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#måneskin x reader
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måneskin fic recs
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you are responsible for the content you consume‼️
✧*:·˚ hi everyone!! here is a list of all the fics that are my favs with tagged writers/authors ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ remember to like and reblog the works you enjoy in order to support each writer!! ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ however, make sure you read the information on each story themselves such as triggers & warnings ✧*:·˚
✧*:·˚ also, if you'd like me to remove your fic from this list, message me! ✧*:·˚
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måneskin x reader: blurbs+headcannons+fics
୨୧ 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬
୨୧ 𝙬𝙖𝙡𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙞𝙣 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙨𝙝𝙤𝙬𝙚𝙧
୨୧ a headcanon with må with you being a successful model
-they're wearing earbuds, blasting music into their ears when they remember the they left their phone charger in the bathroom. they don't know you're showering and can't hear you over the music...
୨୧ headcanons with må x fashiondesigner!reader
୨୧ a valentine’s surprise | SMUT, orgy, oral sex, anal play, double penetration, food play, spit play, alcohol  
-You’ve been feeling a little left out in your relationship so your four partners show their love to you with a surprise for Valentine’s Day. 
୨୧ Gettin’ Frisky With The Måneskin Members  | explicit content, gender neutral reader, switch!damiano, hard domme!victoria, vanilla!thomas, sub!ethan, freaky stuff, toys and s/m, oral (both ways), degradation, spit, pain play, brat taming, bondage, sinning cuz rock’n’roll never dies
୨୧ our favourite band with an S/O with bad menstrual periods
| talk abt periods, so dyphoria warning (we'll get back on the totally GN shit tmrw, just filling requests rn), lil bit of swearing and NSFW on Ethan
୨୧ how the members of Måneskin confess their feelings for you måneskin x gn!reader
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victoria de angelis
·。🍓 my sweet valentine vic de angelis x fem! reader | Fluff
-Victoria's first Valentine's day celebrating with you is a bit chaotic but turns out better than expected.
·。🍓 date night vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut, fingering, oral (female receiving) and bdsm dynamics
-you and vic go on a date and it ends with fun at the hotel
·。🍓 hush, hush, cucciola. vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut
-you’re were asked to come over and help to calm Vic down after another disagreement during creating new song, and you find just the way to make her happy and peaceful again
·。🍓 pillow talk vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut
-your night trip to the kitchen gets interrupted by a strange noise, the results of your investigation are more pleasant then you could expect.
·。🍓 long stormy night damiano x fem!reader x vic | SMUT!!!, degradation, corruption kink, wax play, knife play, blood play, spanking, bit of fear play, unprotected sex, it’s just wild ok, i wanted to treat y/n
-It’s a last day of your small, a bit disappointing  gateway trip. The big storm is approaching, yet your evening takes an interesting turn when you bump into two hot Italians in the hotel bar
·。🍓 cold breeze, hot cheeks vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst, fluff 
-a rather cold October makes your blood boil as you and Vic attend Ethan's birthday party
·。🍓 i think I wanna hold you, but I'm not sure i'm allowed
vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst with tiny hint of smut
·。🍓 I'll show the  lovin' that you'll never get from a man. vic de angelis x fem! reader | angst, fluff, smut
-your friends finally meet your boyfriend, and even though nothing goes according to the plan, your night ends up being better than you could hope for, thanks to Vic
·。🍓 sweat and good grips vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut
·。🍓 the one with victoria’s boobs. victoria x gn!reader | fluff
-Victoria needs help taping her boobs for an upcoming performance. You get more than you bargained for.
·。🍓 the one where victoria wants to watch victoria x fem!reader x ethan | smut
·。🍓 “OPEN YOUR MOUTH.” victoria x gn!reader | soft smut
-along the lines of The one where victoria is patient.
·。🍓 “YEAH, WELL, IF YOU WEREN’T SO DRUNK MAYBE I WOULD.” vic de angelis x fem! reader
·。🍓 “I KNOW YOU CAN BE LOUDER THAN THAT.” vic de angelis x fem! reader
·。🍓 “GIVE ME ATTENTION.” vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut
·。🍓 say you'll see me again even if it's just in your wildest dreams vic de angelis xfem!reader | fluff, smut
-You're an up-and-coming actress, and Vic's best friend since high school. You have been friends and in love with each other for as long as you can remember. So when you have the chance to be together, it's magical.
