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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

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Bonus Chapter

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Word count: 9.6k

Read the actual fic on my Masterlist!

You’d missed the first bus after school and were now running almost half an hour late. It’s not that Damiano would leave the amphitheater without you, but you texted him last minute. So last minute that he wouldn’t even get the message until after practice. Your heart only sank further when the parking lot came into view and you saw how few cars were left. He was probably hungry and bored out of his mind so you jog the rest of the way.

His car isn’t in the lot. That can’t be right, so you go the double check up close.

Where are you?

Damiano attended these practices like clock-work. You mosey towards the field in case someone can tell you if Dami went home early and why. Star quickly walks past you, giving a tight-lipped smile and a small wave, indicating that he very much wasn’t feeling social. From inside the structure, a familiar voice you can’t place calls you over.

“Y/n, Dam is over here!” You feel sick while breaking into a run, but when you round the corner, the only people on the field are Julio and Nikolai. They’re bent over cackling at your concern, hands propped just above their knees. Immediately you see red.

“Weren’t you banned from the team?” You try to look down on them from a distance, even though they’re both taller than you.

“I’m not banned from the amphitheater. I just can’t use it when Romero has it booked for practice.” Julio spits back in venomous tones, meanwhile Nikolai is texting someone amidst snide chuckles. It’s then that you remember Damiano has his hearing with the collegiate board right now. He’s on the other side of town.

“Whatever.” You turn to leave, taking out your own phone to ask Clio for a ride.

“Oh and she gives up so easy!” Nikolai is goading you like you’re some young alpha, hell bent on proving herself. Omegas aren’t fighters. In fact, you can’t fight, and this knowledge plants a seed of fear in the pit of your stomach. Surely they didn’t plan to harm you and risk real consequences. You clutch your phone in your right hand and walk towards the exit.

“Not so invincible now, huh?”

“This is what happens when bitchy omegas don’t have their bitch-boy alphas to protect them.”

“Call me mediocre again. I fucking dare you.” The sound of Nikolia’s voice raises the hair on the back of your neck and you know you need to get out of here. When you speed up your pace, they follow, footsteps growing ever nearer as they jeer.

“He hasn’t bred you yet, so there's still some hope of finding an alpha to put you in your place.”

“I would give anything to see that,” yells Julio. The faster you walk, the quicker they follow, so you try to slow your pace and manage your racing heart. If you can just get to the parking lot you’ll be in plain view of houses and the skate park. Finding bystanders was a tactic embedded into your psych before primary school. You got to the cement hall that ran under the building and noticed someone coming towards you.

In the shadows, you think you’re in luck; a bystander found you. His heavy work books click each step and then his face comes into view. It's the alpha that Damiano had to fend off three months ago. Turns out he went to Okoro Academy and hung around Romero after school, waiting for a vulnerable omega to victimize.

“Hey, you made it!” calls Nikolai. His joy is a mockery of your fear, and you’re struggling to think straight.

“Imagine my surprise when I found out my cousin Phoenix had been victimized by the same runt of the litter.” He grins when he says victim, enjoying the power trip and the irony. There’s no way to physically get out of this so you’re going to have to talk your way out. Fist fighting all three would be easier than making yourself demure and submissive. What do you want is too forceful, so you try to soften the sentiment.

“I don’t understand what you want me to do.” Phoenix breaks into maniacal laughter and the other two follow after a brief side eye. If they’re unsure about his actions that either means this front isn’t nearly as united as it looks or that you should be very scared.

“I want corporal punishment so we can control upetty omegas that need to be fucking humbled and taught how to serve”

“And I don’t want mutants like Damiano to dirty the gene pool. He should be sterilized and kept away from the population.”

“How fucking dare you!?”

“Ah, there she is!” Julio says in a sing-song voice. He lunges at you, but it's a fake out, only a couple steps before he falls back, laughing cruelly. You’d tried to back up too fast and end up falling. Only one elbow was bleeding, but Julio’s eyes kept darting towards it. The contents of your book bag are strewn three feet down the hall. You crouch down while trying to clean it up, papers crumpled and haphazardly shoved inside.

You’re so focused on looking at the ground that you don’t see Nikolai until his cleats come into view. Immediately, you straighten up like your spine is a titanium rod, eyes wide in fear at his proximity. Nikolai lunges at you too, so close you can see the storm in his irises. This time you fall hard, tripping over your bag and getting the wind knocked out of you when you land flat. At that point, all attempts at regulating go out the window while you struggle for a decent breath.

“Woah! Is she okay?” Julio is nervous and you stare at him with every ounce of panic and rage so this moment will haunt him, whatever happens to you. His eyes dart from one person to the next, but he never sustains a gaze.

“She’ll be fine. Maybe she should call her savior for help.” Nikolai cocks his head to the side and tries to put on a scowl. You still have your phone clenched in a fist and begin to type. But you stop yourself upon realizing that this was a trap. They know that Damiano will go scorched earth if your safety is on the line. Phoenix, Julio, and Nickolai probably think they can take him. Maybe they can and Damiano will destroy his body. Or, more likely he’ll destroy them. Either way Damiano will be excommunicated from society for his Alpha Dysregulation. Incriminating him was the whole point of this display of strength.

Forcing a deep breath, you bring your phone back to your side and stare at them willfully. Julio is the closest to breaking. He’s blanched and picking at his cuticles, clearly wishing he’s never volunteered to do this.

“I am not bait,” you spit, trying to back away. Their plan had failed and you were banking on them recognizing defeat.

“Bitch,” Nikolai murmurs, spitting on your shoes and bowing his head.

“See, I told you this wouldn’t work,” Phoenix finally speaks. His voice is monotone in a way that makes your skin crawl. It means that his friendliness three months ago was completely a mask. People who can mimic emotion so easily often lack empathy. It's all a performance for personal gain.

You try to walk away but Pheonix blocks your path, stepping in front no matter where you divert.

A quick glance over your shoulder shows that Julio and Nickolai are also unsure. When they notice you’re looking, both young alphas try to harden their expressions. Option one is getting past them and taking the next exit halfway down the field. Option two is avoiding Phoenix and bolting 15 feet. You decide on the second one and don’t even make it a full step before being shoved to the ground. You land on your fingers, rather than your left hand. Something pops, but not like a knuckle. At first, intense shooting pain moves all the way up your arm and then fiery throbbing pain settles in your hand.

You’re shocked into silence, as is everyone else. When your body does register the injury, it’s trying to shut down to protect itself. To hide, to curl up, to become smaller, to become less noticeable, to limit points of vulnerability, to be silent, to survive. However, you can’t trust that Phoenix will leave you be. In fact, this act of wounding seems to stimulate him like nothing else has.

Help

While the text goes through, you’re trying to share your location.

“Atta’ girl!” He shouts gleefully, thrilled his prey is finally doing something amusing. Phoenix rips your phone from your hands and throws it against the cement. It breaks into three pieces, battery skidding until it hits the wall.

“NO!” you scream, trying to scramble away and find a place to conceal yourself. The sound echoes within the tunnel, deafening.

“What the fuck, dude!” Julio screams in horror. Nikolai is disturbed, but he handles it slightly better.

“This wasn’t the plan! We were supposed to scare her, without touching her. Not break her phone!” A force pulls you backward and you realize it's Phoenix's hand on your hood.

“And you’re scared aren’t you?” he snarls. It must have been a combination of the yelling, the chase, the adrenaline, the control, and the sadism, because Phoenix has gone full alpha. His charcoal eyes are souless, the place where his pupil lay a swirling black hole. The tendons on his face and neck quiver like they’re about to tear through his skin. You’re running before you can see his teeth, and this time he lets you go.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” You’ve disappeared from view quickly, hiding in the bushes below the field until your assailants leave. At this point, all there is to do is ride out the overwhelming instinct to cower.

“Oh, come on,” Phoenix rolls his eyes.

“No, you’re not supposed to do that type of shit,” insists Julio. Purposely sending omegas into flight or fawn was a major social taboo. It forces both an acute stress response and dissociation which occasionally causes tragedies. Omegas accidently darting in front of cars or hours of unnavigable panic reaching the point of mental crisis. The instict to hunker down until the episode passed left sick people without medical care and little children with traumatized parents. Originally, alphas tormented omegas endlessly because they couldn’t fight back before expectations were set up to protect their well-being.

“We should hide her stuff so they can’t trace it back to us.” Nikolai recognizes the new leader and reassembles y/n’s backpack.

“And when she tells Damiano?”

“He’ll flip out. Mission accomplished,” Phoenix shrugs his shoulders, casually. “It’s our word against his, so you know what’ll happen if someone breaks ranks.” He glowers at Julio to make the threat clear.

“Yeah? And in the mean time he could fucking kill me!”

“So, what? You’re afraid of him now? Phoenix taunts. Nikolai has fallen silent, holding the backpack like it's a bomb.

“Oh my – we did this because he’s dangerous! As someone who had their nose broken by Dam in a single punch, I can attest to that! He shouldn’t be in the general population, thats the fucking point.”

“What he shouldn’t be is so full of himself,” mutters Nikolai. He walks off to find a place to hide the bag with his head hung.

“And that is the fucking point. Alphas like him are what's wrong with society. They don’t obey the natural order.

“You’re out of your fucking mind.” Julio picks up his duffel and walks away.

“We reminded an omega of her place! You should be proud of that!” Phoenix yells after him.

***

“We’re just thrilled to have you officially back on the team, drive safe!” The chair of the collegiate board walked the David’s out to the parking lot with a restrained, professional smile. They’d known which way the board was leaning as soon as the hearing started. Still, the end result was a huge relief.

“Do you want to just pick up y/n on the way home?” Isabella was wearing a rare, full fledged smile.

“Yeah, I’ll call her!”

Y/n: Where are you?

[Missed call from Star]

Star: Saw y/n walk into the amphitheater so I think she forgot about the hearing.

Y/n: Help

[Missed call from Star]

[Missed call from Athena]

Star: Call me as soon as you get this.

Star: Had a bad feeling and doubled back, but she was gone. Saw Julio get in his car. Nikolai’s car was still in the lot. Would they do something?

[Missed call from Star]

Star: I waited and saw another alpha leave. It might have just been her and them. Don’t panic.

Star: Stay calm, don’t panic.

Emmaline: Do you want help looking?

“Damiano? Honey? What’s he doing?” Matteo tried to get a good look in the mirror at his son whose breathing had doubled in pace and was shivering while sweating.

“I think he’s having a panic attack. Dami, what's going on?” Isabella turned around and took his clammy hands in her own. “Could be the adrenaline from the meeting?”

“I’m pulling over.” Matteo idled in a turn out.

“Amphitheater.”

“Honey, practice is over. You didn’t miss practice, you were excused. It's okay, let's go home.”

“Amphitheater!”

“Do not scream at me, Damiano,” Matteo replies patiently. Dami slams his phone onto the center console. Isabella reads the notifications out loud and they’re headed to the field by the time she says ‘help.”

“She might be home already,” Isabella offers. Dami calls Clio, but he knows it isn’t true before she picks up.

“I thought she was with you.”

“So she’s not home?” Footsteps pound up the stairs two at a time. He recognizes the creak of y/n’s door.

“She’s not here,” Clio pants.

“Check –”

“I know I’m checking!” In the closet, under the bed, Clio looked in all the places y/n associated with calm or would hide as a child. If she’d been put in a state of terror, y/n would hide instinctively in order to survive. Until an omega calms down enough to think rationally, they’re an animal whose mechanisms of self defense are limited to the path of least resistance and making themselves invisible. The claustrophobia of being unable to fight back created some drastic evolutionary responses to avoid being targeted.

Post societal collapse, omegas would likely survive to reproductive age at double the rate of alphas. However, in a first world country, it was an arcane instinct that could be manipulated to terrorize omegas. And that's what you were: absolutely terrified and alone. You needed Damiano more than you ever and every cell in his body was screaming with the unfulfilled urge to protect.

“I don’t think she’s in the house, but let me just make sure…Dad? Thalia? Has y/n come home from school yet?” There’s a long pause and Clio is back on the line, panic in her voice.

“She’s not here. Do you know where she is, Dami? It still gets dark and cold earlier this time of year.” That's another thing you might be: hypothermic.

“I know where to start, but you should stay there in case she comes home. So someone will understand what’s happening.”

“And what happened?” There's anger in her voice, probably suspecting y/n was only in this position because of Damiano. She was right.

“I think she got cornered by three alphas.”

“Fuck, I’ll call my mom.”

Before the car was even stopped, Damiano jumped out. He ran onto the field screaming your name then fell completely silent. He listened for a whimper, jogged around the perimeter trying to pick up your scent. In doing so, he saw a peak of green fabric, whose hue he recognized as your backpack. It was over the fence, hidden in an abandoned tire. Damiano scaled the fence quicker than he thought possible, taking a picture of the scene before digging through all the papers. Most had your name written in blue pen at the top.

Someone else had put them back in, crumpled and out of order. Why take everything out? If they touched this, had they touched you? He can’t suppress the pressure in his chest anymore and breaks out in loud sobs. At first they’re tearless, desperate noises, and then his face is flooded with saline and snot. Matteo makes his way over and hands Dami a tissue through the fence.

“Wha – why, why would she leave it here? May – be be – because she’s around here. Y/n? Y/n?” For a minute, Matteo lets his son have hope. When his wife comes over they speak in hushed voices. Dami looks back at their preoccupied expressions, and wants to scream at them to search as well. Through that veiled pity, he realizes they’re not looking for y/n because they don’t think she’s here.

“What? What is it?” he demands, wiping his nose on his sleeve like a toddler.

“We don’t think y/n left it here, but we’ve already alerted the collegiate board and given them names.”

“Then how…” Someone hid it. Dami sinks to his knees, not wanting to think it, much less say it. In the background his mother talks about contacting parents and coaches.

“Do you think that they, that um,” a shaky hand covers Damiano’s mouth to muffle a scream. “They only care about hiding the evidence because they don’t think we’re gonna find her?” His voice loses all masculinity and courage, ending in a high pitched whimper.

“No,” Isabella states firmly. Matteo isn’t positive about that answer, but he agrees with his wife unequivocally.

“Three high schoolers, right? Maybe they just didn’t know what to do with it,” he offers.

“Maybe they’re sadistic little shits that wanted to make the search even tougher for you.” Matteo and Dami are shocked at an ever-composed Isabella’s crass language. Yes she was an alpha, but Isabella limited the world’s perception of her as such.

“They could have planted it there to send you in the wrong direction or terrify you. It could be as harmless as taking her backpack because they knew it’d annoy y/n. Maybe they threw it over the fence as a laugh and the little shits went on their merry way. So get back over this fence, show me her route home, and everything will be fine by dinner. Okay?” Isabella didn’t leave any room for argument.

“Her phone isn’t in there,” Damiano announced when his feet hit the turf.

“Then it's probably with her,” Matteo concluded. Feeling like an absolute dumb ass, Dami calls y/n right away. She doesn’t pick up the first or second or sixth time. Damiano sees why as he steps off the field. Somehow the whole family had missed the phone smashed against the cement. Dami drops to his hands and knees crawling around trying to gather the pieces, because maybe it wasn't yours. Sure it was the right model and color, but millions had been manufactured.

Then Damiano finds the backing and wails with anguish. Thalia had insisted y/n decorate her phone with some volcanology stickers. The biggest one was faded where his omega rubbed her thumb in a circle absentmindedly. For a second Dami can’t take any more of this purgatory. I need her safe. I need her safe. I need her safe, I need her safe, I need her safe. IneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedhersafeIneedher.

***

You hide in a wooded area a block from the amphitheater. No one would suspect, because you’d only visited once on a field trip. Phoenix might be watching, unsatisfied and yearning to inflict some real sadism. So you stay hidden until it feels safe, completely still, like a fawn. Movement can trigger predators.

The problem is night falls before it feels safe. The woods are dark so you stumble for 50 yards, moving towards the street lights. Tripping on a log and face planting doesn’t even trigger a pain response. When you get to the treeline, you search for your assailants. There’s got to be a safe place with better lighting, but you’ll have to stay awake all night, so you can disappear into the shadows if they hunt you down. That is, unless you can get on the other side of a locked door. Then you’ll be safe.

The darkness only worsens the fear. You can feel yourself being followed, but not see the steps that stalk you, always on your heels. Each time you whip around, Julio, Nikolai, or Pheonix manage to hide. It's an hour's walk home and this is too exposed. You’ll ever make it, might as well be waving bait in front of the predators.

The first bus that passes, you get on. Everyone’s staring so you sit in the back. After the last stop, the bus driver tries calling out to you, but the sound blends into the idling engine. He has to physically tap on your shoulder, which makes you scream in surprise. He seems almost as jarred as you feel, scampering off the bus.

“Are you hurt? Miss? Is there someone I should call?” You run until you’re breathless, bending over and clutching your chest. Phoenix probably couldn’t keep your trail, but your body was shaking in a way you recognized as shivering. This didn’t look like home or safety. Nothing here evoked memories. All you could do was walk until the world became familiar.

The sliver of moon cast long, distorted shadows, making mundane objects look sinister. A cat darts across the street. That makes you jump out of your skin and cower behind a bush. How long have you been walking? It could be 20 minutes, or an hour and a half. Working up the courage to continue might take even longer. Each time you scan for predators, their absence is never comforting enough to make your way back to the sidewalk. Eventually, you clench your teeth and do so anyway.

***

Y/n’s house has become missing person’s ground zero. Even Sandro helped search. Or rather, he kept watch while Damiano grabbed Julio by the lapels of his jacket and dragged him up a wall. The terrified alpha spilled all the details immediately, but it was more useless information. Sandro assured his little brother that this wasn’t a big deal and things like this mostly turned out alright. Damiano shoves him to the ground and the snarling accidently instills in Kevin the power behind that shiny exterior. He is much more self aware when he speaks to Damiano, reiterating that he’s confident everything will be fine.

“She’s a fighter.”

“That's what I’m worried about. Alphas pick on omegas that challenge their power.”

“But she’s a brave girl.” One more platitude and Damiano was going to throttle Kevin.

“And that's what I’m worried about! Submission is the only way out!” Dami storms outside and paces in the backyard. It seems like the entire family is living in denial as a coping mechanism. Yes, y/n is probably fine, but the fact that he hadn’t an ounce of certainty sparked rage at all these people who could eat, sleep, read, and communicate without y/n, unharmed, in their arms. Dami could barely think, was still in disbelief that almost four hours later you hadn’t turned up.

He heads back inside, keeping his shit together because he has to, and for no other reason. Before the squeaky door could announce his entrance, Dami overhears Thalia rattling off facts from her serial killer podcasts that make his heart stop beating.

“Statistically, the further you are from the time of abduction, the less likely you are to find the victim.”

“Bad timing Thalia.”

“But I’m not talking about missing omega statistics. Interesting enough, they do follow the same trend, but not with nearly as steep a curve. Other people aren’t what's most deadly, it’s mostly accidental and natural. Getting hit by a car or bus, accidentally injuring oneself and bleeding out, ravines, drowning.” Damiano shuts the door, pulls off his sweater, crouches down in the middle of the lawn, and screams bloody murder into the fabric until his throat hurts. Then he cries, imagining all the ways you could die, in pain and alone.

It's a reminder that one of you has to go first. He might have to live decades, knowing you no longer exist in the world. That could be true right now, maybe you were already gone` and security would find your body by morning. Maybe you're about to fall off the edge of the earth and he can’t stop it because he doesn’t know where you are. Could fate be cruel enough to only give him four months? How many times had he said ‘I love you?’”

“Well, there has to be something we haven’t thought of,” sighs Olivia, as he walks back into the living room.

“Friends, family, routine or preferred places,” Clio lists off. “They all know to call right away. What about that other little shit? Nikolai?”

“His parents reported he came home earlier this evening. His story matches, swears he didn’t put his hands on her. However there will be repercussions.” Isabella speaks in a calm, clinical tone, but her voice sounds strained. Anyone who looks at Damiano can see he wants revenge, not repercussions. Its torture, being unable to act on this properly, because he just got his life back. No, that’s what he wanted: torture.

“It's unfair,” he says through clenched teeth.

“Yes, it is,” levels Matteo, putting a hand on his son’s back.

“Maybe this is an over reaction and she’s at a friend’s house! Hasn’t realized she lost her phone? I know I was that careless at 15.”

“Darling, that’s not what –”

“I found her backpack,” snapped Damiano.

“Listen, I fully believe that you think you saw her backpack, but –”

“Excuse me, what are you imply –”

“The papers had her name on them, you imbecile!” The entire room falls silent and Dami has to focus on not turning into a snarling alpha. “Excuse me,” he says tightly, stomping upstairs with his hands balled into fists. In the background, voices continue.

“Are you questioning my son’s honesty or connection to reality?” Dami pauses after turning the corner, surprised to hear his mother speak so sharply. “Because I can assure you, I saw the same thing. In fact, he has a picture on his phone if –”

“No, no, my apologies, Isabella. That won’t be necessary.” Olivia cringes, wanting to contradict her husband, but shying away from it.

“Obviously Damiano’s perspective is distorted because he’s y/n’s alpha, but I’m starting to be concerned, too. I know we’ll find her by morning, but she might have hypothermia by then and –” Dami walks into your room and closes the door behind him. If Clio is the voice of reason, we really are lost. For a second, he’s the calmest he’s been all day. That very quickly turns into devastation.

“Come home. Come back to me. Tell me where you are. Find someone with a phone. Fucking anything,” Dami babbles into your pillow. It smells like you, but it’s not enough to quell his asphyxiating anxiety. Only the real thing can do that. He’s never believed in God, or fate, or energy of the universe, but right now he’d plead his case to any higher power that would listen. They were all at a loss. You’d moved three hours north when you were nine, so all those childhood spots were on the coast. There were a few routine hangouts, then people’s houses.

It felt silly to call up everyone in y/n’s life and ask them to report your appearance. As if any decent person wouldn’t call the parents of a dissociated 15 year old who showed up at their house unannounced in the middle of the night. It all felt futile and Damiano couldn’t tell if being in your bedroom made him more or less miserable. This thought jogged a memory of your voice. I want to like – I don’t know, walk to your house, climb in your window, or something crazy.

There was no way. Damiano checked the security cameras at the front and back of his house. They hadn’t filmed anything, but if you did literally go in through the window…It was possible the motion sensor wouldn’t pick it up. Possible was more than he’d had for the last two hours. Damiano is half way down the stairs, ready to announce his great idea, when it hits him that having seven people watching may make you feel worse.

“Hey, I’m sorry about earlier. I think I just need to go home and get some sleep.” Everyone reassured that no mistakes had been made and it was all very understandable. How impressive of an alpha to have so much self reflection. Of course, Isabella would use the geotracker in Dami’s phone to make sure he wasn’t going to commit homicide. Thankfully, it couldn’t tell her how fast he drove.

“Y/n?” He took a deep breath in, while taking off his boots. Dami had started hallucinating your scent before the one hour mark, but this was definitely real. Strangely enough, it didn’t lead straight to his room.

“Y/n? Baby, where are you?” He follows it to the back door and around the perimeter of the kitchen. The David’s didn’t leave windows open habitually, but every single one was locked. They’d never bothered to lock the skylight above the reading nook after having it installed because who the hell is going to repel down from the roof? It’d been locked. There was blood and a muddy footprint on the counter. No one else who’d do that but a paranoid omega.

He breaks into a jog, then slows down before the door, expecting to be locked as well. It’s not. You hadn’t locked him out. Damiano bursts into the bedroom and drops down with his chest to the carpet. You’re here in this room, or at least you were, but there's nothing under the bed. He would have bet money you’d be here. Nothing behind the desk and the whole closet always smelled like you because he’d never washed the sheets from the first time. He always sat in here when he touched himself, but couldn’t touch you. The stains told a story that he never tired of reliving.

The reality was that with the unlocked door and empty hiding spot you probably weren’t here anymore. But if he’d gotten here faster…Damiano still had to do his due diligence which meant locating the flash light that was likely under all this mess. Trying to conjure emotional stamina, he takes a deep breath that gets caught in his throat.

“Are you okay?” The voice is barely audible, but he recognizes it.

***

“Y/n? Y/n! Where the fuck are you? Love? Oh my fucking god,” his voice breaks. Dami drops to the ground, feeling around for an arm or a leg. You climb out from under the pile of laundry and pull him into the shadows, behind the closet door. Dami blindly reaches out for you, vision not adapted to darkness.

“Who’s with you? Phoenix?” He could have deceived Damiano into thinking he had information and tricked his way into the house to get at you.

“What? I’m alone. Baby, come here,” he reaches out, anxious to finally hold you after this excruciating day. “C’mere, y/n. Just…just come to me,” he pleads. Damiano doesn’t want to freak you out further by forcefully hauling you out of your hiding spot. However, not doing so is torture. The sound of his voice tugs deep in your chest, but nothing can compete with this fear response.

“Lock the bedroom door.” It was irrational, but the only way you’d feel safe. “And turn off the ceiling light.” You peek around the corner to see if the curtains went all the way to the ground. Slats of light from under the fabric would alert any passerby that someone was inhabiting this room.

“Y/n, you’re safe now.” It was a comforting sentiment, but there was no safety with Phoenix hunting you down to finish the job. Receding away from the corner brought you within inches of Dami’s face. As soon as you make eye contact, he extends a cautious hand.

“Phoenix, he’s – I think he’s dangerous,” you hiss. Even though you saw it coming, Dami’s hand on your waist startles you.

“Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re okay,” he whispers. The sound of his voice evokes so many memories of gentle, loving touch that they blend together. Damiano reaches his hand around your back and to the other side, so his arm is wrapped around your middle. Your first instinct is to pull away to make sure he’ll allow it, but a much stronger urge to move towards this force of anti-chaos prevails.

“I’m dangerous,” he emphasizes, forcing your brain to recalibrate. Damiano was so doting that his increased capability for destruction slipped your mind. Phoenix was just a regular alpha, without the motivation of a mate. Hearing your breathing change, Dami extended his other hand very slowly. He loosely wrapped his thumb and pointer finger around your wrist, and pulled towards him.

“You’re my omega so I become a weapon of lethal force to anyone that threatens you. In my presence, you are always safe.” The words take a second to process, but when they do you finally feel something again. That prospect is intimidating enough that you’re reaching for Damiano, just as he hoped you would. He pulls you into his lap and hugs you too tight. Instead of squeezing and releasing, he keeps you that close, until you have to ask for air.

“Sorry, sorry.” There are tears on his face and when he roughly wipes them away they’re replaced two-fold. “Fuck, come here,” his voice breaks. This time you try to return the hug, even as your arms feel weak. Dami splays his hands out and rubs up and down, covering as much surface area as possible. His face is pressed into your neck, hair caught between in desperation. Heaving breaths try to replenish your smell like a diver has to replenish the oxygen in their bloodstream.

“Please scent me,” he whimpers, sniffling. You go through the movements, but getting back in tune with your body isn’t instantaneous.

“Are you shivering? Your cheeks are cold.” The back of his hand presses against both sides of your face. You offer up your uninjured hand, which, admittedly you can’t feel. The concern in his expression is so adorable that you kiss Damiano without thinking. It’s just a peck and he’s too startled to kiss back. You’ve obviously interrupted his train of thought because Dami opens his mouth to speak, but the words come a second later.

“We need to call your parents and tell them.” In retrieving his phone, Dami shifts his weight and you wrap your legs over his hips. Closer feels safer.

“Hey, I found her…Yeah, in my closet, actually. Mostly, but she’s really cold. Do I take her to a hospital?” You shake your head vigorously and try to snatch his phone. “No hospital apparently!” he exclaims, dodging your attempts. “Um, I mean her lips aren’t blue at all, but she’s shivering…Yeah, okay. Okay. Mhm, bye.” As soon as he lets down his guard, you grab Dami’s phone and slide it across the room.

“I guess, we should get up anyways,” he scoffs. To sit on the bed, is the implication. Or maybe in the dining room. Both would leave you so exposed that anyone could come in before you had the chance to hide. Damiano gets up to retrieve his phone and pull back the covers. However, when you crawl off his lap, you go back into the darkness and refuge of the closet. Instantly the shivering worsens. Your hand throbs, too, but you can’t feel why.

Instead of arguing. Dami climbs into the closet after you. He reaches up to pull a gigantic sweater off a hanger and removes his top. Just him being shirtless, you can feel heat radiating from his body.

“C’mere,” he coaxes. Damiano pulls the sweater on, but holds out the hem, inviting your under. There isn’t a moment's hesitation before you sit between his legs and duck underneath. Your face is pressed to his bare skin and just absorbing that one sensation takes you a second. All his warmth is trapped by the sweater, which is a bit musty but Dami’s body odor is heavenly. All the anxiety had him sweating through his deodorant. Damiano grabs the extra comforter from the bottom of the closet and throws it over your legs. He pulls it chest height and wraps his arms around you. In return, you experiment with scenting again, brushing against his chest.

“Whatcha doing?” he endears, looking down through the stretched out neckline. You take a deep breath for the first time in…

“How long?”

“A little over four hours.”

“Shit,” you wince.

“Not your fault.” The anger radiates from him just like the heat. “Julio said he and Nikolai didn’t touch you, is that true?”

“Technically, yes.” Having to go back to that mental state is not only unpleasant, but jarring. “Can we talk about this later?” you whine, hiding your face against his skin. Guilt settles in the pit of his stomach.

“Some of it, yes. Some of it I need to know now. I’m sorry love.” You nod your head and Dami continues.

“Who was there besides Nikolai and Julio? Phoenix? Bystanders?

“No bystanders. I tried to escape so other people would see, but Pheonix got in the way.” The word escape momentarily makes Dami lose his cool and he’s glad you’re not looking at his face.

“So you went into the amphitheater and all three were waiting?” You shake your head. “Okay…” Dami takes a deep breath and applies more pressure with his hand while rubbing your back.

“I think Nikolai texted Phoenix because they’re cousins. He’s the alpha that attacked me three months ago.”

“Right,” he replies tightly. Keep it together, or she’ll absorb your anger. You can punch something later.

“They wanted revenge.” On me. This is my fault and they took it out on her. I’m going to slit those fuckers neck to navel and flay them like a fish. I’m gonna take everything they –

“Dami?”

“Yes my love?”

“I can feel you thinking about murder.”

“Sorry,” he winced, refocusing. He had to ask the hard question, the one he didn’t want an answer to.

“So did Phoenix,” deep breath, “do something to you?”

“Pushed me to the ground, broke my phone, and he, um,” your voice gets small then disappears at the memory.

“He scared you?”

“All of them.”

“All of them tried to scare you.”

“But he…” you’re both holding your breath. “Went into headspace. Then I ran.” Dami holds you too tight again and kisses your head. You may not know how dangerous the situation was, but he did. Retelling it was visibly distressing, so he tried to think of something to calm the anxiety.

“Want to watch the security camera footage from tonight? It only covers about 60% of the house, but you can check the main entrances.” This sounds like a splendid idea. Dami pulls up the app on his phone and hands it to you. The idea that Phoenix and possibly Julio and Nikolai have been following you for four hours becomes less and less likely in your head. However, you’d been so damn sure and it felt unquestionably real.

“I – I feel like I’m…going insane. I can’t tell if I was actually being stalked.”

“The paranoia is normal. I’ve heard coming out of it can be a real mind fuck.” You nod, handing Damiano’s phone back to him. There was nothing on the footage except a bunny in the backyard. It’s embarrassing, the way you’d reacted, even though you couldn’t help it.

“And everyone was freaking?”

“I was the only one freaking out.” He kisses your head again and again, drawing a heart on your scalp with his lips. Dami keeps running into dead leaves and twigs that he carefully picks out. Internally, you feel like an inflatable toy that's lost 25% of its air.

“I called your dad an imbecile.” When you don’t laugh in response to this, Dami knows how sleepy you are. The shivering has stopped and your face has color again. Your lips part as little puffs of air hit his chest. The knowledge of how differently today could have ended up makes him nauseous. Instead of wrapped in his arms, you could be in a hospital bed with a cast, or bruised ribs, or internal bleeding. Whatever boundaries Phoenix might have set for himself would be second to his desire for violence.

Omegas have alphas because they can’t defend themselves. The only time you’d asked for his help, he’d had his phone off. Dami vows never to do that again, no matter how unprofessional it was for a call to interrupt a meeting. You needed him, so he should have been there. The volatile part of Dami fantasizes about how much he could fuck up those three alphas, given the excuse that they’d attacked his omega. How many bones could he break and still be met with understanding from the public?

The rumble of a barely audible purr wrenches Dami from his fantasies of vengeance. Your arm twitches against his chest as you fall asleep. The first thing he was gonna do when you were settled was text all his close alpha friends what had happened. Even if they didn’t have a personal stake in your life, they had their own omegas to protect, values to uphold. There were ways to make it impossible for your attackers to ever victimize someone again, both judicial and with brute force. He was fine with either.

Your soft purring continues distracting Dami everytime his thoughts take too dark a turn. The sound evokes the warmest sensation he’s ever felt in his life.

“Such a smart girl, knew you’d be safe in my den.” You nod against Damiano and yawn, nuzzling his chest. Running, walking, and hiding in a state of hypervigilance for four hours was exhausting, especially with your body attempting to compensate for how cold it was. The adrenaline spike from the attack had also taxed your endocrine system, as well.

Dami had completely forgotten that both sets of parents would be coming over until the sound of the door made you startle and cower. He whispered assurances, reminders that you knew these people, and that they were safe. Isabella and Matteo were first down the hall, since they already knew where you’d be. Olivia and Kevin followed, and it was momentarily hilarious to watch all four scan the room.

“Well that is a great hiding spot,” Isabella exclaimed. She murmurs something to Matteo who nods and slips out of the doorway.

“You said y/n was here,” Kevin states, a bit gruff. Isabella gestures to Damiano with a nearly indiscernible smile, who lifts the corner of the comforter with his foot to reveal two sets of legs.

“Well what's she doing in your clothes?” your father interrogates, like cuddling is inherently something perverse. “Y/n?” he calls, as if you’re not within hearing range. His voice is so loud that you cringe. You can feel Damiano take a deep breath and hope he’ll call your father an imbecile again.

“She’s sleepy.” He kisses your head twice as punctuation. “And getting warm.” You look up at Dami with a pained expression, knowing you’ll have to part.

“It's a rather inventive way of sharing body heat that they’ve come up with.” Isabella is trying to model behavior for Kevin like he’s five. Floorboards creak as Matteo comes back into the room with a thermometer. He hands it to Dami, who passes it down to you.

“This is ridiculous,” Matteo whispers, to Olivia, who gives him a scorching stare.

“You have a more effective way of warming her up?” Damiano challenges. The thermometer beeps, and you pass it back up.

“96.7 so it’s a miracle she isn’t shivering. Normal is 98.6.” He resumes rubbing your back.

“People lose a lot of heat from their scalp,” Olivia adds, surprisingly helpful. Dami tucks your head under his chin.

“One of the alphas pushed her to the cement. What can we do right now?”

“Is she okay?” exclaims Isabella.

“I don’t know yet,” Damiano answers honestly. For the first time, Kevin seems to grasp the seriousness of the situation.

“If he’s 18, we can have him arrested tonight,” states Isabella.

“Really?” you whisper. Damiano nods, and switches to pressing his cheek to your hair.

“He’s a 12th year at Okoro named Phoenix. Not on their soccer team. Blond, about six feet. I don’t know his last name, but I’ll recognize his face. He’s bothered her before.” Isabella nods while dialing, pacing to the other side of the room.

“What the hell do you mean ‘he’s bothered her before?’” blurts your dad.

“I took care of it and I will again.” Damiano’s tone is surprisingly measured, like he’s stating objective facts. Your alpha’s ability to convey power without raising his voice was infinitely more impactful. You can’t see faces through the knit, but the tension is still palatable.

“I think we need to assess y/n’s health properly, to see if she’s okay. We can’t do that while she’s in your clothes.”

“We know she isn’t okay. She was hypothermic 10 minutes ago,” Damiano snaps.

“Which is why we need to assess what else is wrong.”

“So she can be hypothermic again? That sounds productive.”

“I do not appreciate the tone you’ve been taking with me, young man.”

“Kevin!”

“What Damiano is trying to say is that a health issue is already being addressed and we can only do these things one at a time. To switch back and forth before we’ve finished addressing one health issue would ruin all progress and be detrimental to y/n’s health rather than beneficial.”

“Let’s listen to what Matteo’s saying,” implores Olivia.

“I’m her father!”

“And I’m her alpha.” Dami can’t prevent a bit of canine dialect from sneaking in. His voice has a growl to it that is definitely sub-human. The room is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. You could hear the hypothetical idea of a pin drop. It was so quiet that if a pin had ever dropped in this room, at any point in history, you’d be able to hear that sound echo through time.

Rather than rest on Damiano’s torso, you wrap both arms around him. The sensation of your injured hand brushing against the wall makes your eyes water in pain. This whole conversation had you stress sweating and now that sweat was drying against your skin. You start shaking again, teeth chattering.

“And now we’ve stressed her out, terrific.” Damiano wraps you in a tight embrace and rocks back and forth. The trembling doesn’t stop and the lack of control of your body makes you panic. He can see it in your eyes when he checks in and whispers apologies. Kevin is trying to assert dominance through some sort of macho stare-down which makes Damiano roll his eyes. The utter disregard for the gesture is apparently unacceptable.

“Y/n! Out. Now.” The yelling was so horrible that you just obeyed.

“This is so stupid,” say’s Dami, shaking his head. It sucks. It really, really sucks. Without Damiano and without the dissociation, you can feel how cold you are, how much your feet and hips hurt from walking in bad shoes. Your elbows are sore. It feels like there's half a dozen needles poking you under your clothes. And your hand hurts like a mother fucker.

“So co-co-co-cold.” You look behind yourself for that wonderful heat source and Dami is already waiting to welcome you into his arms. He pulls the blanket up while glaring at your father.

“So glad we did this,” he bites, as Isabella comes over.

“Okay…” She absorbs the scene with uncertainty on her face, also unsure why you’d been extracted from the most effective way of raising your body temperature. “Let's put her in warm, dry clothes.” Kevin huffs in agreement, and all of them leave. Hanging in the doorway, Damiano can see his expectant expression, that the alpha would leave his omega unguarded. Like he would trust anyone else to care for you right now. It was absurd.

Kevin gestures to Olivia to go into the bedroom. At first she’s happy to help, but then sees the battle of wills between Dami and her husband.

“You’ll be alright in here?” she asks Dami.

“Yes, thank you,” he answers cordially.

Olivia nods once, closing the door as she hisses, “I’d like to talk to you” at her husband. The Davids have graciously given them the hallway to discuss, and are making tea in the kitchen.

“What in the hell?” she whisper yells, aflame in anger.

“I know! That kid doesn’t have an ounce of respect. I say we take her home right now and deal with this ourselves.”

“Do you know why we’re here, in this house?”

“Cause y/n’s here,” he replies dumbly.

“And why is that?” she snaps. Kevin had never seen his wife with so little patience.

“Because she walked here?”

“Because when she was scared for her life and needed somewhere that felt safe, somewhere she knew she’d be cared for, she. Didn’t. Come. Home.”

“Yeah, she wanted an excuse to go hang out with her boyfriend,” he dismisses. Olivia grabs him by the chin and forces Kevin to look at her.

“An acute stress response is not a social call. If they were mated that’d be one thing, but they're not. Her brain was operating on instinct and her subconscious believed that these people would be more likely to give her the help she needs than her own parents.”

“So we’ll have them spend more time at our house.”

“Kevin she was right!” Olivia doesn’t mean to shout and immediately lowers her voice. “Who did all the reporting to the collegiate board today? Who got the thermometer? Who contacted the security force? All to protect our daughter, not their son. Think about that.” Kevin does, in fact, have a very rare moment of self-reflection.

“I guess even focusing on Thalia with the speech therapy and the programs and all the psychologists was…a lot. It was overwhelming. Then Clio became – she was overwhelming and I didn’t have much more in me. Y/n has always been so tough that I didn’t worry.”

“Kevin, hear me when I say, I don’t give a good god damn whether you like that boy or not. If they stay together, he is gonna get a certification from trade school while y/n is in her 12th year and he is gonna take her anywhere in the world she wants. If we don’t like it, there are two wonderful people willing to fill our shoes and our daughter doesn’t ever have to deal with us again. If you want to have more than another two summers with y/n, then so help me jesus christ, you will make friends with these people. Because I am going to have a relationship with her and this family with or without you.”

***

“Ugh, I just wanna cuddle and go to sleep,” you whine.

“I know, baby.”

“But my hand hurts so fucking bad.” You scoot into the light and all the swelling and bruising makes your stomach flip. You squeeze your eyes shut and turn your head away.

“Dami, Dami, scent me.” You reach out with your good hand, opening your eyes just a crack in the opposite direction of the injury. Instantly he’s there nuzzling and holding you close, humming. The stress in your voice was palatable, but he doesn’t see the reason for a couple seconds.

“Oh my god.”

“When he pushed me I landed wrong. Distract me.” You say all in the same breath. Injuries on other people bothered you only slightly, but injuries on yourself made you feel severely ill, like combining the flu with vertigo.

“We have to –”

“I don’t care, I don’t care, distract me!” He rocks you back and forth, singing in your ear, scenting so heavily your brain went elsewhere for a couple precious seconds. You take a couple deep breaths in this refuge, and Damiano breathes with you.

“I’m sorry for yelling.” You open your eyes completely, still facing away. “Is it broken?”

