#implied sex sceen

[fallingstormphoenix]

“Signs and Bonds”

Part 7 of the collaboration between me and @robinshouseofwhump! In this one, Abel figures out a way to help Occuldous communicate, and Arron and Occie strengthen their bond. ) (note; Occie and Arron are around 19 years old)

"Occuldous, hey handsome, can you please talk to me?" Abel rubbed a thumb along the boy's cheek. It had been weeks since he found him, and he only seemed to get worse, to the point that he couldn't even look at the angel in the eye anymore.

Occuldous looked down and shook his head. I’m sorry, mutts don’t deserve words, I’m sorry Master. I’m sorry. He stared at his own shaky, twitching hands laying on the soft grey blanket Abel had given him, trying to hide his nervousness in studying his scars.

[[MORE]]

"That's ok bud. Would you like to watch a movie with me and Arron? You don't have to if you dont wanna." Abel lightly rubbed gentle circles on his back careful to avoid touching scars, he really just wanted Occuldous to relax. He was so tense and scared all the time.

He nodded, looking up briefly. He liked to sit with Arron and watch movies.

"There's those beautiful eyes." Abel smiled and gently lifted him up. Luckily, he'd been gaining weight, but he was still as light as a feather. "Do you wanna pick the movie tonight?"

He shook his head, trembling a little as Abel lifted him. He feared being dropped or thrown, even though he knew Abel probably wouldn't do that. Still, he clutched his blanket against his chest, trying to calm himself. Occie knew it stressed Abel when he panicked and he didn’t want to stress him.

"Shhhh, there there bud. I got you." Abel kissed the top of his head and gently carried him to the couch.

He nodded, trying to still his trembling body, relaxing a little more when he could nestle down on the couch. It was so soft… Hugo never let him on the furniture, and Abel had had to convince Occuldous that it was allowed and safe. It felt good, laying on the ground was painful with how thin and battered he was.

"There, all comfy bud?" Abel smiled as Arron sat down next to Occuldous. "Do you want popcorn? Soda?"

"I can get it for you Occie! Whatever you want." Arron squeezed his hand, he was glad Occuldous was back… but… he wasn't really the same one he knew.

Occuldous just nestled into Arron’s lap, holding his hand. He sighed. He was content like this. He didn’t need anything really.

"You're soft…" Arron's face turned a bit warmer as he ran his other hand down the boy's bare back. "You pick or me?"

Occuldous shrugged a little, smiling at Arron. He liked when Arron strokes him, he was so careful around his scars and healing wounds that his touch never hurt.

"Haha, Steven Universe it is!" Arron giggled as he took the remote from the table and pressed play. Occuldous could never understand why Abel would give the two so many choices, like choosing what they eat or what to watch or when to sleep or what to do. It was scary, having all this freedom. He always feared making the wrong choice and the punishment that could follow. But at least right now he had Arron, with his warmth and wonderfully kind touch.

They eventually settled in, even Occuldous, whose labored breathing turned into soft inhales and exhales. He felt at peace, with Arron's skin against his, and the feeling of his heartbeat on his chest.

He touched Arron’s head hesitantly, nudging “Thank you.” across his mind.

"You're the best Occie," The demon couldn't help but hug him, his heart was on overdrive.

The season eventually ended, and the two just laid there, quiet, peaceful. Occuldous snuggled against him and sighed softly, closing his eyes to sleep.

-

Morning came, the sun shone through the blinds of the window, onto the two boys. Back in bed if course, the Starwitch never knew how Abel could get them in bed without waking him up.

Occuldous sat up and went to the window, he liked to look outside at the people and their vehicles far below them. It made him feel big, a rare sensation to the boy.

"Sleep well handsome?" Abel smiled in the doorway. He forgot the angel was quiet when moving too. He could only nod in response.

"I think I have a solution to our little speaking problem bud. Would you like to try it?"

Occuldous nodded hesitantly, a little trembling running up his spine, hoping it wasn’t something harsh. He trusted Abel though, Abel only wanted to make him better.

"Come with me then, just you and me ok?" He held his hand out, beckoning him out of the room.

Occuldous followed him, his trembling intensifying. It’s ok, Master won’t hurt me, if he does it’s to make me better. It’s ok.

He led him downstairs, to an oak door, the office door. He was never really allowed in, Abel would just shoo him out if he ever went in there.

"You don't need to be afraid starlight, I won't hurt you." Abel let a firm hand grip the boy's shoulder gently. "You're safe here, remember?"

He sniffled and nodded, still shaking. Master just wants to make me good. He stared down at the ground.

He brought the boy inside a large, well lit room. On the left, was a bookcase that covered an entire wall, filled to the brim with books from floor to ceiling. A couch, some lounge chairs, tables, and two desks filled the empty space in the center of the room. It always amazing to the boy, to see how many books there were.

"Sit on the couch bud, I'll grab the stuff."

Occuldous whimpered and sat down obediently, his mind racing at what the stuff could be. Nothing pleasant he was sure.

He came back with some books, papers, and a strange pair of gloves with lights on the end. "Here we are."

Occuldous whined at him, his eyes wide and confused. W-what is it?

"Have you heard of Sign Language bud?"

He shook his head, still whining and breathing rapidly. Please don’t make me talk, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry I can’t…

"I'll show you." Abel lifted his hands up and maneuvered his fingers in the air, making eight different motions.

Occuldous tilted his head, watching him in confusion and interest. Abel does magic? He questioned silently.

"I just told you that My name was Abel"

With your hands? Occuldous looked surprised at his hands then back at his own shaky hands. He held them out to Abel slowly.

"Mmhm, do you wanna try?"

Occuldous nodded. He would be able to talk without speaking, like he could with Arron, but without the need for magic. He wanted to talk, he wanted to be able to communicate with them.

"Ok, then let's go over some basic signs."

-

Occuldous struggled to get his trembling fingers to shape properly, but he very proudly showed Arron the signs for “O-C-C-I-E” . He’d worked very hard to figure it out, at first he’d been nervous about getting it wrong but with Abel’s encouragement he had gotten more and more eager. And now he could sign his name!

"Woah! Thats so cool!" Arron clapped his hands eagerly. "Master taught you that?"

“Yes!” He signed, grinning from ear to ear. He knew his name and the signs for yes and no. He was absolutely ecstatic.

"I wanna learn! Can I learn with you?" Arron practically hopped up and down, and Occuldous nodded excitedly. Yes! Then you can understand too! He leaned on him, wiggling with excitement.

"What are you two doing?" The angel came out of nowhere and scooped the boy up from behind. "Showing Arron your signs bud?"

Occuldous froze at the sudden movement, his eyes wide and frightened. He nodded in answer to his question, but too spooked to move much more.

"You've been doing amazing starlight, don't you think so Arron?"

Arron grinned and nodded. “Now Occie can talk again!”

"Mmhm, we still have a lot of work to do though."

Occuldous whimpered softly. Please put me down? Please? I’m working hard, I promise. He didn’t like being held off the ground, it was dangerous, it hurt so much more to be thrown than it did to just be hit, and he was so small. Hugo used to pick him up by his collar or chains and throw him, he quivered, remembering the pain of being slammed into the wall or floor unable to beg or plead for it to stop.

"Occie, I'm not gonna throw you. I just wanted to pick you up, is that ok?

Occuldous swallowed nervously and nodded, holding onto Abel’s shirt tightly. I’m being good, I’m being good. Master is not upset. He won’t hurt me. He just wants to make me good.

"You're doing so well handsome boy, would you like to go out to dinner tonight?"

He looked up at him worriedly. He hadn’t been out of the house (except up to the roof) since he’d first come back. Going out made him nervous, he wasn’t sure what Abel would expect of him. Pets in public were expected to behave very specifically, especially in restaurants and he had never been a pet that was taken out for fun excursions.

"You don't have to bud, just wanted to ask. It'll be really nice too." He planted a gentle kiss on his forehead.

He took a deep breath and nodded. He would go, he would show Abel how grateful and good he was. Maybe Abel would give him treats as Mistress used to at her parties! He wiggled down and retrieved a pair of soft walking harnesses that he had found in the closet, a necessary part of any pet’s going-out wear and more humane than a usual collar. He gave the larger one to Arron and looked up at Abel hopefully. Can he come too?

"Arron can come little one, I don't mind."

He smiled and went to his room quickly to change into a better shirt and pants. He wanted to make Abel proud of him. He returned with a nice, though slightly too big, polo shirt and pants with no stains, and his harness on, looking up at Abel hopefully.

"My adorable little starlight." Abel smiled and gently buckled the harness in, taking care to be gentle around the scars.

Occuldous leaned against him, wanting Abel to stroke his hair, enjoying the praise.

"Good boy," Abel smiled and ran his fingers through the boy's curls. "Ready to go? Why don't you help Arron with his harness?"

Occuldous leaned into his hand, his eyes closing happily, and when Abel asked him to help Arron, he sat up immediately and went to help his friend. He picked up the harness and slid it on, buckling it in gently just like Abel did.

"Thanks Occie," the demon hugged him tightly, "I'm really glad you're here."

