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filthforfriends · 3 months

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Chapter 21: Brave Enough

Authors Note

Word count: 7.9k

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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

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malina-33 · 8 months

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Femme Like You - Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Summary: You are the new tour manager for Arctic Monkeys during The Car era. You are practically the only girl in the team, also younger than the rest (27 y.o.), so your skills are immediately called into question. In particular, by the frontman who is not used to being led by a woman.

Word count: 10,2k

Warnings: swearing, emotional swing (is it even a warning?), kind of voyeurism (slight), age gap

A/N: Dear friends, hi!! I know, I know that I've promised you to update the fic every 3 weeks, and the disappeared for 1.5 months, but I spontaneously found a job, so there was very little time. But the chapter is much longer and with some interesting collaborations ;) I'll hope you enjoy them!

And write down what do you think if I make a description of not only the whole work, but also the chapter before each new part? Or is it better to keep the intrigue till the end?

In any case, I look forward to your feedback, it's soooo much important for me. I won't promise to return before the end of September, but I'll do my best not to delay. I already have an interesting plot for the next chapters, you should like it💔

*guys, English isn't my first language so if I have (and I know I have lol) any grammar/logic mistakes don't hesitate to tell me :)

The first week after meeting with the group flew by unnoticed. You dealt with the documentation, understanding how necessary it is, no matter how much you hated it, phoned the representatives of Ashton Gate stadium, made sure that everything was okay and confirmed the presence of the group and even tried to check the weather since the gig would be held outside. However, it turned out to be a little more difficult with the transport company. Apparently, James forgot to warn them about the temporary removal of his duties, so you had to spend time clarifying the situation and explaining who you are. It seemed that your hands-on approach was excessive, because you were trying to control everything in one time, but only due to the feeling of extra responsibility.

Steven, as promised, sent the contacts of the guys and important people from the technical crew, so now your phone had the names of Jamie Cook, Nick O'Malley, Matthew Helders and Alex "dickhead" Turner among others. 19 years old you would definitely envy yourself. So when you got a message while cooking pasta for dinner on Saturday night, you already knew it was from the drummer and not from an anonymous online scammer.

Matthew Helders: "good evening, Miss Y/S! I hope you aren't busy. We'll wait you on the soundcheck on Monday at 2 pm in Domino, need your advice :)"

You almost overcooked Carbonara bacon rereading the message. "Do they really need my advice?" you whispered, furrowing your brows "About what?". But the only answer was:

You: "Sure! Do I need to take some 12% cider?"

Matthew Helders: "you better not show up without a package lol"

Immediately followed by:

Matthew Helders: "just kidding! We are waiting only for you, but in the company of cider it will be even better)"

You chuckled, surprised at how quickly Matt went from formal Miss at the beginning of the conversation to smiles and lols at the end. To tell the truth, you still didn't fully understand how to behave with them. On the one hand, you are their manager and have a certain influence, as well as subordination. Steven and James don't have it, although they are "higher" in position, but they've been friends for half of a life, and you are a completely new person. On the other hand, in this area there is no place for strict formalities, especially since the guys don't look like those who would comply with them. After all they were big kids no matter how mature and pretentious they could look on stage, and you clearly felt it. Maybe your company will help them to relax even more, so there won't be any awkwardness and you will naturally find an edge where all of you will feel comfortable and which no one will cross.

With those thoughts, Carbonara and Rosé you spent your Saturday night watching your favorite series "La Piovra". You got used to such calm and quiet evenings. The era of parties until the morning has passed in the university years, and it’s not that you don’t go to clubs now, it’s just that the older you become the better you began to appreciate moments of silence. Not to be bored alone with yourself is the most valuable skill that you have acquired in your life. Having lived first with your parents for a long time, then getting married early at the age of 20 and having lived with your husband for 3 years, you were essentially not left alone with yourself. Having discovered over time that you feel absolutely nothing for the person whom you said "yes" to in the registry office, you were horrified and frightened to say at least. You thought that you get married once for a lifetime, but it turned out that happy endings exist only in fairy tales. That period of despondency, depression and eventual deepening into work gave its results. Major labels began to notice you, inviting you to musical projects with famous bands such as Maneskin. You worked with them for 1.5 years, leaving after their heyday at the Eurovision, realizing that you can’t give them more. That was your second decision to leave, but unlike the divorce, it didn't bring you much suffering. You understood that you and the group gave each other a lot, and although the parting was bitter, everyone understood that it was necessary. You still remained friends with the guys and periodically wrote off to meet. You planned to go to their concert, but couldn't find the time. And after your assignment to the Monkeys it became even more harder to shedule.

After the divorce you didn't have a serious relationship, instead you had a dream job, money, a car, a country house and even a corgi Grapes. You weren't afraid of the future, loved the time in seclusion and found inner peace by meditating on the production of cider, which was your unusual but very tasty hobby. Were you fully happy, though? Wouldn't you like to cross the threshold of the house and be met not by a dog's barking, but by a warm kiss on the forehead and a quiet "how was your day"? You probably wanted to, but it was hard to admit, especially considering that the fear of intimacy sat somewhere deep inside, not letting you forget the disappointment that you experienced when you removed the engagement ring from your finger. Although you remained friends who didn't hold evil against each other, the bitterness of your marriage was almost impossible to remove from the memories.

But for now, your head has been occupied by the sudden question of where to put Grapes for the duration of the tour...

Monday morning was sunny and peaceful, you woke up in a surprisingly good mood, put on your make-up, put on your favorite lime flared jeans, loaded a case of apple drink from the basemеnt into the car, patted Grapes and drove off to the studio. The road took about an hour, so during this time you managed to phone your father. You haven't talked much lately due to your workload, and now was almost the only time of the day when you were relatively free. You put the speaker phone mode, listening to the slightly hoarse voice of the man, without being distracted from the road.

"Hello my dear! How are you?"

"Hi daddy, I'm fine, going to work right now"

"My busy bee, James has already told me about your progress" you could hear him chuckle, coughing a little. You could only guess what Ford said to your father, because you spoke to him only once in these 2 weeks, when you recalled him after meeting with the group. And not that your story was very colorful. Therefore, the guys or Steven contacted him, and from this point of view, you couldn't imagine what they possibly come up with towards you.

"He assured me the boys liked you"

"Oh, really?" you said on the exhale, squeezing your hands on the steering wheel tightly.

"Yes, James is pleased with you. Well done, babe!" you melted under his words. It felt like you were a little girl again who drew a family picture that was hung on the refrigerator, even though mom and dad looked like monsters.

"Thank you daddy, I'm very happy to be with them actually"

"Of course, in such a company of men. Should I be jealous? 'Cause I looked through their photos on the Internet" dad said proudly, to which you burst out laughing, stopping at a traffic light.

"Dad, c'mon, no! They're too old for me" you laughed.

"10 years are not a big deal. Anyway, your choice. Just don't forget to eat please, I know how tough you work now. Otherwise you'll get drunk on your cider. God, how did you even manage to get into this alcohol sphere..." the man groaned in prostration. You rolled your eyes, but still smiled without answering. You got used to your father's fast flow of different thoughts.

"And don't roll your eyes, little naughty one! I care about you. So if they hurt you, you know who to call, right?"

"Oi, who will offend whom first" you retorted defiantly.

"Okay okay, I won't interrupt anymore. Kiss Grapes for me. I love you"

"And I love you very much, hello mom"

"I'll pass it on, bye!"

You turned off the call, fully focusing on the road. After talking with your parents, you always felt warm in your soul, so up to the studio you didn't leave a smile when you sang songs from the radio under your breath.

You arrived exactly at 2 o'clock, as agreed with Matt, but when you saw a few more cars in the parking lot in addition to the familiar Cadillac, you realized that the guys had been here for a long time. You must have looked a little ridiculous in a business suit and heels and a wooden box under your arm, but you didn't have other choice. Holding the car key in your mouth and trying to press the button at the same time, you clumsily closed the trunk with your leg. A purse was still dangling somewhere on your shoulder, and sunglasses had slipped from head to the bridge of your nose. "Must be an amazing picture to observe" you thought tiredly "Oh, if only Matt were here".

But before you had time to think about it, you heard a soft laugh behind you. You turned around sharply, noticing the frontman smoking alone near the entrance. You spat the key into the box, finally pressing the right button, and shouted

"And how long do you look?"

"I came exactly at the most interesting moment" man smiled, taking a puff.

You heavily crossed the entire parking lot, approaching him. Turner, having finished smoking a cigarette and throwing it into a nearby trash can, silently took the box from your hands.

"Hi, Y/N" he greeted you wheezing nicotine in the lungs.

"Hi," you frowened a little, but slowly added "Alex".

Calling him by his first name was... Unusual. A week ago the appeal to him was exclusively Mr. Turner, but today he was the first to break this line. "Well, apparently, we will both have problems with the boundaries of what is acceptable" bitterly flashed through your thoughts.

You both entered the building - Alex with a box in front, you behind holding the door. The way was silent. You wanted to say something to break this crystal quietness of his, but by the time you mustered up the courage, you stopped at the door 13A. The vocalist pushed it with his left shoulder, squeezing the alcohol forward, and you trotted along.

As soon as you and Alex entered the sound studio, you were immediately greeted with whistling and loud hooting.

"Look who's here, Miss Y/N"

"Hi, guys! I'm here with gifts as promised" you smiled broadly.

Alex at this time put the box on the table and immediately took one bottle for himself.

You noticed that there were Tyler and Tom in the studio as well, so you mentally praised yourself for taking bottles with a margin. You didn't know them personally yet, but was willing to change it. Turner introduced you to the men, and surprisingly you didn't hear his usual sneer in the voice.

"So, welcome Y/N Y/S, she's our manager for the summer before America starts and James gets back"

"Happy to finally meet you!" you were the first to extend your hand to Tyler, which he shook gently, smiling affably, and then to Tom. But he intercepted your hand, kissing your knuckles and making you laugh.

"Mutually, Miss" Rowley said enchanted.

"And she makes her own awesome cider, get one" Matt ordered businesslike, raising his voice from behind the drum kit.

"Yeah, there is enough for everyone, don't hesitate to take"

Evidently you arrived during the break, and before that they had already rehearsed a bit. You were wondering what kind of advice they need from you. The thought that they just needed cider you pushed back with a grin. But Alex, as if reading your thoughts, leisurely started speaking leaning on the table and holding a drink.

"Well, thanks for the cider, but that's not what we called you for. Since you're such a big fan of My Propeller, we discussed it here and decided that it's possible to put one on the set list for a couple of times. So listen to how it sounds, maybe have some ideas or whatevah" he was trying to sound casual, not attaching importance to his words for you.

"I'll do my best!" you almost jumped from such news.

Jamie chuckled audibly, running his fingers over the guitar. You sat down on the couch as Matt tapped the rhythm with his sticks and the melody began.

Seductive. The first association that came to your mind when you heard the intro of this song. It was your favorite from Humbug for sure and one of the band's all time favorites. Alex never told in any interview what was the secret of the lyrics, and probably that was the reason it attracted you even more. The guys played it selflessly, as if there hadn't been those decades that they hadn't performed it. You liked how they gave themselves to the process, even if it was just a rehearsal. They were in simple t-shirts and Matt was proudly wearing pineapple shorts, but you could swear, a real concert was unfolding right in front of you.

When Alex started singing you tried to hide the goosebumps as best as you could, but it hardly worked out well. His voice flowed melodically, not betraying a hint of wheezing or breaking, which could arise due to the age. He closed his eyes, tightly gripping the microphone stand, and moved his feet to the beat, slightly ridiculous, but at the same time gracefully. Throughout the song, you didn’t take your eyes off the group for a minute, sometimes singing along to the words, pulling the last syllable of

Coax me out my law

And have a spin of my propeller

When the song ended, you clapped and Nick even made a mock bow.

“I don’t know how objective my assessment will be, because apart from the words of delight I have nothing to add” you honestly admitted. It seemed to you that you heard Alex's quiet "As I said", but Matt was quick to interrupt him asking you "Actually, we have already decided to play it in Bristol, but the question is where to chip in. We'll definitely not start with this one, and the outro is already completed, so..."

You thought a little, trying to understand what motives My Propeller reminds you of, and then the penny dropped.

"Pretty Visitors!" you exclaimed louder than you should have because your words echoed through the silent studio.

"Smooth interlude from Pretty Visitors, yeah, not bad actually" Alex quickly developed your idea, turning to Matt, as if asking "Do you mind?", but the drummer only closed his eyes approvingly. It seemed that they didn't need any words at all, they could understand each other with guitar riffs and drum brakes. Their connection, it was amazing, honed to automatism for past 20 years. They were like scientists in a chemistry lab mixing potions together in an attempt to make a new elixir. It was magic to come true and watching this process was so intimate that you involuntarily felt the heat on your cheeks, as if you were engaged in voyeurism.

***

The hours in the studio flew by. Fortunately for you, the guys decided to surprise fans with the return of Mardy Bum which will be the opener. The exact setlist for Bristol was confirmed at the end of the rehearsal, bringing back Teddy Picker and The View From The Afternoon as well. So looking at the perfect 21 songs, you could only imagine what they would save for London. Originally you were going to visit their concert in your hometown, you bought tickets as soon as sales were announced, but after James's call you easily gave the ticket to a friend, saying that you had won a jackpot.

Tom and Tyler have already left and the five of you are left. You were sitting on a soft chair, moved from the corner of the room, and the guys opposite on the sofas. The boys had laid down their guitars and you were leding a peaceful conversation about life, since the studio rental time ended only in an hour. You told them about your career in the industry, Maneskin and the part time projects you've been working on lately, omitting the details of your divorce because you thought it was too early for them to immerse themselves in such personal aspects of your life.

"By the way, Vic is your big fan and Alex in particular" you giggled, remembering the way drunk Maneskin bassist told you that she would like to sleep with Turner. Those were the carefree times of your youth you warmly remembered.

"Really?" Matt raised his eyebrows as he sipped his seemingly endless bottle of cider "You still have their contacts, right?"

"Yeah, sure, we even text each other occasionally" you quipped.

"And you didn't say you were working with us?" Heldres was surprised.

"Actually, somehow it didn't seem possible" you lowered your gaze, "I mean what would it look like? "Hey guys, look who's here, I now manage the Monkeys btw?" - so what?"

You could tell by the Cheshire smile on Matt's bristly face that this was exactly how he thought.

"Oh no, Matthew, don't you-"

"Oh yes, darling, dial FaceTime, you'll show them our doll" the man neighed, turning to Alex, who had been sitting quietly on the couch until this moment, and fidgeted in place after the suggestion.

"For God's sake, Matt, what a kindergarten behavior" the vocalist howled irritably, rolling his eyes, "I don't even remember their names".

The idea of making fun of Turner a little for the morning case with the box and taking revenge seemed to you unexpectedly delightful. Your hand automatically sank into your pants pocket, deftly pulling it out into the light and finding the right WhatsApp chat.

"Don't worry, you just have to say hi to Vic, I'm sure you'll be fine" you sang sweetly, glancing slyly at Matt, who chuckled approvingly, glad that you supported his idea.

Alex only cursed at this and ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it. Either from nerves, or putting his hair in order before the call.

You moved from your seat to the couch between Alex and Matt, gesturing for Nick and Jamie to join. You put your hand in front of you so only your face was visible in the camera frame, waiting for one of the guys to take the call. It might have been a little ill-advised to call like this without warning on a workday evening, but anyway it was already too late, as the beeps trailed in a string of sounds. You hoped that they didn't have a concert today, in any other case, one of them would definitely pick up the phone from you. And by a happy coincidence, it was Vic who ended up on your screen.

"What the hell, Miss Boogie, are you really occasionally calling after all this time of silence?" despite Victoria de Angelis's accusatory words, she sounded playful. She was a little disheveled and with a bright blush on her face. People were walking randomly with the string interruptions in the background. Apparently, the guys were at the soundcheck at one of the venues, and Vic recently finished playing.

Four pairs of eyes openly stared at you with undisguised interest after hearing the nickname, demanding an answer, but you just mouthed "later".

"Awww, sweetheart, and I'm happy to hear you again too!" you said with an ironic smile.

"I have a lot of news for you, and I will definitely call you in private soon"

"Are you not alone? Who's with you?" the girl even moved closer to the camera in an attempt to see something.

"Well, I have a little surprise for you. Actually four surprises, but one of them you'll find really special" you said conspiratorially, looking around at the guys who were still out of the picture. Alex sat to your right, trying to portray the most distant look, as if everything that was happening was nothing more than baby talk for him.

"Darling, if you have a group orgy without me, then I will be offended and drop the call" the bassist said threateningly, wiping her forehead with a towel that was hung on her shoulder.

You just burst out laughing "Ok ok, I'm not languishing you anymore. I hope you're ready. Boys, say hi to Vics" and you finally moved the camera further so that Matt, Nick and Jamie, who were sitting to your left, got into the camera frame, Alex's appearance you saved for a dessert.

The musician's reaction exceeded all your expectations. At first she narrowed her eyes, bringing the phone even closer to face, and then she widened them with a loud squeal, jumping up from her seat.

"What the hell, Y/N! What the actual fuck, you're a shitty mutherfucker!!!" she covered her mouth with her hand, chaotically moving the phone in different directions. Apparently, other members of the group came running to her scream, as you heard the voice of Damiano asking what happened.

"What happened?" she repeated "The fucking Arctic Monkeys are sitting next to Y/N!" answering a question off-camera and stabilizing the phone. Now you could clearly see the vocalist leaning over her shoulder, Thomas to the side and Ethan slightly behind.

