Chapter Text
Max had done it. He had finally made it to Formula 1. Everything he had worked for was happening, and he could not hide his excitement. He was part of the F1 grid, and he was so freaking proud. Even his father was proud — proud enough, in fact, to give him the rest of the day off. And that never happened! Max, able to go a day without training? No way!
So he was ecstatic. Even better, Max was finally going to be able to join a pack. His father had always despised the idea of a pack and finding comfort in one, teaching Max to feel the same way. After all, his dad was a true alpha: aggressive and demanding, just as they are supposed to be, and the way he expected Max to present. However, even with all the lectures about control and dominance, he could feel his heart yearn for the love of a pack.
Ever since his father divorced his mother, there had been no genuine comfort or affection in his life, and he knew better than to expect it from his dad. The alpha always told him that hugs, scenting, and all that “soft shit” were for weak people like those “omega whores and useless betas”. Max thought that was a bit extreme, and that being able to cuddle every once in a while would be nice, but he knew that trying to contradict his dad would end in disaster. So Max did what he did best: he pretended everything was fine. He pretended he wasn’t aching for even a small bit of affection or a few words of encouragement. He pretended he did not feel a desperate need for love because alphas didn’t need that, and those who did were a shame to their gender. And so, as a future alpha, Max had to learn early that his desires were disgraceful and to hide them under lock and key.
But now he was finally in Formula 1, and he could not ignore his yearning for a pack any longer. The F1 grid, after all, was known for having an amazing, supportive, and welcoming pack that accepted everyone, including new drivers.
All Max had dreamed of these last few days was finally being able to join the pack and receive the love and affection he had been craving since he was a small boy. Even after all the skepticism and comments about his age and aggressiveness, and all the doubts about the fairness of his “suspicious” skip straight to F1, nothing could dampen his spirit. His time in Formula 1 was going to be amazing. He didn’t even care if his dad was going to be angry about him joining the grid pack. The alpha would probably get over it once Max started winning races and scoring plenty of points. He was good, after all, and with the support of a loving pack, he was sure he could be even better.
He still hadn’t been properly introduced to the pack, but he understood that everyone had been busy and focused on the qualifying rounds. Now, however, it was race day, and he knew the other drivers usually gathered in the pack room after each race to nest and relax following a stressful weekend. His teammate Carlos had informed him that he had already joined the week before, and Max couldn’t wait any longer. He decided he would introduce himself, this time officially, as a pup wanting to join the pack once everyone had gathered. He could feel his milky, pup-like scent blending with his happy, leathery scent. He could even detect the usually hidden hint of brown sugar. He couldn’t contain his excitement.
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Max could not believe it. A fucking DNF. His debut race had been a FUCKING DNF. The stupid engine in his stupid car had decided it was not worth it and killed itself. He was so fucking pissed his hands were shaking. This was his chance, his opportunity to prove he was worth it. That it didn't matter that people thought he was too young, because he was good enough. That he had the skills and mentality to be an F1 driver.
And now, everyone would have even more proof that choosing him was a mistake — that they had promoted him too early, and he still needed a few years in F2 before he could even begin to be ready for F1. But it wasn't even his fault! It was the engineers and their stupid, failed engine! Not him! It was so fucking unfair. He could already hear everyone talking about it, the questions the reporters would ask. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He just wanted to punch a wall and maybe get a hug. He hoped he would get a hug after the race. He just wanted to go to the pack room and finally experience the warmth of a nest and the feeling of belonging.
But first, he had to go see his dad. His father would not be too happy about the DNF, and Max didn't want to piss him off further by making him wait for hours. He walked into the garage, where the team principal and race engineer were still talking to Carlos, busy with the ongoing race. Carlos's race seemed to be going well, just as his had before the car decided to implode on its own. He felt himself boiling even more, this time with jealousy. Why did it have to be HIS car? He had worked so fucking hard to get here. He had given everything up just for a chance at F1. He had endured all the training and suffering to become the best version of himself possible. And now he didn't even get the chance to prove himself? Instead, his fucking teammate got a functional car AND HIS FUCKING DREAM. It wasn't fair. It was not fair at all. He could feel his eyes watering, his stomach twisting with envy. He couldn't stand it, watching Carlos do so well. He had to leave and find his dad.
He quickly and rather rudely (not that he cared much about seeming polite) asked a mechanic where his father was. Apparently, he had left for Max's driver room the moment his engine died, angry and too embarrassed to witness his son's failure. Max walked slowly towards his driver room. His father was always waiting for him when he disappointed him. It never mattered that it hadn't been his fault, Max's dad only saw weakness and imperfection. Now he was going to be punished until his father was sure he understood the stakes of being anything less than perfect.