Occuldous smiled at his friend and nodded, gently bumping his unbroken horn against Arron’s. He was glad to be here too.

-

They arrived at the restaurant, only a few blocks from their home, it was on the smaller side but they had good food and it wasn’t too loud or busy. There were nice thick mats on the floor beside the chairs for pets to sit. Occuldous knelt peaceably at Abel’s side, leaning his head on Abel’s leg. He was surprised at how easy and non-stressful it was, there was no one being loud or scary and he could just rest peacefully beside Abel and wait for tidbits to be passed to him.

"I have a plate for you bud, you must be hungry huh?" The angel smiled, it was quiet, and it felt nice, but he would've felt better about them sitting at the table like he hoped.

Occuldous looked up at him, completely pliant and at peace. He felt comfortable in his place at Abel’s side, even more than he did sitting at the table at home. This is good. I’m being a good pet.

"Starlight, you ok?" Abel waved his hand in front of the boy, whose eyes were glazed over drastically.

Occuldous flinched back from the hand so close to his face. But he nodded, leaning his head on Abel’s leg, a little more attentive now, but still pliant and relaxed. I have to be good and listen. He reminded himself. He glanced towards Arron on Abel’s other side.

Arron was obviously less comfortable than Occuldous was, he kept shifting uncomfortably in the mat and he struggled to not cry. He could feel stares at him, they were malicious, and they wanted to hurt him in the silence that they were in.

Occuldous whimpered and reached out to hold Arron’s hand under the chair. He wanted Arron to relax, he wanted them to look good, to be good pets, so Abel will be proud. He rubbed the back of Arron’s hand gently, trying to make him calm down.

"S-sorry Occie… I-I-I ju-st do-n't l-like crowds…" The demon shook, this was a bad idea to go, he felt so vulnerable, around the eyes that stared at him intently and methodically. He wanted to go home, he wanted to expel the stress building up in his stomach, the lurching feeling in the air.

Occuldous took a deep breath and pushed calmness into Arron’s mind, slowly, carefully, wincing at the effort it took. It was like a wave, muting the frantic thoughts racing through Arron’s head, and the demon squeezed tightly to Occuldous's soft hand.

Occuldous squeezed his hand back, slumping forward from exhaustion. The magic was draining him quickly.

Of course, Abel noticed the stress that both boys were experiencing, gently petting both of their heads and got up. "I don't think this was a good idea, let's go home hm?" He quickly wrote a check and left it on the table. "I'll make you two some food when we get home."

Occuldous whimpered worriedly. He’d hoped he’d done enough that Abel was pleased but now they had to go home, and he’d be in trouble. He sniffled, wiping away tears as he followed Abel out. It wasn’t Arron’s fault he was so scared, but he could’ve at least behaved, Occuldous thought. I’m scared a lot, and I try to be good...

"Why are you crying starlight? I can get you food right now if you're really hungry." Abel gripped the leash firmly, he had his own fears about going out with the boys himself…

Occuldous just whimpered softly at him, looking up with big pitiful eyes. I’m sorry we messed up, I’m sorry Master. He sniffled, wanting to talk, to apologize and ask for another chance, but he stayed silent.

"Don't be sad, handsome, I'm so proud of both of you for trying." He gently bumped the boy, trying to cheer him up. "I bet that was pretty scary inside huh?"

He flinched and shook his head, he’d enjoyed it, it felt familiar. But he was so scared now, since the evening had been messed up by their behavior.

"Need help buckling in?" Abel opened the car door gently, helping the boys in the car.

Occuldous shook his head and buckled himself in with trembling hands. He tried to keep his breathing calm, and look relaxed, not wanting to stress Abel, but it was hard.

"You're doing amazing handsome." Abel started the car and soon they were on the road. The restaurant was luckily not far, one of the benefits of being in the city.

-

Occuldous managed to contain his panic until they got home. He waited until Abel was inside and settled in the living room before retrieving the wooden cooking spoon from the kitchen and offering it to Abel, hoping that by asking for punishment and acknowledging his mistake, he could avoid harsher punishment.

"Occuldous��." Abel started, but Occie looked up at him with pitifully hopeful eyes. Please? Y-you need to make me b-better. Please? I-i’m sorry, I-I’ll do better. I-i’m sorry, please, don’t be mad at Arron, I-I’ll take it, i-i should’ve been able to calm him.

"Occuldous, starlight, you don't need to be punished." He gently took the spoon away from the Starwitch and put it down on the table.

Occuldous whimpered at him. But we were bad, we didn’t listen… we made you have to leave… He offered him the spoon again and turned around, his arms crossed over his chest, a hand on each shoulder like he’d been trained.

"No, I'm not punishing you. You weren't bad.” Abel tried to assure the boy.

Occuldous turned back around and hesitantly leaned his head on Abel, whining softly. He didn’t understand. He’d been bad, he’d been bad and he should be punished for it, why wouldn’t Abel punish him? He fretted. Maybe a spanking was too light of a punishment, maybe Abel thought he needed more. He swallowed nervously, Abel had said not to do this, but Occie wanted to prove he knew he deserved punishment, he wasn’t trying to get out of it.

He placed his hand over a scar on his side, from one of the times the razor-tipped whip had lashed around and cut deeper that it should’ve, and pushed his magic into it, tearing it open again. He gasped softly, looking up at Abel searchingly, his dark eyes filled with panicked hope, a dark patch of blood blossoming on his shirt. I’m sorry, I-I know I-I b-broke a rule, b-but I-I… I-I didn’t want to d-drown! S-see? N-now y-you don’t have to punish me, y-you d-don’t have to do anything, I-I did it, ar-ren’t I-I a-aa g-g-go-od-d boy? He was shaking now, a little blood trickling from his nose that he quickly wiped away. He was twitching almost convulsively, his magic almost spent and his fear through the roof. A-a-am i-i-i a g-g-good-d-d b-b-boy? I-i-i t-try.. I-I-I w-want t-t-t-t-to b-be good.

A fury like no other rose in Abel's eyes, he'd never seen it before, and it was far more terrifying than he could imagine. He felt himself being grabbed by the wrist and drug back to the bedroom. Master was very very mad now, he didn't have permission to do that. He was bad, very very bad.

The soft duvet was the first thing he felt when he was practically thrown onto the bed from the doorway, and the angel stomped over like an angry giant. "How dare you Occuldous, how dare you hurt yourself like that!" Abel was furious, he was so scary, as his wings and halo appeared just as fiery as the glimmer in the angel's eyes.

Occuldous sobbed pitifully, curling up as small as he could on the bed, covering his head with his arms. I-I’m sorry, I-I’m sorry, i-I’m sorry. Master was furious, he was sure to be beaten and drowned now. I-I-I w-wanted t-to h-help! I’m sorry I’m sorry.

The angel loomed over the boy as he roughly grabbed his chin, the heat from his body almost hot enough to burn. "I want you to tell me, now, why you would do something so stupid!"

Occuldous whined, flinching away from the uncomfortable heat, he couldn’t make himself talk, he couldn’t force the right words out past the knot of fear in his throat as he looked up at the fuming angel. “S-sorry.” He managed to whisper breathily, almost wetting himself from the terror of being made to speak. “S-sorry m-Master.”

Abel's face softened slightly, and so did his grip. "Starlight, I don't want you to hurt yourself like that, it's wrong, very very wrong." He moved the hand from his chin to his cheek, cupping it gently. "You are worth so much more to me than a pet. I don't punish you for something as simple as being uncomfortable at dinner, or for talking, or not talking, or wanting food, I'm not like that."

Occuldous whimpered, still shaking, blood trickling from his nose, but it seemed the fury had passed and he was unharmed. He cautiously leaned into Abel’s hand, knowing he hadn’t earned being pet, but desiring it still. He didn’t understand why the angel didn’t punish him like his old masters, he didn’t understand why the angel hadn’t taken his fury out on him like Hugo, but he was grateful he hadn’t. His magic was spent and he was so weak.

"I do, however, punish you for self-harm." Abel frowned, he didn't like to do this to Occuldous, but he needed to learn not to do it, especially since this was his second time. "You're not leaving this room until tomorrow night."

Occuldous nodded obediently, some part of him was glad for the familiarity of punishment. Thank you Master, I-I’ll be good, I’ll be good. He forced himself to stay upright but slowly found himself leaning into Abel’s hand more and more.

"Good, but I want you to go get the medkit."

He roused himself and stumbled to the bathroom for the kit, forgetting what he was sent for when he arrived and returning with a toothbrush. He stared at it for a long minute, trying to process why he had grabbed it before handing it to Abel with a confused look on his face. What- what was I supposed to do? He couldn’t remember, his mind felt like he was lagging a few minutes behind his body. There was a faint roaring in his ears, like a distant train, slowly approaching.

"Occuldous, medkit I said, not toothbrush."

Occuldous blinked, taking another long moment to process what a medkit even was, before going back to the bathroom, this time returning halfway with the correct object before collapsing down on the floor and curling up to sleep.

