#damiano david imagine

[writersblockiskillingme]

Can you please do a Damiano fell in love with his long time friend/band mate (reader) who is the backup singer (bc their voices complement each others perfectly) and writes a song about her and sings it to her on stage, confessing his love. (the other band mates know abt it).

I’m in my delusional era

Only Angel | Damiano David

Pairing: Damiano David x fem!reader (Måneskin bandmate)

Summary: 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.

Warning/s: pet name (angel), just a little bit of good all angst, smut +18, degradation, teasing, prising, dom/sub, few curse words, mentions of alcohol and weed, cigarettes, mentions of one night stands, grammar and spelling mistakes, Google translated Italian (sorry, please tell me in the comments if I made any mistakes so I can fix them)

Author's note: This one's been a long time coming, but enjoy!

I saw this angel

I really saw an angel

Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see

That I'm still the only one who's been in love with me

I'm just happy getting you stuck in between my teeth

And there's nothing I can do about it

Damiano could still remember the first time he met her.

She was the first singer that Måneskin (Back then just Victoria and Thomas) recruited for the band. He could remember it as if it was yesterday.

His hands were sweating as hell as he walked through the hallway of a "made up", improved studio that belongs to the future, back-then-still-in-making, rock band Måneskin. He remembered how nervous he was, but that nervousness compared to the one he experienced as he walked into the studio was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Not a big deal at all.

As he reached his stop, he looked up and saw a guy with blonde hair messing with his guitar, and he saw a blonde haired girl standing next to him, watching him. They didn't notice him just yet.

Damiano turned his head away from them and decided to focus his gaze on a girl sitting in a chair with a pen and journal in her hands, ashtray sitting on the armrest of the chair. She was lightly gripping the pen as she wrote and crossed and scrambled the words on a piece of paper in the journal. Her (h/l) (h/c) covered her eyes slightly. He could clearly see her red lips moving, even tho she had a half finished cigarette in her mouth. She was probably mumbling the word of the, what was probably, a song she was writing.

She was mumbling so quietly, but somehow he could still hear her voice. It was beautiful, he felt like he was falling into a trans. He felt himself freezing like a deer in headlights when he saw her look up at him.

Her face steached into a smile, cigarette no longer lingering on her lips as she reached out and placed it on an ashtray. Her (e/c) shining like the sun, her hair no longer covering them from him. She stood up and started to walk up to him. That's the moment when Vic and Thomas noticed him, too.

He noticed the grace she was carrying herself with. It was as if she was floating. It was a sight to behold for sure.

"Ciao! Tu devi essere Damiano David." [Hi! You must be Damiano David.] She said and he felt like his breath was knocked out of his lungs when he heard her angelic voice speak to him.

"SÌ. Quello... sono io." [Yes. That's me.] He stuttered for a bit and that shocked him to his core. He never stuttered before, it felt weird. He didn't like that.

"Sorprendente. Io sono (Y/N) e loro sono Thomas e Victoria." [Amazing. I'm (Y/N) and this is Thomas and Victoria.] She introduced herself, Thomas and Vic.

And so, after a few quick hellos were exchanged, they pulled him in front of the mic and they preformed one song with him and one where he had to sing alone. It turned out that (Y/N) and he sing together perfectly. Their voices simply sound so good together. However, since that day something followed Damiano. Something that he couldn't quite place for a little bit.

Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door

I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

Couldn't take you home to mother in a skirt that short

But I think that's what I like about it

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Over the years Damiano and (Y/N) started to get closer and closer to each other.

At first it was innocent, truly. The two of them would talk with each other more than they would with Vic, Thomas or Ethan. Everyone soon noticed how close they were. They started to become very good friends. They had a lot of thing in common. They liked the same music, the same artists, everything! They somehow never ran out of topics to have a conversation about. It was amazing, really.

They would go out to get coffee, pizza, they went to bars and local parties together. They would come to each other's houses and just watch TV and get drunk or, sometimes even, high. They would drink some shitty wine that they would find in some shitty liquor store and would fall asleep on top of each other on the couch.

They would write and sing songs with each other. They liked each other's voices, but most of all, they liked how they sounded together. A match made in heaven, indeed.

However, over the years something changed. As they grew, the band did, too and so did their feelings for one another. Damiano watched everything she did whenever she was in his presence. He practically adored the ground she was walking on. It was amazing to experience. And to watch, too.

Vic was the first one to notice, of course. She would easily notice the longing glances that they would send each other while they thought that nobody was looking. She tried to talk to them about it. They would just brush it off.

"She is just my best friend, come on, Vic!"

"He's just a friend to me. Nothing more!"

Of course, Vic wasn't stupid, and neither were Thomas and Ethan. They soon figured what was up, too. The three musicians really tried everything in their power to get them to know what the other was feeling, but it felt like it was impossible to do that.

The problem was that Damiano and (Y/N) thought that the other didn't like them like that. And so from one problem, another one was born.

One night stands.

They both thought that if they see other people they could push their feelings away. However, when did that work out?

Damiano could still remember it. He walked down the hallway of the hotel that they were staying in because of their performance in New York. He watched her and some random guy practically eat each other's faces as she started to push him into her hotel room.

The last thing that he saw were the stains of red lipstick before he started doing it two.

I must admit I thought I'd like to make you mine

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there's nothing we can do about it

Damiano had officially had enough. Watching her bringing guy after guy in her hotel room, him bringing girl after girl. It was too much. He couldn't do it anymore. He couldn't just stand aside as he watched and heard everything those guys did when it should be him doing it to his angel.

So one night he gathered his courage and knocked on her door so hard he almost got splinters in his knuckles from the wooden door. The moment she opened the door he spilled his feelings to her and so this is how they ended up there.

Damiano was quick to notice a bruise in the corner of her neck. Her pathetic attempt to cover it with her hair was not doing it. He felt anger fill his body to the brim. He knew that he had no reason to be angry, she wasn't his. Perhaps that was what angered him.

"You seem angry." (Y/N) was quick to point it out, her face forming a concerned look. "Why are you mad?"

"I'm not mad." Damiano spat out, proving her point. "I just think that you can choose better people to share spit with, angel. That's all."

"Excuse me?!" (Y/N) couldn't help but to yell in his face in the middle of the hallway. "What the hell is wrong with you, Damiano?"

"Was it worth it?" He asked her, his voice dangerously low. It send shivers down her spine.

"Is you hating me right now your new personality trait?"

She knew that that wasn't justified. She knew how bold of her that was. She knew that he didn't actually hate her, at least she hoped that he didn't. The truth was that she grew nervous under his gaze. His gaze, his tone, sudden realization of what he was talking about... it made her nervous as hell. She didn't know what to do.

"Was it worth it?" He kept his voice low and she knew that she couldn't avoid the topic any longer as much as she wanted to.

"I don't know what to say, Damiano."

"Oh, don't bullshit me, (Y/N)!" Damiano's voice rang in the hallway of the huge hotel in the middle of New York. He didn't give a flying fuck that it was night. That her "neighbors" were probably asleep. He didn't care about anything but his angel.

"Watcing you with so many guys who can't give you what I can... it draw me crazy." He finally confessed as he watched her in science of the hallway, frozen, confused. "You still don't get it, do you? It's because I love you."

"Now I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that you don't feel the same way." Damiano told her as he pinned her against the door of her bedroom. Her breath getting stuck in her throat as she listened to his rough voice speak. "Just then I will leave you alone."

"I can't." She whispered, feeling so small compared to him right now.

"And why is that, angel."

"Because... I'm not even gonna lie, I'm just so fucking obsessed with you, you have no idea."

That's all he needed.

Told it to her brother and she told it to me

That she's gonna be an angel, just you wait and see

When it turns out she's a devil in between the sheets

And there's nothing she can do about it

Hey, hey

His lips felt so familiar yet so unknown to her. His breathing had become more strained.

"Damn it all to hell, if I don't get to have you tonight then I'm never going to be able to have you."

"Who says it has to be that way." (Y/N) said as she gasped in pleasure as he started to suck the skin on her neck.

His muscles tensed with every thrust. She finally allowed herself to sink into the mattress, into her pillow. She finally allowed herself to have him and for him to have her. She felt his hands flattering against her spine as he drew her closer to him as if that was physically possible.

"Arch your back for me, angel."

She felt herself gasping in pleasure as she did what he asked her to do. It was hard for him to contain his own sounds, too, as he pumped his thick throbbing cock into her at a constant pace.

"Please..." she was getting overwhelmed with him continuously hitting the right spot deep inside of her.

He grabbed her ankles and lifted her ankles to place them around his waist. She was practically screaming as he continued to split her wet pussy at rapid speed. She continued to shudder as he sped up his pace.

"Bet you they don't make you sound like that, do they, angel?"

"Ah- I-"

"Do they!?"

"NOO!" She barely gasped. "They don't... only you can do- ahh- this to mee!"

She openly moaned, screaming as Damiano's cock started swelling and stretching her tight pussy even more then before. And as her orgasm hit, she began to cry. He didn't care, he continued to thrust repeatedly, no signs of stopping or at least slowing down.

"I want you to remember everything fucking seconds of this."

She was overstimulated, but the tears of pleasure continued to flow.

He suddenly pulled out, erotic sound of cum mixed together filled the deafening silence in her room. He's fiery kisses started to trail down to her soaked pussy. Soon he started to suck her clit, but he moved away when he felt your hands on his head. He removed his tongue as he repositioned himself near your ass.

"Mhh!" (Y/N) tried to gain her voice back so she could speak again. "Don't! Too much!"

"Shhh... my beautiful angel." He cooed to her. "I'm sure that you've got one more in you. Will you be a good little angel and take what I have to give you?" His words were mocking and teasing at the same time as she nodded her head as much as she could before she pushed herself further into her pillow.

"Good girl."

He slowly began to enter her again, he was lubricated by her dripping juices. The thrusts began to increase again as she screamed his name, shaking. However, soon she found herself moving to meet his rough, pleasurable thrusts, which synchronized.

She was drowning in pleasure, she couldn't comprehend what was happening anymore. However she knew one thing, every time that fat cock hit her cervix, she got closer and closer to her much needed release.

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

The stadium was big. The light were truly blinging (Y/N). The adrenaline was pumping through your veins. She was so happy, so full of euphoria even tho her throat felt so sore from all the singing and her muscles were hurting her.

On the other hand Damiano felt like he was going to faint. Yes, he was euphoric and happy, too. He was so happy and excited for the even bigger future of Måneskin, but he felt nervous.

For years he was in love with this girl. He always gave his best to express it as best as he possibly could. But nothing felt good enough. His angel deserved the world, even more so. He loved her so much the fraze "to the moon and back" simply couldn't cut it.

So he decided to express his love for her in a way that he did best. He wrote her a song. And so with a deep breath, and Victoria's pep talk before he went on the stage, he stepped forward.

"How are we feeling tonight, LA!?" Damiano shouted and his shout was followed by screaming and clapping of the fans.

"So tonight you are going to hear a song you have never heard before!! You excited!!??"

Damiano had to cover his ears a little because the screaming of the fans became a little bit too much. Still he found himself laughing with excitement. Like he always did. He looked a little to the side where (Y/N) was standing so he could take a little peak at her face. Confused was not a good enough word to explain the look on her face when she heard what Damiano had said and Vic, Thomas nor Ethan didn't say anything. He wrote a song? Without me? (Y/N) though to herself.

"This song I will sing alone." Damiano said and (Y/N) got even more confused.

"You see, I met this girl a long time ago and I felt like I loved her the moment I saw her. I wanted to express my love to her and to the entire world so I wrote this song for her." Damiano continued.

The crowd was already loosing their minds as Damiano stepped took the microphone form it's stand, but when Damiano said the next words and started singing all hell broke loose.

"This song is for you, (Y/N). My only angel."

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My-my-my only angel

->

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TAGLIST

@opal-rugger

[oro-e-diamanti]

8 PWEASE - female reader is on vacation with Dami and friends and the power goes out which is all fun and games when she is with everyone downstairs but when they all go to their own rooms to sleep she panics and can’t sleep and ends up knocking on on Damiano’s bedroom door with tears running down her face and says that she is afraid of the dark and he invites her in and distracts her from it being dark with some smutty-ness and perhaps a blindfold (“now it doesn’t matter if we can turn the lights on or not because I’m not letting you see anyway”)

Perhaps she turns to Damiano because he had noticed her being anxious about the power being out earlier and asked if she was okay then and she tried to play it cool but now she can’t and she needs him to comfort her and protect her

YOU ARE THE BEST🤘🏼

Thank you so much for the request!! I hope you enjoy it 💕

"I might be afraid of the dark."

Damiano + fluff / smut

The first crack of thunder catches you by surprise. You hadn’t been aware of any thunderstorms in the forecast – and you usually kept track – and yet, when lightning illuminates the room for a split second, there is no doubt about one being much too close to the house for your liking. The laughter of the group around you briefly makes room for “oooh”s and “aaah”s but that remains the extent of their reaction.

You’re a little more unsettled. You hide it quite well, you think, until you catch Damiano’s eye. His face displays worry, a question, but even when you smile at him and he smiles back but you can tell he’s not convinced. You’re glad he’s not saying anything, as another round of drinks is passed around and someone starts a game of beer pong. A rowdy night in with your friends. A bit of alcohol, some silly games, catching up, it’s all you need.

Until the lights go out. There’s silence for about half a second before everyone starts talking all at once. You’re barely able to make out anything at all as the fear creeps up in you. Someone lights a candle, several phones are being held up to shine some light, but the unsettling feeling stays in your chest. Someone – you can’t quite make out who – jumps out behind a sofa to scare everyone. It only seems to work on you, but you try to keep your composure. Yet, once again, Damiano’s eyes are on you.

“Guys, come on, it’s no fun in the dark, let’s go to bed, we’ve still got one more night tomorrow, yeah?”

There’s a few mumbles but in the end, everyone agrees. You think you’re quite happy to retire to your room, lucky enough to snatch up one of the single ones before everyone else had arrived. But now you’re in your pyjamas, under the covers in your bed, distant thunder rumbling, and all you can focus on is the fact that it’s dark. Too dark. Not a single tiny light, no other houses or street lamps illuminating the outside, not even a little red dot on one of the various electronics in the room. Nothing.

You try, you really do. But the darkness seems too obvious, even when you close your eyes, and you can’t stop thinking about it. So, with soft footsteps and your phone in your hand to shine the way, you leave your room. It’s Damiano’s door you find yourself knocking on. He opens up much quicker than expected.

“I might be afraid of the dark,” you confess immediately. For a moment, you’re almost glad you can’t really see him or anything else, you don’t want to know which facial expression accompanies your statement. You’re embarrassed enough as it is.

You flinch at his touch. You hadn’t seen it coming, both because of the darkness and because you’d averted your gaze. But as soon as you realise what is happening, you move into him and against him, letting him engulf you in his arms and pull you into his room, door falling shut behind you. He manouvers you into the bed and only when the moonlight coming from his window hits your face does he see the tears spilling from you eyes. He wipes them away with care before pulling you into his chest.

You can barely see his face, the light from the distant moon hitting him just enough to know that he’s looking back at you. Neither breaks the eye contact. You’re so focused on trying to make out the nuances of his iris that you’re only fleetingly aware of his hand moving upwards, tracing along your side, and you almost want to dare him to brush against your chest. Your own hand is on his face, thumb stroking along his cheek, and it’s you who makes the move.

The atmosphere in the room changes in an instant. There’s a connection between the two of you that doesn’t need words as your mouths meet. With his arm tightly wrapped around you, as if frantically afraid of letting go, he gives you the utmost feeling of safety. And when his tongue touches yours, he’s giving you quite a different feeling altogether on top of it too.

You don’t notice you’ve closed your eyes, getting lost in the sensation of his hands and his mouth on you, until you open them again just to be reminded that it’s dark, worryingly dark, so dark you can barely make out Damiano at all, as a cloud pushes in front of the moon and robs you off your last bit of light.

Damiano notices you struggling immediately. He only hesitates for a moment, then his shirt is off his body, but instead of expectig you to react to the new show of skin, he pulls you into a sitting position and wraps the fabric around your head.

“There. Now it doesn’t matter if the lights are out or not because I’m not letting you see anyway.”

The terror you felt only moments before almost immediately transforms into heightened anticipation. Everything happens all at once, so quickly you can barely wrap your head around it, and at the same time, every second lingers, letting you fall deeper and deeper into everything that is being done to you. You let him take the lead, let him undress you, kiss you, touch you, mouth on your breasts, hands spreading your thighs. You’re a mess of sighs and moans, and every single time your head threatens to remind you of your fears, he instinctively surprises you, a flick against your nipple, his tongue on your clit, a movement a little rougher than expected. When he’s on top of you, between your legs, and asks for your consent, you can’t do anything but shout out an enthusiastic yes that you’re sure travels through the house more than intended.

Damiano pushes into you carefully, slowly, but as soon as he realises you’re comfortable and on the verge of begging for more, he increases his speed. Your hands are clawing at him, nails digging into his back, and it feels like all of your senses are impossibly heightened by a lack of vision. And, somehow, it makes everything better. His body on yours and his breathing, intermittently interrupted by deep groans, cause you to come undone much sooner than expected. Your legs wrap around his waist as you moan loudly through your orgasm, clenching around him tightly, and he follows before you’ve fully come down.

You barely register him moving off you, softly cleaning you off, removing the blindfold, but your eyes stay closed as your breathing still rattles in your chest. When you finally open your eyelids again, you immediately notice. The light coming from the house next door. The little red dot on the tv screen on the wall. The low hum of electricity. You turn to Damiano, his face relaxed and smug.

“How long has the light been on again?”

“Since about two minutes after I blindfolded you,” he grins, quickly pressing a reassuring kiss to your lips. “But isn’t it much more fun to stay in the dark sometimes?”

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

Read the rest here!

After an emotionally taxing conversation with his psychologist, Damiano decided to also stop smoking weed/otherwise consuming cannabis. It’d been too triggering, a reminder of all the reasons he loved coke and opioids. Admitting he wasn’t ready for parties or group gatherings was even more difficult. He loved his friends, his family, and going to Vic’s DJ gigs. He loved playing pool at bars or dancing to the deafening pulse of techno music in a club. These things allowed him to feel the hurried, bright energy of his youth. It was proving hard to differentiate between craving community, craving mania, and craving situations because he associated them with drug use. 

He also made a habit of exercising in the mornings, before treatment. The earlier he took his lithium and ate some protein, the better he tended to feel throughout the day. Routine made cravings easier to resist when he woke up with them and endorphins lessened the severity of his depressive moods.

“I’m so fucking proud of you.” That's what you told Damiano when he debriefed you the next evening, a chip to mark 24 hours sober clutched in his fist. He’d disclosed his relapse in group and sobbed, despite hardy efforts not to shed a tear. You make dinner and stroke his hair when Dami lays his head on your lap. He’s cynical, not receptive to positive affirmation. Unfortunately, this mood has become more common as the years pass. So you focus on gestures: nicely making his bed, meal prepping his breakfast, cleaning the litter box even though it was his turn. 

Surprisingly, Damiano requests you read aloud some favorite passages from the books you’ve finished since the breakup. You’d always thought of that as an activity for your sake. Of course he doesn’t actually use the word “breakup.” Dami won’t touch that terminology with a 10 foot pole. He’s grumpy and lovable, snuggled under the pale pink bed sheet as you speak.

Dami returned the favor by waking you up with coffee, which became a tradition on weekdays. He probably got up 10 minutes earlier than necessary to do so. The first morning you thought it was a glorious dream. Instead of the abrasive and occasionally rage-inducing beep of your alarm, a hand you recognized as Damiano’s was rubbing your back. It slides under your t-shirt and gently strokes your spine. You shiver and hum in delight, then scooch closer. Eyes still closed, the bed dips and you sense Dami taking a seat on the edge. The morning light pours in through the curtains – to which you have your back turned – as the scent of espresso reaches your nose. Such sensory perfection must be fantasy.

“It’s time to wake up,” he murmurs.

“Mm mm.” You object and scoot closer, curling around Damiano. He chuckles and massages your scalp with his fingertips. 

“Big stretch,” he narrates as Cheeto rouses herself by his feet. You can tell it’s not Princess, since she’d be meowing by the bedroom door as soon as she heard Damiano up and about. Finally, your brain starts to register that this might be reality, since you never dreamed of Cheeto and Dami simultaneously. You open one eye and are accosted by the bright light, confirming that this isn’t a dream.

