Omega, Triggered

triggered

TW: #slash/MM, #omegaverse, #knotting, #heatcycle, #pwp, #oneshot

The lobby of Abernathy Marketing Enterprise—AME, as it was known for short—was a masterpiece of modern design. Large, floor-to-ceiling windows bathed the space in natural light, illuminating sleek, minimalist furniture that exuded sophistication. A large logo adorned one wall, symbolizing prestige and success. Soft instrumental music played in the background, contrasting with my own inner excitement as I stepped further into the space, a hand pressed reverently to my mouth.

I could not fucking believe it—I couldn't believe that I was here. Finally. I had literally arrived. This was it.

I had been dreaming of this day for so long. I had graduated just two years prior previously with a large amount of student debt ... and a hellbent determination not to fail. Everyone had told me that I was batshit insane for not only pursuing a Marketing degree, but a Master's in Marketing right out of the fucking gate. Since our secondary gender was often seen as being better suited for tasks that require empathy and nurturing, omegas were often pigeonholed into caregiving roles. This was an idea that my parents had subscribed to but not me. I had been determined to do the opposite and it was that same sense of bratty determination had carried me right through a grueling internship where I had basically been a glorified errand boy.

Since graduating, I had cycled through a series of shitty low-level Marketing positions that were designed to make post-graduates question themselves and put everything that I had learned to the test. At first I had been scared shitless and had thoughts like did I actually like Marketing? Was I even good at it? Or was I, in fact, fucking batshit insane? But rather than think about it overly hard, I had instead bolstered a fuck-you resolve to all of my non-supporters—including myself—and found out that yes, I did like it and hell yes, I was good at it.

Good enough to jump from my shitty post-graduate job to a less shitty job, then to a job at Valentin Marketing Agency, a mid-level marketing firm that I had chosen to remain at because it was only slightly shitty. Throughout the years, no matter how shitty it had been, I had made it a point to hone every skill I thought could serve me.

Anyone else outside of the industry would definitively say that I was a nerd but inside the industry, I had found that supervisors couldn't help but to notice my strong creative thinking abilities—after all, they were evidenced by innovative campaign concepts, unique approaches to problem-solving and of course my contributions to creative brainstorming sessions. And no one could deny my excellent written and verbal communication skills. I was a fucking machine when it came to presenting ideas persuasively, interacting with clients, and collaborating with internal teams.

Not only had my only slightly shitty mid-level job at VMS allowed me to cut my teeth on the world of marketing, but it had opened the door of opportunity for me to attend the Global Marketing Summit, a rather prestigious conference where I had sat and watched Quinn Abernathy, CEO and founder of Abernathy Marketing Enterprise, give a keynote speech—"Innovative Storytelling: Crafting Narratives That Capture Hearts and Minds"—and I had decided then and there that I wanted to work for him.

The man was an industry leader. He had literally shaped the future of marketing—hell, was still shaping it. Ask anything in the marketing industry and they would tell you. They might not like it, but it was the truth. I knew from extensive research. And Quinn didn't know it yet, but he was going to offer me a job. Today. Or soon. I was going to fucking shine in this interview . I stood on the precipice of it, practically salivating at the idea of all my hard work paying off. The entire trajectory of my life could change, landing a job like this. I could imagine the look on my parents' faces when I told them. My dad giving a stoic but grudgingly appreciative nod, my mom forcing a smile—