“Yes.”

“Can we go to the hospital tomorrow?”

“The bones are already healing. They could heal the wrong way and you’d have to rebreak –”

“Okay, heard!”

“Can I tell them now?” he whispers, still rocking. You shake your head.

“I want to change my clothes first, if we have to go to the hospital.”

“Baby, you can’t change your shirt, but…Wait, were you in the woods?” A full two inches of the hem of your jeans is soaked and muddy.

“Help me change my pants please.” He nods, and you’re strategizing how to get off the ground, when Damiano wraps both arms around your ribcage and brings you upright with him. Habitually, you embrace him back and moving your fingers makes you hiss in pain, then double over. Your eyes squeeze shut while reciting every swear word you know. Upon opening your eyes, the broken hand is in your periphery.

“Is that fixable?”

“Absolutely.” He sounds so damn sure that you take a deep breath. “I’ve seen a lot of bad breaks, you’re gonna be fine. Do you want your leggings or my black sweats with the paint stain?”

“Uh, both.”

“Good idea.” Damiano had accidentally given you your own drawer, or rather half of one. You pointed it out and both laughed about passing this relationship milestone without realizing. When Matteo did the laundry he’d set your little pile of clothes to the left of Damiano’s on top of the dresser. It all happened so organically.

Your wet jeans were heavy and stuck to your skin. Undoing the fly one handed while sitting down was possible, but then you realized you were getting Dami’s bed dirty.

“Ah, shit,” you stood up and looked behind you at the forest green blanket with little embroidered flowers. The fabric was too dark to judge.

“Your underwear wet too?” he asked, pulling down your pants for you.

“Why, you got something planned?” Damiano huffed a laugh and hung his head. You’re trying to keep things light, even as you continue to shiver. Knelt down, Dami pulled off your socks too and put on a pair of his wool ones. Getting two pairs of pants on involved a little laughter and almost falling over, despite a one-handed grip on Damiano’s shoulder. When he finished pulling up the waistband of the sweatpants, you put your good hand on his cheek and waited. After a couple seconds, Dami’s focus returned to your face and you kissed him.

There’d be no chance for this at the hospital, so you take full advantage of this little, private moment. Dami is unsure at first, then very confident, falling into the familiarity of your body. You take the hand on his face and drag it down his neck, chest, into his back pocket. The new grip allows you to eliminate the space between, pulling Damiano’s hips closer to yours. He moans, gets a bit feral, then forces himself to freeze and pull away.

Damiano busies himself changing his own clothes, but he has a tell. He blinks much slower when trying not to get aroused at an inappropriate time. Dami is doing it right now and diverting his gaze away from you, trying to distract himself. A knock on the door makes Damiano clear his throat harshly and fiddle with a hanger, back turned.

“Yep. All good. Come in,” he voice breaks at the end like he’s 14 and you snicker.

“Oh you couldn’t find a clean top?” Isabella’s question is rhetorical. She actually means why didn’t you change into a warmer shirt? You extend your hand out and someone gasps, which isn’t very reassuring. You’re trembling from the cold, still.

“My first instinct would be to ice that, but – actually let's take your temperature again.” Isabella looks up for the thermometer Matteo is already handing her. While Olivia is clutching her sternum in horror, the David’s are entirely unfazed. Having two athletic alpha sons seems to have rendered them comparatively unshakeable.

“I know Y/n and Damiano are going to be attached at the hip till she’s feeling better.” Isabella says it amicably, but also as a statement of fact. “I’d be happy to take them to get that wrist x-rayed right now and I assume y/n will feel safest sleeping here because it's Dami’s room.” It's charitable wording, to make it about feelings, which are so much easier to trivialize than instincts. Olivia and Matteo hold eye contact, one omegan parent to the other and there's an understanding.

“I'll take them to the hospital and drop them back when we’re done. Does that work? Can I get you anything on the way back?” offers Olivia. After the Davids and your mother agree on a plan, you breathe a sigh of relief and tune it out. It doesn’t matter. Your father’s preferences don’t outweigh the other three, no matter his entitlement or the size of his ego. A minor draft from the vent or windows makes you shiver violently, teeth chatter. It reminds Dami to take your temperature, and he doesn’t like what that reveals.

“96.1 of course she's losing body heat. Warm up the car.”

Notes: So this was a sub-plot I was gonna explore, but Guardian Angel is already to overwhelmingly long. As a result, I've decided to stick with all the other plot points so I can hopefully get this thing finished in under 20 chapters since I've been working on it over well over a year. (What the fuck) Thank you for reading and encouragement .

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool@bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic@obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und@que--sera--sera @stardustingold@teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar@lizzylynch1 @hauntedpostperson@harryssshouseee @lonnybunnys

#maneskin #måneskin #må #daminao #damiano david #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david fluff #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david angst #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #alpha and omega #alpha/beta/omega au

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 14

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Read chapter 1-13 on my Masterlist

This is just self-indulgent fluff and smut, but next chapter has plot, I promise.

This morning was the type of event that would prompt basically any alpha-omega pair to knot. Including long term relationships where knotting outside of rut was subsequently rare. When a mate’s well-being has been endangered, sometimes that connection is the only thing that alleviates the emotional anguish. The borders of individuality blur during a knot. If I am part of you, then I can be absolutely positive that you are okay. If I am part of you, then I know you are safe.

You’re aware this is how you’re supposed to feel, but sex couldn’t sound less alluring. Damiano clearly disagrees. He strips without prompting, cock hardening from just the prospect of love making. This visual alone should be sufficiently arousing, and yet there isn’t a spark of sensation between your legs. This would be the first time you said no to sex. It was bound to happen at some point, but this particular relationship milestone couldn’t have chosen worse timing. You find yourself trying to figure out why. He’s gorgeous with his hair pulled back, all the harsh angles juxtaposed by the gentle curve of his bottom lip and those big, round eyes.

“Would you like me to take your clothes off?” Damiano asks with a smirk. He raises a single eyebrow and saunters towards you. Nothing. Like someone had clicked the off switch.

“Can I have a hug?”

“Of course you can have a hug,” he scoffs, eyebrows knitted like the request is ridiculous. Dami’s embrace brings you onto your tiptoes. Instead of having you lean forward, he moves completely into your personal space. Immediately, both hands are under your top, his warm skin sliding against yours. Touch wasn’t the issue, in fact it felt wonderful and relaxing. It was a welcome reminder that all the chatter was in passing, but permanent were your two bodies, bound together.

You keep your face pressed against Dami’s shoulder, avoiding pulling away for as long as possible. Because then there’ll be kissing and the expectation of slick, or at least something. Damiano takes it upon himself to keep the ball rolling, fingers unclasping your bra. You move back so suddenly that he’s worried he hurt you somehow.

“I don’t wanna,” you blurt.

“You don’t wanna…what?” His confusion isn’t misplaced, considering you’ve never offered less than enthusiastic consent.

“After all the crying, I don’t feel like it.” You step back and begin rubbing the accidental smudge of permanent marker on your thumb.

“Say it so I know you feel like you can,” he requests, softly.

“I don’t want to have sex right now.”

“Is it because I smell different?” He fails at masking his devastation.You try to determine if the presence of his normal musk would change your mind. Separating everything so it could be properly examined felt impossible.

“I don’t feel like a sexual being right now and I’m not sure if anything could change that headspace.”

“Okay.” Dami nods with a poker face. “Well, I will put pants on.” Something pulls inside you, not from your cunt, but in your stomach. It’s the sensation of really, truly missing someone, the need to be closer.

“Mm – wait!” As soon as he turns, you throw yourself back into Damiano’s arms. He loudly kisses your head during the lengthy embrace. You rock side to side and a tepid hand cups your lower back under the uniform. He worried you’ll think he’s ignoring your wishes. You hum in contentment and kiss his neck so Dami is reassured that all is well.

“I am all for the standing and hugging, but do you want to cuddle and watch a movie or nap, or…?

“I don’t know...” As soon as you release Dami, that empty feeling is back. “Ugh, what the fuck is wrong with me right now?”

“Nothing, baby. You are under no obligation to –”

“I know, it's not that. I just feel…uncomfortable in my own skin.” He hums in acknowledgment and turns towards the dresser, pulling out a pair of sweatpants. Damiano is holding his tongue, but he changes subject before you have the chance to interrogate.

“What about a new nickname?” He flops down on the bed and you crawl up the mattress to meet him. Touch still careful, Dami runs a hand along your back and over to your hip. His gaze stays fixed in that region for several seconds, so you answer to distract him.

“I hadn’t thought about a replacement to be honest.”

“We don’t have to think of one,” he assures.

“No, no, I like it during…when I’m feeling a certain way. It sounds more natural than my name.” He could also just address you with the customary title “omega,” but that felt wrong too. Not to mention that adhering to customs was the antithesis of your personal philosophy. You didn’t want to be alpha and omega as society dictated, but instead Dami and…something.

“In Italian, are there pet names?”

“Oh my god, so many. There's…leprotta, topolina, pulcina.” You could listen to Damiano pronounce his R’s and T’s all day.

“What do those mean?”

“Leprotta is bunny. Topolina means little mouse and pulcina means, um, chick.” You shake your head with an expression of displeasure. “Too cutesy?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, my grandmother calls Sandro orsetto and me tigrotto which means little bear and little tiger.” Those names make you perk up before the reality of the association sets in.

“Won’t you think of your grandmother then?” Damiano makes a face of disgust. “Yeah, exactly. I like those though.”

“Piccola just means little one.” You ponder on that diminutive for a moment. It could only be used in Italian because the possibility of him saying it in front of another person makes you preemptively cringe.

“Maybe…”

“That’s also pretty cutesy. Ah, okay, there's leoncina and lupina. Little lion, or I guess little lioness, and little wolf. Yeah?” You watch Dami’s expression change to one of excitement as he speaks. The both of you can feel those fit better.

“So in English that’d be cub or, um…”

“Pup.” Pup was a feeling that always landed you in headspace. It was a word you associated with submission, but not submission for the sake of it. To be Damiano’s pup was to be under his protection, to be safe, carefree. Pups weren’t expected to say and do the right thing. Pups were still learning. Everybody knew that a pup couldn't guard itself, couldn’t take care of itself.

“So you’re my pup then?” You nod and melt onto Dami’s chest. “You’re my little wolf. My little, baby wolf.” The throaty whine you omit is just an effort to externalize the swell of internal pressure. For the same reason your feet flex and hands strangle the pillow under Damiano’s head.

“I feel like your pup,” you confess.

“I can tell. You’re squirming around like a puppy.”

“I think I want a knot, but it’s like my body doesn’t want sex,” you groan in discomfort at housing such a contradiction.

“I could give you a knot and we could just cuddle.” You prop yourself up, legs still entangled with Dami’s.

“You’d do that? What about the blue balls?” He smirks knowingly.

“Well I’d have to complete my normal morning routine and wait 10 minutes.”

“Morning routine?” He’d definitely brushed his teeth. The glass of bright orange juice on the try catches your eye and you realize neither of you had eaten. With a metabolism like Dami’s, he was probably starving and sex would burn calories he hadn’t yet ingested.

“I’m definitely hungry to,” you shrug, sliding off of the bed to retrieve the tray. It was such a sweet thoughtful thing for Matteo to do. He knew you were coming to his house unannounced and he knew you’d be hungry.

“Your dad’s kinda the best mmm,” you eat half of a sandwich in about three bites and drink all the juice in a single go.

“Yeah, this was really great of him,” Dami agrees through a mouthful of eggs. Thankfully, you’d skipped the Trying to Not Look Like Hyenas When You Eat stage in the relationship. Plus teasing Dami for getting crumbs in his underdeveloped facial hair was way too much fun. (Unless Sandro pitched in at which point he’d get a little sensitive).

“Something on my face?” he mumbles with a full mouth, left hand coming to brush off the usual suspects.

“Not this time.” He sets his utensils on the tray and moves it to his desk. Hands on his hips, Damiano thoroughly chews his last bite while conscientiously piecing his next sentence together.

“Making sure you eat, I should have instigated that, but it's not um…” he gestures towards his head, “not what I had in mind when I said morning routine. See, usually I, I –” he looks down to his still partially erect cock.

“Masturbate! Babe, you didn’t have to make it into charades.” He blushes, now looking at his feet.

“So I’m gonna do that.” Damiano gestures of the shoulder with his thumb. The fact that he wanted to jerk off in the bathroom so you didn’t feel pressured was adorable.

“Alternatively, I could sit on your lap with my top off and play with your hair. Maybe kiss your neck?”

“Hnnngg oh, fuck yes.” He scrambles back up the bed, shedding his sweats on the way. You straddle his lap and allow Damiano to enthusiastically undress you. There's a pause, once you’re topless and he’s naked, but self-conscious about going straight into violently wanking. You almost tell him to get on with it before coming up with a better idea. Gathering all the saliva to the front of your mouth, you spit onto his dry cock. A trail of saliva connects your lips and his groin for a few seconds. Once that breaks, so does the spell that held him in a pause. Damiano whimpers with abandon and damn near strangles his shaft.

Right away, you have to sit up and support your own weight, since resting on him was about as steady as breaking a wild mare. Damiano rolls his hips, thrusts his pelvis, changing how he’s getting off every 10 seconds. Of course he doesn’t have to decide, because there's no one else requiring consistent stimulation. His facial features twitch, eyes unable to decide on being open or closed.

First, you carefully untwist the elastic from his hair, letting it fall. You run your nails over his scalp and through his undercut. One hand curls pieces around your finger and another massages his ear. You run the shell of Dami’s ear between your index and middle, then rub the cartilage, before finally pulling on his earlobe. Making the most of your cleavage, you put both arms around his neck and hunch your shoulders forward. Dami manages to focus his gaze for a moment and presses his face to your breasts. He makes a few warped sounds of pleasure and you feel jizz hit your stomach. Damiano kept pulling on his cock far past when you would’ve stopped. Even after the ejaculation, he stroked himself to over-stimulation.

That had to be under two minutes. Now with both hands free, he encircles your mid-back, keeping you close enough to have his face against your boobs.

“Dami, I come bearing terrible news. You can’t stay with your face between my titties forever.” He bemoans this theatrically.

“Just a little longer,” he whines. You scoff and allow it, stroking his hair. A few seconds pass and Dami lets out the heaviest, most burdened sigh and sits up like his head weighs 100 pounds.

“I know that was hard for you, but at least you made great time.”

“You don’t get to make fun of me for finishing fast if it's not inside you,” he groans, turning red anyways.

“It was a compliment! That was very efficient.” He rolls his eyes with a smile and releases you. It’s only so Damiano can lean back and watch his cum drip down your abdomen. You indulge this until the semen is nearing the waistband of your pants, at which point you wipe it off with a tissue. Dami pouts like you’ve told him he can’t have dessert before dinner and not as if he wanted to watch his cum dry on your skin.

“Let’s try something familiar to start, yeah?” Already aware of the position he’s referencing, you turn on your side. Damiano lays snuggly behind you and even pulls up the blanket. It feels so safe that you’re almost ready to slip into headspace, eyes slowly falling closed.

“I’m gonna put my hand between your legs, completely still. It’s just for pressure and warmth,” he narrates. Dami rubs your lower stomach, then dips his fingertips into your underwear. Rather than push a hand between your thighs, he waits for you to open your legs. You do so gradually and his touch moves at the same pace. After some adjustments, you get his hand in a comfortable spot that closely cups your vulva. It’s a really reassuring sensation, for the most vulnerable part of you to be guarded by your alpha.

“How’s that pup?” he whispers. You nod and sigh in contentment.

“Good, mhm.”

”This is just a gradual way to wake up your body.” Very lightly, Damiano scents you and rests two fingers on your bottom lip. It's gratifying to watch you submit despite not being penetrated. Allowing yourself to act out of instinct, you curl up for the sake of safety. It’d been such a terrifying morning, and while the day's events may not be in the forefront of your mind, you still vividly remember how they made you feel.

“Why is my little, baby wolf curling up against me?” Dami mirrors your body language so he remains just as close. He feels you take a breath and untense your muscles. The warm puff of air from the exhale hits the pads of his fingers.

“Pup, you are safe. I am your shield.” You go quiet for a couple minutes and he is trying to figure out your headspace when Damiano sees a weak hand making its way to his wrist. Usually, he’d help you along, but this time his own hands are occupied. Watching you struggle to reach his wrist is painful, but he needs to respect your autonomy. Finally, you push his hand forward, fingers breaching your lips. It was this funny little habit you’d developed to stay quiet, sucking on his index and middle finger while in headspace. He’d accidentally instigated it when Damiano touched your scent glands for the very first time.

“There you go, pup,” he murmurs. It turned out that this reassurance was what you needed to finally trust the urge to submit. Unfortunately, Damiano also needed his hand back because his wrist was aching. Since you were practically silent anyways, he figured it’d be a non-issue, but felt teeth when pulling away.

“Pup, what’re you doing?” he coos, and kisses your hairline. Dami’s careful not to interrupt omegan headspace by jostling you. Without sexual contact or much practice, the state was more meditative. You were just under the surface, relaxation anchored only by Damiano’s hands. So when he tries to remove his fingers from your mouth again, Damiano ends up hissing in pain because you bite down. Far more painful to endure was the forlorn, betrayed whine you release. All progress is lost and you curl up again, holding tighter to his wrist.

“Okay, okay, pup. It’s yours,” he whispers. Damiano puts his lips to your ear and hums. You can feel the music’s vibrations. It soothes your scattered thoughts and allows your focus to narrow. You imagine the sound waves making their way through space, unencumbered by the world’s stressors. Dami’s original objective was to get you purring, but now he’s centered on a pertinent, and perhaps more realistic goal; figure out why you’d become so attached to his hand in your mouth for these past few months.

Assuming the gesture was utilitarian, he’d never questioned it until now. It might be the only part of your sex lives you hadn’t discussed. However, Damiano could feel from your body’s lack of response that it wasn't sexually stimulating. It was about comfort, somehow, a way to regulate during headspace and that's why you couldn’t let go. It made sense, considering you never did this with your eyes open. You pulled his hand to your mouth on the way into headspace – which is why Damiano had begun just placing it there – and you rejected it while surfacing to consciousness.

“I’m curious about this little habit of yours, pup,” he muses. Up close, he could see the tiny movements your mouth made because you sucked in a rhythmic pattern, releasing intermittently. The mannerism was strongly reminiscent of something he couldn’t quite recall. He could just ask later, but you might not even be aware of the behavior. Damiano imagines trying to explain that you suck on his fingers to self-sooth. You’d be embarrassed, maybe even squirm around, like today when he called you pup for the first time

I feel like your pup. Dami had assumed you meant that the name “pup” fit well in your dynamic, but it might have been literal. He admires your profile, finally a peace, and realizes your mouth is moving because you’re not sucking, you’re suckling. He’s almost overcome with a wave of protectiveness, since there's no way to guard you more than he is right now, even though he fucking needs to make you safer. Spooning, a hand between your legs and the other in your mouth – the only way to get closer is a knot. Damiano reminds himself that it is a decision made both ways and tries to calm down.

Feeling the drastic change in his body language, you begin to stir. The very glandular progress between your legs speeds up as you ascend towards consciousness. At the same time, you reject Dami’s fingers, turning your head one way and pushing his hand another. He winces while flexing his wrist, and the stiff joint makes a clicking sound.

In an attempt to get more comfortable, you turn onto your back, feebly pushing the restrictive elastic waistband of your uniform down and grunting at the effort. Damiano uses both hands to finish the task for you. At this point in the relationship, guiding words for physicality aren’t necessary. Because he was the only partner you’d explored headspace with, there weren’t any left over mannerisms from another relationship that he had to decipher. Dami had personally overseen the entire evolution of your relationship with omegan headspace. Subsequently, he could read your body language, your vocalizations, and even your energy with near complete accuracy.

Near being the operative word today. The day he’d figured out that your subconscious perceived him as such a nurturing and protective figure, that you were nursing. Or rather, going through the motions of nursing as a way to self-soothe. Omegan headspace allows you to relinquish that pernicious hold on self-awareness. Upon which, your first instinct is to seek a feeling of profound safety, and you trusted him to provide that. You felt like Damiano’s pup because Damiano felt like your guardian.

“What’er ya thinkin’?” you ask, before turning to press your face against Dami’s skin, laying on your right side. When he doesn’t answer, you halfway pull him on top of you, trying to absorb that golden, radiant heat into your own skin. It felt like the beginnings of a sunburn and also served to pull Damiano out of his head. To your surprise, when your eyes finally open, he’s beaming, not pensive.

“Hey,” you croak, chin tilting up for a kiss. Of course he obliges and keeps it gentle, almost chaste. When you look up after parting, he’s already gazing down at you in adoration, wearing a full smile.

“You’re in a good mood.”

“I am,” he confirms warmly. “But how else could I feel, with you all to myself, precious lupina.” Kiss.

“Fuck taking space.” Dami snorts, but nods in agreement.

“Jay hasn’t mentioned it since.” Kiss. “So maybe he rehid the body and Clem can’t blackmail him anymore.”

“I really would have been happy to lend him a tarp if he’d just asked.” Damiano giggles and scents you, nuzzling against your profile. You know he could keep going until the entire room was heavy with pheromones and you smell like a I Belong to Damiano billboard. To prevent the cloudiness of mind, you break his focus. Kiss.

“I love you.” Kiss.

“And I love you,” kiss, “little wolf.” Now you’re the one beaming, and every part of you knows that calling Damiano was the right thing. Less than two hours ago, it had seemed like that fear and misery would do more than take its pound of flesh. it would erode your self-image until there was no y/n left. That was the only way out before Dami’s presence. Of course you knew that he was here to protect you from monsters, but never had you considered those monsters would be ones of your own making.

“I can feel my vagina again.”

“That is one of the more unique ways I’ve been propositioned.” Damiano turns over, reaching towards his nightstand on the right side of the bed. He opens the drawer, pulls out a clear plastic bottle with a blue cap, and lays down, situating a pillow under his head.

“Well, get over here.” He grabs your left upper thigh and hauls you across the bed with a grunt, positioned with your hips above his own, and your bent knee level with his ribcage. Damiano rests a wandering hand on the top of your ass while the other shakes the bottle to disperse the contents towards the cap.

“Actually you’re gonna want to take off your underwear.” You oblige while trying to read the stylized writing on the label, also in blue. Dami sets it on the counter and puts his hair up. You hum in appreciation and resume the previous position: chest to chest with your other leg relaxed along his side. It's so comfortable with the skin to skin contact that you could fall asleep like this, if not for the spear digging into the crook of your thigh. Everytime you shift, Damiano’s eyes flutter from the modicum of stimulation.

“This would be easier if you had less distracting thighs,” he pants, kneading the dimpled tissue below the crease of your glute. At any given time, this area bore a teeth mark or two because someone had a particularly strong pursuit predation instinct. Laying on your stomach was the comfiest way to do homework, but you’d learned your lesson about doing so around Dami with bare legs. Still, sometimes he was out of the room for long periods of time or didn’t greet anyone upon arriving. You wrongfully assumed that you’d be able to hear the bedroom door opening, but Dami somehow became dead silent as he stalked across the room.

You fidgeted mindlessly while distracted with your AE notes, feet kicking, arches alternating between flexed and bent. All that movement only heightened Damiano’s prey drive. He couldn’t rest his weight on the mattress without you knowing, so as soon as he reached the edge of the bed, Damiano began the brief, but most exciting part of the pursuit. He pounced, scrambling up the mattress so quickly that you felt the weight shift and his teeth in your soft flesh simultaneously. Of course he didn’t actually hurt you, but the bastard loved to hear you squeal and then catch you when you tried to scamper away. Perhaps he enjoyed it even more when you snarled in retribution and tried to fight him off, knowing that his victory was inevitable.

When Damiano slips into headspace while chewing on his bottom lip, you realize what kind of sex he’d like to have. The kind that you could never explain to Gia, and would hesitate describing to Xiema, despite her also being an omega.

“I’m sorry.”

“What? No, no, no. If you don’t want a knot anymore that's fine.”

“I do, it’s just that I can tell that you…” He blushes and shakes his head.

“Mm-mm, no apologies.” Kiss. “We don’t do low-key very often. This is nice.” Dami’s eyes are drawn to his hand as it strokes up and down your flank. His other forearm again rests on your very low back/glutes.

“Look at my face,” you murmur. His eyes snap up and Damiano’s cheeks turn pinker. He’s bashful, but still grinning slyly.

“Wanted to give you a chance to have a complete thought.”

“Oh, uh.” He exhales shakily, avoiding your gaze because he’s flustered, but his eyes fall right back to where they were. “Dam!”

“You’re getting curvier and it's killing me,” he finally exclaims. “Your hips are wider and your boobs are – they’re, um…I can’t believe you had a growth spurt right after I marked you. It’s cruel.”

“I guess my clothes have been fitting differently,” you ponder.

“Yes! Yes they have!” he exclaims in near hysteria.

“I had to go up a size when Valera ordered my uniform. I just figured it was because you’re a damn good cook.” You pat his chest, tracing circles on his areola.

“I would like to think that my amatriciana contributed to such a wondrous thing.”

“Hmm, your amatriciana is a wondrous thing.”

“You are my wondrous thing,” he retorts, touch dipping between your legs. In different circumstances, you would tease Dami for being so damn corny, but in this one you are watching his reaction to the lack of slick. You’re wet, body responsive to his steadying or teasing touches, nothing else. Like a beta would be. No doubt he’s disappointed, but Damiano manages his expression and picks up the bottle from the nightstand.

“What potion are you about to put inside of me?”

“Lube,” he chuckles. “Haven’t you heard of –”

“Yes, I’ve heard of lube,” you scoff. “I’ve just never…”

“Seen it?” He cocks an eyebrow, squirting some onto his hand. Dami uses his thumb to coat his fingers and warm the gel.

“No, I just didn’t think you’d have some, since we – oh.” Of course he had a bottle left over from using it with past partners. Why hadn’t he thrown it out? To be fair, you were using said lube right now.

“I actually bought this for myself, since you shamed me for using lotion,” he emphasizes.

“Scented lotion, better known as a yeast infection,” you retort.

“A little cold,” Dami warns, before his fingers make contact with your hymen. He spreads the lube around and inside the bottom of your labia, then ventures slightly above the vagina. Everything is so slippery that he ends up accidentally dipping the tip of his finger inside. You collapse on his chest with a hum, taking a deep breath and relaxing against your alpha. Damiano has three freckles on the back of his neck, all around his spine. You tap each one then switch to teeth.

“Are you gnawing on me, pup?” Instead of an answer, you bite down and enjoy working the trapezius muscle between your teeth. Damiano pushes the first finger in all at once, not met with any resistance. Your mouth falls open and you drool on his shoulder.

“So relaxed,” he hums. “Good pup.”

“This can’t be a terribly flattering position.” You were just limply splaying across him, left leg resting on the mattress and hips relaxed and open. Damiano smacks your butt as a response, pulling the cheek up to get his fingers better access. With the right leg hiked up, it actually was a pretty flattering position.

“Wait, when did I get an ass?” When you look down, the curve of your butt actually blocks the view of Damiano’s left foot.

“I can’t believe you’re just now noticing that you’ve filled out. I can’t let my mind be unoccupied, because that’s all I’ll think about.” He’s visibly straining and you can’t help but giggle, stroking his undercut. “At breakfast, during class, and especially on the field. Oh my fucking god,” he whines with his eyes squeezed shut at an embarrassing memory.

“Increased blood flow.”

“So it's basically impossible to chill out. When I feel it happening I run as hard as I can so the blood will go elsewhere.” You imagine Dami during practice, trying not to get a boner and smirk.

“How did you go through half a bottle of lube in three weeks?” you tease. “Doesn’t sex help relieve some of it?”

“Au contraire,” he pulls you on top of him, with a grunt. “You make it worse.” Now your bent leg is hanging off of Damiano’s side – knee to foot comfortably cushioned by the duvet – and your straight leg has taken its place.

“Is this position we’re gonna have sex in? Cause anatomically…” Dami wraps both arms around your waist and turns to face you. Your thigh is clutched between his own, and his cock is nearly nudging your vulva. It’s like a hug, but so much more intimate. The position also makes you keenly aware of how not wet you are.

“I’ve always wanted to do this with you, but we’re so feral that…” Damiano bends his knees so he has a way to create momentum, shifting to get things just right. “It takes a bit of adjustment and half the time we’re having sex before we’re even horizontal,” he huffs, already a little breathless. The head of his cock cries drops of milky pre-cum as it bumps against your vulva. Viscous tears run down the tip and onto the ridge, where they fall to your thigh, hot and sticky.

Damiano gets the crook of his arm under your neck and his other hand steadies his shaft in a fist. You nod so he’s confident. The blushing, velvety head rubs between your legs, parting your labia to touch you more completely, spread open. Dami keeps the pressure firm, his skin is even softer than yours. When his cock slips against the lubricated area, he doesn’t penetrate like you’d expect. Damiano runs the tip up your vulva, smearing the lube and his now plentiful pre-cum.

You find yourself moving closer and shifting to further open your hips. It’s a subconscious reaction, but once you become aware of it you check for a smirk and find Dami’s expression extremely focused instead. Aided by direction from his hand, he rubs the prominent ridge of his cock along your clit. It felt so goddamn good internally that you hadn’t considered using the anatomy externally. This is evidenced by gasping and accidently pulling Damiano’s hair. He doesn’t break the stimulation, instead using his free hand to tug on your hair in order to bring your attention to it.

You switch to cupping his shoulder. Trying to bring yourself closer, and closer still, to the point that it’s ruining the angle. Damiano is forced to momentarily abandon his ministrations to reposition your hips.

“Hey. Hey.” He has to say it twice because you’re distracted, trying to figure out why he’s moving you around. Despite your efforts to the contrary, Dami had scented you quite thoroughly and your brain wasn’t working at full speed. Finally, he just lifts your chin.

“Do you want to bite me?” He shifts into headspace since his primary role has transitioned from caretaker towards sexual being.

“Yes.”

“Good.” There's the smirk. Damiano runs his cock down your cunt, pushing inside carefully. Only then do you become aware that he’d made you produce slick while your mind was focused on his touch rather than expectations.

“Holy shit, you did it.” Dami chuckles with one of those smiles you’d run into a burning building for.

“I didn’t – ughh,” he takes a breath before thrusting deeply, until he’s met resistance. Damiano titrates his force way down, observing the miniscule changes in your expression. It's a balancing act: enough pressure to open the parts of your body that had not yet realized they could relax, but not so much that it hurts.

“That was all you, little wolf,” he pants. Your breasts are just below chin level, each heaving breath bringing them closer to Dami’s face. He forgets everything at the sight of it, eyes falling to where you’re so voluptuous that the soft flesh puckers up between his fingers when he grips your thigh. From this angle, he can just barely see his cock disappearing into the pink rim of your cunt. Damiano puts everything into the next thrust, trying to bottom out while constricted by the walls of your pussy that react to every microscopic adjustment, every breath.

“Gotta relax,” he chokes, but you tense instead, throbbing around his cock. The combination of precum, slick, and lube drip over your stretched hymen, so plentiful that your body can afford to waste some. Finally, Damiano recognizes that your cunt is squeezing down on him the way it does when she needs a knot. There was a larger purpose to this intimacy than drooling over all the ways you curved.

“Ready, lupina?” Dami’s first instinct was to fend off the urge to knot with even more fervor than he fended off the urge to cum early. With you, it was always there, but typically both parties wanted “normal sex.” A knot was both a commitment to time, intensity, discomfort, and could even be counterproductive to pleasure. All the same, Damiano had to re-enforce his ability to hold back.

He’d had plenty of practice with other omegas, but your relationship made him feel 14 again. Three months without penetrative sex didn’t help matters either, since every molecule of his being was screaming for your bare skin. It was an entirely unexpected level of difficulty and Damiano consequently embarrassed himself on several occasions. If he held off the knot, he also came in a few minutes. If he did both, Dami would be forced to pull out until the urge to give you a knot was manageable again.

“Ready,” you whispered, face tickled by his hair. Today should have been as simple as following instincts. However, as the pressure swelled from groin to bollocks to shaft, Dami felt a wave of anxiety.

“Are you sure?” Indisputably, you are sure, looked it too. The point of no return was daunting to him only and Damiano wasn’t very good at approximating it either. Your lips kissed his sweaty forehead, hand squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. Thank god your choice never wavered when Dami would voice a final chance for you to refuse the knot. There’d been at least one occasion when he spoke too late. If you’d asked him to, Damiano couldn’t have pulled out no matter how intensely he may wish it. That thought haunted him.

It caused you pain each time. Since you hide nothing from him in these moments, Damiano could see it very plainly in your expression. Through preventing pregnancy, birth control also reduces your levels of relaxin, the hormone that relaxes ligaments in the omegan pelvis. Yes, you wanted it, but maybe Damiano should have held back. Maybe, with a clear head, you wouldn’t choose the discomfort and he should have known better. He should have been more aware of the cost and protected you from it.

“Dami?” The hand on his shoulder comes to stroke his pensive expression. “Where’d you go my love?” He was overthinking something about your wellbeing, visibly straining. You squeeze down on his cock forcefully, which does the job better than words ever could.

“Ooh ah,” he gasps and blinks forcefully, landing back in the present. When he finally looks at you, Damiano knows that you’d resent him for making a decision about your body on your behalf. A lapse in the trust you shared would be worse than struggling to integrate a knot. Plus, marking would have been so much less personal. Damiano wouldn’t have been able to feel your body’s reaction as he pierced the gland and that was an experience he couldn’t give up for anything.

“Let it happen. You’re not meant to control this.” With a huff, Dami plops his head onto the pillow, noses brushing.

“I want to control it,” he grumbles. You run a finger down the bridge of Damiano’s nose fondly while admiring him.

“But you don’t get to,” you coo, moving the loose strands out of his face. He grimaces and shifts his hips in discomfort. You did some independent research and found that, with medical exceptions that didn’t include AD2, knots shouldn’t be painful to produce.

“Do you think it hurts because you’re trying to control when it happens and how fast?” He shrugs, which is an alpha’s way of saying yes. You have to shove the hand on your thigh away because his grip hurts. Dami whines an apology while looking distraught and you finally just take his face in your hands.

“Let go.”

“I wanna –”

“Let go.” He shakes his head, propped up on an elbow and casting his eyes downward. This makes you wonder if forcing a knot is possible, by squeezing down like an omega might during heat. You direct focus into gripping his shaft lightly and progressively applying more pressure.

“Damiano, don’t make me watch you suffer, let go.” He quivers, the veins in his face distended even more than usual during alpha headspace. He’d been scared before your first knot that you’d flip shit like a beta had a couple years ago. You try a different approach.

“You’re safe. I’m safe. I’m not gonna reject you.” He pouts, looking at you from his peripheral vision.

“Mind reader,” he gripes, laying back down. Dami inhales deeply, taking stock of his physiology. How was he supposed to let go? When he occasionally woke up with a knot, he used it as practice for self control. He didn’t even know what letting go would be like, how it would feel. That tension felt vital to sexual performance.

“What if I can’t do it?” he groans.

“You can.” Damiano tried to stop managing the stifling pressure in his groin with which he withheld or allowed a knot.

“I don’t know if, if –”

“Take a deep breath and relax all your muscles.” You do so together, and can hear Dami’s frustration at first, but on the third breath his eyes roll back in his head momentarily. He whines and clutches you, hips working much faster and taking long strokes. Initially, after letting go, Damiano came to the conclusion that there was no other way to produce a knot. A seconds later the feeling inside him swelled up so quickly that he almost choked on it.

You were there, thank god. Had he tried this alone, Dami would have been overwhelmed and put off. At first you’re supporting – and enjoying – his very visceral reaction having a knot without discomfort. However the lag period between Damiano feeling it and you feeling it is much shorter.

“Wow,” you gasp, the sensation pushing behind your belly button, making it hard to catch your breath. Through sheer willpower, Damiano had been giving you an extra second or two to integrate the knot. The position wasn’t helping either. Hugging made everything cramped and closed your hips when having the open felt most natural. There simply wasn’t room for the knot in this position and it was creating an obstacle for the both of you.

“Back,” you manage, holding tight as he flips you over. It was something you really appreciated about Damiano. Whatever you found most comfortable was what your bodies did. In the new position he can take those deep, long thrusts that he’s been craving, so forceful it's scooting you up the bed. Feral fucking – while a person favortie – wasn’t what you wanted after this mornings events. However, he was enjoying this knot so much that you didn’t have the heart to say anything, initially.

“Dami, Dami, hey.” You bring his focus to the present. When your eyes meet, it's obvious that Damiano has lost all his self-awareness to pleasure. He slows down while visibly struggling to focus on anything but this sensation. The tendons in his arms strain as does the vein across his forehead, while he quells that desperate sexual inertia that demands he fill you up with his seed. Resting on his knees, Dami comes to a stop while panting.

“Hey, there,” you stroke this side of his face, earning a smile. He blinks languidly and takes a few seconds to focus his vision.

“Holy shit.”

“So that works. Are you gonna be good or…?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Dami nods a little too enthusiastically, partially to convince himself. Gradually, you find a comfortable position to rest in while connected. The reassurance of a knot stills the tumultuous swells of emotion which had been haranging you all day. Right now, Dami fills that void, not just literally, but the literal part was so important. Alphas and omegas were physical creatures.

Instead of the excruciating tightening of panic or nausea of fear, your body was satisfied with alpha cock. To just call it fucking was beyond reductive. Velvety in texture, firm in structure, and throbbing with his heartbeat, Damiano made himself fit into the needs of your body. Omegas were supposed to sexually serve alphas, but he was serving you. Focusing on the exact place where your walls stretched around his knot was more grounding than anything else could be. The imposter syndrome, dissociation, and mental fogginess cleared. You actually find yourself yawning out of relaxation.

“I feel better, too,” Dami says, pulling you in by your thigh again. As he wraps his arm around your middle, each line of musculature is revealed. He’s so strong, and if you focus, you can feel that strength in your own body. The invincibility, physical prowess, and absolute certainty that no one would get past him today was a pivotal reprieve from your own vulnerability.

“Lupina.” You’re too caught up in enjoying the diminutive to realize that Damiano is trying to address you. “Lupina. Lupina,” he repeats in a sing-song voice. “Pup?” he tries. You meet his gaze lazily. Just a couple months ago Dami would run from this kind of intimacy screaming. Right now he’s reaching towards you, in every sense of the word.

“Yeah, you’re sleepy now, aren’t you?” It takes a moment to pinpoint the sensation, but upon doing so you nod in agreement. This kind of drowsiness while the sun was high in the sky was disorienting. Damiano pulls you against his chest, tucking your head under his chin. Surrounded by both his arms, forehead against his skin, a shadowed niche is created.

He’d forgotten to put deodorant on today. The slight sourness of his armpits, mixed with the heady scent of his pheromones, is ambrosial when it should be repellent. This is what safety smelled like.

***

After 10 minutes of tearing apart his bedroom, Sandro finally remembered that his little brother had “borrowed” his dark green sweater last week. The temperature was going to plummet right before the game this evening and he really didn't feel like bringing a blanket. He knocks on Damiano’s door, once gently and once not so gently, to no reply. Rolling his eyes, Sandro plays video games until 3pm at which point he doesn’t feel at all guilty interrupting Dam’s beauty sleep.

“Dam, I need my sweater,” he calls through the door. After another round of knocking he presses his ear to the wood and listens. Matteo was peacefully stirring sugar into his tea when Sandro’s knuckles rapped against the door once again. Dam was a notoriously heavy sleeper, even as a baby.

“I’m just going to come in if you ignore me!” Caught up in a memory, it takes Matteo a moment to recall that his son isn’t the only one asleep in his bed.

“Sandro, Sandro, wait,” he calls, hastily setting his mug on the counter.

“Dad, he needs to get up for the game anyways.” He turns the knob and flings the door open. Usually such commotion would make you startle awake, but the security of a knot allowed your nervous system to decompress. Stimuli elicited a less drastic reaction, which is why you were only halfway to consciousness when Matteo called out a warning as he rounded the kitchen counter.

“Wait –” Sandro rolled his eyes at the precious treatment parents alloted to the youngest child and tapped Dam on the shoulder. He was turned on his side with you tucked so snuggly against him that his body obscured the view of your own. A person would have to be close enough to set a hand on Dami’s shoulder, which Sandro currently was, to see you.

“Y/n is in –” Even as his older brother tried to scamper backwards, it was too late. You woke to the most petrifying growl of blood thirsty territorialism you’d heard in your life. It made you cower against Dami, even though he was the source of the sound. His hand yanked the covers up to your chin while you tried to make sense of the present.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I didn’t know. I’m so sorry!” The foreign voice turns out to be Sandro slinking out of the bedroom.

“If you weren’t my brother I’d break your ribs!!” Dami bellows. Even more terrifying is that he means it.

“Dam, I’m so so sorry.” Sandro shuts the door and continues talking through it. “I really, really am sorry. Y/n, I –”

“Don’t you fucking speak to her!!”

“Okay, okay, but I didn’t see anything, I swear!” You flush with embarrassment then blanch with fear as Damiano lets out another bone chilling sound. His forearm is sturdy across your shoulder blades, still protecting your modesty.

“I swear to god, if you even think about her, I will snap –”

“No threatening your sibling with bodily harm,” calls Matteo. Damiano snarls and falls dead silent, gradually turning his attention from to unadulterated rage to you. Footfalls tiptoe down the hall.