“Hey,” you croak, squinting up at him. “What time is it?”

“A couple minutes before your alarm. I turned it off.” You readjust, head, shoulders, and arms splayed across Dami’s lap. “I don’t think that counts as getting out of bed.”

“I’d like to contest that.”

“Getting out of bed in general or if laying on my lap counts?”

“Yes,” you sigh, eyes falling closed.

“Mm mm, keep ‘em open,” he requests, affectionately. You whine in protest and pout. More than anything, you want to pull Dami into the bed for cuddles, but it’d make you late for work.

“Fine.” Awkwardly, you flip onto your back to stare up at Damiano. He’s smiling, which is good motivation to keep looking.

“You’re cute when it’s too bright. You squint so hard that you get this little line between your eyebrows.” He runs his finger along your nose, then taps your cupid’s bow. You’d very much like him to keep going, gently stroking your features. He delicately moves the hair from your face and your eyelids grow heavy. Damiano tsks, working a hand between your mid-back and the mattress.

“Sit up. C’mon.” With a sigh, you detangle your legs from the sheet. “C’mon,” he coaxes sweetly. “When you’re ready to stop pouting, there's coffee.” Your feet land on the floor as Damiano helps push you upright. After a couple sips of espresso, your pupils adapt and the brain begins working. Dami remains seated, hand on your back, and you love that he’s content to just share space. Love that things don’t always have to be full of words and amusements for one another.

“Thank you, this is so nice!” You hug Dami with messy enthusiasm, leaning some of your weight against him. Damiano embraces back and kisses your head.

“I’m happy to do it, sweetheart.” His hand resumes stroking your spine, the other moving the hair from blocking your face. “Just stay awake.”

“Okay, okay,” you groan, standing up and stretching. Dami doesn’t move, probably hoping to catch a glimpse of something. You want the physical affection to continue so badly that it hurts in your chest a little. So you give into an urge before thinking about it and sit on Damiano’s lap, throwing your arms around his shoulders. 

“Wha – hey there, sweetheart.” Aware of morning breath, you kiss Dami’s neck, hairline, and behind his ears. “Feeling a little touch-starved?” You nod. Slowly, he slides his hands under your shirt. By touch-starved, you hadn’t necessarily meant skin to skin. Damiano sneakily took advantage of an opportunity by reading into it and you certainly weren’t mad about his decision. 

Things start innocent enough, his hands rubbing your back, but then they move away from your spine. When stroking around your waist and hips, his fingertips brushed your stomach, pinky dipping underneath the waistband of your pajama shorts. Then those hands slide up, cupping your ribcage. You stop breathing, frozen with anticipation. Would he touch your breast? Would he slide his hand to the front of your chest and caress it in his warm, rough palm? Would he play with your nipples? Rub them with the callous on his thumb? Would he then slide his hand down your front and into your shorts? If he did, you’d raise your hips to give him room. Then you’d trap his hand against your pussy and grind. Did he want to tease you today or make you moan? Or make you cum? 

When you check his expression, Dami’s eyes are glued to your heaving chest and erect nipples. Knowing that he’s hard, you throw a leg over and straddle him. Then you scoot in as close as possible to rest your weight against his erection, stimulating both of you. Damiano’s eyes flutter and his hands escalate from stroking to grasping. You wait for him to make the nest move, but he doesn’t.

“If you could do anything –”

“If I could do anything you’d be underneath me and too wracked with pleasure to say anything but my name and the word please. If I could do anything the neighbors would be filing a noise complaint and you’d be on probation at work for repeated tardiness. If I could do anything we’d have already gone through a bottle of lube and half a dozen sex toys. Our clothes would be on the doormat, panties included because last night we fucked against the front door as soon as you got home. Then again on the kitchen counter and again in front of the bathroom mirror and a fourth time in the shower, which was all a preamble to what I’d do to you in this bed.” 

You look over his shoulder at the mattress cover and twisted sheet. You’d gotten in the habit of sleeping on Dami’s side. It hadn’t actually smelled like him for months.

“What would you do?” he asks.

“I…I have to get ready for work.” You try to climb off his lap, but Damiano holds onto your waist firmly.

“Did what I said offend you?” he pressed.

“No,” you reply breathlessly. The moment is deliciously intense, especially the way he’s staring.

“Overwhelm you? Turn you off in some way?”

“Uh, no. Well, maybe overwhelm a little bit…”

“In a bad way?” Dami hasn’t forced the issue in terms of sex since coming home.

“In a good way.”

“Then what would you do? If you didn’t have to get ready for work.” You pause and look down. “We don’t have to actually do it, at least not right now,” he whispers.

“I would – I want you….Um, you’d play with my nipples.”

“Mhm.” His hand slides up your chest and rests on your sternum.

“Then you’d put – push your hand down my front.” Dami obeys, his fingertips stopping at the waistband of your shorts. You stare, willing him to go further with every ounce of your being.

“Does my hand go under your shorts?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Does it go into your panties?”

“Yes.” His real hand doesn’t move. “Between my legs so I can…Actually, I kinda wish that I was just wearing a t-shirt so I could pull your pjs down and grind against your cock. And then, maybe…”

“Mhm,” he encourages.

“I’d take off my shirt too and rub my nipples against your chest until they were sore. Your – your sweaty, hairy chest. And you’d hold me like you weren’t worried about scaring me away. Really grabbing me, like you were confident, but also because you couldn’t help yourself.”

“Show me what you mean,” he demands.

“I – I can’t. You just have to.” Dami grabs a hold of your upper thigh with his free hand and flips both bodies. Your back lands on the mattress, arms and legs already wrapped around him. Damiano pushes you further onto the bed, so he has room to climb on top.  It would take less than a minute for you to both wiggle out of your clothes then locate a condom and lube. Probably closer to 30 seconds. It's the same sensation as the makeout two mornings ago. You wanted to say yes, but your self preservation instincts weren’t letting that happen.

Damiano searches your wide-eyed expression for decisiveness and finds nothing of the sort. He can see you thinking about it. Then he sees you over-thinking it and knows that this will not be the moment you feel comfortable enough to trust freely.

“Like this?” He’s panting, as well, and for some reason, that's unbearable sexy. Dami isn’t putting on a facade. This borderline chaste amount of physical contact has got him worked up, too. You almost kiss him, then recall your morning breath and cover your mouth.

“I need to brush my teeth.”

“Y/n, I don’t give a good god damn whether or not you’ve brushed your teeth. I don’t care!” Dami loses his cool, but quickly recovers it. “I – sorry. Sorry, let me…” He walks his hands backwards and climbs off the bed, then helps you stand up.

“Thank you for the coffee,” you repeat, taking a long sip, that way a response won’t be expected. As you slip by Dami to leave the bedroom, he gives your butt a little squeeze. It was once a regular gesture in private, but he hadn’t taken this type of initiative since getting sober. You whip around with an impish smile, the mug nearly held to your lips. Damiano’s expression is watchful, then validated. He was testing the waters and your reaction basically invited him to jump right in.

Rather than refocus on his own routine, Dami watches you assemble a lunch while still in pajamas. He stands on the edge of the kitchen, pondering something, admiring you.

“Whatever your timeline for physical intimacy, I will respect it, 100%.”

“I know that, Damia.” You wash and fill your water bottle. He leans his hip against the counter with crossed arms. 

“But if you're waiting for things to feel not scary with me, that day may never come. Our history isn’t gonna get more palatable.” You hadn’t considered things from that perspective before. “Part of a nurturing relationship is pushing each other, challenging restrictive thought patterns.” Damiano moseys over. First, his right hand cups your hip. Then, the left rubs the side of your glute languidly, before wrapping around your middle. Dami holds you casually, but still body to body, standing behind you at the kitchen sink. Each exhale ruffles your hair, a reminder of how much you’d missed this. Dami’s wandering hands and desire for closeness.

This must have been another thing you blocked out for survival, since an awareness of what once was made losing it lethally painful. You’d forced yourself not to remember and now the remembering felt like the first first bloom of spring after a frosty winter. 

You lean against Dami, let his shoulder take the weight of your head. Then you lay your left arm over his, fingers lacing together.

“And I don’t want to push past your boundaries, but at the same time…” He leaves tender kisses down the column of your exposed neck. “This definitely exceeds a hand holding level of intimacy. It breaks the no couple behavior boundary –”

“Me and my fucking rules,” you groan. Repeated back, you sound certifiable, even from an understanding Damiano.

“This certainly qualifies as sexual touch.” His pinky and ring finger dip under your waistband as he dips into a whisper. “But I didn’t ask first and I don’t have to ask now, either, because just your body language is telling me how much you like this.”

“Forgot until just now.” With an even more dramatic groan, you turn around to meet his eyes. “Ugh! I know I’m shit at this –”

“Not what I was saying, at all,” he interrupts, thumb brushing your cheek. “I was just gonna suggest using a Listen for My No system of consent instead of Wait for My Yes. But that's such a sexually aggressive thing to suggest on someone else’s behalf that I…” He makes a face, nose scrunched up.

“But I agree with you. I’d like that, I really would, but, um…” Dami’s expression goes from relieved back to uneasy. “When I submit, I can’t usually access the decision making part of my brain. Kinda the point, actually.” 

“Baby, we never do anything in subspace if we haven’t agreed to it first.”

“I know, but I’d feel –” You gesture erratically, but the right adjective never surfaces. So you settle on “shitty, I guess.” Avoidant, you stare at the floor in anticipation of Dami’s reaction. Of course, Princess is right there, biding her time for the inevitable moment that all this attention is rightfully turned to her. “Sassy Pants,” you coo. She rests her front paws on your shin and meows, so you pick her up.

“Y/n, I never want you to – awe, look at the fur baby.” Damiano gets distracted by Princess, who uses you like an elevator to his shoulder. She leaps onto him and Dami winces at her claws through his thin t-shirt. “Ow, ow, ow. Thanks for that Sassy Pants, now get off.” He sets Princess back down where she stares at him in betrayal.

“I’m sorry, was having him to yourself all night not enough attention?” You sass her right back with a hand on your hip while Dami laughs. The cat sulks, nimbly returning to the couch and curling up right on his pillow. “Do you see that? She’s the real reason we practice non-monogamy. So I don’t end up with my throat slit in my fucking sleep by her murder mittens!” Hoping to have successfully distracted him, you brush your teeth then slip back into the bedroom to get dressed. In the living room Dami sings to Princess, doing a little dance with her paws. The happy sounds carry through the partially ajar door.

“So, uh…” You’d almost finished pulling on your stockings when he leans against the door frame. “Sorry, am I allowed to look?”

“Yes, you’re allowed to look,” you scoff. He turns the corner just in time to watch your thighs disappear beneath a linen skirt. His lack of objection indicates that your earlier distraction wasn’t effective. He’s not feeling playful.

“What I was saying before is that I never want you to feel bad about putting parameters –”

“Damia, it’s not that.” He’s trying to soften the determination in his expression. “If I allow my rational mind to just slip away then I’m gonna…” again, words evade you “embarrass myself.”

“What do you mean embarrass yourself?” he croons. Damiano walks into the bedroom, cupping your cheek in his right palm. Meanwhile, his left hand slides across your waist and settles on the top of your glute. Another barrage of hidden memories: the early years when Damiano spoke your self-confidence into being fruition on anxiety-ridden mornings.

“I mean grind against your lap or leg or whatever while begging you to fuck me until I sob in a way that’s gonna hurt you to watch. Zero inhibitions as I try to convince you, okay? Just babbling and clinging and tears for your cock. ‘Daddy, my heart hurts because you won’t make love to me.’ I don’t want either of us in a position to navigate that.” Damiano becomes a statue. When it doesn’t immediately pass, you decide to pick a pair of sensible shoes while his brain resets.

“Does your heart hurt for more intimacy?” Now you’re the one frozen in place. “Seems like you may have just accidentally been completely honest with yourself.” Fuck. He was right.

“Could you pretend not to know me as well as you do?”

“No, y/n, I can’t.” You’d tried to lighten the mood, give yourself an out, and he’s rejected that effort wholesale. Damiano stands there, waiting for a real response, hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. Every morning he puts them on, after sleeping in his boxers, to make you comfortable. It suddenly feels so elementary, this game of pretend you’d been playing because you were scared shitless of losing him again. 

“I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For being a nervous wreck.”

“Being a nervous wreck about what?” You’re taken aback, having expected some sweet platitude like "don't be sorry, sweetheart.” Or perhaps, “You’re trying your best in a tough situation” punctuated by a kiss to the forehead. But you’d finally exhausted his patience and Damiano wasn’t going to feed you reassurances that you already knew to be true.

“About,” you gesture between your bodies “us!”

“Elaborate for me, please. What about us?” His tone isn’t hostile, just insistent.

“Our relationship.”

“Not my sobriety?”

“No…actually.” You’re even more surprised than Dami at that answer.

“Good. Why is our relationship making you a nervous wreck?”

“Because, because…” You feel cornered even though he hasn’t moved an inch. “I’m not sure.”

“Yes you are. You’re constantly reflecting and self-examining, especially recently. Some days you’re more in your head than you are in the world.”

“But the last couple days, I’ve been better at staying in the present. After our fight, I’ve been trying not to walk on eggshells.” 

“And we’ve been so much more connected, which has been fucking incredible. But you’re still unhappy.”

“I’m not…” Were you happy? You should be happy. You have an objectively good job, a beautiful apartment. You have a loving family, loving friends, loving companions. Your soulmate has returned and he’s stable. But were you happy? With a subjectively horrible job, home full of traumatic memories, emotionally unavailable parents, fading friendships, and companions who’s reassurance couldn’t make you feel adequate so you’d stopped asking for it entirely. 

“How many months do I need to go without relapse, without a crazy mood swing, without –”

“To get your dick wet?” You snap at him in anger. This was the definition of pressuring you.

“For you to trust me, y/n!”

“But sex is the way to show that I trust you? Go get laid, Damianno. Stop avoiding your other companions because you’re afraid they won’t forgive your behavior.”

“You get laid. Stop avoiding your companions because they remind you how profound our intimacy could be.” For what feels like an eon, you glare at each other in silence.

“How about we both admit that having sex with other people wouldn’t do anything to fill this…space?” It feels good to concede. Most of the tension leaves the air.

“Void?”

“Void is probably more accurate, yeah.” It’s just enough breathing room for reality to set in. “Fuck, I’m gonna be late for work.” You look around frantically for a hair tie to wrangle your unbrushed hair into an updo.

“Can you please just give this conversation another five minutes of your time?” There's a hair elastic on the floor, by your nightstand. You make a noise of victory, trying to remember if your travel hairbrush was still in the glovebox. “Three minutes?” he pleads. It’s too much. Mentally, you try to check out as an act of self-preservation. In your peripheral vision, Damiano snatches your phone off the bed. You can’t leave without it.

“Are you fucking serious?”

“I’m asking how long until you can trust me?”

“For me to trust you completely?” That gives Dami pause. He seems to realize that it's a pretty big question to spring on you before 9 AM. ”Check the phone you’re holding hostage for the time, please.” So begins the hunt for your purse.

“It’s…” With a strained voice, he looks at the home screen. Then his hand drops to his side. “It doesn’t matter. I am asking you – How about when are you gonna be able to at least trust that I’m not gonna abandon you?” Despite attempts to create space between yourself and this moment, it feels like being stabbed with a dull spear, right through the center of your torso. “Hey!” he finally raises his voice in exhasperation. “Can you at least fucking look at me when I’m bearing my soul to you!?” Both cats are hiding under the kitchen table. Standing in the kitchen, you turn to meet his gaze.

“I’m gonna be late for work.” 

“Then be late! You hate that job anyways!” The shock reads easily on your features.. “I – that was out of line. Sorry. But this is never gonna work right until you trust me.” Your stomach drops. You feel nauseous and something akin to the beginnings of dissociation. This is why you’d been avoiding tough conversations. What if it went wrong? And if it did go wrong, what was going to happen? The ways Damiano had evolved as a person since going to rehab were great, but it also meant that you couldn’t predict his behavior anymore. If he walked out in anger, would he walk back in?

“Baby, that was really bad phrasing on my part.” His tone shifts completely,  soft and doting in the way you’d expected it to be earlier. “Way too extreme.” Dami knew he’d scared you. That took precedence over what he so desperately wanted to achieve with this conversation. You have half a mind to run into his arms. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know what’s gonna make me feel reassured that you won’t abandon me.”

“You don’t know, as in you can’t think of anything?”

“I don’t know!” You curl your hands into tight fists, fingernails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.

“Giving me an answer you regret and take back would be better than this purgatory.” Demand has officially overtaken supply. You’d required so much patience from Dami that it’d burned through all the categorical gratitude he felt for taking him back in any capacity. He was no longer just grateful to be here, he wanted a partner. 

“If your answer is I don’t think I can ever trust you again, so be it.”

“I can trust you! I do trust you, but you’re also…” He’s hanging on to every word and you can’t even craft a basic sentence. “There’s you, but then there’s also an addict you. The first one earned my trust back more easily than I’d care to admit, but the addict you, he – it’s always there.”

“And you can never trust an addict.”

“No! But, but –” The phrase “never gonna work” rattles around in your head. “No, because…because” then we might break-up. You barely think the thought, but it's like a tripwire. Suddenly trapped under all the ways you could lose Damiano. Originally there were two contenders: freak accident and growing apart. Then fame was added to this list, then addiction. Now you had to acknowledge a fifth. Like the fifth side to a cage that can finally hold you captive, invisible to others, making them helpless to do anything but watch the light leave your eyes. He might break-up with you because you couldn’t figure out how to put the pieces back together.

“Hug me.” Damiano crosses the apartment in a few quick steps. The stinging of tears distracts you from returning the embrace, but that doesn't give him pause. The only reason you weren’t blubbering already was how secure he’d made you feel the past few days. Now that was out the window.

“Continuous hugging or do you want room to breathe?”

“Breathe,” you choke, wiping your eyes. Dami’s version of breathing room was taking half a step back and resting both hands on your hips. It was perfect.

“Be brave a little longer,” he coaxes.

“I don’t want us to…God, it’s like saying Voldemort or some shit.”

“The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named that starts with a ‘B’ and ends in the word ‘up?’”

“Yeah, I…No, I don’t even want to talk about it, Damia.”

“That's adorable.” You rest your forehead against his sternum and whine. He cups the base of your head and you loosely cross your arms behind him. “But I do need to know what made you think of The Phrase Which Must Not Be Named.”

“What if,” you resume hugging him instead of finishing the sentence. “What if I can never learn to trust the addict part of you and it happens?”

“I don’t trust the addict part of me, y/n. After everything that’s happened, I sure as shit don’t expect you to.” You pull away in order to look up in confusion. “Awe, sweetheart. I just need you to trust that this part of me has control over that shithead.”

“But relapse happens and – and you’ll always be an addict and an alcoholic. This is permanently a part of you.”

“Can you trust that I’m always gonna do my damndest not to lose control? And if I do I’m gonna find my way back?” 

“It hasn’t even been three weeks.” Dami opens his mouth, closes it, and nods.

“Yeah thats a fucking good point. Damn.” He’s reeling. It’s interesting to see it happen to someone else. “I’m over here fuckin’...demanding to know when you’re gonna trust me again when I haven’t even given you a full month of stability.” You place a hand on Dami’s cheek, trying to redirect his gaze back to yours so he doesn’t get lost in self-loathing. He turns his head, but looks down. “I’m fucking comparing ‘well, I feel this way about her so –’”

“How do you feel about me?” His eyes flit up and you think the romantic in him might win.

“I feel the same way.” Or not. “Because it's easy to fall in love with somebody again and trust them again when they’re the same person. When they don’t have all this new baggage like I do.” Staring at his feet, Damiano mutters, “Nothing to compensate or…”

“You do not need to compensate, what a ridiculous thing to say!” 

“Okay.” You watch him only partially internalize your words, in the same way he raises his eyes, but doesn’t quite look at you.

“Hey, you getting sober created new character traits that I love and am attracted to.”

“Enough to balance out the shit?” You scoff, taken aback.

“Yes! You’re not a fucking equation, Damia. You are a beautiful, compelling man who contains multitudes with this incredible capacity to create multitudes. Don’t separate yourself into these categories of worthwhile or not worthwhile.”

“Y/n.”

