dynamic for them 👀
look i will make anything omegaverse if i am allowed.... so jendo omegaverse yes yes yes absolutely without a doubt...
im not the sort of person to say anyone is ONLY one secondary, i will write them as whatever i feel is most fun/the hottest for the situation at hand... non-trad jendo would be sooooo good.
omega/omega i always have a soft spot for. i need to bring my omega/omega agenda to f1 😋. i think itd work pretty well in terms of how jenson sees himself in lando, and wants to really support lando in everything hes doing (🏳️🌈🤨? LOL). really this is applicable to almost any combination you give them (omega!jenson providing for and domming alpha!lando anyone?). alpha jenson and omega lando could also be pretty fun, leaning heavily into landos flirty wile ways and jenson trying sooooo hard to resist but look at lando hes acting sad now how can jenson NOT give into him. that dynamic could get even more fun with beta jenson bc then what excuse does he even have for giving in.... also to consider... beta lando picking out perfume specifically to drive alpha jenson crazier over time at each race weekend, and he knows that scent is just a perfume but he CANT GET IT OUT OF HIS HEAD.
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"You shouldn't touch those ones, baby,"
"It's called Foxglove. It's poisonous."
As the three of them crowd together for the photos, George smells faint honey, reminiscent of the foxglove flowers.
Everything about Max's scent tells George that taking his hand away is the last thing Max wants.
Poisonous plants have always interested George.
If Max has any of these warnings, they don't register to George's brain.
George/Max; Explicit; 16.6k words. Written for @f1-omegaverse-fest
"What's your favorite constellation?" George asks, leaning into Charles' shoulder. He finds his own favorite, Serpens, and waits for an answer. Charles leans his weight into George in return.
"Constellation? I don't think of things like that," Charles answers with a laugh. "Which is yours?"
George huffs, leaning into Charles more so he can point his eyes in the rough direction.
"There? See? It's got a triangle head and a long tail. Serpens." Charles is squinting at the sky. George is pretty sure he has no idea what he's looking at.
"Oh, yes, I see. Beautiful," Charles says suddenly, giggling.
"You don't see it."
"No, no!" Charles frantically tries to point where George was pointing. It's hard to tell, he can't see through Charles' eyes. "There?"
"Hmm, I'm not sure..." He's mostly fucking with him. Charles knows, a stupid smile taking over his face as he laughs.
"Okay, my favorite can be your favorite. Although I mostly like all of them."
"I almost feel jealous that someone else got to mark you. If I had known you were looking I would've taken a shot," Charles says with a grin, ignoring the fact that drivers couldn't mark each other. There was this whole clause—
And then Charles left, walking away as though nothing had occurred between them just now, and like Charles hadn't admitted that he would've liked to court Max?
He hides for longer than he'd care to admit to anyone, only pulling himself out of the scent-drunk haze when his phone starts to ring.
...
Life has other plans, and Max wishes he could snap life's pencil or pen in half. Burn the pages. He finds himself staring at George Russell, waiting at the door to Max's hotel room. It's bad, that he's here at all, but he doesn't react to Max's quiet growl, just stands, quiet, watching as Max digs through his pockets and resists the urge to dump all of their contents onto the floor and walk away. When Max pulls open the door, George slips in like he belongs. A rage boils beneath Max's skin as he follows, slamming the door shut—as hard as he could, anyway. The thing doesn't let him, doesn't give any relief with a loud slam. Instead, it just lazily closes, a light air releasing from its mechanism.
"What do you want?" Max growls. He's already tired of this. George just appears to be brooding, eyes scanning over the contents of Max's room. It snares on the pile of clothes Max had dumped onto his bed in a fit this morning, like he had brought choices to wear at all. "If you're just going to mope, then you can get out."
George's eyes snap back to him, a sour sort of softness bleeding into his expression before its schooled away. "Why Charles?"
He can't help the disbelieving scoff that leaps from his mouth as he moves to sit, crossing his arms across his chest. "Why do you need to know? Maybe he wants to take me on a date before he bites," Max says with a shrug.
George doesn't bristle at the comment like Max wanted. He makes that stupid face he makes when the interviewer asks a dumb question, pursing his lips, looking at the hotel bed playing as a laundry bin. His hands hang at his sides, doing nothing. It is unnerving. He is too calm.