·。🍓 baby said vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut
-you've been on a few dates with Victoria and you think things are going really well. You just wish you had known where the night was going beforehand- maybe you would have picked a table with longer tablecloths.
·。🍓 latenight devil vic de angelis x fem! reader
-victoria covers for you after you sneak backstage ahead of a Måneskin gig & invites you into her dressing room for an unusual encounter
·。🍓 forgive me father vic de angelis x fem! reader | smut, basically porn
·。🍓 the ocean's daughter swearing, alcohol consumption, drowning as a metaphor, smut
-while on holiday in italy, an encounter derails your life enough to make you pack up on a whim and move to the very city in which you first saw her — the ocean's daughter.
·。🍓 vic blurb
-doing domestic stuff with Victoria
·。🍓 a threesome with victoria and damiano! damiano x fem!reader x vic | smut
-reader is victoria’s partner and starts to develop a certain ‘obsession’ for dami, until vic decides to fix it.
·。🍓 vic de angelis fic victoria de angelis x fem!reader
-y/n is the other female member of the band, who has had feelings for vic for a while now, but was too nervous to say anything. one night after a concert in new york changes that after the bassist overhears a conversation between damiano and y/n.
·。🍓 thorns victoria de angelis x fem!reader | Mentions of smoking. Mentions of panic. Swearing.
-victoria meets her ex-girlfriend (Ava). The unplanned “date” upsets her and she decides to drink and smoke to cope. When she wakes up in the morning her best friend Y/N (who she also happens to have a crush on) is there to try and reason with her. 
·。🍓 lucid victoria de angelis x fem!reader
-It started with a spilled drink and ended with a clumsy kiss on the dance floor. A night out with friends takes an unexpected turn when you bump into the one person that's been on your mind for the better part of a year- the same stranger who stole both your chapstick and your heart.
·。🍓 nightmares victoria de angelis x fem!reader | A description of a nightmare. Other than that all is fluff and comfort.
-When Y/N has a terrifying nightmare and wakes up screaming, Victoria is there to comfort her.
·。🍓 kisses and cake vic de angelis x reader | very fluffy, a little spicy
·。🍓 vic blurb vic de angelis x reader
-being in a punk band and having vic feature in a show (you know like thomas recently did with starcrawler) and her doing her scissoring thing on top of me and then when she extends and after extending a hand to help me up and pulling me into a very gay gay gay kiss smearing her lipstick on my lipstick and leaving a big lipstick stain on my cheek as well
·。🍓 birthday wish victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut
-little birthday blurb
·。🍓 church crush vic de angelis x reader | kinky as kink abba; innocent/corruption kink, and idk, sacrilege?
-good girl!reader having a massive obsession on a not-so-good girl from her church.
·。🍓 proficiency test victoria de angelis x gn!reader | a bit of swearing + one (1) explicit and one (1) implicit mention of sex + i'm very much projecting (who doesn't) + shitty german
-vic decides to help you study. chaos ensues.
·。🍓 coming home victoria de angelis x fem!reader
-vic has had a long day but coming home to you lifts the uneasiness from her shoulders and she vocalizes just how lucky she feels that you are in her life.
·。🍓 because of you idiot! victoria de angelis x gn!reader | angst(I guess), romantic fluff
-Victoria suddenly comes distance, and you try to find out why.
·。🍓 fluffy blurb vic de angelis x reader
-(it's something about getting matching tattoos with vic)
·。🍓 fuffly/smut with victoria victoria de angelis x fem!reader
-fluffy morning/half smut with victoria. nipples playing.
·。🍓 your camera roll while dating vic vic de angelis x reader | fluff, smut
·。🍓 knowing your worth vic x fem/gn! reader | hurt, comfort
-Vic is there for you after a conflict with your parents.
·。🍓 the first happiest birthday vic de angelis x reader | fluff
·。🍓 crawling back to you vic de angelis x reader
-Vic once again finds her way back to you.
·。🍓 one of a kind vic de angelis x reader | fluff, mentions of sex
-Vic finds out just how rich the feeling of love can be.