Finally, the men next to you decided to introduce themselves "Hey, guys, what's new?" Matt said smiling to the camera, Jamie and Nick just waved their hands in a friendly manner.

"Oh my God, what's going on" Vic, still dumbfounded, spoke with a face of complete amazement. Damiano, who quickly figured out the whole situation and realized that Vic was unlikely to be able to communicate normally now, carefully took the phone from her hands.

"Hi, Y/N, long time no see! Hi, boys, how fresh you are" the frontman winked. The words "for your age" were suggested mutely, but David left them behind the scenes. The men next to you just laughed quietly at this remark and saluted the Italian boy.

"Vic, that's not all yet, look who's next to me" wanting to finally finish off your friend, you moved the camera to the side, revealing Alex's presence, who was already sitting with a polite smile on his face, leaning on the sofa armrest.

"Hi, love" Turner murmured hoarsely, turning on his usual charisma. You were surprised how quickly he went from "fuck off everyone" to his stage persona. Indeed, a skill acquired over the years.

De Angelis, after looking at the camera for just a second, squealed even harder than the first time, which you even grimaced a little, because in a quiet studio it sounded deafening.

The camera was still held by Damiano, but the girl in the frame could be seen doubled over, holding back cries of happiness. Her guys just laughed out loud at this, knowing full well what a strong fan of Alex she was.

"Y/N, I'm going to fucking kill you, I'll strap your ass so you can't sit still for another week, what are you doing to me?" Vic didn't let go of expressions, which made the men next to you shamelessly laugh, even Turner smiled predatoryly.

"Holy shit, you're real" the girl muttered in one breath.

Her adoration entertained Alex. Celebrities fangirling celebrities wasn't an unknown story for Alex, so the way Vic behaved didn't annoy him, but brought a feeling of sincere pleasure from what was happening.

"It would be strange if I wasn't, mhm?" the man grunted, changing the position - now he rested elbows on his knees, bringing the face closer to your phone. You could smell his light apple scent from the cider you both drank and the cigarette halo that soaked into all of the frontman's clothes.

Damiano finally decided to take control over the situation by turning the camera completely on himself.

"So, Y/N, if you wanted to surprise Vic, then you succeeded 100%! But we are now at soundcheck, and we don't have much time, and she" nodding towards the bassist "still needs to be brought to her senses. We were extremely happy to hear from you, babe. Call us when you are free and tell us everything in detail. Miss you very much!"

"Guys, me too! Love ya, see you at Glasto!"

"Wait! Take a screenshot!" Vic's desperate exclamation came from Damiano's left side.

He made a focused face, looking for the right buttons, while you and the men simultaneously smiled at the camera.

"Send it to the chat" you asked, ending the call and blowing a virtual kiss. You obviously cut off Vic's "I love you" without being entirely sure it was addressed to you.

The studio immediately froze in deafening silence. You put your phone down on the coffee table, still smiling.

"That was a real buzz, they're cute" Matt said leaning back on the couch. The mood of the guys clearly improved by this little conversation. You were glad that you could somehow diversify their evening after a productive and exhausting day. Even Alex stopped keeping his always compressed lips and frowning eyebrows.

"So, Miss Boogie, right?" Jamie began slyly, reminding you of your infamous nickname.

An approving "ooooo" reverberated around the room, from which you hid behind your palms.

"Damn, I was hoping you'd forget" you muttered from your hiding place.

"C'mon, we're intrigued already" Nick reached out to you through Matt, gently taking your hands away from your face.

Jamie suddenly started chanting your name, encouraging you to reveal this terrible secret, and Matt whistled as if Sheffield FC had just scored a goal.

"God, okay, just shut up please" you gave up.

The four men took more comfortable positions in anticipation of your story.

"In fact, there is nothing special in this story, it's just stupid. When Maneskin was approved for Eurovision, we went to celebrate, how can we not. It was in Milan. We got very drunk in a bar and went for a walk around the city. It was about 3 in the morning, and to entertain ourselves we played Truth or Dare. The most banal thing that could be, but nothing better came to mind. And I chose Dare, 'cause everyone else only cowardly told their secrets. So Vic asked me to dance for a minute on the street to any song that a passerby would name. Well, since at such time you are unlikely to meet any adequate passerby, we only found a beggar in the square. I don’t know how old he was, but the first song that he remembered was Boogie Wonderland" at this point you made a dramatic pause, "so yes, I had to dance to this song at night in front of other poor people who came up to us. Since then they call me Miss Boogie. Everyone is satisfied now, having fun, huh?"

You intentionally crossed your arms in insult, surreptitiously watching the laughing band.

"I bet there's a video" Matt said cheekily.

"Yes, there is, but you'll never see it!" you retorted quickly, glaring at the drummer.

"Your hot cheeks make me want to see this video even more" Nick teased tapping Matt on the shoulder.

"You know what," Alex suddenly announced, "choose any song you want. We play it, and you show the video"

You could swear your jaw was somewhere on the floor.

"Woah, did you decide to go all-in?" Matt asked, also not expecting such a generous offer "Be careful, otherwise you will have to play a Taylor Swift song"

"Ouch, why do you think I like her?"

"Who doesn't like her?"

"Your truth" you nodded approvingly.

"I meant our song. We'll perform it at the concert" Turner interrupted your dialogue, looking at you testily from under his eyelashes.

There was a slight silence, which you broke with a heavy sigh.

"Wow, okay, this is getting interesting" you muttered, leaning back on the couch like Helders had done earlier. The three men to your left looked at each other in surprise, waiting for an answer, while you've been thinking, looking at the frontman.

"Certain Romance," you easily stated, "I want this one"

"Your wish is my command, Miss Boogie," he joked without any hint of smile, standing up "you guys remember how to play it, don't you?"

The guys looked at each other dumbfounded, unable to find words for such a drastic change in the behavior of the vocalist, but after a discordant series of affirmative nods, they received a condescending smile from him.

"Well, that's great, there's still time to rehearse. I propose Sheffield!" Alex said solemnly, thrusting his hands into the pockets.

"Al, ru ok?" Matt raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

"All right, man" Turner said artificially.

"This house is a circus indeed" swirled through your head. Alex's behavior was defiant. Emerging into conflict. Literally a minute ago everything was peace and quiet, and now he, like a proud peacock, was arranging a show for you at the level of a cheap soap opera.

"No, but seriously, let's even organize a lottery, since Y/N has such an influence on the setlist" Alex didn't let up.

"Come on, pipe down, you suggested it yourself" Nick intervened carefully, not wanting to stir up the smoldering coals of the conflict.

"And I think all of you are into this idea, aren't you?" Turner didn't raise his low, heavily accented baritone, but the underlying toxicity in his tone was evident, "oh, even better, let's ask our Italian friends for advice! Let's get their opinion and her video as well".

"Alexander, smoke?" you stood up decisively from the couch, grabbing your purse and phlegmatically glancing at the wooden cider box you'd probably have to leave in the studio. But you couldn’t leave the guys in such an atmosphere, so out of courtesy you promised to return again.

"Y/N, no problem, see you before Bristol! Send the screen to our group, 'cause I'm getting jealous for these Italians" Matt gave you an encouraging wink in the end, and you certainly promised to do it tonight.

"They'll kill each other"

"He doesn't stand a chance"

Jamie and Matt said at the same time as the door closed behind you.

Alex imposingly walked ahead, not hurrying anywhere. He politely said goodbye to the security guard, noting that the rental period had already come to an end. Almost bowing, he opened the door to the street for you, artificially gallantly holding it with his hand, still making a show from every gesture, which for some reason made you feel disgusted. You were counting on working with middle-aged men, accomplished musicians, but it feels like you are talking to teenagers.

Damp cold air from the river hit your red cheeks, which made you wrap yourself in a jacket more tightly. Alex took out a pack of Marlboro, offering you one, but nodding to himself, removed it, remembering your words a week ago practically at the same place.

"Well?" he said with a cigarette in his mouth, lighting the filter.

The sky was overcast with a milky haze of fog, which wasn't uncommon for these places, a weak wind was blowing, but not a single sound from the road was heard, which made you hear sparks from ignited tobacco hiss like champagne bubbles, falling on the asphalt.

Alex exhaled noisily, squinting at you with his eyes. His face was faintly lit by the flame of a cigarette, but even in such low light, it was noticeable that his gaze was completely blank. "Amazingly indifferent and deep eyes at the same time. It's impossible to tell anything from them" you thought. Or maybe he was like this only with unpleasant people to him, who you apparently were. You can’t even imagine the way these eyes changed on stage "Where are you real, Alexander?". But instead of asking this, you just threw your head back, tiredly closing your eyelids, showing with your whole appearance how absurd the situation is.

"Alex," there wasn't any visible point to call him Mr. Turner even though you were annoyed "I thought we made a deal, didn't we?"

"Really? When?" his voice sounded even more affected than in the studio, despite the fact that now the man spoke rather quietly and slowly. Or maybe even a whisper would be loud in this ringing silence.

"I just don't understand what the problem is" you continued, as if you didn't hear his words.

"I don't see it either, Miss Y/S"

You raised your eyebrows high as you asked a silent question, which made Alex smirk slightly. Taking a puff, he began to explain to you with the intonation of a parent teaching a child not to put his fingers in the socket.

"Listen, I won't hide it, you brought some chaos to our tour. This is different from your direct duties though - to solve all the problems on our way. But you're a stranger who stirred up our peace and foundation. I was initially against this idea, but James left me no choice. You are undoubtedly an educated young lady, and probably from a moral point of view, I sound like a scoundrel now-"

"You sound unprofessional, Alex. You only make me feel contempt, and I don't care about any moral side"

The frontman looked at you from under his brows, taking out a second cigarette in a row from the pack, waiting for a further reaction, but inside you was a frozen magma that didn't want to break out, muffled by self-esteem. For now.

His words contradicted his behavior. In the morning he carries your boxes and asks for a song advice, and in the evening he gives out this shit. If women's logic is ridiculed by society, then men do not have it at all.

“You know what, when James offered me this job, I was damn excited and proud that I would be working with a team like yours. I was on a cloud nine. But you, Alex, you're just a spoiled boy in the body of a 37-year-old man who hasn't overplayed his ambitions and thinks that his subtle nature is so fragile to understand that you need to hide behind the facade of an asshole so that normal people with good intentions don't crawl into your soul. You are cowardly and arrogant!"

You were breathing heavily, and the words "fool fool fool" stretched on repeat in a red line behind your eyes.

You didn't even understand how they escaped from your lips, absolutely thoughtlessly. You even instinctively wanted to raise a hand to cover your mouth, but pulled yourself back in time, deciding to play to the end. Show after show.

Alex hadn't raised a cigarette to his face during your tirade, so that the wick was almost dead in his fingers. You intensively looked at each other without stopping, and at some point it seemed to you that fear flashed in his pupils. Fear of the revealed truth. However, they were covered with a thick veil of indifference to what was happening in a second, and he finally took the last puff, throwing the butt right on the road.

"Miss Y/S, it seems that you have to go" the musician said unemotionally.

You took one last burning look at his features and, without saying a word, turned around towards your car. How ironic, a week ago you left each other in roughly the same sequence of activities - studio, cider, parking lot, but under completely different circumstances.

Slamming the door shut, you sharply revved, not bothering to warm up the engine, and drove out of the parking lot with a clang of tires. Burning tears of resentment gushed from your eyes, covering the already foggy road in front, but you didn't pay attention.

Your cooperation has just begun, and you have already swept on an emotional swing. Only in the morning you were driving in a car towards the sun and rejoicing at the warm words of your dad, and in the evening you return home, wiping the salty paths with the back of your hand from your face.

You were never embarrassed by tears, you cried out almost all of them during a divorce, but if they dripped from your eyes today, then there was a reason for that. Your parents taught you that after rain there is always a rainbow, after tears there is always peace of mind, you need to be able to live through any emotions in order to turn them into your power later.

***

You haven't seen the boys since that evening until today's early departure for Bristol. Of course, you communicated on all sorts of organizational issues during this time and there was no visible tension, especially since they didn't hear about your quarrel with Alex. You were more than sure that he would not tell his friends about that incident. This is what infringes on him, and therefore makes him weaker, which he couldn't allow.

All these days you have wondered what was the reason for such a sharp behavior, however you couldn't really delve into yourself. Why exactly you were crying - from resentment, overstrain or just an emotional outburst, it was also difficult to understand. Perhaps all together. Over the past month, from your first conversation with Ford to recent events, your life has changed 180 degrees, so it's no surprise that your psyche gave a little glitch.

You've comforted yourself with routines though — setting Grapes up with a friend until your next visit to London, inviting your parents over for dinner to tell you all the details, packing your suitcase for the tour, checking out all the technical stuff, and almost forgetting what kind of adventure you're packing for.

And now, without any idea of the nearest future, you were sitting in a black Mercedes Sprinter between Marcus and James Kerr, Ben was in the passenger seat in front, Steven was riding with the group in the bus. It was only 8 am, you were sleepy, only at the last moment you didn’t forget to remove eye patches before going out, you didn’t even put on makeup, so you sat in the wide sunglasses, even though the sun wasn't visible through the tinted windows of the car.

It seemed that everyone was relaxed, easily communicated with each other and knew exactly what each would do upon arrival at the venue. Unlike you. The schedule was pretty clear - check-in at the hotel, lunch, departure for the soundcheck and then free time for the management and the band, but very busy time for the technicians. Of all this, the most sensible thing was to drink plenty of wine at dinner and walk around the rest of the day in a relaxed state of mind, but those were only pitiful thoughts of creeping fear. Deep inside you were sure that everything would be fine, it couldn’t be otherwise, because even if you didn’t know how to do this or that task, the guys knew their duties, and they physically couldn’t play the concert badly.

"Hey, Y/N, you kinda took working with us too seriously" Marcus snapped you out of your thoughts with his mocking tone.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, turning to him.

He touched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and chuckled. It took you another couple of seconds to figure out what he meant, so he took advantage of your confusion to explain "you now going to wear glasses in the dark as well?"

The reference to Alex was read transparently, so you imperceptibly flinched and pointedly removed them, as if not wanting to be associated with him at all.

"No, no, I just didn't have time to do my make up" you honestly admitted, shrugging your shoulders ingenuously.

"Oh, I'm sorry, we-" the guy looked around at all the passengers, "we don't understand this here"

You laughed slightly, at the same time relaxing, and asked him a question that had been of interest to you for a long time.

"Why don't you have women in the team? I mean at all"

Instead of Marcus, Ben decided to answer from the front seat, apparently as the eldest among you.

“It didn’t happen on purpose, but later it became kind of unspoken rule. We are here like on the fishing, you know? We leave our wives, spend time within our male company, it’s like an alternative branch of your life, you do quality work here, you feel needed, while no one owe you nothing and you feel absolutely free in your actions, understanding thoroughly those who are around you"

"Are you aware that this is how a normal team should work, regardless of gender? It sounds somehow sexist. Am I really embarrassing you in actions?" you smiled slyly, anticipating the denouement.

"Actually, besides you, we have 3 other women in the team.." Marcus embarrassingly chipped in.

"Guys, don't bother yourself with excuses, I knew who I was messing with" you laughed, crossing your legs. Marcus looked at you dumbfounded, but said nothing, and James just chuckled softly at the window.

"Well, if you knew that, then you also should know about our tradition, right, guys?" Ben began in a conspiratorial tone, exchanging glances with the guys.

"Um, about what?" you arched an eyebrow in disbelief.

"The newbie is signed up for the after-party. Tonight is your first concert, and after that we go to the bar, the drinks are off you! We're equal here" Ben imperturbably continued to scan your reaction with a fox-eye, waiting for an answer. It's not that you're greedy or unable to pay, but to buy drinks for the whole team...

And as if ahead of your question, the man added "enough management and the band".

As if it changed the essence. But you couldn't refuse, so you mumbled something affirmative, getting a roar of male hoarse laughter in response, and starting to laugh at yourself. You appreciated in people, especially males, this ability - to make a woman laugh. In a time of constant change and stress, finding someone who will make you forget about it was very important.

The rest of the road was spent in the same good mood, and these conversations did help you to forget about your anxiety due to upcoming events. Upon arrival, all the management team and the band settled in the hotel. As James promise, you've been given a private suite overlooking the most beautiful park in the city center. But due to an unknown coincidence, you lived not on the same floor with the attendants, but through the door from the group.

Matt carried your things to your room and you agreed to meet for lunch in 20 minutes.

Since you were able to miraculously did a make up even in the car, thanks to the sensitive driving, now you decided to change into more presentable clothes in which you will be at the concert.

Without changing the habit of choosing clothes carefully and for a long time, you took off your hot sweatshirt, remaining in only sweatpants and starting to go through the whole suitcase in search of those things that would match your mood. You had a couple of looks planned, but today's unexpectedly warm weather changed your plans a little, so you confidently took out a black leather skirt and a white blouse.

A piece of matter fit all your forms perfectly, so you were satisfied with the choice, spinning in front of the mirror by the bed. The black bodice harmonized perfectly with the skirt, and the crazy idea of staying only in it, without putting on anything, flashed through your head like a bullet, but flew out just as quickly as soon as you heard the muffled thud of heels on the carpet outside the door and a muttered "Jamie?" at your door followed by a knock. You hysterically shouted "No!" exactly at the moment when the door opened without a click.

"Shit, Y/N!" Alex, not having time to properly enter your room, but having clearly noticed you in a compromising way, abruptly recoiled, remaining in the corridor, but not completely closing the door so that he could hear you, but not see.

"God! What a mess" you pleaded, rushing to the door. You stuck out only your head, meeting the eyes of the musician, who was discomposedly staring at you point-blank.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Why are you naked?"