-

Soon, Occuldous woke back up in bed, weaker than he felt, and with a splitting headache. He rolled over, he didn't wanna get up, he didn't wanna look master in the eye, he was still very bad. He’d fallen asleep without finishing what master had told him to do, and he felt awful and ashamed. He closed his eyes again and curled up smaller. He needed to recharge his magic.

The door opened, and a soft patter on the carpet was heard. The familiar feeling of a warm hand in his, Arron.

"Hey…. Master told me about last night."

He whimpered softly at him, letting his hand rest in Arron’s. Sorry. I made master upset...

"P-please don't hurt yourself Occie, I don't wanna lose you." Arron squeezed his hand tightly. "Please don't… for me?"

He rolled over to lay his head on Arron’s chest. If you behaved-. Occuldous shook his head, it wasn’t Arron’s fault. He was glad Arron could hear his thoughts, his magic was too weak to even push a thought to him if he tried.

".......are you mad at me?"

Occuldous hesitated then shook his head again.

"Well, I'm sorry if you are." Arron climbed in bed and laid next to the boy. "I can keep you company if you want."

Occuldous nodded, snuggling up against the warm demon. He was so cold, so very cold.

Peaceful silence for a bit, then a knock on the bedroom door.

Occuldous had drifted off to sleep then sat bolt upright when he heard the door, keening sharply.

"Can I come in starlight?" Abel said softly. "You don't have to let me."

Occuldous nodded, trying to get up to open the door. Still, his body was so weak, and he could barely stumble off of the mattress before falling to his knees in front of the door. Just in time for it to open. He whimpered, trying to stand back up, remembering that Abel didn’t like when he knelt in front of him.

"Occie, you shouldn't be out of bed." Abel knelt down in front of the boy. "Do you think you could eat breakfast?"

Occuldous still tried to stand and manage to sit up and nodded slowly, his body swaying in exhaustion. “Yes.” He signed, pitching forward, barely balancing himself before he fell on Abel.

"Woah there, how much magic did you use yesterday?" The angel gently lifted him up off the ground and held him tightly. "You must be tired still huh?"

He nodded, leaning against Abel. He was so tired, and cold, Abel was warm and it felt good to be in his strong arms, and they were still close enough to the ground that he felt safe. Being tossed across the room yesterday only increased his fear of being thrown, even though he had landed safely on the bed.

"Then I think its back to bed little one." Abel gently carried him to the mattress. "I'll bring you breakfast after your nap."

He whimpered softly. He was hungry, he needed to eat and to get out under the stars. He needed to recharge both his magic and his body.

"Occuldous, I'm still not happy with you after last night. If you're really good for me today then I'll let you and Arron sleep on the roof tonight. Is that fair?"

He nodded eagerly. Please?

"Then do what I asked Occuldous."

“Yes.” He signed and curled up under the blankets, closing his eyes to sleep.

-

The day went by very slowly, almost agonizingly slowly. Abel came in to feed him brunch, and snacks after a bit, but he still wasn't allowed out until just after 8.

Occuldous felt a little better after eating and he waited patiently to be allowed outside. He’d gone far longer without food or starlight before, but that didn’t mean he wanted to. Soon, the angel came back in, carrying pillows and blankets for outside, and Occuldous sat up, eager and curious.

"Its 8 o'clock starlight. Ready for bed?"

He nodded, carefully climbing out of bed and going to Abel’s side, who tilted his chin up with a soft hand.

"Occie, do you know why you had to stay in your room?"

He nodded and pointed at the neatly bandaged cut on his side. He looked up at Abel with big worried eyes.

"That's right, and do you think you learned your lesson bud?"

He nodded quickly, almost dizzying himself, and the angel embraced him tightly. "I love you Occuldous, you mean the world to me. I'm so so sorry for losing my temper, you didn't deserve that."

He leaned into his arms. It’s ok, I was bad.

"Arron has a surprise on the roof for you little one."

He looked up excitedly. Can i go see it now?

"Come on handsome, let's go."

Occuldous followed him, still a little lightheaded, but eager. He was gently helped up the stairs to the roof, where Arron was waiting on the bed piled with blankets.

Occuldous dove onto the large mass of softness, giggling with excitement as Arron sat beside him.

"Yay! You're here!" Arron smiled as Abel was seen going back down to the apartment

Occuldous grinned and hugged him tightly. Arron! He took a deep breath and turned his face towards the sky, his freckles glowing with starlight. “The Perseids are tonight!!” Occuldous was almost high with the amount of magic he was absorbing from the approaching meteor shower.

"Perseids?" Arron tilted his head, but looked up as the stars glowed brighter and brighter.

Occuldous pointed up at the shooting stars streaking across the sky. His eyes sparkled and danced in excitement.

"Woah! That's so cool!" The demon smiled, pulling the Starwitch close to him as they laid down and watched the sky light up.

Occuldous sighed, his face glowing still, his eyes closed. He was quivering with excess energy after an hour or two, the power overwhelming everything, making his feelings stronger. He pressed against Arron, mumbling softly, kissing and nibbling his neck a little.

"Hehe, stoooop Occieee," Arron giggled, it felt funny and tickled a bit.

Occuldous nuzzled him gently, nudging loving thoughts across his mind.

-

-

Occuldous sighed, his body ached but it a good way, like a runner’s high. He squeezed Arron’s hand tightly, staring up at the shooting stars.

"That...felt really good." Arron felt so relaxed, more than he could even think was possible.

Occuldous nodded in agreement, leaning his head on Arron’s, bumping their horns together. “It was the best.” It took almost no effort for Occuldous to push his thoughts towards Arron, as he laid partly on his chest.

They soon fell asleep together, nothing could ruin tonight.

(Tagging @quirkykayleetam @whumping-every-day @whumptywhumpdump @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @haro-whumps @imagination1reality0 @0idril0 @voidwhump @whump-my-dude @pumpkin-spice-whump-latte @painisneat )

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 5: Guardian Angel

Omegaverse: Alpha!Damiano

You’d made it three whole weeks. No frenzied hookups, no touch starved desperation. You’d been good, keeping your hands to yourselves for all intents and purposes. Can we just hang out once a week or something turned into Friday movie nights. Meeting regularly at the omega’s house was a normal part of the courting process. Of course, your beta father insisted upon making everything difficult, so week one was a bust. He demanded the whole family watch a movie together, never allowing Damiano to be alone with you. 

Despite the film being vetted and pre-selected it still had a sex sceen in it, albeit highly sanitized.The camera slowly panned up the barren thigh of the heroin, showing nothing but suggesting lots. It took exactly one gasp of implied pleasure for you to burst out into laughter. The whole moment was so terrible and awkward that it became comical. Your mother actually broke before Damiano, who let out a gleeful cackle. He was so overcome that your boyfriend ended up laying sideways on your lap as he laughed. This earned a dirty look from your father and Cleo simply rolled her eyes. Thalia was, of course, deeply confused as you snorted to the point of nearly hyperventilating.

“What's funny? Do I still have to watch the movie?” Your mother quickly collected herself, patting Thalia’s hand and releasing her from this horrendous obligation. She scurried up to her room before the TV was even paused. The only positive result was Cleo actually greeting Dami and bidding him goodbye.

 Week two, you watched a movie in your bedroom, with the door partially open upon your fathers demands. He’d also tried to decree that you must sit upright at all times without a blanket. Your mother reasoned with him.

“Kevin, it’s January.”

“Fine, but I don’t want to see them all wrapped around each other,” he seethed. Headstrong betas were useless as parents to omegas and alphas. Your poor omega mother tried to be patient with him across this numerous conversations you’d overheard. However, she was practically repeating herself verbatim by Thursday.

“Healthy physical contact with her partner is important to her emotional well being. Part of parenting an omega responsibly is facilitating a positive relationship with their own sexuality and their mate as they mature.”

“They’re not mated,” he bit back. Your mother took a deep breath that signified she was at the end of her rope. Hearing her actually stand up to your father was so satisfying.

“And aren’t we lucky they are taking things so slowly? Aren’t we lucky that Damiano is so respectful? Hmm? Aren’t we lucky that they’re taking their time?”

“We should be making damn sure they do take their time,” he retorted. It was blatantly transparent that your father was angry that he no longer had the highest degree of social power when an alpha was involved. It was further evidence that his ego dictated the way he treated his wife and daughters more than his moral code.

“They’re dating Kevin! They’re even exclusive!” For a blissful moment, that tripped your dad up. Of course, then you had to listen for footsteps, so your parents didn’t find you right around the corner, eavesdropping.

“Y/n went on birth control, and got an HSIUD. She’s not going into heat. She’s not getting pregnant. And if you went to the Supports Kevin,  you’d know that they’re doing quite well. In fact, you’d actually understand whats going on!” You were smiling so hard your face hurt. Whenever your mother played the Support Meetings card, it shut your father right up. Beta parents of hormonal children can attend lessons on a customized schedule for their child’s entire development to bridge the knowledge gaps. Obviously, your father failed to do so and your mother always had an ever-growing list of friends whose beta husbands went to those Support willingly in her arsenal.      

“I don’t need a class to learn common knowledge, Sheela,” he spat. “I know that they’re biologically engineered for each other.”

“And you make it sound so simple.” She spoke quietly in a way that suggested danger, not calm.