·。🍓 “I can’t keep kissing strangers and pretend that it’s you!” vic de angelis x reader | fluff, angst
·。🍓 pt 2 hospital vic fic. vic de angelis x reader
·。🍓 “everything before the word ‘but’ is horseshit.” vic de angelis x reader | smut
·。🍓 the one where victoria is patient. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut
-you've been with Victoria for half a year. Maybe it's about time you pushed your fears away.
·。🍓 “Yeah, well, if you weren’t so drunk maybe I would.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff
·。🍓 “Give me attention.” vic de angelis x reader | smut
·。🍓 “We’re in public, you know.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff
·。🍓 “Wait, don’t pull away… Not yet.” vic de angelis x reader | fluff
·。🍓 "Take off your clothes, but leave the heels on." vic de angelis x reader | fluff
·。🍓 vic fic vic de angelis x reader
-A kiss that is leading to more, but is interrupted by a third party
·。🍓 vic blurb vic de angelis x reader
-Distracting kisses from someone that are meant to stop the other person from finishing their work, and give them kisses instead.
·。🍓 l'amore è più forte di ogni segreto: Part 1. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | angst, swearing, bad google translate translations, overuse of italics, mention of someone called ‘A’ - Damiano’s girlfriend
-unbeknownst to you both, paparazzi photograph you and Victoria while on your way back from a date night. When you find out in the morning, the two of you have very different ideas of how to handle the situation.
·。🍓 l'amore è più forte di ogni segreto - Part 2. victoria de angelis x fem!reader | angst, swearing, bad google translate translations, overuse of italics.
·。🍓 k is for kisses vic de angelis x reader
-You and your girlfriend, Victoria, both like to tease each other. Kisses ensue.
·。🍓 peculiar and beautiful victoria de angelis x gn!reader | angsty but also fluffy
-reader finds themself in a emotional rut. A few comments online, the constant youtube recommendations on how to be “perfect” have been making them feel some type of way, hiding away from the one person that can help them; Victoria
·。🍓 amalfi nights victoria de angelis x fem!reader | smut, pretty vanilla, softdom!vic, servicetop!vic, praise, kind of fluffy smut
-reader and victoria are for vacation in Amalfi. After a candle-lit dinner at the restaurant, after a long day of swimming and sunbathing, victoria just wants to show you her love.
·。🍓 afterglow victoria de angelis x gn!reader | mentions of sex
-reader meets victoria while traveling with friends. The two create a lovely summer fling and reader can not help but bask in the afterglow of victorias influence hoping to encounter her again.
·。🍓 homesick vic de angelis x reader | tw sickness, vomitting
-vic and the reader being on a long vacation together. One night the reader wakes up homesick and ends up being sick in the toilet, trying to be as quiet as they can not to worry vic too much. To no use, of course, as vic wakes up alarmed by the sounds of someone being ill in the bathroom and then goes to comfort the sick, guilty, crying reader?
·。🍓 vic fic vic de angelis x reader
-An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose.
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damiano david
✧*: i want to dance on your body damiano david x fem!reader | smut 
-you and your bestie hit up a party when you start grooving with Damiano, and the dance floor chemistry carries over to his hotel room. That's where the magic unfolds, and you both go to cloud as he compares you to an angel.
✧*: i'm gonna fly straight to you damiano david x fem!reader | fluff
-you and Damiano are cuddled up in bed, brainstorming epic future adventures together.
✧*: i wanna paint your face like you're my Mona Lisa. damiano david x fem!reader | smut
-damiano takes you to see his new yacht
✧*: long stormy night damiano x fem!reader x vic | SMUT!!!, degradation, corruption kink, wax play, knife play, blood play, spanking, bit of fear play, unprotected sex, it’s just wild ok, i wanted to treat y/n
-It’s a last day of your small, a bit disappointing  gateway trip. The big storm is approaching, yet your evening takes an interesting turn when you bump into two hot Italians in the hotel bar
✧*: overthinking damiano david x fem!reader | swearing, alcohol, smoking, smut related things in general
-Your relationship with Damiano is going through a crisis and some jealousy. All becomes clear after a filed party and a steamy night. There is a bit sad, angsty beginning, smut in the middle and a bit of fluff in the end. So, we have the whole package.