You asked at the same time, shouting over each other.

"This is my room! And I'm not naked!"

"Where's Jamie? I thought he was at 312" Turner asked, a little bewildered, clearly embarrassed.

"I have no idea where Jamie is. How did you even get in?" you were still half-dressed, hiding most of your body behind a wooden door.

"I knocked, but it turned out that it was not slammed at all"

"What the fuck? Maybe Matt didn't close when he left," you muttered more to yourself. You clearly saw the question “What did Matt do here?” that arose in Alex’s head, but which he never voiced. Clearly realizing that the dialogue could not be continued in this form, you abruptly switched the subject, trying to tear his eyes from your neck.

"I was changing for dinner anyway, so see you there" you sharply slammed the door in front of him, not wanting to go into details, and tiredly leaned your head against the wooden surface from the inside.

"Crazy" you heard quiet along with receding soft steps.

It was your only meaningful conversation with the singer, since that evening. You understood that it couldn’t go on like this for a long time, but at the moment you didn’t have any ideas how to fix the situation. So you just finally put on the look you chose, after checking that the door was locked, then decided to add a black headband, and being satisfied with your appearance, went downstairs.

After lunch, the whole team went to the stadium, where the technicians had already set up half of the equipment. The guys immediately went to the sound check, and you and Steven went to meet Ashton Gate management. It seemed like there was still plenty of time before the concert, and you thought you would have a few more chances to double-check everything, but in the turmoil that was going on behind the scenes, this turned out to be impossible.

To be honest, you were overwhelmed by what was happening. The soft music, people around, the sun rays moving towards the sunset - this whole scene that was unfolding before you as you unexpectedly stepped onto the empty stage a few minutes before the crowd was let into the stadium looked surreal and incredibly familiar, as if you had been here many times before. The noise and chaos behind you contrasted with the tranquility in front of your eyes. The empty space that was about to be filled with a crowd in just a few minutes brought both excitement and serenity. These were the moments that seemed unreal, but made life worth living.

***

The show was about to start, and you stood next to the dark staircase, where the guys from the dressing room were soon to come up. Leaning on the railing, you nervously twirled a lock of hair around your finger. You went through all the items on the checklist in your head, checking off each one mentally, but something still bothered you.

Alex.

Your unfinished conversations and evasive behavior were weighing on you. You felt guilty, knowing that as his manager, you had behaved tactlessly, driven by emotions. It ate at you from the inside. You decided that you would talk to him today, apologize and put this issue to rest once and for all.

Suddenly you noticed a flickering light from the security, which meant that the group is entering the stage, and you turned sharply, both wanting and fearing to see them. As always, looking luxurious, these four men made their way up to the platform, remaining unnoticed by the audience.

"Good luck, guys! I'm buzzing as hell honestly" you tried to sound confident, but your voice trembled on the last word.

"Miss Y/S, is it just me or are you worried about us?" Nick lightly touched your shoulder in a reassuring gesture.

"Well, it's my first time with you" realizing how ambiguous that sounded, you interrupted yourself with a laugh.

"Oh, you'll love it, babe" Matt mimicked a voice from a cheap adult movie, tossing a stick in the air. It seemed like he could find the right words in any situation, and in the future, you would highly appreciate this skill.

All this time, you were glancing at Alex out of the corner of your eye, trying to read his emotions, but he calmly adjusted the folds on his unchanging dark blue jacket and stretched his neck with turns left and right. Seeing that the guys had moved a little away from you, you looked at your watch, estimating that you had 5 minutes maximum, and whispered to yourself "now or never".

"Alex!" you called him out loudly, trying to outshout the crowd "I wanted to talk, I know it's not the most appropriate time, but-"

"Y/N, forgive me, okay," the man unexpectedly began, barely approaching you. For the first time, you saw genuine excitement in his eyes, here, in the darkness of the backstage area of a 30,000-seat stadium. For some reason, only now you clearly feel the difference in height between you two. He looked down at you patronizingly. Maybe it was because of his heels or the knot of nerves in your stomach that made you feel so small in your attempt to hide from his penetrating gaze.

"I've been a complete jerk and acted childish from the very beginning. You didn't do anything to deserve such treatment. I don't want our tension to affect the group and our work in any way, so I admit my guilt"

You stood in shock, slightly opening your mouth. You absolutely did not expect such a turn of events, so your entire improvised speech evaporated from your mind instantly. He suddenly smiled softly, raising an eyebrow, as if asking 'well, what now?' Still not believing what you heard, you nodded your head almost automatically.

"Y-yes, you were a jerk indeed. But I also didn't behave entirely correctly, my first impression wasn't great either," you sighed in frustration, recalling your memories, "I suggest we start over, huh? Hi, my name is Y/N, I'm your new tour manager, nice to meet you" and to confirm your words, you gracefully extended your hand to him.

"Nice to meet you too, I'm Alex Turner, sort of singing here," he shook your hand with an energetic movement. His palm was dry and steady, causing a pleasant warmth throughout your body, "just business then?"

"Just business indeed. And a little bit of music" you said, more relaxed, smiling with all 32 teeth, still holding onto his hand.

"Deal, Miss Y/S"

For a moment, the roar of fans faded away for you, and you only saw the outlines of his pupils in the semi-darkness and his fingers firmly holding yours. However, your fragile moment was promptly ruined by-

"Al, c'mon!" Jamie impatiently called, and your hand felt the gusts of wind instead of calloused skin of the frontman. You watched him walk away in his waddle manner, as he suddenly turned and shouted, winking "By the way, nice lace".

It took you a couple of seconds to understand what was said, and when the meaning of his words reached you, you exclaimed in indignation "You, motherfucker!" almost stomping your foot, but your cry was lost in the wild roar of the crowd, as the guys were already on stage.

It was a miraculous sight. Four men made people go into ecstasy just with their appearance - this is the phenomenon of the Beatles, and they were proof that rock and roll is alive. As long as they are alive. Every strum on the guitar strings, every touch of the lips to the microphone, every drumstick strike, every hair flip was special in their performance, they themselves were special.

You were fascinated, to say the least. When the performance came to the last song before the encore, Body Paint, one of your favorite songs from the album, that was definitely made to be played live, you were out of words. The whole song built you up to the climax, to the outro that every time was a pure jamming and improvisation. And you literally exploded in ecstasy when Alex started walking around the stage, unable to stand still from the knocking down energy. He closed his eyes in languor, biting his lips, screaming, throwing out his arms, and you couldn't take your eyes off. You weren't dancing or jumping, you were inseparably watching his every movement, arms folded across your chest. Your mouth was agape against your will, and your eyes eagerly punched a hole in the frontman. This is a unique performance, it's something that is hard to explain without feeling it for yourself. You were made up of his music, you literally felt these waves inside your veins, your brain wasn't able to comprehend what was happening, it was like a catharsis for all of you. And you definitely didn't want to be saved.

Suddenly Alex turned his head to your side, continuing to play some divine riff outlining the Van Gogh fields on the guitar strings. His hair was tousled, shirt unbuttoned, but his jacket fitted perfectly. He rested his eyes on your figure, smiling with one corner of his lips, and you looked at each other for good seven seconds which felt like eternity. You were sure that everything was clear in your eyes, and even if he stood next to you and heard you, you wouldn't be able to utter a word.

What you definitely didn't expect when your eye contact was broken and Alex walked to another side of the stage, that tears would involuntarily flow from your eyes. "What the hell..." you wondered aloud, quickly removing the salty tracks from your cheeks. In fact, you perfectly understood why you were crying. From a sense of greatness. The greatness of music, human synergy and the power of unity. It was too much for you, too strong emotions to bear. It was excellent, it was the taste of life, thanks to which you still were here. "God, if you exist, bless this band, they are saints" although it sounded ridiculous and naive, you seriously were ready to pray for the talent of these guys, for the ability to make other people feel alive. You were in your place, you did everything right, you were cruising the victory. Today he convinced you.

As soon as the last chords of "RU Mine?" were played and the bows to the fans were taken, the men disappeared from the deafening roar behind the dark curtains of backstage. Their hair stuck to their sweat faces, and a distinct masculine smell was coming from their shirts. The guys passed by you with exhausted smiles, unable to utter a word from fatigue, and disappeared into the darkness of the corridors.

You didn't know what to do right now. According to your understanding, your job didn't end with pre-concert organization, there were also post-concert tasks to be done. But you were so lost in emotions that you felt like you were drifting away from an anaphylactic shock.

Unexpectedly, Tyler came to you as he was the last one to come off the stage. He fraternally put a hand on your shoulder, tousling your hair with his heavy palm.

"Well, with the initiation into our hell, sweetheart. How're you?"

"Thrilled, and I want more!" you declared confidently, matching his quick pace that was pulling you further away from the frenzy of the crowd.

"Well, don't doubt that, it's just the beginning" he charmingly smiled, and you couldn't help but mirror his expression.

"Now we're going to celebrate, and you're coming with us" it sounded so authoritative that even if you wanted to object, you immediately closed your mouth, nodding in agreement. "Besides, seems like you need to unwind" you remembered.

You left the stadium only an hour later, apparently, it was a normal time for the guys to "recover". You'd made several jokes about one woman waiting for seven men and received offended and teasing looks in return. You got into the same Mercedes you arrived in that morning, and the driver took you to one of Bristol's typical English pubs that the guys loved so much.

You didn't understand their fondness for these quaint places where the sofa upholstery hadn't changed along with the owner. There were so many modern bars in the city, any of which the band could afford to rent entirely, but they paid tribute to traditions, obviously cherishing memories of their lively youth when they started playing their first concerts in similar places. Such a return to their roots after the thousands-capacity stadiums grounded them well. And the warm nostalgia, slipping across the Guinness glasses every time, was a corner of genuine joy for the guys, the only true luxury they possessed.

And overall, you didn't care where to spend money or on what. After all today's events, which felt like a whole month, you didn't mind anymore. In the morning, you looked at your apple orchard in the early mist of suburban London, then stood half-naked in a five-star hotel room in front of a world-renowned music star, and now, in the evening, you huddled next to him on an old leather couch under a red velvet chandelier, drinking a B-52.

Glasses, shots and colorful bottles flashed in front of your eyes like a kaleidoscope. Your head was spinning from the amount of alcohol, and your cheeks hurt from laughter.

"My dear mates, I propose a toast to Miss Y/S and her first concert with us! I don't know if she understands where she has ended up, but we'll make sure she has a great time with us, right, guys? To Y/N!" Matt solemnly proclaimed, rising from the table, and 8 hands, pouring drinks onto each other, reached towards the center of the table to clink glasses.

"Guys, thank you for this opportunity, thanks to James for his unplanned vacation, thanks to Steven and Marcus-" although the latter wasn't here, you decided to thank him as he had been providing you with all kinds of help during these weeks, "for their support and adaptation, and of course, to you Monkeys, for accepting me. I do like your crazy Monkey house" you joked, but it didn't negate the truth. Despite all the past disagreements with the lead singer, you felt that you were still doing everything right. And even if you hadn't gone on this adventure today, you would still feel grateful to fate for such an opportunity to be at the center of life.

"Glad to hear that," Jamie chuckled ironically, "as they say, welcome aboard"

And with these words, you all whistled, and Tom even shouted like a saloon girl from the Wild West. Your evening, or rather the night, continued until 3 am, fortunately there was no concert the next day, so you could at least sleep in a bit. You looked in horror at the amount you had drunk, trying to estimate how long it would take to recover the contents of your wallet. But you had consumed so much gin and tonic that the only thing that really worried you was how to walk straight for at least 2 meters to the bar to pay for it all.

"Drinks on me!" you declared with a mischievous smile to the group as you headed towards the bar counter.

"What, for everyone?" Matt playfully refined.

"Well, yeah," you didn't have the energy to realize his surprise, but he also didn't have the energy to argue with you, "that's no problem".

And thus, the following events spun in your head like a foggy whirlpool. Here you were finally breathing in the fresh air of the street, tilting your head towards the purple sky, then you were half-lying on someone's shoulder in the black minivan, and finally for no reason you were walking barefoot on a soft hotel carpet, but there were no shoes in your hands as well.

You didn't have any memories of walking into your room either. But in the moment, the feeling of soft snow-white hotel sheets flooded your body with long-awaited bliss. You instantly fell into the arms of Morpheus, only on the verge of consciousness noticing that someone took off the headband from your hair, which had been squeezing your head tightly, and silently closed the door.

You may be too drunk to remember each of your actions clearly, but you definitely wouldn't mistake the familiar scent of cigarettes in the room.

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A/N: Oh, so much has happened in one chapter, and this is just the beginning of the tour... I decided to tell the background of Y/N for a better understanding of her actions. What do you think, maybe you want more of "Italian friends" in the work? Whose line do you want to read in more detail? Share your emotions, it is incredibly valuable to me that someone reads this work actually!

xo🤍

Taglist: @missbabyjay @rentskenobi @findmeincorneliastreet @indierockgirrl here it is!

*if you want to be removed or added to the taglist, feel free to ask me!

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anangelwhodidntfall · 1 year

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Masterlist

Rules for Requesting

Rules for My Blog

Cody Fern Masterlist

Lord Of The Rings Masterlist

Lost Boys Masterlist

Damiano David Masterlist

Outer Banks Masterlist

Urban Wyatt Masterlist

WWE Masterlist

Mayans MC Masterlist

Stranger Things Masterlist

Umbrella Academy Masterlist

Riverdale Masterlist

House of The Dragon Masterlist

Eddie Vedder Masterlist

Yellowstone Masterlist

Avatar Masterlist

The Little Mermaid Masterlist

Call of Duty Masterlist

Formula One Masterlist

Joe Burrow Masterlist

Wattpad

Good Reads

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writersblockiskillingme · 1 year

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Måneskin Masterlist

✭ - smut

♡ - fluff

➳ - angst

۵ - hurt/comfort

Damiano David

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thomas Raggi

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

Ethan Torchio

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

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kaylalovesmaneskin · 1 year

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The waiters

A/n:hey guys it been awhile since I posted buttt I just wanna say that is story was inspired by a pov that I had saw on TikTok that really had me thinking for an idea for this story and ALSO DID YALL LISTEN TO RUSH BRO IT SUPER AMAZING AND I LOVE IT SO MUCH LIKE IT 😍🙌 wellllll with that being said I hope you enjoy this story yall. Tag list: @ellior1111

Parings:Damiano David & Ethan Torchio &Fem!reader

Warrings:daddy kink,choking ,swearing threesomes, masterbating,knife kink/play handcuffs,blindfolded, ice cubes, dirty talk, ,blowjob and a whole lot of smuts and etc

Summary: you couldn't pay to tip your waiters so ur going to have to find another way..

“Hey y/n do you want to go out to that new restaurant that opened in town today.” Your best friend had asked you “certo, perché no.” You had answered back. You heard about this new restaurant by your mom and sister that is was the best and the food was amazing and the waiters were super sexy and hot according to your sister. (Fast forward to like 7-8 pm) “ hey y/n sei pronto per partire.” You friend yelled to you as walking over to your room. “sì, dammi solo un minuto, mi sto truccando e pettinando.” You said to her looking at you self in the mirror while applying you eyeliner on and putting some perfume on. ”hey bestie cosa ne pensi.” You said calling over her to you while you looking at your self in the mirror. You like the way the black dress really made you figure stick out and how your makeup match perfectly with you outfit it made you feel badass. “porca merda sì/no hai un aspetto fottutamente tosto damm sei bellissima chissà dal tuo aspetto potresti trovarti un appuntamento.” She said walking into your room and being stuck in her tracks. You where never the type to actually dress up and look sexy all the time. “Thank you now shall we leave I think we have a dinner to get to.” You said grabbing your coat and your phone and keys. “Si let go I can’t wait.”

Finally you guys had arrived at the restaurant you both stepped out of your friend car and walked into the restaurant. “Wow this place is amazing.” You said to your friend. “I know right it is beautiful.” She said back at you. You both walked up to the host who was at the entrance and he had instantly caught your eye. Your eyes gaze over to where his name tag was and it read d.damiano what a sexy name . “Y/n y/n girl” your friend snapped you out of your thoughts. “Uh um yea what happened.” You said looking at her confused. “You been looking at him for the last 4 minutes ooo I think you like him.” Your friend has whisper into your ear. “Well I think your friend here is pretty good looking to.” Damiano finally spoke up winking at you . “Oooo y/n look he thinks you are cute.” Your friend said lightly punching your shoulder. “Stop umm woah this is the first and worst interaction I have ever had in my life but umm I would like a table for two please.” You said blushing a lot. “Right this way cutie.” Damiano said grabbing two menus. “Here is you table your waiter will be here in a few minutes.” He said “t-thank you.” You said struggling to make a sentence you never had been this flustered before. ”y/n you know I think I can see you and that guy having something.” She said smirking at you. “Nun uh not in a million years it was just a stupid interaction.” “Yeah right that so totally why when we walked in you immediately started staring at him with those “even tho I just meet you fuck me already” eyes.” Your friend said laughing at you.