“Breathe,” you gasp for air and feel a wave of dizziness. Catching your breath isn’t easy. It’s been so long since you inhaled. Going from the security of a knot to this is beyond jarring. Dami strokes your cheek with the back of his pointer finger. The motions are slow and steady. Finally, you look at him for the first time, in headspace, obviously.

“You – you were fucking terrifying.” His face falls.

“I scared you.”

“Well…yeah. I mean, holy shit, I’ve never ever heard that type of…” It is the ultimate violation of respect and privacy, to disturb – nay, even approach – a knotted pair. The alpha can’t properly defend his omega without also injuring them. The omega is in their most unguarded state, which is meant to be observed by their alpha alone. The act of knotting creates a feeling of profound safety and another alpha interrupting yanks that motion to the opposite side of the spectrum: profound fear.

Of course, Sandro wasn’t actually a threat. He hadn’t waited for the prime moment to slaughter Dami or steal his omega. It was apparent that you found that easier to remember than Damiano, whose chest was still heaving.

“He didn’t mean –”

“He should have known better.” You already know the wave of rage that your next question is going to evoke.

“Did – did he, um see…me?” Dami tenses for a moment and calms his temper.

“All he saw was your upper back, pup. As your alpha I would never let anyone see your body ever.” He enunciates the words sharply. “I’ll start locking my door. This won’t happen again. I’ll talk to Sandro –”

“Dami, it’s okay.” Lord knows, Sandro was never going to make this mistake again, as long as he lived.

“It's not okay,” he bites. “It is inexcusable. It was a violation and an insult.”

“It was an accident, my love.” You put a hand on the back of his head and press Damiano’s face against your scent gland. This will be more calming than words could achieve. He breathes in your pheromones and both hands wrap around your torso. Secretly, you relished that your body could quell Dami’s senseless rage or acute anxiety. Meanwhile, he didn’t have a fraction of interest in anyone else’s smell. You were his anecdote.

“What do I smell like?”

“Heaven.” This was an answer you’d heard before.

“Is it sweet or musky or?”

“Both.” His lips brush your scared scent gland. “My brother...you’d never, I mean you’re not, like – nevermind.” You try to quell whatever anxiety is plaguing your alpha, only to be reminded that he was penetrating you with your leg thrown over his waist. Dami must have gotten an erection in his sleep because there was no way he was still hard without a knot. The discomfort and ache of that intrusion wasn’t present and neither was the stickiness of leaking arousal on your inner-thighs. So you squeeze down to confirm and end up surprised.

Dami cries out and collapses against you. His mewls turn to garbled sounds and you can’t tell if he’s feeling pleasure or pain. What you were sure of, is the presence of a knot. It’s there, connecting your forms, but without the feeling of claustrophobia, without the urge to shift your hips to make the pressure palatable. You can feel your eyes water out of relief that you finally understand what all your omegan counterparts were talking about. The euphoria, the addictive sensation, you’d spent the last month trying to find this.

Some of your muscles had relaxed, others contracted to support the knot and keep it inside you. Finally, your body has adapted, and as a result, not a drop of slick or pre-cum was wasted. How could you never consider that the missing piece was the fact that this mechanism went both ways? Your cunt didn’t just receive an alpha’s knot, but could also accept it, like a locking mechanism. Wolves did it, foxes did it, omegas did it, but not on hormone suppressants. Slick production, libido, heat, sexual responses, it had all been dulled. But you were young and fertile and your body’s desire to breed circumvented your HSIUD.

This wasn’t just your omegan pussy throbbing for your alpha. Your entire groin throbbed, as if on the very brink of orgasam. The intermittent pulsing of your vaginal walls pulled Damiano inside, keeping his shaft erect. It was like breathing, in that you could stop if you focused, but your body would scream for continuance until it was impossible to resist.

Dami makes a choking sound and you lift his head via a hold on his ponytail. He’s red in the face like you’ve never seen outside of doing sprints after soccer practice. What you initially think is sweat, turns out to be tears. His head falls onto the pillow, unable to hold its weight.

“Are you okay?” He nods, momentarily removing his hand from your back to wipe his face.

“Gonna cum,” he grimaces. “Can’t help it.” You both knew that it was the one and only solution to this state, regardless of what had been previously agreed upon.

“That’s okay,” you reassure tenderly, relaxing beside him. There's a moment of relief where his face begins to go back to its normal color, but then you scoot closer and your cunt pulls another inch inside.

“Ah uh uhhh,” he moans, gasping. Concerned, you press your forehead to his and stoke Dami’s hair.

“Never been locked before,” he grunts. You can’t help but smile because you’ve never taken a first from Dami.

“Me neither.”

“For me…its – its more…” He rests his forehead against your sternum, and knowing what he really wants in his face, you scoot up. “You’re holding on to me,” he whimpers against your breasts, short fingernails digging into your skin.

“It hurts?”

“Overstimulated, but good.” You decide on attempting to distract him.

“Hey, remember when you wanted to wait until I was 16 to take my clothes off?” He chuckles breathlessly.

“This would have killed me,” he answers while stroking your flank, “you getting curves. I’d have to watch other alphas look at you, wonder if they were touching you.”

“I know that I belong to someone.”

“I love you, too,” Damiano looks up, puckering his lips for a kiss. Of course, you oblige. Having stayed in this position for the past however many hours has left several limbs and joints sore.

“Can we do missionary?”

“If we move, I’ll probably cum,” he admits bashfully.

“As opposed to staying locked and in this position forever?”

“I…want to make you cum.”

“If I have an orgasam right now it might break your dick and that's not a risk I can take.” Dami rolls his eyes with a smile.

“I just mean, in general. I thought I was gonna be this incredible lover that could last half an hour every time, and would wow you with my sexual prowess –”

“I have been wowed.”

“And you would be cumming repeatedly whenever we made love and worship my cock –”

“Worship is a bit of a strong word, but I’m his #1 fan.”

“But instead I choke on my own spit and cum quicker than I have in two years,” he winces with shame. In a shocking turn of events, Damiano is not being fair to himself.

“We do have that sex at least half of the time! When I’m so horny that I become a raging bitch or an emotional mess you always solve it, very thoroughly, I might add.” He’s grinning again at your praise and a slew of smutty memories.

“I want it to be 90% of the time.”

“And I want you to stop torturing yourself and cum.” It’s clear your words have made no leeway in this immensely inconvenient mental block so you take matters into your own hands.

“On your back.” Your left leg is already thrown over Dami’s waist at 90 degree angle, so you roll over by leaning into that. All it takes is disentangling your right leg from his and you’ve got both under you in a straddle position. Damiano moans in surprise and takes a moment for his upper body to match his lower body.

“Did you finish?” He shakes his head, again red in the face. “Come here,” you demand, grabbing both arms and pulling him into an upright position. Once you’ve got a confident hold on his torso, you bounce on his cock. Damiano goes from shakily holding himself up to gripping you so close it almost hinders your movement.

Since he’s already holding on for dear life, you switch to rolling your hips on the upstroke. After a single pass, he shrieks and begins crying with his mouth open in pleasure. Now the whole house knew what you were doing, but none of them would dare say so. It's such a beautiful, visceral reaction that you don’t care, and you can feel his spunk when he cums. Normally, you’d keep moving, but instead decide to hold Damiano's face against your bosom as he finds the other side of his climax in a daze. He’s disoriented and struggles to open his eyes at first. You support the back of his neck in your hand and feel your own body beginning to relax.

“Hello, my love. Can you hear me?” He nods, plenty content with his face resting against your bare breasts. The scorching, humid air from his panting raises goosebumps on your skin. As Damiano comes to, he presses feather light kisses on your nipples and the surrounding area.

“Yeah? You gonna be okay?” He nods again, this time managing to look up, no longer in headspace. The beautiful hazel of his irises reflects light.

“I’m good, I’m so good,” he heaves, beaming. “I, uh…” Damiano looks down to the place your bodies are joined. “I think you can get off, or try to.” Gingerly, you pull up while Dami holds the base of his cock steady. It's the last bit that worries you, but the relaxation in his face indicates that something had definitely changed.

“Mhm, you’re okay pup, keep going.” You get to the point that it’ll really start to hurt if your bodies are still locked. “Keep going.” You move maybe half a centimeter and feel something tug internally. A wave of anxiety tightens like an iron fist in your chest.

“Mm-mm,” you shake your head, sinking down halfway to where it's safe. “I’m scared to do it. I can’t yet.”

“My knot isn’t totally gone, but you’ll be fine. I wouldn’t ask you to hurt yourself, lupina.”

“But what if I’m not��ready? I could tear, Dami.” He pulls you down to the bed, so you’re laying on his chest.

“Flip, he instructs, and you find yourself in missionary position. Before you’ve even begun to settle, Dami pulls out. Reflexively, you gasp, expecting it to hurt, but there’s no pain. A rush of viscous fluid coats your thighs and the bed, undoubtedly all the way to the rubber mattress cover. You make a noise of disgust and recoil.

“Next time we’ll put a towel down,” Dami laughs, unperturbed. “Did that hurt?” You shake your head and his assured expression reveals that he already knew the answer. “The anxiety is normal, figured I’d just spare you and do it myself.” Damiano leans off the edge of the bed and picks a dirty sweatshirt off the floor. “For when you decide to sit up,” he smirks. “Gotta wash it anyways and I know how much you like my sweatshirts.” Blushing, you raise your hips so he can slide the fabric underneath you. Even tensing the muscles makes the hot mixture of cum, pre-cum, and slick run over your stretched hymen, off of your glute, and onto the fabric below.

Damiano watches, absolutely captivated. You close your knees in embarrassment and he makes a noise of dissent.

“C’mon, let me be a disgusting alpha. You’ve never been this full before.”

“You only came once,” you pout.

“Plus pre-cum and slick accumulating while we were locked. Puppy, you know this.” With a sigh of annoyance, you allow your legs to be pushed open.

“It didn’t feel like anything.”

“No? You’ll do well when I breed you then.” Your heart sinks and Dami watches your reaction closely. How did you feel about that? Not necessarily negatively. It was your least favorite part of your biology though. If you weren’t actively against breeding with Damiano then what was your relationship with it? Not positive either, unless there’d been a tectonic shift in your personal philosophy.

“I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.” It was a slip up and mentally Dami is concussing himself on a brick wall. As if giving him the most intimate orgasam of his life wasn’t enough, now he had to entrap you.

“Um, no, it’s fine. I just,” you sit up, ending his access to spank bank material. “I don’t know how I feel about that word…or concept.” Damiano had assumed that you’d want to reproduce, or at least roleplay it during heat. The drive was vital to your biology. He’s never considered that the entire thing would be outright unappealing. But why the fuck should you know that about yourself at age 15?

“For sure, just ignore me.” To anyone else that’d be quite convincing.

“If it's something you need to talk about, Dami…” He rapidly shakes his head, eyes downcast.

“Not at all. Just accidentally saying what I meant to only think in my head.” He rubs your thigh soothingly as his exhausted cock softens against his dark pubic thicket.

“If I was 17, would we talk about it?”

“You’re not 17.”

“But, if I was.”

“Doesn’t matter.” That makes you bristle.

“What do you mean it ‘doesn’t matter?’ It matters to me.”

“I mean it's not relevant because you aren’t 17, you’re 15.”

“Do you wish I was 17?”

“No.” He means it and that catches you off guard. “I get two more years with you. I get to admire, guide, and nurture you as you grow.”

“I’m willful and hostile.”

“Yes. You refuse to let anyone think or speak for you. Society told you I was a monster and you told society to go fuck itself because you could gather your own conclusions. Everytime you’re a defiant pain in the ass I think about how your loyalty changed my life.” It's not very often that you are left speechless. “Okay, so…shower?”

Notes: Shout out to teardrop anon for reminding me to actually fucking post my chapters. Also thanks to Oreo for the endless encouragement <3 If you like my writing please support it by interacting with these posts!

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 12

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Word Count: 8.6k

Catch up on my Masterlist!

You hadn’t realized what a gargantuan undertaking adjusting Damiano’s medications were. Now Isabella’s adherence to the standardized plan that’d been in place for years made sense. The team of doctor’s couldn’t just try a new medication. Absolutely everything had to be measured to create a control group. Some of it was blood tests, others tested behavioral responses. Stress Test had a terrifying name, but that was just Dami running on a treadmill while they monitored his body’s cardiovascular responses. Others were less harmless.

Alpha Dysregulation triggered by the following:

Strenuous physical activity: NEGATIVE

Emotional distress: NEGATIVE

(that one they’d gathered from appointments with Jay)

Omegan physical agitation: NEGATIVE

(Dami had confused the researchers by laughing. He explained privately that it wasn’t much worse than dealing with you while particularly horny.)

Beta physical agitation: NEGATIVE

Alpha physical agitation: NEGATIVE

(Barely. He’d been rigorous in mentally preparing himself to stay present, so he’d be aware that this was a test, not a threat.)

Alpha verbal provocation: NEGATIVE

(He wouldn’t tell you what they’d said, but used a punching bag until his knuckles bled, then climbed through your window in the middle of the night. Perched precariously, Damiano was already in headspace. He said four words: do you want this? Then he fucked you like you like it was breeding. He did it with a hand over your mouth, on the floor, so the headboard against the wall wouldn’t wake anyone.

Right after orgasam, Damia’s expression became homosapien. He was so visibly relieved that you now felt used. Your knees had carpet burn and his hand was way too rough on your clit because he wasn’t even trying to tune in with your body. As teenagers you were bound to be bad at sex, but you eventually found a rhythm. He didn’t even try. Sex wasn’t something Damiano was doing with you, it was something he was doing to you, and you hated it.

Your warning growl captured the intensity of your displeasure with the way he was behaving. Damiano stops thrusting and can immediately tell that something feels different, smells different even. There's no slick, at least not comparatively. You’ll be sore tomorrow, and not because you begged for intensity, but because he let fear poison the sacred thing that was making love to you.

Damiano apologizes profusely, his guilt so evident in wounded whines that it makes you choke up. He grovels, nuzzling against your scent glands with a pouting bottom lip. He needed to be close, so close that it smothered you. Now you understand the reason he can’t bear to tell you why, and you won’t make him.)

You talked about it with Jay. You spoke with Jay about almost everything together because he had more faith in you and Damiano than anyone. He was more invested in making your relationship work than all the other doctors combined. You didn’t understand why your mere existence was so polarizing one way or the other, and he dodged the question whenever you asked.

“I can tell that the other clinicians don’t like me, and don’t say it's not true because we both know it is. Why?” Seemed like a pretty bulletproof statement.

“People's opinions are not stationary, nor do they exist in a vacuum.” It sounded very wise, but after some examination, Jay was just saying that people change their minds about shit. So next time you targeted Jay with your phrasing.

“Why do you think that other clinicians like or dislike me?”

“Well, I personally think you’re a great asset to the team,” he responds warmly. You narrow your eyes.

“I’m not an alpha. Playing to my ego isn’t gonna ruin my train of thought.” Dami begins cackling underneath you. It’d been one of those days where he hauled you onto his lap before you had a chance to sit elsewhere in the room. His joyous smile does distract you.

During attempt number three, you sit on the couch, directly across from Jay and pledge not to look elsewhere until you’ve got your answer.

“I don’t understand why Dr. Hao behaves briskly around me, but warmly towards everyone else. Can you help me understand so I can communicate more effectively with her?”

“If it helps, she doesn’t like me either.”

“That doesn’t help. Stop avoiding the question.” Another alpha would scorn his omega for such behavior, but Dami is positively enthralled by the intellectual sparring. He might as well be munching on popcorn in the background.

“We’ve decided that you are going to be part of Damiano’s recovery. If you ever change your mind –”

“It hasn’t changed,” you bite.

“In that case, I can try to minimize your interaction with Dr. Hao via scheduling.”

“I don’t want to minimize it. I want to be her best friend,” you dead pan. “I want to make friendship bracelets and matching t-shirts and glue sparkly stuff to my face then go skipping down the street, holding hands, singing nursery rhymes.” Your boyfriend is laughing again, so you keep your focus forward to avoid repeat distraction. Jay is at a loss, which is sort of a victory in and of itself.

“Some people are incompatible.”

“Why?”

“Because temperance and belief systems –”

“Why are Dr. Hao and I incompatible?”

“I honestly don’t know her well enough to –”

“Take a guess.”

“I am not in the guessing game, y/n, especially about my colleagues. That would be incredibly unprofessional.” The statement is like hitting a wall, but you're dating Damiano David, so scaling walls is in the job description.

“Fine. Would you say that your colleagues have different temperaments and belief systems?”

“Absolutely, there is so much variation in the human psyche.” To Jay's credit, he can feel it's a trap.

“And how many people are on Dami’s treatment team? There's you, a psychiatrist, endocrinologist, psychologist.” Dam interrupts by tapping your shoulder and holding up two fingers. “Two psychologists, god damn. Any other -ologists?” He signs the letters, G P.

“General practitioner,” fills in Jay.

“So that’s…” god damn it, you’d lost count. “A shit ton of doctors.” Damiano holds up six fingers and points upwards. “That six or more doctors, right?” Jay nods amicably, lulled into a false sense of safety. “Six people would account for a lot of variation in temperament and belief systems. So, given what you know about me, as a psychiatric professional –”

“Y/n, please,” he holds up a hand.

“Doctors are supposed to be nice, even to patients that throw their own feces at them. I haven’t thrown feces at anybody, so what about me is so unlikable that two or three his doctors regularly break professional conduct to nonverbally communicate how much they dislike me?” It came out more personal than you’d intended.

“Y/n, I am genuinely sorry.” White flag raised. “I openly take issue with how certain team members have been conducting themselves to this end.” You’d been angry about information being withheld from you specifically. Damiano knew that. However, now that Jay had acknowledged it, the hurt feelings underneath finally had room to surface. Being given the cold shoulder by someone who was amicable to everyone else in the room stung. Trying to be likable and not knowing where you’ve failed is even worse.

“You represent a significant fissure in our team’s professional opinion of how we should proceed with Damiano’s treatment. An impasse, even. Physicians actually taking it out on you, loved one of the patient and a minor, is inexcusable.” Now that you have your answer, you finally look away and down at your hands. The world blurs, but you try to keep your eyes open, because blinking creates tears.

“I imagine they didn’t anticipate how perceptive you’d be of their hostile attitudes. That will change.” At some point. Damiano had realized that you were genuinely upset and sat on the couch right next to you. His arm wrapped around you, pulled you close. Once you were snuggly tucked into his side, his hand rubbed your back.

“This is so stupid, this is supposed to be Dami’s session.” You blink hard to get it over with. “What do I represent?” Instead of hiding your tears and flushed face, you allow Jay to see it, allowing his experience as a therapist to make that hurt. It’s manipulative, but honest.

“One approach is holistic and the other is very…individual.”

“They wanna just focus on Dami with no distractions?”

“Perhaps.”

“And I’m his biggest distraction?”

“That may be the opinion of some individuals.”

“Or they want her to feel unwelcome. They want to drive her away so they can do treatment their way. Stop giving nonanswers, it’s basically defending them. It's bullshit.” Jay tries not to be surprised, but it's the most Damiano’s said at one time since sessions began two weeks ago. He’d figured out that not talking was therapeutic for Dami, for whom constantly having the right thing to say on the tip of his tongue was a means for survival. So therapy included a variety of modes of communication. Apparently words came easier when he didn’t have to be the one to say them.

There were four therapy sessions a week, two of which you or his parents were a part of, to some effect. Therapy was often prefaced by testing and consultation, with the expectation that if Damiano was triggered, Jay had the best chance of bringing him back to baseline. The whole thing seemed like an overreaction, until Gia reminded you that Dami was the best case scenario, in terms of AD2. The medical system had to be thorough, because monitoring high risk alphas was the primary means of reducing alphaspian violence. A vengeful alpha could maim and torture, but there was focus. An out of control alpha with good intentions was far more deadly.

“It’s like a pistol versus a machine gun,” is how it was explained. “With so many bullets, you're guaranteed to hit something.” You struggled with that analogy, because Damia didn’t feel like a weapon to you. In fact, it seemed like he was under the duress of a weapon. AD2 forced him to act like a man with a loaded gun perpetually pointed at his skull. With you, he could get out from under that feeling, but with everyone else physical contact was a hairpin trigger away from disaster.

While sitting in the clinic’s lobby, you got through as much homework as possible before being called in for the appointment. Sometimes Jay and Dami would talk privately for a few minutes at the top of the hour. Finally, the timing felt so off that you reluctantly dug through your backpack for your phone. It was 3:17.

“Hey, um, can you check if I’m supposed to be sitting in with Damiano David today, Jay Rouche’s patient?” The secretary glanced at his computer screen for a moment.

“Yep, I see you right here,” he confirms with a professional smile.

“It’s just…it's like 20 past and I’ve never waited this long.”

“I can let them know you’re here.”

“No, they know I’m here,” you sigh with exasperation. In the back of the office, there are staff speaking in hushed tones. It wouldn’t strike you as abnormal, except they’re whispering so quietly into the ear of Dami’s behavioral psychiatrist that you couldn’t catch a single syllable from eight feet away. The nurse, testing personnel, and someone who’s uniform you didn’t recognize kept glancing in your direction. They were acutely aware of your presence and smiled anxiously upon being caught staring. That same sensation of unease you felt on the soccer field is now blooming in your chest.

“Is he okay?”

“I don’t have that information”

“What testing did he get done today?”

“I’m not a liberty to –”

“Can I speak to one of his doctors?”

“That won’t be possible without an appointment.”

“Really? Because they’re standing right behind you looking at me.” Very slowly, the front desk attendant turns around in their swivel chair.

“Dr. Clem,” you call. She turns her head in response to hearing her name and winces upon realizing that she can no longer ignore your presence.

“Hi, y/n. Why don’t you come inside and we’ll talk for a sec.” The attendant buzzes you through from the main lobby in the Alpha Behavioral Clinic, to the lobby of the south therapeutic wing from which Jay’s office was directly accessible. You haphazardly stuff your shit into your backpack and accidently rip a paper with the zipper. Dr. Clem stands there with her hands clasped in front of her and an excellent poker face. Already, your anxiety is choking you from the inside out.

“What happened to him?” you demand.

“Damiano is going to be fine.” Going (future tense). “Today’s testing was one of the more difficult ones, which we all knew going in. He had a short procedure afterwards.” You scramble to remember being provided with this information and realize that “we” did not include you.

“Nobody told me. Why didn’t anybody tell me?”

“Because that wouldn’t be appropriate.” You see red and feel sick with betrayal. Dr. Clem was supposed to be one of the supportive ones. Has that changed? Why? Was it your fault?

“Did I do something?” you bite, tone acidic. She’s unaffected, like she anticipated your reaction. The fact of your youth and predictability just makes you angrier. Not being taken seriously is a lot like being silenced and it’s your own damn fault too.

“No. As a general rule, it isn’t appropriate to keep minors up to date with the medical care of non-family.” He is family. “With omegas, especially.” Your fists are curled, arms tensed as they quiver by your sides. Jay’s office door is visible peripherally, but you can’t sense Dami’s presence. Something was wrong. He wasn’t okay and they were intentionally separating you.

“Where is he?”

“He’s right through there, with Jay,” Dr. Clem answers casually. “Given that Damiano has requested we keep you in the loop, I am not trying to withhold information.”

“Is that so? And what are your qualifications for deciding what I do and don’t get to know?”

“I am an adolescent behavioral psychologist. Please lower your voice. There are other patients in session.” For a moment you’re stunned into silence. “I am attempting to provide you with Damiano’s medical information at this moment, okay?”

“Do you condescend all patients, or is it just omegas you treat as unintelligent?” you spit, making your voice as poisonous as possible. Dr. Clem closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. No. Fuck you. You don’t get to be overwhelmed and exasperated, not when you’re keeping him from me.

“Today Damiano’s pain response was tested. Using electrical signals, we approximated the threshold where he enters a dysregulation episode. The procedure was minor, only local anesthetic. I’d like to…” Dr. Clem's voice fades into static. Everything fades: the smell of the room, the backpack strap pulling your hair, the way your shoes feel. The only thing you can perceive is your thundering heart and the way each beat is accompanied by nausea.

“Y/n? Y/n?” Dr. Clem shines a flashlight in your eyes, which turns the whole room white. The momentary blindness only makes the panic worse.

“Sorry about that. Can you describe how you’re –?”

“You tortured him! Do you know how much self-control Damiano has? To get him to break, must’ve taken…and you just electrocuted him until,” Dr. Clem puts a hand on your shoulder so you wrench away and get vertigo from moving too fast. You knew Damiano’s pain as much as any person could. No, you couldn’t feel the hurt, but so viscerally could you feel what it did to him.

He was somewhere, curled in a ball, trying to de-escalate from headspace, and he was trying to do it without you.

“He needs my help,” you implore. There’d been so much blood last time. It got under your fingernails and the only thing that cleaned it was the dishwashing brush by the kitchen sink. You had to scrub until your skin was sore. Braced against the wall, you close your eyes and try to just survive this feeling. There had to be an otherside to it.

“Y/n, how has your fluid intake been today?”

“Your tests are bullshit. And by the way, I didn’t consent to being used as a fucking tool in your assessments. What kind of population survey would lead you to believe that normal alphas wouldn’t also enter headspace after their omega was threatened? Your control group is bullshit and traumatized patients are just getting more traumatized!” The words hurt your throat. It feels like you’re suspended in the air and your whole body tingles but it doesn’t feel like a body. Because of the dissociation, it just feels like dead weight.

More muffled voices join Dr. Clem, one with urgency. It takes a moment to realize that those voices belong to people, which means there's someone else in the room. You force your eyes open and push away from the wall. Dami and Jay are both standing in the waiting room with shocked expressions. He’s fine, not in headspace, or visibly upset. While processing cognitive dissonance, that weight yanks you towards the ground. The room spins then everything goes black.

Nothing is a peaceful place. Nothing is a welcome reprieve. Nothing asks for nothing. Nothing understands that you have nothing left to give.

Damiano reacts quickly enough to stop your head from hitting the floor, but barely. He was distracted by being mortified with your behavior and figured you’d catch yourself. The gesture was too timely and convenient of a distraction. Damiano was aware you both knew that he couldn’t be frustrated with the public tantrum if you were unwell.

“Y/n, c’mon,” he mutters, setting your shoulders on the ground.

“Jay, elevate her feet,” prompts Dr. Clem. Only then does Dami realize that you hadn’t pretended to trip, you’d lost consciousness. He drops to the floor and tries to pull you into his lap.

“Leave her head on the ground, Damiano.” She takes your pulse and blood pressure. “Have there been any changes in her health?”

“Not that I know of.” He pulls the hair from your face. “Y/n?”

“How has her nutrition been the past few days?” You’d eaten multiple meals together, but Dami hadn’t paid attention or checked on you during school lunches.

“I haven’t noticed, honestly.” He’d gotten so wrapped up in his own angst and you’d let him. You’d allowed it to be all about Damiano without a drop of resentment. Fuck, when had it been otherwise?

“Fluid intake?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was the last time you saw her drink water?”

“She keeps a water bottle in her backpack,” he offers. “Y/n? Baby?” Dami roughly rubs your shoulder.

“Try not to move her head,” snaps Dr. Clem. “When was the last time you saw her drink fluids of any kind?’

“I don’t know.” She gives Dami a long, hard look.

“Do you think you’ll be able to watch over her for the next couple days?” Translation: do you think you can do your fucking job as her alpha? “Not to detract from your suffering, but this is really hard on her too.” For a couple seconds, Damiano is reeling.

“What's wrong?” he manages to ask.

“Probably a mix of things: stress, dehydration, lack of sleep. Maybe she didn’t eat anything today. Typically young people wake up almost immediately. I’m going to order IV saline. Jay, is it possible to move your next patient?” He nods and goes over to the secretary's window to reschedule. Dami crawls down to your feet and props them on his lap. How stressed does a person have to be to faint?

“Clem, she’s not waking up!” he calls out. The doctor re-enters the room immediately and squats down on the floor. That same blinding white light ruins your nothingness. Dr. Clem opens one eye and shines a flashlight directly into the pupil, causing you to startle.

“Hey, y/n do you know where you are?”

“Torture center?” Dr. Clem scoffs then visibly relaxes.

“I’ll have you know, that we weren’t sticking Damiano in an electric chair and zapping him until his self defense instincts kicked in.”

“Oh.” The pieces of your memory aren’t fitting together. There was a jump cut from arguing with Dr. Clem to laying on the carpeted floor.

“Is Damiano okay?” Your alpha notes that the first question out of your mouth wasn’t “am I okay?” Guilt is a painful sensation to swallow.

“I’m fine. I’m right here, love.” He rubs your shin, before shifting your legs off his lap. However, that hand only leaves your form for a fraction of a second as he crawls upwards. Even though you can’t see him, you can sense that Dami’s presence is constant.

“Go ahead,” murmurs Dr. Clem, newly gloved fingers pressed to your wrist. Your tailbone aches where it landed hard on the floor.

“Do I have a concussion?”

“That's very unlikely, since your head didn’t hit the ground.” As your brain comes back online, all you want to do is go home and cry into your pillow. Probably scream too, then feel really sorry for yourself. Damiano puts your head on his lap. You procrastinate looking up for as long as possible. Eventually you’re forced to face his expression. You’d embarrassed him and proved all the naysayers right. Watching Damiano, in real time, reevaluating his position on your involvement was excruciating.

You wiggle your fingers, find the carpet, and push yourself upright. Even gritting your teeth, just outright standing is impossible.

“Come here.” He demands clinically.

“I’m fine, just give me a second.” You were nobody’s burden.

“You need fluids and rest,” Dr. Clem directs sternly.

“I’ll drink water on the bus ride home and go to bed early.”

“Stop it.” Irritation instead of warmth was possibly worse. You outright ignore Dami and straighten your spine. Dr. Clem is watching your movements wearily.

“I’ve already ordered IV –”

“IV? Absolutely not, no.” With strength returning, you get a strong hold on a chair to push yourself up.

“Stop it.”

“You’re mad at me and if I make you ignore that because I’m injured, you’ll resent me. I can already feel it,” you hiss, glaring over your shoulder. “I would rather crawl home than be your burden because you’re obligated. Don’t pretend you wouldn’t prefer just to be pissed at me.” How the hell did we get here? That's the question that echoes in Damiano’s head. Despite the devotion and unconditional love, right now you’d risk anything not to need him, because you genuinely thought he’d hold it against you.

To Dami, it seems this might be one of those moments that defines a relationship. Shamefully, all that's required is fulfilling his basic role as an alpha. It’ll be nice to focus on someone else…but he should have checked in much earlier.

“Y/n, you’re not just walking away after passing out.”

“Damiano is right. There's a decent chance you’ll faint again if you just walk away. Next time there won’t be someone to catch you.” Dami gets a vision of your head cracked open on the pavement in a pool of blood. He lurches forward, wraps both arms around your middle, and pulls you down so your head is supported on his chest. You try to wiggle free, but he is determined to keep you tucked against him.

“Don’t fight, you’ll just make yourself dizzy.” You grunt in protest at having a choice made on your behalf and push at Dami’s arms. “Not even close, baby.”

“No needles or I start biting,” you bargain.

“Fair. Let's go sit in Jay’s office, unless there's something else you’d like to yell and disturb all the other appointments?” You start out with a scorching glare, but are unable to resist relaxing against his chest in relief. Damiano is angry, but he's okay. You’re so exhausted that that hard shell of defensiveness falls. For a moment, he sees how much that comment wounded and your bottom lip trembles. You bite it and scowl to control your reaction.

“I really wish I hadn’t said that. I’m in a super shitty mood today,” he professes, stroking your head. “The testing is like getting shocked by static. After a couple minutes they stop, but its fucking annoying and I just wanted to punch something afterwards.” When the words come out, Dami realizes how threatening they sound. “Fuck, I just mean…it’s alpha bullshit. I’d never –”

“I know. I wanna stand up.”

“Just hold onto me.” Damiano stands with you in his arms, then waits a moment for your feet to work. As soon as that happens, you duck out from under his embrace, which is a maneuver he wasn’t expecting. You take one step successfully. Now the decision is between becoming a patient and sitting in Jay’s office or grabbing your backpack and trying to get out of here with an ounce of your pride intact. Maybe there's a compromise.

You walk into the room of your own volition and slump in the armchair instead of the couch, so Damiano can’t sit next to you. Laying down sounds so good, but this way you have independence. He does something you don’t expect. He kneels in front of you.

“Are you okay?” You don’t need to see his expression to know this is out of duty.

“I’m sorry I embarrassed you.”

“I am a lot more embarrassed about how I just acted.” He pulls one hand from your lap and into his own. You snatch the other one back. Slowly, he coaxes it away from your body and uncurls your fist. You don’t know why you let him.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes. I’m fine,” you snap, staring out of the window.

“Look at me, y/n.”

“I. Am. Fine.” Deciding to focus on something productive, you take your water bottle from the backpack Dami had set next to you. Only then do you notice the door is closed.

“They’re going to think we’re fucking.”

“No, they’re not.” As soon as you sit back up the world spins and you whimper despite trying not to. He quickly stands between your legs so you can lean against him for stability. One hand is on the back of your head and the other is on your back.

“I’m gonna drive you home as soon as we get the all clear. Baby, are you okay?”

“You need to finish your appointment.”

“When was the last time you needed something? I wasn’t conscious of the fact that everything has revolved around me since my episode until that.” He gestures out towards the waiting room. “It’s been all about me for – what? Two or three weeks, but even before that, I was the one that got to have problems.”

“It's not like this entire relationship is about you.” Now your voice is shaking, because a completely one sided relationship is not one worth having. “Are you breaking up with me?” you whisper.

“No, absolutely not,” Dami responds with total conviction. “Fucks sake, I wouldn’t just –” His Adam’s Apple bobs and he blinks hard, forcing himself to stay on track. Damiano squats back down and squeezes your hands. Despite not meeting his gaze, the tears fall when you take a deep breath.

“I’m sorry I just scared you. Last thing I want is to make it worse.” You nod and bring a hand to your mouth. As you try to hold back the sobs your face heats and your head pounds. Where the hell had all of this emotion even come from? It was like a pot of water boiling over.

“What I meant to say is that I am a walking collection of red flags and there are few things that bring me greater peace than your unconditional acceptance. You couldn’t have been better omega these past three months. You couldn’t have been more supportive. Even that was all in my best interest, albeit very misguided.” So earnestly did you want to be good for Damiano, to be what he needed as a mate and partner, despite all the things that made you different.

You squeak and curl up, tears wetting your kneecaps. There's a quick knock on the door and it opens. From the foot falls, you can’t tell if it's Dr. Clem or Jay. Regardless, you’re glad you took a defensive position before they entered. Damiano continues to kneel. He rubs his hands up and down your arms.

“I’ve had it so good for so long that I lost perspective. So what can I do for you?”

“If you’re mad at me, just be mad at me because otherwise –” You accidentally interrupt yourself with a sob. “Just ‘cause you appreciate me doesn’t mean you’re not angry.”

“Y/n, I’d just like to acknowledge how committed you are to making sure that Damiano has all the space he needs to feel and explore his emotions. I know he appreciates it very much,” adds Jay.

“I wa – as sss – so scare – ed that someth – in was wrong with you – ou.”

“Unintentionally, I buried the lead and I can see why you’d assume Damiano was under duress.” Dr. Clem’s voice comes from your right. She gently pulls your arm from your legs and before you realize why, there’s an IV being inserted. At first you tense, but then realize you don’t have the energy to be combative. Instead you sob and feel a rush of cold fluid enter your arm.

“Y/n, it is important to me that you know I’m in full support of your partnership.” This many people observing your emotional breakdown had to be at least the third circle of hell.

“Then why?”

“You’re already here two days a week. Tracking the intricacies of Damiano’s medical care, given the complexity and volume of information, is just too much.” You remain silent, unsure how to feel about Dr. Clem’s statement. The IV stand squeaks as she rolls it beside you.

“It is not about personal maturity,” summarizes Jay. Finally, you look up.

“Exactly. Depending on age, the brain can only handle so much executive functioning. So you end up sacrificing things that are vital, life self care.” Dr. Clem is disarmingly earnest. “Being Dami’s partner is the way you contribute to his health. I swear to you, y/n, that the other stuff is being handled by qualified people who advocate for your presence.”

“Advocate for me?” What could somebody say about you and why would they? Dami was the patient.

“Yes. Our experiences are shaped by the people around us.” Dr. Clem pauses to hand you a tissue.

“That sounds like something Jay would say to dodge a question.” Damiano scoffs and his therapist chuckles good naturedly.

“I can assure you this is going somewhere.” She pauses. “The people around us make us who we are. So we can’t evaluate Damiano separately from evaluating if anyone in his life aggravates the dysregulation.” Panic tightens underneath your sternum, eyes dart around the room. Throughout this entire relationship, you’d functioned under the idea that you made things better for Damaino. He grabs the chair and jostles you around to interrupt your train of thought.

“What is it with you and assuming the worst? She’s trying to give you a compliment! She’s saying she advocates for you because she believes you’re good for me.”

“Oh.” Damiano sighs heavily.

“Okay, time to play musical chairs,” he decides with impatience. Dr. Clem moves across the room briskly and Damiano gets your other hand in and pulls upright. You look at him in confusion, with tears blurring your vision.

“We’re going to lay down until you’re feeling better.” Accepting his direction, you sit down on the couch and grip the edge of the cushions for stability. Going from upright to horizontal seemed awfully far. Dami practically sits on your lap, he’s so close. With both arms wrapped around you, it's obvious he's acting as a guide, pulling you towards him and downwards. It takes a couple seconds to realize he’s having you lay on his chest. The prospect is too comforting to oppose, despite present company.

“Lean into me. Mhm, legs up.” Dr. Clem deals with the IV tube so it doesn’t catch on anything. Once both legs are on the couch, Damiano brings you horizontal and pulls you up his chest so your head is right under his chin. You take a deep breath and relax completely on the exhale, allowing your eyes to close.

“That's better,” Damiano says more to himself than anyone else. Perhaps because of the exhaustion or presence of others, the embrace doesn’t have the typical sexual charge. Still, his hand rubbing your back is as soothing as ever. You follow the sensation of heat and pressure in order to regulate.

“I genuinely don’t know what the hell is wrong with me,” you sniff. “I just started thinking about all the blood and I felt sick.”

“Have you eaten today?” question Dr. Clem, now seated in the armchair.

“Uh…coffee.” Dami sets his jaw and shakes his head. Without a view of his face you can’t detect if he’s mad at you or himself.

“I picked you up for school, I should’ve…damn it.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Sorry to cut in,” Jay rushes. “Y/n, you just said something about blood.”

“My last episode, I was a bit cut up. Nothing deep,” Damiano fills in, running his fingers through your hair, nails gently scratching your scalp.

“So did you get a chance to see yourself?”

“Uh, no, not this time. She cleaned me up and hid the bloody stuff before anyone got there. My mom thinks she may have saved my place on the team. Power of appearances.” Dami pecks the top of your head with his lips.

“Y/n, was that the most wounded you’ve seen someone?”

“Yes,” you answer immediately.

“Wait, really?” Damiano moves so he can see your face. “But you were so calm.”

“That sounds like it could have been traumatic,” Jay concludes with a perfectly calibrated compassionate expression. You groan in annoyance.

“I’m not traumatized. I can just shift into this different, almost invincible person, sometimes.”

“And when you shift out of that, how do you process what you experienced?” You don’t have an answer, and the room falls dead silent.

“I…you know what, this doesn’t feel right, taking Dami’s session when I’m not the patient. Obviously Dr. Clem has stuff to do.” You try to sit up, but Dami’s gentle embrace becomes a straight jacket.

“No, you are unaccustomed to adults focusing on your well being as they should. First Thalia needed the attention and then Clio.”

“Don’t Freud me,” you grumble. Dami scoffs.

“You Freud me all the time!”

“No, I – actually that’s fair,” you admit with an eye roll. Jay smiles and clasps his hands over his knee.

“I know Damiano’s perspective very well, but I’d like you to describe that day to me, y/n.” This was the first time you recounted that tumbleweed of shitty events. Dami’s health had to be kept private, which also meant he was the only person you could speak freely with.

“I could see something was wrong when I walked on the field and Star told me where to find Dami. So I went and found him. Then I calmed him down and cleaned his face.” You keep the version for Jay’s consumption as vague as possible to make questions difficult.

“When Star told you where to find him, what was that like?”

“Dami already –”

“Damiano can’t tell me your experience.” You harumph and collapse against Dami’s chest.

“A couple of alphas on the team gave me shit. Then the giant storage locker smelled like nasty sports gear so I had to go looking for Dami because I couldn’t sense where he was at. When I found him, I cleaned his face off, but initially it spooked me. I don’t know, at the time it didn’t bother me that much, but when I thought about it today I felt…panicked. And, like…” you trail off, not wanting to betray Damiano’s privacy.

“Go ahead.”

“At first it was hard not to get overwhelmed because I knew I needed to make it okay, but I didn’t know how. I didn't know if I’d fail him,” you choke up.

“‘Fail me,’ baby no,” he objects.

“I hate talking about it because you’re gonna think I do shit out of obligation, but I don’t. I’m happy to and I want to and I like being around you, even if it's a rough time. You get in your own head so fucking much that I know you’re gonna go home and hate yourself and then you’re gonna be distant, which is worse than whatever happened in the first place.” You take a shaking breath and roughly wipe your face. “But at the same time, you’re the only person I can talk about this with because it needs to be confidential, but that's just another thing that makes you resent yourself. You know, as if I didn’t make all of these decisions myself, with free will, which I did! And none of this stuff is indicative of you needing to change, it’s just the way it is and again, we decided together. This isn’t something that was done to me or some bullshit.”

