#damiano david angst

[filthforfriends]

Shame and Pleasure

(Previously known as DILFiano)

CW: 24 year age gap!

Word count: 4.7k

Damia’s voice has some sort of hypnotic quality. It lulls you into a state where other thoughts are quieted, and your scope of focus narrows to sensation. Without thinking about it, you surge forward and hug Damia, slotting your face against the bone of his shoulder. Unintentionally, your unfiltered gratitude is what finally gets to him.

“Stellina, I want to do this a little differently.” His hand is gone so quickly that your body doesn’t know to stop moving with it.  For a moment, you’re thrusting against the air. Even without the cliroral stimulation, you were wound so god damn tight. Damia doesn’t wipe his fingers off. He crawls up to the headboard and arranges pillows behind his back so casually. Poise. You can’t help but feel betrayed. Bringing you so close to orgsam then pausing was mean. 

“Do you understand that we can stop whenever you want?” You nod, confused. “Are you absolutely sure you want to continue? I need a verbal answer for that.”

“Yes,” you state firmly.

“Take your skirt off so I can admire you.” Heart racing, you attempt to control your trembling hands on the zipper, but he sees. Damia waits for your face to reveal uncertainty while you strip. He observes none because there's none to observe. In fact, it's exactly the pointed attention you’d been craving. Damia opens the drawer in his bedside table. You take off the bra first, hoping he’ll look up to admire your underwear, that his breath will catch at all the expanses of taut and supple skin. Instead, his attention stays on the contents of the drawer. 

“Someones not very appreciative,” you tease. He spares an insultingly brief glance and gaffs.

“Cheap lingerie loses its thrill after your 20s.” Damiano freezes completely and winces. “Sorry, that…Christ, I’m sorry.” You can see his brain recalibrating to parental/nurturer to assess the damage he’d cause to your confidence. Admittedly, the snub stung, but reassurance wasn’t something women his age needed. So you didn’t need it either.

“You know what else lost its thrill? Razor wire in my asscrack. I’m never wearing those again.” He lets out a short series of awkward, barking laughs while you take a seat on the edge of the mattress. Damia appears mystified at how well you’re handling his slight. He's trying to see through the cracks in your facade and you're praying he can’t.

“Apparently I forgot that being an insensitive asshole is also supposed to stay in your 20s,” he sighs, cocking his head to the side. “God, what a dumb thing to say.”. 

“So…” you probe.

“I won’t kiss you,” he states absolutely. You make a dramatic sound of indignation. “So now that I’ve fucked up your arousal and the mood –” Playful, he draws out the first syllable of the sentence just as you had.

“There was a mood?” you chirp, crawling towards him. Recognizing it was an accidental admission. Damia leans over and checks Icarus’ location, which is very promising. He lets out a burdened sigh.

“Yes, there was a mood. C’mon, don’t be coy.” As Damia sits up, you move onto his lap. “Woah! Okay,” he throws his hands up.

“Want me to get off?”

“No,” he whines, like he’d prefer his answer to be a lie. “Well, I – hmm. This isn’t what I had planned.” Accidentally, you’ve switched the dynamic. This was the first time you’d seen Damiano more present than tortured. If you had control that meant, however much he may deny it, Damia had allowed you to. So you settle yourself in a straddle. Very slowly, Damia’s hands lower and come to rest timidly on your thighs.

“Will you take your clothes off?”

“Absolutely not,” he answers curtly. That rule was clearly nonnegotiable. Testing exactly where the boundaries lay, you lower a hand to Damia’s groin. The pajamas are navy so it takes a second to find his cock. He’s so hard he’s throbbing, which is no small achievement at 42, you’ve heard. Damia swats your hand away, refusing to meet your eyes.

“This isn’t about me.”

“This is about both of us. Stop kicking yourself for getting hard.” He shakes his head and looks away, scowling. “It's a natural reaction to stimulation, not a condemnation of your character, Damia. Fuck’s sake, be decent to yourself.” 

“Wise words,” he replies, cynically. He is so clearly overwhelmed with self-loathing that it hurts to watch. A better person would leave rather than make him face this.

“Why can’t I touch you?” 

“Because we aren’t going to have sex!” he snaps. That wounds you quicker than you can control your expression.

“But what the fuck am I supposed to do? Nothing? That’s cruel. Maybe I could be a decent human being and resist this if, if — you, I…” He tilts his head back and growls in frustration. “I didn’t even know you could make love to someone’s hand.” Now you’re the one plagued by self-consciousness. “If I hadn’t ruined it, you’d be able to grind on my hand to completion. Like…” Damia is so in awe that he’s speechless. He’s also damn near hysterical. It’s such a juxtaposition to your emotions at the moment. Damia’s burning shame morphs into a tingling sensation between your legs, just as fiery.

“You’re so pent and you desperately need someone to take care of you. So then what? I just send you off into the night for some high schooler that doesn’t know his herpes status or some college guy who treats you like you’re disposable? ”

“I already did go off into the night and pick someone.” You scoot closer to Damiano and watch that settle in.

“Your ability to always say the right things is gonna get you in so much trouble.” 

“I wanna be in trouble with you.” Another car drives by. Another piece of Damiano is illuminated by a slant of light. This one is jaded, dissatisfied with a life he knows should bring him joy. In reality, that life acts like an echo in an empty room, a reminder of how vast the unfulfilled spaces within him are.

“Why can’t I kiss you?”

“What I had in mind –”

“I know. But right now, why can’t I kiss you?” You lean in close enough to touch lips and stop. Damia clearly wanted to, but he had to instigate.

“I don’t know how I’ll feel about it.” His breath hits your face as he whispers.

“Last time –”

“Last time was amazing, but I’m afraid it will feel wrong. Guilt and arousal are opposites for me.” He clears his throat roughly. “Which is why it can’t happen.”

“Okay,” you switch to a whisper. “Could we start small and see how you feel?” 

“I…yeah. Or, no! Fuck.” He sighs heavily and closes his eyes. “I shouldn’t be doing this at all. What the fuck is wrong with me? I can’t believe –” You grab his hand and push it between your legs. “Oh my god…you’re already wet again.” You press your foreheads together and nod. Damia drags his middle finger between your labia, cupping your vulva to apply gratifying pressure. Meanwhile you kiss his neck.