“Woah woah listen that a little to much don’t you think.” You said in such a awkward tone because even tho you didn’t want to admit it may be your friend was right. “si/n è passato un anno dall'ultima volta che hai avuto un ragazzo devi almeno provare a fare di un ragazzo il migliore amico o trovarti un ragazzo è ora ragazza.” Your friend told you. You have to admit she is right it just you didn’t want to be in a relationship nor ready to have one but you will try but the thing is that you liked being independent and not having to relying on a man and especially ones that are low life abusers and fucking cheaters.(you were referring to your ex boyfriend) “lo so lo so ma non so se sono pronto voglio dire che amo stare da solo e non voglio rivivere quell'esperienza.” You told her before she could respond there was this hot sexy looking waiters was at your table he had really really long and black and lovely hair that you ever seen. “ciao ragazze, mi chiamo ethan, sono il vostro cameriere per oggi, quindi c'è qualcosa con cui potrei iniziare voi ragazze?” He spoke with such elegant and some what sexual tone in his voice as he made eye contact with you and your friend.”buongiorno signore um si vorrei le fettuccine al pomodoro. con un bicchiere di vino per favore.” Your friend spoke as she read the name of the meal she wanted to ethan. “okay okay questa è una buona scelta e tu amore mio cosa vorresti.” He said “io.. io umm vorrei.. come il Carpaccio e anche un g..bicchiere di vino.” You said really shyly. “è che tutte le donne.” “Si that will be all for Now thank you.” Your friend said. “Okay your wait time will be about 18-20 minutes.” He said. “Si si.” Your friend respond back. Then Ethan had walked away from your table. “Ok, sì, ragazza, devi parlare con uno di quei ragazzi come una ragazza che non hai mai avuto due ragazzi che flirtano con te DUE VOLTE IN UNA NOTTE TI FANNO CAPIRE NEL GIOCO RAGAZZA.” You bestie yelled at you but not that loud. “Okay okay but I’m scared I literally actually like a fool in front of them.” “Y/n you need to stop putting your self down you are so beautiful, smart, wonderful, Talented any guy would be lucky to have you you just have to see that inside your self.” You friend said holding your hands making you look at her. “T..thanks that is really really the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me ever.” “Well I am glad to be the first.”

“Well that got emotional really quickly but I am going to use the restroom I’ll be right back.” You said getting up and out of your chair. You started to walk around to look for the bathroom then when you wasn’t looking you had bumped into the Damiano guy for earlier. “Oh shit fuck I am sorry.” You said apologizing maybe if you didn’t have your face in your phone you wouldn’t have bumped into him and drop the plates of food he had in his hand. “It alright love are you okay cazzo I got this all over your lovely dress.” He said helping you clean your dress off he had one of his hands on your hip and the other one with a napkin. You didn’t know what you was feeling but you were definitely having a million butterflies in your stomach as he help clean your dress off. “Anddd done I am truly sorry about that.” Damiano kept on apologizing to you. “No it fine it my fault should had been looking when I was walking and let me help it the least I can do.” You said getting on your knees with a napkin trying to clean his shoes and his pants off. “No please amore mio it fine you really don’t have to….” Before he could finish his sentence he had stop talking just to look at how pretty you look underneath him then all of a sudden Ethan your waiter saw the both of you and walked over to yall. “che cazzo sta succedendo qui.” He said looking at the both of you. Once you heard his voice you quickly got up and stand beside Damiano. “ beh, guarda cosa è successo è che questa bella ragazza era su di lei era in bagno e lei mi ha urtato e ha combinato un casino, quindi ha fatto la cosa giusta e mi ha aiutato a pulirlo come una brava ragazza che è.” He said looking over at you. “Umm yeah that’s what happened.” You said you face was super red like the tomato sauce. “beh, è bello sapere che questa brava ragazza pulisce il suo casino, forse lo farà più tardi, ma tesoro, la tua amica ha dovuto andarsene e ha pagato il suo pasto tra l'altro.” Ethan said tilling your chin to look at him. “I-I should get back to my table.” You said speed walking to your table. What the fuck did he mean later ugh man up y/n you are going to flirt with these guys like Elliot said .

You had ate your food while texting you bestie Elliot about what happened. “Umm I am ready for my bill.” You said calling Ethan over to your table. “Si on it.” He said walking over to the register to get you receipt. “Here you go.” He said as he handed you the bill. “Umm so like this might sound weird but can I get yours and you co workers number.” You said with the little bit of confidence you had left. “Sure sweetheart I’ll get that for you.” He winked at you walking away. Holy shit you thought to yourself. As you get the money to pay for your food Ethan was making his way to find dami. “ehi damiano conosci quella ragazza che hai incontrato?” “si che mi dici di lei.” “beh, sono andato a darle il conto che ha chiesto di me e del tuo numero.” “oh davvero mi chiedo cosa stia combinando.” “dami e se avesse combinato qualcosa, sai cosa intendo.” “vero vero ma aspettiamo solo di vedere cosa dosa voglio dire che è davvero sexy sembra che piagnucoli.” Dami winked at him. “dami basta che mi dia solo il tuo numero.” Ethan said to him. “ok ok qui.” Damiano said while writing his number on a napkin and then giving it to Ethan so he could write his number to. (Meanwhile back to you ) Ethan came back with the napkin and placed it on the table all he was left to see was no you but a napkin with your number on it and the cash for your food put there was no tip. “cazzo ha pagato una mancia ugh qualunque cosa gliela faremo pagare ora che ho il suo numero.” Ethan said under his breath.

Meanwhile with you, you where in a taxi on your way back to your house. “Shit fuck I didn’t even get their number but I left mine.” You said putting your head in your hands. A few minutes you finally got to your house and took your heels off then went to sit on your bed then all of a sudden you got a Text from a random number. “Holy shit shit shit what if it is the Ethan guy oh my fucking god okay y/n don’t panic you don’t even know if it is him.” (This is not a real number btw )

*********676-266-2689********

unknown number:hey cutie it me Ethan the guy from the restaurant I just wanted to tell you that you forgot to pay your tip but it fine.

You: oh fuck look I am sorry I just got scared about asking you and your friend for your number I just scared and left

Unknown number :oh I see well love you don’t have to pay your tip but you can pay me and my friend in a other way 😏

You:oh really and what will that be

Unknown number:just give me your address and you will see how

You:oh really my address is 6659 Angeles avenue (not a real place)

Unknown number:Ill come and see you when I am done with my shift bye bye sweetheart

******************************************************************************

Holy shit there no fucking way that he actually coming but i will just have to wait and see but for now I’m going to take a bath my mind is a mess right now. You thought to yourself. You got up from your bed and walked over to your dresser and pulled out a set of pj’s and walked over to the bathroom. You were in your bathroom and you close the door and turn on the water then when to take your clothes off. You went to sit in your bathtub your mind was racing a hundred miles a minute you close your eyes to let mind wander for a little. When your mind was wondering you could help that you had this image in you head that you were handcuffed to your bed with a blindfolded on and Ethan was running and Knife down from you boobs down to you stomach while dami was tracing you body with an ice cube. As you were getting these dirty thoughts in your head your hand made it way down to your pussy and you started to rub your clit fast while moaning like crazy. “Shit fuck the things you guys do to me.” You moaned. As you continue to play yourself you started to feel a familiar feeling in your core as you rubbing your clit fast. And a minute or two later you had came after playing with yourself and letting out the loudest pornography moan ever. “Oh shit fucckk.” You moaned loudly. After coming down from your high you had gotten up from the bath and turn on the shower and brushed your teeth and washed up and gotten out the shower.

As you came you the shower you had walked into your room to find a damiano and a Ethan sitting on your bed waiting for you. “Holy shit w-what the fuck are you to doing here.” You screamed at them “well darling you told me to come over after I was done with work.” Ethan said making eye contact with you and then staring at you body that in a towel. As you noticed ethan and dami eyes wonder on your body you decide to say something to them. “Well umm yall know that I can see you looking at me with those “just come over here and let me take that towel off of you and let me fuck you eyes.” You said looking at them with a smirk. “Well pretty lady we could make that happen.” Dami had spoken up. The next that happen was dami had gotten up from the bed pinning you against the wall Kissing you so hard that it leaves your knees weak and your body is pressed up against dami’s as you struggles to keep your lips on dami’s all times. Dami had pulled away from you. "I love it when you act all controlling like that knowing damn well I can leave you shaking under me.” Dami said to you. “You know dami i want you to press my face into a pillow and make me scream.” You said making strong eye contact with him. “Well you stay right there little lady and how about I allow Ethan to get some action since you are the one who had been eye fucking him all day.” Ethan got up from the bed and walked over to you and looking you in the eyes for you permission to take off your towel and you had nodded in a yes for him to go ahead. He took your towel off of you and started to make his hands run Down to your boobies massaging them. “You know y/n Eye-fucking me all day, isn’t and won’t help you right now.” He said pining your arms above of you head then kissing you. After he said that you were A nervous and a blushing mess who can't properly function. "I have barley even touched you yet, why are you falling apart so easily?" Ethan said whisper into you ear. You breathe had hitched and he had noticed it. Ethan had picked you up and laying you down on the bed. “Listen y/n im and just gonna do a few things all you have to do is trust me okay.” Ethan had reassured you. “Yes daddy.” You Wimper back. “Y/n honey come lay down but first I am going to had to cover your eyes.” Dami said taking a black bandanna and using it to cover your eyes. Then Ethan had took some long chained handcuffs and tied your hands up. Now it was time for Ethan to take control. Hungerily ripping apart his clothes and getting on the bed then he started to bite at your neck and thighs as soon as he was on the bed. Ethan’s hands made their way down to you pussy and he had insert one finger into you area you had moaned loud. “Mmm fuck.” You couldn’t see anything so right now your body was really sensitive. “Please Ethan.” You wined “aww look Ethan poor little y/n is begging for you.” Dami mocked “awe y/n love is there something you want.” Ethan said to you. “I need more.” You said crying and tugging at the cuffs. “More what daring.” Dami said. “I need a more another finger please please.” You cried tears rolling down your cheeks. "Aww is baby crying? There there, that feels good doesn't it?" Dami said inserting on of his fingers in to your pussy. Dami and Ethan moved there fingers in and out of you stretching you out for the real game. They both continue to finger you while you tugged on the cuffs and moaning like a mess. After a few more minutes of them finger you you felt the need to cum and you told them. “E-Ethan d-dami I- have to Cumm.” You cried out loud. “Okay princess give us a minute.” Ethan told you. Purposely turning you on just for them to be edging but they never planned one letting you get too stimulated. The both of them Watching you desperately trying to hold yourself together for the rest of the night. They pulled there fingers out of you before you got to cum. “W-what the fuck.” You said in a made tone . “Oh dear bad girls don’t get to cum nun uhu they must listen to what daddy says.” Ethan said “okay okay I promise I will be a good girl.” You wined.

“Oh sweetheart don’t think it will be that easy.” Dami hissed. “If you want to cum then your are going to have to beg.” Ethan said. “Please please please I’ll do anything just please let me cum.” You beg and beg and beg. “Mmm dami what do you think do you think she deserves it.” “Yea let give it to her.” “Okay princess I am going to uncuff you and take you blindfolded off.” Ethan said. “Okay yes sir.” Ethan had grabbed the key for the handcuffs and uncuffed you and then took off your blindfolded. “Now baby since I am going to be nice and let you cum but there one thing tho you can cum tho until I say so but with that being said this cock isn’t going to suck it self now.” Ethan said looking at you in the eyes making sure you heard his message. “Yes sir.” You had walked over to Ethan to were he was sitting on the couch with his legs spread open. You got down in front of him. “Oh y/n look what you do to me .” Ethan moaned . You pulled down his boxers and his cock sprung free. “Omfg y/n you think you can handle that much.” Dami said with his eye on Ethan dick. “I-it’s i-.” You said you were so stunted by his length that so was dami to. You went to put your hair in a ponytail but then all of a sudden dami grabbed you hair in to a fist full of it. “Don’t worry about this princess I got this little problem now go suck off Ethan he doesn’t like waiting.” Dami said to you, you began to take Ethan’s tip of his dick into your mouth and you began to tease him because of how he teased you earlier. “Y/n stop teasing me so fucking much or else.” “Oh else what bicth.” You bite back “if I was you y/n I would watch my mouth.” Dami said. “You better watch your fucking mouth or you will be so so sorry.” Ethan said grabbing you by the neck and bring you back to the bed. “You know you little cum slut you look so pretty with my hands around your neck.” Ethan whisper into your ear. You moaned at his words. Ethan began to put one of your legs over his shoulder and he took his dick and spit on his hands and stroking himself a few times then inserting himself into your pussy. “Oh fuck Ethannn.” You moaned. He started to trust in and out of you over and over. He had smack your ass really hard making you yelp. “I love the way you look when I am inside of you.” Ethan moaned. “Mmmm holy shit fuck.” You screamed Ethan became to trust really harder because he was close to coming and so where you. “Fuck Ethan I’m close.” “Hold it well cum together baby.” Two more trust from Ethan and he was cumming deep inside you filling you up the the brim. He had said inside of you for a few more minutes before he had took his dick out of you and all the warmth you felt before is now gone but now you have another problem to worry about.

“Oh dear y/n if you thought what Ethan did to you was bad then you have a whole nothere problem.” Dami said smirking at you. Ethan had got off of you and bed leaving you there so now that dami could take care of you. dami had begun teasing you. god, he was in love way you throw their head back in pleasure. "open wide for me, love, will you?" Dami said looking at you. Dami pulling on your collar he had for you so tight and he began to nibbling on your lips, so that you lose composure and moan in dami’s mouth. "fuck you, dami." "we're already on it, aren't we, sweetie.” He said smirking at you. You began to hesitate, gulping, visibly nervous. Dami then say, eyes fluttering to yours, "if you're uncomfortable..pull away." to that, you move closer to him. You both started kissing each other hard and passionate. Dami started to kiss you from you neck Down and with every kiss that trails your body leaves you wanting more. "I'm gonna fuck you so hard, you forget that Ethan’s name." Dami said smirking and looking up at you. You accidentally moan a little too loud, and dami smirk, feeling bold. “Spread your pretty little legs open for me baby.” And you did as he said. He looks at you between you legs and goddamit did he look super sexy there you want him to stay there for every. “Oh my y/n honey you are super wet." Dami Said between you legs from his words alone you had vibrations going on throughout your hole body then dami had being to lick you pussy you had moaned really loud .dami said "god, moan louder." and you are now suddenly a mess, blushing, fumbling, whimpering, crying out loud as damiano continues to eat you out. You were on the verge of cumming. “Oh fuck dami I am about to cum shittt.” You moaned. “Yes princess cum into my mouth and scream my name so everyone knows who is making you fell good.” “OH fuck damiiiii.” You screamed. You felt the coil inside of you snap and you had came into damiano mouth. Dami had said between your legs for a few more minutes then he had gotten up. Ethan had came back over the bed where you and damiano was at the both got up and when to the bathroom to get clean up and bring back a warm towel to clean you up.

All of yours hair is messy, sheets messed up, you all lay near each other, heavily breathing and all you can think of is cuddling them. and you find their hands pulling your waist closer to their body. You lay in the middle between them and they both gave you a kiss on the four head “good night boys.” “Good night y/n.” They both said. You all fell asleep peacefully and safe and sound. THE END

A/n as of now :Holy shit YALK DONT KNOW HOW LONG THIS FUCKING STORY TOOK TO MAKE I AM SUPER SORRY ABOUT THR WAIT AND SHIT I HAVING MEANT TO POST THIS ON JANUARY 19 OR 20 BUT THAT NOT HOW THIS WAS PLANNED I STARTED WRITING THIS ON THE THE 13TH SO THAT WHY IT TOOK ME SK LONG BUT I HOPE YOU GUYS ENJOY THIS ONE AND I WILL BE HAVING MORE UPDATES COMING SOON BYE BYW LOVES ❤️❤️

#damiano maneskin #ethan torchio smut #maneskin smut #smut #ethan torchio #damiano david #damiano david smut #ethan maneskin #y/n #damiano x reader #ethan x reader

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reputationdamiano · 2 years

Text

dandelions

pairing: damiano david x reader

warning(s): one mention of blood in person's veins

word count: 631

summary: when you and damiano find a field of dandelions, your vacation in french countryside can’t get any better.

a/n: over a year ago, a certain person made a playlist for me, this song was in it. i still find it very beautiful and it inspired me to write a short fic. as you may see, i’m trying to improve my writing. i also want to thank @bidet-and-legolas for proofreading 🤍

dandelions.

there were hundreds of thousands of them. sitting on the ground, surrounded by them, you felt like a plant from a different ecosystem which has been gradually putting down its roots.

a light breeze seemed to be moving feather-like clouds high above the planet. the temperature was the optimum in which you felt most at peace with reality: high, but not a suffocating heat.

while slowly approaching you, damiano took all of his steps like a spy. in his eyes, you were a masterpiece and he was admiring you.

your hair was falling down in cascades over a flaxen dress the color of freshly harvested peaches. you were holding one of the flowers in your hand with great caution, like it was the last one in the world and you could save the species from going extinct.

“what are you thinking about, bella?” your boyfriend asked, and sat down on the grass. he began tracing the tattoo on your arm with his fingers, just like he did a week after you got it and finally took the protective film off it. damiano loved every inch of your skin and always let you know about it.

“i’m wishing on those little things”

this was true. when you encountered this field about ten minutes ago, during your bike excursion in the countryside, it instantly reminded you of an old superstition.

“and what are you wishing for?” damiano enquired, resting his head on your shoulder and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“don’t you know saying it out loud is against the rules of wishing?” you replied half-jokingly.

“come on, won’t you tell me?” damiano tried to convince you, looking at you with puppy eyes.

“alright” you blew the seeds of the dandelion and watched them make their way through the lukewarm air. you looked into his hazel eyes and cupped his cheeks delicately.

“i wished that you’ll be mine forever”

then you closed your eyes and pulled him even closer. that’s when your lips met his in a soft kiss that was becoming more and more passionate every second.

when it came to an end, damiano’s eyes light up like sparklers.

“your wish is going to come true, i promise” he beamed and looked at you fondly.

“but i need you to close your eyes right now” damiano added.