He opened the door to his driver room and came face to face with his father.
“What the fuck was that out there?” His father grabbed his wrist, strongly enough that Max knew there would be a bruise tomorrow.
“I made a mistake.” He knew better than to try to explain himself. His father didn't take kindly to what he saw as excuses.
“Damn right you did. A stupid fucking mistake that cost us some fucking points! Do you know how hard I had to work for them to even consider offering a failure like you a contract? Do you want them to think I'm a fucking lunatic for believing you were capable of driving an F1 car? Do you know how fucking HUMILIATING it is to have a waste of fucking space for a son? YOU CAN'T DO SHIT RIGHT!” His dad slapped him — not hard enough to leave a mark, though. His father was smarter than that. In a couple of hours, the redness would be gone, and no one would know.
“I'm sorry, I really— ” He could practically see the steam coming out of the alpha’s ears.
“YOU BETTER BE FUCKING SORRY! You had one job! One job! Get that fucking car across the finish line, and you couldn't even do that!” Max knew he should have kept quiet, but he could not stop the need to defend himself in time, attempting to speak again.
“I tried, but the engine— ” He was immediately interrupted by another sharp slap to his face.
“THE ENGINE DIED BECAUSE YOU ARE A FUCKASS DRIVER! You cannot even drive a fucking car without destroying the engine. Clearly, you're more useless than I thought. Get the fuck out of here. I don't want to see your fucking face right now.”
Max left as quietly as possible. His face hurt, but it was nothing he was not used to. He sat down next to some old tires and waited for the race to end. He just wanted the drivers to finish their own races so he could head to the pack room and meet everyone properly. Even with the disappointment and frustration about the race still fresh in his mind, he could feel a tiny bit of excitement at the prospect of finally having a pack that would support him and have his back. Max might have been raised to be alone, with no pack, no nests, and no help, but that is about to change. He finally has the chance to join a pack, and not even his dad is going to stop him.
After what felt like forever, the race was finally over. Unfortunately for Max's already foul mood, Carlos manages to get 9th and receive some points. It makes him feel even worse about his DNF. He didn't even want to imagine how much disappointment his scent is probably conveying.
Usually, the drivers who were not on the podium were free to enjoy the nest in the pack room after a few quick interviews, so it should be filled soon. Max goes to his driver room to get his fluffy blanket. He keeps it hidden at the bottom of his bag so that when his father decides to be extra mean, he can at least find some comfort in it. It is a bit ratty and perhaps not the cleanest-looking, but his mum had given it to him before she moved away with his sister, and it was very precious to him. Besides, even if it was not the best blanket in the nest, it would still be a great addition; after all, it was the fluffiest he owned.
Max started walking towards the pack room. He noticed people scrunching their noses as he walked past. He must smell awful, considering no one likes the scent of rotten milk and burnt leather. However, his frustration was too overwhelming at the moment to even attempt to hide it. At least soon, he would be welcomed into the pack, and they could cuddle the bad scent out of him.
He finally reached the designated pack room. He took a deep breath and opened the door. The room was huge, with cozy lighting. There was a wonderful nest in the corner, full of pillows, plushies, and the softest-looking blankets he had ever seen. Only some of the drivers seemed to be present. He saw Carlos being scented by Kvyat; Magnussen and Button cuddling in a tangle of limbs, sleeping peacefully; and Massa scrolling on his phone, simply enjoying the comfort the blankets provided. It seemed he was a bit early — the pack alpha and pack omega weren’t even here yet — but surely it wouldn’t be too bad to introduce himself to those present first. He was certain Kimi and Sebastian would not mind.
Massa was the first to notice him, a frown appearing on his face. Carlos saw him next, recognizing the scent of his teammate. Kvyat, noting Carlos’s movements, soon realized his presence as well.
Contrary to what he had hoped, no one got up from the nest to welcome him or even looked inclined to greet him. He started to feel a little unsettled by the stares, so he decided to introduce himself.
“Uh, hi. I'm Max, if you don't remember. Today was my first race, even if it didn't go very well. I, uhm, I still haven't presented and probably still have a couple of years before I do— ” Before he could finish, he was interrupted.
“Is that god-awful smell coming from you?” Max flinched. He knew he didn't have the most pleasant scent when unhappy, but he had not expected Massa to just bluntly tell him he smelt foul.
“I, uh, yeah. I was pretty frustrated with what happened in the race, so, uhm, I suppose I don't smell very nice. Sorry.”