“Do you like licking?” 

“Licking, biting, but not hard scratching.” You run your tongue up the column of his neck and trap his earlobe between your teeth. Very slowly, you pull downwards with your mouth and Damia shudders while he finally moans. Your tongue traces the shell of his ear, running behind it as well. It finally hits you that this is Damia inside your mouth. No, it's not as you had hoped, but the fact of it happening at all was mind blowing.

With every taste of salty skin, you said a little prayer, worshiping at Damiano’s altar. Some greater force, may it be sexual chemistry or supernatural, had brought you here. Cherishing and savoring Damia in every way possible was the only option you’d ever consider. Just the reassuring pressure of his hand made you pussy throb.

Having covered his neck, you start using your hands. One caresses where your tongue had already been, and the other pushed Damia’s hair back from his face. You kiss from jaw to hairline, not pecks, but slow and open-mouthed. Your body sways upwards with each inhale, each kiss, and downwards which each exhale, each parting of skin. There's nothing to grind against, but keeping time with the ebb and slow of sensuality just intuitively made sense. 

When you switch to the otherside, Damia stops you, his hand on your jaw, thumb on your chin. He holds your face completely still, and is totally stationary himself. Only his eyes move, and rapidly. Those two seconds last your entire lifetime. 

He pulls you in, loses courage, but the forward momentum has already been established. In the spirit of starting slow, the first kiss is chaste. Lips meet, then part. That’s all. Your eyes fly open, but Damia’s remain closed as he thinks. The hand between your legs pulls away. For a moment your stomach drops, but then you feel that arm wrap itself tightly around your lower back. 

This next kiss is just as demure, except Damia pulls your entire body against his. It’s that breath-taking physical intimacy from the rooftop, forceful, but on the right side of two much. Damia knew how to handle a woman. He didn’t touch you like you like there were 24 years of separation. 

“No.” He shakes his head, brow furrowed, pulling back. 

“Yes,” you insist, surging forward. “100% yes.” Instead of freezing up, you remember to embrace him back. The next kiss is so slow that the skin of your lips stick together as you pull away.

“Cazzo,” he grunts, eyes squeezed shut. “Are you sure?”

“So fucking sure.” You press your chest to his and the skin to skin contact changes everything. “Absolutely positive,” you moan. Your nipples harden against Damia’s sternum, body waiting in rapture for a caress or so much as a puff of air from a sigh. You’re left feral and clawing at him, mewling in an effort to achieve more contact. Damia’s chest hair tickled your nipples as they became so hard you whined in discomfort, rubbing against his warm sternum. 

You’re so overcome that Damia has to use his thumb to tug at the corner of your lips. As soon as you remember to open your mouth, Damiano's tongue is inside. The force of the kiss is literally bending you backwards. Rather than resist, you open your mouth completely and turn your head to eliminate the possibility of space. Total compliance. Allowing Damia to mold your body’s shape has an unique effect on him. Or perhaps it's your breast tissue that he so badly wants to feel with his tongue.

 Either way, his self control shatters. Damia forces you onto your back via his height advantage. His body lands on top of yours in missionary position and he groans in satiation, pulling the sound from as deep as his toes. You shrink into the mattress, both intimidated and overwhelmed with excitement. 

Damia’s teeth sink into the soft tissue on the inside of your bottom lip. Instead of pulling back you take the pain and squeal. His hips buck in response, clothed cock against your naked cunt. The sound you make is loud enough to remind Damia that he needed to employ critical thinking.

“This is why I can’t kiss you,” he gasps, pulling away. The babbling starts before your brain has even decided what you want to say.

“No! Please, please, please. No, it's okay. It’s – you can’t stop. You have to keep going. Damia! Damia, please don’t – god please, please don’t just stop. You can’t, Damia you can’t –” He kisses you once more to silence the begging.

“Shh, shh. Tesorina, let me help, hmm?” He sits back, pulling you up with him after settling his weight. Your movement is disjointed. It feels like you’re still in that moment, where you were exactly two layers of fabric away from Damia making love to you. How could that moment just end? How could he act like it was anything less than earth-shattering? He’s situated against the headboard again before he realizes how shell-shocked you are.

“Sweetheart, come here,” Damia beckons, firmly. You crawl upwards, tripping on his legs before he spreads them wide. He pats the space right in front of him. You kneel there, so aroused and confused and pent up that you might cry or scream.

“Turn around. Back to my chest.” It's awkward and unflattering to reposition. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to give you whiplash. Just sit down and let me.” Damai wraps both tattooed arms around you, and drags you closer. Encircled in his grasp, his upper body curled over to fit perfectly against your spine, lips to your cheek, yes you understood now. It was so much more intimate than you had expected. 

Damia wanted to watch. He wanted to watch his hands touch you. Penetrate inside of you. He wanted to watch how wet you got. A vibrant color in your peripheral vision catches your attention. It’s one of a couple dozen sex toys in the open drawer. He follows your line of sight.

“Still a yes?” It was intimidating, but not a deterrent.

“Yes,” you pant. One of his hands wanders downwards. The anticipation throbbed in your cunt. You minutely roll your hips up to meet Damia’s touch, turning your gaze upward, because watching the act made you squirm. Impatient didn’t begin to cover it. More like you wanted to peel your first layer of skin off in anticipation. His fingers massaged your vulva, circled your hyman, spreading your pre-cum because he liked the way your pussy glistened.

“Touch me, touch me,” you grunt in frustration. “It hurts.” Your cunt was so engorged that the throbbing was painful. You didn’t deserve the teasing, had barely survived these weeks of anticipation. 

“It’s not fair,” you exclaim in anguish, and it’s not as if you could push his hand downward. Damia was already there. You’d never looked at yourself this way, so directly. Masturbating was always done under the comforter.

“Stellina, what's not fair?” he coos, then kisses your ear. You whine and buck, frustrated that none of the bedding was sturdy enough for grabbing to externalize intense sensation. Something rips.

“Ugh,” you growl. “I’m sorry, it’s just hhhuuh –” Damia pushes two fingers inside. All the way inside, so his hand is flush against your body. His left arm acts as a seatbelt while you tremble. Damia thrusts his digits in and out and your body makes embarrassing, wet noises again.

