#thomas raggi angst

[wonderlandishell]

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to stop

Victoria De Angelis/Ethan Torchio

Friends with Benefits / Friends to Lovers / Genderqueer Character / Coming Out / Angst / Pegging / Blood Kink

“You two should just fuck each other. Easier that way,” Thomas giggles. When three blank stares pin him down, he holds his hands up. “What! That’s the truth, that would get rid of much of the problems, and you already know you’re compatible. I’m not telling you to actually do it!” “Don’t give them stupid ideas,” Damiano finishes his coffee with an air of finality and stands from the table.

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[cuzimitaliano]

SUPERMODEL (Tiktok Edition) Cursed Screenshots

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Blood Rush

summary: after Sanremo comes Eurovision, but Italian victory  isn’t the main thing you’ll focus of that night

word count: 3 k

contents: smut, angst, mentions of blood and violence, mentions of murder, the usual

tåglist | Måsterlist | other chapters

Part of you knew what might possibly happen once they win Sanremo. But nothing prepared you for the amount of work, chaos and attention you had to face. A new wave of fans, tons of interviews, countless people wanting to talk to them, all trying to reach you. And as if this wasn’t enough, an even bigger challenge was on its way: Eurovision. 

You had only a little over two months to make sure everything is in order. They had a song and a rough idea of what they wanted to do and how they want to look. But all the details, papers, press, rehearsals, travelling - this was on you. You spent most of those two months fulfilling your responsibilities. 

Damiano finally gave up on the task he planned for you, you kept telling yourself that maybe that last night during Sanremo, how you have shown your loyalty and kindness, changed his approach. Without a constant fear of his revenge and a much calmer atmosphere at home, you could focus better on what was actually important. Your relations with Ethan got sort of stuck in a grey area. He remained tender and soft towards you, yet the constant stress and lack of time made you two a bit more distant. You knew that it was just a rough patch and that soon it will be over. And that hopefully you’ll be able to indulge your inappropriate feelings for him a little more.

Finally, the day has come. A big finale. The tension, stress and anticipation were difficult to bear. Despite it all, and the pressure you felt as a beginner, you were proud and satisfied with how you handled things. Now it was all in the hands of the jury and the public. You sat with the rest of the team, waiting impatiently for the announcement. Shock. Disbelief. Screams. Adrenaline rush. Tears. Clumsy hugs and kisses. The warmth spreading all over your body, filling your every cell with happiness. They made it. They fucking made it. 

Once the official part was over, and the long press conference finally came to an end, the whole Italian team, with the band leading the way, was strolling through the hotel lobby, too drunk on joy to care. Vic grabbed your hand and pulled you into her room where Thomas, Ethan and Damiano were already in, half naked, with smudged makeup and bottles of champagne. 

“You can’t sit alone in your room, not tonight. We wouldn't be here without you.” She leaned down and placed a soft kiss on your lips. She smelled like champagne and leather, her eyes were wild and her cheeks pink. 

“Well, maybe I did help you a little.” You chuckled and sat on the sofa next to Thomas. He handed you his bottle.

“Don’t be so modest, We owe you.” Damiano winked at you and raised his bottle. “For our amazing assistant!”

The rest raised their bottles and took big sips. You felt how red your cheeks were getting. Thomas rested against the pillows, and slowly leaned on your shoulder.

“Well, we can continue celebrating tomorrow, you guys must be exhausted.” You said, gently stroking Thomas’ damp hair, pushing his off his forehead. 

“Yeah, maybe a little.” Ethan stretched and smiled at you with softness in his eyes. “Come on, cucciolo, time for bed.” He draped his arm around already half-asleep Thomas, walking him towards the door. 

“See you at the breakfast.” Vic kissed your cheek.

“I’ll walk you to your room if you don’t mind,” Damiano said while looking at you with surprising kindness. You nodded. 

As soon as you reached your room, the atmosphere got heavy. Something was coming, your senses heightened, expecting the worst. 

“May I come in?” Damiano asked, pushing his hair back. A loose curl fell back on his forehead. 

“Sure.” You said, trying to hide hesitance in your voice. He walked in and closed the door. “You want anything to drink? And don’t look at my neck.” You added with a smile.

“Well if your blood isn’t an option…maybe some whisky? I hate champagne, I need to wash it down with something…” 

You poured two glasses and handed him one of them, gently brushing against his skin. You sat on the edge of your bed, watching him carefully as he took his place on the sofa in front of you. 

“Well, my dear…I think that you realize that the situation has changed a little.” He said before taking a sip from his glass. 

“The situation? You mean your victory?” You frowned, feeling your heart pumping a little faster. 

“Yes. Well, I’m sure you remember what I asked you for, two months ago. I thought we could avoid that but…Now it’s different and I’m sure you understand. To some extent at least.” 

“What exactly are you asking me for?” Your voice was trembling.

“Don’t make it more difficult than it is. You’re smarter than that.” his tone suddenly got more serious.

“I don’t understand…” You mumbled, pinning your scared eyes in his face.

“I can explain.”

“Please do.”

“Well then…” Damiano downed the rest of the amber liquid. “Tonight everything changed. The world finally heard about us, not only Italy but the whole of Europe and America. Just think about it! All those opportunities!” He said loudly, full of excitement. “And that’s why I need you to get rid of our manager. She’ll never let us do what we want, spread our wings…”

“So you want me to kill her? Is there no other way? Can’t you just fire her like a normal person?!” You raised your voice, losing your temper. 

“My sweet little thing…sadly it’s not an option.” He smirked. 

“Why? Does she know? Who you are?” You asked, cocking your head to the side.

“Mhm, she does. She agreed to ignore this small inconvenient detail because she saw potential in us. But ditching her is too much of a risk.”

“What if I refuse?” You asked with a beating heart. After all, you also knew, so the chance that he’d love to see you dead was rather big.

“I don’t think you will…” He said with a grin.

“Oh really? I refused the last time.”

“Last time you were ready to fuck me to spare you, I wouldn’t say it was the toughest ‘no’ I've heard in my life. You like it too much, your current life. As fucked up as it is. And that’s the price. Either you kill her, or you can leave forever. And I’ll make sure that you never see Ethan again.” 

You bit your bottom lip, feeling your eyes filling with tears. The bastard was right. You could never go back to normal, and most importantly quit Ethan. You cared too much, even if you’d never admit it out loud. 

“Oh, you thought I don’t know? Please…”

“I want to talk to him, I think your visit is over.” You spat out through gritted teeth.

“Well, I don’t think it’s a good idea, love.” He stood up with a grunt.

“And why is that?”

“No thoughts behind those beautiful eyes, hmm? He’s not the most faithful, or the most devoted man out there. From what I’ve heard he made plans for tonight with two girls from the French team. I’m pretty sure he’s a little busy now.” Damiano whispered the last sentence.

“Liar, fucking liar!” You growled. “You just can’t stand that I care about him more than I ever cared about you, hmm?” 

“Go! Go and see for yourself, you stupid girl.” 

You could barely hear his last insult, as you stormed out of the room. Ethan lived at the end of the corridor. It was the longest walk of your life, but finally, you reached the door. Right as you were about to grab the handle, you froze. The only thing you could hear were moans. Loud moans coming from at least two women. And low grunts. Bed squeaking, the frame banging against the wall. Your eyes filled with hit tears, and you felt that your heart is about to jump out of your chest. This couldn’t be real. Not him. The girl moaned loudly. You took your hand away and covered your mouth, scared that a painful cry will leave them involuntarily. 

Your walk back was slow and clumsy, you stumbled at least a few times. You barely saw anything through your teary eyes. Your cheeks were wet, your chest moving from your pounding heart. Your feet seemed to know the way, and you mindlessly followed. Once you realized in front whose room were you standing, the rage replaced the sadness. You banged on the door hard, shaking from anger. 

“Open up you fucking coward!” You screamed. The lock clicked and doors opened. 

“Oh, so you went to see him, hmm? Disappointed?”  Damiano smirked.

You barged into his room, without waiting for an invitation. he slammed the door shut and turned to you. 

“Did you do this?! Did you drug him or…”

“Another one…No, I didn’t drug him. open your fucking eyes, what were you expecting, princess? To be in a cosy relationship with a guy who’s not only in a rock band but is also a fucking bloodthirsty beast?!” He growled, his eyes getting darker. Only now you noticed his naked chest, glistening from sweat.

“He’s not like you, and you can’t fucking bear that!” You screamed, getting closer to him.

“Oh, I’m the one who can’t stand that? Maybe it’s too much for you, that in fact, between you and him, you’re the real beast!” 

You frowned.

“He’s just a whore, always has been, always will be. But you? Oh dear…just think about all the things you did over the past few months.”

“Stop it…” you whispered.

“Too much for you to handle? You helped to dispose of a body, you found us, victims, and you basically sentenced that poor reporter to death. With cold blood, you wrapped her in plastic, put her in a bag and dragged her out of the hotel. What a girlfriend material.” He snickered. 

“You know how it was, I didn’t have…” 

“Oh, shut up! You had a choice! Every time you could just leave…But you didn’t.” He took a step forward, his face was only a few inches from yours. “You can’t just leave, hmm?” 

“I…You don’t…” You swallowed hard, trying to control your heavy breathing. He smirked. 

“I will. And you won’t interrupt because you know I’m right. You’re fucking addicted. To us, to fear, to blood, to the adrenaline rush we give you. You can’t just go back to your pathetic and boring life. You’d die from misery.” he moved even closer, his lips almost brushing yours. “ that’s why I don’t need to worry about killing you. You’ll never leave. You won’t deprive yourself of what you need most. Us.”

You let out a quiet whine. You hated him, hated yourself, and every person who lead to you meeting them. He was damn right and it burned you from the inside that you couldn’t disagree with what he said. 

“You think you own me? That you cracked me and now I’m all yours?” You said, trying to save the rest of your dignity, knowing very well that it's long lost. 

“Oh, I don’t think…” Damiano grabbed your neck in a tight grip. “I know that. You belong to us. You belong to me.” 