“It’s so linear. You’re reduced to a collection of likable traits when –”

“I’m going to kiss you now,” he announces. You allow yourself to be pulled in by the back of the head, eyes falling to his mauve, shapely lips. It’s sweet, slow, polite. It’s a gesture. It’s a this-kiss-conveys-my-love-and-respect-because-it's-not-the-kiss-I-wanted-to-give-you gesture. It’s a gesture that reveals he’s forgotten the comment you made earlier this morning.

“Lets,” one syllable and you feel short of breath. “Let's have the big scary talk tonight – tomorrow night! Let's have it tomorrow night.”

“Alright.” Damiano coaxes you back in by holding your chin and brushing his pointer finger back and forth. It tickles faintly and makes you smile into the equally chaste kiss. “Don’t forget, you have therapy today.”

***

“I’m only here to avoid the missed appointment fee, honestly.” You slouch, as if trying to disappear into the chartreuse loveseat. 

“Oh?” Your therapist puts pen to paper and waits for elaboration. You stare at the floor and feel the pressure of tears behind your eyes. It's been like that since leaving the apartment, as though you were one inconvenience away from crying.

“Your disposition is certainly much different from our recent sessions.” Dr. Borough gives you another chance to speak, which you don’t take. She’s wearing all beige, minus an oversized necklace of reflective black beads. The color palette certainly suits the mood.

“Is it Damiano, work, anxiety that's been weighing on you?”

“All of the above.” After arriving 13 minutes late for work, Izolda called you into her stuffy, windowless office. She chastised you for being tardy twice in two weeks and you didn’t have the balls to point out that she’d personally excused the first instance. There were vague references to your performance review and callous comments about “allowing personal experiences to impede project outcomes.”

“Wow. So it's been a tough week?”

“It’s been emotionally laborious…So, yeah. Tough, I guess.”

“But productive?”

“Not when it comes to my job. That place is so devoid of humanity that I can feel part of my soul dying.”

“Sounds like you might need a change. Have you tried searching for –”

“I can’t handle a career change right now!”

“So what can you handle?” Finally, you burst into tears. “Oh, dear.” Dr. Borough pushes the box of tissues across the coffee table. “So what's going on in the other facets of your life? Are you and Damiano on good terms?”

“Yeah. He woke me up with espresso this morning, it was really sweet.” You wipe your face, which leaves a black smudge of hastily applied mascara on the white tissue.  

“And his sobriety?”

“He relapsed trying to reintegrate too fast. It was just booze and he’s been sober since.”

“Wow.” She scribbles on her notepad. “So that must have been triggering.”

“It…It actually made me realize how sturdy he is. Like, he got right back on the wagon and he started really acting like himself the next morning. He didn’t go back to being an asshole with a passive death wish, he did the opposite.”

“So that sounds like great news!”

“I was such a mess, such a fucking mess.” The note taking intensifies. Somehow Dr. Borough is already halfway down the page. “He was so supportive! And he basically confronted me.”

“You mean comforted?”

“No. Well, yes. He’s noticed that I’m always in my head, trying to figure out the correct or most true course of action. And he said I didn’t need to be, because I wasn’t going to ruin his sobriety. Because he was taking care of his sobriety with a bunch of people at his rehab and stuff, so I didn’t need to prioritize it anymore. I could just prioritize myself and I could depend on him because he’s gotten to a point where he can be my support and also stay sober. But I –” you devolve into sobbing.

“Alright, take a moment. Just take a moment, y/n.” Dr. Borough doesn’t look up from her notepad for several seconds. “So, that's huge! How many days ago was that? You must be emotionally drained.”

“Yeah, from not dealing with it.”

“You’re emotionally drained from purposefully ignoring emotions?”

“Basically.” 

“Alright.” Visibly processing, Dr. Borough adjusts her teal glasses and sits back. “Tell me about that.”

“Damiano just keeps pressing the issue. He wants to deconstruct and cross-examine the whole fucking situation immediately.” 

“Is this usually the case, him pursuing hard conversations and you avoiding? In the past, you’ve mentioned having great communication.” It feels like an accusation that you’ve failed Damiano somehow.

“No, I’m just not ready.”

“Ready for what?” 

“These fucking exhausting, weighty conversations!”

“What about them are you not ready for? In my experience, you can be very articulate, especially when it comes to emotions.”

“I’m not scared of talking about our feelings. We talk about our feelings all the time, anyways. I’m not even scared of conflict. We’ve fought twice this week already!”

“Oh, really?”

“But we work it out because we can admit that we’re wrong. We don’t get off on resenting or controlling each other.”

“What were those fights about?”

“This! Me!”

“You?”

“Ugh!” You throw your head back and groan. “He…thinks that I’m unhappy. I’m making myself miserable trying to do the right thing or by trying to control…something, us.”

“The right thing?” She raises one thinning eyebrow. 

“What's best for me.”

“Doing what's best for you is doing what makes you happy. It’s doing what makes you fulfilled, puts you on the path to achieve your goals.” Dr. Borough pauses, staring at you pointedly. “In terms of Damiano. What are your goals? What will make you fulfilled?”

“Being together for real, harmonious, mind, body, and soul.”

“And are your current choices facilitating that?” You feel claustrophobic, fingernails digging into the heel of your hand again. “Why the anxiety?” 

“Because I can’t control him!”

“True. But that’s always been true, y/n.”

“Doesn’t fucking matter what my goals are if the other person doesn’t feel the same.”

“You think Damiano doesn’t feel the same?”

“Well, no. I know he does.”

“Alright. So let's talk about this desire to control him.” That definitely felt like an accusation. “I just watched you have a strong reaction. Why don’t you explain that to me.” Pen to paper, Dr. Borough waits while you roll your eyes and huff in annoyance.

“Before I ever stepped foot in this office, I knew that the desire to control another person was toxic. I was already taking steps to ignore that desire when I felt it.”

“So you’re not trying to control him? That's not what's making you miserable?”

“I’m not miserable,” you bite.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “But you are experiencing bouts of unhappiness, like right now. You also have clinical anxiety which constantly affects your quality of life. Agreed?”

“Yeah…” The section of carpet at your feet is more worn than another other spot in the room.

“Explain to me why that is.” You choose to be insolent instead of introspective. 

“It’s impossible to tack down exactly what collection of innate and external factors contribute to any one person developing –”

“Not the anxiety, y/n.”

“I…” don’t know. But Dr. Borough wasn’t going to let you off the hook. She waits expectantly. You check the clock to find that the session isn’t quite halfway done. Damn it.

“Why are you unhappy?”

“I’m at my therapy appointment when I’d much rather be taking a nap.”

“How has your sleep been since Damiano’s relapse?”

“Worse than usual, better than expected. We…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t judge me, but the night he relapsed we slept in the same bed. Like, I slept with him on the couch.”

“‘Slept with’ as in…?”

“Cuddled.” You blush all the way up to your ears.

“And that was enjoyable.” It’s apparently obvious from your delivery since Dr. Borough makes a statement, not a question.

“Yeah and…I could hear him crying so hard. I didn’t intend to spend the night there either, but I got sleepy really quick.” A stinging sensation alerts that you’d been picking at your cuticles without realizing. “Because it felt so safe.”

“Huh. So it didn’t feel like the kiss on the plane?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then why are you unhappy?” You glower, finally meeting Dr. Borough’s eyes. She is unfazed. “Damiano has the same relationship goals and it sounds as though he may be ready to act on those goals, right?” You don’t protest, because she’s correct, but you also don’t concede. “So this should be great news! It’s exactly what you wanted, which is why this reaction raises questions. I know it’ll be hard to admit, but maybe now that you have Damiano back, you’ve realized that your feelings towards him have changed.”

“What? No! God, I fucking wish I felt more casually about him. I wish that he couldn’t read my mind and that we didn’t have this fucking soul bond and that I could have a halfway satisfying sex life without him. I want to stop watching him sleep, getting choked up when I see his bougie shampoo in the shower, huffing his dirty gym clothes, and feeling like my heart’s been ripped out because I love him so much. I want to be less in love with him!”

“No, you don’t.” Dr. Borough sets the notepad and pen on her lap and settles into her chair with a smile. There’s been some sort of breakthrough or resolution reached. “So what's the real reason you’re self-sabotaging? Do you feel like you don’t deserve him?”

“I…guess.”

“Don’t guess.”

“Deep down inside somewhere, probably.”

“So is that it?”

“You’re the therapist.”

“And you’re far from emotionally repressed.” Dr. Borough purses her lips and squints. “So are you afraid of losing him?” You swallow hard, vision blurring with tears.

“Yes, of course. Now with these fucking high stakes conversations, what if something goes wrong?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Anything!”

“Based on what you've said so far, it sounds like you guys would work it out.”

“What if we break up?”

“Does it feel like you’re going to break up?”

“No.” You blow your nose and steel yourself. “I need him. I’ve let myself need him again. So I can’t, ca – can’t lose hi – him again. I can’t! It’ll fucking kill me. I don’t care if you think that's dramatic, because it genuinely feels like I’d die of heartbreak. Even thinking a – about it, can’t – I ca – ca –can’t breathe!” Dr. Borough ends up talking you off the edge of a panic attack. You think that’ll earn some slack, but it doesn’t. 

“Okay, so just take small sips of water.” She uses her most soothing voice as you hold the paper cup in a trembling hand. “I’m going to be candid with you, y/n. Breaking up has always been a possibility and you’ve functioned despite it for years. Damiano dying of an overdose, however, is new. I think that’s what’s scaring you, the fact that death is irreparable.” You manage a nod. “Alright. That risk factor is never going away. So you have to decide if he’s worth it.”

“Of course he’s…” It's reminiscent of what Dami said this morning, which forces you to acknowledge that he was probably right. Putting the pieces back together was going to feel terrifying and you had to do it anyway. “I have all these rules to stop things from progressing before I’m ready. But maybe I’m never going to feel ready.”

“Progressing?”

“To stop Dami from getting too close, from things getting too intimate. I compartmentalized so damn much and I…every time I let him a little bit closer, it's like being hit by a semi-truck.”

“Reminders of his substance abuse?”

“No, beautiful memories of how our love manifested, all the ways we connected and felt at home in each other, felt profoundly understood. Memories of being joyous and intimate and becoming better people together.” Dr. Borough is noticeably moved. 

“You choose to close yourself off to that because of the possibility of pain?” 

“Yes!”

“That’s not living.” Finally, someone had just outright said it. You should feel stunned, but you don’t. “We’ve talked about living versus surviving in terms of your anxiety. The same can happen after trauma. Seeing Dami on life support –”

“Haven’t we already talked about that enough?” Reflexively, you make yourself smaller, hunkering down to survive this horrendous topic.

“I don’t know. Based on this reaction –”

“Based on this reaction, seeing my soulmate an inch from death is still traumatic? Shocking!”

“Traumatic, absolutely.” The even tonality of her speech is an embarrassing juxtaposition to your reactivity, but you’re still unable to quell it. “And based on your reaction, that memory still holds tremendous power over you.”

“Of fucking course it does! I still can’t even think about it like a real thing that happened to me!”

“I recall you’ve been dealing with a lot of dissociation, recently. More than usual.” Dr. Borough resumes note taking.

“Yes.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“Because I can’t handle what's happening around me,” you reply, monotonously.

“You think you can’t handle what's happening around you because a parentified, 15-year-old y/n without an emotional support system couldn’t handle it.” She pauses. In that space, tears blur your vision until the view of the damaged carpet and scuffed shoes becomes indiscernible. “But now you have an emotional support system. You are deserving of an emotional support system, which is something that your parents failed to model in your childhood.” Again, Dr. Borough gives you space to speak, but you curl into a ball, instead. She nudges the tissues further across the table with an empathetic expression. “So you’re protecting her.”

“I am not protecting my mother,” you grumble.

“Not your mother. You’ve been protecting 15-year-old y/n, shielding her. And now you’re protecting the y/n who was confronted by the mortality of her support system’s keystone. Neither of them could handle the present moment, but you can.” Dr. Borough cleans her glasses while waiting for you to say something. Maybe it's an intentional respite from being examined.

“What – How can –” your first reaction is to splutter incredulously. “I’m not, I mean I’m – That's just human development, isn’t it? Burning your hand on the stove teaches you not to touch a hot stove. Burns are bad. They scar, they get infected.”

“Y/n, you are not avoiding a burn. You are eating takeout for every meal to avoid going in the kitchen at all. You are putting on noise canceling headphones everytime someone says the word ‘stove’ and singing to yourself loudly. In this metaphor –”

“I get it, I get it.” Well, shit.

“You’ve heard me say this before: the anxiety, the trauma isn’t your fault. However, coping constructively is still your responsibility. And, yes, that’s unfair. You had to live for your emotionally unequipped parents. In reaction to that hospital visit, I think you may have done a bit of living for Damiano when he was emotionally unequipped for sobriety. Now you’re living for the versions of yourself that are emotionally unequipped to handle the present. But it won’t break you like it might have then.”

“How can you know that!? How…I just want time to recover! I want to be certain!”

“There will never be certainty and there will never be a pause button. I know that's a really hard reality to face with clinical anxiety.” Dr. Borough sets her elbows on her notepad and leans forward. “But y/n, face it you must.”

***

You hold it together on the drive home. Knowing that Dami will be on a Zoom call with his songwriting and production team, you don’t want to walk through the front door a mess and distract him. Unfortunately, Spotify decides to play Folklore-era Taylor Swift as you pull into the parking garage.

I knew you/Hand under my sweatshirt/Baby, kiss it better

By the time the car is parked, you’re already crying. Your first group outing as a couple was a Roma football game with most of his friends and several cousins. The omnipresent barrage of screaming made your ears ring and triggered a panic attack. You tried to suppress your reaction, for which you’d finally receive a diagnosis just weeks later. When that became impossible, you settled on concealing your emotions until it passed. Just don’t freak out. For fucks sake, don’t embaress yourself. 

Having turned your focus inward, the roar of the audience was a surprise and so inescapably loud that it couldn’t even be described by volume. The sound became a tangible force, beating you over the head. So you fled, hands clamped over your ears, tears flowing. It seemed like every person you passed chided you. 

“‘Msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry, ‘msorry,” you repeated, voice frail and high-pitched with terror. The adrenaline at least made climbing all those steps easier. Upon reaching the hallway at the top of the staircase, you turned around to scan the field, determining it was a good time to drop your hands. That's when you saw 18-year-old Damiano huffing and puffing, all focus dropped from the game behind him. 

“Hey,” he panted, expression confused. “Hey, you just…Are you okay?” You shook your head, mouth contorted into an ugly shape. “Well, come here, baby.” Dami opened his arms like it was obviously the next logical step to hold you. The gesture revealed that he’d remembered your purse and was wearing it. You could have blurted out “I love you,” right then and there. His sparkling, empathetic eyes framed by smeared eyeliner, outstretched hands decorated by gaudy rings, and wearing his lucky sneakers which were at least a size too small. A couple middle-aged, balding men looked him up and down in disgust. Dami didn’t even notice.

“You need a hug,’ he decided, wrapping you up. 

“Thanks,” you croaked, trembling arms finding steadiness where they held him. 

“What’s wrong with her?” asked a male voice passing by.

“Nothings wrong with her! Who the fuck are you, eh?”

“Sorry, man.”

“No, who the fuck do you think you are saying that?”

“You’re in the middle of the walkway, dude.”

“And you’re in the middle of my fucking business, asshole!”

“Damia,” you murmured.

“Sorry, sorry.” You wondered if he could discern your smile against his pilling jersey. The fabric made your face feel raw after exposure to the ruthlessly cold gusts of wind that swept up the sides of the stadium. Still, you felt compelled to hug him tighter, but ignored the compulsion so as not to encourage Damiano acting like an attack dog. But fuck if it hadn’t made you feel chosen at age 18, coming from a family who’s attitude was god forbid your emotions inconvenience anyone. 

Damiano didn’t think you were too emotional, the girl choking on her own tears over a football audience being predictably loud. He stood in the stadium’s walkway, inconveniencing everyone else to prioritize comforting you. Despite not knowing what was awry, he still managed to be soothing. Dami’s inexplicably warm hands rubbed your back under the Roma sweatshirt you wore – actually his, of course. He hummed music from the radio with a cheek pressed to your head and you subsequently felt the music’s vibrations. It tickled. An unfamiliar sensation burgeoned in the darkest recesses of your heart. Not then, but eventually, you’d come to know it as stillness.

Notes: Don't yell at me I warned you! Also I'll post the next part (the smuttastic part) when this post has 40 notes hehe

-XOXO Eden

✧ The Sun is the Center of Everything Table of Contents

✧ My Masterlist

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[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Third Lesson of Good Manners: Keep Quiet

Pairing: Ethan x Damiano x Fem!Reader

summary: your third encounter with Ethan, this time someone will join, at least at the beginning, but how will this evening end?

word count: 2,7k

contents: SMUT, dirty talk, daddy kink, hair pulling, choking, spanking, rough sex, unptotected sex, humiliation

author’s note: well i hope i at least won’t disappoint after such a long break

Måsterlist | tåglist

PREVIOUS LESSONS:

✨FIRST LESSON ✨SECOND LESSON

*******

Another boring day has passed. After leaving the office, you stood at the bus stop, daydreaming a little, your vision got blurry, and noises mixed into white noise. The vibrating phone in your pocket brought you back to reality.

“Ciao, stronza” The sweet welcome was followed by Vic’s chuckle.

“Hey, to what do I owe the pleasure?” You narrowed your eyes, trying to see the bus, but sadly it was late again.

“You thought you could just go on for two weeks without telling me what happened at that party? I was busy, but now I need to know everything…”

Truth be told, you didn’t want to share with anyone details of what happened between you and Ethan. Vic was your dear friend, but what you had with Ethan seemed a bit too intimate. Especially since she knew him so well, and you weren’t exactly sure if she was aware of what he was capable of.

“Vic, what are you even talking about? I got a bit drunk and had a nice time.” You shamelessly lied.

“Yeah, right. It’s the second time you and Edgar disappear somewhere for a while and get back sweaty and a mess. Who are you trying to fool?”

You sighed.

“Yeah alright, even if, what am I supposed to tell you, hmm?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Preferably all the juicy details,” she said, and you could hear the grin in her voice.” 

“Vic, I’m in public, maybe some other time? I love you but I need to run.” You smiled at the sight of the approaching bus.

“Boo-hoo, you won’t get away with this, I’ll steal you for some serious gossiping on Saturday.”

“And…what’s on Saturday?” You frowned.

“Shit, I forgot to text you, sorry. Just pretend that you knew earlier please, Ethan will kill me.”

Your body tensed up at the sound of his name. 

“Ethan? So what’s tomorrow, will I ever find out?” You sounded a bit too impatient which you realized when the words escaped your mouth.

“Easy tiger, Ethan is making a little party in his flat, he just moved. And since he doesn't have your number, he asked me to let you know.” You haven’t replied right away. “Hello? Have you died from excitement or…” Vic scoffed

“No?! Shut up Vic I swear, you let your imagination run a little too wild. Thanks for the invite, I got to go. Love you.” 

You ended the call before she had a chance to say something else. Your heart was racing, and filling you with shameful thoughts. Or at least ones you shouldn’t necessarily have in public. But you couldn’t help the grin which appeared on your face at the very thought of meeting him again. 

You could barely sleep at night, instead, you went through your closet, trying to find a decent outfit. You knew how he liked you in short skirts, so the choice was simple. Short skirt with easy access to your lacy panties, red this time. Tight-fitting top, with flattering cleavage. And a choker. You couldn't help yourself. 

The next evening you showed up fashionably late, or maybe just late because you once again got stuck in traffic. Ethan opened the door with a smirk and looked you up and down. He was wearing jeans and a black tank top, which only emphasized his muscles.

“Look who decided to finally show up. I started thinking you got tired of me.” He slowly licked his lips. Your cheeks were burning.

“How could I?” You smiled innocently and handed him a wine bottle. He moved aside and let you in. 

His flat was just what you expected. Old building, renovated inside. Vintage furniture, a shelf full of vinyl collection, walls covered in art, and a piano. You weren’t sure how many rooms there were, but it was surely bigger than the flat Vic had. 

He quickly abandoned you and disappeared into the kitchen. You kept walking around until you found Vic and kissed her cheek. Thankfully, before she started interrogation, you felt a firm grip on your arm.

“Here you are. Mind if I steal her for a moment?” Ethan said to Vic in a playful tone.