“um.. okay?” you didn’t have the slightest idea what he was plotting this time but you followed his instructions.

he must’ve gotten up from the ground because your shoulders brushed and the space next to you seemed empty.

you could feel the blood in your veins flowing faster and faster.

“dami, where are you going?” you couldn’t help but ask.

“please be patient” his voice could be heard a few meters away from your sitting spot. although you were hyped up, you kept sitting still, seeing nothing but darkness in front of you.

“well, you can open your eyes now”

you finally lifted your eyelids to a sight of damiano kneeling before you. he was holding a little blue box with a shiny ring in it. the loving look on his face already expressed what he was about to say.

“i finally gathered the courage to do this. will you marry me, y/n?”

the last five words were the confirmation that your boyfriend and you shared the same wish. you were convinced that no one could tear two of you apart, ever.

your eyes glazed over as you reached for his hand.

“yes” you exclaimed. the next thing you knew, you had a diamond ring on your finger. damiano pulled you in and your lips started moving in perfect sync. in that moment, it was like you were the only people on earth.

“sei l’amore della mia vita” damiano confessed.

“i’ll be yours forever”

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

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

masterlist

if you like my works, please reblog, comment or send me asks. ¡gracias!

#catalina writes #maneskin fanfiction #catalina’s imagines #damiano david x reader #damiano david fanfiction #damiano imagine #damiano david headcanon #damiano x you #damiano david fluff #maneskin imagine #maneskin fic #maneskin x y/n #maneskin x reader #maneskin fluff #maneskin fandom #måneskin #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic writer

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sugar-petals · 2 years

Text

Måneskin Reaction :: You Flirt With Them ❤️

# word count. 2k

♡ note. hello, bisexuals and associates!!! happy pride month. you’ve given so much love to my ‚gettin‘ frisky w/ måneskin' 18+ scenario y’all are amazing. so, i’m back back back again 👀 for more fun stuff, this time with some world-building. enjoy!

TAGS/WARNINGS. ⚠️ ot4 imagines x gn!reader, suggestive, humor, cursing, innuendo, sex toy mention, ass jokes, reader’s dirty mouth, flirting at work, brief violence/alcohol/party drugs mention, almost-accident, damiano’s steamy gnc outfit

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thomas | Things start out in a literal fleeting heartbeat. You’re kind of exhausted from the concert high, but also full of guitar solo-induced adrenaline. Lord knows how you got a ticket for the very front. Afraid to be a little overzealous and attention-grabbing, you still made sure the band did not think the festival crowd was lame. Singing louder than three people at once hopefully makes a difference. So that’s that, and the setlist was great, anyway. Now, the stage is almost entirely empty, people rush to drink water. And: They want to see Metallica playing it up on a different stage. They’re already blasting a Queen song to warm up and gather the audience. Over here, the first row of course doesn’t dissolve that fast. Actually, you’re not mad being stuck here. You’re kind of witnessing staff tidying some cables right in front of you, and your band crush stringing up his guitar in real time. Thomas, who else. Fiddling with his instrument, he’s kind of preoccupied. Man, he’s too cute. You love his tousled hair and cravat. Enter Sandman is playing from the other direction, so more and more people around you start to leave. How you care, you just keep your head turned to the Måneskin stage hoping there’s a chance to interact. But watch what happens next — oh boy.

After Thomas — in full glam gear, that is — rattles down head first from the stage stairs since his heels got caught, but thankfully grabs hold of your arm: Well. Now you do have a chance to chat him up. Sort of like a little meet and greet. Okay, it’s kind of improvised and casual. You saved his neck and those long legs from tangling, he wants to repay you. „Oh— You like my guitar?“ he quips, with his signature sultry bedroom eyes, you know `em. „Hey sure, I can play something for you. I know it’s a bit shabby, but it’s supposed to be like that!“ And he starts plucking away on the fretboard, doing some scales, it all looks pretty impressive. You continue with some banter like hey, it’s supposed to be all chipped-off and rundown. He’s a super sexy rockstar, and practice makes perfect. A used guitar’s a good one. Thomas almost messes up his playing when he hears you call him sexy. „Am I?“ — „Of course! Look at you.“ — „I don’t get that a lot. People call me laid-back or something. You also look really cool.“ Duh, you have Måneskin merch on. Of course you look sick as hell. With the conversation progressing, the two of you sort of trail off backstage, and Thomas asks if you wanna have some licks, too. „Guitar licks or some other licks?“ is what you reply, and he shrugs, looking pretty sheepish right there. „Whatever you choose.“ — „Best of both worlds sounds very good.“

victoria | Dancing up to Victoria at a party feels scarier than it actually turns out to be. Although you’re terrified she’ll reject and flame you, you just give it a try and slowly, very slowly but surely… gyrate those hips in her direction. She smiles at you, she gets on your wavelength, returns the moves. Does she like what you do? Maybe? Is she in the mood? Is she just friendly? Does she laugh because she thinks you look utterly pathetic in front of the queen of the world? She’s Victoria from Måneskin! Hell, you just keep going. You started this, you got your groove on, you can’t chicken out now. The eye contact, it’s everything. That Vic walked up to the party in a hot cowgirl outfit is just too hot to ignore. A drunk and dizzy guy, ill-dressed and foul-mouthed as can be, stumbling in her direction with no seeming breaks on you briefly shove out the way. Not too aggressively, but resolute enough. How dare this smelly fucker interrupt your little mating dance right here. One does not disturb an art performance! Damiano on his best behavior, standing some meters away with his cocktail glass takes care of the rest, cussing the house down like hey you stupid walking can of beer, get out, Victoria is flirting, what’s your problem! Damiano is going absolutely ballistic on this guy, he gets a taste of his own medicine. You’re too infatuated to understand what’s happening, and nobody else cares, anyway. It’s too loud to understand the rest of the verbiage over there.

In the meantime, Vic is buzzing with excitement because her favorite song is suddenly playing at maximum volume. As if it’s a sign from above, you know the lyrics and mouth them. That’s the absolute last straw, baby. „We need to go, we need to go!“ — blink once, Victoria drags you onto the dancefloor without further ado and goes crazy. You’re suddenly wearing her cowgirl hat. So there we are! Everyone knows this lady can headbang, but this is a new level. The beat is pumping like Damiano’s heart when he sees a palette of black eyeshadow. Whatever it is that Victoria’s busting out there, hands going in all directions, you like it. That wild ass moshing almost knocks over people’s drinks in your vicinity. Gladly, a very oblivious Ethan is there to just stand in the way and shield the whole scene with his hunky body-ody-ody, like your personal hired guard. With the entire crowd pushing in all directions and new guests pouring into the room, everything gets tighter and— Well you know. Victoria winds up grinding her ass against you. And not in a shy way. Did you pass away, is this heaven? Did someone slip you an ecstasy pill? This girl is making you go insane by the minute. You never thought Vic would actually reciprocate at all, so… the more you know, and who knows where this might lead, huh.

ethan | Music video filming: Over! Cut! We’re finished. Hustle and bustle everywhere. The producer is already envisioning millions of clicks, money, stocks — and gets on your nerves talking about `EthaNFTs’. Damiano retreated to write down some song lyrics that he doesn’t want to forget on the fly, Vic is eating a big ole hamburger in a diner next door, and Thomas is recording a kind of tiktok challenge around the corner. You arranged all the props that needed to be placed on the current set, and now put them back again. All done, then. You’re amused how the makeup and styling team took off in five seconds flat. Their favorite restaurant in the area had earlier closing times. But Ethan, taking the longest to pack up his drum kit, is now left to his own devices with changing his lace outfit back to casual. If it is casual at all, he’s 24/7 stylish. The sparkly eyeliner gotta stay on then, he has no clue where the wipes are. Just a minute later, you hear him go through a clothing rack in an adjacent room. Oh Jesus, he’s in there naked. Or in his underwear. Shit, the door is only half-closed. In an attempt to look uninvolved, you try to busy yourself picking up a glass of apple juice from the catering service and almost bump into Thomas doing the same thing, actually leaving for the parked tour bus. Departure in fifteen minutes says the driver, back to the hotel.

You can’t get yourself to actually leave just now. The set still isn’t cleared, right. So you’re just standing there, drinking juice, watching the camera crew discuss something about editing. After Ethan’s done, 90’s rock band tanktop on, guess who looks real grumpy. „Tangled mess,“ he complains under his breath, and you can tell it’s the hair, a beehive of heavy product and knots. You step over and offer your aid. After all, you’re staff, too. Ethan’s always in his own world and takes care of his things: Doesn’t mean he will refuse help. Since he can’t find a proper mirror, Ethan `bird’s nest‘ Torchio is more than okay with you brushing out his hair. Hallelujah, he has his own comb with him. He sits down, scrolls through his phone, you do your thing, making small talk at the same time. It’s actually relaxing. And who has sexier hair. You quiz him about his beauty routine while you’re at it, and he says he really takes his time in the bathtub to really work in the shampoo and conditioner. The hair gets too caught in any sink, and the shower is just boring and not so Italiano. You joke about how he should show you. You realize that would also mean… getting in the tub with him, right. Ethan, no stranger to Freudian slips, smoothes over the situation by saying why not take a camera, have you stand outside the tub and try the routine on him, so it’s gonna be a vlog at the hotel. Harmless new Ethan Insta content idea. Okay: Sounds like a plan. Thank you for doing my hair, let’s go to the bus then he says, and you walk next to each other. You always wanted to get to know him a little better.

damiano | Breakfast at the seaside hotel: The two of you already exchanged some vaguely heated glances. Nobody else was there except you, Damiano, and his sexy garter belts. You happened to be the only people in the hall at 5:45 AM, although it all felt really awkward still. That your designated tables were right next to another really did not help with the odd atmosphere. You were surprised to see him with his guard down, actually, even if his get-up screamed confidence and sexuality. Who dons a waist corset and shoulder harness this early in the morning. Walking up to the buffet where he paced around indecisively, you picked up a sandwich yourself. Right after complimenting Damiano’s all violet fashion choice… and just had to make fun of him when his `aesthetic‘ butt plug accessory chain got caught on the leg of the table. Straight-up having him wobble around on his big ass platform boots like a purple flamingo. He even tries to play it off by making a little booty-shaking dance out of it. Courtesy be damned, it’s too frickin’ early in the morning to censor yourself. And he’s the one walking around like he just visited a Dominatrix. So all you said to him was okay, that’s what happens when you put toys in your ass indeed, can’t even walk straight. Going by his unrestrained and bent-over laughter, Damiano enjoys the joke a little too much. This guy is wheezing his soul out. Ten seconds later, the realization hits. Way to go, he’s just clowned himself in front of a stranger he’s been eyefucking with. But the inappropriate humor… sure does something to him.

Back to eating: Even more awkwardly. You’re kind of laughing it off, too, now. But the story’s not over yet. After dropping a plate of scrambled eggs on his satin skirt and opening a sprite that exploded in his face — and onto your sweater, Damiano’s Italian dignity went down the drain entirely. So hey, screw the rest of breakfast, you both direly needed a change of clothing. On your way up to the rooms, someone desperately apologizes with endless what-can-i-do-for-yous. „Hm… I guess I do,“ Damiano clasps his hands behind his back, sort of kicking his dancey legs side to side to the beat of the catchy elevator music. He just looks down at his skirt and smiles all goofy. Is he shy? You just asked him if he really means it when he sings I’ll do whatever you want. Gotta be bold. And quoting his own crazy lyrics back to him when a fitting moment arises is only fair. Since he seems to mean it, you put some heat in your words. „Then, put that plug back in. There’s kids runnin’ around here, you kinky riot girl wannabe!“ — „Oh my God, are you bullying me? You just don’t want me to trip!“ — „Hum, maybe.“ You don’t even know why you’re saying all these things, but very well: See you at lunch then in a new skirt, Mister Damiano David.

read it on ao3

#måneskin #maneskin #maneskin fluff #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #maneskin x y/n #maneskin x you #ethan torchio #damiano david #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #damiano x reader #ethan x reader #victoria x reader #thomas x reader #maneskin scenario #maneskin imagine #maneskin drabble #maneskin x gn!reader

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cherry-velvet-skies · 2 years

Text

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

=======================================

==================================

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.

==================================

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 🥰

#maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #måneskin x reader #måneskin fanfiction #damiano david x y/n #damiano david x you #damiano david fanfiction

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pjisskullourful · 1 year

Text

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

🌼Damiano × reader

part 20 of ???? [parts 1-19] NSFW🔥smuttastic smuttery of a perverted degree

° Damiano David/female reader insert ✨ cameo by: Victoria De Angelis wordcount::: 3,897 ° anon request x2 with the corruption kink request that began the series& this request: Damiano and his lady getting down and dirty in front of a mirror and he’s making her watch the whole time. [requests are open!]

“Is your boyfriend on the same planet as us?” Victoria asked.

Damiano had zoned out during the informal group dinner you were currently attending. Tucked away in the corner of the Japanese restaurant, he sat silently, with the screen of his phone illuminating his face. He was oblivious to any of the conversations taking place around him as his concentration went purely to his device.

He was tired and probably over-stimulated after another jam-packed day in Tokyo. Looking across the table at him put you in the mindset of a carer - all you wanted to do was take him to a bed and bring him a cup of chamomile tea. If you looked at him for too long you would begin to crave cuddles.

“No, he’s still with us… kind of…” You told her. “He’s looking up tattoo studios.”

“Of course he is.” She said. “Does it ever bother you how spontaneous he is with all of that? Do you wish he would chill for a second and give you a vote, or whatever? ‘Cause you’ve gotta see them just as much as he does, imagine if you hated one of the designs…”

“Well that hasn’t been an issue yet.”

“He’s lucky he’s got a girlfriend who likes surprises.” She said. “A control freak with that? But that’s why you two are perfect for each other.”

“At the end of the day, they’re just tattoos and if they make him happy, that’s the only thing that really matters to me.” You said. “Literally my only concern is that he’s gonna run out of skin.”

She laughed, having a sip of her beer. “Tell me you don’t have any tattoos without telling me you don’t have any tattoos…”

“Really, did I just out myself?” You asked.

“Pretty much. It’s so addictive that once you start, you stop caring about shit like running out of bodily real estate, you just want another and another and it’s your new favourite hobby.” She said. “And we should stop talking about this before I start trying to find an artist with availability.”

But that wasn’t the end of your discussing tattoos for the night.

After the restaurant, you and Damiano climbed into the van that was bound for return to the hotel. Other members of the entourage joined you in the vehicle. You settled into the backseat with your boyfriend.

“Did you have fun at dinner?” He asked, placing an arm around your shoulders.

“Yeah, I did. I’d ask you the same, but it looked like you were getting into your research again.”

He showed you a sheepish smile, knowing exactly what you were referring to. “I couldn’t help myself, I started looking at flash sheets.” He readjusted in his seat, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “Do you wanna see what I found?”

“Sure.”

He had made some wiggle-room in his schedule for this work trip, finding enough free time to get a new tattoo. He had checked with you first, ensuring you didn’t mind losing out on an hour or two of other activities. You had told him it was fine, not wanting to hold him back from any of his experience of this country.

“There’s kinda a theme, which wasn’t on purpose. I just took screenshots of whatever caught my eye, but…” He said.

The theme was dragons, with the majority of the designs that you swiped through featuring the mythical beasts. There was some variety in the selection he had presented you with, and you looked at a couple of different flower designs, along with a sword, one drawing of a cat, another of a moth, and a rat.

“I know that it’s clichéd to get a dragon tattoo while in Japan. But they’ve just been on my mind lately…” He said.

You smiled as you looked at him. “Oh yeah, you’ve just been thinking about dragons?”

You were feeling proud of yourself after successfully getting him to listen to the audiobook of one of your favourite books - The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.

This hadn’t been an easy undertaking. You had broken his lifelong streak of never reading a book if he had already seen a movie adaptation. The phrase ‘the book is so much better than the movie’ had never meant anything to him.

He had watched the David Fincher movie with you during an at-home movie night in the early stages of your relationship. It was your pick. You had gotten into the series following the recommendation of your older sister, devouring the three books in high school in an effort to catch up to Petra’s coolness.

You had convinced him that it would be the perfect book to listen to on the flight to Japan and he had thoroughly enjoyed it. He wanted to discuss the major plot points with you. It was decided that he would listen to The Girl Who Played with Fire on the way home, with his eagerness increasing when you had told him it was your favourite of the trilogy.

His arm around your shoulders tightened a little. “I guess they remind me of someone.”

You leaned in closer, closing the distance between the two of you with a kiss. You had forgotten about everyone else in the van, feeling like the only woman in the world as you learned of your boyfriend’s plans to wear a permanent tribute to you. He would have a physical representation of how much he thought of you, your interests and everything that you were.

“Your appointment is booked in?” You asked.

“Yep, Gianna got it confirmed for me.” He said of one of the travelling assistants. “You didn’t tell me which you like best.”

“I think all of the designs are cool…”

He gave you a gentle shake. “Babygirl…”

“Is that the wrong answer?” You asked.

You spent the rest of the drive back to the hotel looking through his selection again. But this time, he told you his favourite features of each dragon and you contributed your opinion.

By the time that you left the van, you had helped him narrow it down to the best two dragons. Hand-in-hand, you made your way to your suite, bidding the others goodnight.

He joined you in front of the bathroom mirror as you wiped away the day’s makeup. “Have you decided what you’re gonna do while I’m at the appointment? Are you gonna go sight-seeing with the others, or will you just stay here and rest up? Or, you could always come with me and watch me squirm while I let my mum down…”

You deposited the dirty face wipe into the trash can. “Well the whole point of this trip was to spend as much time as possible with you…” You turned to face him, draping your arms around his neck. “So I’m gonna make you and your new dragon the top sight to see on my list. You can squeeze my hand through the pain.”