"And besides, cinnamon is nice. Reminds me of home," Max tacks on, but it sounds like a lie even to his own ears. Charles' lingering scent is leaving Max's nose feeling raw, like he needs to sneeze, unable to. Too much, especially with the full scenting the omega had given him. At Max's plea. If he is honest, George's scent reminds him of home in a way no one else's scent has. That fresh, clean water scent, like sitting at a lake on a nice summer afternoon. The sun on your skin and a cool breeze tickling at your face. But he couldn't be honest, not in this little story. "I might ask him to keep doing it," he continues.
That gets George's attention. "You won't…"
"I will,"
"He's a driver." George says it with more conviction than he deserves, Max thinks.
"So are you, Russell." Max raises a brow at George's hands curling into fists. "Besides, he didn't seem to care about that earlier today."
Maybe it was a bit wrong, to weaponize Charles' earnest comment from today, but it works well for his purposes. George's face falls into one of total disrepair, glancing between the floor and Max before he darts from the room, leaving the door to slowly snake its way shut again.
this wip is massive but god do i love it. this is "accidental" mating bite gax in a world where mating bites between drivers are disallowed due to a past incident which is going to be shown via an article (using ocs though, but i fell in love w the ocs too) sprinkled throughout the narrative. its not shown in this particular snippet but betas do not have scents unless they are marked by an alpha/omega and the scent develops to pair well with the one who marked them, max is a beta and was bitten by george and he asks charles to scent him to cover it, which leads into the above >:3
The whole thing, is that George never should've acknowledged any of this in the first place. He's got enough on his plate as is, being the top driver in the team now. Big legacy to live up to and all. Not that George isn't confident that he can't do that, it's just—that's not all he has on his plate.
It's a horrid secret, really. Monstrous, terrifying, overwhelming. Difficult to control. Rarely does it interfere with racing, he's dealt with the thing for decades now, keeping a distracting sparkling cover to prevent anyone from looking a little too closely. George even updates his strategies now and again; it's all buried in an excel file locked behind several password-protected folders and has a crypticly simple name that no one would ever dare open, lest they pass away from boredom by the mere idea of looking through ASSOCIATION_INFO.xls and good, that's how George feels too.
Kimi's advances started out innocent, stuff that George might've done if he had more guts when he was young and still starstruck by the brilliant drivers surrounding him. A lot of it feels like testing the waters to see how George would react to his younger teammate picking at the sort of feelings that drivers don't talk about these days. It's the sort of situation that'd get you dropped into boiling water by everyone who feels slighted by that sort of thing. Most living creatures don't make it out of the boiling water, or if they do, they are forever altered, stained.
So, it becomes routine to ignore the shooting stars dancing behind those wide brown eyes and beneath soft, put-together curly hair to match. George wears the brotherly aura that the Mercedes PR team wants him too like he'd wear a jacket that's been worn so long the sleeves are at the edge of life, ready to snap and give way to the emptiness beyond. Well-loved. He could repair it. George chooses not to. The rugged and used aura is important.
It escalates after he accidentally acknowledges the advances for what they are, as Kimi's arm is slipped around George's waist, his own holding his shorter teammate up by hooking a hand into his armpit while they stumble out of a bar. Kimi's face is flushed and he smells like alcohol and smoke, even though he didn't smoke. The combination burns in George's nostrils, even as they reach the cool June air. Kimi is smiling up at him in a dopey, drippy wet type of way that makes George's stomach flip. The temperature has dropped several degrees since they entered the bar hours earlier but George feels warm, so warm that it invokes memories of—
"George," Kimi starts, squeezing George's waist as he leans his full weight into him. "You—I know you know what I've been doing," he slurs.
Kimi's sharp canine teeth glow with the soft streetlights. His eyes are wide and sparkling and George can only imagine what sorts of universes could be spawned from within Kimi's vision. He's got the drive for it, he's been molded well by his creators, he's shaped for this,
"Why don't you ever answer?" he whines. "I'm—" hiccup "—trying very hard to get you to notice me."
George pulls Kimi along the sidewalk, his eyes forced down to his phone as he tries to remember who drove them here in the first place. A member of the team, surely. Kimi huffs, squeezing George hard enough for him to wince.
"Just get an uber or something, no?"
"Yeah, okay, an uber," George mumbles as he flips through his apps.