His touch, his voice and smell, the anger and fury mixed with alcohol and complete helplessness filled your body and soul. You looked at him with big, teary eyes and instinctively placed your hand over his. He grinned and pinned his darkening eyes in yours.

“And the funniest thing is that even if I snapped your neck right now, you’d die in bliss. That’s how much you fucking like it.” 

You felt exposed. Nothing else mattered. He knew. You nodded, feeling that you might as well surrender. 

“That’s a good girl,” he said, making you whine again at his words. 

He was pushing all the right buttons. The way he could read your mind and soul made you vulnerable and oddly aroused. He knew exactly what he was doing. And you were too weak to pretend that you don’t like it. 

“Will you kill me now?” You mumbled, feeling dizzy from his grip. 

“Hmmm…” he purred into your ear, “I don't think so. But I'll surely try to fuck that attitude out of you…Unless you want to go back to your room? Or maybe Ethan’s? Some say four is a crowd but we both know that’s not an issue for you” He let go of your neck. 

“No.” 

“No, what?” He smirked.

“I don’t want to go.” 

“Oh so now you like me?” he misled and gently stroked your cheek. 

“I fucking hate you more than anyone.” You hissed. He grabbed your face, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and index finger.

“Good, that makes two of us, you insufferable little whore.” He growled and kissed your roughly, leaving you breathless.

He forced you to walk backwards till your legs hit the desk. He grabbed your blouse and with one sharp pull he ripped it apart, exposing your bare breasts. You gasped as his large hands cupped them hard, pinching your nipples. He smirked, dragging his nails down to the waistband of your skirt. He roughly pushed his leg between yours, watching your body react with a grin. You parted your legs, even more, letting him press his thigh to your wet panties. Through his ripped trousers, you could see his hardening cock, pressing against the thin material of his boxers. 

“Oh you’re just gagging for it, aren’t you? From the day you were spying on me and saw me fucking that girl…You thought I forgot?” He let his hand wander, teasing your clit with his fingers. 

“Stop it… don’t make me wait” You looked up at him, trying to turn your rage into the last ounce of courage. “Weren’t you supposed to fuck the attitude out of me?” You asked with a cocked eyebrow. 

This act of disrespect was enough. He firmly grabbed your arms and turned you around, kicking your legs apart. You placed both hands on the desk, arching your ass for him. He lifted your skirt and spanked you hard, leaving a red handprint on your skin. 

“You’re gonna regret that, you whore.” 

He spat on his hand and with a low grunt, he firmly pushed his hard cock in you. He wasn't gentle, but you didn’t want him to play nice. He filled you up and immediately started thrusting. Damiano grabbed your hips hard, slamming into you faster and faster. You couldn’t contain moans, wanting him to make you forget, melt your worries away. he grabbed your hair with his one hand and yanked your head back.

“So tight and good for me, too bad you're so stupid,” he mumbled, let go of your hair and gripped your throat. 

You started backing up, bouncing against him, chasing your own release. he was so rough and so deep, that only seconds separated you from coming. He got louder, losing control over himself. 

“Bite me!” You screamed, impatient for this one last push to come undone. 

He didn’t hesitate. he kept moving deeply in you but leaned down to your neck. His long fangs stung you for a moment, but then sensations hit all at once. You screamed loudly, both coming from his cock hitting all the right spots and the warmth spreading over your body starting from your neck. He came right after you, drunk on your cunt and blood. Once he was done, and both of you came down a little, he moved away and sat down heavily in a nearby chair. You turned to him, watching his satisfied face, blood dripping down his chin, his fangs still out, his cock exposed. You felt his cum dripping down your leg. You wiped your neck with the top of your hand and licked it, staring into his eyes.

“You want to make me hard again?” he chuckled. 

“Consider it a goodbye gift.” You mumbled, still panting.

“What? But you’ll do it, right?” He sat up straight.

You grabbed a black shirt of his that you found on the floor and threw it on your back, covering your bare chest and peeking from under the ripped top. You looked at him with a smile and turned around. leaving the room without a word. He did not chase you, convinced that you will stay. That you will obey. That you don’t have it in you to leave. But Damiano underestimated the anger, the heartbreak, the bitterness which filled your body once you realized that you weren’t that special after all. At least not for Ethan. 

You came back to your room and took a long, hot shower. You put dressing over your wound, got dressed and wrote two emails. One to your boss, one to their manager. In very polite words you submitted your resignation. You closed your laptop and packed your bags. The less you thought about it, the better. You used the adrenaline rush and bliss you still felt after fucking Damiano. You were numb, too numb to regret. You looked around the room with an aching heart. You left your keys in the lobby and ordered a taxi. A few hours later you were at the airport, impatiently squeezing your passport at the gate. You had to act fast, before your rotten soul tells to you stay, before your urge and addiction take over, forcing you to suffer even more afterwards.

Too bad you didn’t stay only three minutes longer. You’d see Ethan leaving Thomas's room. You’d see that he yelled at Leo for using his room to fuck those French girls. You’d know that he never was the man that Damiano described. You would, but now it was too late.

...

Tåglist

@oro-e-diamanti @coven-daddy @tempobrucera  @noemieprd27@que–sera–sera @wonderlandishell @maneskinbrainrot @elvirabelle @maneslut @ha-la-ansia @mortyandem @icarodamiano @myleftsock@iamtashaquinn  @mylittlegoldilocks@fanfictionandfluff @the-invisible-queer @superchristaldrug@paralianeyes @thewitchinthemountain @8iunie @bethanysnow @writingmaneskin @blackberryblossom @hiraetheral @theimpossiblehologramtree @ilwiwbysmv @weareoddlydrawn @jrj2 @bieberhoodforever @chesirecatt @butkutee @ohdamiano @stardustingold @woahzz11 @cuzimitaliano @thegeminisgirl @bisexual-babygirl-mj @eliseline @dpaccione @xweirdxsceletton @agentreid2 @roisinlove123 @vicdeangelis @ohladymoon @ykaaarus @androgynouscloudenemy  @mandy-bo-bandy

[filthforfriends]

The Hybrid (Part 1)

deranged Omegaverse Thomas x Damiano

Word count: 7.5k

CW: I originally thought this was too unhinged and graphic to post on Tumblr so do with that information what you will.

Omega Dysmorphia, that was the official diagnosis. In a world where omegas, alphas, and betas are all segregated from pre-puberty, to post-sexual maturity, any kind of Primary Gender Dysmorphia was radically isolating. It wasn’t like the alpha aspects of Thomas’ genealogy canceled out the omega to render him basically a beta. He was just a walking contradiction. 

His very first identification card, as an infant, had an asterisk next to the classification Omega. It signaled some sort of irregularity that resulted in him being privately examined in high clearance situations. It didn’t have to be like this, his parents chose on his behalf. Children born with Primary Gender Dysmorphia were operated on before they were allowed to leave the hospital. It wasn’t required, but highly encouraged. His mother had refused, however, on the grounds that no functioning was compromised anatomically. Everything worked properly and an operation would only fix aesthetics and make him uniform with the rest of society. 

The deformity was so rare that a rural surgeon may only encounter a few babies in his whole career. It was dangerous, and her spiritual beliefs prohibited invasive medical care. So Thomas’ biology progressed to puberty uninterrupted, and he became a hybrid. He’d been trained not to talk about it, and as a child the necessity of secret keeping for one’s own safety rendered him extremely shy.

But there was music, where he couldn’t betray himself because he didn’t have to communicate in words. With no close friends and two hobbies, Thomas became very good at both video games and guitar. He was finally able to make friends: Victoria, Ethan, Damiano, but no one could be allowed too close, lest they might discover his secret.

While Thomas’ existence wasn’t illegal, it was prohibited in the rules of society. Hybrids with Omegan Dysmorphia were seen as threats to other omegas. His existence was highly political. Many advocated hybrids to be separated from the rest of the population, lest they corrupt healthy omegas and alphas with their unnatural biology. The only thing that protected Thomas from a witch hunt was doctor-patient confidentiality.

By age 15, Thomas had never formed a knot, never gone into rut, and his hybrid status was classified. Finally free of the asterisk, he started to integrate himself into the normal world. One such event was a sleepover at Damiano’s. Beautiful, statuesque, confident, charming, charismatic, glowing Damiano. Thomas had a crush. It could be nothing, a typical part of puberty, but could also be a sign of his alpha biology. This was an idea to be thought, and never spoken, for his own safety. 

Damiano’s beta mother complained that his room smelled bad from playing video games in it all day, that he needed to air it out. However, when Thomas walked in Dami’s musk gave him a rush so strong he ended up woozy. Finally the omega and alpha in him met, and it was fucking uncomfortable. He should have made up an excuse and left, but he just couldn’t. He felt a tethering to Dami so strongly that Thomas would get anxious if he took too long getting something from the kitchen.

Damiano, to his credit, noticed the urge to be tactile with Thomas more than normal, but didn’t think much of it. As a hybrid, Thomas’ pheromones weren’t the usual sensory assault. So Dami just thought that he looked really good and smelled really good. Something about him was more mature, his skin demanded to be touched. Neither of them could sleep that night, and ended up smoking copious amounts of weed before finally dozing off. 

Daminao dreamt of his first heat with an alpha, his body recognizing the presence of pheromones. In the dream he felt compelled to get closer and closer, like it was his life's purpose. He woke when Thomas moved underneath him. In the night, Daminao's face had somehow found its way to the crook of Thomas neck, and his scent glands. He startled awake, because this is not how an omega is supposed to smell. He’d seen Thomas in heat, and this was a very different scent. He was restless, and too warm, so Damiano pulled the comforter back, only for the smell to intensify. 

“Thomas, Tom,” he whisper-yelled, sitting up. Thomas sought him out, instinctually. When he turned over, Daminao could see the outline of a knot through his white briefs. “Thomas, Thomas,” he shook him, and he finally came too.