“Oh, she’s all yours.” Vic winked and walked away to Thomas, who started dancing at the coffee table.

“What do you need me for?” You asked, pretending that you wouldn’t accept literally anything he’d offer you.

“Have a little patience, hmm?” He growled into your ear, which was enough to give you goosebumps.

He led you to the dark corridor where Damiano was leaning against the wall, watching you with a smirk.

“Hey.” You said quietly.

“So polite.” Ethan mocked you. “Alright, here's the deal. In case you thought I forgot about that vase you destroyed last time I saw you, I’m here to remind you that I still remember.”

“It belonged to my Nonna,” Damiano said in a low, husky voice, slowly shaking his head.

“Exactly. So I think you should somehow make it up to my dear friend.” Ethan said and looked at you with a cocky smile.

“Ummm…” You looked at him, and then Damiano, then again at Ethan. 

“Such a silly slut, it’s almost cute.” Ethan patted your head. “Well since you’re only good at one thing, I figured you could be Damia’s toy for the night. Do you agree?” He asked with softness in his eyes. Besides it being all fun and games, you knew he wouldn’t force you to do anything against your will. You looked at Damiano, scanning his body, a bit too openly.

“I agree.” You said with a smirk. Damiano wasn't the type of man you’d refuse to have fun with. He grinned at your words and gently gripped your chin, lifting your face.

“You won’t regret it,” Damiano said in a husky voice.

“Behave,” Ethan whispered into your ear before leaving you two alone.

“So…” you said quietly, staring into Damiano’s eyes with an innocent face. “How may I serve you?” You bit your lip and smiled.

Damiano grinned and moved closer, making you walk backwards and press your back against the wall. He stroked your side and placed his hand on your hip.

“I could take some edge off, it’s been a long week.” He said and grabbed your chin with the other hand. Damiano moved even closer and started pressing his thigh between your legs. You let out a quiet sigh which made him smirk even more.

“I’ll gladly help.” You looked at him with lust, feeling his growing bulge pressing against your hip. 

He grabbed your chin tighter and leaned down to kiss you. He savoured your lips at first, but quickly let the passion win and deepened the kiss. You sighed and cupped his face, nibbling on his lip. Soon later his hands started wandering over your body, squeezing your breast, roaming over your back just to find your ass and give it some attention as well. You were both getting breathless, lost in the kiss, getting more rough and hungry for more every minute. Damiano suddenly moved away and looked deeply into your eyes with his hooded and darkened ones. He smirked and grabbed your hand. you saw a door which he opened and pulled you inside. It was a guest bathroom, he lit a small mirror light and closed the door. 

“How cosy…” you mumbled and looked at him with a grin.

“Shut up…” he said in a breathy voice. His hands were all over you once again. Damiano swiftly picked you up and sat at the edge of the washing machine. As soon as he did so, he pulled your top off you and threw it aside. You gasped as the cool air hit your nipples, already hardening from his touch. he cupped them and leaned to kiss you again. He started playing with your nipples, making you gasp into the kiss. He stood close, so close that you felt his cock hardening against your wet  pussy. You reached to his trousers and started toying with the belt. He moved away and removed them while staring at you with hungry eyes. The wet stain on your panties got even bigger, which he obviously noticed. His cock was pressing on his boxers, which he removed soon after. It bounced and made you hum quietly at his size. He smirked even more and stepped closer. Damiano grabbed your hair in a firm grip.

“I need you to wrap your beautiful lips around my cock and show me how sorry you are,” he whispered against your lips.

You nodded silently and jumped off the washing machine, going immediately down on your knees. He gave himself a few strokes, watching you below him, with your mouth open.

“Such a good slut…” he grumbled and slapped your tongue with his cock a few times, letting you feel how heavy it is. 

Moments later your mouth was wrapped around him, taking him slowly but deeper with every head bob. He tangled his fingers in your hair and started making noises, soft grunts filled the room. You felt that your pussy was dripping from the sounds he was making, which only encouraged you to go faster, deeper and be better for him. Damiano started thrusting his hips and pulling your head down on himself harder. Your eyes watered, and you pinned your claws in his thighs. He finally came hard, pilling himself down your throat, his loud moans made your pussy twitch. Once you sucked him dry, choking on his cum a little, he lifted your chin up and looked at you with hooded eyes and pink cheeks.

“Fuck baby that was good.” He pulled you up from the floor and kissed you deeply, tasting himself on your lips. 

“I’m glad I could make you happy,” you said, trying to catch a breath.

He walked closer and sat you on the washing machine again. He knelt in front of you and reached under your skirt. His finger brushed your underwear.

“You’re so soaked…I can’t let you go like this.” He smirked and kissed your inner thigh. 

He pulled your panties down and threw them on the pile of clothes. Damiano parted your legs and hooked one of them over his shoulder. He moved his face closer and dragged his rough tongue over your pussy. You moaned and arched your back. He chuckled and moved his hands under your ass to keep you in place. He started with slow, long licks, which later turned into him sucking and flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. You couldn’t keep quiet, your moans got louder and out of control. You kept pulling on his hair, wriggling, trying to get more friction. As you were about to cum, the door opened and made you both stop.

“You just can’t keep quiet, can you?” Ethan looked mad, he stood there with his arms folded on his chest. 

Damiano stood up and wiped his mouth. You sat straight, trying to cover yourself. 

“Oh please, don’t play coy. You’re such a damn slut that you’ll act like an animal, like a fucktoy just for anyone? You were supposed to serve him, not get any pleasure yourself.” He looked at Damiano who acted very guilty.

“I’m sorry, I thought…” You mumbled.

“Stop. You want to scream like a whore so that a whole party could hear you? To let them know what kind of greedy slut you are? You’ll have it.” He said through gritted teeth. 

Ethan grabbed your hand and only let you throw on your top before pulling you towards the corridor. He led you, pantyless, all sweaty and worked up, through the living room full of guests, and pushed you into his bedroom. It wasn’t big, but very tasteful. As you’d expect.

“I’m sorry…” you started.

“No. Too late for that.” Ethan walked closer to you and hooked his finger under your choker to pull you closer. “Now I’ll just have to punish you.” 

You nodded, enchanted by his deep, brown eyes. His hand gripped your throat, pulling you into a deep and passionate kiss. Ethan snuck his hand under your skirt and moaned softly as he brushed his fingers against your soaked cunt.

“Fuck…” he looked at you and moved away. He swiftly pushed you onto the bed and trapped you beneath himself. Your hands were pinned above your hand, his other hand was teasing your folds. You whined and arched your back, wanting much more than this. 

“You’re so damn greedy…want daddy to fuck your stupid brains out? Wanna show my guests who owns you and can only make you scream?” He growled into your ear.

“Yes…yes please.” You mumbled. “Please, Daddy.” 

Ethan smirked and got off you. He got rid of his clothes and started playing with his hardening cock. His eyes didn’t leave your body for a second. He walked closer again, making you breathe more heavily, at the very idea of what he might do to you. He grabbed your legs and in one move turned you around on your stomach. A sharp pain as he smacked your ass made you squeak.

“On all fours, be a good girl.” He rubbed your red skin.

You obediently got in the position he wanted to have you in, and realised that a big mirror was in front of you. You caught his eyes, and he smirked.

“Oh yes, I want you to see how pathetic you are.” 

He moved on the bed behind you and started teasing your folds with his tip. He took his sweet time, making you whine and try to back out on his cock. He smacked you again and gripped your hair, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. Ethan forced your legs further apart so that your pussy was all ready and open for him.

“Look, so needy, just dripping all over me to get this cock, hmm?” He looked at your reflection and pushed all the way in, in one push. 

You moaned loudly, for a moment forgetting about the guests in the other room. He kept his hand on your back, the other tightly gripping your hair. Ethan made sure both he and you can see the faces you were making as he kept slamming deep inside you. 

“So whose cock is better, hmm? Who do you belong to, you whore?!” He spat out while speeding up his thrusts. 

His dark hair was moving with his every move, tickling your oversensitive skin, his fingers were digging deep into your hips, leaving bruises for the next day. The wet noises filled the room, mixed with your moans and whines and his low grunts.

“Who do you belong to?!” He asked louder.

“I belong to you, Daddy!” You screamed, failing to keep eye contact. 

It got messy, fast breathy and full of noises. You kept scratching his thighs, trying to pull him deeper, he kept pulling your hair, leaving bites on your back, scratching you, slamming into you and fucking you into oblivion. Ethan was hitting every spot, stretching you so well. He once again pulled your hair to make you watch as he came with a loud moan, filling you with his hot cum. Just from seeing that and hearing how good you made him feel, you came screaming, trembling and collapsing under him. 

You lasted like that for a moment, both of you coming harder than ever. He finally softened and slipped out of you. Ethan rolled you on your back and sat between your legs. You felt his cu slowly dripping out of you. He brushed his hands up your sides and hands, gently pinning them above your head. You expected a round two, but instead, he leaned down and kissed you softly, caressing your cheek. once he broke off the kiss he looked down at you with a blissful smile. 

“You’re in trouble, miss,” he said in a raspy voice.

“What did I do now?” You asked with raised eyebrows. He kissed your nose and kept looking at your face in such a way you’d never seen him look before. Ethan sighed and rest his head on your chest, carefully not to squeeze you. He wrapped his arms around you.

“You got me addicted to yourself. Maybe I’m not mad about that. Maybe I could get used to having you here more often.” 

You silently started playing with his hair and placed a soft kiss on his head. And you could swear you felt his heart beating faster at that same moment.

........................................

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[daddydamiano]

If damiano wrote a love letter what would it sound like?👀

Damiano's love letter sounds exactly as you would expect: almost like a song, like he's singing to you, instead of writing. It's three in the morning and he wakes up sweaty, from a bad dream, and you’re not there. You went on a trip with your best friend, and he loves that you independent enough to have your own adventures, dreams and friendships, but he misses you dearly.

So he puts his heart out on a blank sheet of paper. He writes it all down in perfect handwriting, all the late night thoughts and all the things he never thought he would say to someone.

My moon and stars, at night. My bright, shining sun, in the morning. There’s so much I want to say, but infinite blank pages don’t seem enough to write it all down. I won’t pretend to know what true love is (no one really knows, I think); but I am sure it is similar to this feeling in my heart. The way it beats only for you, my love, and how no good thing ever compares to you. You, you. Always present in my mind and my heart, you own every breath of mine. I love you, but saying it like that doesn’t sound grand enough. I wish you could spend just a few minutes inside my head, so you would truly understand what I mean when I say those words.

Love. Yours, forever Damiano

[abiiors]

Can i request more Damiano David angst please? 😅🥺

Hey, thanks for the ask! I hope you like it :)

Consolation Prize // D.D.

Damiano David x Reader

Warnings: Minors dni, it’s an FWB situation so it’s 18+, he’s a bit of an asshole in this one. Also just angst with no happy ending.

Word Count: 1k

A/N: I didn’t mean to rhyme the last lines but I’m happy about the coincidence. Reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated :)

Masterlist

There’s a voice in your head screaming at you to not do it. Yet as another knock sounds at the door, your feet carry you involuntarily. You know who it is, there’s no need to peep through the keyhole but you can’t resist it. You can’t resist taking this one glimpse at him before he’s inevitably going to break your heart again. 

‘Hi,’ you greet as you open to door. ‘Come in.’

This has become routine at this point—Damiano texts “U up?”. You tell yourself to ignore the message, to blow him off with some excuse, yet every single time you cave just as the second text comes in. 

‘Hey, baby,’ he greets in return, presses a rough kiss on your mouth. 

You used to dream of these kisses, dream of his mouth on every single inch of your body. You even imagined the gentleness of them once. But whatever this is—being fuck buddies, friends with benefits, whatever you want to call it—this has slowly sucked the life out of those dreams. 

Yet you can’t stop going back to him. 

‘You’re thinking about something,’ he frowns and for a moment his voice is laced with genuine concern. ‘Are you not in the mood? You know we can always reschedule this,’ he points between the two of you. 

A hysterical laugh bubbles up in your chest and you have to actually turn around to get a hold of yourself. Reschedule this as if it’s just another appointment; clinical and unavoidable. 

‘No no,’ you smile at him and hope he doesn’t notice your dead eyes. ‘Work has been a bit stressful lately, that’s all.’ 

It’s an easy lie and you know he’ll never question it. He hardly knows what you do for work, there’s a one-in-a-million chance he’ll actually want to know what’s stressing you out at your job. 

‘Well then,’ he grins, ‘you know what’s good for stress.’

And that’s how it starts this time. He trails kisses down your neck, makes his way down to your cleavage and tries to leave a few hickeys there. You close your eyes and imagine a different reality—one where he mumbles I love you after each kiss, one where he tells you how obsessed he is with you, how he can’t keep his hands off you. One where he’s so gentle with you that you might as well be made of glass. 

But that’s not what this is. Damiano has always been very clear about what this is. 

You’ve got the motions of this memorised. You take each other’s clothes off; leave a trail of them to the bedroom. Despite the maelstrom of thoughts in your head, your body betrays you again and again. It always reacts to his touch, always craves more of him. It wants him never to let go.

But there’s always a ghost in the room; the spectre that is “the other woman”. He thinks you’re unaware of her but lately, it seems you’ve spent more time thinking about her than you’ve thinking about him. He longs for her, you long for him and yet you can’t let go.

Is she the other woman? A voice chides in your head and you fake a moan to cover up the gasp. 

Even when he’s buried inside you, you know you’re not the one he’s thinking about. You’re never the one he’s thinking about; it’s always her, it’s always been her. But he can’t get her, so his consolation prize is you. 

Even when his face is tucked in the crook of your neck, it’s her body he’s dreaming of. Only a fool wouldn’t notice how her name is always on the tip of his tongue, just fighting to get out. 

‘Dami?’ you ask once you lay side-by-side, panting and catching your breath, ‘will you stay the night?’

His eyes widen a bit and then he laughs awkwardly. ‘You know I can’t, baby. I’ve got, uh…Thomas wants to show me something.’

‘Of course,’ you smile. 

It’s always Thomas or Ethan or Vic, it’s never you though. He makes a move to get out of bed and suddenly you’re hit with a barrel of conflicting feelings. 

You want him gone. You want to beg him to stay. You never want to see him ever again. You want to wake up next to him every day. 

As he starts to get dressed, you grab the robe that’s hanging on the bedpost. This is the part you dread the most—the aftermath. You try not to seem too eager for him to get out. If he lingers even just a little…

‘That was fun,’ he smiles and you can already feel the awkwardness radiating off of him. None of you knows how to say goodbye yet your reasons for it could not be more different from each other. You hold the door open for him, smile a tight-lipped smile, go along with the motions when he gives you a goodbye kiss. 

He takes two steps towards the lift, then stops and turns around abruptly. This is it, you think, he’s reconsidered. He wants to stay. 

‘Can I see you again tomorrow?’ he asks and your heart dies a gruesome death for the millionth time. 

Just set me free, you want to scream at him, why won’t you just set me free? Instead, you nod and force a smile. 

‘Tomorrow works for me.’

[goldilockswrites]

Hey this is what I commented about! Could you maybe write a fluffy story where All of måneskin come to your home town for the first time and you go on a walk with them all and take them into a forest as they all say things like “girl do you know where we are” and a really confused boyfriend (Thomas) , it’s ok if not but if you can then thanks 💗🌹🌷

The Part Of Me I’ll Always Need - Thomas Raggi

╔═════ ∘◦ ☆ ◦∘ ══════╗

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x Reader (she/her) + Guest Appearances from Ethan Torchio, Damiano David and Victoria De Angelis

Requested: Yes

Summary: Y/N’s boyfriend decides to surprise her, by bringing his bandmates to her hometown. The girl suggests they take a walk through the forest and have a picnic. As it turns out after a good hour of wandering it seems they can’t find the spot. Just as they begin doubting Y/N’s knowledge of the trees surrounding here house they find out she’s been planning a surprise all along.

Warnings:  Fluff (Is that even a warning?); Proofread, but there is a chance there are mistakes, since I typed this out at 2 A.M. 

A/N: Hey! Here is another Thommy story, brought to you by Monster and moi (I’m not actually sponsored, by Monster, but at this point with how many cans I’ve had I think it’s time they do.)  I hope you enjoy! :) Love, Axe <3

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The sunlight mustered a magnificent mosaic - gold reflecting from each leaf and branch. Each ray fell gently on bumpy surfaces, as if it was happy to be a part of this mural. Y/N sat in bed - an almost empty cup of coffee on her nightstand, an open laptop on her lap. Manuscripts upon manuscripts. Dull, borning, pretentious. She couldn’t help rolling her eyes; life was ugly, emotions weren’t always beautiful and gracious. There was darkness in the light; and there was light in the darkness, always. However these concepts seemed to be left out of most of these future best-selling authors’ works.

Three knocks distracted her from her work. Y/N put her slippers on walking over to the door. The cabinet in the small halfway was a mess - bottles of hairspray, make-up, jewellery, nail polish, sunglasses. She grabbed the colourful bunch - more keychains than keys hung on the silver ring. One of the eiffel tower, for when she was away, which seemed pretty pointless now that she was home and could see it every time she got out on her balcony for a smoke; one of the colosseum - it reminded her of Rome, the summer she met her boyfriend, the apartment they bought together; the third one was a metal sunflower, the fourth - a red paperclip. She swiftly twisted the key, unlocking the door.

“Buongiorno, mademoiselle." A huge bunch of the yellow flowers was clutched in a man’s hand, a backpack resting by his side. Thomas. “Sun! What are you doing here?” The girl left the bouquet on the ground, throwing her arms around the man. “Well, we happened to be passing by and I decided to come visit, my love.” Y/N glowed as the guitarist kissed her lips. She took a second to observe him.

His gorgeous green eyes fogged with exhaustion; his freckles - now lighter; hair slightly shorter. A wide shirt hung around his frame, most of the buttons left unbuttoned revealing his chest and leaving his tattoos on display.

“Anyway, enough about me. How have you been?” Thomas’ irises sparkling with excitement as they walked to her bedroom. “Well, Mr. International superstar, my life is far less entertaining than yours. All I’ve done the past few months was argue with book agents and try my best to make pretentious fucks, sound more like human beings and less than robots trying to figure out how the human world functions.” Y/N’s gaze wandered around the room landing upon a paint-coated canvas, wrapped in sparkly paper with a tulle bow in the middle. “Oh, I was also invited to this very cool exhibition and might have spoken to the artist about you… And we may or may not have made you a little… Well… Gift.” The girl grabbed the edge of the frame, sliding it to the boy. “Open it.”

His long fingers worked on ripping the paper, a slight shake to his hands. Soon it was all gone, the present revealed - a painting of Y/N and him. He immediately recognised the photo it was inspired by, a polaroid they had taken before tour - Thomas was on his knees on the messy sheets; his girlfriend positioned between his legs, champagne-coloured lingerie adorning her body; his lips were sunk into her shoulder. The room behind them - chaotic; an almost empty bottle of wine and an abundance of clothes thrown around.

“Do you like it?” Y/N placed her head on his back. “I fucking love it.” The sound of a doorbell going off interrupted them, just as their lips were about to touch. “Ugh…” The girl rolled her eyes, as she got to the door. Her own surprise awaited her on her doorstep - the rest of her friends stood in front of her. “Guys! What are you doing here?” She yelled excitedly, throwing her arms around Ethan’s neck. “Hey, kiddo.” He smiled at her. “How have you been?” “Pretty good, grandpa.” Y/N/N giggled. “What about you?” “Tired, but happy.” The drummer nodded. “So, we didn’t interrupt you and the cowboy, did we?” Damiano inspected the make-up that laid on the counter in the room.

“I told someone we should wait…” Victoria pointed towards the singer. “But he didn’t listen.” “No, no, problem at all. We were just talking.” The girl nodded. “Hey, Cobra!” The vocalist patted Thom’s back. “What did you and mademoiselle over here do, huh? You know I am too young to become an uncle, yes?” “Chill, Y/N was kind enough to give me a gift.” “So did you give her the souvenirs or not?” The bassist pushed the boy.

She always thought of the blond as her younger brother, so when he asked for help to buy gifts for his girlfriend, she couldn’t help, but wander into all the shops that seemed to have things that would fit the taste of the editor. In the end, the trinkets of all their destinations were stored in a beautiful velvet bag; the items inside varied from rings, bracelets and charms, to CDs and books.