“My fault. I’m accustomed to teasing being a necessity. But you’re so responsive…” Damia rests his chin on your shoulder and drops his other hand to your pussy. He has the perfect vantage point to get exactly on your clit. It's unlike any sensation you’ve felt. A lightning bolt in your pelvis, more pain than pleasure. You yelp, leaning forward, and closing your legs tight enough to trap Damia. Whether it be to maintain the stimulation or quell its intensity, you do not know.

He follows, so you’re still chest to back. Even with his hands immobilized, Damia can still make tiny motions against your clit. Finally reduced to an animal, you hiss and kick the blanket off the bed as energy tightens around your hips.

“Stellina, relax,” he commands. You cross your knees and squeeze tighter, instead, rubbing your legs together to increase the stimulation. Pleasure it is, then. Your body had decided. With a tremendous exhale you release him, sitting upright. Damia continues to pay attention to your clit. His fingers curl towards your belly button again, internally. It’s not even distinctly enjoyable, just powerful and orgasmic. Could a person be so turned on that they couldn't feel pleasure?

Watching Damia’s hands becomes too visceral, so you lean your head back onto his shoulder and trust his skill set. Meanwhile, one of your fists is colliding with the fitted sheet and the other has found its way to gripping Damia’s thigh, sliding on the fabric of his pajama pants. This does absolutely nothing to anchor you amidst the stimulation. It only adds to the reservoirs of energy that you’ll be forced to externalize, whose pressure is mounted by Dami’s insistent clitorial stimulation. You’re reduced to damn near drowning in a sensation that can only be called So Good It Hurts.

“So close, but I can’t….I can’t, my – mm ah.” Damia switches his legs from being outside yours to inside. When your body tries to cramp down, he keeps you spread open and continues pleasuring you. The arm responsible for internal stimulation wraps around your ribs and holds you close, so every inch of your naked back is pressed to Damia’s.

“Take your time,” he murmurs. Damia’s hold you secure, left hand brushing his fingertips across your erect nipple. A troubled whine is your best attempt at communicating that you don’t want to take your time. Instead, Damia pinches your nipple, twists, and pulls. Finally, you’re submerged in orgasam and it doesn’t feel like drowning at all. It feels like breaking the surface. 

While cumming, you tense so hard it turns into convulsions. Then you nearly outright scream.

“Yes, sweetheart, be as loud as you want,” he encourages. This was so the opposite of teenage boys, shushing you because their parents might hear. Damiano curled forward when you did, relaxed back with a sigh when you did, but his finger on your clit never stopped.

“Uh ah, oh my god. Wha –’” gasp. “What you, are you doing?” Damia chuckles in your ear and lets go of your waist. He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a magenta vibrator. It's unintimidating, only about four inches long.

“Keeping momentum.” Damia replaces his pointer finger with the head of the toy, which was still turned off. “Still a yes? Are you still sure?”

“Mm, mhm.” The surface of the vibrator was so smooth and the material almost soft. It must be really high grade silicone. You nod, still struggling to catch your breath. 

“I need a –”

“Yes!” you exclaim, interrupting him. Even so, when you check on Damia, it's clear he’s beating himself up again. Reconfirming consent had pulled his mind away elsewhere and finding the right words with a throbbing pussy was challenging. 

“Hey, I said yes to doing this to you.” He returns his focus with a tortured smile.

“I know sweetheart, your enthusiasm is noted.”  

“So why aren’t you here?” At first, Damia is preparing a counterpoint, but then he’s just genuinely shocked. “Get out of your own head. Be with me,” you huff. His ministrations between your legs briefly falter and you fear the worst, but his pointer and middle fingers return. You hear a barely audible click. The vibrator turns on with a quiet buzzing sound. 

“I assume you’ve never used a sex toy before, and the first time can be really powerful.” 

“Never,” you whisper. 

“So we’re gonna do a lot of talking. This is the lowest setting.” The vibrator hovers in the air, creating unbearable suspense. “This is how it feels,” he narrates. Instead of applying the toy to your clit, Damia brings it to your lower stomach. You tense from the novelty of the sensation, but after that passes, it's really gentle. He moves it back and forth, then further down, onto your pubic mound. 

“I’m okay, keep going.” Finally, he brings the silicone head against your clit, making clockwise motions. It’s like the normal pangs of pleasure one gets from clitoral stimulation, but less powerful, and on a much greater scale. He switches to counterclockwise rotations, stimulating the nerves in the opposite direction.

“One or two?” he murmurs.

“One, please,” you pant. The “please” makes his cock jump and Damia pretends that you can’t feel it, even as the sensation makes you grin. He tries stationary and making smaller circles, as well as moving vertically and horizontally. After each, he checks in for your preference. Discerning what felt best was difficult, because all the sensations were incredible. 

“Higher.” The buzz goes up in pitch and you jump as soon as it touches you. “Christ,” you pant.

“Do you wanna go back down or be gradual on this setting?” He’s already adjusted it back to the lowest setting.

“I don’t know,” you answer honestly, breathless.

“You don’t know if you want to continue?” 

“Ugh no,” you groan, with an eye roll. “I don’t know how to cum twice. It feels like I’m full of, like, lightning or something.” 

“Full of lightning sounds like you’re about to cum.” Damia turns the vibrator back up a notch and you both want to thank him perfusing and curse him out.

“No, it’s barely been, unhh…we were trying stuff and – oh my fuck.” This orgasam felt more challanging than the last one. 

“The longer you touch yourself, the more blood flows to that area. So it actually gets more sensitive over time, which makes it easier to cum.”

“Momentum,” you gasp.

“Yes. I’ve been stimulating your clit continuously which certainly isn’t a chore with someone so god damn responsive,” he growls. That tone of voice belonged to a part of Damia that he’d never allowed you to see before. You run towards it with open arms.

“Tell me.”

“Tell you how much of a greedy piece of shit I am for taking these first times all for myself?”

“God, yes.” Your chest heaves as it struggles to adequately oxygenate your body. “My nipples,” you beg. Damia brings his left hand up to your neglected breast. It's rougher than you expected. He digs his blunt fingernails in while twisting. Then flicks the hardened nipple upon releasing and pinches it very firmly. You let your head fall back. Gravity is gone and things feel too floaty to hold yourself upright. He’s so solid behind you, watching every reaction.