“Hey,” he croaked, blinking hard and rubbing his eyes endearingly. Hybrids were supposed to be the big bad wolf, but he just looked like a groggy 16 year old. Thomas must have become aware of his erection too, because he froze up in mortification. “Oh, shit sorry,” he threw the blanket over himself. “It doesn’t mean –”

“I know, but…” he lets out a sigh. Maybe this is Thomas' first time. “Dude, you have a knot.”

“I, I,” he retracts every limb as close to his body as possible, shielding himself. “I’m, um – when I was born, I wasn’t…I mean I was, I was,”

“You’re a hybrid,” Daminao finishes. “I kind of thought they were a myth, that’s really cool.” He takes a look at Thomas' expression for the first time, and even by moonlight he looks ill. He’s not breathing very much and when he does it's these big shuddering inhales. 

“Hey, dude, it's okay. I’m not judging you or anything, I don’t care about that stuff.” Thomas doesn’t answer him, doesn’t even meet his eyes, just trembles. Damiano may be an arrogant 18 year old, but he knows what it looks like when a person is so terrified they stop functioning. 

“Okay, hey,” he wraps his arms loosely around Thomas, who is folded in on himself. “You don’t have anything to be scared of.” That seems to finally snap him out of it, and he turns to Dami.

“You can’t tell anyone. Anyone. Like, ever.” 

“I won’t, I promise.” Thomas shakes his head, and tears spill from his eyes.

“No, you really really can’t Damiano. I just got my omegan status last year. The doctors just stopped watching me. You don’t understand. You can’t tell anyone,” he sobs. “Oh my god, what's going to happen if they think my mom is lying, what if –”

“They won’t, because I’m not going to say anything. I swear too fucking god, I won’t. I won’t, Thomas. Your secret is safe with me.” It's just a saying, but the word safe broke Thomas down even more. Damino pulled him into his lap and held him, rocked back and forth while Thomas confessed every pervasive fear he’d shouldered over the years. Things changed between them after that, they were closer. To some, emotionally intimate in a way that was odd between omegas. 

Thomas very rarely went into rut, but when he did, Damiano was there. It had started as two friends with a mutual attraction, helping each other out. But when Dami received Thomas’ knot for the first time, he was on Thomas’ beckon call. They tried not to hook up regularly, generally having their own partners for heat. But sometimes the craving was too strong to deny. A couple days ago Thomas had managed to knot Dami outside of rut. It was a total accident, the moment was just intensely passionate, and Thomas gave into an urge he didn’t understand at that time. Damiano had arched into it, getting a vice grip on Thomas and howling in delight. The sudden stimulation had Dami’s eyes rolling back in his head, while his body shook with spontaneous orgasam. 

“How long have you been able to do that,” he demanded. The noise dissolved into a moan as Thomas steepened the angle of his cock. 

“I swear, just now,” he panted.

“Good, because if you’ve been holding out on me –” Thomas gave a couple more lazy thrusts, resulting in an obscene squelching noise due to Dami’s slick. He ended up whining again, tilting his hips in an attempt to take more. This was his favorite part about knotting Damiano, he could mouth off as much as he wanted, but his body was in a state of begging for anything Thomas was willing to give. He wasn’t vindictive enough to ever use this against him either.

“Cucciolo, I have never denied you a knot in my whole life, I swear,” he coos.

“Better not,” Damiano bites back, but with a giddy smile. “Because they're mine.”

“My knots?” He asks, incredulously.

“Yeah, you only get to knot when you’re inside me.” Underneath the dirty talk is a legitimate fear that Thomas will tell another omega about his hybrid status and Damiano won’t have him all to himself. Sometimes, when Dami wraps a hand around his cock, all he needs to think about is that he’s Thomas’ only omega, ever. This level of satiation that comes from their interactions is why Thomas is surprised to see his contact calling him three days post hook-up.

“Hey, what's up?” 

“I – um, forgot my art portfolio at your place.” Immediately he can tell something is wrong. Damiao is panting into the phone, and when Thomas doesn’t answer right away he lets out a whine.

“Okay, I’m not sure…” Damiano didn’t have an art portfolio, but someone listening in on the phone lines wouldn’t know that. “Oh, okay! I’ll go find it.” There was only one thing that Thomas had to keep from government moderators: his hybrid status.

“Can you drop it by soon?” Daminao sounded like he was in pain. ”Going into heat always makes my head cloudy.” Over five years of friendship, up to 12 heats a year, and he had never made that comment before.

“I could leave right away?” He tries to even his tone, so they don’t both sound on edge.

“Yes!” Damiano exclaims, before controlling his tone. “That would be great.” 

“Okay, umm,” his keys jangle as he scoops them off the table. “I’ll be there really soon.” The drive is agonizing. Damiano’s voice over the phone evoked a wave of protectiveness from Thomas. He spent all 20 minutes in the car trying to discern if it was about his hybridism or heat, and not until he pulled into the parking lot did he realize it could be both. 

As soon as Damiano opened the door, Thomas’ suspicions were confirmed. It reeked of omega, which made no sense, because Dami wasn’t due for weeks. Regardless of the calendar, it was evident from his body language that Damiano was wracked with pheromones. He yanked Thomas inside by his shirt, closing the door behind him.

“Can you please, please” he pants, hands fiddling with Thomas flannel.

“Yeah, yeah.” He pulls Damiano into a bone crushing hug, and that seems to make the symptoms manageable. 

“Your knot triggered my heat. I didn’t know why I was so irritable so Samual and I had a really ugly fight,” he whispered. His face nuzzled against Thomas’ scent glands. “It’s been two days, I just couldn’t take it.” Thomas winces at the thought. No partner, no hormone suppressants, those things were highly regulated. Plus the dysphoria from an off kilter heat cycle? Pure torture. He turns his head to kiss Damiano, while still crushing their bodies together. It’s a desperate move, to call another omega to hook up during heat. This was new.

“I’m sorry for calling you.” He gives Thomas all his weight and practically climbs him. “But I needed – needed you,” he pants. Damiano sounds much worse in person. The sheen of sweat and vein present on his forehead, points to him being in very real pain. His entire body is tense and Thomas is basically cradling him by his waist. This might be the most potent heat he’s personally seen.  Thomas cycles were mild on both ends of the spectrum. That wave of protectiveness surges up again, at the same time Damiano’s eyes flutter closed.

“Cucciolo, cucciolo,” Thomas shakes him, till his eyes open. “Hey let’s go lay down.” He sweeps Dami off the floor, whose nose ends up back against Thomas’ neck. He starts lapping at his scent glands, which stops Thomas in his tracks. He’s never dealt with another omega in heat like this. Dami would sync up with him somewhat, but his pheromones never elicited a response at this level. Right now, Damiano was more omega than human, and that's never a space they’d entered together. 

“You smell so, so good Tommy,” he panted. Thomas’ brain resumed, somewhat. Dami needed him to function right now because he couldn’t. 

“You really must be horny if you think another omega smells good,” he chuckled, pushing the bedroom door open with his foot

“Mm mm, you smell amazing,” he moaned. He pulled himself upwards in Thomas’ grasp, and stuck his tongue harshly into Thomas’ scent gland. If Damiano hadn’t been hanging on so tightly he would have ended up on the floor. Scent gland stimulation was basically exclusive to mating pairs, or when both parties were in heat. Otherwise you’d end up gagging. In just the past few minutes Dami’s cycle had progressed dramatically, he was right on the edge of being an animal. It didn’t make sense, Thomas was an omega and not even in heat or rut, but Dami was clawing at him like a virgin during their first mating.  

“Calm down cucciolo, it’s gonna be fine.” He sets Dami down on the bed and he starts taking off his clothes. Thomas mirrored him, but by the time he had his shirt off Dami was sitting naked and rock hard on the bed. The hazel in his eyes was gone, and there was a wet spot between his legs. The entire room smelled sweet and heady.

Thomas tried to avoid playing with fire in terms of his hybrid status, on the off chance that another omega in heat would trigger an alpha response. Damiano wouldn't have called unless he was truly desperate, and Thomas could see that was the case. Because he literally growled in impatience as Thomas took off his clothes, to the point he fell to his knees and undid Thomas pants.

There was no need for foreplay, he was plenty hard, but still Daminao took his cock all the way to the back of his throat. Something made his eyes roll back, tremble like he was about to cum. He pulled off, pushing Thomas down on the bed. Dami crawled between his legs and pressed his face to Thomas’ groin, taking in deep breaths. Nothing about his omega pheromones should compel Dami to do this. This kind of rapid chemical attraction within genders didn’t exist. Yet, Thomas was dizzy from Dami’s pheromones, could feel himself get wet, cock painfully hard where it leaked onto his stomach. 

“Flip,” Daminao demanded, and Thomas did what he was told. Did Dami want to fuck him for some reason? As soon as Thomas was on his stomach, Damiano was rimming him, then slurping at his slick.

“What are you –”

“Tastes so good,” Damiano groaned. He grabbed Thomas’ hips and pulled them back, burying his head in Thomas’ ass. Biologically, this shouldn’t happen. An omega’s slick was, at most, mildly pleasant to another omega, not this.

“What do you mean?” He huffed. Dami wasn’t even properly eating him out, just licking up every bit of moisture. He switched to Thomas’ scent glands, and that felt like a lightning bolt up to his sternum.

“Too much, Dam!” 

“Sorry, sorry,” he husked, and the movements of his tongue became softer, less frenzied, and pleasurable. The first real moan he let changed all of that. Dami started nipping below his glands, and then bit the meat of his glute. He hissed in pain, and pulled away. Damiano looked more startled than Thomas, like he’d forgotten he wasn’t with another alpha in heat. His inability to control his urge to bite was a sign that Dami was regressing. Some alphas drove their omegas to this point to watch them beg, or would take advantage of it. Good thing he picked up the phone, because otherwise…

“Okay, cucciolo, what can I do?” Dami is crouched on all fours at the end of the bed, chest heaving. He crawls towards Thomas, throwing himself down on the mattress, then pulling Thomas on top of him harshly.