“I’ve already raised one! Look at Cleo, she turned out fine.”

“I would use many words to describe our eldest daughter. Kevin. Intelligent, resilient, articulate, beautiful, loyal. Fine is not one of them. So, over my dead body will you make Damiano feel uncomfortable in this house.”

So the following day, Damiano drove you home from school. He gave you an exhaustive lesson on the rules of soccer and basketball for when you attended his games (with the door five inches open). However, the movie was watched in your room, screen propped up at the end of your bed. Just tangling yourself up with Damiano was worth all the awfulness. You nominated one of Thalia’s favorite ancient architecture documentaries, since you already knew it by heart. Damiano watched the film, and you lay on his chest, face against his neck, with your eyes closed (but the door was five inches open). 

“Are you watching it?” You could feel the speech rumble in his chest.

“Mm mm,” you sighed, shaking your head.. The hand not resting on your back, moved to stroke your hair.

“Want me to tell you what's happening?”

“A white, bald guy in his 30’s with thick rimmed glasses and a baby blue button down is pointing at something,” you groan. Dami chuckles, but gets engrossed in a reenactment of a battle sequence. Its gory accuracy is your least favorite part of the film. His heart speeds a bit and he tenses, probably a natural reaction.

“How many times have you seen this?” 

“Like…” you wrack your break for a number. “Four times that I can remember and at least two that I can’t.” He chuckles and you finally look up, only to see Damiano’s smile. The adrenaline has him in alpha headspace, eyes dark, canines prominent, body ready to pounce. It thrills you that he allowed himself to shift. Your father walks by, checking in like the prison warden he is, and you hope that he notices Dami’s face and that it scares the shit out of him. No such luck. You admire Dami openly, his severe beauty and intensity.

“What are you thinking?” he whispers. Truth was you weren’t thinking, you were lusting.

“I really want to know the right thing to say so you know how happy this makes me,” you answer honestly. Damiano allows himself to smile, fangs and all. You know tertiary sex characteristics are supposed to be terrifying, but to you, Damiano does’t look like an apex predator. His alpha smile is actually really cute. Moving carefully, you lower your mouth to his. Out of curiosity, you lick his canine with the tip of your tongue. To avoid injury, you barely brush the sharpened point, but lick up the sides of the tooth and the front. You do the same to the otherside, affirming what you already suspected. His canines are smooth. Once you move back a couple inches, Damiano lets out a breath you hadn’t realized he was holding.

“So you’re coming to watch me tomorrow, right?” He’s shifting the conversation before you two get carried away, which is probably for the best. Soccer season was starting up and Dami had his first game Saturday afternoon. Historically, you mocked people whose self worth depended on getting to wear their partner’s jacket. You didn’t need David to be sprawled over your back like you were Dami’s property. In fact, you brought plenty of layers to keep yourself warm. However, any event where screaming profanity-laden opinions was socially appropriate was an event you had to try.

The best part was Cleo, who’d very much been that girl at sporting events. She walked into the bathroom where you were glamming before your ride to the field arrived. In her hands was a palette of plastic rhinestones and eyelash glue.

“No one is wearing gemstones at 10am.” 

“Have you ever been to one of these games before?” You shook your head, conceding. “You need my wisdom,” Cleo declared. 40 minutes later you had on a garish eyeshadow look, an oversized scrunchie, rhinestones glued to your cheekbones, and little stars painted on with eyeliner. All of it in the school colors: blue and yellow. You’d argued your way out of pigtails fastened with ribbons by allowing Cleo to curl your hair in a high pony. The absolute refusal to wear fake eyelashes at 10am almost ruined the morning, but after the application of even more glitter all was well. 

“No one is gonna be wearing all this shit,” you groan, trying to fade the makeup with your fingers. Your big sister slapped your hand away.

“Fucks sake, stop touching it!” she hissed. “Y/n, if you’re gonna go to this game you might as well be the most committed to supporting the team.”

“Ugh, ew!” You did not want your regalia mistaken as taking part in the gratuitous and unhinged traditions of sport.

“I thought you liked being the best at things.” Well she did have a point there. When you fall silent Cleo crosses her arms and gets a self-satisfied look on her face. Damiano comes to the house like a gentleman to pick you up. When the front door opens, you run down the stairs to meet him, forgetting about extra adornment. 

“Aww!” Damiano exclaims, when you come down the stairs, bag in hand. At first you freeze in confusion, then remember all the shit on your face and roll your eyes.

“I’m getting makeup remover,” you declare, turning to stomp up the stairs. 

“No, no, baby it’s cute!” Dami has never called you by a pet name in front of your parents before. It's a slip up, but true to his confidence, he just rolls with it. 

“I think the fuck not,” Cleo answers, stepping out of her room. “I spent way too long on that.”

“Did you curl her hair too?” Damiano asks.

“Mhm! Since y/n refuses to learn how to use a curling wand.”

“It looks great.” You roll your eyes. Cleo puts a hand on her hip, and smiles. Cocking an eyebrow as if to say I told you so. Your eldest sister doesn't seem to realize that she just accidentally had a pleasant conversation with your boyfriend. The both of you slip out the door before she wises up, your mother yelling something encouraging. 

Damiano brings your hands to his lips as soon as he shifts the car into drive. He kisses each knuckle, eyes focused on the road. It feels adult and exciting to be traveling with your boyfriend on a weekend morning. Dami is wearing a blue sweatshirt and athletic shorts. His socks match and his cleats are new. Most notably, his hair is pulled back into a sleek ponytail, displaying a freshly shaved undercut. You run your fingers over it, expecting to feel stubble, but his recently buzzed hair is actually quite soft.

“Do you hate it?” he grimaces, scrunching his nose up.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head. “Is it less hair to get pulled?”

“Naw, I’ve just been getting too hot at practice.” Damiano, red, sweaty, disheveled hair, probably shirtless, but focused. Yum. 

“I should come to your practices.” Dami chuckles then shakes his head.

“I would get nothing done.” You love that you’re so distracting that it hinders Damiano’s ability to function. That just your presence, your desire, would be enough to impede on his athleticism. 

“What about today?”

“Today you’re just watching me warm up.” Damiano turns into the drive through for a cafe.

“If I don’t eat a second breakfast I’m starving 15 minutes into the game,” he explains. “What do you want? You’re gonna get so bored without coffee.” Having Dami buy you breakfast gives you a funny feeling in your chest. It dawns on you that this is your first date-like situation, because he’s never properly taken you out.

“You need to take me on a date.”

“You’re right, I do,” Dami agrees, smiling as he turns out of the parking lot and onto the street.

“Good answer.” You place a hand just above his knee and squeeze, conscious to avoid a car crash. “And thank you for buying me breakfast.” You tuck the food into your bag for later, removing a couple items as you do. Seeing your phone reminds Dami of something.

“Hey, can you check who we’re playing? They don’t post it until an hour before the game.” You follow Damiano’s directions, logging into his collegiate sport account. The way he freely gives away his password reminds you of his permanence in your life.

“Look at us being in the same car without acting like we have rabies,” you compliment. The Friday movie nights had made both your lives better. There wasn’t the touch starvation or the desperation of not knowing the next time you’d have intimacy. Dami’s anxiety had decreased and your bond had strengthened. Sure, your bodies were still trying to make decisions for you, but those demands became progressively easier to manage. Or, perhaps, they became progressively less intimidating.

“No frothing at the mouth,” he quips back. “Hey, what's the team name beside the insignia?”

“Okoro Academy,” you answer slowly. Damiano sighs then rolls his shoulders a couple times, in an effort to shed stress.

“What? Have they beaten you before?”

“No, they’re an alpha only school.” Your stomach drops at this. Dami is going to be focused on the game, not on protecting you. Of course you won’t need protection, because its just a fucking socc game, y/n. Damiano’s comment also raises another concern.

“Wait, how are you gonna focus if you’re worried about me?”

 “Because you’ll be sitting at the bottom of the risers on our side with the other…partners.”

“Omegas?” you supply, know he’s trying to avoid making gendered distinctions.

“Well not just omegas, but yes. The alternates and assistant coaches sit right in front of you guys. No one will mess with you.” Dami feels relatively confident, so you do as well. “Plus you’re so shiny that you’ll be easy to spot,” he chirps. You roll your eyes, pulling the visor down so you have a mirror to peel the gemstones off.

“Wait, no no, don’t. I’ll stop teasing, I promise. It really is cute.” You give him a dirty look and flip the sun visor back up.

“Fine,” you sigh, slumping back into the chair. It's a real effort, but you hide your smile in response to Dami’s compliment. 

“I didn’t expect you’d get so into it. I know the cheerleading vibe isn’t your thing so…I kinda thought I’d be dragging you onto the field,” he confesses. Part of you is above the stereotypical domesticity of going to your boyfriends soccer games. Another part of you likes the ease of mainstream, the path of least resistance.

“Oh, I can still make your life extremely difficult. Maybe I’ll cheer for the other team.” Something passes over your boyfriend's face so you backtrack. “Hey, I’m just being a asshole, of course I’m gonna cheer for you,” you assure. You’d thought the teasing would roll right off his back, but Damiano had been more sensitive and nuanced than you expected before. 