Somehow, you’re able to meet his eyes and now Damia can’t look elsewhere. Locked in, he has to watch you cum. He aches as your eyes fall closed and your mouth open. Damia can feel your hands clawing at him and he manages to find your right and holds securely. It's your face that makes it possible to live with himself: peace, bliss. How amoral could it be? How disgusting could he be if he gave you this?

When you cum everything tenses with a vengeance, but the release is quicker and more profound. You see twinkling sparkles against the black backdrop of your closed eyelids. Those wells of nervous energy are as empty as they’ve been in years. It's like you can breathe for the first time, except you can’t breathe at all. The stimulation is gone, but your clit still beats with your heart’s frantic rhythm.

“Catch your breath, sweetheart. You’re okay.” Every effort comes out as a gasp. Damia wraps both arms around you, and shimmy’s down so he’s on the mattress. Laying naked on his bare chest, in his bed, as he calms you down from orgasam doesn’t even seem real. This moment belongs in your fantasy life and the cognitive dissonance is intense.

“Inhale, exhale,” he chants, rubbing your back. “Inhale, exhale,” is timed with his own breathing, which raises and lowers your head. Realizing that he’ll misconstrue this as a trauma reaction, you are very studious in evening out your breathing. 

“I’m really not having a panic attack. It was so good that I actually saw stars, I swear to god!” Damia snorts and you’re relieved not to find him amidst a moral crisis. 

“You saw stars because you hold your breath when you cum,” he laughs. “We would have kept going if I wasn’t worried about you passing out.” 

“Oh…” You're unsure whether to feel embarrassed about this subconscious habit. It had cost you orgsams from Damia, so the automatic response is vehement hatred. Judging his reaction while unable to see his expression was impossible, so you sit up and straddle his torso.

“Don’t worry, it’s common,” Damia chuckles and casually rubs your flank, face unchanging. Was it subconscious? Was it just meant to be a casual, comforting gesture between lovers?

“What should I do?” you manage to say.

“Well it can be a stress thing," he replies, thoughtfully. “You can also practice by yourself. The right partner might also be really helpful.” Your expression gives you away and Damia is backpedaling before you’ve said a word. “No! No, absolutely not. This is never happening again,” he declares with finality. Placing both hands on your hips, Damiano guides you off of his lap and to the edge of the bed. You stand with your eyes stinging from rejection.

“You do know that I don’t expect you to be my boyfriend or some shit? I’m attracted to you, you’re attracted to me. I am more than capable of discretion. We’re both consenting adults, but you make it into this exhausting moral quandary.”  He’s wide-eyed and taken aback, even sitting upright to conversate.

“I didn’t recognize that you were such a realist,” Damia admits, astonished. “But to be clear, for me this is some exhausting moral quandary, and you are far too intelligent for me to explain why.” 

“I don’t want some high school boy who doesn’t know his herpes status or some college guy that's gonna treat me like I’m disposable,” you counter, using Damiano’s own words against him.

“Y/n.” he holds his hand up. “Your friend’s father is not the alternative.” There's nothing to say, because you’re both right. For a moment you just stare while tension wraps a hand around each throat.

“It’s absurd for me to have any expectations of you. I apologize and you’ve been so…” you search for the least controversial adjective, “generous.”

“It's nice to see you act your age for once, actually,” he huffs. The man that had growled in your ear and watched your pussy leave a wet spot on the bedding was gone. To fill his place, a new iteration of Damia had been created for your benefit alone. He was a nurturer who didn’t entertain false pretenses about this connection being normal. How many mirages could Damiano make before forgetting how to experience his own thoughts and feelings altogether?

“You understand that I can’t let you leave this room thinking that this is going to happen again?”

“Yes,” you reply in monotone. 

“Alright.” He stands with a groan and picks your bra, underwear, and miniskirt off of the floor. In the meantime you retrieve your shirt from the otherside of the bedroom and pull it on. It's strange how a person can go from having three fingers inside to avoiding your hands touching as he passes clothes over. A hint of magenta in your peripheral vision catches your attention. The vibrator still lay in the sheets, undisturbed by this excruciating turn of events.

“Are you still good?”

“Yeah.” No. Once your skirt is back on, Damia walks you through the doorway. After such intense intimacy, any level of personal space feels awkward. You’re not expecting him to pull you into a hug, so much so that your arms hang by your sides. He strokes your back with a steady, warm hand, wrinkling the thin fabric while pressing his lips to your scalp. You’re aware that this embrace is Damiano’s way of communicating his feelings, but you haven’t a fucking clue what he’s saying. 

It was unlike any hug you’d received from an adult man, another first Damia was taking from you, but this time he didn’t realize it. Finally, you embrace him back and press your face to his bare chest. His skin smells delicious as always, especially after sweating a little. Damia wraps his arms tighter, hand moving to rub back and forth across your shoulder blades. He kisses your head again. 

This is an emotion you didn’t have a name for: so safe that the urge to cry abates. Simultaneously, that very same feeling makes you tear up because it's safe to cry. Was this the hug you were missing throughout your childhood? Was this how a male parental figure was supposed to make you feel? Your unaffectionate father had left you no frame of reference. 

“Okay, good night.” When he pulls back, you can’t decide if you want to kiss him. That consideration quickly becomes mute, because Damia won’t look at you. Instead, he just closes the bedroom door in your face.

Notes: Sorry. 🤧 (You can now opt out of age gap fics by resubmitting your preferences to my taglist) I was unable to tag people for two months so you probably missed the last installment, which can be read here.

- XOXO Eden

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[abiiors]

Can i request more Damiano David angst please? 😅🥺

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

Consolation Prize // D.D.

Damiano David x Reader

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

Word Count: 1k

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

Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

Yet you can’t stop going back to him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Of course,’ you smile. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Tomorrow works for me.’