“This fear of Damiano’s self-loathing getting in the way of your relationship comes from where?”

“From reality,” he cuts in. “How did you put it in the beginning? ‘Emotional whiplash.’” You nod, wiping the side of your face against his shirt. “This whole time you were trying to protect me from myself.”

“Actually I was just trying to protect myself from loneliness. I’m not that noble.” You close your eyes again, as if that could make the moment less stifling.

“When a really compatible alpha and omega find each other, it's like no other feeling, right? That's why I dredge all of this up, because, y/n, I want to give you the tools to sustain a relationship with a partner who has hormonal dysregulation. That is how I help my patient.” Finally, you were being taken seriously, but it felt less like being free and more like being exposed. Yes, you wanted to spend the foreseeable future with Dami, but having adults expect it of you was intimidating as fuck.

“Even renowned clinicians struggle to evaluate the patients holistically. ‘We want Damiano to have tools to thrive independent of anyone.’ Well alpha-omegas are built for each other, so he’s not going to thrive as an island, period. That level of nuance is unpopular.” There's a softness to Dr. Clem’s voice that you’re unaccustomed to. She pats the arms of the chair with finality and stands, having said her piece.

“And we know this is a lot for a 17 year old,” adds Jay. Both adult’s expressions are emphatic.

“Agreed, Dami is –”

“I was talking about you,” Jay chuckles.

“Uh, I’m not 17.”

“Did you turn 18 recently? Well, happy birthday,” Dr. Clem beams.

“Umm…no.” You shift into a sitting position and Dami helps push you upright. He’s got a sheepish expression.

“I…that nurse hated me as soon as he saw my diagnosis. He’d been grilling me for like 40 minutes, so when they asked about her age I…” He looks to the ceiling and winces. “I told them we were the same age to get off the hook.” You’re rather amused but Jay and Dr. Clem stare at each other in alarm.

“I’m 15,” you chirp. “And I got my big girl bed last week so I don’t have to sleep in the crib anymore.”

“Y/n, why are you like this,” Dami laughs with a red face.

“Sometimes, at dinner, mommy doesn’t even put me in my highchair.”

“This entire time, we’ve been operating on the assumption that your brain was a full two years further in development,” says Dr. Clem in mortification.

“No takesy backsies on that support of our relationship or I’ll rip the Cinderella pages out of your coloring book.”

“A fearsome threat indeed,” adds Jay, feigning seriousness. You feel a hand on your stomach as Damiano wraps his arms around your torso. He leans his cheek on your shoulder, like the sweetheart he secretly is, but something stings in your forearm when you try to embrace him in return.

“Oh my god there's a needle in my skin!”

“And I will be happy to take it out.” Dr. Clem rushes out of the room, but you can’t help but stare at the IV site. The sensation of an intrusion in your arm makes everything itch.

“No, no, stop.” Dami gets a hold of your free hand. “If you yank it out yourself, the vein will spurt blood everywhere.”

“Why would you tell me that!? And what kind of word is ‘spurt?’ Never say that shit again!”

“Okay, okay, fair. I’m sorry.” He still doesn’t trust you enough to let go of your hand, which is probably a good instinct. Unable to stop, you look back at the IV site and see blood in the tube and under the plastic.

“I’m bleeding, oh my god,” you whine. Even with eyes shut, the world spins.

“Head on my lap, c’mon.” Again, he guides you down, but this time Dami covers your eyes too.

“You’re not bleeding, it's just from moving your arm too much,” answers Dr. Clem as she comes back into the room. You can see the wheels of a tray from between Damiano’s fingers as you squirm. The snapping sound of exchanging old medical gloves for fresh ones is the opening salvo to a nightmare of albeit mild sensation.

“How do you even know how to place an IV, I thought only nurses did that.”

“I actually have two degrees. Count back from five.” As soon as Dami says four she rips off the bandaging and pulls the IV out and you screech in betrayal.

“Hey, this is me holding pressure,” Damiano assures, one hand holding a cotton ball over the IV site to slow the blood flow.

“Okay,” you groan, clutching the wrist of the hand shielding your eyes. There's the sensation of adhesive on your skin and then Dr. Clem steps back with a sigh

“Well that was exciting! I’ll be right outside if you need me.” The hand Dami had over your eyes moves your back and the other is stroking your face very slowly. The sensation is so pleasant that you get goosebumps.

“Deep breath, open your eyes,” he coaches. You blink hard, but don’t sit up immediately. Jay and Dr. Clem are standing through the open doorway, conversing. They weren’t giving you privacy, but they were giving you a moment. Damiano runs the back of his pointer finger down your cheek, then along the bridge of your nose. You shiver and finally take a deep breath.

“There you go, kitten. What? What's the face?” Your reaction to the nickname must have been visible.

“I hate needles,” you whine.

“I know, baby.” When he leans down, Dami’s hair acts like a curtain. He presses his lips to your cheekbone, temple, the corner of your eye, and two more kisses on the forehead. For a beautiful moment, your world is just tan skin, statuesque features, and dark brunette waves. He rubs his thumb under your eye, then over your eyelid as it closes, and taps your cupid's bow. When he finally sits up, you follow, sans dizziness. The proximity of his scent glands would typically negate all progress towards a clear head, but that earthy musk you love wasn’t overwhelming. His pheromones were light and more towards ceder than usual.

“Oh my god, what did they do to you?” You lean forward so your nose is directly above Damiano’s scent gland and take a few really deep breaths. “What happened, where is your smell?” Dami is wincing, mouth downturned, with a pained expression.

“They took out my old device and now we’re trying birth control because the side effects are great for curbing my symptoms. I didn’t think you’d notice so soon. Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t smell you earlier, when I was in the lobby. I guess this is why.”

“I really am sorry.”

“I’ll get used to it. Your health is the most important thing.”

“Agreed.” Dr. Clem uses the word to announce her reentrance into the office. “Jay and I wanted to discuss one more thing before I clear you to leave.” It, in fact, did not look like Jay wanted to discuss this topic. His expression is void of the typical positivity and he constantly readjusts once seated.

“A team member,” Jay clears his throat forcefully. “Has brought up valid concerns regarding the amount of time you spend apart, or rather lack thereof.”

“Who?” demands Dami.

“I am withholding that information on the grounds that it will detract from possible therapeutic benefits.” It’s interesting to watch Damiano have a silent standoff with Jay, as you’re rarely the observer in this situation. “How many days a week do you spend socializing with friends?”

“I talk to my friends everyday at lunch and I’m in the AE club.”

“And I’m on the soccer team.”

“Outside of school hours and extracurriculars?”

“I talk to my friends before I leave school as well,” you reply, starting to see the issue.

“The beginning of any relationship can be all consuming, but especially alpha-omegas. I’d hate for you to wake up one day and realize you’d lost contact with the other people that enriched your lives.”

“Everyone isolates at the beginning. When one of my alpha friends is socially absent for a few months after finding an omega, I don’t take it personally and neither do they.”

“Plus for five weeks at the beginning I never saw Damiano outside of school because he was trying not to corrupt me or whatever.” Dami scoffs and looks at his hands. “I mean yeah, I could hang out with my friends a little more, but I’m not asocial and obsessed with my alpha.”

“And that's all I’m asking, socialize with your friends too. It doesn’t necessarily have to be separate. Try integrating your social circles, hanging out in groups, see how those dynamics work.”

“But spending time apart is important,” interjects Dr. Clem, perched on the edge of the desk. Damiano glares at her with his eyes narrowed.

“Is this coming from you?”

“No, but I do think it's a valid point, right Jay?” He clears his throat again.

“Something I see with mated couples is empathy fatigue. When one person is struggling, the compulsion to be there for comfort and support is very strong.”

“I think that's called love,” interrupts Damiano.

“Perhaps, but uh…When a person is in a sustained state of hardship, their partner grieves for their suffering. That is its own pain, which I’m sure y/n understands.” You nod reluctantly, trying to read Dr. Clem’s expression. “Spending lots of time together during a rough patch feels comforting in the short term, but there's a tradeoff. That partner comes to know their loved ones' pain so intimately that they are now carrying the sorrow of two people. Empathy makes them ache for the sufferer and empathy allows them to bear that suffering themselves.” Damiano looks so defeated. All that anger at some random doctor who didn’t even know you making crappy assumptions is gone.

“And you think that's happening here?”

“Not necessarily.”

“Well if its not necessarily happening why the fuck would you bring it up?”

“Because it’s a concern,” answers Dr. Clem.

“Is Damiano drowning in self-loathing after you’ve undermined our entire relationship, now also concerning? But hey, if he thinks he’s ruining my life, maybe you’ll get the distance you’ve been wanting, right?”

“That is not the goal,” retorts Dr. Clem. You turn your attention the other way.

“Jay, in your professional opinion, what do you think is worse for the human psyche, empathy or profound loneliness?” Dr. Clem sighs, but Jay leans forward to answer earnestly.

“Loneliness. Damiano, I am the mouthpiece for an unfortunate and often frustratingly wide range of opinions, most of whom do not have my expertise. It is still my responsibility to convey that information if the team decides its pertinent.” Dami glances up so you throw your legs over his lap and embrace him. “While I am providing you with information, it is important to know that in my very long career, I have never seen this issue outside of mated couples, since the mechanism is established with mating.

“So you don’t think I’m damaging –”

“No! You are not,” you interrupt. Dami smiles a bit and looks over.

“Well, I already knew your opinion, dear.”

“Then fuck what anybody else thinks,” you whisper, pressing your foreheads together.

“Although anything is possible, logically this won’t be an immanent worry until you are mated.”

“See? That was him saying no, but covering his ass, because Clem is watching.” Damiano snorts and you forcefully shake him while speaking theatrically. “So please don’t have an emotional crisis about whether or not you are a good influence in my life! Because if you’re distant, I will blame Jay, personally. And Jay doesn’t want that.” Damiano’s therapist pursues his lips and his wide eyes are directed towards the floor. “See? His self preservation instincts are already screaming at him to run.”

“Good instincts,” Dami chuckles, rolling his shoulders back with a deep breath. He puts his hair up, physically brushing the intrusive thoughts off. Jay and Dr. Clem shared some intensely sustained eye contact. Whether they’re on the same side or not you can’t tell, but whatever sentiments exchanged are clearly meaningful.

“We’re gonna go,” announces Dami, shifting your legs off of his lap. He grabs your backpack and puts his arm around your waist.

“Right, yes.” Apparently nervously clearing his throat was Jay’s tell. He stands cordially, obviously preoccupied in thought.

“See you tomorrow,” Damiano bids goodbye and his physicians awkwardly do so in return. “Christ, that was painful. Fucking hell,” he murmurs under his breath, wearing a fabricated smile that said “I’m okay” to anyone watching. When it came to your boyfriend, people were always watching, and you couldn’t blame them.

“I…I don’t know if I already apologized, but I’m sorry.”

“Ssh, ssh, it's okay,” he reassured, pulling you close enough to kiss your temple without breaking lockstep. “I am going to cook your dinner, if you don’t mind waiting in the car at the store for five minutes, that is.”

“Don’t want to bother unbuckling me from my car seat?” you tease. Dami holds the door open as you exit the clinic.

“Incorrigible,” he says, affectionately. Before getting in the car, you pull Damiano in for a kiss. Or rather, you stand in front of the driver's side door, making eyes at him until he captures your face in both hands and presses his mouth to yours. You slip a hand into his back pocket. Situationally inappropriate, but he allows it, nipping at your bottom lips so you know you’ve been bad.

“Get in the car,” he growls and pats your ass as you walk around the hood. “So I assume it’s not foul, then,” he prompts, while you close the door.

“What?” The engine turns over once before starting.

“My pheromones.”

“No, definitely not. Your pheromones actually smell…cleaner, I guess.” Dami visibly perks up at that description.

“Cleaner isn’t bad.”

“No…” Your tone of voice makes it sound like a question.

“Well that was convincing.”

“I love you no matter what.”

“Oh, no.”

“Not ‘oh, no!’” you laugh.

“Well then what's wrong!?”

“It’s not as sexy,” you admit.

“Fuuuuck,” he groans, features contorted.

“There’s something kind of sweaty or a little dirty in the way you normally smell. I don’t know how to describe it, it’s just…”

“Musk?”

“Yeah, exactly. Like the smell of your body, kind of. It’s very intimate.”

“And that's gone?”

“As I’m saying it, it sounds gross, but that was the thing. I couldn’t tell if it was gross or if I wanted to lick it off of you.” It’s the smell of your boxers after soccer practice if you showered beforehand. The perfect amount of ick, is what you were thinking, but not saying. He didn’t need to know about the time(s) you sniffed his dirty underwear, since you so loved teasing Damiano for doing the same.

“Ah, so I’ve lost the scent of manhood. That's great.”

“I thought this was your manhood,” you place a hand on the fly of his jeans.

“Y/n, I’m trying to drive!”

“Sorry! I wasn’t actually touching anything, it's just the denim.”

“Doesn’t matter!” After a beat, you can see him fighting a smile.

“I wonder if your pre-cum is gonna taste different.”

“Driving!” You decide to tease (or maybe torture) him a little bit. Leaning over the center console with your shoulders pushed forward for the sake of cleavage, you use a dramatized, breathy.

“I wonder if it's gonna taste different when I fall to my knees in front of you, unbuckle your belt, unbutton your fly, and —.”

“LA LA LA LA,” he sings, to drown out the commentary. You dissolve into laughter, letting Dami focus on the public roadways instead.

“This is why I can’t bring you into the store. You’re distracting!” Behind Damiano, the sun was just beginning to set. It peeked out from behind the rain clouds while making its descent towards the horizon. Despite being a bit under rested, Dami’s olive skin looked positively biblical as it reflected the rays of waning light in warm, sandy tones. He was made for the sun’s kiss…and your kiss.

Notes: Next chapter up within a week (for real). This is for the conversation lovers and world builders. Part 13 has the protective Damiano y'all have been asking for. Please let me know what you think I live for external validation.

-XOXO Eden

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

Text

Chapter 13

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Read chapters 1-12 on my Masterlist!

TW: Contains r-word. Text will be in red.

The rest of the school had Friday off, but not the clubs and teams. Today was competition day and the transport van picked you up at 8:15 am. The yellow and blue uniform was sexless, a pair of loose trousers and a t-shirt. It was still chilly in the mornings, so you wore a long sleeve under it.

“You know, we won’t have a lot of time to do makeup when we get there.” commented Rosemary, as you climbed inside.

“I’m not wearing makeup,” you scoff. If any extracurricular wasn’t going to be part beauty pageant, it should be aerospace engineering.

“Oh…Well, everyone else will because they’ll be taping it.” Rosemary’s unfiltered honesty wasn’t unlike Thalia’s.

“What?” you exclaim in horror.

“Taping, not broadcasting,” clarifies Mx. Varela. “It's standard procedure to prevent cheating.”

“Oh, okay,” you sigh, senses still heightened. “So will there be photographers there?”

“Yes,” answers, an annoyed voice from behind you. 11th grader and alpha Bremen who was on the competitive team last year and this year was an alternate. Phrases such as “diversity hire” hang over your head like a dark cloud. The demographic specifications to qualify became progressively more intricate as extracurriculars sought to be more inclusive and fair.

It started as “Each team must have four competitive members and two alternates to participate in events.” Naturally, the entire team was comprised of seniors.

So things evolved to “Each team must have four (4) competitors and two (2) alternates, with each grade represented via at least one (1) team member, in order to participate in events.” Every competitive team that year was exclusively 11th and 12th years. It was a stupid oversight with an addendum drafted before the season was over. “The competitive team must include lowerclassmen.”

And that was all fine and good. For nearly a decade, the academic regulations of beta exclusive societies were identical to those with alphas and omegas. But last year something changed, a departure from B.E. societal standards. There was a controversial, new addendum, passed by no more than two votes.

“In applicable districts, alphas, betas, and omegas must all be represented for a team to qualify.”

So you had to prove yourself, and learned that genius is largely a self-perpetuating cycle. Bremen was so confident in his intelligence that he’d convinced other people too. At first, it seemed like he was just getting his ego stroked, because everyone agreed that he was one One of the Smart Ones. But then you’d watched him correctly solve a problem at grade level, throw down his pencil in victory, and sit back with a gratified smirk. “Oh course, Bremen's already done!” “I’d expect nothing less from a math whiz.” “Don’t you ever lose that edge, it's gonna serve you well.”

After the circle jerk was over, you looked to Mx. Varela. They had a weary, take-no-shit expression on, probably the only other person in the room that realized Bremen could burp and the masses would attribute it to his shining IQ.

“Refocus, please.” Mx. Varela looked to where you sat on the other side of the room, sneakily doing your engineering homework because you’d finished the worksheet. Your heart stopped at getting caught. It’s not like you wouldn’t do your homework in other classes as well, but this was a special case. The instructor was doing you a favor by offering five hours a week worth of credit for three hours worth of work.

“You realize you’re gonna have to speak to the rest of the team?” Mx. Varela snatches the paper off the table and checks your work with a raised eyebrow. They flip to the back side, then quickly to the front side once more.

“This is all correct. Did you do all this on your own?” The hidden accusation catches you off guard.

“I don’t need to cheat on 11th grade math! It’s literally what we’re learning right now with some basic reasoning.”

“Basic reasoning?” Your instructor is smiling in a way that reveals you’ve just screwed yourself. “You’re bored because you’ve got one of those minds that reads math instead of solving it.”

“I…guess. It feels like making inferences.” At this point Bremen and two other team members are staring. Mx. Varela holds up your finished assignment.

“If you want an answer key, just use this. We’ll move to more advanced practice now.” You hide a laugh behind your hand. The three sets of eyes boring into your profile kept the moment from feeling like victory.

Bremen had decided how he felt about you the second he realized your status. Fortunately, the other team members came to respect your intelligence in the last two weeks. Being liked is another goal entirely, and Mx Varela hadn’t set you up for success by calling your paper the answer sheet. Alpha friendships didn’t make you envious, because they were unachievable. However, seeing the easy comradery between the betas and alphas felt like standing on the other side of a glass wall. Ever the watcher, never the participant.

“Okay, a reminder,” Mx. Valera turns around from the passenger seat to address six grumpy teenagers.

“Y/n’s the only one that needs reminders,” murmurs Bremen.

“What the hell have I done to you?” you finally snap.

“Y/n, team, none of that. We go in as one unit, we succeed as one unit.” Your face burns and it feels like everyone inside the van stares at you. It's a small, stuffy space and there's no way to hide from view.

“Remember these are just the benchmark rounds. Today it's 280 points, so focus on meeting that score, and we’ll be good.”

“Basically impossible,” Sebastian murmurs. Mx. Valera sighs and takes a beat.

“Focusing on meeting benchmark scores rather than winning will not only guarantee us a place, but it’ll leave us much better prepared for more challenging competitions.” The resentment from that moment of injustice sat in your gut like a hot coal. Blood rushed in your ears, making it difficult to hear. You step out of the van with tunnel vision, being the first to stand in front of the Romero Public High flag. Next time you’ll wear Dami’s scarf.

“Want me to do your makeup?” offers Sommer, a 12th year alpha.

“Sure,” you respond, with a forced smile. It was an act of friendship, comradery between competing team members. You had no interest in being visually appealing to other alphas. However it seemed that everyone was made-up, and being the odd man out didn’t help your nerves nor your approachability.

“I didn’t know about all the politics when I joined. I was just trying to get the Aerospace 101 credit.” Sommor scoffs.

“The stuff we do is so much more advanced. Look down.” She applies something to your eyelid. The garish carpet pattern is a real eyesore.

“So when did you find out you were the affirmative action hire?” Sommer intends it to be more humorous than malicious, so you decide to laugh.

“Rosemary explained it to me.”

“It’s cool that you get Rose, because most of us don’t. She’s super smart though and that's what matters.” Something inside you twists. This supposed bonding moment felt treacherous to your only sort-of friend on the team. The whole interaction, Sommer’s monotone voice and flawless makeup, lacked a regard for anything but her own amusement. So badly you want to speak up and demand an ounce of authenticity, but you stay silent as she applies mascara.

“Look up.” Behind her, other teams filed into the arena in their brightly colored uniforms. “I’ve never marked anybody, but you must miss him. Damiano, right?”

“I’m fine on my own,” you shrug. It wasn’t a lie. Marked or not, you were happy to do things in the peace of your own company without Dami. However, in this particular moment, having someone that made you feel understood would be a great relief. If the event hadn’t been closed to the public, Dami would be sitting directly across the room, so whenever you looked up, he was in your line of sight.

“All non-essential personnel, please exit the arena. Competitive team members only.” As instructors herded the alternates out of the arena, a pattern became very apparent. Every single set of alternates contained an omega. A quick glance at the online rosters confirmed what you already knew: you were the only omega competing in the six teams.

Mx. Valera’s hand on your shoulder makes you jump several inches in the air. Some administrator is ordering them to go to the viewing room with everyone else. All the anxious voices blend together, but you get the jist.

“I had no idea that my colleagues would conduct themselves with such overt bias. I am sorry, y/n. It will be addressed.” This is where someone substitutes in on your behalf, so the stupid little omega can go be quiet in a corner with her brethren. Except no one does. There are just announcements upon announcements while you scan the arena for a single person like you. A judge, an administrator, the guy who hands out extra pencils, but you are the only omega in this giant room, which is suddenly a dangerous place to be.

“This can’t be happening,” you murmur. “Regulations, they wouldn’t…” The real trouble comes when the alphas realize you’re the only omega in the room. Hair up to show your mark is the first thing to do. It had just begun to scar. You rub the uneven skin just beside your scent gland.

“Y/n, hey –” Sommer snaps her fingers in front of your face and you bat her hand away without thinking. There's no telling who’s more surprised at your act of defensiveness. Rosemary points to the sheet in front of you. It’s the first prompt of the day. When you look back up to get your bearings, she puts a calculator in your hands. This, at least, you can do on autopilot, but it's hard to focus with your skin crawling.

Everytime you look up there's twice as many alphas staring as you’d anticipated. At first they’re just curious, then interested. They talk to each other in low tones, making sure that they’re not the only ones seeing this single, lone omega. The hum of their voices makes you clamp your hands over your ears. Rosemary has to pry them away and put a pencil in your hand, gesturing to the equations they’d come up with.

“God, she’s so slow today,” complains Sommer. You force yourself not to check, but possibility becomes the most terrifying of all. If you don’t look up now, how close could an alpha get before you finally do scan the surroundings? With such a crowded room, the answer is right on top of you. The answer is with its teeth to your neck.

The other three talk, but you just operate as a human calculator, solving whatever Rosemary hands your way. You remind yourself that your pheromones aren’t enticing to most of, if not all these alphas. You’re marked, but that matters significantly less as the only omega in sight. There isn’t a better option.

“Y/n? Y/n, these numbers are too big. It doesn’t make sense.” You’re going back over your work when a buzzer goes off.

“Pencils down, an administrator will come by to collect your work.”

“But I’m not done.” Even Rosemary’s gaze holds animosity. Sommer arranges the papers in the folder refusing to speak to or even look at you.

“Did you finish?” Mx. Valera asks. The silence is enough of an answer.

“Well that's fine, only half the teams finished.”

“So we’re in the bottom 50%? Y/n, what the fuck was that? Were you having a seizure?” You’d like to deliver a searing retort to put Sommer in her place, but the words get stuck as she intimidates you.

“Sommer, stop. How far did you get? I couldn’t see at the very end.” You wait for someone to answer, looking at Rosemary when the team remains silent. “Y/n?”

“Yes?” You’re backed up against the desk, trying to achieve some personal space, but everyone seems to be looming. “Where are the alternates?”

“How far did you get?”

“If I had like 30 seconds, I could’ve fixed the mistake. I'm sorry, I was just…”

“So to the very end?” There's hope in Mx. Valera’s eyes, but it doesn’t make you feel better. Even as a couple omega alternates scurry over to the bathroom, all eyes are on you. Figuring this is the safest time to break away from the group, you mutter an “excuse me” and grab your bag before heading towards the bathroom. Being the object of everyone’s attention is never a good feeling, but right now in particular, it makes your eyes and skin burn. An alpha shoulder checks you as he brushes by then laughs as you scramble not to eat shit on the cheaply carpeted floor. The message was clear: you are not supposed to be here.

I want my mommy is your first thought. Your second is no, I want my alpha. There was a district wide soccer tournament starting this evening, but Romero wasn’t playing until Sunday. That would make this weekend the first time Damiano had two days off in god knows how long. He did best with an occupied mind, but everyone needs rest, especially after such a rough patch. You’d be denying him that.

Of course, your mind goes exactly where he’d want it to. Dami in your kitchen four days ago, cooking some heavenly chicken dish. Where most alphas would simply say “make sure you eat a good meal and go to bed early. My omega’s health is important to me.” He asked nothing of you, cooking dinner and rubbing your back until you fell asleep at 8pm.

“I want you to know that you don’t need to be frightened, love. Things seemed pretty dire for a sec, but I’m doing so much better. I need you to know that I’m okay. I feel steady, so you can lean on me.” At the time, you were literally laying on his chest, not just hearing his words but sensing the vibration under his sternum as well. “I’m okay,” he repeats. “I’m okay.” And he was.

The tears on your cheeks evidenced how much you needed to hear those words out loud, because it took years for Thalia to be okay. Clio had yet to get there. You’d been bracing yourself, subconsciously. Damiano grasped both clenched fists, tendons straining, nails creating crescent shaped bruises as they dug into the meat of your hand. He unfurled them, kissing your palms, coaxing you to relax with the knowledge that he no longer needed a safety net. He was not a fall risk.

***

“Hey, baby,” he croaks. “Everything okay?” Fuck. Calling him was a horrible idea. You’re already wiping away tears. The warmth in his tone is such a stark contrast to the rest of this morning.

“Y/n? What’s going on?” You’d woken him up on essentially a weekend, when most weekends he had to get up early too. And what now? Damiano wasn’t allowed inside, no matter how hard you wished the rules to be otherwise. Piling guilt on to the rest of your emotional baggage was about to be the final straw.

“You’re scaring me. Say something.”

“Something,” you manage, in a shaky tone. Damiano had seen you cry in the past year more than anyone, but not these kinds of tears. He clears his throat and you can hear the rustle of bedsheets as he sits up.

“Okay, I’m awake. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“This stupid fucking competition,” you sigh heavily, then choke. It's not quite a sob.

“Right, okay. How closed to the public is it? Like is there security?” He’s not joking, but you still laugh.

“Um…could you pick me up? It supposed to be over at 10 but the next round is uh…” you search for a clock or a directory, “Fuck I don’t remember. I feel like it's gonna be done way before then.”

“And it's the conference hall right by LHS?” You purposely bang your forehead on the wall.

“Fuck, your old school is gonna be here.” Maybe that's why they were staring. “How much do I smell like you?”

“Uh…enough? It's recognizable.”

“Okay, good,” you say with a sigh. Staring because you were Dami’s mate was something you could live with.

“They’re giving you a hard time.”

“I’m a zoo animal.” A five minute warning is announced and the panic tightens in your chest. “Time to go jump through some fiery hoops.”

“I’ll brush my teeth and leave. I’ll be there whenever you’re done, kitten.” You roll your eyes at the nickname. It had started out cute but now only one of you found it cute (it was Dami).

“Do your hair and stuff too, if you want.” Being seen by people from Laurel High, his old school, was going to be tough.

“I thought you liked the man bun!”

“I love the man bun, but I know looking your best –”

“Makes it easier to jump through fiery hoops?”

“Exactly.” A two minute warning sounds. “Okay I have to go, I love you.”

“I love you too. Go be a rocket scientist!” You steel yourself before walking back to the podium. Purposefully, you veer by Laurel High School. When they stare you bite back like you’ve wanted to all day.

“Do I know you?”

“Jesus christ,” Bremen murmurs as he walks past you, He shakes his head in distaste, commiserating with the Laurel High competitors through mutual eye rolling and scoffs at your behavior. What an annoying, upetty omega. He would side with your competitors before having an ounce of respect.

“Have fun watching me compete,” you sneer.

“You know, you think that people don’t like you because you’re an omega. Actually, people don’t like you because you’re a bitch.” It's so hateful that you’re caught off guard. LHS “ooh” and “ah” at your expense. After all, there's no better entertainment than watching an omega be put in their place. Sommer grabs you by your arm and hauls you over to the Romero flag.

“Ignore them. I like the fact that you’re a bitch.” But I don’t want to be a bitch at all. Was that the only option if you stood up for yourself? Of course you also acted on the offensive and what else did that make you if not bitch? Did Damiano think of you as a bitch, in the pseudo-affectionate way Sommer did? That thought felt the same as guilt, a tear-wrenching, yanking sensation from inside your ribcage. What a swell time to have a personality crisis.

Mx. Valera comes to wish you luck before the second prompt is handed out. They’re pissed on your behalf, which is a nice sentiment, but doesn't solve anything in the here and now. The best strategy is to stay with the team, because at least Rosemary won’t let an pissed off alpha corner you. In that case, all you could hope for is that taunts don’t become retribution for merely existing in their space.

“Why do we leave at 10 if the competition is gonna finish at like 9:40?”

“It’s so all the teams can meet. We call it Nerd Conference,” Rosemary explains, as the papers are handed out, face down.

“You call it Nerd Conference,” mumbles a usually silent Sebastian, the forth team member. Thank god you’d called Damiano. Maybe the omegas would be treated like real team members, but more likely they’d be huddled in a corner while the betas and alphas enjoyed some comradery. If a team placed poorly, their alphas would want to take it out on something, and that something would be you.

“Begin.” They’re staring at me because I smell like Dami. They’re staring at me because they recognize his pheromones. These are the phrases you kept chanting to reduce the compulsion to look up every five seconds. At first it worked, but then fear won over and you have to focus everything on keeping the numbers straight. Mathematically, it was a surprisingly difficult problem for so early in the competition. Doable, but you needed a second sheet of paper.

“At least two of the teams are stuck,” narrated Rosemary as you handed the calculations to Sommer. While implementing the numbers, you checked your work over her shoulder. Something raises the hair on the back of your neck and makes you whip around. It’s just an administrator, doing his rounds to prevent cheating, but your heart rate still goes sky high. It dawns on you that there is no way to avoid being followed out of the building. All you can do is get to Damiano, or rather get in his line of sight. The AD2 part of him would welcome a challenge.

“How long until this is over?” You keep looking at the doors, convincing yourself he is on the other side and all you have to do is calculate the fucking trajectory of the capsule release to get to him.

“Six minutes and 49 seconds,” answers Rosemary. “Here.” As she passes the paper back, you become aware that the timer is the only thing keeping these alphas at their station. When it goes off, they’ll be free to roam, and temporarily, you’ll be the only omega in sight. One versus 35 alphas and betas that think you don’t belong here.

“Any teams still stuck?”

“Yes.”

“Is Laurel High one of them?”

“Doesn’t look like it.”

“Damn it.”

“Are you stuck?”

“No,” you shove the calculations across the desk. You should be done with your part of the prompt, and now there's nothing to occupy your mind except feeling like prey. LHS is watching you with self-satisfied smirks, convinced you’ll fail again. Other alphas are curious how you’re holding up, and each so clearly took pleasure in watching you squirm. The question becomes how many of them are marked or mated, which is what you’re trying to discern when Rosemary announces the team is finished. There's 17.9 seconds on the clock and you all huddle, checking each of your calculations.

“The numbers make sense,” Sommer breathes in a sigh of relief.

“So can I go?” She snatches your wrist and holds it forcefully.

“Wait or we’ll get disqualified,” she orders, using her alpha temperament to force compliance. You stare at the carpet until the timer buzzes.

“Now can I go?”

“Go where? They haven’t scored us yet.” The other teams have relaxed, some people even checking their phones after stepping away from the desk.

“Bye.” When Sommer doesn’t stop you, it's clear that the actual competition is over. You’ll skip the feeding frenzy and make minimal eye contact while heading to the exit.

“Nice job omega!” It's unclear whether the words are genuine, but the tone is certainly condescending. Someone laughs and your face heats up. You looked like a child in comparison to all the other competitors. Plain faced and anxious, you were the one cropped out of photographs. Or worse, included so the publication didn’t get attacked by Equalitarians.

In the lobby, are parents of children who lived more locally, early to pick up. Damiano is in the parking lot, if he’s here yet, so you keep your eyes on the window next to the exit. If you can make it out that door, you’ll be free. You’re so focused that Damiano has to physically step in your path to gain your attention. His concern is thinly veiled as he takes your backpack, so beautiful you can’t believe he’s yours. Dami would know to get done up, he wouldn’t have made this mistake. Maybe that's why they were staring. Clearly, he’d marked you, but how had someone so average looking managed that?

“Baby, c’mere,” he whispered. You’d just stood there pathetically, arms limp at your sides until Damiano’s beauty brought you to tears. Even as he hugged you, you were frozen.

“I think it’s incredibly brave, what you’re doing,” compliments an omegan father next to you.

“Uh, thanks.” You wipe the tears on your sleeves and notice all the black smudges from forgotten mascara. “Oh fuck, do I look like a racoon?”

“No,” Dami answers in a hushed voice with a tight smile. His eyes keep darting to just below the right side of your face. He says the perfect pleasantry with the perfect gesture and steers you out of the door. The cold morning air is refreshing and a bit painful on your wet cheeks. You can’t help but compulsively check behind you every couple seconds.

“Don’t worry about being followed. I’m here now.” Damiano’s hand finds yours on the way to the car. You’d expected a barrage of questions about your well being, but he was contemplative, probably struggling to calibrate his reaction.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“Don't apologize. I’m glad you did.” He squeezes your hand and falls silent again. He wasn’t angry, but there was something plaguing him.

“Are you okay?” Damiano stops walking and winces with his eyes squeezed closed.

“Am I okay?” he repeats under his breath, shaking his head. “I should have been the first one to ask that.”

“I’ll be fine as soon as we get out of here.” Behind you is the repeated click of the door opening as people filter out.

“Y/n! Y/n!” Sommer’s hurried footsteps come up from behind. You steel yourself to face her, but end up looking at Dami’s back as he steps in front.

“Jesus fucking christ Dam, I’m not gonna hurt her. We’re on the same team!” You wrap an arm around Dami and lean into his side. You didn’t need to puff out your chest and prove to everyone that you were strong despite being an omega. He was your strength.

“We’re about to leave Sommer.” She rolls her eyes, breathless from excitement.

“I just wanted to say that you don’t need to be sad about messing up or whatever because we broke 300! We got second place.” Damiano smiles with pride, jostling you so you’d take a moment to celebrate.

“I wasn’t upset because of the score. It’s a science club and they still treat omegas like they’re inferior. Nobody wanted me there!” The smile falls from Damiano’s face as you turn to him. “Can we just go?” He nods, unlocking his car and leaning over to put your bag in the backseat. While he’s doing so, Bremen rushes out of the building, scanning the parking lot for someone.

“Valera is looking for you,” he yells.

“Bremen, I already said I’d find her, go be obsessed with someone else.” He bristles.

“Whatever. An administrator told me to find her. I guess they’re worried that if y/n crosses the street without someone holding her hand she’ll forget to look both ways and get hit by a car,” he laughs. Apparently his view of Damiano was blocked. You put a hand on your alpha’s back so he doesn’t react right away. Sommor looks at you and Dami, then back at Bremen with wide eyes.

“Can you just shut up for once,” she prompts, gesturing at him to stop talking. Bremen’s easily wounded ego is hurt by Sommor siding with someone else. If only he knew she was trying to help him.

“You’re the one who came up with the diversity hire jokes! She solves one problem correctly –”

“‘Diversity hire?’” Damiano growls, straightening up. Sommer shrinks back and Bremen looks cornered. Two alphas against one should have an obvious outcome, but Dami is stronger than them and he’s also really fucking scary when he wants to be.

“It really makes you that insecure that she’s more intelligent than you.”

“She’s not –” Bremen starts, then promptly closes his mouth.

“She’s not what?” Dami stalks towards him like a lion hunting antelope. Taking a step back would be admitting subservience. Bremen hasn’t caved in yet, but it's a matter of seconds.

“You think her safety is a joke. I take her safety very seriously,” he snarls. “If you ever were to compromise –”

“I would never,” Bremen shakes his head, taking two steps backwards.

“I know, because I know what a jealous alpha looks like.” He glances at Sommor for confirmation and she nods her head.

“Brem, you – he wanted to make the new omega on the team his mate.” Damiano hums, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“It’s pathetic that you’re taking it out on her.” Pathetic was a pretty brutal insult from one alpha to another. “If you have an issue with the fact that she belongs to someone, you’re gonna take it up with me.” He’s almost whispering. “Do you have an issue with the fact that I chose her to be my omega?”

“No,” Bremen whispers, shaking his head.

“Do you take issue with me marking her?”

“No.”

“And when I make her my mate, will that be a problem?”

“No.” Damiano turns on heel, and walks back to you. His face is still contorted with anger. What you don’t expect is his fingers along your neckline. He pulls the necklaces you still put on every morning out of your shirt.

“Do you see these? They’re mine and I knew she’d be wearing them because she wears them everyday, even though I’ve never asked her to. Do you understand? You are nothing to her,” he spits. Damiano opens your door and you sit down, shell shocked by the turn of events for several minutes.

“Uh, sorry.” Dami looks sheepish and his hand is hesitant as it takes yours. “My territorialism…I could have handled that better.” You shake your head, bringing his palm to your cheek. He takes it back only to turn off the highway and into a residential area.

“That's my childhood home.” He points to a one story brown house that sits up against the woods. “The people that live there now have like a dozen cats. We moved when I was 11 and again when I was 15.”

“Big backyard,” you guess.

“Exactly,” he smiles. “And this is Blue Creek Park. It's a little nature preserve, but people outside the neighborhood don’t come here because it’s on the other side of the freeway.” The gravel crunches below the tires as Dami pulls into a small parking lot of only five spaces. “Sandro and I did a few legally questionable things here as kids.” He parks the car and turns towards you. The keys jingle as Damiano drops them in an empty cup holder. Isabella had color-coded them some time ago. The brightly colored rubber borders were dirty.

“Y/n, why were you crying?” You keep looking at the cupholders. Dami puts a finger under your chin and raises your gaze to his. Keeping your shit together was hard with all that affection and empathy directed your way.

“Why did that man say you were brave?”

“It’s stupid, I don’t want to talk about it.” You look back down. A drop from your last latte had fallen, staining the tan-colored hard plastic.

“Well, you’d never let me get away with that.”

“Not wanting to talk about something?”

“Yeah, you always make me face it, even if I don’t want to.”

“Sounds like I’m a pretty shitty girlfriend,” you mutter and curl into a ball in the passenger seat. Damiano is coming to recognize this body language as overwhelmed to the point of defensiveness.

“What? No, that wasn’t the implication, kitten.” God damn it.

“Don’t call me that.”

“We’re not leaving until you tell me why you called me crying because you’ve never done that before.”

“And maybe I’ll never do it again!” Damiano’s leg starts bouncing. He probably knows they’re just words, but the prospect of not being allowed to protect you is anxiety-inducing. Threatening him, this whole interaction was miles away from the point.

“Ugh!” You get out of the car with your arms crossed.

“A walk in the crisp spring morning, what a pleasant idea,” he exclaims, locking the car.

“I’m not mad at you and I don’t want you to think that I am because you’re the only person that doesn’t suck, except you do kinda suck for forcing the issue,” you announce in exasperation. Damiano nods, taking a second to process your words.

“Let me show you my favorite place to blow up illegal fireworks when I was 13.”

“Does it bother you that I’m equally as close to being 13 as I am to being your age?”

“Ooh, ouch,” he cringes. “Still not distracted though. Also put on your coat.” He holds the garment up for you and zips it. The gesture is so tender your eyes water.

“Show me the scene of the crime.” You take his hand in yours, and that satisfied Dami for now. Meanwhile, you’re spiraling. Bringing up the age difference could never be just a joke to him. And what had he done to deserve that? Wake up three hours early, rush across the city, and defend you despite just getting cleared by the collegiate board. Then he’d shown you a piece of his personal history and you’d acted just as immature as opponents of this relationship predicted you would. Either in whispered voices and furtive glances or gossiped in private spaces. If the competition’s alphas had witnessed this behavior, their value judgments would be completely just.

“I’m sure all the moss has grown back now, but…” He leads you around the backside of a two story rock face. In a clearing is a pathetic little fire pit.

“You know that joke about the omega who makes a nest they’re really proud of, but to their alpha it’s just a pile of blankets. The alpha can see how important it is and compliments them, pretending to be impressed anyway?”

“Yeah?” You take a long look at the scorched mark on the ground and then at Dami.

“Dear, I think this is a very nice pile of blankets.” He bursts out laughing, the wonderful, crowing, grinning wide laugh that fills up a whole room.

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” he pants, leading you up the incline. Twice Damiano has to pause to bend over and cackle. By the time you take a seat on a flat spot at the top, the sharp clawed insecurity is almost forgotten. He looks around the park from this high point in silence. No, Dami hadn’t always been easy, but he loved you the way you’d secretly hoped to be loved. In your whole life, he was the only one that made you the priority and he did it without asking. Never did you ache for more attention or validation. It was remarkable to be at the center of such an exquisite universe.