“Knot me, now,” he demands. 

“I can’t! I don’t know what happened the other day, I’m sorry it triggered a heat, but I don’t know how. I told you it was –”

“You can, you have to knot me. I need – you have to, you just have to. I can’t, I can’t do this anymore,” he begs, eyes welling up. His suffering hurts in Thomas’ chest, but he’s powerless in this situation.

“Damiano –”

“I need you to, I need it. So, just do it. God, please, please, please just do it, please,” he whimpers, clawing at Thomas, who's at a loss. There's no reasoning with him at this moment. Until he satisfies his base biological needs, Damiano won’t be able to focus on anything else.

“I mean, I can try,” he offers. “I don’t think I can though.” Damiano isn’t even listening. He's propping his hips up with a pillow, then looks around distressed. Putting together a complex thought in his state is nearly impossible.

“You need something to bite,” Thomas murmurs, digging through Dami’s bedside table stash of heat toys. Meanwhile, he’s dipping a hand between his legs and using the slick to lube Thomas up.

“Prep yourself too cucciolo,” he groans. By the time Thomas had found a chew, Dami was two fingers deep and working on a third. “Good boy,” he praised, prompting Dami to struggle to get Thomas’ cock inside him. “Hey, hey, hey, okay,” he soothed. “Here, take this,” handing over the toy. He focuses on positioning himself, while Dami’s hips seek out stimulation. Breaching his entrance is more Damiano than Thomas, and once the tip of his cock is inside, Damiano gets grabby. He pulls Thoams hips closer, making it hard for him to maintain balance.

“Stop that,” Thomas barks, surprising himself. Damiano simply nods and settles back into the bed, total obedience. His hungry eyes are begging for anything Thomas is willing to give, so he gives Dami everything he has. He holds Daminao’s legs up by his thighs and pushes in, half way, then all the way, and still for a moment, allowing him to adjust. He doesn’t seem to want the time for adjustment, but Thomas isn’t going to risk hurting him just because he can heal quickly. 

“Calm down, you’re gonna be okay.” Daminao’s head is tossing from side to side, with his eyes screwed shut. His entire body is still tense, in a way that's unfamiliar to Thomas. Dami is the one person he can trust his instincts with, so when he gets the overwhelming urge to deliver deep, powerful thrusts, he gives in to it. Based on Damiano’s reaction, this is the right thing to do, but the pleasure only makes him more tense.

“Hey breathe.” He takes a gasping breath, thighs trembling in Thomas’ hands. Everything about his reaction is both elevated and stiff. “Breathe…breathe…breathe” he says softly, timing his thrusts. Damiano falls into rhythm with him, timing the movement of his hips against Thomas’. 

“You’re such a good alpha,” he moans, spitting out the chew. But I’m not an alpha at all, Thomas thinks. “Knot me, knot me, knot me, please, please.” The tears start spilling again, his face blotchy. Thomas tries to give him more intensity with his thrusts, a tighter grip, steeper angle, soothing touch, but nothing solves it. 

“I can’t, you know that,” he growls.

“Just try, just try,” he whispers. Thomas buries himself to the hilt and attempts to focus, pulling from that unfamiliar place inside him. He tries to summon up the testosterone of rut, remembering the feeling of being unable to hold back a knot.

“Just mate me, mate me,” Dami chants, pulling Thomas roughly. The moment is intense enough that frustration gets the best of him.

“Stop it. I’m trying to focus.”

“No, mate me, knot me,” he babbles.

“Stop it!” Thomas snaps, and feels the tell tale building of pressure from his bollocks. Nothing could have prepared Thomas for Damianos reaction. His body creates a vice grip like a key fitting into a lock. Thomas’ first response was to pull away, relieve the pressure, but that wasn’t an option. It was like his cock was being strangled, but in the most pleasurable sense possible. It was a contradiction of sensation, but Thomas knew all about contradictions. He just had to figure out how to deal with this one. 

It's like the uncomfortable spot just before a powerful, hard earned orgasam, but multiplied. He tries to thrust and nearly cums the first time he feels the slide of their bodies together. Damiano was still so slick inside, and that allowed movement under such intense conditions. The stimulation was like nothing Thomas had felt. It knocked the wind out of him, and he ended up collapsing on Dami, who welcomed Thomas’ body with all four limbs.

“Sorry, sorry.” He tried to get his bearings, take his weight again, but Dami kept him close.

“Shh, hey, just take your time. This is your first, so it’s a lot.” Thomas finally managed a look at Dami’s face and found him there, muddled with the omega, but many times more present. His head had finally relaxed back on the pillow, he wasn’t straining. There still wasn’t a hint of hazel.

“Hey?” he gasped. Damiano rewarded his attempt at speech with a full smile. The moment being so dire and suddenly solved gave him whiplash. His balls felt tight and heavy with his seed, this wasn’t a normal build to orgasam. He tilted his hips to a new angle, and that was enough to leave him gritting his teeth, trying to hold back.

“Try thrusting a bit.” It was strange how suddenly the tables had turned. Now Dami was coaching Thomas not to lose his mind. He nodded and pulled his hips back, then stuttered forward. Dami’s body was pulling him in and Thomas alpha biology was demanding he obey. He gave a couple experimental thrusts, just trying to get his bearings. Progressively he thrusted further out, and Dami became restless and anxious.

“You can’t pull out,” he pleaded. 

“I won’t,” Thomas assured. “I know, cucciolo.” They were both omegas after all, he wasn’t ignorant to the situation, maybe just its severity. He thrusted outwards, struggling to last, trying to find a place where the sensation wouldn’t be so intense, so he could make Dami cum too. Thomas hit some sort of barrier for Dami, because he clambered to pull Thomas against him and keep him there, compelled by instincts. Something about being completely surrounded and held by Dami’s body pushed Thomas over the edge, and left him reeling as he came..

“Christ, sorry,” Thomas mewled, still trembling.

“It’s okay,” Dami assured, and Thomas propped himself up to look at his face. In the past, when Dami had been knotted he’s also expected an orgasam. Admittedly those were very easy to achieve in the situation, but Thomas could last more than two minutes.

“No, lemme make you cum.” He tried to get a hand between their bodies, but Dami stopped him.

“Really, I’m okay. Take a sec.” And he did seem totally satiated, relaxed even. He really had needed a knot, because this Damiano was nothing like the one that answered the door. Curious, Thomas turned his head to lick Daminao’s scent glands, and was rewarded with a rush of elixir that made him twitch inside. Just this small reaction made him release a primal moan, arching upwards.

Thomas was clouded by a haze of euphoria. All he could feel was the heavenly friction where their bodies met, even with the slightest tilt of his hips. Despite Dami’s assurances, he couldn’t rest until they both finished. So, forcing presence of mind, he propped his shaking body up on one arm, and used the other to get Dami off. He tried to time his thrusts with his hand, so he rocked his hips back and forth, grinding as best he could.

Damiano’s cock pulsed with his heartbeat in Thomas’ hand. The room was so saturated with the mix of their pheromones, the smell of slick, sweat, and cum, that it hung heavy in the air like a tangible thing. Every undulation of their bodies resulted in the squelch of slick. At this point Thomas’ had mixed in too, and if it wasn’t for Dami’s grip, he would have slipped right out.

Damiano’s hips started tilting in time, and Thomas looked up to find his mouth open, drooling, and gripping the headboard. Thomas could feel the prominent veins, and looked down to see Dami’s shaft crimson red. Thomas hit some sweet spot inside him that he hadn’t encountered before, causing Dami’s hands to fly from headboard to his shoulder blades. If Thomas wasn’t so full of adrenaline Damian’s nails scraping down his back would have been painful enough to kill his arousal. In the moment he hardly noticed, trying to figure out the stimulation that had been so compelling a second ago. It wasn’t necessary, the slow build from Thomas’ hand and the satisfaction of his knot had Dami spilling all over his fist.

He gradually built up his thrusts, finally able to put some force behind into it, now propped up on both elbows. Accidently, he hit that instinctual barrier again with Dami clawing at his back.

“Don’t pull out, don’t, don’t!” he whined, eyes no longer half lidded, but wide open.

“Shh, cucciolo, I’d never leave you empty like that. You can trust me.” 

“Okay, sorry. I know, it's just…Just, thank you,” he whined. Thomas glanced down, and found him still rock hard. If he could get a finger to Damiano’s prostate, he’d reach orgasam in a couple minutes, but there wasn’t room. He responded to that kind of stimulation so dramatically, if only he could target that area, oh. Thomas knot had brushed Damiano’s prostate. 

Doing this blind and without dexterity, resulted in it taking more than a few tries to get the right type of friction. But, once he’d found Damiano’s p-spot, Thomas didn’t let up. Dami’s reaction was so visceral, that it made Thomas fight for focus. His chest heaved, and the build up of body heat had him dripping sweat. He couldn’t stay still, body restless and constantly moving like he couldn’t contain all the pleasure Thomas was delivering. His vocalizations didn’t even sound human, more canine.

Thomas worked tirelessly at massaging Dami’s p-spot with his knot, aiming his thrusts upward to maximize stimulation. He didn’t even realize that Damiano had cum a second time. Because as soon as he wrapped a hand around his dick, it was so quick. Thomas just kept working until his third orgasam, when he ejaculated so copiously that it hit the underside of his chin. Every tattoo glistened with cum. Thomas kept going.

Damiano’s hand fell from his cock, too wracked with pleasure to do anything. Thomas started to slow, but Dami’s eyebrows furrowed and he shook his head.

“Again,” he murmured. Thomas alternated between deep thrusts, and shallow ones that hit his prostate. His cock didn’t look capable of another orgasam, but that wasn’t the only way an omega could cum. He’d read about it, watched porn, but anal orgasms were really something only enjoyable between the partners creating them. It was all internal.