“I know, baby, I know. I was just thinking that Okoro’s team might misinterpret that.” Not cheering for your boyfriend, while unmarked could read like an invitation to a group of hypermasculine alphas. It was a stupid joke to make and you were chastising yourself. Another teasing comment didn’t seem like the way to go. Instead, you just leant over and pecked Dami on the cheek.

“I like your new hair,” you murmured, giving a sincere, sweet smile. Damiano thanked you with a grin, and you spent the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence. You needed to grow out of sarcastic phrases and comedic commentary into just saying what you meant. The prospect of vulnerability made you feel afraid, but Damiano had overcome fear for you. Now it was time to return the favor. When Dami parked you came around the other side of the car and halted him.

“Hey, I’m really glad you invited me. I know I act like I’m above genuinely liking popular shit, but I’m really happy to be here for you. Because I truly, really like you, which you already know.” Damiano’s face tells you that he’s lost for words, so you move to get your bag out of his car. Once you slam the door and turn around, you walk straight into Damiano’s chest. He backs you against the car. 

Trap isn't the right word to describe the situation because trap implies that you want to be freed. You are, in fact, thrilled to be Dami’s prisoner for as long as he desires. Proximity to your alpha always has a push and pull. Push because the mutual chemistry excited you, adrenalized you. Pull, because you regulated each other, pheromones told the other’s limbic system to chill out. He takes a deep breath and you follow him. Maybe your boyfriend needed extra help leveling.

“You’re gonna do great.”

“You don’t know that,” Damiano sighs. He was right.

“I don’t give a fuck about sports so win or loose its all meaningless to me.” You feel a rumbling in Damiano’s chest, the cotton of his sweatshirt soft against your cheek.

“That’s actually comforting,” he replies. Snuggling closer, his heartbeat is thundering right under your ear. It's beating so hard you can hear it through the thick fabric.

“Woah, baby, your heart is going way too fast.” You pull away to look at his face. Damiano is flushed, corners of his mouth slightly upturned. 

“It’s totally normal, I promise.” He shakes his head, brushing it off. 

“What is it?”

“I. Like. You.” Dami sways back and forth each word. “Hmm?” he hums, as if to say: get it now? You nod vigorously, because if you try to say anything it’ll come out as a squeak. Now the both of you are blushing. Damiano’s face shifts to that of focus. He’s doing that thing with his eyes where he rapidly flits from feature to feature with intensity, trying to discern the meaning of your expression. You prepare yourself to attempt a situationally appropriate face when he speaks.

“Can I scent you?”

“Abso-fuckin’-god-damn-lutely!” you said, beaming. “I thought you were about to ask a hard question!” Damiano snorts a laugh, forcing himself to keep it together.

“You realize that people will know?”

“Is that not the point?” you counter. Alphas won’t bother you and omegas will know that Damiano is taken.

“Okay, I need you to not scent me back. I just can’t get lost in you right now.”

“Got it,” you nod goodnaturedly, tilting your head to the side.

“C’mere,” Damiano whispers, one hand on the base of your skull. He tucks you against his neck, nuzzling. Immediately you want to float away into omega headspace, but you force yourself to stay present with eyes wide opened and first balled up in the fabric of his sweatshirt. When Damiano takes a step back you let out a breath and slump against the car, having to collect yourself. Your underwear are already moist and your groin throbs. It's not his fault, just the instinctual reaction to being scented.        

“You good?” Damiano extends his hand and you take it. Instead of walking towards an open field, you’re walking towards a building. 

“So alpha sports are at the amphitheater,” he narrates. You knew that alphas, betas, and omegas all played on different teams, but hadn’t considered that alphas were the only ones that really mattered. One of the exterior doors is propped open, and you can hear the voices of the players echoing in the cement halls. 

“I’ll spare you walking through the locker room,” he explains and your face crinkles in disgust. You round the corner of the building to reveal the field that sat between the bleachers. On the near side your flag is displayed and you can see the other team is mounting theres. It's a lot more seating than you expected. There's already two people on the bottom row, against the barricade. At this point you feel like a child whose mommy has to hold their hand all the way into day care. 

“I’m fine, Dami. Go do your thing,” you encourage, even though you feel uneasy. It's a lot of teenage alphas and not much else right now. You’d just have to battle with your instincts today, remind yourself that you’re safe. If Damiano had marked you it wouldn’t be an issue because his pheromones would be intertwined with yours. Scenting was like putting perfume over the smell of cigarette smoke.

Instead of going back around, Dami throws his bag then vaults over the barricade to meet it. Alpha behavior. Someone calls out and Damiano disappears from your line of sight when he goes to greet his team mate. Trying not to fall over and eat shit with a coffee in your hand, you carefully pick your way down to what you assume to be the unofficially designated omega area.

“Whew!” the omega on the right exclaims, as you approach them. Unsure who it was directed towards, you decide to sit two rows back. The other turns and glances at you. They both look to be seniors, so you feel out of your depth and fall silent. 

“Emmaline come on,” the girl on the left jostles her friend, who also turns around to look at you.

“Oh shit, ignore me! Your alpha was just awful thorough,” she giggles. So intensely did you yearn for mate behavior, like being scented, that you never considered it could make you self-conscious. Unsure what else to do, you apologize out of habit.

“Ugh, yeah, sorry.” 

“She’s just teasing.”

“She’s also tipsy,” Emmaline answered, speaking about herself in third person. Your eyebrows shot up and both of the omegas burst out laughing. 

“I’m Athena and you can come closer. We won’t turn you into a delinquent I promise. Emmaline has just been to too many of these damn things.” Emmaline raises her flask in agreement and winces after taking a swig.

“Is that whiskey?” you ask, sitting on the other side of Athena, leaving space.

“What kind of heathen do you take me for?” she gasped, scandalized. “Clear alcohol only until noon.” You wince at the thought of drinking vodka with your coffee.

“Tequila or vodka?”

“Gin,” they answer in unison, then dissolve into laughter. You feel stupid for forgetting that gin existed, but they’re laughing at themselves, not you. Ditzy, but friendly. You’d take it.

“And Athena you’re…sober?” She snorts, and Emmaline nods her head.

“Takes me some hard liquor to just catch up with her personality.” Athena gasps and shoves Emmaline with her shoulder. Thinking of a joke, you take the opportunity to make a good impression.

“I wouldn’t push her over, she might not get back up again.” Both of them burst out laughing. It wasn't a super great joke, but you’d never complain about an easy crowd.

“People would have to step over her. It’d be a real tripping hazard.” Athena lifted up the blanket spread across their laps, inviting you to share it with them. You scooted close enough, allowing you to read their pheromones. They were mated, both of them. Not just marked, but mated. There was suddenly an ache in your chest so severe it made you feel sick. Damiano hadn’t even marked you, which is why he had to scent you. Otherwise people would assume from your biology that you were single. Maybe your face fell or maybe they inferred it, but Emmaline and Athena sensed that something had crushed you.

“You know Damiano talks about you right? To the team.” You looked up right away, surprised.

“Really?”

“Yeah, Lars said that he was really hoping you’d come to the game, but was trying to act like Mr.Cool,” Athena rolled her eyes.

“Star said he’s been much more tolerable since you guys started seeing each other.” You might as well not have brought a coat due to how warm this information made you feel inside. Their faces were so encouraging and you wanted to flood them with questions. Questions about being an omega, about Damiano, about dating someone on the team, about protocol for attending games. They were both wrapped in scarves with the team name printed on them: Romero Public High. 

Your thought process was interrupted by Emmaline letting out a piercing whistle, cat calling Lars as the team came out onto the field to warm up.

“Fucks sake,” you groaned, one hand over your ear. 

“Sorry, shoulda warned you about that!” Athena let out a cheer as well and you tried to figure out what to do. They hadn’t scored a point, not even in practice.

“What are we cheering for?” you whispered.

“Because they came out on the field,” Athena chirped. They all look kinda dorky with their high socks and shirts tucked into their shorts. Most of them were wearing the team’s sweatshirt over their uniform. It was so giant that it bounced every time they took a step. They didn’t look like the height of masculinity, they looked like blue marshmallows with legs. Romero Soccer is doing this ridiculous looking kicking exercise where they swing their leg upwards with a bent knee. Meanwhile, you get the sensation of being watched and glance at the opposing team. Their stretching has faced Okoro Soccer straight at your team's bleachers. Literally half of its players are staring at you. Or maybe they’re staring at the two omega’s next to you who are older and gorgeous. You check behind yourself and see that another group is seated two rows above you.

“Do they always stare at us like this?” 

“It's because they don’t get much exposure to potential mates being in an alpha only school,” Athen grimaces. 

“They’re not staring at us, darling,” Emmalina confesses. “You’re new and available and –”

“I am not available,'' you snapped. Emmaline throws her hands up in surrender. Your face reddens in embarrassment.