“I’m not worried about the pain.” He said. “But I’ll take any excuse to hold your hand.” You kissed him and he squeezed your body to him. “Come on, strip down, it’s bedtime.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Under the covers, you cuddled up to him, sharing a few lingering kisses.

“While we’re at the studio, we could check how much time my artist has and if there’s an option, you could get a tattoo as well.” He said, making you laugh out loud.

… … …

The relentless buzzing of the tattoo machines didn’t intimidate or otherwise make you uncomfortable. Dating Damiano meant that this was a noise you were somewhat familiar with.

It didn’t distract you as you flipped through something of a catalogue in the waiting room. As he filled out the consent form, you looked at the many designs compiled into a folder. You looked across the drawings of snakes, stars, anchors and butterflies (and there were plenty of dragons to be spotted, as well).

“Getting any ideas?” He asked as you lingered on a page.

“Oh, come on…” You rolled your eyes.

“Are you really thinking that you’ll have this virgin-skin forever?” He asked, referring to your untattooed body. “I thought you were interested in getting at least one.”

“Yeah, eventually.” You said.

He twisted his body around in his chair so that he could face you. “I don’t know what perfect moment you’re waiting for, but I think this is a great occasion for it. You can get a tattoo to remind you of our first trip to Japan together.”

You forgot about the open book in your lap as you smiled at him. “Our first? What, like, there’s gonna be more?”

“Most definitely, but not while I’m doing the whole Måneskin thing. We’re gonna come strictly for a vacation, just you and me.” He said. “This would be a pretty perfect place for a honeymoon.”

Your eyes grew wide and you were speechless for a moment. He was thinking ahead to a wedding and honeymoon with you?

For a long time, you had viewed you and Damiano as a forever kind of relationship. But to so easily gain this reassurance that he was on the same page as you was worth its weight in gold. You couldn’t help but smile a bit wider at him.

“Yeah, we should come back.” You said.

“So, what’s on this page?” He asked, indicating to how your pointer finger was wedged between two pages, placed there as a makeshift bookmark.

You flipped back to the page of drawings and circled a dragon with your finger. “I like this little guy. I know that you’ve got your design all set and I love your dragon, it’s gonna look amazing. But this caught my eye.” It was the outline of a dragon mid-flight, its wings outstretched on either side of its serpent-like body.

“Get it tattooed.” He said simply. “They said they’ve got time.”

“Damiano…”

He innocently showed you the palms of his hands. “It’s up to you. But let me ask you this- what do you think your high school-self would think of this, would think of you getting a tattoo just like your favourite fictional character of all-time?”

You didn’t roll your eyes at him this time. “She would love it. She would be so excited and think it was the most kick-ass thing ever.”

“Interesting.” He said.

“You’re a terrible influence on me.” You said as he smirked.

“Are you saying that my influence is working?” He asked, eagerly leaning forward.

“I’m saying that you should get me one of those forms before I can talk myself out of this decision.”

He grabbed your face and pulled you in for a kiss. Between your own adrenaline and his enthusiasm, you were filled with a rush that carried you above any worries. Your sense of consequences and reality was dulled in the face of this excitement.

“I’m so proud of you.” He said.

He set everything up - organising that your tattoo would happen first, taking care of the payment and communicating to the artist what you wanted.

As you filled out your own consent form, the sounds of the machines grew far more noticeable. The buzzing became intimidating as you wondered what the Hell you were walking into.

“You’ll hold my hand, right?” You asked as he returned to the chair next to yours.

He grabbed your hand with both of his. “Of course I will. But it’s like anything else in life, it seems way scarier than it actually is.”

“I’m not scared.” You defended, trying not to squirm in your seat. “It’s just a bit daunting.”

“Right, but I know that you can take it.” He said. Quickly, he glanced around to see how far everyone else was from the two of you. When he turned back to you, it was to look deeply into your eyes. “Do you wanna know how I know?”

“How?”

He licked his lips. “Because my baby always does exceptionally well at pain-play.”

Your cheeks turned bright pink. “Dami…”

“It’s true.” He said quietly.

“But this is totally different.” You said, also keeping your voice low.

“Alright.” He said. “But you might find that you like how this feels and that can lead us to so much more.”

… … …

Exhilaration still filled your body as you continued to ride the highs of pride and relief.

The tattoo parlour was hours behind you, but you hadn’t stopped buzzing from the excitement of your impulsive change of mind. You still felt incredible as you and Damiano showered, rinsing clean the fresh tattoos. His design was huge, spanning the entire side of his torso. Your dragon was only about five inches long and easy to hide on the side of your hip.

It was a new part of you and you were absolutely thrilled to have it, the synchronisation with your boyfriend only adding to your infatuation.

His dragon fit in perfectly with his other tattoos. Even though you had watched the whole thing being applied to his skin, you couldn’t help but admire it further. You enjoyed letting your eyes roam the curves of the beast’s body. You had to admit that your boyfriend’s sex appeal was off the charts at the moment.

“How does it feel?” He asked.

“It’s tender, but it’s okay.”

“It might swell a bit overnight, but that’s all normal.” He said.

“How about yours?”

“It’s sore, it’s not exactly comfortable right now.” He said.

“My poor Daddy.” You cooed, tracing the line of his jaw with your fingertips. “Maybe I should distract you?”

He showed you a small smile as you moved in closer. He lowered his arm, done with rinsing his tattoo for the moment. You used your fingers under his chin to guide him in, until he was close enough to kiss.

Loosely, he placed an arm around your waist as the two of you kissed under the consistent stream of water. You felt his body reacting to yours as you teased his mouth open with your tongue. Wanting more, you wrapped your arm around his shoulders. You were paying no attention to the water slipping down your back, instead focusing on how his chest was pressed to yours - enjoying the closeness more with each passing second.

You were licking your lips as he gently pulled back so that he could speak. “We should get out of this shower.”

You had no opposition to this decision. You pushed your damp hair away from your face as he turned the water off. You stepped out of the shower first, but you didn’t get much further than this. You smiled and turned to your side in front of the vanity.

“Ooh, I like this mirror, I can see my tattoo in it.” You said, eagerly giving the design another look over.

He came up behind you, also neglecting to grab a towel. “That’s a nice part of the reflection, but I’m more interested in this…” He completed this sentence by cupping your breast in his hand, making you giggle.

You were guided to face the mirror and the low countertop in front of it. He placed himself directly behind you, skin touching skin as you looked at the reflection of his handsome face. He held your breast firmer, his fingers conforming to its shape.

“Yep, I like this mirror too.” He said. “It lets me see so much of my good girl, my perfect kitty.” Your heart fluttered a little as he leaned down, kissing you on the cheek and lingering here. “This mirror makes sure I can see from your beautiful hair to your delicious lips and those gorgeous tits.” He trailed his fingers down the side of your breast. “To this adorable tummy.” He moved his hand down lower and began to bring it forward. “All the way down to these cute little curls…”

His hand reached its destination: your pubic mound. He allowed his fingers to stretch out and you watched them disappear, reaching beyond the frame of the mirror. The tips of his fingers started to stroke the curly hair here as he pressed more kisses to your cheek. You lifted your eyes up to his face, finding that his eyes were shut as he explored your body in this way. You leaned back against him and were greeted by the feel of his stiffening dick.

He kissed a trail over to your ear, whispering. “I like this mirror so much that I wanna fuck you in front of it. That way I can be such a pervert and watch how well you take this cock from multiple angles. Don’t you think it’s the perfect mirror for that?” His eyes opened, meeting yours in the reflection.

“Whatever my master wants.” You said, your voice was quiet as you surrendered to the urge to submit.

He grinned, kissing you on the cheek a few more times. “I want you to watch too. I wanna see your eyes on me, on this mirror. Can you do that?”

You had never had any kind of intimate experience in front of a mirror before, nor had you ever fantasised about it. The adrenaline beckoned you forward, persistent through the insecurities of maybe seeing something you wouldn’t like. You were too turned on to give the inhibitions much attention, you just nodded your head for him.

“Good girl.”

He moved a hand down to your untattooed hip, holding you here while his other hand went to his cock. In the mirror, you watched as he made some minor adjustments.

At a new angle, he pushed his pelvis into you. And you felt his dick slide in between your thighs. You saw the look of concentration on his face.

You moaned as he began to stuff his cock into you. You watched his mouth open and heard how his breathing came in shallower as he continued to ease forward. A new expression came onto his face as his more primal side took over.

“Don’t you look away.” He coached once he was nestled the whole way in between your walls.

In the reflection, you saw his dark eyes fixed on you. He wrapped his arms around your middle and you arched your back, pushing into him harder.

He held you up, breathing heavily as he started to pump into you. You watched your body bounce with each of his movements as you allowed him to set the rhythm.

“You look as incredible as you feel.” He said, getting faster.

You liked that you didn’t have to twist around uncomfortably and interrupt the flow in order to see him. You could stare straight at him, completely captivated by the lust he could inspire. You savoured the way that you could clearly see the passion on his face - an effort and a determination that only you got to see, no matter how much the world wanted from him.

You leaned forward, grabbing for the counter to brace yourself in the face of his merciless pacing. But you kept your head pushed back, absolutely unwilling to break his rules.

“Oh my God, look at how they bounce.” He said, his eyes on your breasts. “I can’t help it, I’ve gotta…”

He reached both of his hands up, securing a breast in each and giving them some playful squeezes. A shiver raced down your spine. His fingers moved to your nipples, which were very firm. You whined as he pinched and started to toy with the hard peaks. Your muscles tensed and you could feel more sensitivities rushing into your body.

You began to move quicker, ready to meet each of his thrusts as they landed. Your hands grasped the edge of the countertop as your elbows shook.

“Are you still watching?” He asked.

“Yes.” You rasped.

“I can’t get enough. Do you wanna know what I see?” He asked. “I see a perfect pet who is doing such an amazing job of taking this cock that it’s like- it’s almost as if this is what she was made to do.”

“It is, it is. I was made to take your cock, Daddy. Please give it to me, please.”

As he kept rocking into you, you slipped further forward, the strength starting to leave your body.

On his next jolt forward, you felt the head of his dick rub against your g-spot. You gave an elated cry as your pussy walls spasmed and clenched around him.

“Yes.” You said, reaching around to grab his ass. You held on, encouraging his current tempo. “Fuck me like that, just like that, please. Please.”

Your bodies moved together at this impassioned rhythm, working for the mutual goal with unshakeable determination. He moved one hand up to your shoulder, gripping.

“Eyes on me.” He said between heavy breaths.

You opened your eyes again and lifted your head. You could see the fire in his eyes, beneath his brows that were knotted with effort.

Steadily, a change began to take place. His mouth opened, hanging slack as one heavy exhale followed another. His eyes became unfocused and you saw his body twitching in different places. At the same time, you felt his cum shooting into you.

He moaned, his own eyes shutting as he rocked his head back. You kept your hand on his butt, easing him forward as you continued to grind on him.

He gasped and squirmed against you. “You gonna come, kitty?”

“Yes, I’m so close.” You said. “Please, please.”

He snapped his hips into you as you rode out the heightening pleasure. Your whole body was filled with tingles as he massaged the head against your sweet spot.

Your knees buckled as you let go, coming undone in his arms. Your eyes shut as the pleasure took over. You moaned through the climax.

When you opened your eyes, it was to find that the world was still all around you. Your body felt heavy and you sighed now that the giddy heights had been conquered.

In the mirror, you saw that his eyes remained on you. He was smiling, his hand stroking through the drying strands of your hair.

“Let’s go lay down, hm?” He said.

You straightened up, your hand sliding into his as you turned away from the mirror. “Yeah.” You started to leave the bathroom together.

“I love you.” He said.

“I love you too.”

You laid down on the bed, each of you resting your heads on the pillows. Briefly, you wondered how late at night it was.

“How do you feel?” He asked.

“I’m great.” You said, rolling onto your side so that you could face him. “How’s your tattoo?”

“As amazing as that distraction was…” He said, making you smile. “It’s still sore. We should put the aftercare cream on.”

The tube of ointment was retrieved from your handbag. After sanitising your hands, he helped you with applying the cream to your tattoo first. He had advice, making you feel very safe in this, the beginning of your healing process.

He watched as you cautiously massaged the cream onto the tattoo. “It’s so sexy, babygirl.”

You looked up and smiled, getting a rush of pride again. You realised that it was more than just a tattoo. This memento of this trip, this chemistry and connection, this happiness, it would never fade away.

»»————-　♡　————-««

🍑 taglist: @thegeminisgirl - @ha-la-ansia - @icarodamiano - @floral-recs - @gr8rainbowpunk - @idyllicbutterfly - @maneskindiva - @maneslut - @saschenkaaa - @slavicgoddess13 - @elvirabelle - @maneskintifoso - @butkutee - @ursulalurks - @itsmaneskinbitch - @crwnnjules - @paralianeyes - @fand0mskullfa1ry - @lizzylynch1 - @kammerstx - @myleftsock - @tellmesomething01 [join here!]

#maneskin x reader #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin fic #manesmut #damiano david fic #damiano x reader #dom dami corruption fic #damiano x you #damiano x y/n

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l0standn0tf0und · 2 years

Text

the seventh part of my favorite fics with Little Beautiful Gorgeous Breathtaking Talented Meow Meow

first part

second part

third part

fourth part

fifth part

sixth part

* - smut

I'll sit here, with my arms wrapped around you, all night

I really do love you (😭the reason of my mental breakdown, such a good work)

the part of me i’ll always need

♡shy boy (everyone, do you hear me? I mean everyone, drop anything you're doing now, and read this one and the one below. because these are pure perfection)

♡prompt 17

♡in need of some extra love

♡let's just cuddle?

♡I'll kiss you again (if every time I re-read this I received a coin, then I would be a millionaire. I'm dead serious, I've re-read it for a shitload of times, this fic deserves all the time in the world to be spent on reading it)

♡love is in the small things

♡fluffy abc (14k of perfect representation of relationships with thomas. 14k of sweetness. 14k of perfectly described temper of thomas. and simply 14k of words that will bring you comfort and calm)

♡all my friends told me you’d break my heart*

♡satin, lace, and other pretty things p.2 & p.3* (these are favorite smut fics ever)

♡the taste of it* (no, I've changed my mind, this! is my favorite smut fic ever)

♡lesson one: it's all about anticipation*

♡lesson four: take matters into your own hands*

♡lesson six: the choice is yours*

♡hacred heart - tainted church* (someone, for the God's sake, call firefighters , this fic is too hot)

♡loosing it (part 1)*

all the love to the authors of all these masterpieces: @cuzimitaliano @eyoricka @tempobrucera @mywritingonlyfans @idyllicbutterfly @writingmaneskin @filthforfriends @oro-e-diamanti ❤️

masterlist

add yourself to my taglist

sweeties from my taglist🥰: @that-one-ma-blog @littlebitchsposts @shadowhuntyi @imjustanerdwholikestoread @britishmoonchild @maneslut @iamtashaquinn @icarodamiano @butkutee @writingmaneskin @theimpossiblehologramtree @little-moonbeam-666 @ilwiwbysmv @cc0le @oro-e-diamanti @inari-zaheer @superchrystaldrug @hiraetheral @que--sera--sera @iosonoarina @idyllicbutterfly @weareoddlydrawn @teenyweenynightghost (feel free and let me know if you wanna be removed from the tag list)

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filthforfriends · 7 months

Text

Chapter 2: Sentient

The Sun is the Center of Everything

See Author's Note (CW: addiction, hospital)

Word count: 4.7k

Damiano David x Y/n

“Dami, don’t panic. You’re okay. You’re okay, baby, I promise. I’m here. Y/n is here and you’re okay.” He startles violently and his eyes fly open, containing an unquellable panic. Dr. Williams uses a flashlight to test the responsiveness of Damiano’s pupils. That temporarily blinds him and makes the situation worse.

“Mr. David, you are in the hospital. You overdosed last night.” He speaks slowly and loudly while leaning over. You decide to sit down on the edge of the cot. Very slightly, you tilt his face towards you while leaning in close, less than a foot away.

“You recognize me?” His brow furrows and he squeezes your hand tightly. Yes, I fucking recognize you. “Just making sure.” Your thumb brushes the tape which holds the mouthpiece in place. He starts fighting the ventilator, making horrendous coughing and gagging songs that turn his face red.

“I’d really rather not sedate him,” says Dr. Williams to another physician.

“Dami, stop fighting it.” He then jolts, trying to get away from the intubation. “Just try to breathe, baby.” At the risk of being reprimanded, you scoot in as close as possible, your hip snug against Damiano’s side. The familiarity gives him pause.

“You O.D.-ed at the club. The drugs were laced with fentanyl. You are in a hospital. You overdosed so you’re in the hospital, but you’re alive.” When you set Dami’s hand in your lap, it slides to hold your flank. The physicality was as if no time had passed. Both hands free, you cup his face and stoop so there's less than six inches between separating you. His left hand is exploring dangerously close to the tubing, which he will undoubtedly yank.

“Prepare restraints,” Dr. Williams murmurs.

“No it's okay, I’ve got him.” You grasp Damiano’s left hand by the wrist and place it on your cheek. “I’m real. You’re really here. You’re okay. They had to put you on life support, baby.” The terror is back, but you get a hand under his hospital gown and rub Damia’s chest. “Try to breathe with it, for now. They’re getting someone to remove it. You’re okay. Shh…you’re okay, my love.” That last bit slipped out and to make matters worse, Damiano starts crying and shaking his head. Interpreting that as “no,” you begin pulling back, only for Dam to do everything in his power to bring you close again.