“I think I’ve always loved you without knowing it,” you murmur. Damiano’s big, soulful eyes fixate on you. It’s a rarity to see him stunned.

“Like, before we met I must’ve…I don’t know.” You search the branches for a bird’s nest and, and move along before things get emotional. “We should just go home and sleep until lunch.”

“I…You said the competition acted like omegas were inferior. They treated you like you were stupid, they must have been horrible.” His voice is buckling with emotion.

“They didn’t treat me like I was stupid, exactly. I just felt so othered and fucking terrified. I’m never doing that again. Mx. Valera might be in the right, but it doesn’t matter if no ones on their side.” Finally, your voice breaks. “I was so scared. I was so, so scared and they enjoyed it. I was suffering and all these alphas loved it, relished it,” you cry against the rough fabric of Dami’s jacket. “They were waiting for me to fuck up and guess what? I did! I proved all of them right!”

“You didn’t prove them right. Each team had at least one omega, so clearly there is just as much variation in the intellect of –”

“No they didn’t!” You force the words out. “I was the only one in all six teams and I spent the whole first round so terrified that one of them was gonna lunge at me that I could barely think. Thats why I fucked up!”

“Woah, woah, wait. Y/n, my love, what – that's not –” He tries to get a view of your face and you permit it, flushed cheeks cupped in his hands. “Teams aren’t allowed to compete without an omega. I know, I looked, I –” Damiano and probably Isabella had found the rule book online, then combed through it to confirm that the event was safe. He was truly your guardian angel.

“They were all alternates. Only competitors are allowed in the arena so I…” The whole moment was too revealing and you curl into a ball again, this time with your head in Damiano’s lap. At least you can sob without worrying what horrendous shapes your face is making.

“There were no other omegas competing. Against betas and alphas you were the only one?”

“I was the only omega in the whole fucking room! Not an administrator or judge or teacher or janitor or person with extra batteries for the calculators. No one!” you howl against his sweatpants. “And everyone knew to wear makeup and do their hair except me so I looked ugly and that's probably why all the people from Laurel High were staring like I was a polar bear in a plastic enclosure.”

“Y/n, no.” Hey starts combing your hair back with his hands.

“They were just waiting for me to fail. I was an object for them to toy with for amusement. It’s not just that they didn’t want me there. It’s like –” Damiano’s hand strokes your exposed cheek.

“They didn’t really see you as a person, but you finished that shitty competition anyway.” Now that the words are out the tears should stop, but they don’t. Damiano gets an arm underneath your waist so he can hold you, rocking back and forth.

“I’m…infuriated.” It's apparent in his tone of voice. “I hate that I wasn’t there and that you felt unsafe without me. I’m so sorry.”

“It was closed to the public.”

“But they didn’t follow the regulations to keep you safe!” You flip over and look up at Damiano, lifting a hand to his angular face. He catches it and kisses each knuckle, staring into the distance and scowling. It’s clear he’s taking the competition’s lapses in judgment very personally, even as personally as you. The moisture from the moss had wet your outfit in patches, probably stained the white polyester green.

“Can we go home now? I want to get this off my body.” You sit up and Damiano nods, expression tortured. He’s looking off to the right again, towards your mark.

“I put my hair up so they’d see.” His face becomes pained, rather than pleased. “When I was nervous I’d touch the scar and it helped.”

“It's irritated. You were probably rubbing it to self soothe.”

“Oh…” You feel sheepish, even as Dami helps you off the ground.

“Also there's makeup on your face, love. Don’t you remember putting it on?” He brushes your under eye with the pad of his thumb. Reflexively, you raise a hand to your complexion, as if you’d be able to feel the black pigment staining your face.

“Sommor?” You nod and he rolls his eyes. “I thought it looked...”

“What?”

“Tacky. She’s always been that way.” That comment literally stops you in your tracks

“Oh my god, you slept with her.” It's a horrifying realization and even worse was Dami not rebuking it. He just cringes with his shoulders raised up to his ears. It's also kind of hilarious considering how agro he was towards her today.

“Sorry,” he squeaks. “It was a long time ago.”

“Like over a year?” He squints one eye while counting on his fingers.

“You have to think about it!?” It really sucked that he’d slept with one of your teammates, but he also didn’t do anything wrong. Damiano had never squirmed like this before, so teasing is plenty of retribution.

“Nevermind, I don’t want to know,” you dismiss, dramatically walking past him.

“Definitely a year! I didn’t even mean to have sex with her. Her friend Maia, was the one I was going after, but she hooked up with someone else that night, so,” he shrugs.

“Well thanks, that makes me feel so much better,” you reply with heavy sarcasm.

“I actually have no earthly idea why I told you that.” You begin walking backwards, facing Dami.

“I’m just impressed that you remember their names.” He throws his head back and groans in mortification.

“I’m never gonna live this down.”

“Did you do an every letter of the alphabet challenge? Does Xiema have something to tell me?”

“No,” he says forcefully. “I made sure not to sleep with any of your friends.”

“How romantic! And I thought chivalry was dead.” He jogs a few steps to catch up.

“You’re taking this kinda well.”

“Logically, you had to get good at it somewhere. In the future, please tell me so I have a couple zingers prepared.”

“That sounds super fair.” He throws an arm over your shoulders and brings you in for a kiss on the temple. “Christ, I wish I was as funny as you.”

“You are funny!” Some of your favorite moments were rolling around in Dami’s bed cackling, until you got side cramps.

“I know I’m funny, but you’re so quick witted. Whenever I see you humble some alpha, I’m happy to be on your good side.” So Damiano’s funny, but you’re funny and mean? He phrased it like a compliment, so you’re left contemplating what such a compliment said about your personality. Sliding into the car seats, your mind is occupied until Dami speaks.

“Oh man, someone’s gonna have to teach you how to drive pretty soon,” he ponders, buckling his seatbelt. “Poor bastard.” Damiano brakes at the stop sign and finds you staring at him. “No! Absolutely not.” You continue the silent stare, smirking. “Oh, fuck me.” Damiano rests his head on the steering wheel upon realizing his fate. “I am the poor bastard. God damn it, this is what I get for being a cradle robber.” Wow. Yep, that did feel like shit. But you’d started the age jokes, which meant you had to take them too.

“Well if I show up to practice with any inexplicable injuries,” he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, “I can just tell them it's from almost dying in a car crash. After seeing how you handled Okoro’s team, I’m sure they won’t question it.” he chuckles. That had to be excessive, but one glance at Dami reveals that he’s not intentionally punishing you. He never intentionally punished you, but it did happen the other way around. Dami actually thinks this is flattery, and being confronted with the realities of his perception is beyond jarring. Liking this part of your character doesn’t change the fact that Damiano sees you as a bitch, too.

“Hey, stop, stop, stop.” Stop what? “You’re doing it again.” He pulls your hand from your neck and laces your fingers together so you can’t rub the scar subconsciously. “The proximity to your scent gland makes me really nervous, kit – love.” Kit wasn’t so bad. Foxes had kits.

“I like the pet names, but kitten just doesn’t feel right anymore. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“It just doesn’t fit.” He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand.

“That’s fine, I can just say something else.” A healthy person was not meant to contain this much self-loathing at one time. You bring your legs to your chest and rest your face on your kneecaps.

“Something else you wanna –” Dami’s phone rings. He curses under his breath instead of reading the contact name immediately.

“Who’s parents?”

“Your dad,” he groans, hitting ANSWER. “Good morning, Kevin. How are you doing on this beautiful day?” It’s a miracle how genuine he sounds.

“Is y/n with you?”

“Yes she is. Safe and sound. We’re headed home right now.”

“She was supposed to be in the van with the rest of the team. That was the plan.”

“I’m so sorry if you were unsure of her whereabouts. I assumed –”

“We figured she was with you, since one of her teammates told the coach as much. That girl got in the van with everyone else like normal.” Normal was one of your father’s favorite words (and concepts).

“I know who you’re talking about, her name is Sommar.” There's a long silence, as your father recovers from Damiano not taking the bait.

“Why isn’t y/n answering her phone?” You strain to grab your bag from the backseat.

“I believe she still has it turned off from the competition, but I’ll have her turn it on right now.” You nod. Lacking patience, you turn the backpack upside down, dumping all your shit out on the floor. Damiano begins to laugh at the strawberry four chapsticks with peeling labels and hoarders collection of empty water bottles, but covers it with a cough.

“Bring her straight home. Y/n needs to discuss this behavior and the consequences with her family.” You shake your head vigorously and Damiano places a hand on your leg.

“Can you please elaborate for me?” Kevin releases a long, irritated sigh.

“Look, we really appreciate times you might have provided some type of protection,” that was an insulting amount of qualifiers, “but y/n needs to preserve her resilience.” All you had been today was resilient and Dami seems to think the same as he squeezes your thigh to pacify your anxiety. “A year ago she would never have called a boyfriend to come pick her up because she was upset about getting second place.”

“Y/n is not upset about getting second place. The way she was treated today –”

“And do you think that is helped by being the only one with a chauffeur? Being seen as having special privileges, being different from everyone else, that's not gonna make anything easier. Disagreements are normal. It happens in the adult world all the time and you have to resolve them, not run away. I think –”

“‘I’m gonna have to pause you right there, Kevin.” Dami actually pulls over as he speaks. “Lots of kids were picked up by their parents or perhaps even partners. I don’t know for sure, because we didn’t hang around long. What I do know, for a fact, is that the only person questioning y/n’s resilience right now is you.”

“Be that as it mm – Olivia, it’s fine.” Your father holds the phone away from his ear while speaking to your mother. “I’ve got a handle on it…well, alright.” His voice is faint, but you can still hear how begrudging his concession is.

“Dami, darling, you’re on speakerphone with the both of us.” Since coming home to a gourmet dinner and clean kitchen on Monday, your mother had grown quite fond of Damiano.

“Olivia, how are you this morning?” This time the warmth isn’t manufactured.

“I’m quite well and happy to hear that our girl is being taken care of.” Kevin huffs in disagreement. “Of course, taking the van with everybody else would have been better.”

“Normally that’d stand to reason, but y/n isn’t like everyone else, and her teammates remind her regularly. Today the competition broke multiple regulations by having y/n as the only omega in a room – actually, calling that arena a room isn’t accurate. It's the size of a skating rink. In a space of over 40 people, at least 25 alphas, most of them single, she was the only omega.”

“Oh my god. Kevin!”

“I feel deeply uncomfortable with any actions that might discourage y/n from repeating this behavior, whether overt or subliminal. Discipline is out of the question, since this was an issue of safety and y/n couldn’t have reacted more appropriately.” Your eyebrows must be in your hairline and it wasn’t just Dami’s eloquence. He was using his alpha authoritarianism to instruct your father on how to raise his daughter.

“Well that's a little dramatic.”

“In a state of flight, fawn, or freeze, an omega isn’t going to choose the best plan of action, but the easiest. They’re already battling sensory overwhelm, so I need to be her path of least resistance. When y/n goes “I think I might be in danger. What the hell can I do?’” Swearing in front of Kevin, even if just for emphasis, was a ballsy move. It seemed like Dami was too impassioned to care, both hands gesticulating as if he was speaking to your parents in person.

“I need her to think ‘I’ll call my alpha,’ not ‘I could call Damiano, but last time I did someone got mad at me.’ Because then she isn’t going to call me. She’s gonna choose the option that won’t keep her as safe,” he’s bordering on hysterical. Anxiety that concerned your well-being seemed to escalate and escalate out of Dami’s control. You put a hand on his leg, trying to ground him. He merely glances in your direction, but in that glance you can see all the scenarios he came up with on the drive over. Revenge raped. Alpha’s getting carried away and seriously injuring you by accident because they don’t yet know their own strength.

“Or maybe she’ll choose an option that won’t keep her safe at all.” You grab one of his hands and squeeze so he’ll focus on reality. “And if something happened to her because of that I would literally never forgive anyone –”

“Dami! Dami, I’m okay.” You undo your seatbelt and climb into his lap. “I’m fine. Hey, look at me. I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to meet your eyes initially, caught up in all the horrors of his mind. You force him to, knowing that your healthy contenance will soothe his panic.

“Y/n?” rings your mother's worried voice.

“Hi, mom. We pulled over a while ago, by the way.” Damiano looks at you, with his jaw in your right hand, nails of your left in his undercut. Your lower body is still on the center console, so he pulls you fully onto his lap, sitting sideways.

“Oh, well that's good.” If they think Dami is on the verge of a breakdown, your parents will interrupt today’s plans, which must be avoided at all costs. A weekend together was your reward for trying to “take space,” as Jay begrudgingly requested. It still struck you as a strange and damn near counterintuitive request for a new alpha-omega couple. Bonding was encouraged by society, and if there was a concern, it was over a lack of connection, not a surplus.

“I know Clio isn’t particularly fond of Damiano, but I think they could bond over worrying about things that are never going to happen.”

“It’s my job to worry about you.” He kisses you lightly (so the gesture doesn’t make a sound) but slow.

“And we do so appreciate your help today. Um…y/n, when will we see you next? Tomorrow?” Your father is grumbling in the background. Holding the phone away from her ear, but not nearly far enough for her words to be indistinguishable, your mother hisses at him. “I wouldn’t dream of separating them right now and if you ever went to the Support Meetings you’d understand why that’d be cruel.”

“You’ll see her tomorrow and y/n will keep you updated on our whereabouts via text now that her phone is on,” Damiano answers. “We’re gonna go to the game tonight.”

“I’ll be amusing myself by eating my weight in junk food and screaming random sports terminology.”

“She does it so confidently that nobody figures it out before our break,” he responds fondly.

“And you’ll be meeting friends there?” When your mother asks, the sentiment isn’t so accosting.

“Yeah, tons of people, plus I think y/n is inviting…”

“Gia and Xiema, if I can convince Xia to come. They’ll also be joining in on the junk food and heckling, of course.”

“Yeah, focusing on the actual game is too mainstream.”

“Only cool kids undermine the integrity of events because they’re too lazy to learn the rules.”

“You know the rules! You’re just hellbent on creating chaos to distract the opposing team.”

“I guess you know to ignore the random voice screaming ‘SPIKE IT’ as you’re trying to make a goal.” Dami is doing what you’ve donned The Possessed Seagull Laugh, bent over and leaning against you.

“Damiano, I’m sorry for raising such a heathen. I really tried my best,” your mother adds to the banter.

“Don’t apologize, she’s probably helped our point margins this season.”

“Help? I am solely responsible for your success.”

“Your humility is one of my favorite things about you, dear.”

“Oh yeah? That and the banshee screams at 10:00 AM right?”

“I especially enjoy the expressions of the opposing team at the end of the game when they realize the crazy woman in the stands is my omega.”

“Okay, okay, so it sounds like you guys have some great plans tonight,” she laughs. It’s been so long since you heard your mother’s laugh.

“Y/n, call me if you need someone to talk to before I see you tomorrow. I love you, be safe.”

“Love you too, bye!” Instead of getting back on the road, Damiano holds you for a minute with a hand up the back of your shirt. His face is pressed into your neck and you know he wants to be scented, but that’d make focusing on driving difficult. So he’s tiding himself over by admiring your mark. He thought you’d be upset at the scarring since it branded you as his for the near future. Who else am I going to spend my future with? you’d asked. Dami got a funny look and worked three dark and very visible hickies into your neck and shoulder that you were plagued with concealing from your father. At school you wore them proudly. Secretly, he’d wait around corners and watch you walk to class. Alphas did a double take and you never noticed.

Of course, his inner pessimist made Dami also ponder that If anything were to happen to him, or god forbid the relationship, the discolored skin would remain. The next alpha would have to bite through the scar tissue if they marked that side. It’d be much harder to get their teeth in, Damiano still guarding you from a world away.

“What are you thinking about?” He sits upright with that same strange expression.

“Oh, just toxic alpha stuff that would annoy you.” He pats your ass with finality. “Let's go home, hmm?” You climb back across the center console with his help. “And sorry for…freaking out on the phone call with your parents. I – Jay, I’ll talk to Jay about managing that.”

“It’s alright.” Wearing a genuine smile, you squeeze his leg, then keep your hands to yourself. Possessiveness and arousal were extremely close for alpha’s and you weren’t feeling up for the usual raucous lovemaking. The most accurate adjective was fragile and it was awful. You avoided fragility at all costs, especially the perception of it.

“I think I’m gonna quit the AE club. I can’t go through that again, it isn’t worth it.”

“Understandable.”

“All of the alphas are friends with each other and all the betas are friends with the alphas, but nobody except Rosemary is friends with me. I act like I don’t give a shit, obviously, but it kinda hurts a lot, I guess.”

“I won’t tell,” he whispers.

“Thalia says it feels like everybody has the 10th edition of a social handbook that she only has the first edition of. AE club is like that.”

“Alphas do relate to each other differently than omegas, that's not on you.”

“They just want to keep me on the outside and what's worse is – is that the other teams hated me because I’m an omega, but they hate my personality.”

“Baby, you said they’d accepted you!”

“As a human calculator, but I didn’t realize before today that – that it's different.” you get choked up and stop talking.

“Baby, I can’t imagine what you dealt with today. Rosemary and Sommar like you and I bet that –”

“Sommor likes that I make her look good as team captain. It’s self-serving.” Damiano pauses in thought before answering.

“Okay, that’s fair.” You appreciate his honesty, but hearing that Sommar actually did want to be your friend and she just had a weird way of showing it might have been better. Even if it was a lie. Suddenly, the fact that Dami had slept with her and didn’t tell you for two weeks, knowing she was on the team, is upsetting.

“Maybe she’s not so bad. She could have publicly humiliated me with the fact that you’d slept together and I’d be completely unprepared.” Her enduring loyalty to Dami was worse.“How many other people do you have keeping your secrets from me?”

“Woah!” You roll your eyes at his reaction. “A second ago you were fine with this.”

“I was fine with you fucking someone else before we met. Keeping it from me? Not okay. If I hadn’t put two and two together, would you have told me yourself? Or would you have waited for Sommor to do it?

“I would have told you.”

“When?”

“Today! I wasn’t sure that it was the right Sommar until I saw her. We spent about half an hour alone together, in the woods, at night. I didn’t know her last name.”

“Even if you weren’t sure, you should have told me.”

“If I told you every time there was a possibility that someone interacting with you had been a past hookup, you’d think I was a piece of shit. If we’re being completely honest, I wasn’t sober every time either, so some of them I don’t really remember. Okay? It’s embarrassing,” he confesses. It’s not as if you can argue with his experience, so you fall silent.

“I’m really sorry that you’ll be dealing with this baggage for the rest of high school. If I could go back, I’d change so much, but I’m stuck with this shit.” Looking at your hands, unsure how to respond, the tension thickens. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“I don’t know what to say! It feels like Sommor was keeping this secret out of continued loyalty to you and you were allowing it. I can see that's not how it was, but it still makes me insecure as fuck.”

“I wouldn’t do that, y/n, I swear.”

“God that whole fucking competition made me insecure. I can’t tell if I’m what's wrong or if it's bias or both. Today was such a mind fuck, I hated it.” You fix your gaze out the window, watching the other cars on the freeway. “I don’t even know why I bring it up, it's so rudimentary in comparison to what you deal with.”

“Y/n, no. You get to have problems that aren’t medical emergencies.”

“They’re superficial and petty.”

“I don’t give a fuck. If they’re affecting you, I want to know. If they’re not, I still want to know what you’re thinking.” He pauses to inhale. “Also nothing about today has been superficial, It’s real, heavy stuff. I need to know how you’re doing, ideally before anyone else.”

“Okay,” you agree, too bashful to meet his eyes. Luckily Damiano has a great sense of humor.

“I want to know if you have a particularly good cup of coffee and if you subsequently have a good shi –”

“Ew! Stop talking!”

“The role of digestive health is not to be underestimated!” he insists, jokingly. Then Dami’s tone becomes slightly serious.

“I guess I never told you this, but I used to get the worst upset stomachs. We went to a gastroenterologist who tested for celiac and lactose intolerance, then another that checked for inflammation, not a fun experience I’ll have you know. Everything was negative. They couldn’t figure it out until a nurse suggested that it's from anxiety. At first I couldn’t accept that it was all in my head.”

“Baby, has this been going on and you were hiding it?”

“No,” he smiles. “When I’m with you, I never get stomach aches. It happened almost immediately. When I was trying to keep my distance some days I’d feel so sick, but I’d just tell myself, ‘make it till the end of the 6th block.’ Then I’d hug you and the rush of oxytocin would… I’d be okay. My body remembered how to regulate.”

“Damiiiii,” you whine, emotional. “Why didn't you tell me before?”

“Because ‘you cured my psychosomatic IBS’ is a creepy thing to say.”

“Creepy isn’t the word I would use.”

“And how the fuck am I supoosed to lead into that? Give me one way to lead in that isn’t gross.”

“I –” you begin to say, but end up stumped. “Okay I see your point.”

“Thank you.” You spend the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence. Or rather, Damiano spends the rest of the car ride in comfortable silence and you are left alone with your thoughts. So far today, that has proven a very bad position to occupy.

Yeah, Dami found your behavior at games funny, but he must also find it annoying. Why hasn't he mentioned that you were embarrassing him? Surely these quirks will stop being amusing when the novelty wears off. If your personality isn’t interesting, then what is it besides contrary? You’d made a joke about the integrity of the event, as if sports wasn’t an integral part of Dami’s life and identity. It helped him manage his symptoms, but you always made everyone aware that you were above taking matches seriously. He didn’t hold himself superior to anything in your life.

Damiano sighs upon putting the car in park. He should have kept talking to you, because now you have an expression like your soul has been crushed under someone’s boot. He has a close enough relationship with self loathing to know what it looks like.

Dami gets out of the car and walks around the hood. The sound of the driver’s side door closing makes you look up for the first time in several minutes. Slowly, you unbuckle your seatbelt, unsure if he intends to do the gentlemanly thing and open the door. Damiano does, but he crouches down to sit on the driveway as soon as you swing your legs out. It's the same gesture as earlier this week, which means this wasn’t out of convenience. Damiano was purposefully positioning himself lower than you, as a rare act of submission. If you couldn’t confide in him as your alpha, maybe you’d talk to Dam, your friend.

“Give me both hands and look at me,” he requests, as softly as he’s able. You extend your hands and gaze out from under your lashes.

“Will you keep looking at me?” You nod, already wanting to divert your eyes away from such intensity. “Do you promise?” He’s never asked you to promise this before.

“Um, yes.”

“When I decided that we could enter a relationship, I knew I was dating a 15 year old. I never expected the maturity level of dating someone my own age, but you’re very good at pretending. I’m not gonna lie, it's convenient.” He takes a deep breath and you realize you hadn’t inhaled since Dami began speaking. “But if I have to watch another second of you hating yourself for acting 15 because you are 15, my heart is gonna break, love.” You’re shaking and your face feels hot, but are too stunned to cry. “You get to be 15. You get to rant about your social life. You get to be a pain in the ass omega and you’ll still be owed unconditional love and protection from me, your alpha.”

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whisper.

“Too bad, I want you to be my burden.”

“But you’ll resent me,” you whimper, feeling the scalding hot tears run down your face and snot from your nose. It must have been a great look, especially from Dami’s angle.

“No. I’ll be fulfilled.” You shake your head and holding eye contact is hell. “Why would I ask for something that would create problems in our relationship? I’m not about to sabotage this.” He’s right, it doesn’t make sense. “Y/n, you’re used to caring for other people and you’re really good at it, but this isn’t a one-sided relationship. Just like you help me deal with my pain, I’m going to do the same. Sometimes that's gonna be difficult for you because this is new, but I’m going to insist anyway.”

Finally you break eye contact, staring at the clouded sky as mascara drips. You try to cover your face, but Damiano won’t give you back use of your hands. He’s not giving you space to hide, not a single inch.

“Look at me.” You shake your head. “Y/n, look at me,” he demands. With a hint of resentment, your gaze finds his.

“Give me your burden.”

“What the fuck does that even mean?” You try to put a wall up.

“You’ve had to bear this all by yourself, but now you’re not alone. You are not alone.”

“We’re in a relationship for fucks sake I know that –”

“Y/n listen to me. You are not alone. Be emotional, be inconvenient, be 15.”

“As opposed to what?” you challenge, because that was easier. “What have I been this whole time, huh? What are you talking about?”

“You are not alone,” he repeats, patiently.

“No shit! There's this crazy man that won’t let me use my hands.”

“You are not alone. Y/n is not alone.”

“What the fuck are you even talking about!?” Even as you try to dismiss the whole thing, you gasp for air and taste snot. After wiping that on your arm indignantly, you try to steel yourself and end up with a sob.

“You are not alone. You are not alone.”

“Uh! Stop saying that!”

“Y/n is not alone. She is not alone. You are not alone. You are not alone.” A different version of you would have fought it out for another 30 seconds at least, and maybe even managed to control her emotions. This version of y/n knew how good it would feel to cave and fall into her alpha’s loving arms.

“I feel so fucking fragile,” you confess, knees aching as they collide with asphalt. Damiano holds you in a way that could squeeze a thousand broken pieces together. He picks you up off the ground and kicks the car door closed.

“Got your phone, love?” You nod, annoyed by the strands of hair stuck to your face as the skin becomes tacky. Who knew that your body would remember every tear you didn’t cry and demand that the debt be paid in full? It was brutal, but a relief. As Dami opens the door, you try to convince yourself that his parents seeing you as a hot mess doesn’t matter after the entire neighborhood just witnessed the mental breakdown.

“Hey, I made you some snacks to bring back to your room,” is the first thing you hear Matteo say. He pushes a tray full of food and drinks into Damiano’s hands, probably worried about you fainting again.

“Thank you so much.” You hug him, not because that's the routine, but because it feels right. “I’m sorry for ruining your whole morning.”

“No, no, I heard about – well let's not talk about that now. Are you okay?” Typically you’d respond affirmatively, regardless of if the house was burning down. Today you try to come up with an honest statement.

“It feels like everyone thinks I’m a bitch.”

“Well, I certainly –”

“False! Entirely false! Nobody thinks that, baby.”

“Bremen literally told me that nobody likes me because I’m a bitch.” You glance over your shoulder and see Damiano turning red from anger. It's a good thing he’s holding the tray so he can’t go straight to his phone.

“Sommar agreed with him, but said that being a bitch is a good thing.”

“Next time I see that little shit stain I’m gonna break him in half and then –” Matteo interrupts Dami’s enraged muttering.

“If you were an alpha they would have called those leadership qualities and recommended you seek out management positions in the workplace.” Matteo’s words reframe your entire perception of today and beyond. “Something possesses people at high school competitions to act so heinously. Ignore it if you can, or even listen to music. That always helps Dam.

“Well I’m quitting the AE team, anyway.”

“Oh, really? I read that… “ He shifts his gaze onto his son behind you, searching for a signal of some sort. “I read that you got second place.”

“She kicked ass,” he announces proudly. If Dami had been in the arena, he’d have seen that you were a quivering mess.

“But it kicked right back,” you joke, looking down the hall longingly.“It’s such an injustice that you have to change.” Matteo opens his mouth to speak further, but sees the exhaustion in your eyes and stops. “A conversation for another time,” he says, with finality, and turns towards the kitchen. The gesture allows you to politely walk away.

Notes: A throwback to when I originally started posting in that this isn't not proofread.

Taglist: @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @butkutee @cuzimitaliano @elvirabelle @iamtashaquinn@icarodamiano @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @mortyandem @the-chaotic-cow @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @azertyhug @biancathecool @bohemianrainbow @daisy0gf @dustyinkpages @katyldamusic @minnietmouse @obiw4n @persona1read1ng @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @l0standn0tf0und @que--sera--sera @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @softmullet @solacestyles @thegeminisgirl @bobfood @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar @lizzylynch1

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filthforfriends · 1 year ago

Text

The Hybrid (Part 4)

Damiano x Thomas Omegaverse

Word Count: 6.9k

CW: mentions of abuse and also god might smite you for reading

They snuck out of Damiano’s building the back way, leaving a note on the table in case the security force came to check on him. The less the government could track their whereabouts, the better.

The Raggi’s lived in a small apartment in a giant complex. Damiano had always wondered why they didn’t pick a better location. With Thomas’ job, he could definitely afford to move his mom somewhere cozier. Dami then realized that it's a lot easier to blend in, to be inconspicuous, when you look and live the exact same as hundreds of units. Even if the security force did arrive, it would take several precious minutes to find the address.

“Head down, hair in front of your face,” Thomas murmured.

“What about sun glasses or a hat?”

“No, it’ll look like we’re trying to hide. That's more likely to get us in trouble than some bruising.” Getting out of his nice, warm, comfortable nest had been terrible. The apartment smelled foul and everything reminded him of Samuel: the mediocre, the bad, and the ugly. Thomas made them both shower all the pheromones off, change clothes, and laundered the dirty ones. Dami didn’t realize how comforting the scenting had been until it was gone. Everything felt too raw and sharp.

They didn’t even touch after showering to reduce the production of pheromones. Damiano wanted to cling to Thomas, but wasn’t allowed a hug and it was brutal. In the car Tom drove with all the windows down. Even though he wasn’t chilly, Damiano started shivering and couldn’t stop.

“Are you cold?” He shook his head no and Thomas refocused his attention on driving, jaw set. He’d coached Damiano not to display any affection, not even signs of a close friendship. Dami knew that this was for his mate’s protection and would therefore follow instructions exactly. Nevertheless, Tom’s embrace in his nest had been the only thing that made one of the worst days of his life bearable. This stoicism made him feel so isolated that Damiano wanted to cry from loneliness and his breath caught in his throat.

“Take a deep breath. Remember that I love you.” The omega clenched his teeth and focused on not gasping for air. Damiano willed himself to keep it together a while longer until they were safe.

“I love you too.” Out of instinct, he reached towards Thomas after getting out of the car. They were always connected in some way: an arm around someone’s shoulders, waist, or hips. A hand on the back or musing someone’s hair. Holding each other in some way, playing with the others outerwear, usually in an effort to bring them closer. No, they hadn’t been inconspicuous enough.

Damiano followed dutifully behind Thomas, not completely confident in his ability to remember the location of the apartment. When they reached the door, he didn’t knock, just stood close to the keyhole. After a moment, his mother opened the door and shooed them inside. The place smelled of food, but Dami wasn’t sure what. He was just getting his bearings when Thomas crushed him in a hug. Showering him with compliments while moving the hair from his face, he kissed his forehead then lips.

“You did so well, caro mio. I’m so sorry you had to do that, but you were amazing and perfect. I’ll do my best to keep you from doing something like that again.” Kiss. “And I’m so proud of you.” Kiss. “You were poised and composed and casual. I don’t think anyone noticed you did such a good job caro mio. I love you so much, cucciolo and I’m so lucky…” The ache in his ribs caused Damiano to tune him out. The shivering has stopped, as has the unease from Samuel’s smell, and the fear from being somewhere he could find Damiano. The omnipresent exhaustion from spending hours in fight or flight kicked in and he was slouching, giving Thomas his weight.

“Woah, I got you cucciolo.” Damiano felt himself being swept off the ground. So close to the blurring light fixture the rays started to give him a pounding headache so he closed his eyes. The next feeling he registered was his shoes being taken off, and found himself on a bed with pink roses embroidered on the sheets.

“How long have I been asleep?” he mumbled, discombobulated.

‘Uh, about 45 seconds,” Thomas chuckled, pulling a shoe off. Thomas' mother blocked the hallway light when she entered the room, and put a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Drink this.” A straw was held up to his mouth, and the liquid thick, like a smoothie or meal replacement, probably with electrolytes.

“Thank you Marcella,” he slurred.

“Sit up for me dear,” she coaxed, that hand on his back pushing him upwards. Damiano sensed Thomas, felt the bed shift, and saw him leaning over. With the help of his mother, he pulled off Damiano’s top layers, and yanked his coat out from under him. He left the room which caused a pang of anxiety.

“Tommy –”

“He’ll be right back, bambino. Drink more.” Dami makes a noise of dissent, but Marcella reminds him of his own mother, so rejecting self care is not an option. She’s known him for too long not to force her maternal instincts upon him. Thomas does walk back into the room, and immediately reaches for the button of Damiano’s jeans, who this time makes a grunt to indicate scandal and chokes on his smoothie. Thomas laughs and actually smiles for the first time today, so it's worth it.

“Unless you want to sleep in jeans, that is?” He pulls the pants down, and off, carefully replacing them with old pajamas.

“Cold,” he hears a female voice say, only registering that it's a warning from Marcella when the contusion ointment meets the bruised skin of his ribcage. Damiano hisses in pain, but feels his hand being held by Thomas, who's sitting in the middle of the bed. He thinks that Dami has his eyes closed, that he doesn’t see Thomas turn his back because he can’t bear to watch, and who puts a hand to his mouth to repress the urge to be sick. Marcella’s touch is steady when it moves up to Damiano’s face. She pauses.

“Caro, let's put a shirt on him while he’s still awake.” Tom doesn’t trust his voice, just pulls the ratty long sleeve he brought from his childhood bedroom over Dami’s head, guiding his arms. He takes the glass back to the kitchen as an excuse to leave his mother’s bedroom, but ends up setting it on the counter and running to the bathroom. Thomas turns on the sink hoping that his omega couldn’t hear the retching, couldn’t hear this total crumbling of strength. Would he have been able to do this without his mom’s help? Maybe, maybe not.

Like a coward, he stays in the bathroom until his mother’s gentle knock on the door. The wobbles on his feet, emotionally exhausted in his own right.

“Is he asleep?” Thomas asks, opening the door.

“Yes. Come eat, let’s talk.” Marcella is barely tall enough to hold her son's face between her hands. Tom stoops over to embrace her. She feels small and delicate, like the skeleton of a bird. This perception of fragility is the thing that finally brings Thomas to his knees, both emotionally and physically. Marcella strokes his hair as he cries, kissing the crown of his head lovingly as he had done to Damiano just minutes ago.

“You did everything right. Getting help, coming here, loving him. I know it's jarring to learn that he’s not invincible, but you’ll adapt.”

“Will I?” he sobs.

I don’t expect you to be superhuman, and neither does that boy who’d follow you to hell and back if you asked. You held back for as long as your biology would let you.”

“And now what?”

“Now we contain this for as long as possible while still letting you live your life.”

“And after that?”

“A discussion for another evening.” It was a relief to confide in his mother as he sat on the living room couch. Every 20 minutes of ranting she would give him something new to eat or drink. Finally, Thomas didn’t feel alone in anything, and the urge to cry abated.

Marcella stroked her son’s head, who had grown up and was a foot taller than her. His soft, blond hair had been the same since she held him as a baby, when Thomas was new and delicate, and so tiny. She remembered being able to hold the grown man beside her in one arm. When she’d gotten the diagnosis, Marcella laid infant Thomas on her chest and felt the pitter-patter of his little heartbeat against hers. She watched the shadows her son’s long eyelashes cast on his flushed cheeks as he slept, and tried to figure out an ethical thing to do. As the full moon moved outside the window, the shadows on Tom’s face lengthened then shrunk to nonexistence. Marcella decided that she could not fix her baby, because he was not born broken.

During that endless night, she thought about all the inevitabilities. That one day her child would grow up, and he would love someone so much that his choice to refrain would be taken from him. That would be a joyous day, whether he be a fully fledged omega, or a hybrid. Marcella could never have anticipated how messy things would get on the way there.

“He’s so beautiful,” she hummed. “He always was, but his energy has changed. He’s more receptive, less prideful.”

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

“The relationship?”

“That…but knowing who I am. He showed me.” She nodded thoughtfully, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Then everything is as it should be.” Her peaceful expression sours after a moment. “Except what the monster did today.”

“I wish I could hurt him, do permanent damage,” Thomas seethed.

“But you were made for better things.” This was a mantra he’s been raised on. When met with the urge for retaliation, violence, or aggression, Marcella would remind her son. This was, ofcourse, because Thomas didn’t have the physicality to take on an actual alpha and could get mortally wounded.

“The frustration and inadequacy you’ll feel is rooted in a society that views physical harm and control as desirable conflict resolution tactics.That is not a society whose opinion you should care about. Be good to those you love and let love compel you to do good. Not violence.” Marcella sits back and unclasps her hands. “You should sleep now,” she instructs.

“I don’t know if I can,” he sighs, looking at the kitchen clock. “How is it only 9pm? Christ, okay.” He groans as he stands up and walks to the linens closet.

“What are you doing?” his mother inquires.

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch and you’ll sleep in my bed, right?”

“No, you should sleep with your mate. I put Damia in my room because you can barely fit on that tiny mattress of yours. I’ll sleep there.” Thomas opened and closed his mouth twice, face feeling hot.

“I, I – but we don’t need to be in the same bed! We’re not gonna do anything.” Marcella raised one eyebrow and looked at him quizzically. She was a matter of fact woman unintimidated by any conversation.

“If he wakes up in the middle of the night a knot might be the most comforting thing.”

“Mom,” Thomas groans in mortification. They talked about everything, but part of never having a mate or sustained relationship was that there was no reason to talk about this.

“I assume that's a function the two of you have figured out?”

“Oh my god, can we please not talk about this?”

“Thomas Raggi,” using his full name was never a good sign. “There is nothing gross about omegan reproductive biology, just because it’s not your biology,” she scolded. “The reason we’ve made it this long is because I had all the information and could research it.”

“I know that,” he lamented. “Yes, that part works.”

“And what other parts work?” Thomas sighed, looking at the floor when he responded.

“Bonding, scenting, and glands, but it's uncomfortable.”

“Not marking?”

“We haven’t tried. I wasn’t sure I’d be safe and I was right. Victoria recognized my alpha scent from his nest today.”

“Alpha scent? So it’s not the same?”

“No.” Marcella started scribbling down on a notepad. She’d likely spend the whole evening pouring over the stacks of books concerning hybridism that she hid between the walls. It was an ever growing collection of not necessarily banned, but somewhat incriminating literature accessed via a loose board and lots of ingenuity.

“There’s also this thing, where we can comfort each other using pheromones.” Thomas didn’t see his mother surprised often, but the expression flashed across her face before she resumed writing at a frenzied pace. Thomas waited until her pen slowed.

“So what do you think?” He regarded his mother’s advice above all else, sometimes even his own reasoning.

“I think marking might be the most healing thing for Damiano, and the best for both of you. It's the natural progression. I think he should understand exactly what he’s getting himself into first. Too many people know for this to stay quiet. Victoria will be trustworthy for a time, but Samuel is going to indict you as much as possible. It's almost inevitable that you’ll be detained, even if you’re just accused of having a romantic and sexual relationship with another omega. With your history, they’ll ask questions and your mate could be implicated too.” Just the thought of Damiano being put in harm's way has Tom choking on his panic.

“I’m gonna check on him.” Thomas opens the door slowly, a slant of light illuminating Dami’s form under the pink comforter. His back is turned, so Tom tip-toes in to get a look at his face. Damiano’s expression is peaceful, such a stark contrast to the bruising that marks his face. His body has automatically favored the uninjured side in his sleeping position. It’s immediately too much for Thomas and the nausea comes back. He quickly leaves the room, propping his forearms against the kitchen counter as he collects himself.

“He’s still asleep,” Thomas announces as he walks back into the living room. “I think I’m gonna sleep out here so I don’t disturb him.”

“Thomas –”

“Mom, I can’t even look at his face,” he divulges. “I don’t want to exist in a world where bad things happen to Damiano.”

“And like every other alpha, you’ll have to reconcile the fact that terrible things are going to happen to your omega, and you’ll be powerless to stop them.” If not for his slumbering mate, Thomas would seriously consider outright screaming in frustration.

“But how, mom? How!?”

“Center him in everything you do. An alpha’s world revolves around themselves until they find a mate. It's not about you anymore, Thomas. It’s not about your preferences, it’s about what he needs and –” A noise coming from the bedroom causes Marcella to pause, and Thomas rushes down the hall.

“Uh, what, huh? Tommy?” Damiano is half conscious and disoriented in the dark, unfamiliar space. Their voices must have been too loud and woken him. Thomas closes the door behind himself, deciding that now is as good a time to go to lay down as any. Sleep was going to evade him regardless.

“Right here, cucciolo. You okay?” The bed dips as he sits down and shucks his jeans off quickly.

“Huh? I think, um, I…hey.” Thomas crawls up the mattress, rubbing his hand along Damianos form over the blanket so he’d know his alpha was close. Thomas had barely pushed a leg under the covers when Dami tried to snuggle up to him. That was made difficult by the fact that Thomas hadn’t laid down yet. He was immediately too warm with two bodies under heavy bedding. As his head hit the pillow, he felt almost suffocated, claustrophobic plagued by the nerve wracking fear that he was going to fail his mate.

When Damiano actually laid his head on his alpha’s chest, that emotion dissipated and intense affection took its place. Dami wasn’t satisfied with having just an arm slung over Thomas, and slithered so he was almost completely on top of him, legs tangled together.

“You’re here,” he croaked, as Tom carefully wrapped him up, conscious that his arm didn’t put weight on a tender spot.

“I’m here, cucciolo.”.

“But where am I?” Instead of lifting himself up to converse, Dami’s eyes stayed closed and he burrowed further against Tom’s neck, nuzzling him contentedly. Wherever they were, Thomas was here too, which is another way of saying that Damiano was home.

“We’re at my mom’s apartment and I was going to sleep right here, with you tonight. If that’s okay?”