“And you decided to just come and stink up the pack room? It's going to take hours to get this awful smell out of here. Fucking stupid.” Max could feel his face redden. He was already embarrassed after the terrible race he had. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to hear that Massa thought he was dumb as well. He looked at Carlos and saw shock and uncertainty on his face. He clearly had not expected Massa to be so aggressive either. But one thing Max was used to was aggressive alphas.
“I'm sorry, I did not mean to, it's just that, uh, I've never really been in a pack room before, and, uhm, I didn't know, I guess, that I shouldn't go when unhappy. I’m sorry, I just heard that if you were sad, that, uhm, nesting with your pack could help.”
“Yeah, nesting with the pack helps, but you're not part of the pack yet, so it is quite disrespectful to just ruin our peace just because of a bad race. You should have waited until you didn't smell like a fucking garbage can.” Max recoiled at Kvyat’s comment, his scent becoming even more sour and repulsive. He felt his eyes begin to water from the rejection. He only wanted to make a good impression on the pack and perhaps finally get what he wanted. But apparently, even in the drivers' pack, where all the drivers were supposedly welcome, he wasn't wanted. He began to feel dizzy with heartbreak.
“For God's sake, can you just fucking leave? I really cannot stand your scent any longer.” Massa said, rolling his eyes, clearly fed up with Max’s silence and inaction. “We do not want you here.”
“It's not as if he would be welcome even if he smelt good.” The Dutch driver could see Carlos’s distress clear on his face. He obviously didn’t agree with the other two alphas’ opinions but was too afraid to intervene and risk being kicked out of the pack.
“Yeah, the fucking cheater bought his way in, just to DNF.” Kvyat and Massa laughed cruelly. Max felt the anger start to rise within him again. He wasn't a fucking cheater. He had fought tooth and nail for this fucking spot. He gave everything he had. Why did they think they had the right to make those judgments about him? Fucking pricks.
“Is that pathetic excuse for a blanket supposed to be for our nest? As if I would ever touch that dirt-ass rug.” Now he was truly pissed. How dare Massa insult his blanket — his MOTHER's blanket. It was then that Button began to stir in his sleep, and hope that the pricks who had insulted him would be punished started to grow in Max's chest.
“Guys, stop talking. I want to sleep.” Not a care in the world. Clearly, insulting Max was just a common practice among drivers. Max felt something snap. It was no longer just anger; it was rage. How could they treat him like this? They didn't even know him; they had no right to judge him. And they were all dickheads — no one tried to defend him. They were either arseholes or fucking pussies, and now Max was pissed. So fucking pissed. His scent turned acrid, almost unbearable for everyone present.
“Fuck you guys then! I have more important things to do than deal with cunts like you.” He stormed off, furious and consumed by a feeling of grief he refused to acknowledge. If they didn't want him in the pack, fine — he would never join their stupid pack. His father was right after all; it seemed he would be better off alone than give others a chance. At least now he could start trying to erase the overwhelming sadness of feeling unwanted.
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In his next interview, a few days later, he was asked about the grid pack and how he was finding pack life. Max couldn’t control his expression. He knew he probably looked very annoyed, but he couldn’t care less.
“I don’t know. I do not want to fucking join it, especially when it's full of cowards and pricks. I much prefer being without a pack. Packs are for weak people who need constant reassurance. My father always taught me to deal with everything alone, so I don’t see any need to join a pack.” He could feel the silence in the room, the shocked scents in the heavy air. But he didn’t regret it; the grid pack would learn that he wasn’t weak. If they thought he was just going to stay quiet and accept the insults, they were dead wrong. When he got home that night, he could practically feel his dad glowing with pride.
He became increasingly aggressive, both on and off the track. He beat everyone in his path, hoping that by doing so, it wouldn’t hurt so much to bury the awful loneliness he felt every day. He knew the coldness he felt would disappear when he finally became would champion. So he pushed himself relentlessly, and when he reached his limit, he pushed even further.
The other drivers loudly and unapologetically shamed him for his behavior, the nickname “Mad Max” being thrown around. He could not have cared less. At last, he felt he could breathe.
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It was finally the last race, and after a relatively decent first season — even if his father liked to call it a disgrace — Max was excited at the prospect of winning some points, maybe even achieving his first podium.