“Sorry, I –”

“No, you’re right. I remember how frustrated I was before we mated.” Instead of turning away to stretch the otherside, two of Okoro’s players have the audacity to sit down on the terf and continue staring. Channeling all your anger into courage, you flip them off with both hands to a mini-round of applause from your fellow omegas, including a few you hadn’t heard come in. Overwhelmed, you busy yourself with finishing your breakfast and coffee. 

“Pst, y/n. Y/n,” someone behind you hissed. You looked up in surprise only to observe them nod towards the field. By the time you turn around Damiano is only 10 yards away from the barricade. On his face you could see an awareness of what had transpired. He beckons you over with a hand. Wishing this didn’t have to be dealt with in front of other people, you squat down to speak to him. Only then does it dawn on you that he might be embarrassed by what you had done. First outing.

“Hey, you okay?” His brow was furrowed in concen, but no shame or disapproval.

“Yeah, yeah. It was nothing,” you dismissed. “I just didn’t think omegas get bothered when they were scented.” Really, it had shaken you, because something you knew to be safe now wasn’t.

“With the wind on the field they can’t tell and don’t give a fuck trying to discern if they’re mad dogging someone’s omega. They’re assholes, I’m sorry” He pulled off his hoodie. He handed it over. Part of you wanted to resist being branded as Damaino’s property. You wanted the world to know that this wasn’t something important to you, belonging to someone.

“I'm fine, I’m not cold.”  

“Take off your jacket, sit on it, and wear this,” he requested. “I want them to have a visual reminder that you’re spoken for. That should stop the staring.” It still felt reductive to pull on Damiano’s soccer sweatshirt. These thoughts vaporize when Dami carefully pulls your hair out from under his sweatshirt. Then Dami brought his necklaces you wore out from under your clothes. He takes his time centering them, not meeting your eyes until he is satisfied.

You’d never done PDA before. Your boyfriend’s careful touches to make sure everyone knew who you belonged to were far more intimate than some sloppy makeout. 

“Mine.”

“Yours,” you answered, sitting on the edge of the barricade. Damiano stood between your legs, steadying you. You bowed your head to meet his, taking a deep breath of his smell as you have earlier. He was a little sweaty, and his scent was still on your hair and skin, perceptible even below the hoodie.

It was the first soccer game of the year, so he was understandably nervous. Given, you didn’t comprehend the strategy of what was going on, but Damiano seemed to be engaged on the field at all times. His role was important, which meant pressure. Helping him steady, you put both hands on his shoulders and took a deep breath. The next breath he joins yours and you remain there, breathing together, for a few moments. It was a lot more effective than some empty assurance.

In the next 15 minutes, a couple hundred people filled up the amphitheater, and the game began. Emmaline was slurring her words pretty early on and argued with the ref on everything. Everytime someone jeered or heckled in your section, you took it as a opportunity to mirror their sentiments, but louder. The referee cursed at your section before halftime which had to be a local record.

After scoring a goal on your side of the field, Damiano used the time out to fix his hair. His hair tie snapped, but they continued the game so quickly that he couldn’t go find a new one. The person Damiano stole the ball from noticed his obscured vision. He ran him off the field in the same way the wind blew Dami’s hair in his face. This visibly pissed him off, chest heaving. Next, Damiano managed to get the ball back, fighting in a tight cluster with other players from both teams. When he broke out, Okoro’s captain body slammed him, causing Damiano to trip over the ball and land on the terf. Okoro Soccor stole the ball and took it half way down the field before the referee blew his whistle.

Both sides were on their feet, yelling terminology that was only vaguely familiar. You focused on Damiano, who sprung right back up, obviously uninjured. Immediately he was in the face of the guy that knocked him over. He started to shift, which was concerning because you’d never observed a player do that before. A harsh whistle sounds from the back of the stands, and you look up to see Damiano’s parents. You didn't know they were coming. He was probably trying to spare you the anxiety of a formal introduction today.

Dami’s head snapped up in the direction of the whistle, but it didn’t solve the situation. He just tensed, trying to force control. The coaches were talking, going over the footage on a reader.

“Dami!” you shout, trying to get his attention. You check your wrists for hair ties then start taking down your ponytail when you find nothing. When Damiano’s eyes began to change you forced down panic.

“Vampiriano!” you call, hoping it's unique enough to grab his attention. You get the hair tie out and remember it is Cleo’s selection. Dami’s head snaps up, and you lean over the barricade where you’d sat before. Damiano jogs over to meet you, his face returning to normal. 

“Sorry, I know that was an overreaction. I know I shouldn’t –” You hold up a hand so he’ll stop talking to you like someone who’s upset at him.

“How about you get a bat from one of the storage rooms and I’ll be the distraction. We can kneecap him on the way to his car,” you suggest, wiggling your eyebrows. Damiano grins wide at that, his whole demeanor changing. Obviously your boyfriend knew better than to commit murder admist a public game. He’d shown that by apologizing as soon as he came over. Objectively, that player had been an asshole and Damiano needed someone to validate that he had been screwed over by the entire situation. You wonder if you’re the only person in his life whose first reflex isn’t chastising. 

You hand over your jumbo, polka dot scrunchie. Damiano grins again, this time with a bit of disbelief as he slides it onto his wrist.

“You don’t have anything else,” he sighs, flipping his hair over.

“Even if I did, I would still make you wear it.” He snickers, bun obscured by the ridiculous size of your scrunchie. 

“David!” his coach barks. He kisses our hand and runs over to resume the game. Everything goes smoothly from then on. The game is also much more amusing with your boyfriend’s new hair piece. Based on the way his team takes jabs at Damiano, you can tell he’s in a position of seniority. No one says anything of substance and they all laugh it off, Dami unbothered. At the end of it, Romero wins by two points. Some of the other omegas run across the field into their boyfriends arms when the winner is announced. That particular spectacle made you feel like an idiot. Straight out of the type of feel good, mass appeal movie that made you dread family time. Instead, you pack up your stuff, shoving your coat in the bag. You decide on finding him after he greets his parents, but Damiano comes to you first.

“Congratulations!” you exclaim, pulling your bag on. When Dami doesn’t immediately extend thanks you wonder if you’d somehow got the triumph team confused.

“You did win right?” Damiano is still sweating, a v-shaped stain in the front of his jersey.

“Yeah, we won,” he nods, a huge smile across his face. You’re not sure what to do next, so you deflect.

“Want to go say hi to your parents and meet me back at the car when you’re ready?”

“Yeah, sure,” he panted, climbing up the bleachers. Not touching at all was definaty awkward. It was one of those moments where you’re distinctly aware that you should know what to do, but are totally clueless. You looked out at the field. The other partners had met the alphas on the field as well. So many of them were mated, or at least marked. They embraced and kissed people far less attractive than Damiano. People with whom they didn’t have age gaps. Partners who were far more beautiful than you. 

You were dating arguably the hottest alpha on the team. He was two years older than you. Despite deciding on you over two months ago he hadn’t marked you. Two months and this was the first time he’d taken you in public. Was he ashamed? People must think you were a fucking idiot. You indisputably looked like an idiot. Had other people been staring? Were they staring now? You whip around, looking behind you, but everyone seems to be preoccupied.

Looking out on all these mates didn’t make you feel jealous. You skipped right over to feeling sick. Your heart hurt, there was a stone in your throat. You knew Dami, knew your dynamic, was closer to him than almost anyone. So why was this the first time he’d introduced you to the world? You tried not to let that change your perception, but maybe it should. Maybe it did say something about your relationship. No, maybe it said something about you.

 Feeling like absolute shit, you gather all your belongings and throw away your trash. Everyone around you was glowing and their happiness only made your sadness darker. 

“Oh shit, I know that face.” Recognizing the voice, you turned around to see Athena, pity written all over her expression. “C’mere.” She pulls you by the hand out of the main thruway. “Saw all the omegas running into their alphas arms and wanted to throw yourself off a cliff?” She wasn’t far off. “Just join them next time! I guarantee Damiano will be there to catch you.” For some reason this made you choke back a sob. Emmaline’s scuffed boots come into view. She throws an arm around you, liquor on her breath.

“I’m just torturing myself,” you choke. “I don’t know why, everybody does things at their own pace.”

“Ah, so you saw that everyone else was marked and wanted to throw yourself off a cliff?” Athena guesses. You need in agreement, a couple tears falling. You wipe them away roughly and look up.

“This part is always bumpy. Remember that your hormones fucking with your head. It's not real.” Steeling yourself, you decide to do the opposite of what your emotions suggest. You want to curl into a ball in the parking lot and cry, so you’re going to walk to Damiano’s car, head held high, glowing with confidence.

“Okay,” you say with finality. “Thanks, I’m fine now. I’ll see you guys at the next game.” Your phone buzzes and you check it to see a text from Dami. 

“Meet me by the sign in the front.” It's in the opposite direction of his car, but much closer and more public. By the time you respond and put your phone away, you feel like a totally different person. Despite the mood swing passing, you have emotional whiplash. You try to conceal this is Damiano comes into view. Making up for earlier, you run the last couple steps, and hug him. He wraps his arms around you, so tight its stifling and you’re trying to pull away.