“Not yet.” The boy smiled sheepishly, before he reached into his bag taking out the purple pouch. “Here you go, love.” Y/N smiled widely, almost tearing up. “Thank you so much, sun! You are so thoughtful!” She kissed his cheek. Her fingertips pulled the ribbons apart, opening the bag. Inside she first spotted an abundance of rings: butterflies, flowers, bees, lions; five CDs - all limited edition albums of her favourite musicians; and a compilation of Charles Bukowski’s poetry. “Flower…” Y/N/N teared up. “This is seriously one of the kindest things ever!” The girl threw her arms around the boy one more time. Damiano cleared his throat behind them. “I’d hate to ruin your romantic moment over there, but if you wouldn’t mind, Thomas, we would all want to speed some time with lil’.” “I am taller than you.” Y/N snickered.

“Of course, of course. Now where should we go?” “Would you guys like to have a picnic? I can get some pastries and coffee from the bakery downstairs and we can take a walk through the forest.” “That sounds like a genius idea.” Vic giggled. “How about we go get them and the boys get the luggage inside.” Y/N/N pretended to think for a minute, before laughing at the request and nodding in agreement.

“Jasmine” seemed small and dark - quite the uninviting view, from anyone unaware of the peace and charm the bakery actually had. No more than 1500 square feet; a chequered floor, teal walls and glass fridges filled with all sorts of sweets - cakes, cookies, muffins and macaroons. “Salut!” Maya lifted her gaze from the display. Her grey-ish hair concealed in a net; skin flecked with sunspots. “Salut, Maya! Ça va?” The girl answered cheerfully. "Ça va, et toi?” The elderly woman answered. “Tres bien. Merci!” Y/N’s gaze slipped from pastry to pastry, discussing what she should get with the bassist. In the end they settled on what to order, asking for it to be placed in a brown paper bag.

Outside the weather was even more sunny than before. The boys stood by the little building smoking cigarettes stuck deep in a conversation about some song. “Hey, boys! We got the food, do you want to get going?” Y/N asked, raising the bag in her left hand. “Of course.” Thomas jogged forward, grabbing the pouch from her and clutching her hand, sealing their lips, before letting her drag him in the direction she had in mind, the rest of the band following. It didn’t take long before they were wandering into a forest-like territory, which was in reality a park, steering off sandy and stone paths and walking through the grass.

Insects flew around them, small lizards making leaves and branches crunch under their bodies.

“Y/N/N, I am not saying I doubt your orientation abilities, but are you sure we are headed the right way?” Ethan was the first one to ask, feeling creeped out by the view of trees behind, in front and to the sides. “I am absolutely sure,we are headed the correct way. We are almost there.”

As if on cue a patch of bare ground appeared on the horizon. “Here we go!” Y/N gestured to the spot, ducks swimming around in the lake, flowers growing close to the water. The girl grabbed the guitarist by the hand, dragging him to the stone-covered ground. “Okay, there’s actually a very important reason I got you guys here exactly.” The girl took out a small box from her back pocket. “Thommy, you make me the happiest woman alive. I’ve never known happiness this strong, before I was with you. I love you and you are the part of me I’ll always need. Will you marry me?” The blond stared at her in disbelief, gaze darting from her face over to the silver band. Still speechless he took his necklace off, opening the pendant that hung on the thin chain - a flat ring inside; the band glimmered, seven small stones set on it.

“I- Y/N, I never want to let you go either.” The boy smiled, as tears filled both of their eyes. “Yes.” He said. “I will marry you.” The woman nodded, placing the ring on his finger with a shaky hand. Extending her own for him to place the ring atop hers. “Okay, can we finally eat?” Damiano giggled excitedly, clapping his hands together.

[cherry-velvet-skies]

Young and Beautiful

Photographer!Damiano David × GN!Reader

Genre: Equal parts Angst & Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of body dysphoria, brief depiction of a panic attack, no smut but some suggestive parts

Words: 4k (oof it's a long one, folks)

Summary: Reader has slight body image issues, and Dami suggests doing a nude photoshoot to help Reader see how beautiful they are

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As the evening sun flowed through the open doors of the balcony, you sat on the bed, fidgeting with the silk tie of your floor-length robe. Your current state of being was, somehow, a combination of apprehension and anticipation.

You had never been professionally photographed before. Sure, you would partake in the occasional selfie, but rarely included any part of your body from the neck down.

The relationship you had with your body was one that brought you much confusion. Deep down, you felt like a decently confident individual, having occasional bouts of triumph, where you felt like you could wear anything, go anywhere, and accomplish everything. But of course, the highest of highs come with the lowest of lows. You'd wake up the next morning and stare at yourself in the mirror until what you saw back didn't even feel like you, but a distorted version of just that. You knew it was unhealthy, but sometimes it felt impossible not to compare yourself to others.

Earlier that day, Damiano had asked if he could take some photos of you. When he first proposed the question, you were quite pleased, having just gotten a new haircut that you didn't mind flaunting. Besides, you had allowed Dami to take a few photos of you before, and overall, you were delighted he had chosen you as his muse when he decided to take up photography. However, when he informed you that his desired concept was a nude photoshoot, you were a bit taken aback.

“A nude photoshoot?” You inquired, making sure you heard him correctly. “Like, nude nude? As in fully naked?”

“I’m not sure what else it could mean, amore.” Dami smiled, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. “But if you’re not comfortable with it, I completely understand.”

You sighed uneasily. A nude photoshoot was undoubtedly outside of your comfort zone, your anxiety quickly shutting down the idea of it. 

“Don’t you think you would rather have a professional model for something like that?” You mumbled, staring at the floor. Damiano noticed your hesitation, reaching for your hand and holding it in his own, his thumb running over the back of your palm.

“I know what you’re thinking, baby,” Dami whispered, tilting your chin upwards to make eye contact with him. “But honestly, I’m not doing this for practice the way painters and sketch artists do. I don’t want just anyone. I want you.”

You knew he was coming from a place of good intentions, but the hurtful part of your brain still wasn’t convinced. You sank further into the couch, suddenly becoming hyper-aware of the way your clothing felt against your body.

“I’m sorry, Dami, I just don’t think I’m sexy enough for something like that.” You said, your voice breaking. Damiano’s expression fell as tears gathered in your eyes. “They’d probably turn out horrible, and I can’t even imagine you adding something like that to your portfolio. Plus I-” Dami quickly stopped your rambling by wrapping his arms around you, your head neatly tucked against his neck as he shushed you gently.

“I’m sorry, Dami…” You repeated through short sobs, feeling your tears soak the collar of his shirt. He hugged you tighter each time you said it.

“Oh sweetheart…” He cooed, moving one of his hands to the back of your head, running his fingers through your hair. “There’s no need to be sorry. Please look at me, love,” He begged, trying to hide the sound of his voice breaking as well. You craned your neck to peek at him, your eyelids puffy with a hint of redness. “First of all,” he began, “if we do this, those photos are going nowhere near my portfolio. They’re just for me. For us. They’re far too valuable to be placed with all my other photos.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, then another to the tip of your nose, and finally one to your lips. Dami breathed a small sigh of relief when a smile appeared on your face at his affection. “And secondly,” he continued, “this has nothing to do with being sexy. Photographing people, especially when they are nude, is about a beautiful exhibition of the human body. And what better person to start with than the one with the most beautiful body in the whole world?”

Beautiful? Beautiful. You stared blankly for a few moments, processing what Dami had just said. He was the only person who ever called you that. A majority of the reason why your self-consciousness would make an appearance so often was because your features were never praised as such. The problem wasn’t that you wanted to look like everyone else. You just wished your features were commended like all the others were.

But that was the difference. Damiano appreciated your beauty. He loved every single thing about you.

“How many photos did you plan on taking?” You asked, wiping your nose with your sleeve. “Did you intend on making a whole event out of it?”

“I’ll take as many or as little as you want me to.” Dami stated. “I’ll take enough to make you a book of them, or I can take just one and frame it for you.” He giggled. “All that matters is that you’re happy and comfortable.”

You felt like crying again, but not for the same reason as before. You took Damiano’s face in your hands, cupping his cheeks as he smiled warmly. You caressed the stubble on his chin, silently berating yourself for caring what the world thought of you. Dami thought of you as the most amazing creature on this planet, and you found it so hard to believe him. You knew he loved you very much, and his only hope was that you will one day see yourself the way he saw you ever since the day he met you.

“Okay.” You exhaled sharply. “I’ll do it. But can we do it as soon as possible so my stupid brain doesn’t have time to change its mind?”

Dami’s eyes lit up, ecstatic that you had agreed. He grinned from ear to ear, chuckling at your statement. “Your brain isn’t stupid. And you can tell it to wait for me in the bedroom while I go get my camera.”

So now here you were, in your blackberry colored silk robe, anxiously tapping your foot against the floor, the sound of your skin against the freshly polished wood echoing throughout the mostly empty room. Damiano’s only instructions were to undress. No fixing of the hair, no makeup, no nothing. He wanted you completely nude, which included how you chose to decorate your face. You peered around the room, your gaze scanning the cool-toned lavender walls, wondering what Dami was actually going to do with the photos he took of you, if anything. He already said they weren’t going into his portfolio, so then what was he going to do with them? Were they just going to stay in his camera or in a file on his computer forever? Was he really going to make them into a photobook, or frame them individually? You imagined the vast walls around you adorned with enlarged photos of yourself trapped in ornate gilded frames. You weren’t sure if you loved that idea or hated it.

You were snapped out of your reverie by the sound of the bedroom door opening. Now that Dami had finally returned with his camera, you realized this was actually going to happen. You felt bad about backing out now, after you had just agreed to it mere minutes prior. All you hoped was that your confidence lasted long enough for Dami to get a few good shots. He positioned his tripod by the balcony, taking advantage of the lovely golden sunlight.

“I would love to start out with you against this wall.” He announced, pointing to the side of the room that shared its space with the approaching sunset. Dami briefly lowered his gaze, adjusting the angle of the tripod plate to take portrait photos. You admired his face of concentration, the way his gorgeous silhouette looked against the scenery just outside the glass doors. You thought of him the same way he always said he thought of you. Absolutely beautiful.

He turned back to you, who was still awkwardly sitting on the bed. “You look tense.” He declared. “You don’t have to do this if you’re uncomfortable.”

You pursed your lips, pulling up the collar of the robe to prevent it from slipping off your shoulder. “I feel like I’d regret it if I didn’t at least try.” 

Damiano nodded, approaching the bed and offering you his hand. You extended your own to softly grasp his fingertips when he pulled you up off the bed and into a warm hug. You sighed, though it sounded more like a laugh. That laugh soon turned to a squeal of surprise when Dami lifted you off your feet and spun you around, hearing his cheerful laughter ring throughout the room as he did so. It was clear that photographing you this way was something he'd been wanting to do for a while, but wasn’t sure how to bring up the subject. You were secretly glad he finally did. 

“I love you so much.” He mumbled into your chest, placing a kiss against your sternum.

“I love you too.” You beamed, always feeling your best when you were with him. Once he set you down, you scampered over to the wall on the other side of the room, pausing to glance outside and over the balcony, admiring the way the evening clouds blanketed the mountains towering behind the city. It looked even more beautiful at sunset, the sharp angles of the buildings contrasting the soft orange light the sky had cast upon them. You found it so easy to see the beauty of nature, no matter how it presented itself to the world. You almost envied the feeling, but didn’t know how to express that you coveted what the world so naturally produced. It didn’t seem logical.

As you settled into position, Dami stared at you through the tiny screen of the camera. He used few color alterations when shooting, trying to keep the photos as raw as possible, especially in a situation like this. He looked back up at you, clasping his hands together with excitement.

“Okay, baby, whenever you’re ready.” He breathed, waiting for you to make a move. Taking a steadying breath, you slowly undid the tie of your robe, feeling as it fell to the floor, the cool fabric pooling around your ankles. You kept your eyes closed, hoping that would make a difference. The room was so quiet that you heard Dami’s barely audible sigh of contentment. He took you in ever so slowly, softly biting his lower lip as his eyes scanned over your entire form. You tried your best to relax against the wall, attempting to acquire a pose that looked the least bit confident and not like you were frozen solid. 

Finally opening your eyes, you stared at Dami, whose consistent pleasant smile made you feel a bit more at ease. The only pose idea you had was to lay your hands flat against the wall behind you, pushing your shoulders out while the rest of your torso caved more inward. It was a fair compromise to your body desperately trying to hide itself while still trying to maintain a professional exterior. You knew it wasn’t technically a professional shoot, but you were still trying to give Dami the best you could manage at the moment.

You nodded to him that you found your comfortable position, to which he happily bent down to look at the screen again. Your hypervigilance seemed to be the one thing that wouldn’t back down, though. You heard every click of the capture button, every whir of the lens expanding and contracting when Dami zoomed in or out, and every shuffle of his feet when he would look at you from a different angle. You weren’t sure if you should keep your eyes closed the whole time or not, but alternated from doing so and looking at the floor, keeping your eyelashes on full display.

After what seemed like five photos that Dami had taken, you felt your heart begin to race. You did your best to ignore it, knowing it was just your anxiety. You tried to change your position, thinking that would help you stay calm, but once you stopped using the wall for support, you felt incredibly dizzy. Tears pricked at your eyes as you leaned against the wall again. Damiano looked up at you, immediately running to your side to see what was wrong.

“What happened, baby? Are you okay?” He asked frantically. You tried to answer, but all that came out was a choked sob. Snatching your robe off the floor, you hurriedly returned to the bed and curled up on it, placing the robe over your whole body including your head. Dami knew that whenever you went full turtle mode, you were having a panic attack.

Though he did nothing wrong, he felt awful. You noticed the bed shift as he sat down next to you, placing a hand on your back through your protective robe shield.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He whispered, "The last thing I wanted was to upset you like this. I never should have pushed you to do it."

"It's not your fault, Dami." You croaked from underneath the robe. "I wanted to try. I just thought I'd be able to get through at least a few minutes before I broke." Damiano peeked under the corner of the robe to see your face, brushing away the hair that covered your eyes.

"Can you at least come out here so I can hug you?" He pleaded, offering you his hand again. You huffed as you pushed yourself up, readjusting the robe to wear it properly before cuddling up next to Dami. Your body had calmed down by now, but overall, you were still filled with sorrow about the outcome of it all.

"What were you thinking about that made you feel this way?" Dami began, trying to help you talk through your feelings to the best of his ability.

"People who are photographed all the time don't look like I do." You whimpered, trying not to start crying again. "They have different features than me. Ones that probably show up better on camera. I doubt I'm photogenic to the point where you could get a whole shoot out of me." Dami rubbed your back soothingly, feeling every time your breath hitched as you tried to compose yourself.

"If everyone looked the same all the time, do you know how boring that would be?" He asked, though it was more rhetorical. You looked up at him, resting your head on his shoulder as he spoke. "Amore, you do not need to look like everyone else to be beautiful. You're beautiful right now." He rested his hand against your cheek, making sure you were looking at him as he spoke. "You're beautiful when you first wake up. You're beautiful when you're working, and you make that cute concentrated face where you stick your tongue out. You're beautiful when we go shopping for clothes together, and I see you sifting through the racks to find the colors and patterns you like most. You're beautiful when we watch TV together, and I glance over to see how cute you look wearing your comfiest pajamas, while you eat your favorite snacks without a care in the world." Your smile grew wider with each sentence he added. You never knew Dami noticed those things about you. You never realized what his definition of beauty was. It wasn't just about your body. It was about all the little things that made you who you are.

"I love you." You sighed, reaching up to swipe away a single tear that was making its way down Dami's cheek.

"I love you too." He replied, placing another kiss on your forehead. "And I love everything that you don't get to see when you're fully dressed." He gently tugged on the loose knot you made to keep your robe closed, pushing it open but not completely off your shoulders. You looked down, feeling a breeze from the lack of fabric, considering you were completely bare. Dami made his way downward, placing kisses across your skin.

He started at your jawline, brushing his lips from below your ear towards your chin. He continued further, stopping at the base of your neck. He contemplated leaving a hickey, but decided that now was not the time, instead opting to place a kiss directly between your collarbones. It was the very spot that the pendant of your necklace chose for its daily rest upon your torso, though now bare since you removed all your jewelry before the shoot.

Dami moved at a slow and sensual pace, leaving more invisible love marks that followed the whimsical flowing curves of your waistline. You released a deep sigh of pleasure, tilting your head back and steadying yourself by placing your hands on Damiano's shoulders. He did the same by wrapping his hands around your lower back.

He kept traveling south until he left his place beside you on the bed and knelt before you, being the perfect height to place one final kiss below your belly button, in the small patch of thin hair just above your navel. He leaned back on his haunches, his hands rubbing your thighs before lightly pushing them open, just enough for him to sit comfortably between them, resting his head against the side of your knee.

"I will worship your body exactly like this every single day until you acknowledge the fullest extent of your beauty. Your charisma is that of regal proportions, and you deserve to be treated as such, my royal companion." He recited like a Shakespearean love interest, punctuating his monologue with a wet kiss to your inner thigh. You gazed down at him, eyes droopy with tranquility, your lips parted and smiling faintly.

"You look so beautiful right now, you know that?" You purred, causing Dami to emit a lazy chuckle.

"I say the same thing every time I look at you." He returned before rising to his feet to lock his lips with yours, easing you back onto the bed. You tangled your hands in his hair, moaning softly when his fingers skimmed over the small dips in your skin just below your hip bones. You broke the kiss to stare at him, observing the wonderment in his sparkly brown eyes.

"You're amazing for saying and doing all that." You said breathlessly, dragging your finger down the bridge of his nose. Your stare hardened briefly before continuing. "But is it okay if we don't take any more photos?"

"Of course, my love." Dami responded, peppering your cheeks with fleeting kisses. "Would you like to see the ones I did take?"

You nodded sheepishly as Dami stood up to fetch his camera from the tripod, bringing it over to the bed. You sat up, resting on your elbows as he reclaimed his place beside you.

You were correct that Damiano had only managed to capture five portraits before your anxiety got the better of you, but the ones he took were a lot nicer than you thought they'd be.

They all depicted your nude form in various aspect ratios, the rich tones of your outstanding complexion blended with the hazy orange hues of the sunset, which by now had diminished into a flurry of deep blues and purples. You marveled at it, as if it were a picture of someone else. But it was definitely you. Four of the photos were from wider angles, but the other one caught your eye immediately.

It was the only photo Dami had taken of your chest up, the edge of the photo stopping just above your nipples. The resolution had captured every single detail of your face. You could see every pore dotted across your nose. Every trace of hair that swept its way across your jaw and just under your chin, though you thought you had removed all of it only days earlier. You even noticed every barely visible acne scar along your forehead and the apples of your cheeks, from all the times you picked and plucked at them wishing you had clearer skin.

Scanning the photo further, you took in the sight of your bare shoulders, broader than average for someone of your stature. It was the only feature you could say you genuinely liked, no matter what other people thought of it. 

"You like this one the best?" Dami blurted out, noticing you lingering on it longer than the others.

"It's…" You tried, not sure how to preface your thoughts on it.

"Beautiful?" Dami interjected, hoping it's what you were going to say.

"It's...me." You finished. "It's the first time I've ever seen myself where what I'm looking at actually feels like me." Your gaze softened, continuing to admire the photo. "It's weird, but like a good kind of weird. I don't know how to describe it."

"I'm so happy to hear that you like it, amore." Dami said proudly, kissing your temple. "I think they all turned out wonderful."

You didn't comment, not wanting him to know that you didn't fully agree. At least, you didn't agree just yet. You thought his photography skills were excellent, but it was going to take you longer to see the beauty that he viewed them as. You may have only liked one of them, but it was a start.

"Can you frame this one?" You said so low you were even sure if you said it aloud, and if Dami heard you or not. His eyes widened, a surge of pride glistening behind them. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction, sighing in relief when he leaned in for a kiss.

"Where do you want me to hang it?" He mumbled against your lips. Twisting around, you pointed to the wall where you had stood to take the photo, a small stretch of space between the balcony doors and the edge of your bed.

"And it doesn't have to be crazy big in one of those huge swirly frames." You added with an awkward laugh. "Just a decent sized photo will do."

Dami joined your laughter with a lighthearted chuckle and a nod of acknowledgment. 

"You have my word, baby." He replied softly before kissing you again, pulling you back against the bed into a warm cuddle.