“Mhm!” Damiano confirmed, enthusiastically nodding his head. There was that sick feeling again. How could anyone not cherish him? Thomas couldn’t reconcile reason with reality.

“This isn’t the couch. Did you get a new bed?” he mumbled, voice sleepy.

“No, we're in my mom's room. She’s sleeping in my bed.”

“I fucking hate that bed,” Dami groaned. “Was too small for both of us. Didn’t have an excuse to cuddle you,” he complained. Thomas was thrilled to know Damiano’s inner thoughts from those early years.

“We tried once, remember? You said you were too uncomfortable to sleep.”

“I meant my dick was too uncomfortable for me to sleep. You were spooning me and I was hard the whole fucking night.” Tom giggles and grins into Damiano’s curls. Despite the day they’d had he can feel Dami’s lips turn into a smile.

“You could’ve gone to the bathroom.”

“Oh, I thought about it. But I couldn’t risk you not holding me when I got back.”

“So you just suffered the whole night?” Thomas laughs incredulously.

“Was worth it.”

“You could have woken me up. I probably would have helped you deal with it!” his chest rumbles as he speaks.

“You were 15. Plus, if I woke you up every time I got a boner from us being in the same bed, we would never sleep through the night.”

“Then why’d you put yourself through it?” Thomas exclaimed.

“You’ve always smelled so, so fucking good,” he moaned. Each word he rutted against Thomas’ hip a little.

“Okay, I can’t smell that good!” Thomas was feeling shy, but loved being surrounded by all this affirmation.

“Mm-mm, you don’t get it. You’re not fully hormonal, the scent part is so fucking strong.” Damiano clutched Thomas’ thigh between his own so he could rub against it as the memories flooded his mind. “I got a little obsessed with it. I thought you were just the cool, kinda introverted kid that was a wicked good guitar player and fun to be around. And then I started to smell you. Wasn’t sure that I liked it at first, but that evolved into me huffing your dirty gym clothes when to one was around like a fucking pervert.”

“So you figured out you liked it?” Thomas chuckled, feigning his casual manner. Damiano decides to spare him the teenage fantasies of masturbating in a pile of Tom’s dirty laundry. Also filed under Maybe We Don’t Tell Him Ever is licking Thomas’ dirty boxers when he went to the bathroom and consequently having a toe curling orgasam after thrusting against his mattress exactly four times. Instead of answering Thomas' rather rhetorical question, Damiano surprises him by pushing his sweatshirt up and ducking under the fabric so he can lick Tom’s armpit while scenting him.

Thomas gasps at the feeling, pulling away because he's ticklish. He feels the same confused arousal as he did when Dami rimmed him during his rut. Dami hangs on, seeking out Thomas’ body when he pulls away, thrusting against his thigh in all their clothes. Tom had been very thorough in instilling in his conscience that they couldn’t have sex tonight. For a moment he forgets why, because Damiano is sober and extremely enthusiastic right now so why not? Oh yes, because if he turned the light on his omega would be covered in bruises from the fist of another alpha.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he rushes out while reaching to switch on the bedside lamp. Damiano pushes Tom’s sweatshirt over his head, who’s subsequently greeted with a glorious view of Dami’s stomach where his shirt rides up: tattooed, tan, muscular, with a smattering of hair and the beginnings of sweat. Christ. The bruising is isolated to one spot, and the swelling in his face has gone way down, so if he’s just self aware when they have sex…no.

“I can’t get hard right now, knowing what happened barely a day ago…” Damiano reaches between their bodies and grabs Thomas’ cock over his briefs. His completely erect dick jumps in response. Dami raises an eyebrow, but after seeing the amount of conflict in Thomas' expression, his face falls. Damiano realizes that he’s probably not going to get a knot, (or what he really wants, to be marked) because his mate has such a strict moral code. Thomas sees the genuine, crestfallen disappointment, and combined with a contradictory gut instinct, he reevaluates.

“I'm making this about me,” he says slowly, checking that the words feel just as true rolling off the tongue. “This is about what you need. I’m afraid that I’m going to cause further harm because I don’t have the awareness of a real alpha.”

“You’re my alpha,” Damiano counters, straddling Tom’s hips, who’s propped up on his elbows.

“I am,” he smirks, looking up at his mate.

“So you’re a real alpha.” Damiano watches where his fingertips touch the skin of Thomas’ chest, circling each freckle. “And I’m not making my choices in a cloud of hormones. I have near complete autonomy with you, so don’t worry about compensating for the pheromonal influence. In fact,” Dami leans over to kiss a line down Thomas’ chest. “I’ve never been so clear-headed with anyone.”

“Is that your long-winded,” Dami draws a circle around Tom’s bellybutton with his tongue who lets out a sigh. “Extremely sexy way of saying that this isn’t going to make things worse?” He runs a hand through his omega’s greasy hair, only noticing its silky texture. Dami catches his hand and sucks on what should have developed into a scent gland, but didn’t due to Thomas’ hybridism. He expects to feel nothing, which is why the bolt of electricity down his arm makes him jump. Dami looks up with a devilish smile, like Thomas’ body is his favorite playground, because it is.

“I think you’d really struggle to harm me accidentally.” There's nerves in Thomas’ wrist that he’s never felt before, awakened by Dami’s insistent tongue. It’s uncomfortable, but also so exciting. His internal glands had matured completely, which made sense since they’re the first to be developed in the womb. Next came the neck glands which were underdeveloped, but not so severely that people noticed if he kept his hair long. However, the glands on his wrists just looked like a scar, which is exactly what Thomas said they were. As a child he had a tragic, rare infection that resulted in them being removed. The government was so desperate to keep any variation a secret, that they came up with the story for him and stuck it in his official medical history.

“Can we stop experimenting now? Do something we know works?” Thomas whined, wrinkling his nose from enduring the discomfort.

“Of course, principe,” Dami gives the area a final lick.

“Why are you so far away, come ‘ere,” he coaxes, affectionately. Damiano crawls upwards and Thomas greets him with the softest kiss he’s ever received. It's not a peck, or a brush of lips, just so, so careful. Tom opens his mouth while tilting his head to deepen the kiss, letting Dami press his tongue into his alpha’s mouth.

“Take off your clothes, cucciolo,” he coos. Damiano swings a leg back over so he can peel back his pants and boxers, doing the same to Thomas, who’d usually be the aggressor, but is waiting patiently for Damiano to straddle him once again. Tom notes that he elects to keep his shirt on, pulling it down to cover his abdomen.

When they resume kissing, Thomas lays back and gently guides Damiano with him. Seeking more contact, Dami flattens his body horizontally, against his mate. Having a layer of fabric between them felt very strange. Thomas’ mouth stays soft and relaxed, minimizing his movement, but making sure every breath was heavy with passion. Now that his hands were free, he gripped Dami’s thighs, where he knew there was no injury. Even after this hellish day, he was starting to slick up for Thomas, who slid his hand over to massage his omega’s rim. His other hand slid under the shirt on Dami’s uninjured side, warm and steady.

Damiano resumed rutting against Thomas, the stimulation much more intense now that there was no fabric between them. However, every time the hem of his shirt brushed the tip of his cock. To make the process more comfortable Thomas inserted one finger into his omega, putting some pressure on an internal gland. Immediately he was rewarded with a rush of slick and a groan of sensitivity. He applied the natural lubrication from his pubic hair to chest, giving Damiano a surface to thrust against.

That hand under his shirt, stroked everywhere Thomas was sure was safe. He knew how important skin to skin was for Damiano, for both of them. Meanwhile, he worked a second finger inside, helping Dami get some force behind his thrusts to make them more pleasurable.

“I want, I want –” he started, likely trying to articulate that while this was great, on his alpha’s stomach was not how he wanted to cum.

“You can cum inside me,” Thomas offered. The view of Dami’s cock glidingly against his body transcended all higher self. He was aroused to the point of slick. Only after he spoke the words did it occur to Tom that this was a way to give Damiano his power back. Was it his sexual desires or his omega’s best interests that motivated him? Or were those two things already becoming one?

Dami froze for a second, his brain struggling to understand the proposal. Receiving a knot and doing the fucking never happened in the same session, or even the same day (with the exception of a very late evening trist with Thomas.) Damiano’s mouth had stilled and he opened his eyes before Thomas, whose face was relaxed. His lips were parted and brows unfurrowed. He was soft and willing to receive. Dami’s mouth finally caught up with his train of thought.

“Yes. Yeah – yes, um.” He walked his hands back, sitting on Tom’s thighs while he strategized how to rearrange their limbs.

“Is this how you want me?” Thomas asked, and it was like every time they’d hooked up. This was a beloved, familiar, pleasurable rhythm they’d perfected over the years. He parted Thomas’ thighs and knelt between them, rubbing his quads affectionately as he assessed the situation. Thomas had barely started producing slick and there was nothing to prop his hips up with. His bollocks were heavy and tight against his body, skin flushed. Dami decided to prep him in a more accessible position.

“On your stomach,” he directed. Thomas flipped over, laying flat. Dami knelt between his parted thighs. It was unorthodox for an omega to pleasure their alpha in such a subordinate, vulnerable manner. Dami pressed his hand between Tom’s glutes, teasing his hole more than anything else. He tried to get Thomas to relax by kneading the muscle. He gave his cute little butt a playful slap prompting Thomas to giggle into the pillow, which turned into a moan as a finger was pressed inside him, elasticity tested. The more aroused he became the stronger the scent of slick. Soon the room would reek of lovemaking.

Damiano wasn’t drunk on it like he’d been before, but that could have to do with his own lack of hormones. Still, Thomas was always delicious and the urge to taste, to know if something had changed, was strong. He sat back on his heels and reached both hands under Thomas’ hip bones. He pulls Tom’s ass up to meet his face, using his thumbs to part his glutes.

He licked a solid stripe across his entrance to start, then pressed his tongue inside. Thomas squealed and keened, hands gripping the mattress. Normally alpha’s had external glands, not internal. So, while the prostate could still be stimulated, many male alphas outright refused to bottom and went untouched internally. Damiano always thought this was a waste. He loved eating his partners out, regardless of anatomy. They had to let their guard down, which established intimacy, plus the stimulation was excellent whether vaginal or anal.

Of course, actually being able to taste them was on its own level entirely. Thomas had always taken a little more work, most similar to a female beta. Damiano never minded spending extra time in bed with Tom, or with the flavor of his slick. It soothed the intense compulsion he had for physical intimacy with Thomas, who had always been a delicacy, his absolute favorite. As a teenager he’d eat him out until Thomas had to ask him to stop, exhausted. The way Damiano would moan between his legs made every orgasam feel like a rush. As a pent up 16-18 year old, he’d go full throttle until the edges of his consciousness were blurring.

Damian could insert a finger and stimulate his glands directly, but his mate was so sensitive that it wasn’t exactly pleasurable. So it was a game of patience, spending time with Tom’s body. Coaxing him to relax had never been so difficult. He was stuck in the dialectic of pulling away from sensitivity, and pushing back against Dami’s face in pleasure. His breath kept catching in his throat as he let out little gasps and whines, which almost turned into pleas: the sounds of a submissive. There was delicious musk that hadn’t been present before, and the erotisicism of topping his alpha was impeding upon Damiano’s decision making. He started to nip at the round muscle of his buttock. If Thomas would just ask to be marked this torturous self restraint wouldn’t be necessary.

“I want you to be mine,” he growled, thoughts going unfiltered.

“I’m yours,” Thomas answered, voice muffled by the pillow. Damiano wanted to beg to go a step further, but knew it wasn’t safe. Demanding such a thing would kill the mood, so he pulls back, clenching his jaw shut. Instead he scents Thomas, on his neck and in his hair. Thomas couldn’t get as wet as he wanted, and that was okay. Damiano could use his own slick as lubricant, and they could talk about this tomorrow.

“Ride me,” Dami demands, pulling away and laying down on the bed. Thomas turns his head at the sound of Damiano’s voice. His honey golden hair partially covers his face, but he pushes it out of the way with his long, elegant fingers, still on his stomach. Even in the low lighting his irises are visibly green, how down turned eyes making him look perpetually somber unless he was smiling. There’s the hint of a scruff on his face and his plush lips are parted to a pant, a couple stray strands sticking in the corners of his mouth. His feral teeth are almost visible and Damiano is struck by such intense fondness that his love for this man beside him is almost crippling.

Thomas sits up and gets his legs under him. It’s a good thing too because Dami was suddenly on the edge of something he didn’t feel equipped to cope with right now. He helped guide Thomas as he swung a leg over to straddle his omega’s lap. Despite how evolved he was, Damiano had never had his mate ride his cock. Sure a couple hookups had because he was so beautiful that even an alpha would try anything once, but there was a sacred, untouched level of devotion between Dami and Tom.

He reached underneath him, using his own slick to lube his cock. Thomas sank down slowly, letting his body adjust to the intrusion. His hands tugged on the hem of Damiano’s shirt for something to hold. He was so pretty, sitting on Dami’s cock. No man was pretty like Thomas. He didn’t have much muscle definition, so everything looked delicate and soft. He had chest hair, and a dramatic waist. He had plentiful pubic hair and the most beautiful pink nipples. He had a proud, engorged cock, and shapely lips parted just so. Masculine and androgynous in perfect balance. Watching Tom ride his cock was an exquisite sight, and made Damiano refocus on the goal at hand: to cum inside his alpha.

Thomas straddled his lip, rhythmically tilting his hips upwards towards Dami, letting out little pants. He didn’t need to be directed, Tom was happy to take initiative, with those somber eyes making sure his omega was enjoying the show. His cock was leaking plenty of pre-cum to compensate. Immediately he felt too far away, and Damiano surged upwards, grabbing wherever he could get a hold to bring Thomas nearer

He repositioned to be upright, arms wrapped around his mate, holding him so close that it was impractical. There wasn’t room to breathe.

“Damia, can’t –”

“Need to be close to you.” Thomas whined in arousal and felt his chest flush. Losing verbal ability himself, Thomas scented his omega back, and feel the pressure of knot behind his taint.. For a moment he was dizzy, and lost rhythm, so Damiano’s hands were there to help him ride his cock.

“Keep going, principe. I’m close.” Thomas let out another long whine, this time forlorn and Dami immediately tried to figure out the source of his displeasure so he could fix it. Looking down at himself, he remembered that he’d kept his shirt on for Tom’s benefit. Of course now, Thomas was trying to get a hold of him and was going about it blind. His sweet baby was stressed that his hands were going to bump a hurt spot.

“You can take it off,” Damiano cooed, happy to be done with all the clothing. As soon as he was bare chested, Thomas finally got into it. Slick leaked onto Damiano’s thighs and Thomas clawed at his shoulder blades to bring him closer. His breathing pattern changed and all the focus in his face dissolved as his eyes fell closed. This whole time he’d just needed a lack of barriers between them.

Again, that feeling of fondness so intense that Damiano wanted to bite down as hard as he could took over. That urge was indicative of orgasam (among other things), and so he tried to push through and maintain a basic level of self control. Now, they were so close that Thomas’ cock was rubbing against Dami’s stomach and leaking pre-cum everywhere. The scent of their slick was already overwhelming, and now that was compounded with salty spink, sweat, and scenting making the room smell sour and heady. Tom’s head lulled backwards and Damiano started thrusting upward, trying to stay in the lead. He wrapped both arms around Thomas’ ribcage and crushed his mate's body against his own. Damiano used the grip to control the sex, holding Thomas still as he drove into him, who let out a little grunt of pleasure each time.

Dami looked down at Thomas’ cock, receiving sporadic friction where it rubbed between their abdomin’s. The ridge of his shaft started to swell with a knot, and even the minimal contact in that area was intense enough that Thomas was literally drooling. A trail of spit landed on his pubic thicket, glistening where it combined with pre-cum. Dami’s nose was less than an inch away from the right scent gland on Tom’s neck. Can I finish without marking him? For a moment Dami considered stopping the whole thing. If Thomas came now, it would be hard to get another knot and the weight of exhaustion was felt behind his eyelids with every blink.

“Don’t cum, don’t cum,” Dami begged. “Please don’t cum, please don’t, please don’t.” Tom tensed his entire body to hold orgasam back and the resulting pressure internally caused Damiano to finish. He bit into his hand to spare Thomas, and started crying from the pain. He could taste blood and feel it against his lips.

The second Damiano could relax his jaw he pushed Thomas off and flipped over onto his side to receive a knot. His normally conscientious mate was less than a minute away from orgasam, and pushed in Dami immediately. With his face out of view, Damiano tried to control his breathing as the knot formed, so the amount of emotional intensity wouldn't devolve into a worrying hysteria. Tom is able to knot him immediately following it up by a couple desperate thrusts. He forces himself not to race towards orgasam, stilling inside for a moment while he rearranges their body’s. One arm goes under Dami’s neck, the other around his waist.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers into his mate’s hair, feeling a rush of serotonin as they bonded. It’s the inexplicable urge to become part of the other because there is no close enough. He wanted to melt into Damiano, like butter left out to soften too long. Thomas resumes movements, hips stuttering as he tries to slow things down and fails. The splash of hot spunk behind Damiano’s belly button, should ground him and Thomas tries to help by reiterating his earlier words.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” he chants, rubbing his omega’s chest soothingly as he ejaculates inside him. Of course this does nothing but further trigger Damiano’s emotional response to being unable to mark his mate. By bringing them even closer, bonding has made Damiano more aware of the excruciating distance between them. He makes an ugly, despairing sound that isn’t even immediately recognizable as a sob.

“Damia? Cucciolo?” Thomas props himself up, looking over Damiano’s shoulder to his face which is streaked with tears. Another sob rips from his mouth and he holds his injured hand up to catch it.

“Woah, what's wrong? What –” he moves to pull out so he can properly evaluate the situation, which prompts his omega to make a desperate screech and grip his thigh so he can’t move.

“No! No!!” His voice is shredded, there's not a hint of self awareness. It's the most intense longing combined with the most potent joy and saiation. Damiano is overflowing with feeling.

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! I won’t move, I promise.” He settles against Dami, hooking his top leg over, which gives him something to hold onto. “I’m reaching over to grab the comforter,” Tom narrates, throwing it over them. “What just happened? Did I hurt you?” He forces his tone to stay level.

“No, you didn’t,” Dami sniffles, trying to stop a cry from ripping forth. “I bit my hand, so I – so I didn’t, um,” sob “mark you.” Sob. “But I really wish I could have,” sob. “I’ve always wanted to and now it’s really, really,” sob, “difficult not to.” Thomas processes the words, kissing Damiano’s cheek a couple times.

“So you’re crying because you’re emotionally overwhelmed, not because something went wrong a moment ago?”

“Sex with you is basically perfect. I never thought I’d cry this much over really amazing sex. I never thought I’d cry this much, period. Ugh!” Dami wipes his face with the back of his uninjured hand. “I’d tell you I’m not usually like this, but…”

“But I already know.”

“Yeah.”

“Because I know you, seeing as we’re officially boyfriends and all that”

“Yeah.” Damiano is smiling now, lacing his fingers through Thomas’. He takes two deep breaths, letting the second out through his mouth.

“Whew! What the fuck,” he mutters, settling. It seems that they’ve just taken the long road to afterglow, because this is a response to sex that Thomas is very familiar with. Dami seems to actually relax back into the bed, and chuckles self consciously.

“I must be a great boyfriend, randomly giving you two minutes of the most extreme emotional response you’ve ever seen in your life, then just moving on.” He rolls his eyes at himself, which Thomas doesn’t like very much. This emotional dysregulation could be from a dozen perfectly valid things: beginning of a new relationship, terminating a mate, getting a new mate, enduring physical abuse, being reminded of past trauma, having your home made inhospitable, being removed from your nest, the desire to mark, having your mark denied, exhaustion, malnourishment and dehydration. By the time Thomas has listed all these off in his head, Damiano is struggling to keep his eyes open, the knot doing the trick.

“I don’t mind at all,” Thomas whispers, pecking Dami's scent gland experimentally. “Sleep now. Talk Tomorrow. Love you.” Thomas reaches behind himself to turn off the lamp.

“Love you,” his omega repeats.

Notes: Ah! I know its not what you wanted, but I was going through my Masterlist and realized the link for this chapter isn't active because I never fucking posted it!

#maneskin #måneskin #må #thomas raggi #damiano david #damiano #damiano maneskin #thomas maneskin #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david smut #thomas raggi smut #thomas raggi fanfiction #thomas raggi imagine #omegaverse #alpha/beta/omega headcanon #alpha/beta/omega au #alpha beta omega

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

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Guardian Angel: Deleted Scene

Chapter 11: Ravenous

Forcing himself to keep it together, Dami pulls into his driveway. He sits like he’s got a titanium rod for a spine, both hands remaining at ten and two. It should be 3:18, but his driving on the way home from school had been highly questionable.

“So…how was your day?” He growls while wrenching his seatbelt off. Damiano climbs over the center console and parking brake to get to you. He leaves your seatbelt on since it helpfully restricts your movement whenever you try to pull away. One knee on the cushion, one across your legs, Dami towers over you. Body pinned in place, you’re at his mercy.

He starts with a passionate kiss where you’re practically choking on his tongue. It’s invasive, but you kinda like that about it. His hand pushes underneath your coat and onto your bare stomach. Damianos’s freezing fingertips make you flinch and scrunch up your nose in dislike. He does that move with his pinky underneath your waistband, this time underneath your underwear as well. If the cold didn’t make you recoil it’d be sexy as hell, but right now it just feels like tiny ice cubes on your previously well insulted skin.

You shove his hand away, but he thinks you’re playing since you reacted so positively to this earlier. Remembering how wonderfully you squealed and squirmed in his grip, Dami pinches the soft tissue of your stomach. He doesn’t consider that an area too sensitive to bite would also be too sensitive for this. The way you twist and turn to evade his touch creates rolls above the elastic waistband of your jeans. He thinks your movements make the perfect places to pinch and earn a yip in reaction. Oh, so deliciously warm and pillowy, too.

“Dam,” you complain, swatting his hands away. Gleefully, he starts poking at the malleable flesh on your hips, admiring the way your whole abdomen flexed in response to his touch. His icicle fingers are still vastly unpleasant. Even if he was a normal temperature, this much podding at the source of an occasional insecure thought wasn’t fun.

“Ow! Dami, stop. I hate that.” He pulls his hands off, looking so genuinely worried that you decide to just show him the issue. You shove your equally cold hand under his sweatshirt and onto the bare skin of his abdomen. He hisses and recoils.

“Yeah, exactly! And hows this feel?” You find his briefs and pinch just above the waistband a couple times. Dami ends up back in his seat, balled up against the driver’s side door. No wonder you kept shoving him off. He’d thought this was play fighting, but actually you’d asked him to stop repeatedly and he ignored you. In his eyes, you can already see self-loathing on the horizon, over such a tiny mistake.

“No, no, no. Hey, Frosty the Snowman, we’re not doing that shit today.” His eyes refocus in surprise at your immediate, astute observation of his internal life. “Yes, I can read your mind. Why don’t we go inside where its not fucking freezing, hmm?” You pair your words with a light-hearted smile so he knows everything is okay. Dami insists on checking for ice first while also carrying your backpack. If only they would see this man with his pink nose, a bag over each shoulder, shuffling along the walkway to make sure you didn’t slip.

@mortyandem @icarodamiano @harryssshouseee @lizzylynch1 @maneslut @slavicgoddess13 @bright-shiningstar

#må #damiano david #måneskin #maneskin #damiano maneskin #damiano #damiano david fluff #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x reader #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin imagine #maneskin x reader #maneskin fluff #maneskin damiano #alpha omega #omega reader #omegaverse

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

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Guardian Angel: Deleted Scene

Chapter 7: Love(ing) Bites alternate plot

“I have an idea!” You sit upright, shoving the bedding around so you are level. “Thalia had this holistic medicine hyperfixation.”

“Hence the pressure points. Thank you, by the way.” It was such an intimate moment that you don’t know how to respond.

“Well I – yeah, she also told me about the exercise for intimacy that uses your heartbeat so its…” Damiano sits up and mirrors you, cross legged. “I put my legs over yours and then your right hand.” You scoot a little closer, but stop yourself from climbing onto Damiano’s lap and wrapping your legs around him. Taking Damiano’s right hand, you put it on your heart. Then you realize that to be right above your heart Dami has to adjust the position of your breast slightly so keep the moment from being immediately electrically charged is pointless.

“I put my hand on your heart, and you hold it there like – yeah, okay.” Damiano’s hands were warm, heavy, and reassuring, whether on our chest or cupping your hand. Unfortunately, Dami kept having to readjust his hand by fighting with your underwire, so you admit defeat and take off your bra. After that, everything fell into place and it didn’t feel awkward and performative.

“Now what?” he asks, eyes flicking down to your boobs then back up to your face at a rapid pace.

“We’re just supposed to hold eye contact and just…focus on how it feels.” Damiano nods then looks at your eyes. You look into the hazel galaxy of his iris, focused on not gazing to one side but holding his gaze simultaneously. Looking into each other's eyes immediately establishes an energy. Once you feel able to weather the intensity, you focus on how Damiano’s hand feels under your breast. Your nipples harden and you wonder if he can see in his periphery because he holds eye contact. His hand is splayed out on your chest, pressed against the supple tissue of your breasts. His thumb points inwards and you start to wonder how much this exaggerates the asymmetry between your boobs. Were they perky enough?

“Y/n?” You realize that you’d been through Damiano, rather than at him. Thalia had said that your mind went all kinds of places in tantra exercise. There was so little sensory input you didn't imagine that there would be so many damn thoughts to cope with.

“I was feeling self conscious,” you admit.

“So was I. '' You want to demand about what? Had your boyfriend ever looked in a mirror? However these sentiments would mean looking at each other's bodies instead of eyes. This exercise wasn’t about meeting a checklist of criteria you had in your head. It wasn’t really about your bodies at all. Deciding to focus on your other hand, you shift slightly to get that thundering heartbeat under your palm. Damiano held your hand tighter. It was difficult to resist admiring his olive toned pectoral muscle. He was so toned from year round athletics, but not in the way that showed every line of musculature. You could just feel it, the sturdiness under a normal human layer of body fat. Like if you ever ran towards him he’d catch you without wobbling.

“Your eyes just got glassy.” God did you want to look away, to run from this level of visibility. That was probably the point, to force yourself to be seen.

“I was thinking about how steady you feel.”

“I want to be steadying for you, and anything else you need.” Now your eyes were watering, but you couldn’t look away. Trying to distract yourself while straight at Damiano was impossible and if you blinked a tear might fall. So you considered breaking, but when you went to look away Dami’s gaze kept you from running. He squeezed your hand and a couple tears fell.

“I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“Okay.”

“I want to do this while you change. I want to see it happen up close.” Dami stops breathing. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

“So many things,” he answers, and you can tell it's honest. He’s not being evasive. His eyes start to water as well and you can’t decide if this is a sign to stop or a sign to continue with more vigor.

“Are you about to cry because you’re overwhelmed?”

“Yes, I think so,” he whispers. You keep finding pockets of green and gold. Whenever the mapping of Damiano’s galaxy seems done you discover something new.

“Okay he sighs, eyes fluttering closed for a second, but they come back to yours. His hands don’t move so neither do yours.

“This is ridiculous.”

“It is,” he agrees and you can tell he’s smiling because of the creases in the corner of his eyes.

“Okay, three, two, one, break.” You drop your hands and look away, breathing in deep.

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I’ve never heard of that before.” Now that you’re allowed, you're self indulgent with your appreciation of Damiano’s form. He rests back on his hands, head tilted to the sky and you can see his tan skin stretch over his breastbone. The position really highlights how thick and muscular his thighs are. You want to grab them, caress them, bite them. Was that just something you were always gonna feel in reaction to attraction? Would you just crave biting Damiano from now on?”

“What's that called again? Is it couples yoga?” Well, shit.

“Sorta. It's the tantric practice for, well…sex. “I really like the idea of respecting and appreciating each other as sexual beings, just genuinely. I think it can be, at least I’d like for there to be a possibility that sometimes sex can be sacred, in a way.” You look up from your hands to Damiano. Some people rolled their eyes as soon as energy was brought up.

“Please. That’s exactly what I want.” You hadn’t expected such unequivocal acceptance. You and Damiano both used humor when you were at any type of loss for what to say. This must show on your face.

“Of course, I want that. Baby, c’mere.” Dami pulled you closer to him by your outer thighs. “What's next?” He stopped himself from hauling you onto his lap by rubbing your thighs which was immensely distracting.

“One of the things is this.” Using your hands, you slide onto Dami’s lap. Once he realizes what you’re doing, he finishes the job himself, holding you tight against him.

“Arms loosely around torsos. No clutching in desperation.” He lets out a puff of air that would be imperceptible without such close proximity. “So you put your cheek to mine, mhm.” You have to shift around a bit to get comfortable sitting on Damiano’s crossed legs, then sit up straight.

“Thank god, if we did the staring thing like this I’d get a boner,” he jokes.

“You’d get hard from looking into my eyes up close?”

“With you in my lap, yeah. Is that embarrassing?”

“No. Tantric sex is supposed to create intimacy of great sex, before any penetration.” You could clarify that you don’t expect any dick today, but Dami knows there's no pressure.

“Is that why you like it? The intimacy?” You nod trying to collect your thoughts as Damiano splays his hands out on your back, covering more surface area.

“It seems like sex is about doing something so you can get something, but I don’t feel that way about…you. It seems alpha-omega intercoure can be super transactional, or it can transcend all the bullshit.”

“How do you feel about me?” This is why you’d hesitated, resistance to answering this question. Holding each other without seeing the other's face made these conversations possible.

“I don’t want our sex to be..bad, I guess.” That definitely wasn’t the word you were going for. “Not bad like you cum after five seconds. I don’t want it to be meaningless or…it means something to me, but I find out that for you it was just…fucking an omega or whatever.”

“Never. Never.” You folded your legs around Dami instead of just having them splayed out behind him. “I don’t want to knot you because it feels good to knot someone. I want to make you feel satiated and secure and relaxed. I want my body to do that to yours. I want to be there and watch how you react and feel that energy and just – just take care of you.” Without thinking about it, you express your affection by kissing Dami’s shoulder. But then the kisses, turn to sucking, which turns to teeth and his skin feels so good against your teeth. With every shift his musculature changes under your mouth and you can sense the inner workings of Damiano’s body on your tongue, between your jaw.“And I know you feel the same because you’re gnawing on me again, kitten.” Gnawing? Did he say gnawing? Who’s gnawing on him? Oh shit that's me. You sit bolt upright, shocked with yourself. Dami chuckles good-naturedly at the shocked expression on your face.

@crysxtal @stardustingold @persona1read1ng @harryssshouseee @lizzylynch1 @kammerstx @icarodamiano @gr8rainbowpunk @maneslut @katyldamusic @the-chaotic-cow @softmullet @mortyandem @elvirabelle @slavicgoddess13

#måneskin #maneskin #damiano david #må #damiano #damiano maneskin #maneskin damiano #damiano david fluff #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x you #alpha omega #omega reader #alpha and omega #omegaverse #alpha beta omega

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

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The Hybrid (Part 3)

Read parts 1 & 2 on my Masterlist

Damiano x Thomas deranged Omegaverse

Word Count: 5.8k

CW: Gratuitous, self-indulgent, sacrilegious hurt/comfort mentioning domestic abuse

Vic: Weird question but is Damia with you by any chance? He stood me up for lunch today & he’s not answering his phone.

Vic: Hey just remembered you’re working, sorry! I’ll just go bother him he probably forgot.

Vic: Oh my god Thomas call me

“Hey its, Victoria, call me when you get this is really important. It’s about Damiano, the security force is here.”

“Hey it's me again. I’m taking him to the hospital and he’s asking for you. I don’t think he’s too hurt.”

Vic: The doctors are evaluating Damiano (check your fucking voice messages). Why aren’t you answering??? I know you’re off work

Vic: HES ASKING FOR YOU

“Thomas, I can’t deal with this alone. So call me soon, or I’ll call Ethan. You better have an excellent fucking excuse.”

“Hey, it's Ethan. Victoria told me to tell you to call her. What's going on?”

Ethan: Is Dami hurt? Victoria sounded really upset, but she said she needed your help. Let me know that everything is okay, please.

Thomas had silenced his phone for a private music therapy session. He ended up talking to the parents for 45 minutes afterwards, giving them assurance more than anything else. Feeling excellent about his day, Thomas turned his phone back on to check his messages and had an actual panic attack. He crouched down, aching pain in his chest, feeling sick, and called Victoria.

“What the fu -”

“Work ran late, I’m so sorry. Where is he?”

“He insisted we go back to his place, but he’s been regressing. Like he’s not even verbal.”

“I’m coming now!” Thomas tripped over his own feet, grabbing his keys, wallet, coat, and scarf from various places in the room.

“Uh, okay. I’m - I’m not sure what to do right now. He demanded we go home, but maybe I shouldn't have listened to him. I just wasn’t sure what, what…” Her voice breaks and Thomas can barely breathe.

“What the fuck happened!?” He takes the steps two at a time, while trying to stuff everything into his pockets.

“Damiano basically rid every trance of Samuel’s scent from the apartment and his nest smells like someone else.” Thomas’ stomach dropped. For a second he struggled to speak.

“Wh – wha – but they’re not exclusive.”

“Yeah, but they had a fight and Damiano told him to just get out, that he didn’t want to bother with the dynamic anymore. Said he didn’t get anything out of it, and he’d lost interest.” Victoria paused, sighing, and her tone changed. “It was all very sudden, I think he just snapped, it's not like there was much romance there. So Sam got all his shit together, but he roughed Dami up in the process.”

“What the –” Thomas drops his phone on the seat, while trying to maneuver everything into the car. “What happened? What – is he okay?”

“Bruises, and his face is a little messed up. Almost got a hairline fracture on his ribs. I didn’t think Samuel was the type.” But I did. The tears burned in Thomas’ eyes as he drove out of the parking lot. He should have known when Damiano flinched, he should have known. He should have pressed the issue.

“I didn’t think Dami was the type to stay with an abuser. He’s so strong.” Even as he said the words he hated himself. What kind of victim blaming bullshit mentality was that? No matter how powerful he may be, Damiano was an omega first and foremost. Forced into a subservient role by society, even he was subject to abuse. Thomas let out a sob on the phone.

“Hey he’ll be healed in a couple weeks.”

“No he won’t,” Thomas says through gritted teeth. “You don’t just get over that.” Despite himself, he lets out another sob and almost hits someone’s bumper.

“Hey Thomas, hey –”

“I should have answered the phone.” The visual of Damiano, in a hospital bed, asking for him, wounded and scared, plagues him. Thomas had to grip the steering wheel tighter because his hands were shaking. “I failed him, I fucking failed him. He was hurt and I wasn’t there. I should have known.”

“Hey Tom, it's not like you ignored this on purpose.”

“He was asking for me, and I wasn’t fucking here.” His voice lilts upwards at the end and cracks. He has to slow down because of the tears. “It’s my fault.”

“Thomas, just get here. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Oh, but I did.

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up, so I don’t crash.”

“Okay, we’ll see you soon. Breathe.” Thomas’ tunnel vision narrows as he bounds up the stairs, wrestling with the door. The lock had been knocked loose and shoved back into place.

“Damiano!” he calls out, already knowing where he is. Victoria is crouched down next to the closet, where the door is cracked open. Her mascara has long since dried on her cheeks and she looks shaken. Thomas drops to the floor and sees Damiano curled in his nest. He’s using the corner that contains Thomas’ dirty clothes as a pillow. Dami was trying his best to self-soothe, and Thomas’ scent was his mechanism. Yet, he’d had to go to the hospital without him. Having a fork put through Tom’s hand would be less painful than this visual and the knowledge that accompanied it.

“Cucciolo, hey, it’s me” he whispers, sliding the closet door open. Thomas crawls forward into Damiano’s nest, placing his limbs carefully.

“Tom, don’t -” disturb his nest. Victoria stops herself, as she places the new scent. Something so closely adjacent to Thomas’ that it couldn’t be anyone else.

“Thomas, what the fuck is that?”

“I really, really need you to not ask questions,” he emphasizes. “Don’t tell anyone, please, I’ll explain later.” What was worse: his hybrid status being revealed or Damiano being hurt? Thomas rubs his back tentatively, getting ready to curl himself around Dami, who shifts and looks up.

“Caro mio, I’m so sorry. I would give anything for it to have been me,” Thomas confesses. To take on Damiano’s pain so he didn’t have to bear it: there was nothing more appealing.

“Tommy?” He sits up, reaching towards him, with grabby hands, showing he wants physical touch. One of Thomas’ hands grasps his thigh and goes around his waist. He maneuvers Damiano onto his lap, but the closet is too dark to see his face. Holding him is like a piece falling into place. It's easier to breathe, Thomas can serve and nurture his omega now. Damiano straddles him, back turned to Victoria, and tucks his head against Thomas' neck. Thomas would do anything for him at this moment. Take a bullet, donate an organ he couldn’t live without, give him the last sip of what in the desert, or simply lay down his life in the place of his omega’s.

“I’ve got him, Vic. You can go, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before.” As Thomas leans forward, Dami uses the opportunity to wrap his legs around him.

“Are you sure?” He can see the toll today as taken on her. Knowing its weight, she is resistant to dump it entirely on someone else.

“Yeah, absolutely.” This task should feel insurmountable, but Thomas is grounded by his role in Dami’s life. This was his intended place in the universe right now, to heal and love Damiano.

“This is exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he affirmed, rocking back and forth soothingly. Damiano would communicate when he was ready. Right now, he just needed to be held and made to feel safe.

“Okay, if you say so.” Victoria got up and collected herself, pacing through the apartment to locate all her belongings. She poked her head in once more, and lowered her tone to a whisper.

“How are you so calm?” she hissed, looking genuinely mystified. The answer to that question was more complex than he could explain in an hour, let alone a single sentence.Thomas kissed Dami’s temple a couple times as he thought.

“This feels more organic and affirming to me than anything else.” Victoria wanted to ask why so badly, but held off. “I’ll try explaining it to you another time. For now, I really need you to not tell anyone.”

“Not even Ethan?” Thomas was deciding how to answer this whan Damiano spoke up.

“No one,” he mumbled. Victoria seemed shocked to hear him verbalize at all, and nodded.

“No one,” she agreed. Thomas waited until she was out the door before scenting Dami. Tom tried to think loving, protective thoughts, not pure rage. That wouldn’t help his omega right now. Still, it was difficult not to let poison seep into his mind, fantasies about dismembering Samuel. Damiano moved his head to the other shoulder, allowing Thomas to scent both sides, who fretted over the idea of knotting. If Damiano asked, he wouldn’t be able to get hard given the situation.

Thomas’ heightened emotions reminded him of Damiano’s ability to help him regulate. During his last rut, he'd worked himself up into such a cloud of anxiety that he was only half present. Dami’s pheromones responded and quelled Thomas’ panic. Lilac was the smell of tranquility. So, he attempted to do the same for his omega. First he tried to evoke feelings of calm within himself, and when that didn’t work he searched for memories of his calmest moments. Chamomile tea with his mother at eight years old while she read him a story. Laying under his grandfather's piano while he played The Nutcracker.

He checked in with Damiano, who’s breathing was still ragged and who had twisted the fabric of Thomas’ sweater into his fists, hanging on for dear life. What was calming to Damiano? They’d spent their young adult lives not being too close. Their connection couldn’t be too intense or too satiating, or too natural. Otherwise Thomas’ hybrid status could be discovered.

Collectively, he’d spent hours watching Damiano when he couldn’t explore his feelings. Watched him sing, cry, argue, giggle, sleep, rant, sweat, and cum so hard he shook in Thomas’ arms. He’d watched him brush his teeth, restart his household’s router while cursing, dig through a pile of laundry for a sock, cook elaborate dishes then burn his hand and whine incessantly. He’d watched him wipe jizz from his abdomen, brace for the pain of a tattoo, lose his keys, fight with the clasp of a necklace, and struggle to open his favorite sauce because the seal on the jar was always so tight.

He came to know Damiano so well that Thomas took him into those fantasies. He and Damiano crawled under the grand piano, lay on their backs and felt the music move in the floor. They climbed out his parents bedroom window and onto the roof, watching the stars and space shuttles blink while smoking weed. They sat on his bed and listened to Spanish guitar tapes until their eyes grew heavy. They took a freezing cold walk on a coastal beach in the middle of winter, frigid wind biting at their cheeks.

Thomas took him into his earliest memory of serenity: a yellow comforter and soft lighting. It could have been a blanket fort or his parents bed, or the bottom of a linen closet. It was abstract, but something as deep in a person's psyche is bound to be. He took Damiano there, where it was warm, insolated, snug, and smelled of lavender drying sheets. Thomas kept him there, right next to his heart. As he held him, Thomas could feel that Damiano’s body had gone quiet, finally soothed.

It wasn’t without effort, however. Emulating calm for Damiano evoked the same mental exhaustion as doing calculus. It took all Thomas’ focus to hold steady, but it was worth it because Dami felt decent enough to scent him back. He started shifting in Thomas’ arms, no longer hunkered down for survival. Damiano sat up, forehead and nose pressed to his alpha’s, whose eyes were screwed shut in concentration.

“I’m okay.” His voice came out broken, Dami hadn’t spoken for hours between the tears. Thomas took this as permission to drop the mirage, and did so with a gasp, like breaking through the surface of water.

“That was so beautiful, thank you,” he cooed, a hand sneaking up the base of Thomas’ skull and into his hair. “How did you do that?”