Just barely, you rest your forehead against his, closing your eyes because the alternative is too much. He watches you, however, the only thing that could soothe his mind after free falling into the abyss. Weakly, his left hand tucks the hair away from your face, the right rubbing your lower back. It was bliss. It was hell. It was the most grounded you’d felt in three months. It rubbed salt into every healing wound and tore open a couple new ones.

“Okay, that's good. Keep him calm.” How ironic that Damiano was the one keeping you calm, despite having a hard plastic tube down his throat. He’d always been so damn steadying. Conversely, it was your job to keep Dami tethered to reality as he became an international rockstar and sex symbol. Coming home from tour also meant coming home to himself, the person that didn’t exist for the entertainment of others and you pulled that out from under him when he needed it most. As a direct result, Dami had almost killed himself. You open your eyes and find five years of memories staring back at you. He wasn’t just conscious, he was intact.

“I swear to god, if you did one iota of damage to that beautiful brain of yours…” You run the back of your fingers down the side of his face. “Do you realize that by destroying yourself, you’re destroying a piece of art? That you’re ripping something beautiful and rare into a bunch of pieces and spitting on it?” You look into his teary eyes and wonder what he’d say if he could speak. After nearly dying had his answer changed? I don’t fucking live for other people! It's actually worse if they love me, do you understand that? Fame made love into a bad thing, an evil thing. Because they invent an idea of me in their head and all I can fucking do is betray that!

Someone in scrubs peaks their head through the doorway and addresses Dr. Williams in a whisper-yell.

“Just so you’re aware Paul, we do have a very worried mother on hold who’d like to speak to you when you’re done here.”

“Tell her y/n is here and that he’s awake,” you call, momentarily looking towards the flushed nurse's assistant. Dami’s mother had far from cut off contact and not so secretly hoped that you’d patch things up after taking a bit of time. It’d make her feel better that her son wasn’t alone. She must have woken up for a run, checked her messages, and realized that Damiano was in a coma. Now, every phone call from Maneskin’s team was going to give her anxiety.

“I, um…” Dr. Williams gives a single nod of permission. “I’ll do that right away.”

“Mr. David, are you close with your family?” You sit up out of the way, lacing your fingers through Dami’s right hand so he can’t use it to wreak havoc. As soon as you leave his line of sight, he gets frantic.

“She’s right here, Mr. David. She is sitting right beside you. I just need to ask you some questions, see when we can get you off the ventilator. Okay?” He is still straining and squeezing your hand, afraid of losing the only bit of familiarity.

“Baby, I’m right here. See? You can hold onto me.” His hand does exactly that, clutching the outside of your thigh. “I’m not leaving. I’m right here.”

“Why don’t you put your hand on his face again, carefully.”

“Tox screens,” Maria announces in a murmur, turning a computer towards Dr. Williams. He looks at it briefly and hums in acknowledgement. You take his casualness as a good sign.

“Mr. David, I’m gonna have you squeeze once for yes, twice for no.” It's actually a kind of ingenious thing to do, because it forces Damiano to keep his focus on you. He gives a single firm squeeze with both hands.

“Yes.”

“Alright, do you know where you are?” His pointer finger draws a line along your flank, then three smaller lines perpendicular to it. With the stress and sleep deprivation, it takes you a moment to realize he’s spelling something.

“E…R. Yes, exactly!” you exclaim, way too excited.

“Excellent. Do you know why you’re here?”

“O D um…question mark.” Already the nausea returns.

“That’s correct. You overdosed on fentanyl about almost 7 hours ago. Do you know what day it is?” After a moment, Dami squeezes twice.

“No.”

“Alright. It is April 24th, 2023. I’m sure you’re feeling some disorientation. Do you know who I have seated beside me right now?” Hard squeeze.

“Yes.” His pointer finger slowly traces something. “He just spelled the first letter of my name.” You’re giddy despite yourself. “When will we know if he has brain damage?”

“All I can tell you is that everything looks normal so far. Mr. David, I’m gonna list off the substances found in your blood and urine, so you tell me if you ingested them intentionally.” Even in his single squeeze you can feel the apprehension.

“Dami, do you need me to leave for a sec? Because you have to be honest right now.” There's a tense moment and he squeezes twice. “Okay, I know you don’t want me to leave, but you have to tell them the truth. You almost died today.” He holds on to you instead of answering. “Promise?” Squeeze. “Okay.” Dr. Williams’ eyes flit back and forth instead of posing a question.

“Okay…alcohol?”

“Yes.”

“Cannabis.”

“Yes.”

“Cocaine.”

“Yes.”

“Fentynal.”

“No.” You let out a sigh, but Dr. Williams clears his throat nervously. He refolds his hands.

“We also found trace amounts of heroin.” Dami squeezes once and you wait for the second squeeze, but it never comes. Heroin.

“Y/n?” Again, a single squeeze.

“Yes.” Your voice breaks and you feel hot tears on your cheeks running down to your chin. Each face in the room pities you. A loud ringing drowns out every beep, every hushed whisper, every calmly phrased question. Heroine. When? Why? Damiano used to rant about rock stars wasting their talent, the love of their families, their futures on hard core drugs. People with addictive personalities shouldn’t experiment with addictive substances, it was so simple to him. When had that man died and what was this monster that had replaced him?

“Heroin!? Are you out of your fucking mind!?” Dami is guilt stricken and really being absolutely miserable was the least he could do given the situation. “All that stuff about stupid, selfish rock stars blowing up the lives of everyone they loved, was it all fake?” Two squeezes. “Were you trying to trick me?” Two squeezes. “Were you using our whole relationship?” Two squeezes. “But did you ever do heroin while we were dating?” One squeeze. Speechless, you try to recoil but he holds on tight.

Had he shown signs? You don’t even know what the signs of heroin use are. It had never crossed your mind as a possibility. Like a stupid little girl, you’d been worried about alcoholism. There’d never been any needle marks, but maybe you missed it. Maybe he’d made love to you, a cry for help punctured into his skin, and you’d been blind.

“Should I have caught it?” No. “Were you miserable?” No. “Do you shoot up?” No. “Did you ever do it in our apartment?” No. “Did we ever have sex while you were high?” He hesitates at that one and you realize why. “I don’t mean when we would split a pot brownie. I mean did we have sex while you were high or heroine?” No.

God, that was fun, getting buzzed on an edible and spending the whole day naked and laughing in bed. You still had that white fitted sheet with a mango sorbet stain. Damiano was the best person to be high with. He never got sick or messy, but would happily take care of you if the reverse happened. Now you could never look at it the same. Of course he could handle weed if he was doing heroin.

“Did you wish you were high on heroin when we were having sex?” No! He uses his whole hand to pat your leg twice, very decisively.

“Perhaps –”

“Did you do coke when we were together?” No. “How many times did you do heroin?” Dami holds up two fingers. “Twice?” Yes.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but –”

“Of course. Sorry, continue.” Dr. Williams is merciful enough to switch the mode of communication to blinking. As soon as you were taken out of the middle, Damiano began strangling your hand, so you couldn’t leave. He had no fucking right to keep you here. Your fingers ached, all clasped together.

“You’re hurting me.” He freezes, grip loosening slightly. Yes, you could rip your hand away, self-righteous. However, Damiano was terrified and suffering enough without you exacting your ounce of revenge. He’d finally been honest and you couldn’t punish that, regardless of the betrayal.

“Y/n, did you hear that? We have to make sure Damiano can breathe on his own before taking him off the ventilator.”

“Um…okay.”

“The respiratory therapist will be the one to make that call, Dr. Costa. She should be here shortly.” Everyone but Maria files out of the room. Leaving you with Damiano feels like being hired for a position you are far from qualified for, but at least they allow Ethan to come inside.

“What's going on?” He’s breathless and disheveled in a way that is very un-Ethan.

“He’s awake. Come talk to him.” Damiano’s eyes don’t move from your face so you search for the right thing to say that's also genuine.

“I’m really glad you’re alive. Also you are cutting off blood flow to my hand.” He releases his grip to clasp Ethan’s hand instead. “One for yes, two for no.” Now that someone else is keeping him distracted, you stand up to retrieve your purse. As soon as his hand falls from your lap, Dami is reaching for you, frantically opening and closing his fist. You climb back onto the cot, foreheads pressed together again.

“I am getting my purse to call your mom. Okay? I am not leaving. Ethan, lean over into his line of sight.” You take a deep breath after standing upright. The urge to run returns, but you ignore it, applying chapstick to keep yourself distracted. Upon returning to the bed, you put his mom on speakerphone and place it next to Dami’s ear. She answers after less than one ring.

“He’s awake?”

“Mhm, and he can hear you.” The phone call is teary. She thanks you profusely for being there to the point that you have to change the subject to stop yourself from choking up.

“I was here when he woke up. It happened just after a blood draw.”

“That makes me feel so much better.” There's a heavy pause. “You said he was awake, but is he…”

“Sentient? Yes, no signs of brain damage so far. He even rolled his eyes when they asked if he knew who the prime minister was.”

“Oh, thank god.” She sobs and Damiano winces.

“He even looks guilty right now.”

“As he should. Do you know anything else?” For a moment, you and Dami hold poignant eye contact.

“No, sorry. We’ve all been focused on Dam.” There was no point in telling his mother about the heroin, at least not now. It’d do nothing constructive. Damiano could break the news himself once extubated and discussing the next rehab program. After a copious amount of goodbyes, the end of the phone call brought a wave of exhaustion that damn near made you keel over.

“I’m gonna take a nap until the respiratory therapist gets here.” Dami pats the space beside him. “No chance, I need more than seven inches of hospital bed. There's a cot over there. I’ll still be in the room.” This time Dami points to the edge of his bed. “You really want me to drag that thing all the way over here?”

“I'll do it,” Ethan offers. Scarcely interacting with the band since the breakup had been strange. Maneskin were a constant fixture in your life for five years and then they weren’t.

“Thank you, Edgar.” With Damiano’s bed lowered all the way down, and you laying on your side, his hand could just barely touch the top of your head. Ethan turned off the lights and it occurred to you that this very much wasn’t broken up behavior. Did it really matter while he was on a ventilator? Did anything? The memories of these moments of intimacy would no doubt haunt you, from a day when context transcended relationship status.

Ethan was the one to rouse you, helping you sit upright while only half conscious. The offensive LED lights were back on and the room was full of people. Instantly, you’re self conscious and aware that time has passed.

“What’s going on?” you croak.

“They’re going to extubate Damiano. They can’t do the procedure with visitors in the room,” he explains gently. You stand upright, wobble, then focus your gaze on who must be Dr. Costa.

“He’s okay?”

“Mr. David passed an SBT with flying colors. We are very confident that it is safe to extubate him.”

“Right, okay.” It feels as if your brain is going slower than everyone else’s. “Can I…I just say something to him, real quick?”

“Sure,” agrees Dr. Costa with a professional, but impatient smile. You place one knee on the hospital bed and lean over. Damiano is so anxious, face even more gray than when you arrived, and he’s sweating.

“I am not leaving. You will see me in a few minutes when they’re done de-tubing you.”

“Extubating,” someone corrects.

“I will be here when they are done extubating you.” You kiss his gross forehead and stand up.

“I would recommend going down to the cafeteria,” says Dr. Costa. It seems like a genial suggestion until you end up with your hands clamped over your ears outside the hospital room. Turns out that removing a plastic tube shoved all the way down someone’s esophagus is an unpleasant ordeal. Instead of letting you back in, Maria peeks her head out and announces they’re also removing the catheter. That sounds only marginally less excruciating than the extubation.

When you re-enter, after another 20 minutes, Damiano is sitting upright, sipping a cup of water. He looks like shit. You search for signs of jaundice.

“Is his liver okay? His kidneys?”

“We’ll keep him for observation another day or two.”

“Right.” Thank god Ethan was in the room with you, because now you really wanted to grab your shit and bolt. “Did everything go okay? That sounded…brutal.”

“Unfortunately, extubation is normally an uncomfortable procedure.”

“How has his breathing been since?”

“About what we expected.”

“What were you expecting?”

“Y/n, talk to me for god’s sake.”

“His vocal chords –”

“Y/n!”

“Agitation is a normal reaction,” Maria murmurs, making herself busy by organizing the bundle of chords monitoring Damiano.

“Just look at me.” He’d shaved all his beautiful hair right after the breakup, but even that can’t draw your attention away from his pallor. He’s more than ready for a mugshot.

“I’d like to know what you’re doing next. I won’t plan or enforce anything, that’s not my place anymore. I want to know for my own peace of mind.”

“We’re doing this press tour, so lots of superficial interviews and a few small scale performances.” He stares at you like this agenda should be obvious, and it is. The Maneskin itinerary isn’t what you’re talking about.

“You think you can make it through the end of this before rehab? It’s been less than two days and you almost killed yourself.” Maria slips out of the room.

“I’ve learned my lesson. I’ll test my drugs.” You’re momentarily baffled.

“‘You’ll test your drugs!?’”

“Yes.” He takes another sip of water while still holding eye contact, patronizing and hellbent on appearing in control. Except he wasn’t in control.

“You almost died, Damiano.” Ethan awkwardly takes a seat in the corner of the room

“A fact which has been made abundantly clear to me. I’m sure SME will have me back on the road again in no time.” His pessimism drips in syrupy sweet, faux positivity. It's alarming. Dami leans back, casual in a way that makes you furious. Now that he doesn’t need you, that glimmer of sincerity is gone.

“No.”

“No,’ what?”

“No, you don’t get to go from having a panic attack every moment we weren’t physically touching to being callous and distant.” This was the temperament that you broke up with and you weren’t gonna waste anymore time and heartache. The overnight bag never got unpacked, so all you had to locate was your purse and phone. Then you could leave.

“Wait, wait, wait. What are you doing? Stop, stop. Okay. Stop!”

“Why?” you snap, snatching your phone off of the bedside table.

“Thank you.” He picks up your free hand and kisses every knuckle.

“You won’t need to test your drugs because you’re gonna get clean. No alcohol, either.” Damiano sighs heavily. Explaining something so obvious is apparently burdensome.

“Do you know why frontmen do blow? It’s because there's no other way to do all the shit that our label demands. This is the equivalent of taking steroids as a professional athlete.”

“Steroids disqualify players.”

“Didn’t always. That’s why no one can beat the records set in the 80s.” You scoff and step back.

“You’re actually justifying this. Fucking incredible.”

“I’m not justifying, I’m providing logic. That's different.”

“Really, how?”

“Even facts involve logic.”

“So it's a fact that you need coke to be a frontman? Is it a fact that cocaine use is normal?”

“In certain circumstances, yes.” After five years, you were immune to his charisma. However, Dami spoke with such confidence and certainty that it no doubt swayed others.

“I’ve seen you with food poisoning, you can’t hypnotize me, dumbass.” For a moment, he’s humbled. “Also let's talk about the heroin. How are you going to explain that away?”

“Heroin!?” Ethan exclaims, horrified.

“You’re just mad that I did it while we were together.” he sneers.

“I am not just mad because of that. I actually have an whole fucking list of reasons that you doing heroin pisses me off, starting with: its fucking heroin.”

“I was experimenting. Obviously, I’m not addicted to it, otherwise there’d be more than traces in my bloodstream.”

“I’m sorry, your excuse for doing heroin is that you don’t do it very often?” Ethan exclaims, more visibly angry than you’d ever seen him. “Damiano, no!”

“I can stop whenever I want, I’m not addicted.”

“Then stop!!” Ethan yells.

“Fine,” he throws his hands up. “But it's not a big deal like you're making it.” He turns to you for understanding.

“Damiano, experimenting with heroin is like seeing how fast you need to drive a car for it to flip. You’re in the car!”

“Hypocrite,” he spits.

“What!? How am I –”

“You used to be all about experimenting.” It's such a stretch, that you initially don’t get it. Is he referring to taking edibles together? No, he’s throwing your entire relationship under the bus to justify using hard drugs.

“Woah! Having safe, conscientious, and consensual sex with other appropriately aged adults is not the same as heroin.” In that moment, the how falls into place. “Ethan, can you give me a minute?” Your eyes never break contact with Dami’s.

“Sure…” As soon as the door closes you hold back a scream.

“Are we still being honest?” Damiano gestures for you to go ahead. “Did you ever cheat on me? To be clear, cheating would be having sexual contact with another partner without –”

“I know the parameters of our relationship, y/n.”

“Fine. Did you ever violate them?”

“No!”

“Then who was it!? Who got you hooked on heroin?” For a moment he’s reeling, trying to cover up after being exposed.

“I’m not hooked!

“There is no way to take heroin recreationally, Damiano. You didn’t have opportunities to just stumble upon this, so who introduced you?”

“I, I’m not – that’s not…it doesn’t matter.”

“Don't tell me it doesn’t –” You stop yourself from screaming, take a deep breath, and adopt a dangerously calm tone. “You know what? I’m gonna find the answer to this. So why don’t you tell me yourself?”

“So then what, fuck privacy?”

“I’m asking what kinks they – no.” At first, you’d get in these giant convoluted fights where he’d bait you and it’d work every time. After 20 minutes of screaming you’d forget what the argument was even about and all that emotional intensity would become epic make-up sex. Now you had to anticipate his words having no integrity.

“You know what, I bet…” You scroll down on the notes app until you see the name Odette in a title. “I still have one of my lists.” You kept a shortlist of everyone you were actively involved with, in case herpes or chlamydia became an issue. “I have some of these women’s numbers. Caterina and I actually got brunch a couple weeks ago. Should I call her first?” He looks trapped and it's so vindicating. “Their NDAs should cover drug use, right?”