#damiano david #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david angst #damiano david imagine #damiano david fic #damiano david fanfiction #maneskin #maneskin x reader #this is angst #just angst #no happy ending #minors do not interact #writing requests

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

His Best Girl

pairing: Damiano x Fem!Reader

summary: you’re tragically addicted to Damiano, who knows that very well and isn’t afraid of using you. (he’s a dickhead here and let’s remember it’s a fiction, people)

word count: 1,5k

warnings: smut, angst, toxic and abusive relationship, being addicted to someone, IT'S SAD

Måsterlist | tåglist

my new chapter story (coming on July 20th)

You didn’t go in. You knew their songs by heart, all of the. The setlist, their choreography. What they did and when. Based on the crowd’s noises you could judge what exactly were they doing at the moment. Who just got undressed, who spat the water on the crowd, who started riding who’s thigh. You stood there, in the backstage area, close to their black van, waiting for the show to be over. 

Your shaky hands were barely handling holding a cigarette still enough to light it. You fought with Damiano in the past, but he never got this angry. And never before a show. Click. A long drag. Slow exhale. A big, blueish cloud of smoke surrounded you for a moment. Yeah, this one was bad. Those were always some little things: he saw you talking to someone else, you forgot to call him, he didn’t like someone you brought to the party. Your friends kept telling you that it was a bad idea. That he was a bad idea. That he won’t give you stability, that he has many others, that he can’t keep his dick in his pants. They kept scaring you that he might start losing his temper, that rockstars are never reliable. Maybe they were right, but…it didn’t matter. The way he looked at you, talked to you, his smile, his fucking smile…The way his eyes were getting darker, every time you undressed. The way he smiled when he saw you waiting backstage. His raspy morning voice, his grunts, his moans, the scent of his sweat, his cum, the rough touch of his hands on your body, the way he acted when he craved you. It was all worth it, and you were ready to risk it all to have at least a taste of that once again. You got addicted to the way he made you feel, and both him and your friends knew about that very well. 

This time he got really mad. You forgot about his gig and that he wanted to see you before it. He liked to get rid of the stress and tension before the show with a quick fuck. He needed you. Yet you forgot, went out with a friend and kept ignoring your phone. Something told you to check it and you froze at the sight of seventeen missed calls. You tried to reach him, but he didn’t bother answering. He only sent you a dry message ‘too late’. You quickly got back home and got dressed while sobbing uncontrollably. You fucked up and you knew it. Men like him weren’t eager to give second chances. You put on his favourite dress, boots, and some makeup to hide your tears, and ordered a taxi.

Waiting for him was torture. They were finishing the last song, and your hands got even shakier than before. Loud cheering, screams and laughs. Finally, first Thomas and Victoria, then Ethan came off the stage, and lastly Damiano. You waited for them to change and grab their stuff, it usually took them a few minutes. It felt like hours, long and painful hours. Finally, you saw them. Thomas smiled and waved at you, Vic nodded and Ethan winked. They all got in a car, waiting with the door open. Damiano went outside with his shirt unbuttoned and an open blazer. His glistening skin and wet chest hair almost made you whine in awe. He looked like a fucking painting. He waved his hand, letting the rest of the band know that they don’t need to wait for him. Ethan closed the door and after a moment the van drove off. 

Damiano lit his cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke, looking at you with something that seemed like a mix of hate and anger. 

“What are you doing here? Why did you come?” he spat out, staring at you intensely.

“I…I came here to see you and to apologize.” you almost whispered, and stepped a little closer to him, throwing your cigarette on the ground. “I’m sorry, baby, I really am.”

“Right,” he scoffed and shook his head with a derogatory smirk. “You had one job, which was to pick up the fucking phone and come over like I asked you to. You know I never deal well with stress when I’m frustrated. And I forgot the lyrics today, that’s entirely your fault!” he growled. 

Your eyes started burning and filling up with hot tears. You let them roll down your cheeks. He was right, you disappointed him. And he was always there, ready to make you feel like his princess. You sniffled and started playing with your rings, avoiding his eyes.

“Hey, amore…” he whispered, his voice suddenly got much softer. He gently grabbed your chin and tilted it up till your eyes met. “I didn’t mean that, you know that you’re my baby, right?” he asked with a smile. You only nodded in response and sniffled again. 

“Why don’t we…go back to my place? Hmm? How does that sound?” he cooed into your ear, slowly wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“If you still want me…” you mumbled and swallowed hard.

“Of course I do, you’re my best girl.” He purred and slowly kissed your puffy lips, swollen from crying.

When you got to his flat he quickly got rid of his shirt. He grabbed your wrists and kissed each of them. Then he looked at you. It was this look that made you weak every time. Lust, pure desire, need of your body. Something you were more than ready to give to him without any questions. He pulled you closer and kissed you, hard, rough, with so much passion. You moaned against his lips, he made you fall apart again. Your brain had only one need, your hands started wandering over his naked chest, trying to touch as much of him as possible, sliding down to his belt, trying to unbuckle it in a hurry. He just chuckled at your eagerness and didn’t bother with unbuttoning your dress. He just ripped it apart in front, making the small buttons fall on the floor with a quiet, rattling sound. He let you pull his trousers and boxers down and pressed down on your shoulders, forcing you to get on your knees. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and grinned, gently stroking your cheek. You didn’t need more encouragement. You grabbed him, already hard, and started slowly stroking him before taking him deep in your mouth. You knew what he liked, and what you needed to do to make him let out those divine noises, a series of low grunts that made your panties soaking wet. He started moving your head faster, pulling your hair a little, making you choke just enough to make you moan around his cock. Then he pulled away, leaving a string of saliva connecting your mouth with him. You looked up at his flushed face, parted lips, and shiny, dark eyes. It was worth it. He pulled you up and in one swift move, he pushed you on the bed, face down. You wanted to see him, but he had other plans. 

“You’re gonna take me like a good toy you are” He spat out and pulled your panties down.

He gave your ass a sharp smack, making you whine a little. He teased your entrance for only a moment before pushing all his length into you. You screamed, it was a big stretch but it felt amazing. You were glad you can be so tight for him, make him feel so good. That was all you needed. He loved you for that, didn’t he? He grabbed your hips firmly and picked up his pace, slamming into you hard and fast, not letting you catch a breath. His pent-up frustration and all this anger he put into action, didn’t allow him to last long. But for you, it was enough. His loud moan and his hot cum filling you up made reach your bliss as well. 