“I just knew that you needed it, so I did. I’m not really sure where it came from,” he confesses. Even with his face shrouded in shadow, Thomas can see the wonder in Damiano's features. In those same features he searches for the damage that Samuel’s fist caused. Thomas must look sick with guilt, an expression so incongruous with Damiano’s affectionate admiration. Dami’s face falls into a scowl, realizing his former mate is soiling this moment as well.

“Thomas can we please just forget about this? My life isn’t ruined because I got punched one time. Remember how I used to wrestle with other kids when I was younger. I’m fine, I promise.” Damiano seems to actually believe the excuses he placates Thomas with.

“Get into the light,” Thomas orders in a monotone, his mouth clenched into a straight line and pursed in repressed anger.

“What?”

“Let me see you in the light, I want to see your face.” Damiano makes a noise of dissent as Thomas throws open the closet door and partially disentangles himself to reach the light switch. When he turns back to his omega it's very clear that he was hit more than once. Damiano has a swollen cheek, a cut right above his temple, and a bruise on his swollen jaw. He winces, not in pain but in the knowledge of what Thomas is currently looking at.

“Okay, one fight, but I’m still fine. Just ignore the bruises.”

“Ignore the bruises?” Thomas seethes. “You’re lying to me.” He didn’t want to direct any negativity towards Damiano, but out of all the situations he’d anticipated outright denial was not one of them.

“Everything’s fucking fine! I’m not lying to you,” he insists.

“Pull up your shirt,” Thomas deadpans.

“What does –”

“If everything was fine the security force wouldn’t have shown up. The lock wouldn’t be half torn off the door. Vic wouldn’t have taken you to the hospital. So show me your ribs, now.”

“I don’t have to prove anything to you!” Damiano shouts, pulling as far away from Thomas as possible while still remaining seated on his lap.

“I know that, cucciolo! Because this is my fault, I did this!”

“Thomas, in what world –”

“You flinched, okay? You flinched that first morning when we were mating on the bedroom floor. And afterwards you didn’t seem to remember so a part of me didn’t want to deal with it because I couldn’t fathom existing in a world where you were anything less than cherished. It’s not a fight, Damiano, it's abuse! I know it happened more than once so if you’re honest with anyone let it be me.” Thomas was out of breath by his last word. The wave of guilt that stifled him settled in the pit of Tom’s stomach. This was not how he wanted to deal with this. He wanted to give a perfectly calibrated and reassuring reaction, where he held complete control over his emotions. Instead, he’s trying not to cry.

“Damiano, please forgive me,” he begs.

“You won't get it, because,” he sighs, not in anger, but in trepidation. “Because you’re not like the – because you’re a hybrid. You don’t have normal, or, I mean typical heats with alphas. You don’t understand how much control hormones have. Most omegas get roughed up once or twice in the course of their lifetimes while mating. It happens, because occasionally, certain alphas take things too far, use omegan biology to twist shit up.” Thomas thinks back to Victoria’s original reaction to finding Damiano and the language she used.

“This can’t be normal,” he insists, pulling Damiano closer. He scoots up on Thomas’ lap so their abdomens are pressed together, but avoids eye contact.

“This was the first time outside of heat that Samuel’s…this. He had an unfair advantage, hormonally. He’s supposed to go into rut pretty soon. And obviously I…” just went through an early heat with you. Damiano trails off, picking at his black nail polish, almost timid.

“So he roughed you up,” Thomas winces at his use of language, but outright calling it abuse may be too intimidating for Damiano right now. “When you were both hormonal?” Dami almost nods, but not quite.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be pushing the issue. We don’t have to talk about it right now, cucciolo.”

“You have to promise to still like me after I tell you this.” The pain in Damiano’s face is tenfold of what Thomas has encountered before. What could he say that would nullify Thomas’ affection so immediately? It wasn’t possible.

“Cucciolo, after all these years, you have to know that I could never just –”

“Promise me,” Damiano insists. At a loss, Thomas simply agrees.

“Okay, I promise.” Now that Damiano finally has permission to say whatever he needs to, the words catch in his throat. Perfect, peaceful Thomas would never see him the same again. How could he sacrifice that so casually?

“I – I, um,” he sighs in hesitation. Damiano hugs Thomas tightly, pressing his face into Tom’s neck as he speaks, too scared to meet his eyes. Without question, Tom holds Dami back, a soothing hand stroking his skin. His omega winced, feeling undeserving of such tenderness.

“We would fight, sometimes. Physically, I mean.”

“When you were both hormonal?” Dami nods his head. Seeking to understand, Thomas pulls back so he can read his omega’s face.

“The first time, I – god this is so fucked up,” he whimpers, hiding his trembling mouth behind a trembling hand. “The very first time, part of me liked it, the intensity. I never told him, but I thought Sam could sense it, which is why he did it again the next month.”

“So he’s been abusing you for a while?”

“It doesn’t really count though, because I started fighting back. Plus it wasn’t enough to leave a mark. I mean, until now. He’s never been this rough before.” Thomas nodded, and watching him attempt to process the information was more painful than the rest of it to Damiano. Sweet, non-violent Thomas, realizing he was with the type of person that answered aggression with aggression, instead of terminating the relationship altogether.

“Did you ever ask him not to, um –”

“Well, yeah of course. I didn’t just let him walk all over me, but maybe that would have been better. If I wasn’t going to leave at least I shouldn’t have stooped to his level.” Maybe then I’d still deserve you. That was the thought that always echoed in Dami’s mind: what would Thomas think of this? Would Thomas still desire his omega if he knew what kind of person Damiano was?

“How the fuck would not defending yourself be better?”

“I should have just left.”

“And there shouldn’t be institutionalized power dynamics between alphas and omegas that are practiced in our society above all reason. There shouldn’t be a biological advantage that trumps all personal autonomy.” There's a fierceness in Thomas’ eyes that Damiano expected, but didn’t anticipate being directed elsewhere.

“So you don’t think I’m a monster?”

“What the fuck!?” Thomas answers, in genuine shock. Damiano bursts into tears and catapults himself back into his alpha’s arms, far more relieved than he is saddened. It became immediately apparent that this is what Dami needed, to ugly sob in Tom’s embrace until the impulse passed.

“Caro mio, I would never judge you for this. I can appreciate the complexity of the situation. cucciolo,” he pledges. Damiano tries to take a breath, but it gets caught in his throat.

“I didn’t want you to think I was,” sob “like, into violence, or” sob “or something.” Sob. “Because you’re – you’re” sob.

“Amore, we’ve had sex before. Samuel isn’t the only one that knows what turns you on.” From the way his breathing pauses, it seems to be the first time Damiano has considered this. “In fact, I’d like to argue that I’m far more qualified to pass judgment on your sexuality and general character. Seeing as we’ve been hooking up since I was 16, and friends a year beforehand.” Thomas tries to coax Dami from where his face is pressed into his mate’s neck to no avail. He’s determined not to budge from his safe place, and clings incessantly.

“Caro mio, I think you’ve internalized a lot of bullshit from Sam because he was your mate.” Dami doesn’t respond, his mind too muddled by manipulation and ego to decipher its thoughts. “For example, we’ve been intimate for twice as long as you’ve known Samuel, but you’re so fearful that I’ll spontaneously share his views that you’re shaking. Bello, please stop shaking,” he pleads, voice pained.

Thomas never expected to see Damiano so broken down and gaslighted by another person. His strength seemed unmatched, but no one was immune to the societal repercussions, mental programming, and pheromonal manipulation that resulted from being born omega. In at least that aspect, Thomas’ hybridism had spared him.

“I don’t think you’re a violent person. There’s no evidence to support it. We both know your tendency to be mouthy has nothing to do with a desire to hurt me.”

“Of fucking course not,” Damino bites, punctuating his words with a pathetic sniffle.

“Mhm,” Tom agrees, soothingly. “I think you can be highly defensive and occasionally combative. However, I also know you’re self aware and this doesn’t come as a surprise to you.” Dami nodded his head, kissing Thomas’ scent gland, trying to gently elicit some light excretions that he could lap up with his tongue for comfort. The sensation startled Thomas and he jumped.

“Sorry,” Damiano muttered, adjusting his arms to make his hold more comfortable and less desperate. Secretly, Tom loved that his mate looked to his body for comfort. If the consequences hadn’t been negative for Dami, he also would have loved the fact that he rid his shared apartment of all other pheromones. It indicated an extremely intense attraction that Thomas could grow to share. Of course, he was still ignorant to the extent of Damiano’s emotions, for his own protection.

“I know you’re right,” he suddenly confided. “You just get so wrapped up in it and everyone sort of says it's normal. It’s really hard to separate.”

“Can you name a single time you’ve been violent towards me? In any way?” Damiano takes a deep breath and considers for only a moment before decisively shaking his head.

“Mm-mm.”

“Exactly, I’d even venture that you’ve most agreeable around me.”

“Well you’re really easy to get along with,” he confesses.

“Actually we’re just really compatible.” Damiano likes his comment so very much. He smiles wide, even nips at his alpha’s scent gland. He’d had so many fantasies about sharing a moment like this with Tom, yeared for it painfully for the last six years. Now that it was here, he struggled, but was forced to admit to himself that every alpha up until now was a placeholder. Damiano knew he couldn’t have Thomas, because it wasn’t safe, and he would never endanger him like that. In fact, he cared for Thomas so deeply that when the urge surfaced he was awash in self loathing. What triumphed was a primal need to protect and shelter him, because he was made vulnerable by Dami’s knowledge.

“So now that we’ve established that nothing Samuel says can be trusted because he’s obviously a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, I agree on that one.” Damiano is picking at his nail polish again instead of meeting Thomas' eyes. He feels suddenly foolish, having built up this confession in his head to something catastrophic, but Thomas is holding him the same way he was 10 minutes ago. There’s a special kind of nausea that settles in the stomach of a person when they realize they’ve been manipulated. Damiano had fancied himself too smart to be the victim of Samuel’s mind games. Yet, his entire world view was warped and his perception of his relationships poisoned.

“I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.”

“I was so sure that you’d reject me. I don’t know how he got in my head like that, we didn’t even talk about you that much,” Damiano marveled, rubbing his face roughly. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much clarity he wanted to seek. Yet the knee-jerk reaction every time Damiano opened his mouth was to question if Thomas would want him after he spoke. What was there even to say that would be so divisive? Damiano knew that it was irrational, yet the fear was so deeply ingrained that it overpowered logic.

Damiano had craved being Thomas’ boyfriend and mate for so long. To go through heat with Thomas, to have Thomas run to his side, speak his defense. They’d finally agreed that their relationship was inevitable. There was no point in resisting and making themselves miserable. Now, Damiano was free from prior obligations, he was in his chosen alpha’s arms, cherished by Thomas. And yet, part of him yearned for how things used to be, despite the past having no merits. Part of truly having Thomas was the ability to truly lose him.

When all previous relationships and partnerships had ended, he would cry over connection or even the love that was lost. Then Dami would go to Thomas’ to mourn, drink, receive comfort, eat, laugh, fuck, and cuddle. He’d mate with Thomas during his next rut, which essentially felt like pressing the reset button. If things with Thomas ended, he could lose him, and maybe even their shared friends. Damiano wasn’t a reflective person, but he was sure he wouldn’t survive that. There was nothing to survive for, an emotion so intense that he feared verbalizing it would spook Tom.

“Cucciolo look at me.” He hooked a finger under Dami’s chin, coaxing him to raise his gaze. “The most effective thing an abuser can do is isolate. It’s hard to leave someone if you feel they’re all you have. I’m going to keep reminding you that you have me and you will always have me, no matter what.”

“I know that,” Damiano answers automatically. Tom is silent for a moment, observative.

“Damia, I don’t think you do,” he says slowly, tone cautious. “If you were to become a monster right now, I would devote years trying to get you back, just based on who you’ve been in my life so far. You are endlessly lovable to me.” Endlessly lovable. No one had ever called him that, not dotting romantic prospects with the gift of language, not his wonderful parents. It was more powerful than saying you can do no wrong. Endlessly lovable means you can do wrong, but I will still want you always.

“If you ever have a question, just ask, caro mio. Deconstructing shit like this takes time.” He tucks Dami’s hair behind his ears. After weeks of not cutting it, the length was nearing his shoulders, and that's what Tom tried to focus on, not the swelling and discoloration.

“Hopefully not too much time. I didn’t even like the fucker that much,” Dami muttered darkly. Unsure of how to segway, Thomas takes a deep breath and keeps talking.

“I think we also need to face the reality that Samuel suspected, which means others probably do as well. Maybe we’re not as sneaky as we thought.” Thomas tries to say the words lightly, to cloak his panic at being outed.

“I swear to you, I didn’t say anything we didn’t agree on. I promise I am so careful, Tommy. I tried to never mention you, I –”

“I know.” Damiano speaks with such desperate intensity, but Thomas needs no additional affirmations. “But Samuel wouldn’t have spent so long turning you against a casual hookup, would he? He also failed pretty epically.” Dami looks down at the mess of intertwined limbs sat on their dirty sheets and snorts a laugh, then keeps laughing. Not because it's particularly funny, but because it feels good not to be crying. It feels even better to be wrapped around his mate in the middle of his nest and to have some body awareness returning.

“I’m sorry,” he chortles, “I’m like half lucid right now.” Nothing could compel Thomas to laugh, but seeing a break in the tension at least prompts a genuine smile. It only sort of looked like a grimace.

“What were the doctor's directions?”

“Rest, ice, disinfectant twice daily. I can pick up some of that Tachyangiogenisis ointment from the pharmacy if I want to speed it up.”

“What about referrals?”

“For what?”

“Domestic abuse recovery?” Damiano huffs in aggravation. “I work in the alternative pediatric psychiatric therapies, but I’m sure that I could help you find someone –”

“I don’t need anyone in APPT, Thomas. Hitting a couple keys on a piano isn’t going to change what happened.” Thomas continues on, unaffected, as though Damiano hadn’t just insulted his entire field of treatment.

“I’m sure I could help you find someone in an appropriate medical sector if it feels too overwhelming right now,” he finished. “Sensory overwhelm is a totally normal reaction and I want to help in every capacity I can.” Damiano sighs and bites his cheek in shame.

“That was a really dickish thing to say, Thomas. I didn’t mean it at all.”

“I know.” Children who lacked verbal ability due to developmental variation or lacked the language to describe a traumatic situation were often Thomas’ clients. Piano, usually, but often other instruments, allowed them to describe their emotions in a detailed, precise fashion, where there was no external pressure. What made the session therapeutic was largely Tom’s patience and unequivocal kindness. He was born with a wonderful temperament, and just his two syllable response was a reminder of this. Damiano loathed himself for lashing out.

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean it! I don’t think that at all. I really don’t, you’re so perfect for your job and all those families are lucky to have you.”

“Dami –”

“I mean you devote your life to helping people, what's more admirable than that? And I know the science is sound, I do. I’m not some uneducated skeptic that shits on people of better character and moral fiber. I’m not. I’m fucking not! I’m just really, really sorry –”

“Shh, it's okay.” Damiano has Thomas’ shirt gripped in handfuls of fabric again, pulling it taut to bring Tom close in this moment of desperation. His eyes are panicked and their foreheads are pressed together.

“I’m sorry and I’ll go to therapy if you think it’s right. I trust you.” Dami looks into Tom’s eyes and sees such softness. He rocks back and forth, shushing him, and running a hand slowly up and down his back, such a juxtaposition to Damiano’s thundering heart rate.

“I don’t know why I said that or why I can’t just shut up.”

“Because you’re totally deregulated and need the help of your mate to stabilize.” Damiano falls against him once again. When he sucks on Thomas’ scent gland, Tom lets him. He tries not to flinch from sensitivity. Having gone practically untouched here his whole life, the sensation took some adapting to.

“I’m here, cucciolo. Give me the reins for a couple days.” Dami nodded, his nervous system finally taking a step below absolute terror survival mode.

“You need to eat and sleep.”

“Not here. There will be an officer outside the building until they’ve arrested him, but I hate the smell.” The word is spoken with intense disgust. “Can’t we just go to your apartment?” Where everything will smell perfect and I’ll be surrounded by impeccable nesting materials.

“If Samuel’s figured it out, and remembers where I live, my place isn’t safe either.”

“Vic’s?”

“No. I’ll call my mom,” he sighs. Dami moves off his lap so Thomas can get his phone from his pants.

“I can’t compromise her safety too! I’ve already put you in danger,” he sniffles, face distressed.

“You are not doing anything. My mother put herself in danger 21 plus years ago when she decided not to treat my Primary Gender Dysmorphia. She has spent my life making me internalize that fact. So no, you are doing nothing.” It was only then that Damiano understood the strength of not only his mate, but his blood line. Thomas had grown up knowing that someday his identity would be discovered, and he would be persecuted, but he lived anyway. His mother, a woman only a few years older than Damiano was now, willingly put the rest of her life in danger to preserve her child's autonomy. She made her entire life into an act of protest. There is no strength like being a warrior with unconditional, soul-deep kindness in place of a bloodied sword. With no shield, only the best of intentions and a gentle hand. The only thing more difficult than being hardened, is to be soft, strengthen unchanged.

“Hey, mom, Yeah, I’m good, I was just wondering if I could come pick a couple things up? Yeah I left my blue sweater there last time and I need two pairs of socks. Mhm, okay, yeah we’ll stay for dinner. Love you, bye.” Immediately Thomas turns to Damiano. “I need you to wear a blue sweater under your clothes for my mother’s sake.”

“Yeah, of course!” he enthusiastically agreed, happy to be able to do something. “But, um, why?”

“Because I’ll carry it on the way back. If I get detained it won’t look like we were using code.”

“Nothing is going to happen to you!” he cries out.

“We don’t know how much Samuels pierced together, or how much he’ll say when they find him. Damiano you need to know something.” He cups his omega’s face between his large hands and holds Dami’s gaze with a burning intensity. “No matter what happens, I chose this. The consequences are worth it. It is not your fault.”

“This can’t be happening,” he whimpers, eyes welling up again. This is my life. To someone who’d lived in normalcy, the amount of risk involved in just existing semi-authentically for Thomas was totally overwhelming. He searched for the right words, and found nothing but a whirlpool of panic in his mind. So instead of speaking, he kisses Damiano, just a brush of lips, then up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. For a minute they just breath each other in, synching each inhale and exhale.

“It’s time to go.”

Notes: I rarely write stuff this heavy, which is why I originally was only going to post The Hybrid on AO3 since that place is a cesspool (affectionate). But having different fics on different platforms felt ridiculous so here it is. Message me to be removed from this fics taglist.

-XOXO Eden

taglist: @blackberryblossom @bobfood @butkutee @bohemianrainbow @cuzimitaliano @daisy0gf @elvirabelle @gr8rainbowpunk @harryssshouseee @hiraetheral @iamtashaquinn @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @kammerstx @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @lizzylynch1 @maneslut @minnietmouse @mortyandem @obiw4n @que--sera--sera @slavicgoddess13 @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @thegeminisgirl @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @bieberhoodforever

@ursulalurks bestie I do not know wtf is going on, but I still can't tag you. All I can recommend is contacting Tumblr Help, sorry. <3

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filthforfriends · 2 years ago

Note

Would GA Damiano join the band later on?

no my omegaverse AU is separate from Maneskin. Dami is an interesting and complex person which is why I created the GA world and a character based off of him.

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filthforfriends · 3 years ago

Text

Guardian Angel: Chapter 3

Omegaverse: Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 9.8k

Damiano’s version of talking was texting you that he was busy today. You thought of four excellent, searing replies, but ended up sending nothing. Avoiding you was the most rational thing to do. Hell, you would avoid yourself today, sequestered at home with your mother taking a day off to watch you. On your way to explain how unnecessary this was, vertigo had you head over ass, falling down the stairs. The bruising to your tailbone felt semi-permanent and you wanted to scream like a toddler out of frustration.

So you ended up bed ridden, getting ahead in school to feel useful. You tried reading recreationally for the first time since fourth grade. Turns out the ability to chew through 400 page novels was a stage not a character trait. Your breasts still ached and the hot flashes were aggravatingly persistent. After a few bouts of crying and way too much TV, you went to bed early, feeling woozy and unstable.

The following day was spent much the same. You conquered the shower, tried to make yourself a meal and was interrupted by tachycardia. Mx.Frankie had sent you a note and Dr.Rowan and medical report. It contained the language “agitation” and “suspected mood swings” which would have made you seethingly angry if it didn’t make you laugh. Thalia’s academy for the gifted got out early so she came to your room. Her footfalls were nearly silent, her nervous energy barely quelled.

“You want to ask me something don’t you?” In terms of social skills, Thalia was definitely the youngest, or maybe just the least capable. She nodded and stepped into your room, and onto the carpet. Immediately she started tapping her finger tips together in repetitive rhythms.

“So now that you’re on suppressants, does he get to be your boyfriend?” She analyzes her painting, which hangs on the opposite wall as decoration, with critical eyes.

“Hypothetically, I guess.”

“Because dad’s statement is null if you have an HSIUD.”

“Right. We’ll see how that goes over,” you shrug, turning to follow her gaze, now landing on the window.

“What’s it like?”

“Tally, you have a boyfriend,” you emphasize.

“Fighting with dad. What’s that like?”

“It’s not…great, but it feels necessary. I know you hate it.”

“Just the yelling, but you’re kind of doing me a favor. Anything I ask for the next day seems perfectly reasonable.”

“Huh,” you chuckle, and she joins in awkwardly, followed by a lengthy silence. Thalia finally meets your eyes, and you know that she’s found her way to the point.

“So Oliver got into this volcanic international study program and I was thinking that maybe –”

“So you’ll be on the same work study trip as your boyfriend away from this god forsaken place, yes.”“The topography here is extremely boring, as you know.” You did, she’d complained at length. “And so –”

“Y/n, Damiano’s here,” your mother calls from downstairs. Thalia keeps talking, but your brain ceases to function as soon as you can smell his pheromones. You nod along, agreeing to what is very likely a reasonable request, given who it’s coming from.

“So you’ll let me know a couple days prior to upsetting dad?”

“For sure, Tally,” you say, before passing her on your way out of the room. Clio would be insulted if you brushed her off, but Thalia was harder to offend. You stop at the top of the stairs, having learned your lesson the hard way yesterday. Wool socks, shorts (not of the sexy pajama variety), and your oversized t-shirt was not the way you wanted to present yourself, but he had given you no warning.

Your mother and Damiano rounded the corner. Fuck, he looks good. It wasn’t even the outfit, which was the simplest you’d seen. He was glowing somehow, maybe a tan. Plus a couple silver necklaces that brought attention to his shirt, first four buttons undone. Might as well just take it off, and wouldn’t that be a splendid turn of events.

“So you’re not gonna come down here and greet me,” he teases, radiating confidence to compensate for any animosity on your end.

“I, um,” you swallow hard, getting an iron grip on the hand rail. After a tentative first step, you consider taking off your socks to prevent slipping.

“Y/n!” your mother warns, then turns to Damiano. “She fell yesterday. Down the stairs, she got dizzy and –”

“Oh, jesus fucking christ don’t!” He holds his hands out as if to catch you, 11 steps later. Relishing the dissipation of his cockiness, you decide to tease him a bit further.

“Oh no, you’re right! I wouldn’t want to be rude.” You take another step, focusing on correctly judging the distance. The mix of terror and dismay on Damiano’s face is positivly hilarious.

“No, no, no it’s fine! You don’t have to – I mean, I was just –”

“If my alpha commands it then I must persevere.” Damiano realizes you're joking and rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, a bout of dizziness does wash over you, and in an effort not to wobble you squeeze your eyes closed and hang off the rail by both hands. Your mother inhales sharply, and the floorboards creak as Damiano bounds up the stairs. He holds you steady against him, standing one stair below so he’ll be able to stop your fall. The vetigo passes quickly and, after a couple seconds you feel normal, looking up to find Damiano’s face perfectly level with yours. He recitfies the situation, before sexual tension can even form, stepping up.

“By the time you’re 16 I’m going to be fucking 30 after everything you’ve put me through.” You snicker and he's already smiling, looking away so he doesn’t end up laughing despite himself. “I swear to fucking god, y/n the walking hazard.”

“Damiano, the massive slut.” He turns towards you in absolute shock, mouth agape. He displays theatrical offense which might be at least some parts authentic. Dami’s dramatic reaction has you laughing even harder. “In front of your mother?!” he whisper-yells.

“You’ve sworn five times in 20 seconds,” you hiss back. “Plus, it's important that my family gets to know you, right?” Dami shakes his head in disbelief. Again, he’s trying not to smile, but his affection is revealed in the way the corners of his mouth turns upwards despite his best efforts. The whole flirtatious interaction is done nearly chest to chest with Damiano holding you firmly. You will your body not to slick up. The hormone suppression was supposed to help with that, but you didn’t trust its efficacy.

“And I am genuinely sorry that I’ve caused you so much stress.” The guilt settles in your throat, right below the origin of tears. Having all your exchanges as light-hearted flirting wasn’t authentic.

“Hush you, my life was boring before. No medical emergencies? No biblical levels of temptation?” You let out a dramatic yawn and Damiano looks skeptical and confused.

“Oh, I was just already getting bored from the description.” Dami rolls his eyes, sighing in mock annoyance. You delight in his humorous exaggerations, but when his gaze returns to yours, there's a hunger that can’t be hidden quick enough.

“C’mon lets get you back to bed,” he sighs. You suggestively wiggle your eyebrows as he guides you up the stairs and he pretends very poorly not to find it funny. “With the door open!” he exclaims. Damiano turns to see your mothers approval, but she’s already made herself scarce.

Thalia is standing in the hallway, just outside her door, observing. She doesn’t offer to help, probably preferring to watch documentary clips about ancient cave temples. So really, you appreciate the gesture of watching you make it back to your room.

“Dami, this is my sister Thalia, she’s 17 too, but she goes to Emerson.”

“Oh, congratulations! That’s really impressive, my general practitioner actually went to high school there.” You miss his hands on you, even if just to keep you from becoming concussed.

“Thank you.” She gives a single nod, then looks at you for an out.

“I should really sit down in case I get dizzy again.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” By the time you and Damiano have taken two steps over the threshold, Thalia has closed her bedroom door behind her. You sit in the middle of the bed, cross-legged.

“Was she mad at me?” Dami seems mystified. You forget that your older sister isn’t easily readable to those outside your family.

“No, I think she really liked you! She just hates obligatory conversations and talking to new people.”

“Huh, well that's understandable. I’m not the social butterfly I seem either. Or the, how did you phrase it so eloquently in front of your mother of all people, ‘massive slut?’”

“Oh, no?” you giggle, taking the bait.

“No! I admit…there was a stage when I was 16 that uh,” he tilts his head to the side and winces. “Why am I trying to justify myself to you?”

“I don’t know, but it's certainly amusing.”

“Oh, I’m glad I amuse you,” he replies, sarcastically.

Totally ignoring his tone of voice, you respond, “yeah, me too because I’ve been bored all day. Hey, dance monkey, dance!” Damiano does a little jump and jig that leaves you cackling, then looks baffled as to why he heeded your request. Dami brings a hand to his face, letting out a huff.

“What the fuck was I talking about?”

“Your 16th year spent balls deep in any willing orifice.”

“Oh my god, no!” He cringes and makes a gagging noise, shaking his head as if it was possible to dislodge the phrase from his memory. “I was a little more selective than that y/n, but yes…basically I had only one mated relationship and I was trying to get more experience while I killed time. Also I was horny and people were available.”

“How romantic,” you guaff.

“I like to see it as guaranteeing my feelings were tried and true.”. Suddenly this conversation is lost on you.

“Wait, what? Why was 16 year old Damiano killing time?”

“Because you were 14.” He’s bashful, shoving his hands in his jean’s pockets, rolling back on his heels and looking at the ground. For a few seconds, you’re unsure of what to say, and the silence hangs heavy in the air.

“You waited for me to be ready,” you marvel, suppressing the urge to leap off of your bed and onto Damiano.

“Well…yeah, but I wasn’t sure at first. It was experimental for a while.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“And then I was sure.” He says the words so casually, like this isn’t adjacent to a declaration of sorts. Alpha’s pledging to be an omega’s mate often results in a relationship that at the very least lasts several years. Damiano isn’t doing that, but he was letting you know that he was prepared for that step. He’s also watching your reaction very closely. Do you look freaked out or overwhelmed? His astute gaze flitted from one feature to the next.

“I don’t know what my face is doing, but you’re not going to scare me off with honesty.” You try to sound warm, crawling to the edge of the mattress to embrace. You stop yourself, unsure where Damiano stands when it comes to affectionate touch. He seems determined to stand in the middle of the carpet, and not any closer, out of reach.

“Come ‘ere,” you coax, beckoning him. “It feels weird and impersonal to have this conversation so far apart. I don’t like it.” Damiano steps almost within arms reach, his breath quickening. “You can sit. I’m not gonna do anything without your consent.” If Damiano didn’t know that already you’d made a massive error along the way.

“I just think I should stay standing.”

“Okay…”

“Because of how – because you’re too tempting to me. Like I’m –” he flexes, then clenches his hands into white knuckled fists. “I’m actively reminding myself that I can’t just do anything I want, but even with that thought, like…No matter how much I focus, all I can think about is all the things we could do and most of them require some kind of surface to rest on.” His jaw is set, veins in his neck visible as he swallows hard. Even the muscles in his face are tense.

“So you’re standing up,” you conclude. Deciding to meet him where he’s comfortable, you climb off the bed. Dami’s eyes go wide like he hadn’t thought of this possibility.

“May I hug you?” It takes him a moment to process, rolling his bottom lip against his teeth.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he replies softly. Instead of taking a step towards you, he takes two steps back, centering himself on the carpet, then holding his arms out. Apparently this is a safe distance from the bed. You walk into his arms and immediately he bends down and buries his face in your hair. Damiano breathes in like he’s about to dunk underwater, like your smell is what he needs to subsist. The second exhale turns into a rumbling growl of satisfaction that you can feel in his chest. One hand is wrapped around just under your shoulder blades and the other is massaging your scalp. Indisputably, Damiano needed this hug more than you did. He’s calming down, relaxing.

“God, I get fucking withdrawals. The way that you smell is just,” he exhales in carnal satisfaction, his chest rumbling again in a way that makes your nipples harden and every hair follicle stand up. You squeeze Damiano tight, reassuring yourself of his presence, forehead against his exposed chest. He’s wearing cologne, but his pheromones are overpowering it, as is the musk of body odor and you want to lick him clean.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” Damiano clears his throat roughly. His skin is so hot that it makes you shiver, like the contrast of a warm shower after coming in from a cold day.

“No, I’m still sore.” He starts to loosen the hug, but you squeeze tighter in response. That’s not what I meant.

“Can I tell you about my thoughts these past couple days like this?” You nod enthusiastically, and Dami rests his chin on your scalp. Anything to elongate the physical contact is welcome. He has one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly, and it's more calming than any drug.

“I think that ceasing all physical contact makes us so desperate we can’t function and then we fail anyways. Avoiding each other doesn’t work. So I think that touch in moderation is the only way to stay sane until you’re ready.”

“I agree.” Damiano pulls away so he can read your facial expressions.

“And this only applies as long as you’re completely comfortable. You can rescind consent at any time.” He was trying so hard to even out the power differential, when really you were on the verge of begging him to take advantage of you.

“And of course vice versa.” It feels like the adult thing to say so you punctuate it with a staunch nod.

“Sex and kissing is still off the table.” Immediately, you want to argue with the kissing ban, but decide to pick your battles.

“Define sex.” Damiano's eyes widen, then he looks behind him at the open door. “Mind if I close it now?”

“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, standing tall.

“Is there something off limits to talk about?” You ask, knowing the answer.

“No, of course not. You can ask me anything.” He gingerly turns the knob while shutting your bedroom door.

“Okay…” you climb back on the bed, stealing yourself for this conversation. “So tell me what counts as sex to you, just so we’re clear.”

“Well no knotting or penetration obviously.” He’s getting visibly flustered just talking about it, and you know it's because he’s picturing you.

“Does fingering count?”

“What – what do you mean? You can do anything you want to, um, to yourself.”

“I know that,” you dismiss, intent on keeping your cool. “But like, if I was really turned on could I ask you to finger me? Or would that not be okay?” You actually watch in real time as Dami’s brain short circuits. He starts shifting his weight back and forth, fixing his gaze just to the left of you.

“Well, n – not um, uh. It depends.” Even that non-answer seemed almost overwhelming for Damiano, and you know you take too much enjoyment in this.

“Because if you were ever really pent up, you could ask me for a blow job, just so you know. Would you ever give me oral? Only if you were super into it of course.” He takes a trembling breath and looks up at the ceiling. His hands are flighty, in his pockets, then folded, then resting at his sides like they can’t choose.

“Um, no. No, I don't think so. Not because I’m not – because I really, really want um…huh. I gotta – I’m gonna turn around.” It hard not to giggle over the fact that Dami is so sexual charged that he can’t look at you and talk about intercourse.

“Okay, so oral counts as sex, but fingering it depends. What about hand jobs? Could I give you a hand job?”

“I don’t, uh, hng –”

“I guess I should say that I give you permission to ask for a handjob if you ever wanted to.”

“Right, okay, um…” He turns back around, obviously flushed. “I need water. I need – need to uh –”

“Bathroom is across the hall.” Damiano turns mostly away from you and tries to adjust himself subtly. He looks over to find you literally licking your lips, because for a moment the outline was abruptly clear.

“Can you at least attempt to control yourself,” Dami objects. You laze back on the bed, languidly looking him up and down. For a moment, you wonder if this is what it's like to be an alpha. Then Damiano stares at you with a gaze that could burn through the mattress. He has both hands on his hips, cock proud inside his jeans, eyes searing and you remember your place.

“Sorry, I’ll go get us water,” you volunteered, feeling parched yourself.

“No, please just stay here,” he emphasizes, a hand gesturing at you to sit down. “I won’t be able to think of anything else if I’m worried about you falling down the stairs.” His concern has you feeling foolishly warm in your chest until you hear the bathroom door latch. An earnest panic propels you halfway across your room before you get a chance to evaluate it. The gist: I’m right here. I’m here and my alpha is in there with his hand and very active imagination. I’m right here!

It was not just about pleasure, his and yours, but the vulnerability at the moment of release. There's an intimacy in watching someone cum, even if you have nothing to do with it. All the little details of their form reveal something beyond the moment if watched closely enough, and you wanted to read Damiano like a map as he shook with pleasure. There's the warm panting of breath against your cheek, the slight sheen of sweat, the perfect balance of relaxation and tension in their face. How hands and toes curl, and the spine arches to reveal every sensation, letting you in on a sacred secret. Because this nakedness that had nothing to do with clothes was sacred. Orgasam unreliable except for being reliably honest.

However, now Damiano was already across the hall, behind a door, and you hadn’t had the chance to communicate any of this. A desperate plea of: let me close to you. Let me see you. You walked out into the hall, examining how strong your will might be. So often we lose chances because we write off mistakes as impossible to undo. We’re not willing to risk rejection and embarrassment.

You lean your forehead against the door and tap twice with the pad of your middle finger. It’s poorly made and hollow. Can he smell me? Damiano taps back from inside the bathroom, and you whisper against the doorframe.

“If this is how you desire this moment to be, tap.” There’s silence, and on the other side of the door Damiano is in the same position, breath held. “Then please come back to my room,” you whisper, hoping you’ve caught him in time. The door opens slowly, his eyes scanning the hall. Glancing down to his groin, you can see that Dami’s still hard, and you pull him into your across the hall, closing your door behind you.

“I understand that you want to wait for certain things, but the last people we should be hiding our sexualiy from is eachother.”

“You’re right. I should have made this a negotiation,” she shakes his head, scowling.

“Hey it’s okay,” you coo, “c’mere.” Damiano lets you pull him onto the bed. You sit back on your heels so he has room to arrange himself. At first, Dami mirrors you. Then he lays down, decides that's not right either, and props himself up on your pillows. He gages your reaction once settled, but you’re just happy to have gotten this far. You work your way up, hands rubbing his shins, then over the knee, lower thigh, and you stop before pushing any rules.

“Will you take your shirt off?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Damiano pulls it over his head and off, revealing his chest. You’re happy to explore that with your hands too, starting by running a hand from waist to neck along the centerline. Your fingertips trace his clavicle, sternum, then your palms caress his pecs. Repeatedly, you run into his necklaces, until Daminao takes both off and sets them on your bedside table. Now your thumbs brush over his nipples as you decide to come back to that. Every freckle is marked by your touch, every line of musculature stroked with care. You had to intentionally appreciate him in pieces, giving each their own moment, or you’d get utterly lost in the glory of his body.

Damiano’s abdomen quivers under your hand, the muscles contracting. When you reach his happy trail, his cock jumps too, and he holds his breath. His regulations that served as a hindrance were now forcing you to appreciate him more fully, so you make a game out of following them. Since kisses weren’t allowed, you kneel between his legs and simply rest your face on his skin, breathing him in, feeling the warmth that radiates from his body. You run your lips down his happy trail to feel the hair tickle, and realize there are so many things a mouth can do besides kissing.

Turning your attention back to his nipples, you position your lips over them, resting your body against his for as much contact as possible. Your hands cradle his ribcage, feeling each shuddering inhale. You suck his left nipple into your mouth gently and Damiano gasps. While increasing the suction in increments, his back rises off the bed and towards you, seeking more sensation. Switching tactics, you bite down lightly, and Dami lets out a moan. You look up to find his face wracked in pleasure, not even attempting to school his expressions. When was the last time someone savored him? Or did they all succumb to the overwhelm of his beauty?

Switching to the right side, you lick harshly, then trace his mauve nipple with the tip of your tongue. He lets out a whine, arching into your mouth, so you rake your teeth across the sensitive bud and feel a hand on the back of your head. Damiano allows himself to groan in pleasure, his pelvis rocking forth in search of pressure. You give him your weight, moving your body with his.

“Y/n, y/n please, just…just,“ he murmurs, hoarse from trying to control his volume. You look down and think about all the possibilities. Using friction you might be able to get him off as is.

“How may I serve you?” Dami looks burdened with decision making. His nose crunches, as he continues to roll his hips up to meet your abdomen.

“Clothes off,” he commands.You undo his belt buckle and his fly, before he gaffs. “Your clothes, darling.”

“Oh.” You look down at your own unflattering attire, having forgotten about it. Getting your shirt off was the easiest part, so you start with that. As soon as your breasts are exposed, nipples hard, Damiano captures one in his mouth, tweaking the other with his fingers. His mouth is warm, wet, and soft, the sensation going straight to your cunt. It’s immediately apparent that he knows what he’s doing, alternating between caressing with his tongue and sucking. Damiano is surprisingly gentle, no teeth, using just his lips to pull at and release your nipple.

“Touch yourself.” His earlier words appear in your mind. You can do anything you want to yourself. The problem was, getting yourself off took time, an above average amount of time from what you’d deduced. Obeying, you push your right hand into your underwear and find your clit. Damiano starts working a hickey into the soft tissue of your breast, and you try to focus on touching yourself, but end up distracted. Should you fake orgasam in a timely manner? Was Dami expecting you to finish anytime soon? Could you even get yourself to orgasam with another person watching?

His tongue, now refocused on your nipple, feels better than your own hand rubbing your vulva. You take it as a sigh to recognize the futility of this effort and do something else. Rescinding your hand from your pants, you return your focus to Damiano's state of dress, getting his trousers undone.

“I want to get you off first,” you justify. “Can I?” He nods, leaving goodbye kisses in the valley of your breasts. He lays back and helps you take off his bottoms and boxers. Damiano has the cock you’d expect from an alpha: sturdy, sizable, well-performing. He was rock hard, shaft not quite resting on his stomach. What you were perhaps more interested in, was his external scent glands. He hadn’t given you permission to suck his cock, but there were many other places to put your mouth.

Your hands parted his legs, and you propped yourself up in between. The wave of pheromones from his totally exposed glands made you feel inebriated for a moment. This was the first time you’d been this close to a matured alpha’s glands. They looked like you expected: two small swells, almost shaped like an unripe grape, just inside the crook of his thigh. There was a slit, similar to the gill of a fish, that allowed scents to be released.

“This is your first time seeing an alpha’s glands in person isn’t it?” Damiano asked, surprisingly confident for being in this vulnerable position.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, licking over the glands, which rested just below the testes. Your tongue continued to the root of Damiano’s cock. He hissed with sensitivity. Unsure if it was positive, you gave the other side the same treatment, this time a bit gentler.

“They’re really sensitive, baby, be careful,” Damiano warned. Instead of larger motions, you used the tip of your tongue to lightly trace the opening of each gland. Your touch was barely even there, but that seemed to be plenty of stimulation as Dami’s thighs clamped down around your head. You sensed movement above you as he started working his own cock. Taking this is a good sign, you continued your ministrations on the other side.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he groaned, shifting his pelvis. You shook your head between his legs, and took his balls into your mouth, one at a time. Each time you sucked on the soft, sensitive skin, you caressed the round shape of his testicle with your tongue. Damiano cursed and his unoccupied hand moved to your hair. It was almost preferable this way, you didn’t have to attempt to memorize and maintain the perfect rhythm for Dami. He did this for himself, allowing you to explore.