He gets them a ride while Kimi leans into him harder, nuzzling his nose into the sleeve of George's shirt. Puffs of his breath penetrate the fabric and George shudders. Nine minutes until their driver arrives. George pulls them to a damp, uncomfortable bench in the meantime. Kimi makes himself comfortable, glued to George's side. His eyes are closed as he hums a tune to the last song that had been blasted over the sweaty electric dance floor.
When the noise teeters off, George checks his phone. Four minutes. Kimi shifts to peer up at him, and there's a new emotion writing itself into his skin. He'd liken it to when Kimi is focused on the car, figuring out something he hasn't quite gotten yet, an intense and determined destination, but this isn't that. George shifts, trying to put even a sliver of distance between them. Kimi stops him, peering at him.
"Do you ever take it off?" Any sign that he'd been drinking other than the stench has disappeared like running water.
George's brows furrow. "What? Take what off?"
"Mm, I suppose not," Kimi muses, a dangerous grin takes over his whole face, boyish with chaos.
Figuring out what makes someone tick is so fun. Imagine taking a puzzle apart and then putting it back together, reading how each piece slots in again and viewing the complete picture after. The infuriatingly perfect appearances, the carefully calculated lines to anyone, a FRAGILE label on a box. Yes, it's all curation. Kimi is certain of that much. That's the name of the game these days, play a role, see how fans flock to it, shine it up, maybe show a few rough edges—those add depth and intrigue—then rinse and repeat.
George floundering makes all the individual pieces that Kimi can identify all the more interesting. He has yet to see a single one that feels like the real George. Even drunk, the man has an ironclad grip on how he conducts himself. The closest he thinks there is to a real George is the spat from Qatar last year. He wasn't in the team yet, then.
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EEE this one is fun omg and also quite early stages... (send an ask for a snippet of one of my wips)
If, if, if. It is always what if... with journalists. Max despises it, because it's stupid. No one can change the past so there's very little point in asking what if... about an event that's already written itself into history. Yes, he can admit some regrets about how the season played out, but can't anyone? No one wants to revert progress so any step backwards (off the top step of the podium) always has a bit of sting to it.
Besides, there are certain things you shouldn't voice outloud too often. It'd be lying to say that those pesky what if...'s didn't also haunt Max's life, sometimes. Giving air to these ghosts will let them sprout wings which leads to a whole host of other issues. You're better off not raising the dead.
And Max knows that, which is why... he feels quite stupid, right now.
---
How to create a timeloop.
Step one: speak ill of the past. By speaking ill of the past to a person close to you in your life, you may create echoes that will seed your desire to change the past into the weave of the world.
---
Seeing Daniel in person again was like drinking fire. They'd chatted over text several times, especially in the lead-up to Max inheriting Daniel's racing number. It was different to be seeing him now, again, it made Max feel the pain of his absence more keenly, it made him feel seventeen again, it made him feel eighteen and nineteen and—
He feels like a lot. Alive, with Daniel. They hang out after shooting some content for Ford for the partnership with Red Bull. Daniel ending up as an ambassador for the company must be something like fate. There are drinks involved at some bar they hopefully won't be recognized at and Max is several in by the time Daniel gives him a look full of emotions he's incapable of untangling from the sticky wad of his heart to decipher.
"Sorry about the championship, by the way," Daniel says, looking into his drink. They both know he isn't really sorry, you aren't ever sorry for someone else about a championship you weren't involved in. That's not a racer's spirit, is it? You always gotta be all bets in on yourself.
"It is fine, he deserves it. I am fine," Max says with a shrug. This is both true and not true. It can remain true as long as Max doesn't examine such things deeply. Daniel considers his gin & tonic (he asked for whatever Max got as a drink. Which is silly, because Daniel knows what Max likes, why didn't he order it for himself?) while he, probably, examines Max's words for the struggles he used to have, when he was younger and fresher to the world. When Daniel takes a small sip of his drink, turning his all-knowing gaze back onto Max, Max is flayed open like a fish straight from the lake. His head has already rolled back into the water, being picked at by smaller, hungry creatures. "It is! I am not upset."
"Really?" Daniel asks. "Zero regrets? Nothing you'd change?"
It's different when Daniel asks. It's less like he's trying to force Max into admitting to the very human crime of caring about results and more like a prod from someone who just wants the best for him. Max sighs, his shoulders dropping as he leans back.