He slipped out of you, still panting, and fell on the bed. You laid there for a moment, feeling his cum dripping down your thigh. You looked up at him, laying on the pillows, his hair stuck to his sweaty face, his glorious naked body glistening in the dim light. You managed to crawl up and lay on the pillow next to him. You craved his touch, a hug, a kiss, anything to make you feel safe and cared about again. But he wasn’t there. At least his mind wasn’t present. He turned slightly away from you and started playing with his phone. You saw his grin in the blue light of the screen. Who was he talking to? Why was he acting as if you weren’t there?

“Damia…” your voice was shaky, you knew you don’t want to know the honest answer to that question. You moved a little closer, trying to rest your head on his chest. He moved away. But before he did, you saw an open chat. Yeah, you knew her. You felt the tears forming in your eyes. 

“Damia, why are you like this, what is wrong? Do you…do you even love me?” you asked finally, with a racing heart.

He looked at you with a frown, as if he was surprised at your question. His face softened, and he smiled gently.

“No. I definitely don’t love you today.”

....

taglist:

@oro-e-diamanti @eliseline @dpaccione @xweirdxsceletton @mylittlegoldilocks @239723 @damiisdaddy @Yasc22 @agentreid2@thegeminisgirl @thewitchinthemountain @8iunie @coven-daddy @teatrodellavita @bethanysnow @writingmaneskin @mayayayayurmom19 @blackberryblossom @hiraetheral @theimpossiblehologramtree @ilwiwbysmv @weareoddlydrawn @jrj2 @bieberhoodforever @gr8rainbowpunkv @slutforethantorchio@chesirecatt @butkutee @que--sera--sera @damiisdaddy@xmusse@iamtashaquinn @butkutee  @ohdamiano @little-moonbeam-666 @changbineyeskz @Måneskintifoso @stardustingold  @woahzz11 @cuzimitaliano @thegeminisgirl  @bisexual-babygirl-mj

#maneskin fiction #damiano david #damiano david x reader #damiano david smut #damiano david angst #damiano david fiction #my writing

[ndcgalitzine]

Tonight is gonna be the loneliest

#Måneskin #maneskinedit #måneskinedit #Damiano David #The Loneliest #I can't WAIT FOR THIS #just my kind of angst and drama in a song #*

[wonderlandishell]

The middle of adventure, such a perfect place to stop

Victoria De Angelis/Ethan Torchio

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

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

Read on ao3

#maneskin #ethan torchio #victoria de angelis #vic de angelis #damiano david #thomas raggi #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin fic #maneskin fluff #maneskin angst #maneskin smut

[cuzimitaliano]

SUPERMODEL (Tiktok Edition) Cursed Screenshots

#memes #maneskin #thomas raggi #damiano david #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #beggin #coraline #i wanna be your slave #mammamia #damiano #damiano maneskin #ethan maneskin #maneskin angst #maneskin icons #maneskin imagine #maneskinedit #måneskin #thomas maneskin #victoria maneskin #music #makeup #maneskin matching icons #maneskin x reader #vic de angelis #cuzimitaliano

[desiderium333]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[covbrk]

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

#joker out #bojan cvjeticanin #jan peteh #jure macek #kris gustin #nace jordan #maneskin #victoria de angelis #ethan torchio #damiano david #thomas raggi #smut #fluff #angst #eurovision #roleplay #maneskin smut #joker out smut #maneskin fluff #joker out fluff #maneskin angst #joker out angst #fanfictions #kaarija #jere poyhonen

[rockbottomwithashovel]

Untitled

Pairing: fem reader x damiano david

Warnings: TRIGGER WARNING: self harm, vomiting, eating disorder, suicide attempts, alcoholism, alcohol poisoning... sorry if I missed something!

A/N: I don't know what to call this. It's half a personal vent and therapy, and half fanfiction. If you're only interested in the fic, feel free to skip to like half way through. If I know you in real life and you read this; pretend you didn't.

Word Count: 1.4 k

She looked in the mirror. She hated the thing looking back at her. It didn't feel like her. But then again she wasn't capable of hating that thing staring back at her. That would require being able to feel a damn thing. And there were times that the fire got so hot you don't even realise you're burning anymore.

This was one of those times.

So that's how the movie ends, she thought to herself as she wiped the tear out of her eye. She hated herself. Because she liked the movie.

To The Bone.

She understood Eli's character all too well. The over-caring smothering that basically makes you feel like they don't care, because they don't understand. The way people looked at her like she was her sickness, not a person, but a disease. She understood how hard it can be to eat, how disgusting it can be to love, how painful it can be to live.

But what struck her most of all... The thing she would never admit, not to anyone, not a soul... Is the fact that she was jealous.

She was jealous of how people looked at Eli, scared for her. Because scared meant they cared. But maybe they'd be impressed, in some sick way. She was jealous that the guy Eli met in-patient wasn't a semi-cult-leader, like the guy who fell for her when she was in hospital. She was jealous that Eli's bones were so damn thin... She worried that even if she starved herself down to bone she'd still be fat because of her large ribcage. She was jealous of how beautiful Eli was despite being scarily skinny.

What she'd give for that.

It had been 24 since she had last had a drink. It was one of her many unhealthy 'coping mechanisms'. There was the suicide attempts, running away, starving, hitting, cutting, closing off, sexting, opening up to predators, the list goes on. Eventually drinking became the new one. She thought she was recovered. She was wrong. She drank an entire bottle of wine and half a Bailey's bottle in about an hour, without dinner. It turns out mixing drinks was a bad plan. Worse was being in a house alone that wasn't her own (her new job of house sitting).

She thought she was recovered from her eating disorder, and she had other issues. But as she was begging God to die cause she felt sick as the Bailey's curdled with the white wine in her stomach, she threw up. It wasn't enough. For the first time she stuck her fingers down her throat and forced herself to be more sick.

And she felt an odd sense of pride...

Until she tried to stand and wobbled.

The night was a blur. She blacked out in parts, and begged God to stay unconscious. He had no such mercy. Her mum took her home. The next hours were best described as hell. She thought she'd die. She prayed she would. She threw up until there was nothing left, not even bile. She couldn't even sip water. She told herself no more drinking. Never again. If she was going to die, she'd at least have some dignity at the end. There is no dignity for people with vomit in their hair.