Having never experienced it before in his own heat, Thomas didn’t expect it, didn’t even understand at first. Why was Dami squeezing him even harder? He couldn’t move. It wasn’t until his muscles trembled and a wave of scalding hot liquid flushing past his cock did he realize what had happened. By total accident, he’d driven Damiano to a point where he was unable to open his eyes and nearly outright screamed.

“Again.” Thomas was about to check for consciousness, when Damiano spoke. In response to his anal orgasam Thomas had gotten another wave of pressure from deep in his groin, and this time he felt his knot form, or perhaps thicken. Damiano felt it too, because he rocked his hips against Thomas desperately, a couple tears falling.

“Again, again, again,” he begged, and Thomas obeyed. When he came, drops of slick ran all the way down to Thomas’ ankles. If it wasn’t for the heat of their bodies, he would be shivering because his pubic hair was soaking wet, totally saturated. If they were to leave the house right now, no one could tell their pheromones apart, they were so covered in the evidence of each other. They were one. That's what he was thinking as he worked Damiano through his orgasam.

“Again,” he murmured, every muscle relaxed into the mattress. 

“Okay, okay. Let me just –” he sat back on his heels, trying to find a less exhausting angle. At this point, he has no idea what he was hitting. While the pleasure was nearly debilitating, he could’t feel where his cock ended and Dami’s walls started, except for the moment he tensed.

“Again,” A few thrusts in, Thomas came. He didn’t even realize he was about to, felt Damiano’s pleasure like it was his own, and didn’t know the difference. When it happened, Dami cried out in elation, head thrown back, full smile. He wiggled his hips, asking for that elusive more that Thomas was too exhausted to give to him. After his second orgasm, all he wanted to do was sleep.

“I can’t give you another, Dami. I’m sorry I’m not in rut,” he gasped

“Mm, but you’re going into rut,” he hummed. 

“I – I don’t…ugh!” He was probably right, but Thomas hated not being in touch with own biology, and hated that he didn’t understand it.

“Just knot me one more time,” he pleaded.

“I can’t! I fucking can’t!” Even as he said the words, Thomas resumed thrusting. He tried to find the place inside him that knots came from and pull it forth, but after hours of mating everything was hazy. He only had the consciousness to do one thing: fuck, and he couldn’t even do that right. More than anything he just wanted to yell in anger, because this was supposed to be easy, and natural, and not like pulling teeth. The tears of frustration were hot as they ran down his face, and he wiped them away harshly, growling. 

“C’mere bello.” Damiano tries to do grabby hands without the ability to lift his arms. He’s so fucking beautiful. Every desperate breath his muscles ripple, and his bone structure was carved by the gods. More than anything else, his entire body glistens: slick, pre-cum, cum, spit, sweat, glandular secretions, tears. He doesn’t look human or animal, just ethereal, and Thomas understands why alphas will take a bullet for omegas they’ve only mated once.

Thomas lowers himself back down, muscles shaking with exhaustion. He situates his head so his nose is pressed into Dami’s scent gland, taking deep gasping breaths. He does something Thomas doesn’t expect. With his last bit of energy, he reaches between Thomas glutes, and coats his hands with slick. Slowly, but with determination, he brings the hand up to his mouth and sucks on his fingers while moaning.

This compels Thomas to pull energy from a place he didn’t know existed, and start making lazy circles with his hips. Instead of forcefully pulling his alpha instincts forward, he falls back into this moment with Damiano. He lets himself be held, lets nectar from Dami’s scent glands drip down into his mouth. He doesn’t have to simulate his body’s response to their bond, because nothing about their connection is artificial.

All those years avoiding this, and it turned out to be an inevitability. An omega couldn’t knot, and that’s how he always saw himself: an omega with a birth defect, a deformity. Dami just saw him for what he was, a hybrid. And if he looked at himself through Damiano’s eyes, he was more than capable of knotting. When he felt the swell from his sack, Thomas collapsed in relief. Damiano clutched every part of Thomas’ body with every part of his, and held him.

“I don’t even know how to thank you, Tommy.” He simply nods and yawns, the prospect of sleep, oh so inviting.

“I’m gonna crush you, but I know you don’t want me to move,” he mumbles.

“I’ve been craving this exact sensation with you more than oxygen for the last five days. Please don’t change anything.” He’s basking in the scent of Thomas’ pheromones. His breathing has started to even out and slow, knot still snug inside Dami. Thomas presses a feather light kiss to Daminao’s scent gland then snuggled into his neck, much to Dami’s delight.

“Just go to sleep, this is perfect,” he gushes. Within three breaths, Thomas is out, but Dami stays semi-awake until the knot dissolves. Even then it takes him another 20 minutes to work up the courage to slide Thomas off of him. The only thing more brutal than the loss is Dami’s exhaustion. He curls up against Thomas and falls asleep as well.

He dreams of his fight with Samuel, the white hot rage is a tangible character. The shame and confusion have shadowy forms too. Even in his dream world, Damiano knows that he’s in heat,  suffocated by anxiety with the knowledge that he’s going to have to do this without a single knot. Looking down from above, he sees himself in fitful sleep, enduring excruciating nights, with no end in sight. The sheet wrapped around his leg turns into a rope, then snakes. He wakes, violently craving a knot.

Thomas is on the other side of the bed, also not resting easy. Immediately, Dami can smell why. He’s in rut, but also totally drained. Damiano tries to resist waking him. He endures purgatory to the point he’s sure Thomas would want to be woken.

“Tommy, tommy,” he runs a hand down his bare chest instead of shaking him. “Thomas, I’m sorry, but wake up.” He moves to kissing Thomas scent gland and that rouses him almost immediately.

“Are you – are you okay?” he croaks, rubbing his eyes. Damiano can’t decide whether yes or no is a more honest response. 

“I had a nightmare,” he says pathetically. Just tell him. 

“Do you need a knot?” Damiano is taken aback by Thomas’ astuteness. He’d never dealt with another omega in heat.

“Um, yeah.” He could feel himself slicking up at the prospect of a knot. When Thomas turned over, Dami got a whiff of his pheromones, which only aggravated the situation. 

“I can smell you,” Thomas smirked. Damiano felt himself blush deep red. “It's delicious, I’m gonna eat you out for breakfast in the morning.” Damiano was stunned, trying to remember a single reason why Thomas avoided Dami’s heats. 

“Just, um let me shower first.” He felt tipsy and flushed, pushing back the covers because they were too hot. He was greeted with the sight of Thomas’ hardening cock. His eyes traced each curve, and he bit his lip bending over until Thomas stopped him.

“Let me shower first,” he mirrored. His tone was more demanding, but not domineering. It was refreshing, and sexy as hell. The first drop of pre-cum fell, sliding to the base of his cock, and collecting in his blond pubic hair. Daminao had a depraved idea that he couldn’t shake.

“Can I just smell you?” Thomas’ eye brows shut up, the dark brown such a flattering contrast to his dirty blond hair. He motioned for Dami to go ahead. He knew it was disgusting, but even so he pressed his face into Thomas’ pubic thicket, the soft hair tickling his face he held back a moan. This was where nearly every one of their bodily fluids had mixed together. It was what they smelled like, what getting knotted by him smelled like and he wanted to imprint it in his mind forever because it was glorious and gross. The musk that Dami had savored earlier was nothing in comparison to the heady pheromones emanating from Thomas’ scent glands now. He probably had no idea that he smelled like sex personified.

Without thinking, Damiano started kissing the root of his cock. He hadn’t given his alpha a single hand job or blow job, which wouldn’t do. They were already naked too, so all he needed was some lubrication. His mouth was too dry to use spit, but he had plenty of slick to spare.

“I can’t believe I forgot to make you drink water,” Thomas winces. “I’ll be right back.” When he gets out of bed, the nesting part of Damiano wants to yowl in descent. Why couldn’t they just stay in bed, alternating between sleeping and mating until his heat was over? Was that so unreasonable? 

Thomas walks in with water and a handful of condensed meal bars, throwing a couple in front of Dami. He wasn’t interested in sustenance, he was interested in Thomas’ cock, which was still mostly hard, and definitely deserved attention.

“I’ll just eat in the morning,” dismissed Damiano. “If you just knot me we can go back to sleep and –” Thomas shook his head, opening a bar and handing it to him. 

“Calories first. Hydrate,” he said, pushing Damiano to drink. He downed half the water bottle, and looked at Thomas expectantly.

“I’m fine, can’t we just –”

“No. You earn your knot by eating two of those.” Damiano scowled, but after a couple bites he realized he was starving and very thirsty. Thomas smiled watching him eat. Not smirked, smiled. There was nothing self-congratulatory about it. Taking care of Dami was plenty of reward. Thomas was settling into his alpha instincts comfortably, biologically validated by Daminao’s heat. This dynamic was novel, but comfortable. Rut was often described as putting blinders on, but it felt more like tunnel vision, and Damiano was the focal point of Thomas' entire world.

“How do you feel?”

“Um,” he took a sip of water. “From when you arrived? Indescribably better, but still anxious and just – I guess the closest word is uneasy.” He tone lilted up at the end, like a question. “Or, like, really uncomfortable. But that's kinda normal,” he assured, seeing Thomas concern. 

“Let me knot you, cucciolo. Won’t that help?” he coos. Damiano just sort of throws himself at Thomas. Thomas is ready to catch him though, pulling his leg over so he’s straddling Thomas’ lap. While he rubs a cheek against Thomas scent gland, Thomas slides a hand down his back and starts thumbing at his hole, massaging the sensitive sphincter with the aid of slick. He works the first finger in with surprising ease, and the second one only takes a minute.

“You don’t have to prep me,” Dami suggests.

“I know that, but doesn’t it feel better?” Daminao nodded enthusiastically, feeling a fresh rush of slick splash on his thighs. “Plus it's so easy, now that you’re in heat, so it only takes a couple minutes anyways,” he hums, the timbre of his voice grounding. “And this is about your pleasure right?” It's a rhetorical question that still stops Dami in his tracks.

“Is it?” He lifts his head to look at Thomas, who slides a hand onto his cheek. 