And a couple days later when you entered the bedroom, there it was. A larger version of the photo you observed yesterday, donning a reserved Arch B ratio nestled beneath a clear glass pane, sealed with a mahogany wood gallery frame to match the floor. You laughed, knowing that Dami tried so hard to make it look sophisticated without breaching the confines of your request to keep things minimal. You stared at the piece as if you were visiting a museum, wrecking your brain with who the artist was and how they were able to create such a masterpiece. But the truth is, Damiano may have taken the photo, but the real artist was you. And you were quite the talent.

You wanted the portrait there to serve as a reminder. You were beautiful, you just needed time to see that in all its glory. The road to self love was not an easy one, but having Dami by your side made every cross-country road trip feel like a skip across the street. Achieving security within yourself, although an arduous task at times, is doable. When you have the right people around you to hype you up and ensure you know your worth, what you see in the mirror can feel just as magical as all the portraits in a museum.

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Here it is, y'all! My first fic! ☺ Feedback is appreciated but pls be nice 😅 And also let this fic serve as a reminder that you are beautiful just the way you are 🥰

Also, let me know if I should start a taglist so that you guys can be notified when I upload more fics! I've never shared any of my work before so it makes me so happy to know you guys are interested in my stuff 🥰

[reputationdamiano]

hi!

could i request a damiano imagine where the reader is insecure/ has an ed? in need of smt sad 2 read

smaller than this

pairing: damiano david x reader

warning(s): tw ed, body dysmorphia, insecurities, self hate, one or two curse words

word count: 1081

a/n: i have struggled with that type of things too, i mean i was never diagnosed but i definitely have body dysmorphia. i think now it’s better with eating but the self-hate hits hard often 🙁 sorry for writing this 10 months after u send that request! but here it is!

i also want to thank lovely @bidet-and-legolas for proofreading, ily 🫶

i wish i was smaller than this

you were standing in front of the mirror, staring at your body with disapproval. you saw all of your flaws clearly. thighs bigger than the rest of your body, their upper part covered in stretch marks. one look at them and you didn’t want to eat for a week.

i can’t go out dressed like this. no way.

you headed back to your room, removed your shorts and threw them on your bed. then you took out a pair of material trousers.

having been on the verge of tears for so long, you finally broke down. what was wrong with you? despite all the restricting you did for the past ten days, it seemed that you haven’t lost even a pound of fat from your legs.

you had the urge to measure every part of your body and compare the results to those of supermodels. you would sell your soul to be skinny. but there you were, with a bmi of 19.5, which was a healthy one from the medical point of view but to you, your lower body was awfully fat. you sniffled. how was that even possible?

get yourself together and be more consistent. eat less, workout everyday. you won’t reach your goal if you give up now.

these sick ideas have been in your head for a few years, waiting for the right moment to come out. like now, when it was summer and you stayed in rome with your boyfriend damiano before his band leaves to continue their summer tour.

it was easier at the beginning of your relationship. you spent your time getting to know your boyfriend instead of worrying about the number of calories in your dinner. later, during colder times of the year, you were preoccupied with your job projects, plus the temperature outside wasn’t encouraging you to show your legs to the world.

going back to your so-called ‘diet’, which in reality was strongly restricting your intake, made you feel like you had control over something in your life. you patted yourself on the back every time you talked yourself out of eating. damiano had been too busy to notice. in fact, he didn’t know about your eating disorder in the first place. you were in treatment before you even met him so he couldn’t have suspected that you were relapsing.

you decided to get up to change into different clothes and redo your makeup that was destroyed by all that weeping. just as you finished getting ready, damiano came in. you took a deep breath.

i must keep him out of this.

“hi, y/n” he said and hugged you. “are you ready to go?”

“hi dami. yes, let’s leave” you forced a smile onto your face. he took your hand and you got into his car. that day damiano planned to take you out on a date to make up for how little time he had spent with you lately.

your favorite album was playing but all you felt was stress because this surprise date may include eating.

damiano asked you about your day and shared new info about the tour but your mind had been on one thing: how to eat as little as possible without being suspicious.

you noticed that you were slowly driving out of the city. at some point your boyfriend turned left into an old country road.

where the hell are we going? you thought.

you didn’t ask, however, because you already reached your destination: a completely empty beach by the river. the sky was pink without a single cloud on it and the view was breathtakingly beautiful.

damiano stopped the car

“and what do you think?” he asked, grinning.

“it’s such a beautiful place, wow” you replied, in awe of your surroundings.

“far from the city, just for us” your boyfriend added while taking out a blanket and a basket full of food out of the trunk.

a basket full of food?

oh no, not this

you started to panic. damiano quickly unfolded the blanket and made a comfy place for you to sit.

you didn’t see anything healthy and low in calories to eat, except for a few fruits. grabbing one, you hoped that damiano wouldn’t notice how little you would eat tonight.

“y/n, please have a piece of brownie, it’s your favorite” he said, looking at you softly.

“i’m not hungry, thanks dami” you said, trying to sound as convincing as possible. “i ate at home”

i’m so screwed up but he can’t know about this

“but there was nothing much in the fridge” your boyfriend pointed out. he was already worried and suspecting something.

fuck. i’m doomed

“y/n, what’s going on?” damiano enquired.

“nothing, why?” you said but your voice was shaking. you weren’t such a good manipulator as you thought.

you were at your wits‘ end.

“y/n, you know you can tell me everything” damiano didn’t give up on the conversation.

you felt like you had a lump in your throat. in that moment, you knew you had to tell him.

your boyfriend was looking at you, waiting for your answer.

“um.. i…” you couldn’t finish the sentence because the tears started falling down your face.

damiano took you in his arms. his embrace was your ultimate comfort.

he’s the love of my life, he deserves to know

“damiano, there’s something you should know about me… i have problems with eating” you opened up and told him the whole story, from your first struggles in high school and treatment to your most recent relapse.

“amore, you’ve been through a lot. i admire your strength. please remember you’re the most divine and gorgeous person in my eyes. i wouldn’t change a single thing about you, you’re perfect” damiano whispered. you were cradled in his arms like they were your safest shelter.

“nevertheless, you need to seek professional help. i’ll arrange everything for you, i promise. we’ll get through this together” he stopped speaking to kiss you slowly and softly. all of your negative thoughts disappeared during that wonderful moment.

“and remember, you deserve to eat no matter what, okay? i’m going to check up on you everyday, beautiful. i adore every piece of you and this will never change”

“dami, you mean everything to me. i’m so sorry for all that has happened” you said

“there’s no need to apologize y/n. you complete me. i’ll never let you go”

taglist: @ethanesimp @zuzamy @mywritingonlyfans @kirstansworld @gretavanfleetlove @otaculo @bieberhoodforever @kyliesalvatore @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @bidet-and-legolas @hopelessromantic727 @ilwiwbysmv @lovelymaneskindays @grzybowysyn @butkutee

masterlist

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[anathemaloren]

Masterlist

General ->

Who would some of my fav guys vote for in Eurovision?

F1 drivers

Daniel Ricciardo ->

One for the road

Lando Norris ->

Carry you

Singers and actors

Jann ->

Meeting the god Do you wanna come over? part 2

Naomi McPherson ->

Flowers and tea

TV/film characters

Carl Gallagher (Shameless US) ->

In the end...

Jake Peralta (Brooklyn 99) ->

Learning takes time

Luke Patterson (Julie and the Phantoms) ->

The sickening

Anthony Lockwood (Lockwood & Co.) ->

Bewitched

Open requests

really, request something

[kill-the-rockstar]

I found an unpublished fic about someone I don't support anymore who should I rewrite it about???

[writersblockiskillingme]

Jealousy Game | Damiano David

Pairing: Damiano David x reader (Måneskin!reader)

Summary: 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.

Warning/s: jealously, dark side of the fame (kind of), possible grammar and spelling mistakes

Author's note: Just as promised here is another Damiano fic, it would have been published a lot earlier, but school is kicking my ass right now. Feel free to send requests and I'll gladly do them!! Enjoy!

You were NOT a jealous person. Even though some think that you do have a reason to be jealous. However, you weren't. It was just in your nature that you don't get jealous easily. You trusted Damiano 100% and nothing was ever going to change that.

But, you did feel like you started to doubt yourself considering the moment you were in right about now.

You were second singer of the bend Måneskin. Which means that you were always sholder to sholder with attractive frontman. At the top of it, your 3 year relationship was a complete secret.

You could still remember your excitement when you found out that you were about to compete in a Eurovision song contest. You and your band mates were so happy you felt like you were about to explode from so much excitement. Damiano and you both knew that you still wanted to keep it private as long as you could, and you both enjoyed it so much. So you didn't mention it in the interviews and in front of the cameras in general. And it truly was great.

You were having fun there. You were doing what you all loved the most, singing and playing songs and performing. You were positive that you had a big chance to maybe actually win this contest. However, it still didn't matter much. I mean sure, it would be awesome if you actually won Eurovision, but even if you don't you felt like it would be okay. Måneskin has come so far and you were extremely proud of what you guys accomplished. You knew that you were good.

But, what you didn't know or expect was one of your fellow contesters to fall in love with your handsome frontman and you knew that you couldn't really blame her. Damiano was sure something. Again, you didn't think of yourself as a very jealous person. Why? Because you did everything to make sure that you are a good girlfriend, a girlfriend Damiano deserves. Damiano did the same thing, too. You just didn't want to feel jealous because you always thought that jealously means that you are insecure about something. Plus, you didn't want to be that kind of a girlfriend and you truly weren't. Presides, Damiano didn't deserve that.

You could say that you just truly didn't expect it. At first, it started out as Sanja saying that Måneskin was her favorite. Then she said that Damiano was her favorite member of the band. Again, nothing wrong about that, nothing to be jealous of, not a thing out of what she said in these moments didn't step over the line. It was funny to you, actually. You were truly fine with it. You were quite happy when she said that you guys were her favorite. It flattered you. You really liked her and her girls, too. You always said that they had a lot of chance to win just like you did.

But then the tables slowly started to turn. Sanja started to constantly literally drool over him. She was constantly throwing compliments at him, but her compliments were not towards the band in general or about Damiano in general. She didn't compliment him in a way when she was saying about how amazing his voice truly was or about how talented he was or how creative he was. No. She was complimenting him about how hot and borderline sexy he looks and how his Italian accent was truly to hot too handle. And that would be fine for a few reasons.

First off, he truly was hot and his voice was too hot to handle, but to you it was more than that. He was a beautiful soul and you appreciated that every day more and more.

Second off, it was okay for her to comment this, but not when it made somebody uncomfortable. Presides, she slowly started to step over the line when she started to compliment his looks in a way that she maybe shouldn't have.

From that point on, she started to comment how she should marry him because she loves him oh so much and that kind of stuff and she was saying that in a live interview. In fact, almost the entire interview with her and the girls contained like 10% about their music, 10% about Eurovision and 80% was just Sanja pinning after Damiano. Presides, you could clearly see how she looks at him during your rehearsals. She looked at him like she was gonna jump on him at any given moment. Also, something new happened a few days after that interview.

You were still trying to catch your breath as you snuggled deeper into the silk sheets that were placed on the bed of Damiano and yours hotel room. Your hair was all messed up, sprawled on the pillow, but you didn't care about that at the moment. Damiano was taking a shower, he left a few minutes ago after you said that you were going to join him in a few minutes. And so, with one more passionate kiss you had to part away. You turned around slowly groaning softly from the sleepiness that was slowly, but surely creeping in. You took your phone in your hand and you went to Instagram.

The first thing you saw was Sanja's new Instagram story. You just couldn't help yourself so you clicked on it. You found yourself face to face with the photo of Damiano and Sanja in a friendly hug. At least it was friendly on Dami's side. On the photo she wrote "Next step" followed by an engagement ring. You truly felt sick in your stomach. You knew that this was just a friendly photo (at least on one part) and another memory, but you couldn't help, but feel this strange feeling creeping in.

You were roughly pulled away from your train of thoughts when you felt the other side of the bed dip from the weight and a strong tattoo covered arms of your beloved wrapping you up in a warm and safe embrace. Somehow, Damiano immediately noticed the change in your behavior.

"Are you okay, amore?" He asked her softly as he learned over her slightly in hope to even catch a glimpse of her face. He didn't succeed.

"I'm fine. Don't worry." Oh what a lier you are. You were anything but fine and Damiano really should be worried.

"Amore, you know that you can't lie to me, right?" He asked you. "I mean, you can, but I will see right through you." You hated to admit it, but in this moment you adored his ability to see through your little white lies. You slowly turned around to face him. He lifted his arm up giving you enough space so you could slowly make yourself comfortable in his hold. After you did so, Damiano softly cherished your breathtaking beauty as he slowly lifted your head up with his thumb so you would finally look at him.

"What's wrong?" And you came crushing down.

"Well, all this time Sanja was pinning after you and I didn't mind it at first. I didn't care about her little compliments about you. But then she started to compliment you in a more heated way and she was practically begging you to marry her already and I just..." You paused for a bit, exhausted about everything. Damiano kept quiet, waiting for you to finish. "I just got a bit jealous, I guess. You know I'm not a jealous type and I didn't want to say anything because I felt like a bad girlfriend and you don't deserve that."

You felt a few tears fun down your cheeks as you spilled your thoughts and your heart and your soul to the man you loved the most. Damiano was borderline shocked and both of you were quite for a bit. Finally he spoke up as he brushed away your tears.

"You are my everything, amore. You are my inspiration, you are my muse. You are my motive for everything I do and you are my heart and my soul and my whole being. You are my life." He confessed quietly, whispering away in the darkness of your shared hotel room.

"You are a fire in my heart and a fresh breath of air for my lungs. You are more addictive then the hardest drugs. But most importantly, you are my one and only greatest love. And yes, she was crossing a line with that one, I was honestly getting uncomfortable, too. So no. You are NOT a bad girlfriend."

For the rest of the evening you were just enjoying each other in many different ways. At that moment, for the rest of your life, you were reassured that he was your only one and to him you were the only one, too.

"I love you more than the life itself and nobody is ever going to change that."

->

->

->

TAGLIST

@opal-rugger

JOIN THE TAGLIST HERE!!

[oro-e-diamanti]

Omg yaaas prompts are BACK ❤️ may I pls request number 16 "I missed you like I never missed anyone before." it made me think of the meaning of The Loneliest… what if it’s Damiano coming back from the writing session in LA and showing the reader the song

“I missed you like I never missed anyone before.”

Damiano + angst/fluff

There’s a fog over the airport when he arrives. When you hope he arrives. Worse, yet: Even if he does, you have no certainty whether he wants to see you or not. You can’t even being to describe how that’s making you feel.

You watch as the planes take off and land, one after the other, so many people, everyone with their own little stories, going somewhere, going home. You wonder how many have knots in their stomachs similar to yours. How many are on the way to the unknown. Who aren't sure who will greet them when they arrive. How it might change their lives, or not at all.

The arrivals hall is busy, bustling with people, the sound of suitcases being moved over the smooth floor, announcements echoing, mothers crying, children screaming in play or displeasure, lovers kissing, being reunited or torn apart. You wonder which one will be happening to you today.

The arrivals screen changes to “landed” where his flight is listed. Your heart drops, misses a beat, then comes back to life with twice the force. The uncertainty makes you feel like throwing up. You've always been the type to get queasy with anticipation and nerves. Only, you miss the times it would happen with the widest smile on your face and butterflies in your stomach, happily taking all the physical symptoms in the eyes of the excitement of him coming back home to you. Now it was pure anxiety.

The time until the first passengers walk through the doors and into the hall takes an eternity. It leaves you with too much time to think. Nothing else will occupy your time enough not to let your thoughts drift.

A break. You can’t even recall whose deranged idea it was. A fight that escalated in ways it never had before. You didn’t want to get loud and mean and unfair. Neither did he. It wasn’t about him. It wasn’t about you. It was the situation, it was his job, it was your responsibilities keeping you away from him, it was his accusation of not making enough of an effort and yours of not making compromises. It seemed silly the very second the fury had subsided. But the bad taste in your mouth lingered. A break. A chance for both of you to figure out what you want. A three-week trip away from home for him, three weeks of physical pain from the intensity of missing him.

You can’t count how many times you found yourself wondering if he was missing you too. At all. You had no way of knowing. Both of you had agreed to no contact. Take the time to really think things through. Find out if you still wanted each other in your lives and if yes, in which way. Pure torture. You even refrained from contacting the rest of the band, unwilling to bring any of them into your weird, messed-up situation. Only one message had reached you.

Our flight back gets in at 7 pm tomorrow.

You thanked the heavens for Vic. You still aren’t sure if he knows about the text at all, but that’s the least of your current worries. For now, you’re here. For now, you’re waiting for him.

You hate the way the sliding doors keep closing after each passenger, leaving you anxious and impatient for it to open again, just to see another stranger’s face. You still stare at each and every one of them intently, as if you could find him in their features, or gather any knowledge about him at all.

Ethan appears first. He spots you quickly, to your own surprise, since there are multiple people waiting for loved ones and business contacts and you’ve taken to hiding in the crowd. The fear of getting rejected while standing front row for all of these people to see was too humiliating. Ethan gives you a quick wave, puts his sunglasses on, and leaves. You assume he’s looking for their driver. You passed him by earlier but resigned to standing far away from him.

Thomas and Vic walk through the doors at the same time, she’s animatedly talking, hands moving around as much as possible with a heavy-looking bag in tow, he seems tired and not quite in tune with her energy. He spots you too and you can see him change course, direct his feet toward you, but Vic intervenes, a quick look over her shoulder, a soft smile for you, then she pulls Thomas away.

Then he’s there.

Damiano.

The love of your life. The one that left you wondering if you were his too.

He looks rougher thank you’ve ever seen him. And you’ve been there for a lot. He’s wearing a baseball cap and it’s pulled down into his face so much you would have missed him if you hadn’t been looking out for him in particular. You can still make out the dark circles under his eyes, pale skin that looks like he hasn’t been taking care of himself. There’s no energy in his step and he doesn’t look up.

But you need him to see you.

Stepping forward is all it takes. As if drawn in by an innate knowledge of you being around, he looks up, scanning his surroundings for the first time. It only takes a moment before he’s looking straight into your eyes. He doesn’t hesitate as he sets off your way. Your heart is pounding so hard you’re convinced you’re in danger of passing out.

But then he reaches you, his bag dropped and forgotten, and his arms wrap around you so tightly it feels like he’s attempting to make you a part of him. You don’t resist at all, molding against his chest, biting back the tears you don’t want to see on your face in a public setting.

“I-” His voice is hoarse and he immediately stops himself but you assume it’s not just because he sounds off. His eyes flicker away from your face, unable to ignore the people gawking around you. “Not here. Can I- can I take you home?”

You would love to tell him with a kiss. You nod instead.

Your eyes are scanning over the page, struggling to make out any single thought that has been put down on it, and for once it’s not due to Damiano’s handwriting. Your brain is clouded with panic and fear of rejection, you’ll be the saddest part of me, a part of me that will never be mine, words crossed out and re-written, underlined and hasty, the paper slightly crumpled at the edges, it’s torturous. You’re not entirely sure what to make of it, how to sort your thoughts. When you look up at Damiano from your spot on the couch, he’s pacing.

“I couldn’t write about anything but you,” he finally says. “The break… I wasn’t sure if I would see you again. I was completely prepared to have to beg and cry and fall on my knees for you to give me another chance.”

He crouches down in front of you now, holding out his hands to you. You take them immediately as relief floods his eyes.

“And I… I missed you like I never missed anyone before. And this,” he says, only briefly removing his hand from yours to point to a specific passage, “is all I want you to know.”

Cause I don’t even care about the time I’ve got left here The only thing I know now is that I wanna spend it With you, with you, nobody else here

It’s only when you laugh that you realise you’ve started crying. Damiano looks up at you, startled, already wiping away the tears from your cheeks.

“That’s awfully dramatic,” you say with a smile on your face. Your eyes are still watering but the weight has been lifted off your whole body, not just your chest. You feel so light, you’re convinced anything is possible right then and there. Damiano can’t keep the chuckle in either.

It’s not over. There’s a future. He missed you like you missed him. You can do this.

You grab his head into your hands and pull him toward you, finally, finally, putting your lips on his.

“I love you,” you mumble against him.

“I love you,” he replies.

“Good,” you grin, pressing another kiss on his mouth. “Only promise me one thing.”

“No more breaks?” he offers with a laugh.

“Well, that too, but I thought that was a given.”