The race was going well until he suddenly began to feel extremely warm. Sweat started to drench his face, and heat radiated from his skin. He tried drinking more water, but it did nothing to help. He was genuinely starting to worry; his vision was blurring, and his hands were beginning to shake. He wasn't sure if he could bring the car back intact, but with only five laps remaining, Max refused to give up so close to the end. He managed to keep driving reasonably well after slowing down a bit, even though it pained him a lot, until he reached the final lap.
Suddenly, as if someone had stabbed him, he felt a horrid pain in his abdomen. He gasped and tried to breathe more slowly to ease the pain, but nothing could stop the nauseating waves that kept tearing through his insides. He couldn't think, couldn't see, almost crashing into the wall but swerving just in time. He could hear the race engineer on the radio asking if he was alright, but he couldn't speak. Through the tears filling his eyes, he saw the finish line and sighed with relief.
He jumped out of the car as soon as he could, stumbling and almost falling as another painful wave hit, heading straight to his driver room. He could hear the confused voices behind him and the attempts at stopping him, but Max refused to listen until he was safe and alone.
When he finally reached his driver room, he could barely stand. His knees buckled, and he had to support himself against the wall. Slowly, he managed to get onto the small couch in the corner and immediately curled up. He didn’t know what was happening. His body was burning, and he could not bear it. For some reason, the brown sugar sweetness, usually unnoticeable in his scent, was now filling the room. He could not stop the feeling of want coursing through his body. His heart ached for comfort, but he didn’t know how to find it. He noticed his bag next to the couch and, as quickly as he could, opened it. Max grabbed his fluffy blanket and hugged it to his chest. The pain eased slightly, a wave of relief washing over him. It was short-lived, however, as his father suddenly opened the door and marched in. The alpha stopped abruptly, immediately looking furious and rigid.
“What the fuck is this? You’re a fucking omega?”
At last, Max understood what was happening, why his scent clung to its sweet undertones. He was in heat, a presenting heat. He was presenting as a fucking omega. A useless, weak, fucking omega. His day could not get any worse. He tried to speak, but he felt too weak, without the strength to even open his mouth.
“You’re such a disgrace.” Without looking back, and with movements portraying clear anger, his father left the room and slammed the door. Max remained alone for several hours. He did not have the courage to even attempt getting up. Everything hurt, and his father’s recent rejection had left his omega restless and deeply depressed. He was truly weak. No wonder no one wanted him.
After what felt like an eternity, his father returned with a bag. While he was gone, Max had somehow managed, after hours of effort, to take off his race suit, trying to relieve the heat tormenting his sensitive skin. The alpha did not say a word as he dropped the bag on the table and rummaged through it until he found a box with a syringe. Without waiting for consent, he jabbed it into Max’s thigh, eliciting a quiet moan. After a few minutes, Max felt his body ache less, his hands suddenly very cold, the change so abrupt it bordered on painful. He tried to wrap the blanket around himself, attempting to stop the emptiness quickly spreading through his body. He no longer felt pain, but now he just felt nauseatingly hollow, as if something had been ripped out of him. He looked up at his father, still standing at the edge of the couch, watching and analyzing him. After a few seconds of silence, the alpha finally spoke.
“I won’t have a slut for a son. No one will know that you’re an omega. No one. I bought some suppressants. You’re to take them every month without fail. They will suppress your omega side. You will not have heats or any of the annoying characteristics that omegas have. You still smell like leather, and the suppressant will hide any sweetness in your scent, so no one will think you’re an omega. What omega even smells like leather? Fucking leather. Even at that, you failed.” His father’s eyes were full of hate, and Max felt himself tremble.
“You are going to act like an alpha. I didn’t raise you to be a pussy. I better not see you obey anyone. If I see even one submissive gesture, I will punch you until you can never drive again. Understood?”
“Y-Yes, father,” Max managed to say.
“Fucking useless.” And with that, he was gone again. After a few minutes, Max managed to regain some of his strength. He slowly sat up and felt slick wetting the back of his boxers. He grabbed a change of clothes and headed for the shower. He turned the water on and set it to cold. Even though he was freezing, he could not bring himself to embrace the luxury of a hot, relaxing shower. He couldn’t believe it. He seriously could not believe that he was an omega, a fucking failure. Now that he was more lucid, he was starting to think of all the problems this would bring. He would have to train three times as hard; after all, omegas had more difficulty building muscle. He would be especially sensitive to smells, and he wasn’t looking forward to experiencing the disgust of the other drivers towards him in high definition. Most troublesome of all, he would have to hide. He could not, under any circumstances, display any omega behavior. He would have to completely isolate himself and take the stupid fucking illegal suppressants, which had two thousand side effects, and pretend everything was fine. Life really did not like being kind to him.