Since then she also tried to give up her other 'coping' mechanism: cutting. There were 3 reasons for this, none of them that she actually wanted to get better. They were 1) her mum was watching her like a hawk and kept checking her sleeves. It turns out when you find your child vomiting on the floor while sitting on the toilet with sleeves covered in blood, that will happen—watching said child like a hawk. Especially when only two weeks later she had alcohol poisoning again. 2) she couldn't keep going to her dance classes with red arms. It used to be small scratched no one noticed, but since cutting into tissue, no sleeves wasn't an option. And most importantly 3) she didn't have anything sharp enough. Her usual object was down for the count and the back-ups weren't in high supply.

She thought 'I'll get better'. But she didn't. She needed another coping mechanism. She can't control her dad's cancer, can't control him getting COVID and though she tried she can't control watching him nearly die at the dining room table, choking on nothing, watching the blood in his face...

But there's something she can control. Something she was able to control for years. Food. Simple. She just won't eat for a while. And she'll feel better then too, right? She'll look pretty. She'll be able to be proud of her body. People at her dance school will think she's pretty and be impressed. It doesn't matter that she dropped out of school if she's pretty. People will like you if you're pretty. And I'm just not that pretty, she thought.

All this is to say that watching To The Bone was a harrowing experience for her. She decided she would get worse. It wasn't really a conscious decision. She told herself “I'll get worse” like she chose it, but that was just her trying to have control over the fact that things are getting worse again and she can't stop it. She doesn't know if she wants to.

It was a month after watching the movie, and her best friends had started to notice that something was up.

“Hey, Y/N, you good? You barely touched your churros.” Vic mentioned.

“And you love churros,” Thomas said with a knowing smirk.

“What's wrong, amore mio?” Damiano asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Y/N dismissed, with a shake of her head and a nonchalant shrug. “I just feel a little sick today and don't want to ruin churros permanently if I don't keep 'em down.” she joked.

Ethan, the only one who knew that Y/N once had an eating disorder, didn't laugh. He raised a concerned eyebrow. Y/N pretended not to notice.

Her stomach growled. It was a painful victory, and like a general that lost soldiers but won the war, Y/N smiled.

Then she heard the knock on the door.

She got up to answer it but got a little dizzy. She stood still and told herself she's fine, and walked towards the door. She opened it to reveal her boyfriend, Damiano, standing there with a box of donuts and a small bouquet of flowers.

“I thought you could use some cheering up, you've seemed down lately,” he said, concern deep in his eyes.

“Oh, no it's OK, I'm fine,” Y/N tried to lie, but the shock and stress was heavy in her voice.

“My love, tell me, what's wrong? Have I done something?”

Y/N couldn't take it anymore, and the tears fell like waterfalls down her face. She'd needed someone to care, someone to notice that she wasn't OK. But she couldn't tell them and didn't want them to know, both at the same time. It was a paradoxical hell, torture either way with no signs of relief. It all became too much. Y/N sobbed and stumbled, Damiano dropping the flowers and donuts to catch Y/N in his arm.

He held her to his chest, and she nuzzled into him as she cried. The sound of his heartbeat calmed her own, and soon enough, they were breathing in time, Damiano still brushing Y/N's hair with his hand and he soothed her.

“Now, what's wrong amore mio?” he asked, cupping her cheeks to look into her eyes.

“It's- I- maybe it's easier if we sit down.”

A few minutes later, the flowers were in a vase, the donuts on the kitchen bench, and the couple sitting on the lounge in the living room.

After a long deep breath, Y/N spoke.

“I'm not coping. I... You know how I gave up alcohol?”

“Si.”

“Well, I also gave up something else. Self harm. An- and since then,” she cleared her throat “my mental health has gotten worse. And my eating disorder is back. I can't seem to be OK.”

“Oh, my love,” Damiano said with remorse and a soft sigh. He dived in fast for a long hug, pulling Y/N as close as possible all the while whispering soothing things to her.

“You are beautiful, my love. No matter what you look like you will always be beautiful, utter perfection. Please, never hurt yourself. You are worth so so much more. Do not waste yourself away because of some bad thoughts, OK? Please, amore, you have to live. You'll be OK. I'm here for you. I swear I will help you.” Eventually he placed a soft kiss on Y/N's head and they cuddled on the couch until they both fell asleep.

Tagging: @smiling-girl (i hope this doesn't scare you too much!!!)

#tw sh #tw ed #tw eating disorder #trigger warning #NOT PRO ANA JUST VENTING #tw alcoholism #tw suicide attmpts #damiano david #damiano x reader #fanfic #angst

[sassy-sofia]

Your Ocean

Pairing: Thomas x Damiano

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

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

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

Wordcount: 81k (complete)

Chapters: 19/19

TW: mental health, homophobia, substance abuse, smut

Additional tags on AO3

#maneskin #thomas raggi #damiano david #ethan torchio #victoria de angelis #angst #fanfic #fanfiction #ao3fic #maneskin fanfiction #vic de angelis #måneskin fanfic

[ykaaaras]

The Preacher Masterlist

Pairing: DAMIANO DAVID x 2 fictional females insert

Story summary: Damiano exorcises a demon from Medusa, helps her to recover, and chooses to protect her from what she sees. However, he can’t protect her from one thing…

Story content and warnings: angst, priest Damiano David, dom Damiano David, original characters, hurt/comfort, supernatural, mystery, mention of religion, fluff, daddy kink, smut, mention of suicide, murder, death and possession, demon character, polyamory relationship

Word count: 15.2k (so far)

A/N: This story doesn’t intend to disrespect any beliefs or to preach, it’s all pure fiction for you to enjoy. Be nice.

Chapters:

Chapter 1 // Back To The End

Chapter 2 // Bury With Smile

#The Preacher #Damiano David #fanfic #Damiano David fic #Damiano David fanfic #priest Damiano David #Måneskin fic #Damiano x oc #Damiano David x oc #Damian David x original character #Damiano x original character #Damiano David x fictional female #Damiano David/fictional female #Damian David/oc #Damiano David/original character #original character #fictional female #angst #smut #fluff #writing #writeblr #religion #priest #possession #supernatural #mystery #priest/exorcist Damiano David #masterlist #AU

[filthforfriends]

Bonus Chapter

Alpha!Damiano Omegaverse

Word count: 9.6k

Read the actual fic on my Masterlist!