“So I was wondering if you want to meet my parents right now? You look adorable and we could get it over with.” Damiano’s compliments had way more influence than they should. Speaking of things that should have already been done in the past two months. Dami could assume that you not meeting his parents was a sign that you weren’t truly invested, just using him for status. But he didn’t, he was warm and encouraging. 

“Sure,” you grinned. Dami laces your fingers together, pulling you towards what you assumed to be his parents' car. They stood on the opposite side, looking in the wrong direction. Seeing them before they saw you somehow made the moment manageable. You’d gotten past Dami’s hard exterior, no reason to be anxious about getting his parents to like you. You could see this written all over their faces as soon as they realized you were behind them. How did you get him to let you so close so fast? 

“Y/n!” His dad exclaimed, grinning. “How did you enjoy the game?” You could try to make up an appropriate answer, but instead you decide to be honest.

“I’ve never been to something like this before, but watching the ref get pissed off was fun.” He chuckled and extended his arms for a hug. Alright, so one of them already liked you. Damiano’s father hugged you like your mother did. Not as though it was some obligatory gesture, he actually conveyed affection.

“This is my father Matteo,” Dami narrated. “And my mother Isabella.” Her face was discerning. It makes you self-conscious, trying to fix your hair, and stand straighter. Matteo was definitely the welcoming of the two. Isabella was so mild mannered that you couldn’t tell if she was reserving judgment or hated you. It was nerve wracking. Damiano placed a reassuring hand around your waist and pulled you against his side.

“It was wonderful to see you make Damiano laugh today,” Isabella commented. You thought back to which moment she might have observed and drew a total blank. You made him laugh often, but most of your interactions were private.

“When that asshole shoved me and the ref was asleep. Your scrunchie?” 

“Oh, right!” you gasped.  Nodding, trying to remember why this moment had been brought up in the first place. Isabella was acknowledging that you could make hee son happy in a tense moment. That was a positive, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“She’s pissed at me for losing control, not you,” he whispers. Isabella, lets out a nervous chortle, suddenly very self-aware. Her eye makeup settles into the creases of her skin when she laughs. Isabella’s expression finally relaxes into something readable.

“Sorry, I forget that people can see exactly what I’m thinking on my face.” She waves her hand, dismissing the previous tension. “Why don’t you come over for lunch today and let me make a better impression?”

“Well, she –” Damiano begins, trying to give you the option of an out.

“Yeah, that sounds great! Thank you for inviting me.” Your smile is genuine and they can tell. More time with Dami? Less time at your house? Fuck yeah.

After bidding goodbye, you and Damiano head back to his car. He pulls you by your hand, fingers laced together, his palms sweaty. The introduction was more important to him than he let on. He was practically skipping. 

“See? Of course they’re gonna love you, they raised me.” When you arrive at his car, Damiano slides your bag off your shoulder and throws it in the back seat next to his. You start to walk around to the car to the passenger side, but Damiano stops you.

“I haven’t had the chance to properly thank you for coming,” he smirks.

“You don’t have to, oh mm.” He kisses you passionately. Sure, he is marking his territory, but at this point you're happy to be marked. Happy to be had. It is a lot for your first public PDA. It’s hard to stay in the moment.

“Does this happen after every game? Because I think I might like sports.”

“Ssh, shut up,” Dami coos. He repositions so his body is blocking yours in. You’re hidden from public view. Feeling unobserved allows you to finally pay attention to Dami. He smells like sweaty teenage boy, very adjacent to wet dog. However he also smells delicious. All the exercise had deposited pheromones on his skin after the sweat evaporated. Other omegas must sense it, but they don’t get to have him. He’s yours, all yours. And they have to suffer through watching you enjoy him. 

Of course Damiano is aware of his eligibility. He’s aware that he’s actively attracting potential mates. He is using that time to shove you up against his car door and put his tongue in your mouth. Its remnicist of telling Damiano “I know I belong to someone.” He’s doing the same, demonstrating that he’s unavailable and happy about it. He might as well call you out by name on the loudspeaker.

A sick part of you thoroughly enjoys that you’re ruining other omegas afternoon with his display. Deciding to rub it in their face, you get a hold of his jersey with one hand and his neck with the other, pulling him in so close that neither of you can function. Mine. Mine. Look at how much belongs to me. You mean to make a hum of approval, but it comes out as a little growl. The noise actually startles you.

“Ooh, kitten’s finally feeling territorial,” Dami purrs. “Lucky me.” He takes your bottom lip in his mouth and nips. It sends a shiver of excitement down your spine. The sensation is electrifying enough that it brings some awareness to your current setting.

“Dami, rabid. We’re being rabid again,” you choke out. Damiano pauses and looks up, only then registering where you’d been clawing at each other. You don’t even check how many people are looking. If the answer is one that’ll still be mortifying, and it's very likely more than one.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, taking half a step back. “The exercise, adrenaline, endorphins, winning the game. It gets me going.”

“I’ll say,” you pant, bending over slightly to catch your breath. “Okay, let's leave before…” You trail off, walking around to the otherside of the car. Windows down, both sets of eyes forward, but still worked up. You both know that you can’t show up to lunch with his parents like this so you take turns naming things that turn you off.

“Ingrown toenails.”

“Clear-cutting.”

“Eye boogers.”

“Mono-cropping.”

“Raw chicken.”

“Capitalism.”

“You know, you’re making me seem like a real piece of shit here,” Damiano retorts. You both end up laughing, but force yourselves to stop because a good sense of humor is a turn on. That turns into listing what you like about eachother.

“Intuition.”

“The new hair.”

“Your fucking persistence.”

“I also noticed you have nice calves today.”

“Who’s the superficial one now?” 

“Why are they so hairless though? You’re Italian for fucks sake. I have more leg hair than you.” You gasp theatrically, inserting an impregnated pause.“ Do you shave?”

“No, I don’t shave!” he blurts, turning the corner on a yellow light. 

“It actually might be more embarrassing that you don’t. At least if you shaved you’d have an excuse for legs smoother than a baby’s ass.” Damiano tries to poke at your sides while still staring at the road. His hand still isn’t easy to dodge and you’re doing contortions. Then Daiano brakes hard, arm coming in front of your chest like a seat belt. The lack of collision and the squirrel running in the corner of your vision mean that everything is fine. You splutter and resume giggling. Damiano keeps driving, shaking his head at his own blunder. His hand resumes its position on the steering wheel.

“Sorry, are you okay?” There's so much genuine concern on his face, as if going from 20mph to a full stop would cause harm.

“Cleo drove me to school last year. Cleo. I’m fine, baby.” You twist a stray lock of hair around your finger. “Hey, at least that broke the sexual tension!” Damiano scoffs, shaking his head, but his smile returns.

“Fuck, it’s hard not to get distracted around you,” he groans, squrming around like he’s trying to shake something off. You resist the urge to remind him there's an easy, and very enjoyable solution to that because you’re pulling up to his parents house. He puts the car in park and you open the door, but Dami stops you.

“Mm, wait.” As soon as you turn towards him he captures your chin in his hand, uses it to guide you in. “C’mere, baby,” he murmurs, eyes on your lips. He kisses you long and soft, just once. It still throbs between your legs. Affectionate Damiano might be your new favorite. 

Isabella is much warmer this time around. Her entire disposition was based on feeling in control. That was a behavior you recognized, so you knew not to take it personally. It's actually easier to answer the litany of questions while Damiano is showering. Delicate family situations were your forte, so not having to worry about his reaction made things easier.

 It was immediately apparent though that Isabella and Matteo wanted to like you. They wanted your relationship to be successful and believed in your emotional resourcefulness. There was no you’re not good enough for my son. While sure, Damiano didn’t do great at the STEM part of academics, but he was popular, respected, and important to the schools sport teams which is where a lot of their reputation lay. Damiano was well-groomed, stylish, and inarguably intelligent. Even if he sucked at algera, he’d let you sneak peaks at the essays he actually tried on and the boy could write to. So you expected some exclusivity. 

You explained this all to the Davids. Then when you realize you’d been talking too long. Trying to fix the look on their faces, you joked that since STEM was your strongest point and you’d already had two concussions before high school, you and Damiano were sort of the mismatched perfect pair. Then you realized that you’d just insulted their son and decided to shut the fuck up and smile sheepingly, hoping they’d chalk up any social failures to nerves.

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” Matteo gushed.

“Heh?”

“People go their whole lives not understanding what you do at 15,” he complimented. “The reverence and empathy you have for Damiano is unique. It’s special.” So that was the look on their faces. You’re too busy thinking thank fuck to process Matteo’s words.

“Being so emotionally intelligent and doing well in school,” Isabella beamed. “I’m sure your family is proud of the person you’ve become.”

“Well I barely pass English every term and I’m not on the math team or anything.” Her brow furrows, and you try to read what the expression reveals. “My sister Thalia is the smart one! She goes to Emerson and she’s trying to get into this summer volcanology program. Poor Damiano has had to endure the rite of passage that is listening to Thalia talking about geology for half an hour.” The whole table chuckles and you feel better about things.

“She must be really helpful then, for your science classes.”