“Anything you want, amore.”

“Record that song.”

[filthforfriends]

Chapter 1: Checking In

The Sun is the Center of Everything

See Author's Note (CW: addiction)

Word count: 3.5k

Damiano David x Y/n

His family and his friends, mutual and otherwise, made tepid comments about Damiano’s wellbeing. They knew they didn’t have the right to ask anything of you, not anymore.

“Just checking in! I know the breakup was tough.” Tough. The word choice made you outright laugh. It was something you’d say to a child who just lost a football game. I know that was tough, buddy. 

“Hey, checking in, hope you’re doing well.” 

“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing, y/n.”

“I know I checked in on you earlier, but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I was forced to choose between my sanity and my relationship, but God granted me neither.

“I’m doing fine, all things considered.” “Checking in” was their excuse to call, it was a transition to statements like, “We all miss you alot. Hope we’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” “Well, I’m glad you’re doing well, since I know Damia has been struggling.” “Have you heard from Dami? I was gonna call and ask how he’s doing as well. I heard he’s not coping well.” “You were such a force for good in his life. I think he really needs that.” “I wish I knew how to get Damiano closer to being fine, too.” That last one earned a real life eye roll. At least his friends had the etiquette to feel guilty for dragging you back into it. 

You were certain that your heart couldn’t bear to love someone hellbent on self-destructing. You were certain that Damiano wasn’t going to get sober of his own volition. He’d lose his temper when you’d bring up those two years of not drinking. Articles, books, podcasts, speeches, YouTube videos, TV, movies, therapy, support groups, doctors, even a sobriety coach. You spent more time on resources for his addiction disorder than you did self-care, or hobbies, or some days, even work. Your life revolved around stopping this behavior before he became a tragic stereotype and left a black hole in your life. Damiano’s life revolved around Maneskin’s unrelenting schedule. 

He’d do anything to reclaim his autonomy, but the options were slim. The documents from Sony US hadn’t been translated with nuance and you wondered if that might void some of it. Hoped, really. He’d signed his life away to realize his dream. Now all he could do is show his handlers that they’d bought a faulty machine. In fact, he was self-destructive enough that he’d do it just to spite them. 

The first time Damiano was hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, you found about a dozen ways to reassure yourself that everything wasn’t falling apart. He’d been sober for two years so his tolerance was low. Damiano was probably drinking the same amount. Then you found out it’d been hard alcohol, no mixers. Now the excuses were he didn’t remember when to stop. He had to relearn how to self regulate when drinking. 

Ethan had been the one to call the first time, when they’d managed to contain it. The second it was his head of security, Ronnie. In a totally normal and healthy way, you combed through Twitter for an hour. The knot in your stomach said the news would break and it did. Splashed across tabloids was a haggard looking picture of Dami that you tried to date based on his outfit. Your therapist called your behavior “obsessive,” but followed it up with a surprising amount of empathy.

“Tough love can be equally painful on both sides.” You’d never told her you still loved him. It was obvious. For the first time, carrying around all Damiano’s secrets felt like a burden. You’d never betray his confidence, despite how poisonous he’d been towards the end. SME had you sign a non-disclosure agreement in early 2021. You’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, that there wasn’t enough money in the world to pay you to talk to the press. Sony had simply said, “for now,” prompting Dami’s stereotypically Italian temper to flare.

Ronnie was more concerned with you telling Damiano that he’d relayed this information, clearly against your ex-boyfriend’s wishes. 

“Be honest with me, are you breaching contract by calling me?” There’s a very long sign on the other end of the line.

“Technically, no. He hasn’t taken you off his emergency contacts. I’m more concerned about the disruption it would cause.”

“Disruption?”

“Explosion. Whatever he’s ingesting has made him volatile, constantly on edge. The edge of rage, that is. We’ve stopped hoping for good days and started hoping for some good hours every few days, ideally around showtime or interviews.” 

“Wow, okay. I know he has a temper –”

“He’s never not angry. It's always simmering under the surface.” Through the silence, you can hear the sounds of the hospital. Layers of anxious voices and the constant beeping of some machine.

“You didn’t do this.”

“I know,” you respond automatically.

“Y/n, you didn’t do this. He did this to himself.” Dami had violated boundary after boundary as you set them. He became less recognisable, until he wasn’t the person you fell in love with. Full of creativity, light, good humor, who loved art and comradery more than he did any substance.

“I mean, I don’t think the breakup is why he’s so angry. The depression is probably from the alcohol. That’s actually why I’m calling.” Ronnie has the same tone of voice as those who are “checking in.” “The decision has been made, that he’s going to rehab.”

“Good.” With your back braced against the wall, you slide down onto the floor with relief.

“That decision has been made without Damiano’s consent.”

“Can’t you consult him?”

“No,” Ronnie says firmly. “Addicts aren’t rational.” It was the first time you’d heard someone call Dami an addict. Before now, that word had only existed in your own head.

“I can’t believe it got to this point so quickly.” Your cat, Princess, senses your anxiety and rubs against you. Dami had picked her out as a tiny kitten. When would she start wondering where her dad was? Maybe not yet, he was gone for long stretches of time on tour. Princess doesn’t know he isn’t coming home, and that thought both makes you jealous and sob hysterically. 

“Y/n? Y/n? You still there?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you sniff, eyes burning.

“SME is using the full weight of its influence to force Dami into rehab. He might call you and say anything he can think of to get out of it. Don’t believe him. You can’t trust him right now.” The thought of Dami calling and begging you to fly him home, only to go on a bender makes you sick.

“Should I block his number and Whatsapp?”

“That's up to you.”

“You called to tell me it's up to me?”

“I called you to warn you. So you could steal yourself. So you’d know about it before the tabloids.”

“I suppose now that Dami’s hospitalization is public, someone is also gonna leak that he’s going to rehab. Cover their own asses?” Ronnie falls silent. “You know, going to rehab in privacy would be a fuck load more effective. Let them wonder.”

“I wish they would.” Here was the impasse you always reached. Damiano treated as a doll to be flung around for profit, as if he didn’t have a soul. 

“Fine. Thanks for calling me.” Each time, you tried to tell them not to update you in the future, and each time your tongue refused to form the words.

“Y/n, I have a feeling that something is really not right with him. That it could get much worse before it gets better.” Now, he’s managed to tick you off.

“Ronnie, I tried everything in my goddamn power to keep him from crashing and burning. More than anyone else! I devoted hours to –”

“Y/n, I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him from self-destructing. I tried!” The sound of tears creeps into your voice. “I couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. I don’t know if he was refusing to get better or was unable to, but either way I…tried.”

“No one questions that. I mean that Damiano might need for things to get worse for them to eventually get better. He’s stubborn and short-sighted. I want you to be ready.”

“How much worse?” you whisper.

“He might need to bruise his ass on rock bottom to stop idealizing self-destruction.”

“‘Live fast, die young’ sounds a lot like I’d rather stick it to the man than grow old with you. My ego is bigger than my love for you”

“I don’t know that that’s true, y/n. For some people it's a matter of time before they become addicts when they’re put into this pressure cooker. I’ve seen it before.

“And?”

“Only Damiano can pull himself out of it.”

“So I just wasted my time,” you respond bitterly.

“Showing Damiano how deeply and unequivocally you loved him might save him still.”

“I thought he had to save himself.”

“You’re telling me that after five years he’s not a part of you and vice versa?”

“No.” No, I’m not telling you that, because I know the opposite to be true so viscerally that it has almost destroyed me. The part of Damiano that lay in your heart should be withering in his absence, but it remained very much alive. How do you move on from someone you hadn’t broken up with? The version of Dami that caused you to end it wasn’t truly representative of his character. He was still in there, progressively buried under the rubble of this revolt. The man you loved was unreachable which also made it impossible to move on. Every day he held you in his hellish limbo. 

Damiano did his 30 days. Then 30 hours after discharge, he overdosed in Milan. You started buying a train ticket as soon as you saw Ronnie’s contact on the screen. 

“Is he alive?” 

“Yes, but he’s on a ventilator.”

“God damn it Dami,” you whimper, doubled over and on the verge of screaming into your hand. “What's happening?”

“That's literally all I know. Someone found him in the bathroom of a bougie nightclub and gave him Narcan, thank god. His lips were purple, so…” For a moment Ronnie’s voice is drowned out by a sob. “It’s gonna be messy. The ambulance was photographed.”

“Christ.” This would make international celebrity news. Every asshole who’d typecast Dam after Eurovision would be competing for the most public validation. 

“We don’t think it was intentional.”

“But how bad was it? Like would he think he was gonna die in the moment? Was he alone? How long was he conscious? What – what about organ failure. What if –”

“Y/n, I don’t know,” Ronnie says slowly. “I will call when I have more information.” You’d been on the train for 20 minutes before your phone rang. He was going to be okay. You balled up your coat and screamed, using it as a gag.

“Turns out, to compensate for the hangovers, he’s been doing cocaine.” Never has irony been more painful. “He wasn’t testing his drugs. The coke was laced with fentanyl. Another line might have killed him.” Only then does the possibility that Damiano could end his own life become apparent. It swallows up every other aspect of your reality, until you’re standing in the doorway of his hospital room. 

Thomas’ girlfriend Mia sees you first and runs in for a hug. Ethan and Vic were sleeping in their hotel rooms. Ronnie’s jacket is crumpled in a chair, forgotten after drifting off to sleep probably.

“Hey! Ronnie said you might come, but…” But I’m not Damia’s girlfriend. Perhaps he’d found someone new, and you were encroaching on their territory.

“Shit, I just thought that, um…is he dating –”

“No.” The amount of relief that provided was just evidence of how damaged you were. “He’s been in a coma for almost three hours, lots of good brain activity. He should wake up soon.”

“Coma?” you squeaked. In Tom’s eyes you saw how taxing this new Damiano had been. You weren’t the only one that loved him unconditionally. 

“Yeah.” Thomas rubs his face and sighs. “Fuck. We have so much shit tomorrow.” SME had scheduled a press tour as soon as Damiano was discharged, to make up for lost time. Everything was pushed back because the band couldn’t release something they hadn’t done publicity for.

“I’ll sit with him for a while,” you reassure. Mia helps Tom up out of the chair. After exchanging appropriate greetings, they exit the room, whose door remains open. Now you had to look at him. The ventilator emits rhythmic rushes of air, so your eyes find the source of the sound first. Then you follow the tubing until it enters Damiano. He’s gray, sickly looking like he had COVID again. Surely they already tested for that. 

The concern had been damaging his voice, like the tobacco and weed hadn’t already put his vocal chords on the edge of irreversible harm. How damaging is a plastic tube shoved down your throat? Alcohol caused esophageal cancer and coke eviscerated your sinuses. What would those do to his singing voice? 

You’d refrained from watching his gigs, but now you have the compulsion to find a video of this morning’s interview. It was just the talking portion, no performance. That was Sony’s idea of easing back into the public’s eye. In the thumbnail, he doesn’t look like an addict. Damiano’s skin had aged backwards while in rehab. He was beautiful, pale from so much time in doors, but healthy. The fact that he’d managed so much damage in a matter of hours made you nauseous. 

You sat in the bathroom while the feeling passed. The pale green tiles were cold. Should you leave? You couldn’t even work up the bravery to touch him. But if you left, Dami could wake up alone with a tube down his throat, confused that he wasn’t dead. Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights illuminate details in the reflection of the mirror that you’d prefer not to be made aware of. After pondering some adult acne, you decide that you aren’t the type of person to abandon someone, just because they abandoned you.

Upon exiting the bathroom, you startle the nurse at Damiano’s bedside.

“Geez, I didn’t know you were in there!” She brings a hand to her ample bosom while taking a deep breath.

“Shit, sorry. I was just…having an existential crisis.”

“Ah, so you must be the girlfriend, then.”

“Yep,” you answer automatically. After five years, that response was ingrained into your frontal lobe. This would have been the first time you answered no.

“I’m Maria and I’m gonna be your nurse this morning.”

“Morning?”

“It is…” she checks her smart watch, “5:04. So early morning.” Her chipper tone gives you cognitive dissonance. “I’m just gonna take some blood, just to monitor how his organs are functioning. Unfortunately a tiny amount of fentanyl can wreak havoc.” 

“His organs are failing?”

“No,” she answers firmly, going so far as to round the bed and pat you on the shoulder before putting on latex gloves. “He’s young and it's his first OD. He could bounce back quickly, but a coma is the body's last ditch effort at keeping itself alive. He’s lucky.” She gives you a knowing look. “I can recommend some great treatment programs, now that he officially has his Substance Use Disorder diagnosis.”

“Um.”

“Maybe we’ll tackle that around breakfast time. Now why don’t you hold onto his hand.” She ties a purple tourniquet around his bicep on his left arm while you gingerly take a seat. “Mhm, go ahead,” she permits, completely oblivious to the war raging inside you.

“Does – does it help?” Your left hand quivers, half an inch above his, close enough to feel the heat.  For some reason, you expect Dami’s skin to be cold too, like a corpse. 

“It can be difficult to find a good vein after an overdose.”

“Are his veins damaged?”

“We didn’t find any evidence that he was using intravenously. Unfortunately hypoxia, A.K.A. oxygen deprivation, is a result of –”

“Will he have brain damage?”

“You’ll have to ask the doctor that question.” 

“Does Narcan hurt?”

“No, but he’ll probably have a headache.”

“Does overdosing on fentanyl hurt?”

“It’s heavily sedating.”

“Would he know that he was overdosing?”

“Depends on how experienced of a drug user he is.”

“I’m pretty positive that this is his first overdose.”

“Then probably not.”

“Would he be scared then?”

“You’d have to ask him.”

“Would he be afraid of dying?”

“Honey, hold his hand.” Maria pats you on the shoulder as you finally set your palm against Damiano’s. His skin is warm, as always, and he feels sturdy. The sensation of his hand in yours brings back so many memories that you’re fighting not to drown in them. It's strange, him not responding as you squeeze down. Dam loved to talk about marriage, how the ceremony would go, the reception. You’d debated matching rings. Now you watched the blue line of his heart rate on the beeping monitor.

“Okay, all done,” Maria announced, smoothing adhesive labels over vials of blood. “The doctor will be in shortly and – oh.” She freezes, then presses the call button.

“Is he okay?” Your heart falls from your chest to stomach, out your ass, and lands on the linoleum floor. 

“Yep, looks like he’s coming out of it, actually. Stand up,” Maria requests, pulling on your arm. “Make sure you’re in his line of sight. Waking up on life support can be quite disorienting.” Damiano’s face looks the same, but then his pupils move under his eyelids. You’re the first thing he’ll see and that pressure is impossible to bear. 

“I can’t! I’m so sorry.” You rub your eyes then stand up, grabbing your purse and overnight bag. Maria doesn’t protest. She lets you leave in a flurry of movement and tears, throwing the door open so forcefully that it hits the wall. Once outside of the hospital room, you immediately feel compelled to go back. Dami had never done anything to warrant being left alone at such a pivotal, terrifying moment. You knew with absolute certainty that if the roles were reversed, he’d have never left your side.

“Okay.” You take a deep breath upon re-entering the hospital room, holding Dami’s right hand in both of your own. “Okay, I’m here. What now?” 

“We wait,” Maria answers, as a doctor enters the room. There's the medication given, vitals taken, brain activity analyzed. The waves on the monitor become closer together, then more drastic. Medical personnel may be accustomed to it, but the rapid beeping elevates your anxiety.

“We’re bringing him up out of it gradually, so he doesn’t hurt himself,” narrates a young doctor. “Mr. David will have regained a level of consciousness by now. Probably thinks he’s dreaming.” How would a person not startle while waking up with a tube in their throat? It’d been almost three months since you’d last seen him, but if you thought about it that way, you’d just run. Instead, you imagine that you’re waking Damiano up from a bad dream, even though it was typically the other way around.

“Will he recognize your voice?”

“Of course.” The response comes out defensive when you didn’t intend it to be.

“Talk to him.”

“I…okay.” You lean down, getting closer to his ear. “Dami, it’s y/n. It’s y/n, I’m really here. It's me, baby.” That last word gets stuck in your throat. It’d be so long. How many messages had you missed? He must have tried to contact you.

“I’m sorry, I haven’t answered. I don’t know the right things to say. I don’t know if saying something is the right thing.” Maria and the other nurse in the room are looking at you with a bit of judgment, but the doctor is focused on the monitors.

“Great. That’s great.” You raise a shaky hand to Damiano’s cheek and brush your thumb back and forth.

“As soon as I heard, I got on a train. I still think about you everyday, even more than when we were together. Hopefully you won’t remember any of this, me babbling on. I’d call it pathetic, but you wouldn’t like that.”

“Page whatever respiratory therapist is on call this morning, please. Thank you.” For another couple minutes you wait for improvement, signs that your boyfriend still existed in this body. The doctor is enthralled in what appears to be unchanging information to you, and administers another dose of something. 

“I always thought it was kind of sudden,” you confess. “Damia, if you can hear me, come towards the surface.”

“He can definitely hear you. I’m Dr. Williams, by the way, or just Paul.” The young physician never breaks focus. “Common misconception. If waking up from sleep isn’t instant, why would waking up from a coma be,” he chuckles. Damiano’s hand twitches at the wrist, like a muscle spasm.

“He just moved!”

“Mm-hm.”

“Is everything okay?” Ethan exclaims, having walked in while all your focus was elsewhere. Someone herds him into the hall and closes the door. Then Dami squeezes down on your hand, properly, like he intends to. His eyes flutter and you feel his presence enter the room.

Notes: Chapter 2 posted on Sunday. Let me know if you find this fic interesting/compelling so far. I'll be posting two short chapters a week, word count ranging from 2.9 - 7.3k. Hello to the new members of my taglist!

-XOXO Eden

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[baddestbittyontheblock]

måneskin fic recs

you are responsible for the content you consume‼️

✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚

✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚

°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。°。

måneskin x reader: blurbs+headcannons+fics

୨୧ 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬

୨୧ 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧

୨୧ a headcanon with må with you being a successful model

-they're wearing earbuds, blasting music into their ears when they remember the they left their phone charger in the bathroom. they don't know you're showering and can't hear you over the music...

୨୧ headcanons with må x fashiondesigner!reader

୨୧ a valentine’s surprise | SMUT, orgy, oral sex, anal play, double penetration, food play, spit play, alcohol  

-You’ve been feeling a little left out in your relationship so your four partners show their love to you with a surprise for Valentine’s Day. 

୨୧ Gettin’ Frisky With The Måneskin Members  | explicit content, gender neutral reader, switch!damiano, hard domme!victoria, vanilla!thomas, sub!ethan, freaky stuff, toys and s/m, oral (both ways), degradation, spit, pain play, brat taming, bondage, sinning cuz rock’n’roll never dies

୨୧ our favourite band with an S/O with bad menstrual periods

| talk abt periods, so dyphoria warning (we'll get back on the totally GN shit tmrw, just filling requests rn), lil bit of swearing and NSFW on Ethan

୨୧ how the members of Måneskin confess their feelings for you måneskin x gn!reader

victoria de angelis

·。🍓 my sweet valentine vic de angelis x fem! reader | Fluff

-Victoria's first Valentine's day celebrating with you is a bit chaotic but turns out better than expected.

·。🍓 date night vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut, fingering, oral (female receiving) and bdsm dynamics

-you and vic go on a date and it ends with fun at the hotel

·。🍓 hush, hush, cucciola. vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut

-you’re were asked to come over and help to calm Vic down after another disagreement during creating new song, and you find just the way to make her happy and peaceful again

·。🍓 pillow talk vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut

-your night trip to the kitchen gets interrupted by a strange noise, the results of your investigation are more pleasant then you could expect.

·。🍓 long stormy night damiano x fem!reader x vic | SMUT!!!, degradation, corruption kink, wax play, knife play, blood play, spanking, bit of fear play, unprotected sex, it’s just wild ok, i wanted to treat y/n

-It’s a last day of your small, a bit disappointing  gateway trip. The big storm is approaching, yet your evening takes an interesting turn when you bump into two hot Italians in the hotel bar

·。🍓 cold breeze, hot cheeks vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst, fluff 

-a rather cold October makes your blood boil as you and Vic attend Ethan's birthday party

·。🍓 i think I wanna hold you, but I'm not sure i'm allowed

vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst with tiny hint of smut

·。🍓 I'll show the  lovin' that you'll never get from a man. vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst, fluff, smut

-your friends finally meet your boyfriend, and even though nothing goes according to the plan, your night ends up being better than you could hope for, thanks to Vic

·。🍓 sweat and good grips vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut

·。🍓 the one with victoria’s boobs. victoria x gn!reader | fluff

-Victoria needs help taping her boobs for an upcoming performance. You get more than you bargained for.