“What else would it be about?”” He guides Daminao into a kiss that very quickly turns desperate. Dami is hugging both arms around Thomas’ torso, mouth open to receive his tongue. As they make out, Thomas integrates a third finger, and works them in and out. Damiano isn’t counting, just enjoying the satiation of kisses with something in his ass too. He's become lost in it, so enjoying riding Thomas' fingers until he pulls away. 

“Cucciolo, I’m about ten minutes away from being able to fist you, I think you’re ready,” he purrs. Damiano feels himself flush, but Thomas is right. Their level of trust has rendered him totally malleable. Thomas holds his cock upright, so Daminao can sink down on it. He’s nearly pressed the tip inside when he has a thought.

“Do I get my knot now?” 

“Yes, of course, tesorino.” There's so much affection in Thomas’ voice. His omega’s eagerness is both endearing and extremely attractive.

“Okay, well I want it, um –” He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to remember despite Thomas’ proximity making him feel drunk. 

“A different position?” he asks, slowly.

“Laying down, with you behind me,” requested. “That way, we just go to sleep knotted.” Having his omega tucked against him the whole night sounded like an excellent idea to Thomas. He lay down on the bed after Dami, situating both their heads on a pillow, and pulling the blanket up. He gave his cock a couple strokes, much to Daminao’s dismay as he looked over his shoulder.

“I could have done that!” Thomas can’t help but chuckle.

“Are you ready, cucciolo?”

“Yes!” Damiano turned over, waiting impatiently, trying to mold his body to Thomas’. He nudged Dami’s entrance with the head of his cock before slowly pushing in. It was even more heavenly than last time. There was plenty of space and lube. Dami’s body was so demanding of his presence, that it gratefully welcomed Thomas cock. Now in rut, Thomas could actually mate Damiano, and the catharsis was like nothing he had felt before.

He started with some gentle thrusts and quickly worked his way up. Just when he was worried about the knot, could feel Dami wiggling in impatience, it formed and everything fell into place. Dami let out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding as everything finally settled. Thomas’ hand slid over his waist, the soothing touch of skin against skin. Dami’s stomach was so sensitive and quivered when Thomas ran his hand over it, on the path down to his cock.

He started working his shaft, then took his hand away for a moment, and returned it glistening. Thomas was using his own slick to get Dami off, and it was almost too much right then and there. As soon as Thomas moved, he shuttered from the stimulation. He wasn’t surprised by Damiano’s reaction to his knot, but it wasn’t any less drastic. The friction, the slick that dripped from him onto Thomas’ thighs. He wanted to get Dami off because he wasn’t going to last. Damiano let out a whine of frustration.

“What is it?” Thomas huffed.

“Please, just cum. Don't try to hold it off,” he pleaded. 

“But I –”

“Experiencing your orgasam is more pleasurable than my own, so just please, please.” Thomas dropped his hand and focused on getting proper momentum, pushing himself to climax. In Dami’s tight heat, it took less than a minute, and he was cumming copious amounts, the type of volume you only get in rut. But this time, with their cycles synching up, it felt like having something pulled from him. He came and came, hot spunk plugged inside Dami from his knot. Just when he thought he couldn’t get any tighter, Damiano’s walls spasmed around Thomas’ cock, causing him to hiss in pain.

Damiano didn’t seem to notice, he moaned in pleasure, hips rolling back, trying to take anything else Thomas had to give him. In response, Thomas grabbed his hips and pulled Dami down onto his cock. It didn’t make any difference to him, but Dami squeaked in delight. Thomas resumed his hand job, rolling his pelvis in time, and Dami clawed at the fitted sheet, letting out guttural sounds from the back of his throat. 

Thomas had never seen anyone enjoy sex this much, besides in porn, but then was entirely different. There's no smell, no sensation, no radiant body heat in porn. Daminao actually sounded like he was in pain again, and Thomas was just about to check on him when he felt Damiano’s cock throb. Viscous semen spilled over his fist. Dami trembled in his arms, then relaxed completely, except where he was holding the knot.

“Better?” Thomas checked.

“Mhm. If you don’t,” he was interrupted by a yawn. “If you don’t get enough time knotted it just…it just all goes to hell. Its fucking awful. It’s like, um…you feel wrong, inside. But now, everything is right, so…” He yawns again, humming contentedly. He could feel Thomas’s semen, hot and plentiful, deep in his pelvis. It was like being hugged from the inside out. He would have been satiated without the orgasam.

“Let's go to sleep,” Thomas coached. Damiano was all too happy to do as his alpha asked, but he still had a choice. Thomas’ pheromones weren’t forcing him into submission, he was letting himself be lulled. Some omegas liked the subservience, but Dami merely bore it. If every one of his future heats was like this, he could die happy, and that could only happen with Thomas.

Notes: Not a new fic! This chapter is about a year old it just seems ridiculous to have “AO3 exclusives.” If this isn’t your thing (immensely understandable) you can opt out of both omegaverse and band member x band member on my taglist.

-Eden XOXO

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[desiderium333]

Hello, this is me finally rising from the dead after two years.

Due to some personal issues I faced over those 2 years I've decided that now might be the time to continue with this little project of mine.

I am aware that not that much people find Måneskin relevant but I still want to pursue my love and passion for writing via this.

I hope yall understand and will continue to support and follow me and my work.

I shall soon upload my story "For your love" along the taglist and my masterlist.

[covbrk]

Hi! First time posting anything here, other than the reposts i have. I have thought about finally start writing fan fictions, but there’s this one thingy. I wanted to get back into roleplaying on instagram and i was wondering if someone does as well and if they would want to roleplay there ! I promise to start posting stuff here during my summer break that starts in july.

[sassy-sofia]

Your Ocean

Pairing: Thomas x Damiano

Description: “He had never really learned how to just like something. He has always had to go in head first, surrounding himself in it, changing himself for it, letting it consume him.”

Thomas becomes infatuated by a mysterious man after noticing him outside of his campus. Letting curiosity get the best of him, he quickly sets on the path to learn who he is, however, some people are best to admire from afar.

*author note: I am still in the process of writing this, tags may change as I go. Updates should be weekly.

Wordcount: 81k (complete)

Chapters: 19/19

TW: mental health, homophobia, substance abuse, smut

Additional tags on AO3

[ami--gami]

Summary:

This isn’t a suicide note, I’m not killing myself. I just can’t do this. I do want to kill myself, it’s so difficult some days, but I’m not going to. This is the alternative. I don’t want to die, but I can’t go on like this. I don’t want to die, even though sometimes it feels like the only option.

I love all of you, Damiano.

Or

Damiano runs away and leaves only a note behind. A look into how much it affects Vic, Thomas and Ethan.

New fic dropped on Ao3

[gotheskin]

hi, my name is jess, my pronouns are (she/they), welcome to gotheskin (mia goth + måneskin), a blog where i will be writing and posting about different celebrities.

about me (in progress)

requests are: open

(be specific in your requests by stating the character(s), & the basic kinks and/or plot points!)

people i write smut / fluff / angst about are:

måneskin [masterlist here]

damiano david

ethan torchio

victoria de angelis

thomas raggi

one piece live action (2023) [masterlist here]

monkey d. luffy

roronoa zoro

nami

vinsmoke sanji

koby

captain buggy

dracule mihawk

shanks

dune (2021+24) [masterlist here]

paul atreides

chani kynes

princess irulan

feyd-rautha harkonnen

margot robbie characters [masterlist here]

naomi lapaglia (wolf of wall street 2013)

harley quinn (suicide squad 2016 / birds of prey 2020 / the suicide squad 2022)

barbie (no smut for barbs, our ace queen) (barbie 2023)

mia goth characters [masterlist here]

(young) pearl (pearl 2022)

maxine minx (x 2022 / maxxxine 2024)

pedro pascal characters [masterlist here]

joel miller (the last of us 2023)

din djarin (the mandalorian 2019)

matthew lillard characters [masterlist here]

stu macher (scream 1996)

tim laflour (senseless 1998)

shaggy rogers (no smut for him either!) (scooby doo 2002)

misc characters [masterlist here]

tiffany valentine (bride of chucky 1998)

tangerine (bullet train 2022)

elvis presley (elvis 2022)

ken (barbie 2023)

artists i post about are:

chappell roan

måneskin

king princess

kim petras

[chemical-killjoy]

✨MASTERLIST✨

Greetings Dear Reader! Right now the majority of the fics on my masterlist are from my old blogs, @immrbrightsideeee and @remingtonisleithal, so most links will take you to that, any and all notes on those posts I am not likely to see for a bloody long time, so please message me or send an ask or something if you really liked the fics/want a sequel or are anything! Also if you like my writing, check out @smiling-girl and @fandomfoodiedancer, they're amazing <33

Requests are OPEN

(and encouraged lol)

I write for a whole bunch of fandoms, but here's the ones I can think of: arcane, black veil brides, maneskin, marvel, motionless in white, my chemical romance, palaye royale, pierce the veil, the artful dodger, the raven cycle (books), and supernatural :)

If you like my writing, here's the link to join my taglist (It's very important you guys fill this out if you wanna join my taglist as I do write some serious, dark topics sometimes) and here's a link to buy me a coffee

updated: 15/12/23

Damiano David:

*A night to remember 1/2

smut. Damiano is attracted to reader singing iwbys

Movie and a kiss

the reader had a fight with their family and Damiano looks after them

Fast Car (trigger warning)

Honestly this is just angst and emotional and if you don’t cry I have failed as a writer. But it’s got a happy ending!!

Vic de Angelis:

Knight in Shining Armour

Vic saves the reader from a creep at a bar

Remington Leith:

*Caught in the Storm

reader and remington share a bed in a storm. What ever will happen?

Feel better

comfort fic, remington takes the reader on an adventure to feel better

*Only one answer (part two of Feel Better)

I will find you

mesmerized by someone in the crowd, remington has to find the reader

Something beautiful (part 2 of I will find you)

I Just Need Some Air*

young!Remington and the reader are at a party and after confessing their feelings things get heated.