“Yeah, well she…” Thalia had helped you in school maybe twice. “Actually, I guess I kinda do things on my own,” you shrug. “She’s two years older, but we learned to talk around the same time. I just recall how panicked my parents were,” you chuckle at the memory of all the strategies and treatments they tried, to get Thalia talking. Matteo tries to be amicable, but Isabella’s expression has you reeling. Concern, something else maternal there too. This anecdote usually did just fine with your family. 

Matteo senses your plight and taps his wife’s hand, reminding her that you could see the unease in her expression. No wonder Damiano made himself impossible to read. Growing up with a mother whose every feeling was perceptible must have felt unsafe when he was little.

“So what would you like for lunch? Any allergies? Preferences?” Matteo gets up from the table and opens the fridge.

“I’ll eat almost anything,” you answer honestly. You feel Damiano’s presence in the room and let out a breath. You’d bumblefucked your way through a first conversation, but at least it was over. Damiano puts his hands on your shoulders and leans down.

“My bedroom is at the end of the hall or the living room is just through there,'' he whispers and nods towards a doorway on the side of the kitchen. “Whichever is fine with me. You pick.” Of course you would love to lounge around in Damiano’s bed, surrounded by his smell, his dirty clothes. At that thought you catch yourself. If you’re thinking about his dirty clothes, you can’t be trusted alone. 

You stand up and walk into the living room. The ceiling is slanted and the walls a pale, azure blue. The stress from the moment had made you overheat. You unzipped your jacket and went to hang it up in the entryway, before realizing that there were voices in the kitchen.

“Why did she look so freaked?” Oh, they’re talking about you. “I really don’t want her to avoid my house, okay? So whatever your opinions –”

“Dam, I think she’s lovely, and so smart. You need someone who sees things a little differently.”

“She’s tremendously emotionally intelligent.” Such genuine, heartfelt compliments were making you choke up.

“Okay, so everything's fine?” You don't have time to hang around for words of confirmation because you’ve got to make it seem like you were eavesdropping. Your face is hot with blush, bright red. You end up taking off your sweater too, so you’re left in just a very sensible tank top. Folding yourself into the corner of the couch, you pretend to be browsing the coffee table books, all of which are about birds. Damiano walks into the room, presence assured and calm. It makes you chill out too. He sits right beside you, almost on your lap, so you retire the bird photography book back to the coffee table.

“Hey,” you sigh, followed by a big breath. You hadn’t been aware you weren’t breathing deeply. Damiano brings a hand to your face, which means you’re visibly flushed, too.

“They had you sweatin, huh?” You look down at yourself, but you’re not visibly sweaty. You raise your arm and conduct the sniff test. It's barely perceptible.

“Stop that,” Damiano chuckles. “C’mere,” he falls backward, laying out on the couch and taking you with him. “I just meant you looked nervous. I really like the smell of your body odor anyways.” You let out a whine of protest at turning you on. “Oops. Sorry, but it's gonna take a lot to gross me out.” Damiano reached behind himself to situat a pillow under his head. You allowed yourself to relax against him, oversized hoodie and sweat pants.

Daminao ran a hand up and down your back. The sensation made you shiver so hard it was comical. However, drying sweat and cold air on bare skin made you start shivering for real. All your layers were on the opposite side of the couch and you really didn’t want to move. It was partially the come down from the adrenaline of meeting his parents, but your teeth were chattering. 

“Hey, put on my sweatshirt. I’ll go get another one.”

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, objecting to Damiano getting up and moving.

“You can’t make me watch you shiver, y/n, c’mon.” You scooch around, considering getting up and the movement pushes Damiano’s sweatshirt. His tan, bare skin is revealed, resulting in a stroke of genius.

“Are you wearing anything under this?”

“No. That’s why I need to go get another sweatshirt,” he says impatiently.

“Let's share it.” 

“Okay…” You sit back on your heels, pushing the thick fabric up. It looked to be an old sweatshirt for another team and was huge. The neck was cut, and the fabric faded and stretched out. It must be his dad’s. You ducked under, skirming upwards. The hard part was finding a way to get your head through without choking the both of you. This was solved by tucking your face to Damiano’s neck. Immediately you were a little high from the vicinity of his scent glands. Dami swept the hair from your face, but it didn’t matter because you closed your eyes as soon as you were situated.

Damiano shifted around and pulled the sweatshirt back down. He was so warm and the skin to skin contact leveled everything out. This is why you’d had your mood swing earlier. The same spike in your hormone levels that allowed for mates to bond also fucked you over when you didn’t spend enough time with your alpha. It terrified you how detectable the difference was. Immediately, your temperature was perfectly comfortable. Your heart rate regulated, your oxygen intake increased. Suddenly you could take deep breaths and realized they were exactly in time with Damiano’s. Your hearts were probably beating the same. It was the first time you’d felt like a whole person in who knows how long.

The fact that Dami wraps his arms around you in the cherry on top. The weight soothes your anxiety even further as your cortisol levels drop. You can’t remember the last time you felt this safe and assured. Calming down from a state of hypervigilance has you yawning. Damiano’s house smells faintly sweet and he’s right here. In the kitchen is the ambient noise of cooking, from people that admire you. There’s nothing to shield yourself from. You don’t mean to fall asleep. Your thoughts are only swimming for a moment before you slip under.

“So I was thinking that you could stay for dinner if you wanted,” Damiano ponders. You don’t respond, you don’t even move.

“Y/n? Y/n?” He cranes his neck to look at you, which is impossible in the present position. Damiano listens to your even breathing and tries whispering your name a couple more times. Then he just lets you rest, turning on the TV really low, using subtitles. It strikes him how peaceful this is, how fulfilling and nurturing even though you’re doing exactly nothing. He also feels guilty because obviously you really needed whatever this is fulfilling if you could pass right out.

“So y/n, I was wondering if you wanted some tea? We have –” Isabella falls silent as she walks into the room. Dami holds a single finger up to his lips, signifying to be quiet. Isabella speaking at full volume only distrubed you enough that you shift around. Dami wraps both his arms around you again and this settles you. Now your mouth is open, tiny hot puffs of air on his neck.

“She’s asleep,” he whispers. His mother tip-toes over, checking if she woke you up, but your face is peaceful. Once she takes a look at how you’re configured she has to hold back a laugh with four fingers pressed to pursed lips.

“Well this is inventive,” she whispers. Isabella cocks her head to the side, like viewing you from a different angle will fill in all the gaps in her knowledge. 

“And she fell right asleep, like this?” Damiano nods and she tsks, sighing.

“It's like she needed…I don’t know what.”

“Hormonal shifts are especially difficult for people in her family, I think.” She smoothes the hair from your face.  Matteo walks into the room with purpose, looking for his wife. His paternal instinct stops him a few steps in, noticing that no one is talking. He begins to back out, but Isabella waves him over.

“Come look, it's the sweetest thing,” she whispers. Matteo tip-toes over and silent awe’s at you tucked against Damiano, fast asleep. Dami smiles wide up at both of them. Come see what's mine. Mine.

“I’ll stop the kettle from boiling,” he murmurs, rushing back into the kitchen.

“She desperately needed steadying,” Isabella comments. “Things at home are less than ideal?” Her tone lilts up like it's a question, but in actuality it's a statement..

“Yeah, her dad is under some misinformation of who his daughter is.”

“Beta father parent fails their omega child,” she narrates. “Expected, but it always makes me sad.” Isabella brushes her hand down your back, touch too light to register as a sensation. “She said Thalia is the smart one, but she’s a beta. So is her mother there when things are acting up omega-wise?

“Cleo is the sick one,” Dami retorts.

“So Thalia’s the smart one, Cleo’s the sick one and what about her? Does she get room to exist?” They sit in silence as Damiano tries to come up with as accurate and fair an answer as possible.His mother cuts him off preemptively.

“I think you should have Friday’s here. It's not customary, but I think it’ll be much less stressful. Someone needs to defend this poor omega’s nervous system. Christ, only a beta father would demand you keep the door open at all times. Ridiculous,” she tsks, walking into the kitchen. Damiano’s phone vibrates and he tries to wrench it out of his pocket before the buzzing wakes you. It's a text from his teammate.

Star: Em said y/n was crying after the game, but not to make it into a thing. Still thought you should know.

 Damiano sighs, stroking your hair.“Why don’t you tell me these things, baby?” he whispers, speaking mostly to himself because you’re fast asleep.

Notes: gonna do the tagging and stuff that gets me notes tomorrow, but I know some of y’all are waiting for this chapter so here ya go😘

[esoteric-lantern]

At first I was like, oh Seungri was just hiring prostitutes, nbd. Then I saw it was human trafficking and like... how can anybody still support him after that? He isn't hiring prostitutes, he's forcing women into prostitution.

And then I see screenshots of Jung Joon Young joking about and implying they rape women and saying derogatory stuff about women... filming without consent. So rape and sex slavery.

I know this can't be an isolated event. I can't help but wonder what other idols are misogynistic criminals behind the sceens. I'm sure plenty are actual misogynists. I don't think this is isolated to business. We all know the entertainment industry is full of rape and stuff... blech.

It's a big reason I drifted away from kpop. I feel like behind the scenes, it's really corrupt and I don't want to support that.