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

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

Where are you?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not so invincible now, huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How fucking dare you!?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Help

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And when she tells Damiano?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

“Yeah, I’ll call her!”

Y/n: Where are you?

[Missed call from Star]

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

Y/n: Help

[Missed call from Star]

[Missed call from Athena]

Star: Call me as soon as you get this.

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

[Missed call from Star]

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

Star: Stay calm, don’t panic.

Emmaline: Do you want help looking?

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

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

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

“Amphitheater.”

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

“Amphitheater!”

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

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

“I thought she was with you.”

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

“She’s not here,” Clio pants.

“Check –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think she got cornered by three alphas.”

“Fuck, I’ll call my mom.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“She’s a fighter.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bad timing Thalia.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Darling, that’s not what –”

“I found her backpack,” snapped Damiano.

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

“Excuse me, what are you imply –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“How long?”

“A little over four hours.” 

“Shit,” you wince.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dami?”

“Yes my love?” 

“I can feel you thinking about murder.”

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

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

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

“He scared you?”

“All of them.”

“All of them tried to scare you.” 

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

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

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

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

“And everyone was freaking?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is she okay?” exclaims Isabella.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Kevin!”

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

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

“I’m her father!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, thank you,” he answers cordially. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Because she walked here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

***

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

“I know, baby.”

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

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

“Oh my god.”

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

“We have to –”

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

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

“Yes.”

“Can we go to the hospital tomorrow?”

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

“Okay, heard!”

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

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

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

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

“Is that fixable?”

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

“Uh, both.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ami--gami]

Summary:

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

I love all of you, Damiano.

Or

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

New fic dropped on Ao3

#maneskin #victoria de angelis #damiano david #thomas raggi #ethan torchio #angst

[till-you-scream-and-cry]

Hi BESTIEEE. I'm living for this prompt list 😩

Can i have something angsty with number 10 and Damiano? I don't have anything specific in mind, just the more angstier the better ❤️😏

@que--sera--sera i hope that i delivered xd 😘

#10. “Just when you think it can't get any worse, you run out of cigarettes.” + Damiano + angst

You opened the door with a spare key he left you. His bags were already zipped, waiting for tomorrow’s flight. You sighed and closed the door. Damiano walked into the room in a towel wrapped around his hips. 

“Oh, it’s you.” He said, almost disappointed, and continued drying his hair with a second towel.

“Were you expecting someone else?” You scoffed and put your keys on the table.

“No.” He threw coldly and looked around the room. Damiano grabbed the comb and started fixing his hair. “I just wasn't expecting you.”

You two were going through a rough patch. He became distant and kept snapping at you. At first, you kept justifying his behaviour, telling yourself that it’s probably stress, the tour coming, the new album… But something was wrong. You tried to make him jealous, but he didn’t care. A few months back he’d make a big deal out of you talking to a guy at the club. Now he was okay with you going out for drinks with a friend from work and not returning calls for hours. You felt that he was slipping away, and you had no idea what to do. He kept saying he loves you, kissing you, hugging you, fucking you. But he wasn’t present while doing so. You talked to Vic about it, and she reassured you that everything is fine. And she probably told him about your worries because since your conversation he got better. He started trying, talking to you more, showing interest. Until now. 

“Well… I wanted to see you before tomorrow. You have an early flight, right?”

“Yeah, I do.” He continued fixing his hair, not even looking at you.

“Damn, what an enthusiasm…” you sat down on the edge of the sofa, watching him putting on some eye cream, feeling a pain growing in your chest.

“I’m stressed anyways and you know I hate goodbyes.”

You scoffed, shocked by his coldness.

“Oh I’m sorry, you wanted to leave for two months without a word?” You swallowed hard, pinning your eyes in him.

“Whatever…” he mumbled and opened the small bag, throwing a tube of cream in it.

“Whatever?! What the fuck, Damiano?!” You said loudly, feeling your eyes getting teary.

“Yes, whatever. Do you think this would last? What’s the point…” He rubbed his face with both hands and cursed under his breath.

“What…What do you mean? You wanted to break up? I thought we’re doing better…”

“Vic said that I should try harder because I’m hurting you. But yeah, not sure if I want to be stuck in…this…while on tour. Neither of us needs that.” 

His words were hurting like hundreds of daggers, making your heart ache from pain. He said that as if you meant nothing to him.

“Stuck? You…What?” Your voice was cracking as the tears started rolling down your cheeks.

“Yeah…two months away, I hope you didn’t think I’m planning to wait till I get home to fuck. Two months is a long time.”

He said that as if he announced the weather for tomorrow. Damiano grabbed a pack of cigarettes and crushed the empty packaging before throwing it on the floor. 

“Just when you think it can't get any worse, you run out of cigarettes” 

His words echoed in your head. Damiano looked at you with a sigh. His eyes were full of disappointment and impatience. He seemed annoyed and bored by your tears, by the mascara running down your face, by your shock, and by your broken heart. 

#maneskin blurb #damiano david #damiano david angst #damiano david blurb #my writing #prompts

[writersblockiskillingme]

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

I’m in my delusional era

Only Angel | Damiano David

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

Summary: You were in love with him for a very long time, but you didn't know that he loved you back. Until he decided to do something about it.

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

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

I saw this angel

I really saw an angel

Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see

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

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

And there's nothing I can do about it

Damiano could still remember the first time he met her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door

I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

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

But I think that's what I like about it

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One night stands.

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

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

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

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

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there's nothing we can do about it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And why is that, angel."

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

That's all he needed.

Told it to her brother and she told it to me

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

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

And there's nothing she can do about it

Hey, hey

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

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

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

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

"Arch your back for me, angel."

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

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

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

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

"Ah- I-"

"Do they!?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl."

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

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

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My-my-my only angel

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TAGLIST

@opal-rugger

#imagine #fic #maneskin fanfiction #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #damiano david #damiano maneskin #damiano david x fem!reader #maneskin smut #smut #harry styles #only angel #victoria de angelis #thomas raggi #ethan torchio

[wonderlandishell]

Windows down, scream along

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

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

They grow up and grow into love.

Read on ao3

#maneskin #maneskin fanfiction #thomas raggi #victoria de angelis #damiano david #ethan torchio #vic de angelis #maneskin angst #maneskin fluff #maneskin fanfic #maneskin smut