Better Than Nutella

Remington is hooked on his new friend’s cooking, and smile.

Movie Night

Remington and Y/N have a movie night

Morning Light: (this is a collab with @cursivetalk)

vampire Remington, based on the tonight is the night I die video. Series, currently being written.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Emerson Barrett:

Teach me

emerson teaches the reader the drums

Andy Biersack:

Don’t go (trigger warning) (there is comfort)

I Don’t Wanna Be Alone (trigger warning) (with comfort)

Love isn’t always fair *

After a concert Andy reveals his love for his best friend

Mortician’s Daughter (trigger warning)

Thomas Raggi:

Moonlight’s Curse (part 1)

werewolf!thomas, a series being written :)

Mistakes and Misunderstandings

Ronnie Radke:

*untitled

pwp really, Ronnie meets Y/N in a bar and things happen

Vic Fuentes:

Hell Over Me (trigger warning) (happy ending)

Frank Iero:

Not A Kid *

TW brief mention of abuse, age gap. Y/N works for MCR and it turns out Frank likes her just as much as she likes him

Gerard Way:

Cemetery Drive

TW for suicide and self harm. Y/N visits her ex’s grave, and is surprised to find him there

Hang Em High

Cemetery drive part 2

Demolition Lovers

Part 3 and final chapter of Cemetery Drive

Kisses and Coffee

Coffee shop and accidental kiss AU

Dean Winchester:

Life In (Rose) Pink

Dean is a romantic cliche trying his hardest

Chris Motionless:

Eternally Yours *

Based on the music video

Jinx:

You Decide

Reader has a breakdown and Jinx helps them

Jack Dawkins/Dodger:

Healing Kiss *

Reader is in hospital, but Dr. Dawkins is there to heal her. TW for self harm, suicide and mentions of abuse.

[writersblockiskillingme]

Måneskin Masterlist

✭ - smut

♡ - fluff

➳ - angst

۵ - hurt/comfort

°

Damiano David

If Not For You - As Damiano goes away on the tour with his band mates he has to deal with leaving his home behind. You. [۵♡]

Timezone - As Damiano and you are forced to be apart, you both slowly start to feel like you're loosing your mind. [۵♡]

Jealousy Game - You were ready for a lot of things, but you weren't ready for a woman at the competition you were attending to flirt with your secret boyfriend. [۵♡]

Papà - You woke up in the middle of the night just so that you realize that Damiano is not with you, but don't worry. You know where to find him. [♡]

Three Makes a Group - After bringing up the idea of group sex to your boyfriend Ethan, you have to deal with the consequences of your dirty mind. [✭]

How It's Supposed To Look Like - After being abused by your ex, you finally tell Damiano what happened and he shows you how the loving relationship should really be like. [➳۵♡✭]

Only Angel - You were in love with him for a very long time, but you didn't know that he loved you back. Until he decided to do something about it. [♡✭➳]

Thomas Raggi

Torna A Casa - Song that was promised to his one and only that he met on a lonely day in park in Italy. [➳۵]

Ethan Torchio

Three Makes a Group - After bringing up the idea of group sex to your boyfriend Ethan, you have to deal with the consequences of your dirty mind. [✭♡]

[wonderlandishell]

Windows down, scream along

Damiano David/Victoria De Angelis/Thomas Raggi/Ethan Torchio, Damiano David/Victoria De Angelis

Polyamory / Coming of Age / Friends with Benefits / Friends to Lovers

They grow up and grow into love.

Read on ao3

[cuzimitaliano]

Random Måneskin Screenshots Part I Don't Know

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Hello! If you still take blurb requests from the prompt list, can you write "2. I remember everything (Call me by your name)" with Thomas? I think an angsty plot could fit better the prompt but it's your choice 😊

hello, yes I made it into angst, a very very sad one (what's new xd) enjoy ❤

#2. “I remember everything” + Thomas + angst

Coming back to Rome wasn’t easy. You still had some bad memories, aching wounds and demons connected with your hometown. The last time you were there you felt that you got your heart ripped out. After avoiding it successfully for over two years, it was time to go back. You finally graduated from university in Milan, and staying there for longer made no sense. As hard as it was, you missed that city, some of your old friends and family. 

You arrived with a giant rock at the bottom of your stomach. None of your friends was in town, even the best friend you rented a flat with. You unpacked your bags and sat on the floor, feeling that your eyes are filling with tears. You knew who could make you feel at home. But you also knew that it was more than impossible. Sitting alone in an empty room seemed like the worst possible solution. You sighed deeply and shook your head. You needed a walk, some wine and dinner.

You got dressed, fixed your makeup and sprayed on some of your favourite perfume. Well…his favourite. You needed as much comfort and confidence as humanely possible, and they always worked. You took a tram and after a few minutes, you were back on the streets of Trastavere. A deep breath and one look around made you smile. You were home. The noises, the traffic, smells, the light, it all made you feel alive again. You turned your head and looked at the Tiber. The sun was setting, drowning the buildings in orange light. Suddenly you felt a sharp sting in your chest. You were here, but you were alone. 

Your feet were moving against your will, leading you to the bar you used to spend long hours in. They had the best pasta and cheap drinks, what else could a sad girl ask for? You were walking, not even noticing people bumping into you, curious tourists stopping in the middle of the road to take photos. It was annoying in Milan, but oddly comforting here. As you got closer to the bar, you noticed one empty table outside. And then your heart stopped. 

He was sitting there at the table next to the empty one which caught your attention. His blond hair was fluffy and messy as always. His long legs were tangled underneath the table. Thomas was laughing, holding a lit cigarette in his slender fingers. You froze, staring at him, not even noticing Vic who sat next to Thomas. She nudged him in the side. He looked at you and his smile faded away. You didn’t know what to do, so you just sent him a pale smile and turned around, walking away fast.

“Hey, wait!” You’ve heard a familiar voice behind your back. You stopped and turned around. “I didn’t know you came back.” It was difficult to judge if he was happy to see you or simply disappointed. He didn’t know. Nobody told him. But why would they? Everyone knew how it ended, and how ugly it got for both of you. 

“Well…i’m back.” You said coldly, trying to control the amount of emotions in your voice.

“Can we talk?” He asked, awkwardly pushing his hand to the pocket. It could barely fit. 

You nodded and let him lead the way. You walked to the barrier where you could watch the river and the last rays of sunshine disappearing behind the horizon. 

“So…you graduated?” He asked, playing with his rings, leaning back against the barrier, watching you with attention. 

“I did. And now I’m here.” You said and cleared your throat. Looking into his eyes was unbearable. “You guys are leaving on tour soon, right?” You asked, trying your best to stay composed. 

“We are.” He looked down.

“Were you ever happy? With me?” You asked before your reason managed to stop you. “Were you? Or was that all in my head?” Thomas frowned and sent you a look people send to an abandoned puppy. You hated pity more than anything.

“Of course I was…”

“No, please, don’t say it just to comfort me.” You scoffed and crossed arms on your chest. “I’m sure you don’t even remember how it was.” 

“I remember everything.” 

The sadness in his voice tore your heart apart. This sentence was full of both, the love you once had, and the pain of saying goodbye. Thomas stepped a little closer, so close that you could feel the cigarette smoke on his clothes. He wrapped his arms around you and placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. 

“You smell like berries…” he mumbled, making you tear up.

He let you go and wiped the single tear from his cheek. Thomas smiled and fluffed his hair.

“We should catch up, grab some wine maybe. I’ll find you once we're back. Goodbye for now”

He turned around. You saw him wiping his eyes before he crossed the street. Thomas hated goodbyes and knew you won’t take one either. He promised a meeting, but both of you knew deep down that it will never happen. That it all broke you too much. That there's no coming back. 

[filthforfriends]

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

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Sleepy Stitches

Thomas Raggi × GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff (maybe a sprinkle of Angst? idk)

Warnings: Mentions of needles (they're embroidery needles, but they're still needles 😅), brief mention of smoking

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Thommy can't sleep, so he works on one of Reader's art projects until he falls asleep

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    “So you just take the needle and thread it through here, trying to keep the stitches as tight together as possible.” You instructed, demonstrating the action on your small embroidery hoop, pushing the needle through the stretched muslin fabric, adding another colorful loop of thread to your artwork. “You can try it if you’d like.”

    Thomas held his hands out to take the hoop from you, loosely holding the needle between his long fingers. He pinched it between his index and thumb, attempting to locate the closest possible entry point next to the stitch you had just placed before him. He poked it through the fabric, flipping the hoop over to make sure he initiated contact. He giggled when looking at the other side, realizing how zany the bottom half appeared, finally unveiling the secret twisted pathways underneath the beauty of an embroidery artist’s work.

    “It looks like a bowl of colorful spaghetti.” He mused, flipping the hoop back to its right side to see where the next entry hole should go. He alternated between looking at the top and bottom, making sure the needle lined up with its target. When he finally poked through, the noise of its break caught his attention. It sounded like puncturing the batter head of a drum, the pop echoing throughout the quiet living room.

    “I’m sure you have gotten used to that sound by now.” He teased, handing the hoop back to you to assess his progress. You chuckled, sticking the needle halfway through the fabric to keep it from accidentally rolling away and poking you. You only made that mistake once.

    “Well, the fabric has to be super tight so the stitches don’t get all jumbled together. That’s the purpose of the hoop. Fabric slack is an embroiderer’s kryptonite.” You punctuated your statement with a snicker. Upon further inspection, you noticed that the exit hole you made during your stitch was suddenly a bit bigger than before. A classic rookie mistake made by almost every novice of embroidery art, including yourself at one time: accidentally putting the needle through the previous thread hole when trying to get the stitches as close as you can. A satin stitch, or any of the flavors of embroidery, weren’t an exact science. However, there were times when things needed to be as precise as possible.

    “Thommy, when I said get them as close as possible, putting them through the same hole was not exactly what I had in mind.” You joked, showing him the hoop. He tilted his head in confusion, leaning forward to inspect the threads, gently parting them to find they were indeed not separated by even the thinnest of weft fibers.