“Don’t.”

“Or I could start with your friends. We were together for five years, Damiano. I have everyone’s number. You were a real sloppy drunk towards the end.”

“Y/n, don’t tell my friends about this,” he begs.

“Why, I thought heroin was a non-issue?”

“I met them through a previous partner,” he admits. “We had sex once and it was bad, but they introduced me to their roommate. I was already really drunk when I tried it the first time. I wanted to know what it’d feel like sober so I did it again.”

“And since?” He sighs and looks at his hands.

“I’ve done it a few times.”

“Give me a number.”

“No.” You shove your phone in your purse and grasp the handle of your bag. “Fine, four! I only do it when I’m already high and way too amped up. It's just to negate the coke.”

“What the fuck are you doing mixing heroin with other substances? Do you have a death wish!? Is that it, are you suicidal?”

“No! I don’t know,” he groans. Your chest tightens painfully. Damiano had spent two and a half years of your relationship in therapy. His intrusive thoughts started getting really dark as Maneskin gained popularity.

“You should have stayed in therapy. This all could have been avoided.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Whatever, you’re entering inpatient treatment. This hospital had a great psychiatric and behavioral care unit, but if you’d prefer a smaller facility –” “I’m not going into a psych ward, y/n.”

“Fine, rehab facility of your choice.”

“I’m not going back to rehab, either. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“You have to go to rehab!” you shout, desperately. “Because you will not die on me! If you ever, ever loved me, you would not destroy my entire life that way!” Damiano is taken aback at your outburst and the room is silent for several seconds. “Promise you’ll never do heroin again.”

“I promise.”

“Mean it!!”

“I do!”

“Go to rehab,” you deadpan.

“Stop trying to control my life, y/n!”

“I’m leaving.”

“No, don’t,” he pleads. Dami swings both legs over the side of the bed, as if to stand up.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice breaks as the tears spill over. “I would have helped you. I was trying to help you.” He has the audacity to roll his eyes.

“Why didn’t I tell the girl researching holistic ways to treat alcoholism that I was doing fucking heroin? Really?” You nod and pull a paper towel out to wipe your face. “Because I couldn’t bear you knowing that I was a piece of shit.”

“You’re not a piece of shit. You developed a chronic illness due to a severely stressful lifestyle, risk factors outside of your control, and probably a genetic predisposition. You are not a piece of shit, you have a disease.”

“What, SUDs?”

“Yes. How would you feel if I never got treatment for my chronic illness? If I just lay in bed, suffering, refusing to take my meds?” The suggestion makes him grimace.

“That’d be unbearable to watch,” he admits, not meeting your eyes.

“Exactly. This,” you gesture around the hospital room, “is fucking unbearable to watch. Get treatment if you want to be in my life.” His expression goes from sickened to aggravated.

“Fuck you and your ultimatums,” he bites.

“Fine.” You throw away the tissue, grab your shit, and shut the door behind you. For a couple minutes, Ethan hugs you as you sob, swaying back and forth.

“Damiano has to navigate this journey by himself, because his ego won’t allow him to receive guidance. He’s too distrustful to believe anyone’s perception but his own, as flawed as it may be.”

“God damn, I forgot how wise you are, Edgar.”

“The powers of self reflection.”

“Fucking hell,” you croak, pulling away and wiping away the tears on your sleeve. A nurse from earlier picks a box of tissues off of the counter and hands it to you.

“People are often agitated when they wake from a coma. He might be more willing to listen tomorrow.”

“Tell that to his mom.” You take a heaving breath and blow your nose. “I’m going home, this isn’t my battle anymore. We broke up three months ago.” You hand the tissue box back to the nurse and she purses her lips, obviously straining to find the right platitude.

“My sister loved an addict. There are support groups for you, too.” She pats you on the shoulder and moves on.

“I’m gonna call a cab.”

“No, let me call our car service. The vultures were beginning to circle at the front of the hospital when I arrived.” Vultures was a fitting nickname for the paparazzi.

“At a hospital of all places. Hope they get run over by an ambulance.”

“Me too.”

Notes: Well wasn't that some nice light reading! I'll be posting two chapters a week for the foreseeable future on Tuesday and Friday or Saturday (depending on how burnt out I am from the week previous). Enjoy? I guess?

-XOXO Eden

Read the rest on my Masterlist

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desiderium333 · 8 months

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

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

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

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

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

#damiano david #x y/n #x reader #måneksin #fanfic #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #masterlist #taglist #fluff #angst #update #måneskin #story

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mortyandem · 2 years

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Måneskin Members When You Get Hives

I am so fucking itchy right now, sorry if this is shit. Also yay finally posting some sort of fanfiction/imagine. No smut but this is basically me fantasizing about getting back scratches from four hot Italian rock stars. Is that fluff? Idk.

Damiano David -10/10 will tolerate you rubbing your itchy skin against his hairy thighs for relief. -Wraps you in fuzzy blankets to keep you from scratching yourself. -Goes to the CVS to pick up your medication and brings you home your favorite snacks as well. -Will reassure you when you're a bit embarrassed about having him rub ointment on your hives covered back. -Laughs when he catches you rubbing yourself against wall corners for relief like a bear itching its back against a tree in the forest. -Expect lots of cuddles, kisses and maybe a few reruns of your favorite show. -Obviously, he is going to make you chamomile tea.

Thomas -Super sweet and a bit concerned. -Offers to take you to the doctors if needed. -Attempts to make you dinner but gets distracted and burns everything so he orders takeout instead. -Plays guitar to cheer you up. -Makes silly jokes to cheer you up. -If you have hives on your scalp he agrees to gently brush your scalp with a hairbrush, which offers some relief.

Ethan -Fuck WebMD, this man is all about the peer review and metaanalysis. He is on pubmed right now comparing the effectiveness of 1st, 2nd and 3rd generation antihistamines. -Will make you cold compresses to soothe your hives. -Gives you a disapproving look when he sees you eyeballing the brillo pads next to the kitchen sink. -Stays up late when you can’t fall asleep because you’ve turned into one giant miserable hive. -Prepare for a treat, because he is about to order takeout and you’re both going to watch a marathon of What We Do In the Shadows.

Victoria -If you don’t know why you keep getting hives, she will drag you to a doctor’s appointment to get checked out. -Switches to a hypoallergenic laundry detergent and dumps anything with essential oils in it -Generally speaking, babies you when you’re sick -Of course Chili is there for cuddles and kisses -Loves being big spoon and laying in bed together watching Netflix on your ipad

#måneskin #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin fluff #maneskin imagine #maneskin x y/n #maneskin x reader #damiano david #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #thomas raggi

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writersblockiskillingme · 1 year

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Torna a casa | Thomas Raggi

Pairing: Thomas Raggi x reader

Summary: Song that was promised to his one and only that he met on a lonely day in park in Italy.

Warning/s: smoking and heartbreak, possible grammar and spelling mistakes (English is my second language, I'm sorry)

Author's note: as promised, here is the one for our favorite boy

(E/C) - eye color

(H/C) - hair color

Cammino per la mia città ed il vento soffia forte

Mi son lasciato tutto indietro e il Sole all'orizzonte

Vedo le case, da lontano, hanno chiuso le porte

Ma per fortuna ho la sua mano e le sue guance rosse

Lei mi ha raccolto da per terra coperto di spine

Coi morsi di mille serpenti, fermo per le spire

Non ha ascoltato quei bastardi e il loro maledire

Con uno sguardo mi ha convinto a prendere e partire

Che questo è un viaggio che nessuno prima d'ora ha fatto

Alice, le sue meraviglie e il Cappellaio Matto

Cammineremo per 'sta strada e non sarò mai stanco

Fino a che il tempo porterà sui tuoi capelli il bianco

Che mi è rimasto un foglio in mano e mezza sigaretta

Restiamo un po' di tempo ancora, tanto non c'è fretta

Che c'ho una frase scritta in testa ma non l'ho mai detta

Perché la vita, senza te, non può essere perfetta

It was silly, truly. How the two of you met.

You were still not quite used to Italy considering the fact that you moved there after just a few months. You were supposed to move for quite a short time anyways. One of your parents got a new job there for a year. After that year was up you were supposed to move back to your home country. You were walking along the park not far away from your new collage. It was fine, you were supposed to graduate this year.

Thomas was peacefully sitting on one of the benches, in the said park, as he played beautiful music with his guitar. It was truly peaceful. For now. The moment his eyes landed on you he knew that you were about to burn his normal days down. He continued to play, but he really wasn't focusing as much on his hand as he was before he saw you. Thomas quietly watched as you continued to walk around. Your school bag was slang over your shoulders, a bag that seemed to heavy now. Your eyeliner was slightly smudged under your hypnotic (E/C) eyes, but that was last of your worries. Thomas watched as your (H/C) hair was flying, somehow perfectly, behind your back. Your lips were so red that the darkest blood should be jealous.

You finally looked to your right and sat down on a wooden bench a few meters away from where Thomas was sitting still mindlessly playing some notes on his guitar. You took the bag off of your shoulder and ran your hands through your hair before you let out a small, quiet sigh. You learned against the bench and finally let yourself enjoy the slight spring breeze. God knows you deserved it. Thomas finally forced himself to look away from you. He was aware that your eyes were closed, but he was still afraid that you would somehow catch him staring at you and that you would walk away. So, instead of staring, he leaned his head down and continued to play.

As he began to play again, you felt yourself open your eyes. You looked around trying to locate where the music was coming from and after a while you finally found the sorce of it. You felt like your eyes were glued to Thomas the second that you saw him. His golden hair was falling slightly in front of his face as he was still struggling to find the right tone that was set in his magnificent mind. His gorgeous eyes were barely able to be seen, but you caught a glimpse of them and felt your breath leave your lungs before you could do anything to stop it from happening. You watched as his hands gripped the guitar's neck so tightly that his knuckles turned purely white. You saw the way his eyebrows frowned on his face as he tried to keep focus. You continued to curiously watch him try to find the right melodies for a while before he let the guitar go. He got himself a cigarette and lit it up. You could see some frustration as he lit the cigarette up, closing his gorgeous eyes in the process.

"It's not going very well, is it?" You asked him, smiling at him curiously. He lifted his head up in surprise and you swore that your heat stopped beating when his eyes tored into yours.

"It really isn't." Thomas laughed, nervously. He didn't expect you to speak to him. He thought that you wouldn't even notice him. He saw that you were in your own little world as he watched you sit down on that bench. He figured that you are too tired from school, at least you looked like you were, so he decided not to bother you. Besides, he didn't feel like he had courage to do so anyway.

"It's a shame, really." You gave him another smile as your eyes continued to linger on his handsome face. "I can tell that you are brilliant with the guitar, I just know it." You continued to spit compliments at him and he would like if he didn't feel himself get hot in his cheek area.

"Thank you." He shyly thanked you. "I just can't find any inspiration, seems like."

"Well you know what?" You spoke up again. "I'm new here in Italy. How about you play my tourist guide for a day and maybe you get some inspiration."

That's how it all started.

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che non voglio più aspettare

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che ho paura di sparire

Thomas enjoyed what was happening very much so. He continued to show you around Rome and he got to practice his English with you, because that was practically the only way for him to speak with you. As the two of you started to wonder the magnificent streets, you got to know each other better. Thomas told you that he's in a band with a girl named Victoria, and two guys Damiano and Ethan. He was the bands guitarist and he is currently working on a new song. You found that very interesting and exciting. Thomas found out that you moved here because of your parent's new temporary job and you go to college here, too. That news saddened him.

You weren't going to stay here for more than a year. You both knew that you guys just met, but there was something between you two. You felt it in the depth of your souls. You just knew that whatever was going on between the two of you, was something special. Something that, sadly, not a lot of people have. After that day, Thomas and you continued to go on relaxing walks through the random streets of Rome. You both enjoyed the sun on your skin and the slight breeze in your hair.

Anyone who walked on the same streets as you did could notice just how much in love the two of you were. Holding hands felt so natural that neither of you remember when exactly did you start doing it. Whenever Thomas arrived first for your walks he would hold his hand out for you to take and you did. It truly felt natural. Two people holding hands, laughing and smoking in the middle of the streets.

After a month, Thomas introduced you to Damiano, Victoria and Ethan. It was safe to say that they became like your family once they learned how good you are to Thomas. But they both knew what was coming. You leaving in a few months was unavoidable, it seems like. But neither Thomas nor you wanted to think about it just yet. You both just wanted to enjoy the other before the time runs out. And before you had to leave Italy. Thomas just wanted to stop time, to live in this moment until the end of times, maybe even longer. He didn't want to even imagine what it would be like. To not wait for your college classes to be over so the two of you could stroll around the lonely streets of Rome. To not feel the softness of your hand, of your blood-red lips. To not see your breathing smile. To not hear your melodic voice speaking the funniest jokes he has ever heard in his whole world. He was willing to give you his heart. He didn't care what you would do with hit. He didn't care if you broke it to billions of pieces and stepped on it or if you would cherish it like it was made out of the most fragile glass ever known to mankind. His heart didn't belong to him anymore. It belonged to you. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

Yet he knew very well what was going to happen. He didn't care. Thomas knew that he would kill thousands if he had to, just so he could see you smile at him like you did since he met you. He had it bad. He knew that, but he also knew that nothing can prepare nor prevent the heartbreak that was coming for him.

E il cielo piano piano qua diventa trasparente

Il Sole illumina le debolezze della gente

Una lacrima salata bagna la mia guancia mentre

Lei con la mano mi accarezza in viso dolcemente

Col sangue sulle mani scalerò tutte le vette

Voglio arrivare dove l'occhio umano si interrompe

Per imparare a perdonare tutte le mie colpe

Perché anche gli angeli, a volte, han paura della morte

Che mi è rimasto un foglio in mano e mezza sigaretta

Corriamo via da chi c'ha troppa sete di vendetta

Da questa Terra ferma perché ormai la sento stretta

Ieri ero quiete perché oggi sarò la tempesta

Unfortunately, Thomas wasn't a God. He didn't have power to stop time. Even if it was just to be with you. He was powerless at this moment and he hated it with burning passion.

As he watched you pack the last of your belongings in a suitcase he realized just how much he hated his luck, how much he hated this fate, how much he hated his life. He realized how much he hated himself for being so powerless at this moment as he wasn't able to do anything to stop this from happening.

"That's the last of it." You finally broke the everlasting silence that was practically choking the walls of your room.

Thomas kept quiet and you finally looked at him. You saw glistening water sparkling in his eyes that met yours. It took you just about five seconds before you broke down in each other's embrace. You felt his arms gripping onto you like you are going to dissappear from his arms, but in reality, Thomas was afraid that if he let's you go he is going to dissappear out of sorrow. You buried your face in the neck of his shirt as you realized that your tears were leaving the wet stain on it. Not that you cared about that fact. You only cared about the fact that you were going to leave his comforting and warm embrace and that you were also powerless to stop it from happening. After the two of you calmed down a bit, or at least as much as your mutual heartbreak let you, Thomas spoke up first.

"I don't want you to leave." He told you for the billionth time today and you felt yourself break all over again from the pain in his voice.

"I don't want to leave either." You continued to endlessly sob. "But I have no choice and it's killing me."

Suddenly, Thomas gently grabbed your face. He was treating you like the most fragile glass, like the wind that he can't get the hold of, like the sweetest coincidence that was slowly destroying him inside out.

"I finished my song." Thomas tried to give you a smile. But it turned into a sad grimace. Not that you blamed him in any way. "The melody and everything. It's finally finished."

"It is?" You gave him a watery laugh through your sobs as you wiped his face clean from his own tears.

"Yes. I did." He confirmed to you. "I wrote it about you."

"You what?" You were shocked to say the least. He wrote a song. About you.

"You are my muse, amore. You are my only inspiration."

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che non voglio più aspettare

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che non voglio più

Prima di te ero solo un pazzo, ora lascia che ti racconti

Avevo una giacca sgualcita e portavo tagli sui polsi

Oggi mi sento benedetto e non trovo niente da aggiungere

Questa città si affaccerà quando ci vedrà giungere

Ero in bilico tra l'essere vittima, essere giudice

Era un brivido che porta la luce dentro le tenebre

E ti libera da queste catene splendenti, lucide

Ed il dubbio o no, se fossero morti oppure rinascite

The weather was cloudy. It was dark and everything smelled like it was going to rain at every moment. Thomas felt like that was mocking him. Truly. He shifted his eyes away from the sky back to your eyes. They were prettier, anyways.

"So this is it I guess. Isn't it?" He felt himself say it without even realizing it. He watches your eyes fill with tears, mirroring his own, and he watched your lips trying to give him a smile.

"I'm afraid that it is, Tom." You said and he felt like someone just killed his entire world. But nobody did. You were standing in front of him, thankfully safe. "I swear to God Tom, I will kick your ass if you don't send me the recording of the song you wrote." He found himself laughing with you like a mad person in front of the airport even though he felt like he wanted to scream, cry and tear everything apart.

"I will, amore mio. I will. I promise." Your flight was once again announced and you knew that you had to go. Without another word you kissed him passionately. You leaned your foreheads against each other and stood like that for a few moments, your eyes still closed.

"Ti amo, Thomas."

"Ti amo, l (Y/N)."

And with that you tured around and left to catch your plane, your suitcase stumbling behind you. Thomas kept standing in the same spot until your plane left his eyesight. Once you were truly gone, far up in the sky he turned around to leave the airport. As he walked away he felt himself whispering "Marlena, torna a casa".

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che non voglio più aspettare

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che il freddo qua si fa sentire

Quindi Marlena torna a casa, che non voglio più sparire

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