"Since it's you, I will admit there are a few things."
"Spain," Daniel teases. It's light, but that is no secret. Max has said as much himself already. Yes, he regrets losing his head in Spain.
"If they'd not pitted me for hard tyres, I would have been fine."
---
Step two: do not let it go. This step takes less work and emotions then the first, but it must be maintained for some time in order to nurture the desire seeds to allow your wish to be answered.
---
Waking up in a place you've definitely been in before, but like, several months ago is deja vu but on drugs.
The hotel room that Max had stayed in for the Spanish Grand Prix greets him with indifference to his shock, even when he rubs at his eyes furiously after checking the date on his phone. Spain, 2025. Not 2026. Not that the season had started yet, when he had laid his head down to rest. There's something magical, laughable, about the way that just last night he had finished driving next year's car for the private Barcelona test, and now here he is, staring into the maw of the Spanish Grand Prix from a year prior. You reap what you sow, and Max had sowed a lot of regret. His breakfast tastes disgusting in a way that he's sure only a time loop can create, like splinters of time bouncing in his gut to tell him how much he'll regret this. He already had regret, what more could change?
So, he runs through the day again, an odd sense of urgency nipping at his heels the whole time. He answers questions in a manner that is approximate to what he recalls from the first time around, though he's sure he's fudged it somewhere along the way. He feels a bit hopeful as he gets into the car this time, that he can change something despite his prior claims that Spain hadn't lost him anything, because it hadn't.
"Yes, but first we'd like to confirm the presence of a uterus before jumping to any conclusions, as there are other reasons the test could be giving back a positive flag." The doctor glances at her watch. "Are you available to do an ultrasound today?"
George picks up his phone and pulls up his calendar. He has nothing else going on after this appointment. He knew that before he picked up his phone, he just—
"Let's get it done."
Kimi/George; Explicit; 1/? chapters; 9.8k words. Written for @formulabortionfest
It's late when he comes across the post while scrolling Reddit. His eyes are bleary with postponed sleep and his dick is half-hard, trying to convince Lando it'd be worth another wank before he lets himself fall asleep.
r/cockringtalk
No orgasm with cockring? Was in a rut
Lando runs a hand through his sweaty hair (should turn the heat down), reading the title again. He frowns, unfortunately considering that in his head as he reads the blurb of text underneath the post.
25AF spending a rut with my partner 22OM like usual and we decided to try something new. My partner wanted to try a cockring because it's supposed to le...
Okay. Interesting. Lando licks his lips, rolling onto his stomach as he stares at the post on his screen like it might jump out and bite him. He hisses at the friction on his dick as he finally opens the devilish box. In the back of his mind, he thinks he's read something about this. He thinks it ends in introducing evil or whatever into the world. His eyes devour the rest of the story.
...because it's supposed to let you stay hard for longer. I don't want to get too NSFW in this post (I'm sure it'll be flagged as that anyway) but while I was fucking my partner, I could feel how my knot was unable to form. It was fine, kinda hurt in a good way, you know lol? well, my orgasm was getting closer and closer, and then... it just didnt happen??? i pulled out (because no knot) and cum was just leaking out but no orgasm :/ anyone have experience with this?? i hated it. we didnt use the ring again until after my rut and i could still orgasm normally without it/when not in rut.
Groaning, Lando wiggles his hips around, imagining it, fucking his nondescript omega partner with a cockring on. He's done the omega part, never tried the toy. Does it hurt? His dick twitches with interest as he scrolls to the comments, still adjusting himself.
lol guys reset the counter
-> Does the counter ever leave zero? Let's be honest.
[image description: 0 days since last rut ruined orgasm]
how was the sex after the ruined orgasm? thats usually the best part...
-> (op) oh god. it was actually really good. i hadnt even considered that?
His canines poke at the skin of his hand uncomfortably as Lando bites to muffle whatever noise he wanted to release. Fuuuuck. He ruts against the bed harder, cringing at the creaks. Adjusting to avoid the noisy spots, he keeps scrolling, reading through every perverted sentence beneath the post. It's weird, he thinks, to get horny over reading other people's sexual experiences. The candid way they express the pleasure stirs him up. One of the comments links to another subreddit, r/edgingtalk which leads Lando down a rabbit hole of ruined orgasms.
He doesn't ruin his own orgasm, though he does consider it.