·。🍓 the one where victoria wants to watch victoria x fem!reader x ethan | smut

·。🍓 “OPEN YOUR MOUTH.” victoria x gn!reader | soft smut

-along the lines of The one where victoria is patient.

·。🍓 “YEAH, WELL, IF YOU WEREN’T SO DRUNK MAYBE I WOULD.” vic de angelis x fem! reader

·。🍓 “I KNOW YOU CAN BE LOUDER THAN THAT.” vic de angelis x fem! reader

·。🍓 “GIVE ME ATTENTION.” vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut

·。🍓 say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams vic de angelis xfem!reader | fluff, smut

-You're an up-and-coming actress, and Vic's best friend since high school. You have been friends and in love with each other for as long as you can remember. So when you have the chance to be together, it's magical.

·。🍓 baby said vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut

-you've been on a few dates with Victoria and you think things are going really well. You just wish you had known where the night was going beforehand- maybe you would have picked a table with longer tablecloths.

·。🍓 latenight devil vic de angelis x fem! reader

-victoria covers for you after you sneak backstage ahead of a Måneskin gig & invites you into her dressing room for an unusual encounter

·。🍓 forgive me father vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut, basically porn

·。🍓 the ocean's daughter swearing, alcohol consumption, drowning as a metaphor, smut

-while on holiday in italy, an encounter derails your life enough to make you pack up on a whim and move to the very city in which you first saw her — the ocean's daughter.

·。🍓 vic blurb

-doing domestic stuff with Victoria

·。🍓 a threesome with victoria and damiano! damiano x fem!reader x vic | smut

-reader is victoria’s partner and starts to develop a certain ‘obsession’ for dami, until vic decides to fix it.

·。🍓 vic de angelis fic victoria de angelis x fem!reader

-y/n is the other female member of the band, who has had feelings for vic for a while now, but was too nervous to say anything. one night after a concert in new york changes that after the bassist overhears a conversation between damiano and y/n.

·。🍓 thorns victoria de angelis x fem!reader | Mentions of smoking. Mentions of panic. Swearing.

-victoria meets her ex-girlfriend (Ava). The unplanned “date” upsets her and she decides to drink and smoke to cope. When she wakes up in the morning her best friend Y/N (who she also happens to have a crush on) is there to try and reason with her. 

·。🍓 lucid victoria de angelis x fem!reader

-It started with a spilled drink and ended with a clumsy kiss on the dance floor. A night out with friends takes an unexpected turn when you bump into the one person that's been on your mind for the better part of a year- the same stranger who stole both your chapstick and your heart.

·。🍓 nightmares victoria de angelis x fem!reader | A description of a nightmare. Other than that all is fluff and comfort.

-When Y/N has a terrifying nightmare and wakes up screaming, Victoria is there to comfort her.

·。🍓 kisses and cake vic de angelis x reader | very fluffy, a little spicy

·。🍓 vic blurb vic de angelis x reader

-being in a punk band and having vic feature in a show (you know like thomas recently did with starcrawler) and her doing her scissoring thing on top of me and then when she extends and after extending a hand to help me up and pulling me into a very gay gay gay kiss smearing her lipstick on my lipstick and leaving a big lipstick stain on my cheek as well

·。🍓 birthday wish victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut

-little birthday blurb

·。🍓 church crush vic de angelis x reader | kinky as kink abba; innocent/corruption kink, and idk, sacrilege?

-good girl!reader having a massive obsession on a not-so-good girl from her church.

·。🍓 proficiency test victoria de angelis x gn!reader | a bit of swearing + one (1) explicit and one (1) implicit mention of sex + i'm very much projecting (who doesn't) + shitty german

-vic decides to help you study. chaos ensues.

·。🍓 coming home victoria de angelis x fem!reader

-vic has had a long day but coming home to you lifts the uneasiness from her shoulders and she vocalizes just how lucky she feels that you are in her life.

·。🍓 because of you idiot! victoria de angelis x gn!reader | angst(I guess), romantic fluff

-Victoria suddenly comes distance, and you try to find out why.

·。🍓 fluffy blurb vic de angelis x reader

-(it's something about getting matching tattoos with vic)

·。🍓 fuffly/smut with victoria victoria de angelis x fem!reader

-fluffy morning/half smut with victoria. nipples playing.

·。🍓 your camera roll while dating vic vic de angelis x reader | fluff, smut

·。🍓 knowing your worth vic x fem/gn! reader | hurt, comfort

-Vic is there for you after a conflict with your parents.

·。🍓 the first happiest birthday vic de angelis x reader | fluff

·。🍓 crawling back to you vic de angelis x reader

-Vic once again finds her way back to you.

·。🍓 one of a kind vic de angelis x reader | fluff, mentions of sex

-Vic finds out just how rich the feeling of love can be.

·。🍓 “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretend that it’s you!” vic de angelis x reader | fluff, angst

·。🍓 pt 2 hospital vic fic. vic de angelis x reader

·。🍓 “everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit.” vic de angelis x reader | smut

·。🍓 the one where victoria is patient. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut

-you've been with Victoria for half a year. Maybe it's about time you pushed your fears away.

·。🍓 “Yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe I would.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff

·。🍓 “Give me attention.” vic de angelis x reader | smut

·。🍓 “We’re in public, you know.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff

·。🍓 “Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff

·。🍓 "Take off your clothes, but leave the heels on." vic de angelis x reader | fluff

·。🍓 vic fic vic de angelis x reader

-A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party

·。🍓 vic blurb vic de angelis x reader

-Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.

·。🍓 l'amore è più forte di ogni segreto: Part 1. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | angst, swearing, bad google translate translations, overuse of italics, mention of someone called ‘A’ - Damiano’s girlfriend

-unbeknownst to you both, paparazzi photograph you and Victoria while on your way back from a date night. When you find out in the morning, the two of you have very different ideas of how to handle the situation.

·。🍓 l'amore è più forte di ogni segreto - Part 2. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | angst, swearing, bad google translate translations, overuse of italics.

·。🍓 k is for kisses vic de angelis x reader

-You and your girlfriend, Victoria, both like to tease each other. Kisses ensue.

·。🍓 peculiar and beautiful victoria de angelis x gn!reader | angsty but also fluffy

-reader finds themself in a emotional rut. A few comments online, the constant youtube recommendations on how to be “perfect” have been making them feel some type of way, hiding away from the one person that can help them; Victoria

·。🍓 amalfi nights victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut, pretty vanilla, softdom!vic, servicetop!vic, praise, kind of fluffy smut

-reader and victoria are for vacation in Amalfi. After a candle-lit dinner at the restaurant, after a long day of swimming and sunbathing, victoria just wants to show you her love.

·。🍓 afterglow victoria de angelis x gn!reader | mentions of sex

-reader meets victoria while traveling with friends. The two create a lovely summer fling and reader can not help but bask in the afterglow of victorias influence hoping to encounter her again.

·。🍓 homesick vic de angelis x reader | tw sickness, vomitting

-vic and the reader being on a long vacation together. One night the reader wakes up homesick and ends up being sick in the toilet, trying to be as quiet as they can not to worry vic too much. To no use, of course, as vic wakes up alarmed by the sounds of someone being ill in the bathroom and then goes to comfort the sick, guilty, crying reader?

·。🍓 vic fic vic de angelis x reader

-An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.

damiano david

✧*: i want to dance on your body damiano david x fem!reader | smut 

-you and your bestie hit up a party when you start grooving with Damiano, and the dance floor chemistry carries over to his hotel room. That's where the magic unfolds, and you both go to cloud as he compares you to an angel.

✧*: i'm gonna fly straight to you damiano david x fem!reader | fluff

-you and Damiano are cuddled up in bed, brainstorming epic future adventures together.

✧*: i wanna paint your face like you're my Mona Lisa. damiano david x fem!reader | smut

-damiano takes you to see his new yacht

✧*: long stormy night damiano x fem!reader x vic | SMUT!!!, degradation, corruption kink, wax play, knife play, blood play, spanking, bit of fear play, unprotected sex, it’s just wild ok, i wanted to treat y/n

-It’s a last day of your small, a bit disappointing  gateway trip. The big storm is approaching, yet your evening takes an interesting turn when you bump into two hot Italians in the hotel bar

✧*: overthinking damiano david x fem!reader | swearing, alcohol, smoking, smut related things in general

-Your relationship with Damiano is going through a crisis and some jealousy. All becomes clear after a filed party and a steamy night. There is a bit sad, angsty beginning, smut in the middle and a bit of fluff in the end. So, we have the whole package.

✧*: welcome home damiano david x fem!reader | surprisingly fluffy but also smut

-after a long week all you need is a loving touch of your currently absent boyfriend. Luckily in the morning there is a very handsome surprise waiting for you, and this allows you to start your day in best way you could possibly imagine

✧*: 300,000 hearts damiano david x fem!girlfriend!reader

-where damiano sings a song about you he wrote in highschool, to a full arena

ethan torchio

ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ blush ethan torchio x reader | pure fluff

-a blurb of Ethan meeting his new makeup artist who's really kind and bubbly and he instantly gets a crush on them?

ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ a night in paris ethan torchio x fem!reader | smut+swearing

-you went on a tour with the band and Ethan enjoyed Paris the most. Having your boyfriend all happy and excited turned out to be better then you expected.

ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ "The way your eyes get darker when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind." ethan torchio x fem!reader | smut

-If acting unwise get's you places, maybe you're just pushing it to be on your knees.

thomas raggi

❤︎ ❥ "We passed 'just friends' about 20 fucks ago." thomas raggi x reader | angst, fluff, smut

❤︎ ❥ sanremo. thomas raggi x gn!reader | swearing, slightly sugggestive

-ever the supportive boyfriend, thomas indulges you in a sanremo 2023 watch party.

[taste-your-silhouette]

I want to dance on your body

Pairings: Damiano David xfem!reader

Contents: smut 

Summary: You and your bestie hit up a party when you start grooving with Damiano, and the dance floor chemistry carries over to his hotel room. That's where the magic unfolds, and you both go to cloud as he compares you to an angel.

Words: ~2192

A/N: Hi, hello and please, forgive me again if you come across any errors while reading. I recommend you to play Touch Me and just enjoying ✨

You and your best friend are strolling into the party of some badass celeb she knows, she's probably already mentioned the name a million times, but you ain't giving much of a damn, you just wanna hit up a party, grab a few drinks, and bust some moves. Have a blast and enjoy yourself!

As you and your friend make your way through the entrance, you exchange a sly grin while vibrant, trippy lights groove to the beat throughout the crib. Side by side, you advance towards the dance floor, and your friend chimes in:

"Alright, let's have a fucking blast tonight," she says with a grin, and a contagious smile spreads across your face as well.

You were both pumped for this party and ready to let loose and enjoy yourselves to the max.

In a split second, she grabs your hand and pulls you towards the bar, where a bunch of peeps are lining up, ordering their go-to drinks, all geared up to hit the dance floor again. You step up to the bartender and request your ultimate drink, downing it in a single gulp before quickly ordering another shot and doing it all over again.

The drink ignites a fire within you, fueling you with energy and liquid courage to fully embrace the moment, without a care in the world. No worries, just pure enjoyment.

You and your friend head straight to the dance floor, grooving together to the sick beats. But before long, someone swoops in and starts getting their groove on with her, leaving you to your own devices. No biggie though, it doesn't faze you one bit. You keep on dancing as if the music is pumping right through your veins.

Eyes closed, you immerse yourself in the moment, feeling the heat of someone's body swaying alongside yours. Whoever it is, they sense your awareness and since you don't brush them off, they casually rest their hand on your waist, getting even closer in their moves. Your ass is the only thing touching him as you dance with a touch of sensuality right there on the dance floor. The electricity builds up as you grind with this mysterious dancer behind you, sending tingles down your spine.

You both bust some moves together for three consecutive songs, and it's as if you're in perfect harmony. The dance isn't just about showing off or impressing each other; it's about creating something extraordinary between you.

As the beats thump on, you suddenly hear his voice whispering in your ear, "Finally, someone who's up for it." 

It tempts you to ask what he means, but you decide against it. You don't want to risk blurting out something silly and ruining the magical vibe of what just went down. So, you simply let the moment linger, cherishing the mystery and excitement that swirls around you.

You sense the hint of a smile against your cheek, and it elicits a light-hearted chuckle from you. It's best to leave it at that and keep relishing in the night's pleasures.

You turn your gaze towards him, even though the lights make it difficult to see his face clearly. Nevertheless, you can tell that he's undeniably attractive (and damn, he can dance like nobody's business).

It's time to get another drink!

As you reach the bar, you order another drink, but this time you savor it slowly, relishing every drop of that boozy sting as it glides down your throat. The flavors dance on your tongue, creating a delightful sensation.

Before you're about to leave the bar, the stranger appears by your side once more, placing an order for two drinks. Now, with a clearer view of his face, you can't help but smile as your gaze locks onto his handsome features.

He returns the smile and pops the question:

"Care for another drink?"

You nod in agreement, and with that, you both exchange proper introductions. Skipping the dance floor this time, you snag two primo seats at the bar, engaging in a conversation that flows as if you've been pals for ages.

Damiano and you have reached a level where you're familiar with the key aspects of each other's lives. It's not something you typically do, spilling your guts to strangers, but under the influence of alcohol and with the enchantment Damiano has cast upon you, it feels natural to engage in heartfelt conversation.

He suggests, "How about finding a more quiet spot?"

The idea resonates with you, and you nod in agreement, intrigued by the prospect of finding a quieter place where you can continue this magical connection.

You flash him a mischievous smile and take hold of his hand, leading him away from the lively dance floor and the bustling bar. As you pass through the living room, your eyes catch sight of numerous unoccupied couches, and you can't resist the temptation. You abruptly halt, tugging on his hand to bring him to a stop, and in a matter of seconds, both of you find yourselves sprawled out on one of the cozy couches.

Damiano's hands be all up in his waist as you're locking lips in a way that has both of you gasping for breath, but you don't give a damn. You feel Damiano's hands on your thighs, giving them a tight squeeze as you continue kissing you, and you let out a moan, trying to catch your breath and satisfy the intense desire he's been arousing in you since you started dancing together.

"Allright?" he asks you.

You nod eagerly, craving his touch on every inch of your body, as his hand traces a path from your thigh to your clit.

"Holy crap," you moan, overcome with pleasure.

He slid your underwear aside, skillfully rubbing your clit at a tantalizingly slow pace. The way he teased you was driving you wild. You rested your head on his shoulder, attempting to conceal your flushed face while muffling your moans as best you could.

"Oh fuck," you whispered, the pleasure intensifying as he increased his pace, making it even more challenging to stifle your cries.

"It's okay, let go. Everyone's too drunk to notice us," he playfully remarked, a smirk playing on his lips.

His words gave you the permission you needed, and you couldn't help but release your moans. They weren't overly loud, but they would definitely catch the attention of anyone who wasn't lost in their own drunken haze.

"Good girl," he murmured into your ear, his words sending shivers down your spine.

The fire inside you burned hotter and hotter, your moans growing louder with each passing moment. All sense of shame vanished, replaced only by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.

"I'm close!" you moaned, your voice filled with desperate need. And just as you uttered those words, the climax washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

"That was... amazing," you whispered, still catching your breath from the intensity of the experience.

He hinted at taking the rendezvous to his hotel for more privacy, and you could sense the anticipation building. He stood up, extending his hand towards you, and you eagerly took it, rising to your feet. Adjusting your dress, you both made your way out of the bustling party.

Upon arriving at his hotel room, he opened the door slowly, pulling you inside. As you stepped into the room, your eyes took in the sight of scattered papers on the king-size bed. Being a singer in a band, it was no surprise that he had been busy writing songs, the creative process evident in the disarray around you.

"Will you write a song about tonight?" you asked, a hint of anticipation in your voice. As the door closed and clicked, Damiano wasted no time. He swiftly unbuttoned his white shirt, discarding it onto the dresser.

"Probably," he replied, his gaze fixed on you as he moved closer. With a deft hand, he skillfully removed your dress, casting it aside without a second thought. Now, standing before him in nothing but your underwear, you felt a surge of confidence.

His eyes tracing over your body, and he couldn't help but confess:

"You look... amazing." His voice dripped with admiration and desire, fueling the intensity of the moment.

He placed his hands firmly on your hips, just as he had done earlier, and leaned in, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. You reciprocated, savoring the taste of his lips, and instinctively placed your hands on his face, deepening the connection between you.

Feeling the intensity between you both, he reached down and firmly gripped one of your legs, lifting it up and resting it on his hip. The sensation heightened, and you could feel him more intimately. With a surge of desire, he broke the kiss, his eyes smoldering with a mixture of lust and admiration and in a bold move, he swiftly switched his hold to your other thigh, lifting you effortlessly and pressing you against the wall. The rush of being carried and pinned against the solid surface added an exhilarating edge to the moment, intensifying the passion and desire that consumed you both.

You locked eyes with each other, the intensity building with each passing moment, until he couldn't resist any longer and leaned in to capture your lips in another passionate kiss. The room seemed to ignite with fervor as the kiss deepened, fueled by an overwhelming desire.

Both of you were breathless, your bodies craving more. With a sense of urgency, Damiano swept you off your feet and carried you to the edge of the bed, gently placing you there. He swiftly cleared the clutter of papers that had occupied the bed, letting them cascade to the floor, clearing the space for your intimate encounter.

As he turned his attention back to you, his eyes filled with admiration and desire. He leaned in closer, his voice a soft whisper against your skin:

"You're so beautiful, you look like an angel." His hand caressed your face tenderly, tracing the contours with gentle affection.

You smirked mischievously, pulling him closer to you, your desire evident in your eyes. 

"I could say the same for you, but how about we go to heaven together?" You whispered seductively, your lips grazing his neck on her before playfully biting down.

In an instant, it seemed like something ignited within Damiano. He firmly gripped your neck, exerting a delicious control, and guided you down onto the bed. His lips trailed along your neck, seeking out your sweet spot, and when he found it, he indulged in it wildly. Leaving a trail of hickeys and bites in his wake for him, he marked you as his own for him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, gripping it tightly as you let out soft moans of pleasure.

The intensity grew as Damiano skillfully removed your panties, unveiling your desires. The air crackled with anticipation as your bodies yearned for the connection that awaited them.

"Are you wet for me, huh?" He sensually bites his lip while locking eyes with you.

He moans in delight as he gently inserts his cock into your pussy, igniting waves of pleasure.

Bestowing upon you the most sublime ecstasy.

He moves his hips with deliberate grace, thrusting in and out, synchronizing your desires.

"Oh, fuck!" you passionately moan, your voice filled with pure bliss.

Damiano smirks, his confidence growing, and intensifies his rhythm, heightening your desire.

As you lose yourself in the throes of passion, your hand instinctively covers your mouth, but Damiano forcefully removes it, yearning to hear your euphoric symphony.

"No, I wanna hear you when you go to heaven, y/n," he whispers with fervor.

You affirm with a nod, surrendering to the divine pleasure that awaits you.

You moan Damiano's name as he intensifies the rhythm of his thrusts, causing your head to fall back onto his plush pillows.

"Oh, Damiano, I'm so close!" 

"Come, y/n, cum to me," he asserts, his voice laced with longing.

You struggle to hold back, determined to hear him plead, but his relentless stimulation of your spot makes it nearly impossible. The pleasure is simply too overwhelming.

"Come, y/n," Damiano groans, his voice filled with urgency.

You tighten your grip around him and succumb to the waves of ecstasy he elicits. As you reach the pinnacle of pleasure with him, he remains motionless, deeply embedded within you, his body collapsing onto yours, a resounding groan of your name escaping his lips.

The intensity of the moment consumes you, as he pours every ounce of himself into you, leaving you both utterly spent and satisfied.

You both were breathless and drenched in perspiration, your legs entwined with his.

"I wanna go to heaven with you again" Damiano whispers, his face inches away from yours.

You smile, gazing into their eyes, and you can see the unmistakable lust and desire reflected in him. You hope that he can also perceive the depth of your yearning and how much you desire the very same thing he does.