    “Oh…sorry.” He whispered, laughing awkwardly while running his fingers through his hair, sporting that incredibly lovable downturned smile. 

    “No need to apologize,” You assured, “It’s quite a common mistake and it’s an easy fix. I can’t tell you how many times I did that when I first started. Don’t worry, you’ll get better at it.” You saw Thomas’ hesitation still lingered as you simply backtracked the needle, undoing his stitch. You quickly did another one and handed it back to him, offering him a redo. “I know it’s a small needle, so I get if it’s tedious, but you can try again and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

    “I don’t know, love,” Thomas sighed, “maybe this whole stitching thing is too hard for me. Plus, you’ve been working on this thing for like three weeks. I don’t want to mess it up for you.”

    You pouted, staring down at the artwork in your hands. It was a six-inch circular landscape, complete with a golden sunset and a lush field of flowers. Well, almost all the flowers had been added. You were currently filling in the various rolling hills with a gorgeous sage green thread. You wanted Thomas to help with the flowers, too, but the idea of even attempting a French knot stressed him out. You knew he wanted to learn, since embroidery art was something you loved. As your boyfriend, he was interested in learning about anything you liked, but this was one thing he felt like he couldn’t completely get into.

    “If potentially messing up my artwork is what you’re worried about, how about we try a fresh piece of fabric?” You tried, setting the hoop and needle down on the coffee table. “I could show you a chain or a stem stitch again. Or you can face your fears and try the French knot?”

    “Oh, no, leprotta, those are way harder than what you’re showing me now!” Thomas whined, rising from his seat on the couch to try and compensate for his rising nervous energy. “Maybe we can pick this up again later? I think I need a little break.” 

Your eyes widened, not sure how to respond. Not wanting to make him any more anxious, you mustered a small “Okay” before returning the hoop back to your bedroom. But “picking up again later” never happened.

    Later that night, Thomas found it hard to fall asleep. As much as he loved to sleep, this time it just wouldn't happen. He tried to get comfortable time and time again, but to no avail. He would close his eyes and try to bring about his own exhaustion as much as he could, but when he glanced at the clock again, only mere minutes had passed. Despite having to be awake early the following morning to be on time for one of the band’s interviews, it seemed that the more he tried to sleep, the more restless he became.

Thomas sat up, wondering what could be prying him away from a night of peaceful slumber. Too much caffeine? He may have had a larger slice of chocolate cake than usual for dessert, but that never bothered him in the past. Was it his nerves? In that case, having a cigarette typically calmed him down enough to get some rest. Doing his best not to disturb you, who was occupying the other half of the bed, he slowly got out from under the blanket and headed to the window. As he lit his cigarette and exhaled the first puff of air, he felt bad about the interaction he had with you earlier. Thomas didn’t want you to think he didn’t care enough to contribute to your art project. He just wanted to make sure that if he was going to make any sort of contribution, he was going to do it right.

Sticking the cigarette in the ashtray to extinguish it, he softly made his way back to the bed and began yet another attempt at sleeping. About thirty minutes later, his eyes shot open again, only aggravating him further. Thomas looked at the clock again. If things continued like this any longer, he’d be having to get up anyway by the time he got around to falling asleep. It was situations like these where the only viable solution was to get up and do something until it physically tired him out, so he had no choice but to go to bed. 

Sitting upright again, Thomas surveyed the room to find his perfect activity. Practicing guitar was impossible as it was far too loud and would surely wake you up. He could write a new song, but currently had no good ideas, and anything he wrote down would've been forced just to keep himself occupied. And then he spotted it.

Taking one final glance over at you to assure you were still sleeping, he tiptoed over to your desk to grab the small wooden hoop, still attached to the same threaded strand of sage green yarn. He contemplated staying at the desk to work on it, but feared that the scraping of the chair legs against the floor would wake you immediately, so back to the bed it was.

Thomas stared at the fabric, his fingertips caressing the shiny golden clamp at the top of the hoop. Plucking the needle from its muslin bed, he started from where you left off. His first idea on how to improve his satin stitch technique was to use one hand to feel along the bottom for the previous thread loop, preventing him from placing the thread in the wrong spot. However, all he succeeded in doing was poking his middle finger when he tried to make the stitch because he didn’t move it before threading.

Mouthing “Ow” as he yanked his finger away from the fabric, he began to get discouraged again. Taking a steadying breath, he closed his eyes and tried to remain positive. “Okay, Thom, you got this.” He whispered ever so softly, the words barely leaving his plush lips. “You can do this.”

 Not being able to see very well with only the small streaks of moonlight coming through the window, Thomas turned around to switch on the small lamp next to the bed, making the room a tad brighter. It wasn’t much light, considering it was only a table lamp, but at least he could see the colors on the fabric better instead of everything looking like one big grey blob.

You had been sound asleep up until this point, but the sudden abundance of light that seemed to be right outside your eyelids caught your attention. You slowly opened your eyes to inspect the source, seeing Thomas sitting up in front of you, slightly hunched over and extremely focused, his activity of choice concealed from your view. 

“Thommy?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing, baby?”

Thomas froze. This was quite possibly the only time he would ever prefer you not to know what he was doing. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his expression one of worry as he knew he had woken you up. Now that his position had changed, you could clearly see what he was up to. You smiled faintly, your emotion a mix of tiredness and perplexion as to why Thomas decided that now was the time to practice his embroidery skills. Upon closer inspection, the odd timing wasn’t the only thing to bewilder you. The way Thomas held an embroidery needle was unlike any you had ever seen before. He held it like a pencil, pushing it through the fabric with his pinky. It was certainly different, but undoubtedly adorable considering he was still a beginner. You could almost start giggling from that alone.

You sat up next to him and rested your chin on his shoulder, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. He smiled and continued to fill in the design, keeping the stitches nice and tight, just like you had shown him earlier.

“I guess you had been paying attention.” You whispered as you continued to observe him. 

“I remembered everything you said.” Thomas responded, his voice an equally low whisper. “Sorry for waking you, though.”

“You didn’t wake me.” You lied, hoping to ease his tension. “I felt a bit restless anyway.” Thomas knew you weren’t being truthful, but didn’t press the issue any further. “What made you want to practice this now?” You asked him, noticing his hand twitch at the question.

“I couldn’t sleep,” He confessed, “And I thought I could do something until I got tired. I thought maybe some practice alone would be better for me. But then you woke up.” And that’s when it hit you. 

“Did practicing in front of me make you nervous?” You breathed, praying you weren’t correct but sensing there was no other logical conclusion. Thomas nodded.

“When you first asked me to try it with you, I assumed it would be easy for me. Sewing is something you need to have good finger movement for. I figured my guitar skills would help me a lot, but I was wrong.” He explained, making another stitch to demonstrate. “The one big difference I didn’t think of was that, when I’m playing guitar, my fingers are constantly moving. From what you’ve shown me, sewing is much slower. I think the idea of normally moving quickly is what’s making me mess up. I just wanted to practice a bit more before coming back to you with it.”

Your gaze flickered between Thomas and the embroidery hoop. You smiled in a way that made your dimples quite prominent. “From what I can see here, you’re skills are doing nothing but good things for you.” Thomas stared down at the fabric, wondering what you meant. “I can’t even tell where I finished and you started.” You praised him, running the tip of your fingers across the muted green loops. 

Thomas looked up at you, his pupils so large you’d think he was high. “You mean it?”

“It never mattered to me if you were good at it, Thommy.” You replied, resting your chin against his shoulder again. “Regardless of what you were able to do, I’m just happy you want to be involved.”

Thomas resumed his embroidering stance, left hand holding the edge of the hoop against his lap while his right hand tightly gripped the needle. He went to make another stitch, but stopped. His eyes moved back and forth, as if he were reading invisible words on an equally transparent page. His left hand abandoned the hoop and grasped the thread instead, making sure to grip it as close to the fabric as possible. He softly repeated what you had told him when wrapping the thread for a knot. “Three loops for a small one, five loops for medium, seven for large.”

He carefully coiled the thread around the scarf of the needle before making contact with the fabric, remembering to hold the knot firmly against the stretched muslin to ensure it was secure. He extended his right hand to pull the thread, making a dent in the center of the yarn ball like a bundt cake. He had successfully created a French knot.

“You did it.” You whispered, moving a few stray hairs away from Thomas’ eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Thommy.” 

“I love you, tesoro.” He purred, turning his head towards you to press a kiss to your lips, his heart soaring with confidence and validation. 

“I love you too, baby.” You responded, softly tracing your finger along the edge of his jawline. Feeling uplifted from his wonderful contribution to your artwork, he continued adding stitches to the fabric, making rapid progress to the various regions of the field. You observed him with pure happiness, lazily stroking his hair, sweeping your fingers along the back of his neck. You felt your eyelids getting heavy, briefly closing them as you continued to lean against Thomas’ shoulder.

After several minutes, you no longer heard the distinct popping and stretching of any stitches being made. Slowly opening your eyes, you looked over at Thomas’ face to see his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, his long eyelashes softly resting against his cheeks. You knew he was trying to fall asleep, but you thought he would at least make it back to bed before he did so.

Chuckling to yourself, you slowly took the hoop and needle out of his hands and placed them back on your desk, making sure Thomas didn’t fall forward or backward when you moved. Turning back to him, you gently held the back of his neck as you guided him to lay down, pulling the blanket up over his chest before getting comfortable on your side of the bed. Thankfully, you didn’t disturb him on the way down, since he was typically a heavy sleeper once he was finally out. Hurriedly turning off the lamp and climbing back into bed, you cuddled him until you fell asleep, ever so proud of him for always doing his best.

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I wrote a rough draft of this fic about a year ago reflecting on an embroidery class I took in high school. And yes, I included the part about awkwardly holding a needle because one of my classmates held their needle that way and it absolutely baffled me lmao 🤭 I was always amazed how they made such incredible designs using that particular form but I guess they were doing something right 😁