Wondering if his prostate was in the same place, you pressed a thumb between his scent glands, right underneath his sack, searching for that sweet spot. This was the special move you’d perfected over the last year since you’d lost your virginity. Older girls at school were gossiping about it, so you’d found yourself a diagram and a partner to test things out. If you managed to stimulate someone’s prostate externally, it was always obvious. Their legs would cramp down and spasm, fighting to maintain contact. It took considerably longer with Damiano, but you managed to locate his p-spot, and he nearly kneed you in the face.

“What the – what!? Oh my god,” he moaned. You kept pressure with your thumb while also returning to flicking his scent glands with your tongue. Who knew how much could be achieved on the male form without the gift of suction or friction. Damiano started to arch, not just up, but into you. His hand began working frantically, and you devoted yourself to continuing exactly what you’d been doing. Consistency was key and he yanked his cock ruthlessly. You could tell Damiano was near the edge by the tension in his body, by the way his moans climbed in pitch. The moment before release he was whining in a way you never imagine an alpha could, sounding just as desperate as any man, no hint of bravado.

Damiano came down the otherside rocking his groin against your face, milking his shaft to release rope after rope of cum. He looked down at himself, so focused, yet eyes always fluttering or even rolling back in his head. When the spunk no longer streamed from his dick, Dami still pulled at his member ruthlessly, until the sensation made him shiver in overstimulation. Only then did he let his exhausted cock rest. Getting the sense that he was done,, you sat up on your heels instead of crouching between his legs.

Damiano was flushed, sweaty, and panting. You rubbed his flank as he came back into his body, more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. It made you wonder how many times this is what he had craved around you, and how often he refused that urge. On so many occasions, he must have been painfully pent-up, nearly bursting from the efforts of self control. Dami could have just asked. If your lips between his legs was all that he required to orgasam, it was a small request indeed.

“You didn’t even try to finish,” he observed. You felt self-conscious, looking down at your body, unsure what to say.

“It just takes me a long time, so I’ve never tried doing it in front of someone else.”

“Huh.” He sounded genuinely intrigued, his eyes scanning your form, much more discerning than you’d like. Dami had probably been with other girls that could masturbate to completion for him. The situation left you jealous of the capabilities of people you’d never met.

Or perhaps you had met them, considering how Damiano got around. In fact, you had no idea who he’d slept with, but undoubtedly you’d interacted with a few of them in total ignorance. Had they known who you were? Did they think you were a fool?

“Why did you focus on your clit?”

“What?” This wasn’t a line of questioning you’d expected.

“I mean, if it takes you a long time to cum, why waste you time on your clit? Why didn’t you finger your scent glands?” Without meaning to, you release an exasperated sigh. Omega scent glands were internal, and highly sensitive. They were responsible for the production of slick. Unfortunately, you struggled to find yours, the same way beta’s struggled to find their clit.

“They’re really high up or something. I can never find them.” Dami looked vexed by this answer and you wanted to snap at him. As a sexually liberated alpha you were just bracing for the lecture about failing to embrace your sexuality. If you just embraced it, masturabating would be easy. In essence, you were holding yourself back. This messaging was blasted at you from a culture so sex positive it became toxic.

“I could show you.” His eyes were careful, but his face devoid of judgment. “I understand if that’s more sexual contact than you’re comfortable with, of course.” You made a face, nose scrunched as you weighed your options. “What are you thinking?” he prompted.

“Well…” You let out an exasperated huff. “I’m pretty sure they’re not in a normal place so what if you figure that out and don’t want me because I’m deformed.” Damiano had one eyebrow cocked, smiling in amusement.

“What!?” He threw his hands up in concession.

“Your slick production is normal, your hormones are normal, so anything wrong with your glands is only going to bother you. So unless they have teeth, I’m really not worried.” You sigh, nodding. It's humorous how serious the conversation has become before the jizz on Dami’s chest has even cooled.

“Okay, so should I just…?”

“Lay on your back,” he instructed, pulling his boxers back on. You’re of half a mind to complain about his state of partial dress. Stacking a couple pillows on top of eachother, you rest on the bed, feeling a weird combination of naked and covered with your breasts fully exposed, but also still wearing wool socks. Dami pulls his pants back on, looking way more sexy than he has the right to. You let out a groan of complaint, and he gives you a full, shining smile.

“I think it's best if only one of us has our underwear off at a time.” The view of his canines reminds you of last week, or was it a lifetime ago? When he’d come to your defense, in full alpha headspace, but you felt unafraid. Gia’s older sister had said that one of the most offputting things about sex with alphas is the shift in appearence. The teeth, the darkened eyes, muscles flexing, but you’d been unbothered.

“Why didn’t you change, just now?”

“I, um –” he clears his throat, crawling towards you. “Well, I tried not to. I know it can be, um…when I’m able to, I try to avoid it.” He’s shy about something, not meeting your eyes.

“What?”

“It’s uh…” he sighs and looks out the window. “I really freaked someone out once, when I had just turned 15. I guess they thought that, like, that, it was a myth, a scary story.” He finally meets your eyes, wincing.

“Oh, no. It was bad? Screaming, crying, running, the whole horror show?” Beta’s had a tendency for treating alphas and omegas like fantastical creatures, with the myths and legends to match.

“Yeah,” he lets out a huff, turning to face you. “And when his parents came to see what was wrong, I was still…”

“Exposed?”

“Mhm, it was horrendous.” He flops down next to you, and the intimacy of laying on your bed together makes you feel warm, even if you’re talking about a former hookup. Damiano leans his head against yours.

“Sounds traumatizing for both of you.” He nods, and laces your hands together. So this is what people mean when they talk about butterflies.

You forget how little empathy and softness is allotted to male alphas. Just treating Damiano like a person built rapport. He lifts your hands up where you can see them, lacing and unlacing, like a flower blooming. Every brush of skin is a rush, and you finally understood Dami’s reasoning. Sure, you could very well hurry from meeting to knotting, but he wanted time for these moments, when holding someone’s hand feels a little forbidden and so exciting. If someone’s knotted you, there’s no thrill from lining your palms up exactly.

“Must have been hard, everyone having sympathy for him, but not you, even though someone treated you like a monster in the middle of sex for something your couldn’t help.”

“You know, I never thought of it like that.” He turns onto his side, and you do the same, almost kissing. It's wonderfully humanizing to observe flaws in Damiano. He hasn’t plucked his eyebrows and his patchy stubble is starting to show. He had a freckle in the hollow of his cheek that you can barely see and two blemishes near his cupid’s bow.

“You’re very symmetrical,” you whisper, brushing a curl that had fallen in front of his eye. His hair is long, just past his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of adoration in his expression which completely throws you off guard.

“Well, you get called hot all the time, so I have to use some originality.”

“You know, actually I don’t. My mom’s friends are big fans, though.” There's no ego, it's an honest response. He’s not performing. You hadn't realized how much intention Damiano put into presenting himself, until he wasn’t allocating any energy to the task. His skin is soft, but the softness went beyond that. His expression was careful, his face relaxed, and his smile modest. Perhaps that softness had more to do with what wasn’t there: a system of defense. His hold to maintain control was so tight, but now that you’d helped him cum, he could decompress. You realize you've never seen him not battling impulses.

“Hi there.” Reintroducing yourself in a hushed tone only feels appropriate. You rub your nose against his, so close you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he responds, eyes focused on your lips. Knowing you’re about to get completely lost, you fight to remember the point that felt so important to make.

“I’m not, I don’t mind,” you sigh. Damiano shifts his eyes back up, curious. “The change, I don’t mind. I’ve already seen it, it doesn't scare me.”

“It’s not a big thing,” he assures, analyzing your expression closely.

“I just hate the idea of you holding anything back,” you justify and Dami stops breathing. “Even if it’s possible to do, I want to see you change if that's what comes naturally. You waste your energy maintaining control when that's never been what I want or need.” You’re halfway through letting out a breath when you find yourself flipped on your back, with Damiano crouching over you. He rests on one knee, which he’s using to apply pressure to your groin. It leaves you squirming, unsure if you’re allowed to grind down on it.

“Did I say something –”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he purrs, and lowers himself, licking up the valley of your breasts. He gets a forearm under the small of your back then nips at your stomach, lifting your body up to meet him. He knows you’ve never been bit before, and you’re both aware that your stomach is the most sensitive part of the body. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and look at the ceiling, waiting for whatever he chooses.

The apprehension is excruciating, but the brush of his neck while scenting you is a sweet resolution. All those subsequent happy chemicals start to blur the edges of your vision, so you jump when his lips finally return to your body, delivering a sweet kiss. You’re about to compliment him for being gentle when he begins sucking a hickey into your left breast, just under the existing one. That spot is going to be sore tomorrow. The arm under your back forces you to endure this as well, as does his tongue which licks all the low places on your chest where sweat might collect. Eyes closed, your body curves into every touch. He’s painful one moment and soothing the next. You end up debating whether to fight omega headspace, or let yourself slip away under the attention of an alpha.

“Y/n,” he summons your attention. It takes you a moment to focus, but clear vision isn’t needed to observe his eyes which have turned charcoal black. He looks up from your body, without words saying “this is who I am. I’m taking the risk of showing you.” Damiano doesn’t even bother to hide the insecurity behind alphaism. The sight of anyone bearing these characteristics should make you cower with fear, but Dami is your alpha, and you have never been afraid.

“You are magnificent.” Your index finger traces the bridge of his nose, booping the tip affectionately. He seems to accept this, relaxing his mouth so his top lip isn’t covering his canines. Alpha teeth look sharper in person than you expected, but given their purpose is to pierce through flesh, it makes sense.

Testing you, he rises up to your neck, breathing in deep, letting out a rumbling that borders on a growl. He snaps his teeth near your ear, implying a threat to mark you. However, you know that Dami would never do such a thing without asking, so the threat is empty.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You cup his cheeks in both hands, noticing that his dark lashes are the perfect framing for his new features. He must see this affection in your eyes, and for a very brief moment, Damiano looks like he might cry. Instead, he relaxes against you, resting some of his weight on your form, pressing your foreheads together. It's so intimate that with anyone else you’d close your eyes, but Dami doesn’t, so you don’t either.

“I see you.”

“I see you,” he nods. For now, those sentences mean drastically different things. You join in, and the act of nodding with your foreheads pressed together is so silly looking that he smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“How much experience do you have with omega headspace?”

“Nothing substantial.” Damiano holds himself up on one elbow, propping his head in his hand. Its comforting to have the weight of his body resting on you, so warm you’re beginning to perspire.

“I know you’ve never been with an alpha before, but you can explore it on your own, no?”

“Have you ever realized that you overslept for something important while you were still dreaming? And you wake up in this disorienting panic?”

“Christ, that's how it feels?” His eyes switch back to hazel in the span of one blink.

“When there's no one to give control to, yeah. So you can’t ever truly let go, but some for people it's still worth it. Not me, I like control.”

“Yeah I know,” he murmurs, brushing hair away from your face as you had his. You’d forgotten how nice it was to have your hair played with and you let out a sigh. Closing your eyes now won’t be perceived as rejection, so you do, turning your head towards his hand. It's the first time Damiano has seen you totally relaxed, and you look angelic. It's a reminder of your inexperience, and he immediately questions his choice to guide and educate, rather than preserve certain parts of your innocence. However, the fact that you trust him this deeply, having seen exactly who he is, leaves Damiano without the choice to walk away. He’s hooked.

For the first couple minutes, Damiano stroking your head is wonderful, but it causes other parts of your body to demand attention with distracting insistence. You have to resist squirming underneath his touch. You want to seek out more pressure, stimulation, or just something. Because you’ve never had this much physical contact with him before, and its awakening desires you couldn’t put a name to. Despite the hormone suppressants, your body is reacting to his pheromones and musculature, revealed by his bare chest.

Out of curiosity, you open your eyes, unsure if you’ll find hazel of midnight black. It’s the latter and his brow is furrowed in thought. The tips of his canine teeth press into his plush lower lip. You’re too hot, not like the radiant heat of a fire, but like a fever.

“You’re not relaxed,” he observes, and only then are you aware of your breathing.

“Oh,” you gasp, trying to calm your rapid oxygen intake. “Yeah, I’m really warm.” You fan yourself and Damiano turns his head, face scrupulous.

“All of your muscles are tense.” He’s observing you with the kind of objectivity that's insulting. It reminds you of him rattling off your symptoms a couple days ago. You didn’t want Damiano to be capable of being impersonable. You wanted to affect him to the point that it made his life difficult, because that's what he did to you.

“Did I pull your hair?”

“Huh?”

“Or am I too heavy?” He starts adjusting and as a result his locks brush against your nipples. You grimace in an effort not to make a noise. However, his knee is wedged between your legs again and you can’t help the pitiful sound that escapes. Nor can you help the impulse to grind down as hard as you can, regardless of what's permitted. He smirks, and the realization that Dami knew what he was doing all along has you swiping at his shoulder.

“Hey, hey!” he protests, eyeing switching back to hazel as he giggles.

“Mean!” you proclaim, getting a hold of a pillow and hitting him upside the head. “Rude, very rude!” You flip onto your side, pouting, with your arms crossed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he croons, laying behind you. Dami presses his face to your scalp and takes a deep, self indulgent breath. He rolls his hips up so he’s spooning you, cock half-mast. Damiano’s entirely bare chest is pressed to your entirely bare back, creating a position you could likely masturabate to completion in. You’re wracked by a full body shudder as he scoots infinitesimally closer to you. Now this is intimate.

Birth control and suppressants are not enough to overpower your biological reaction to this much skin to skin contact with an alpha. Your heart rate starts to speed up and laying still feels impossible, even though you’d rather die than move from this exact spot. The kinetic energy building in your pelvis had you on the verge of screaming, or combusting. All you could do was rub your thighs together desperately while Damiano took his sweet ass time savoring your presence.

“This is really nice,” he whispers into your ear, voice husky. Suddenly the realization hits that he got to cum and you haven't. You take the hand that rests on your side and pull it onto your stomach, slowly sliding down. The hand directing his shook with anticipation, as Dami showed no signs of objecting.

“Please touch me,” you begged as you pushed his hand into your underwear. There's no point in maintaining your pride, when you’d far rather have the ability to plead. He slides his right hand between your legs, cupping your vulva. You sort of can’t believe he’s touching you here. Maybe it's the pheromones that make it feel like a transcendent experience. His hand is sure, providing pressure and warmth, slick dripping between his fingers. You roll your pelvis against him, prompting Dami to move, but he doesn’t. You cannot be held responsible for any desperate whining that occurred in protest. Why won’t he do anything?

“I’m taking off your shorts and underwear” he narrates in your ear. You like that he doesn’t ask. It's better that he didn’t ask. Wiggling out of the remainder of your clothes isn’t as dignified as you’d like it to be. Using your left foot, you fling them off the end of the bed. Immediately you open your legs and Damiano slides his hand in between. The lack of fabric lets you pin his hand there, by squeezing your thighs shut. He allows you to enjoy the presence and warmth from your clit to your opening. Taking liberties, you grind harshly against his hand, holding it in place by his wrist. Hearing no protest you try rubbing your thighs together again. Having something between them this time was so satisfying that you start rutting into his palm, and don’t police the moans that come forth.The slick dripping from your cunt starts to make the soft tissue at the largest part of your thigh stick together.

“Let me know when your done treating my hand like a sex toy,” Dami whispers, smile audible. You feel yourself flush with embarrassment so hard that it aches in your chest. Looking up at him, he eyes are still somehow kind, despite being void of color.

“Sorry,” you squeak, stilling.

“Don’t apologize,” he purrs directly into your ear. Each approving hum is punctuated by his tongue swiping at the extremely sensitive follicles in your ear canal. You relax your legs and Dami stretches out his hand. Immediately, you’re a little bit horrified for being in such a horny frenzy that you nearly dislocated his fingers. This is offset by his good natured chuckle against your cheek. This gives you courage.

“Will you take your jeans off?”

“I – um, I”

“For the skin contact,” you clarify. He nods behind you, rescinding his hand and rolling onto his back. The vein on his forehands stands out as he lifts his hips to remove them. Once his pants are shed, also thrown off the side of the mattress, Dami puts his attention to other matters. He readjusts his hard cock, tucking the head under the waistband of his boxers, to minimize the sensation of being stabbed in the back. Then he flips back over to embrace you, and presses your bodies together in every way possible. One leg rests between yours, parting your thighs. It's such a rush that you make a sound like the wind being knocked out of you. In that moment, Damiano could have started with three fingers and you’d take them happily. You’re sweating, pussy dripping, but he didn't make you wait. Damianos pushes one finger inside to the hilt.

“More, more,” you beg, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. He inserts a second digit and has to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Uhh, uh, oh my god.”

“Shh,” he quieted. You didn’t care. You really didn’t care how loud you were, not even slightly, not even enough to be decent. You were entirely indecent as Damiano pushed two fingers inside, deep enough to brush your scent glands. Your hips bucked against his palm, then missed the contact of his body so you glued against Damiano’s form where he lay behind you.

“And those are your scent glands.” His mouth was parted in focus, displaying his teeth, whose shape only made your cunt throb. His gaze was directed down to his hand, hair falling in front of his face and tickling your shoulder. Despite the change, Damiano’s expression was so clearly that of careful concentration. His eyes flitted back up to check on you, and found himself being admired. He grinned and you could see the vein on his temple, the flex of his jaw. Perfectly collected Dami, in his element, was not collected at all, but he was free.

His embrace was steady and consistent, every other touch left you shaking. Once you realized that Damiano was keeping his hand over your mouth, you stopped worrying and let yourself slip into sensation, letting out whatever cries of pleasure were prompted. You were floating in your own head, so thankful for being spooned by your alpha, because otherwise there would be no anchor.

“More, please. Please, more, please. Dami please!”

“Shh, breath. You’re okay, y/n.” His contact with your scent glands became more substantial, which was impressive considering he was doing this completely blind. The sensation was like a bolt of electricity to the core of your pelvis. It hurt, or rather it contained the idea of pain which was totally overpowered by the sensation of crippling pleasure. Maybe it was all an expression of intensity. Maybe you were so lost in this soul deep satiation that you were trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

You kicked Damiano in the shin bone as your body tried to externalize some of this unmanageable sensation. Your grip on the bedding ripped the fitted sheet up.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dami reminded you. However, you knew you were okay and what could possibly suggest otherwise when you were experiencing more pleasure than you had in your entire life.

“You’re so beautiful like this, I wish you could see yourself,” he admired.

“More, more,” you demanded through gritted teeth.

“You might not be ready for three. Baby, take a breath.” You tried to inhale, but it got caught in your throat as Damaino managed to find a new place inside you that had never been touched. Accidentally, you bit down on his hand. It wasn’t a thought out impulse, just the first thing that came to mind. You didn’t make the connection to where the urge came from in time to stop it.

He wasn’t cruel. Damiano wouldn’t penalize you within a couple minutes of an orgasam you’d obviously needed more than he’d understood. He could appreciate that this was his own failing to an extent. Instead Dami put his fingers into your mouth, and sucking on his pointer and middle finger seemed to render you content.

Biting Dami’s hand then sucking on his digits caused you to sink into a new head space that was deeply primal. You couldn’t have opened your eyes if you wanted to. You felt like his pup, a position of total submission. You didn’t need sight, nor taste and smell. All you needed to be Damiano’s pup was the ability to feel and hear his directions, and then obey.

“Three, three, three, three,” you chanted.

“Baby, I don’t want to tear your hymen or hurt you or –”

“Three, three. Please, three.” Your voice was wracked with tears. The urge to cry was inexplicable, there was nothing to prompt such a reaction. Yet there you were, fears falling from your eyes to his hand that you suckled like a pup. He let out a sigh and gave you three.

Damiano had been right, it was too much. This was a bad position to take three fingers, so you opened your hips more by hooking your heel over his thigh. Still, it stung. Where there should have been whines of discomfort, out come sounds of deranged pleasure. Tears fell from your eyes and Damiano had to apply some force to get to the last knuckle. It was too much, you felt too full, and maybe that's why you’d craved it in the first place. Maybe you’d known this was more than your body could take, and you’d done so anyway to appease some convoluted desire that you didn’t understand.

“I can’t knot you, I’m sorry.” That was the name of the yearning: a knot. So easily you’d been reduced to your biology, but instead of fear, you felt freedom. Damiano interprets your tears as pain, which they may will be. You had no idea what was going on, only that sucking on Dami’s fingers brought you comfort.

He switches back to a single digit and adjusts so every inch of him is pressed against every inch of you. He uses that one digit to stimulate your scent glands at a pace that brings you to orgasam. You almost yelped in surprise when a rush of slick wetted your and Damiano’s thighs. It seemed that sensation was building and building, until you arrived at a peak so suddenly that you were surprised to find yourself free falling into climax. Dami didn’t abandon you. He remained cupped over your vulva just as you had positioned it, holding you close. The fingers on his other hand, still in your mouth. As self awareness returned you startled, feeling unable to open your eyes. Damiano felt you wince and started soothing you with his words.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere. This is normal.” His thumb whipped the tears you hadn’t realized were falling and the hand that had been between your legs moved to rub your tummy. He started humming in your ear, melodies that sounded vaguely familiar bleeding into one another. It felt like a mediation until you, a grown ass woman, realized she had someone’s hand in her mouth.

“And you’re back,” he chuckled as you spit out his fingers and cringe in disgust.

“Ew, what the fuck?” You rough wiped at the tears on your cheeks, then the drool around your mouth. “What the fuck?” you repeated, this time more hysterical.

“How do you feel? I didn’t mean for you to slip into headspace. It's never happened like this before.” You know Dami doesn’t mean any offense, but it still makes you self conscious. “I would have prepared you, I’m sorry.”

“I mean I’m…fine.” You turn onto your back while he observes you closely. Your eyes are drawn downward, to the wet spot at the top of Dami’s boxers. He follows your gaze, bashfully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um…it’s just – it’s just if you had seen yourself. Like, holy shit, but I know –”

“It’s actually kind of affirming, Dami, don't worry about it.” You gesture to the tissue box, which he uses to clean two ejacutions worth of jizz off his chest. Your brain begins to process the last however long.

“Oh my god I…I – why?”

“You didn’t do anything strange, don’t worry,” he calms. “I’ve just never seen someone slip into omegan headspace like that before.” Upon observing your expressions, Damiano immediately backpedals. “And that's not a bad thing! There's just always been some barriers, but you’re not put off by the change, so…” He trails off, beaming. How anyone could find this terrifying after knowing Dami is beyond you. His expression was full of so much sweetness and vulnerability. Your chest swells with the knowledge that you’ve validated him or your dynamic, in some way.

“Is my…like am I still –”

“Vampire Damiano? Yes you are. I thought you could feel the change.” His behavior had suggested as much.

“I can, it’s just…your face,” he grins.

“What's wrong with my face?” you demand, purposefully indignant.

“Nothing! Nothing! I like your face. I’m just not used to this reaction. It's a nice surprise. It’s really really nice.” After everything, this somehow makes you blush, but you can’t resist the urge to tease him a little bit.

“So that thing you said about wanting me to date other people in the meantime so I could be sure.” Damiano lets out a snarl, but it's playful and nothing else. He starts poking at your sides, testing if you’re ticklish. Once he gets you laughing, Dami pins you to the bed with his weight.

“Mine,” he growls in your ear. “Mine. Mine. Mine!”

Notes: Depressive mood swing over, fan fiction up! Any spacing issues are due to Tumblr barely letting me upload this due to its size. As always I live for external validation and thanks for reading (and waiting)!

taglist: @asianhawkeye @biancathecool @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @bohemianrainbow @boyswillbeexecutied @butkutee @ch3rryk4ii @cuzimitaliano @damoriaa @daisy0gf @donuts247usa @elvirabelle @ethaneskin @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @homesicam @iamtashaquinn @idyllicbutterfly @immrbrightsideeee @iosonoarina @ilwiwbysmv @katyldamusic @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @minnietmouse @obiw4n @ohdamiano @que--sera--sera @teacosea @teenyweenynightghost @thatonebraziliangirl @thegeminisgirl @theimpossiblehologramtree @solacestyles @stardustingold @superchrystaldrug @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @woahzz11 @xweirdxsceletton @dustyinkpages @the-chaotic-cow

#damiano #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #damiano maneskin #omegaverse maneskin #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #damiano david fluff #damiano david smut #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #maneksin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #maneskin fluff

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filthforfriends · 3 years ago

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One of you said that this is how you imagine alpha Damiano and I agree

this gif set very much seems like you're talking about something you're passionate about and he's hellbent on being a good active listener, but when you talk about things that excite you you're adorable. he tries to pay attention to what you're saying but you're a little flushed which reminds him of when you

"Damiano are you even listening to me?"

"Yeah, yeah of course. Please continue," because him zoning out to sexual fantasies has been a point of contention and he doesn't want you to think he only cares about sex. He just struggles with the places his mind wanders, especially when you're right in front of him.

then you do something in particular. maybe sit down and he can see a hint of your underwear, or untie your hair and let it fall or you just make an expression that you also made last night. and now all he can think about despite his best efforts is how you asked him for a third knot and how he got you to beg for it too.

would you want the same tonight? Would you be even more feral and do that thing were you scratch him until he gives you what you want and no matter forcefully he demands that you use your words, you're simply non-verbal. So to show your submission you lay on your back and make yourself small letting out fearful whines to communicate subservience as he snaps his jaw by your jugular.

at this point you've caught him and walked over with your hands on your hips, irritated. "really Damiano?" but now that you're so close all he can think is "I want to bite her. I want, I need to bite her. I need to bite her because she's mine. Mine mine mine."

#damiano #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #damiano maneskin #må #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david imagine #omegaverse maneskin #omegaverse #alpha beta omega

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filthforfriends · 3 years ago

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Chapter 2: Guardian Angel

Damiano x fem reader Omegaverse

Word count: 3.4k

“You told him to watch me?” you screech. The hospital room was occupied by your parents and Damiano, who hadn’t gone home when given the opportunity multiple times.

“Your mother was taking care of you,” your father declared, chest puffed out. It was almost amusing to see him preemptively compensate for being a beta in an alpha’s presence. The social dynamics of father and suitor were tricky to navigate amongst the power dynamics of hormones.

“Who’s to say I can’t take care of myself?” Your heart rate starts to climb on the monitor. Is a nurse about to come bursting through the door? The general medical consensus was that your hormonal reaction had been an extreme, unpleasant to experience, but not damaging. You were to be kept under observation, at home, with the expectation that this was a one time occurrence. Clio will make her presence unbearable, no doubt.

“If you could take care of yourself then you wouldn’t have needed someone to come save you.” Damiano visibly winces at your father’s use of language. Maybe this would be a good match.

“Uh, ‘save’ isn’t necessarily –”

“You could have been in serious danger!” he barks, perhaps well-meaning underneath the tactless exterior. Hearing your father discuss Damiano cradling you amidst a panic attack felt like an intrusion. For, however dire the moment had felt, it was also intimate. You could smell him on you still, even in the hospital clothes. Being in an enclosed space with Damiano only highlighted your chemistry. Just gazing at each other from across the room was electric. Of course, a great deal of this electricity came from enmity.

“What your father is trying to say, in his own way,” your mother pauses for a moment, garnering attention while perfectly unintrusive. “Is that we care about you deeply and you need to be more careful. We are so lucky to have help.” She smiles sweetly at Damiano, but there is nothing sweet about the sentiment.

“If you had told me how worried you were, I could have been more careful.” Your mother takes a long breath in then out, and glances at your father for permission. This is the part that you loath, despite not having an alpha, she is still subservient to her mate. A beta can offer all of the problems and none of the support. If it weren’t for a painful, front row seat to your parent’s marriage, you might have elected to partner with a beta as well, thinking it was a ticket to personal freedom. Right now however, you could feel your autonomy forsaking, like grains of sand falling between your fingers.

“Would you have, dear? Or would you keep trying to be invincible?” You let out a harsh sigh, knowing the answer. There had to be somewhere in between assigning your future mate to babysit you, and being so hard-headed you couldn’t take care of yourself.

“I have been successfully managing my life for years and one lapse in judgment does not change that. Overall, I have been self-sufficient, and will do anything to remain that way. Which you know! How can you be so eager to give away my personal freedom behind my back?” Keeping the tears out of your voice is proving embarrassingly difficult. “If it was a century ago would you just sell me to the highest bidder? Huh?” Your father gaffs and rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair, hands folded. He was exceptional at cultivating an air that he was above all this.

“All I said to Damiano was that you’d gotten your implant, and I was worried about the side effects. ‘Can you please keep an eye on her,’ type of thing. I thought you’d be happy he had your number.”

“You thought I’d be happy that mommy gave my boyfriend my number for me?” you patronized. “Boyfriend” had just slipped out. You weren’t mates yet, or just friends. There wasn’t an accurate label to be had.

“I think we should all move on from this.” Your father sat up, legs of the chair screeching against the linoleum. Something in his eyes always revealed that he relished having omegan daughters too much. It allowed him to fulfill the dominant role and hold the power, if only as a cheap substitute. Of course, he lacked all the nuance and intent. Damiano’s brow wrinkled in surprise, then he nodded his head once, like something fell into place. His eyes settled on you, soulful hazel, hinting to an entire inner life you had yet to access. So this is how your father handles emotions. No wonder you’re so angry.

He was being cordial, affording social power according to polite society. Your father’s words, as the eldest and guardian, could take priority. In reality, Damiano was the only alpha in the room. He was the most dominant, the strongest, and the most worthy of fear. He could make everyone kneel before him in subservience, but he didn’t. A couple centuries ago, he could have torn out your father’s jugular for trying to prevent the match, then take you as his mate. You tried not to relish the thought. Damiano stood in the corner, watching, trying to not radiate energy that would invalidate your father’s feeble attempts at making a point.

“Dear, why don’t you get everyone a cup of tea? I think that’d be very calming.” He gets up with a huff and your mother waves him out of the room just so, careful not to threaten his power. “Damiano, you can take a seat,” she demurely requests. The prospect of living like her manifests a special kind of claustrophobia. Every breath is a calculation to serve anyone but herself, and she has to look content all the while. You’ve never done well with fragility. Around you, breakable things tend to end up broken.

Damiano perches on the end of your cot. His weight barely rests on the mattress, like he's ready to spring forth into action. Damiano’s hand almost searches for yours, but then he sits on it and bites the inside of his lip. He must have fragile parts too, and well-cultivated hiding spots.

“Part of reaching sexual maturty as an omega is finding an alpha of course, but the reasoning goes beyond that. See, when an omega reaches sexual matuity, everything changes quite fast. A lot is required of their development in a short time. Alphas are there to help protect them as they’re suddenly vulnerable in a new way. To guide them, even. Support them as only they’re able to. So while I may have overstepped, Damiano’s role is quite natural, not an attack on your freedom or an insult to your competency. Alright?” You don’t answer, picking at the tape which keeps your IV in place. “Okay, I’ll give you two a moment.”

As soon as she closes the door behind herself, you turn to Damiano. Reacting in proportion to the situation is not your strong suit, yet you can’t hold the words in.

“If this is how you’re going to treat me, I won’t be your mate.” His mouth opens and closes in shock a couple times, eyes wide.

“I, but – if I had known, like, I didn’t think that, that this –”

“I expect this coming from them, but not from you.”

“I know I should have told you y/n, I’m sorry. Omissions to a certain extent become lies.” Damiano seems to think he’s given a very fair and mature answer.

“This is so much more than that. You kept a secret from me, about me, for the sake of someone else. I won’t let you close if I can’t trust you.” Damiano takes a long pause, eyes fixed on the floor. There couldn’t be a less romantic context to negotiate your future.

“I know I’m not owed your vulnerability. I know I have to earn it,” he says, softly. It's so exactly the right thing to say that you forget your point for a second. “But this wasn’t an allegiance to someone else. It was for your well-being.” You try to be reasonable, even though you’re fighting the urge to scream.

“And that's the issue! You thought that anyone else but me could be the authority on my body. If that ideology extends to your beliefs, we aren’t happening.”

“Y/n, I swear to god I will never exercise authority that you haven’t submitted to willingly,” he pledged. “However, I don’t think I can completely exclude outside advice.”

“You don’t have to. I wouldn’t mind you keeping an extra close watch on me because my mom asks, just tell me. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable!” Of course, you’ve thought that before.

“I – uh,” he gets up and paces the length of the room, turning on heel. “I just want them to like me, you dad is…”

“Yeah, I know, sorry. Hey,” you reach out towards Damiano, and he takes your hand. Feigning seriousness, you jest “remember, you can alway challenge him to a duel, and I will support you.” You look up through your lashes, giving him a soft, reassuring smile. He relaxes a little, posture no longer like he has a titanium rod instead of a spinal column.

“I thought you were going to do that for me, when he said that bit about ‘saving.’ Has he met you?” You snort a laugh, looking at the floor, bashful. “C’mere,” you tug on his hand. “Let’s break their distance rule a little longer.” Damiano scoots next to you, and you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in deep.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he confesses. “How to keep my distance now that I’ve met you, or if I should. I can’t figure out the moral thing, so you don’t end up feeling trapped a couple years down the road.”

“Is that what you’re really worried about?” You turn to meet each other's gazes, faces so close, you cheek on the edge of his clavicle. With all the intensity, there hadn’t been any room for sweetness, or careful affection.

“Yeah,” he whispers, barely audible. His shapely mouth is ever so slightly parted, and you’re looking up the bridge of his proud Italian nose into his intelligent eyes. His hairline is uneven, and it's endearing because Damiano is so close to perfection. He was letting you see him unsure, shy even. He was letting you in.

“And I strike you as a wilting violet?” He chuckles, eyes forward, in search of the right decision. “It's insane that they gave us the ability for such huge choices so young. I know the pressure on your side is worse.” Damiano nods adamantly, picking at the skin on the edge of his thumb. You lace your fingers through his, bringing his attention back to your face.

“I wanna do right by you, and with each passing day I become even more fucking unsure of making those choices.”

“But, see,” you search for the right tone, so he doesn’t feel chastised. “Okay, just, just look at me.” You turn your body sideways, one leg on the mattress, the other still swinging in the air. Damiano mirrors you, curious and careful of your scraped knees.

“You’ve done all the decision making. Which isn’t your fault, that's not what I mean. Um – okay, like, you found me, watched me, and chose me. You know me, in a way, but I don’t really know you, Damiano.” The expression of shock, and even a bit of offense has you backpedaling like you’re in the Tour de France. “Which is fine! I –”

“You have no idea who I am, and I came into your life and just – fuck,” he groans, hiding his face in mortification.

“And I chose you, don’t get me wrong! I still do! Before I even knew you, you made me feel safe Dami, and I craved your presence. I’d just like to get to know a little more about you in the next 10 months and 19 days.”

“18 days.”

“We’re fucking hopeless” you chuckle, and Damiano lets out a couple puffs of air that become laughter. Albeit, slightly unhinged, which you’ve come to realize is Dami’s manner when he’s stressed.

“Will you help guide me? Not let me cross any of your boundaries accidently?”

“Yes, of course,” you gush, leaning closer without being entirely conscious of it.

“But we’ll still wait on the sex until your birthday?”

“If you insist,” you gripe, making your displeasure obvious. Damiano finds it endearing and smiles fondly, lips trying to cover his teeth, however he can’t help but grin. Seeing his joy makes you feel balanced for the first time since getting the implant, everything returning to equilibrium. There's a pull in your chest and your surge towards him, ignoring the sting from putting weight on your knees. You hold Damiano’s face between your hands and kiss him with fire.

The immediate need for closer, compels you to push your tongue past the seam of his lips, only to find Damiano has beat you to it and is pushing his tongue into your mouth. Your right hand shifts to the back of his head, into those beautiful curls that are silky as they slide between your fingers. Dami tilts his head, to assert dominance, tongue tracing the fragile tissue of your gums. The angle gives him power, forcing you to receive his kiss, give into his will. He rises up, positioning himself higher, getting a grip on your hair that allows him to manipulate the position of your head.

The urge to shrink, to cave, to submit washes over you. It's new, exciting, and adds another realm of sensation. Your body did not just experience pleasure on its own, but in relation to its alpha, to his will. Receiving was not just enjoyable from the stimulation, but from some instinct that was satiated by following trustingly. The thought of his saliva in your mouth, invading even there had a whine ripping from the back of your throat. What Damiano gave you that day at the beach was a kiss, nothing more. You could never have anticipated how much he was holding back.

Instead of resisting the perpetual motion of Dami coming forward, you reposition your body to welcome it. Legs parted, you let him push you downwards, until your back meets the cot. The scent of slick from between your spread legs makes Damiano tense, then growl, really growl. Not like a stubbed toe or a high shelf, but like the reason you bring bear spray when you go camping. Like the dark thing in the night you never shine your flash light directly at, for fear you’ll find it. He growled like that and used his weight to push you into the mattress, pin you down underneath him. The musk from his neck glands was inebriating, and you grappled for more, to the point that the bridge of his nose likely ached from pressing against your cheekbone so firmly.

You couldn’t help yourself. Your groin went searching for what his hips wouldn’t give up. When you lifted your pelvis up just slightly, your soaked underwear found the fly of Damiano’s pants with his hard cock straining underneath. You wrapped both legs around Damiao’s lower back, heels on his tailbone. Using all of the strength in your legs, you pulled him against you and subsequently cried out at the perfect friction. The snarl Damiano released told you that you’d done something bad, against the rules, and you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Reflexively, as soon as Dami’s groin was brought between your legs, he thrusted forward hard.

The jolt of pleasure went far beyond your cunt, almost reaching your sternum. You needed more urgently and attempted to peel off your underwear. This was interrupted by another thrust, causing the cot to hit the wall. The sound prompted Damiano to look up and gave you a moment to breathe.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes,” you panted, nodding enthusiastically. When removing your underwear seemed impossible, you started pulling them to the side, fingers covered in your own slick. Damiano ripped his body away from yours, and it was like having the warm comforter pulled off you in the morning, but many times worse.

“Wha – no!” you cried out, reaching for what was already on the other side of the room. Damiano had sequestered himself in the furthest corner. He gave you one excoriated look and turned his face towards the wall.

“Please close your legs.” Damiano’s voice was unrecognizable, wobbly and higher pitched, all bravado gone. Self consciously you crossed your legs, and threw a blanket over your lap. He turned around slowly, swallowing hard. While the majority of your being felt so horny that you could scream, another part saw the conflict on Damiano’s face.

“So, that's not supposed to happen,” you prompt, lamyly. Damiano is chewing on his lips, picking at his nails with much more aggression.

“I need to be in better control of myself.”

“Actually, I think I’m the one that needs to be in better control of myself,” you admit, wincing. “I kissed you. Um, sorry?” The bed is totally mussed from your impassioned embrace so you start to tidy things for when your parents come back. There’s no doubt that your mother will be able to smell the pheromones, but maybe she’ll be merciful enough to skip communicating that information to your father.

You focus meticulously on this task to fill up the silence, but Damiano continues to not say a word. Is he mad? Is he going to put up a wall? Can I still get to know him in person? Have I fucked it all up? Did he cum in his pants and that's why he’s acting so weird?

“We can’t kiss either. That’s another rule,” Damiano decided, fists balled-up. “No physical contact of a sexual nature at all.” You felt desperation like tears about to spill forth.

“But –”

“No kissing, no foreplay, no sexual exploration. No touch with sexual intent or undertones.” Every possibility was disappearing before your eyes.

“Damiano, this was just…I mean we just –”

“Maybe minimizing all physical contact is a good idea. I know that’s what your parents would prefer.”

“Hey! Fuck that, this is our lives. I didn’t go through this,” you gesture to the hospital room and IV “for nothing. I earned this, us,” you proclaim, angry in the place of acknowledging that you felt restrained by Damiano’s rules. This was the barrier you feared, now being built before your eyes.

“Y/n, listen to me,” he hissed, finally making eye contact. “It is way too easy for me to lose control with you. We are in a fucking hospital! We rode in an ambulance. A person with any level of dignity wouldn’t even fantasize about what we just did.”

“How am I supposed to get to know you if you forbid touching? How am I supposed to mate with someone I’ve never touched before? How am I supposed to commit?” Your deadpan finally gets Damiano’s attention, but your parents' voices appear in the background.

“Okay, I know you’re right, but I need to think about this. I don’t have any answers. I don’t –”

“Alright, so the nurse is going to be right in to take out your IV,” your mother announces as they push the door open. Despite her cheery tone, she is directing all her attention to reading the room, trying to discern this obviously complex energy. As per usual, your father is totally clueless.

“The school called your mother, and she’s here to pick you up, Damiano. We truly can’t thank you enough.” Damiano mutters some nicety and hugs her awkwardly. Meanwhile, you’re trying to find your clothes, only to realize that they’re the ones from Fitness. You can’t meet your future mate’s mother in a hospital gown or sweaty, gruby gym shorts. The emergency of making yourself presentable consumes all your attention, finger combing your hair.

“Do you have a hair tie?” you ask, anxiously.

“I’m sure that introductions can wait until another day, sweetheart,” your mother placades. She looks expectantly at Damiano, who immediately agrees.

“Yes, of course, obviously, um…” He trails off while gathering all his belongings, looking like a deer in headlights. “Okay, so, uh, it was lovely seeing you again,” he says to your parents, then turns to you. The pained look on his voice borders on insulting, so when he approaches you freeze. Damiano leans down, pecks on you on the forehead, and you stay completely still relishing in his proximity.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he whispers, before leaving.

Notes: I'm already posting the second chapter of this fic! I'm trying to do better guys. Also how perfect is that gif? If anyone knows the original vid PLEASE gimme the link. Thanks for reading!

-XOXO Eden