✧*: welcome home damiano david x fem!reader | surprisingly fluffy but also smut
-after a long week all you need is a loving touch of your currently absent boyfriend. Luckily in the morning there is a very handsome surprise waiting for you, and this allows you to start your day in best way you could possibly imagine
✧*: 300,000 hearts damiano david x fem!girlfriend!reader
-where damiano sings a song about you he wrote in highschool, to a full arena
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ethan torchio
ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ blush ethan torchio x reader | pure fluff
-a blurb of Ethan meeting his new makeup artist who's really kind and bubbly and he instantly gets a crush on them?
ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ a night in paris ethan torchio x fem!reader | smut+swearing
-you went on a tour with the band and Ethan enjoyed Paris the most. Having your boyfriend all happy and excited turned out to be better then you expected.
ᑦ( •ᴥ• )ᐣ "The way your eyes get darker when you get aroused, is making me lose my mind." ethan torchio x fem!reader | smut
-If acting unwise get's you places, maybe you're just pushing it to be on your knees.
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thomas raggi
❤︎ ❥ "We passed 'just friends' about 20 fucks ago." thomas raggi x reader | angst, fluff, smut
❤︎ ❥ sanremo. thomas raggi x gn!reader | swearing, slightly sugggestive
-ever the supportive boyfriend, thomas indulges you in a sanremo 2023 watch party.
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484 notes · View notes
marlena-immortale · 1 year
Note
How long into relationship with every må member do you think it would take to sleep together? Like a few weeks or on the first date ?
Vic: The least amount of time, she's a woman who knows exactly what she wants and she goes for it. If she wants you, she'd have you in her bed the same night she first lays eyes on you.
Ethan: For him, it would probably be fairly quick but he still takes his time making sure. He likes to build a bit of a connection first so he can really figure out what you like in bed beforehand.
Thomas: He likes to be respectful and play by the rules, so a few dates before sex is necessary. Plus that way he can really get to know you and see where the relationship is going before taking that next step. But it could still be casual, he's definitely down for a friends with benefits type of deal.
Damiano: He's someone who looks slutty on the outside, but is a total softie on the inside. He likes to wait the longest, maybe going so far as to wait till you're exclusive and serious about starting a relationship together. But the wait will absolutely be worth it. He likes to make it special once he finally does sleep with you.
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cheese-toastie-11 · 11 months
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braid, singular || ethan torchio
pairing: ethan torchio x platonic!reader
summary: um. night in with your best friend and his friends (who are by extension also your friends) evolves into an impromptu hair braiding session.
word count: 911
warnings: none? bad ending i guess?
notes: i wrote this in like 5 minutes in either 2021 or 2022 (i can't remember) but i have finally decided to edit it and post it because i feel bad for not posting. it's a short one but it's better than nothing!
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Your entrances into your best friend’s apartment were never anything short of dramatic, and today was no different. Today you opted to just about kick it open, only to be greeted by Ethan on the other side of the door, having opened it just before you could go through with it.
"As much as I enjoy finding out how you’re going to make your presence known, I’d rather not have to pay for the damage," he said. “You know I gave you a key for a reason, right?”
"Good evening to you too," you answered, strolling in like nothing had happened. You handed him a carton of apple juice and were met with a look of confusion. "Last time I was here you were out of apple juice, so I figured I’d buy you some more."
"You were here yesterday."
"Who do you think finished it?"
He chuckled as you took off your shoes before making your way to his living room. His bandmates were already there, talking amongst themselves. Victoria and Damiano were sitting next to each other on one couch while Thomas sat alone on an adjacent armchair. Your chair—so named because you were the one to convince Ethan to buy it when he was first furnishing the place. 
You stood in front of Thomas expectantly. “You’re in my seat.”
“It doesn’t have your name on it,” he retorted. He showed no signs of moving. Obviously, it wasn’t that big of a deal, but where was the fun in conceding?
“You leave me with no choice,” you said, choosing to sit on his lap. He reacted immediately, shoving you off without any warning. You yelped and put up both your middle fingers at him, to which he replied by blowing a kiss. 
Ethan returned from the kitchen, having gone to put your apple juice in the fridge, and took a seat on the loveseat. You got up from the floor to go sit with him and stuck out your tongue at Thomas, who at this point was pleased he won the struggle for the chair. 
"So, what are we going to do?" Victoria asked. 
“There’s a Serie A game on right now,” Damiano suggested. “We could watch that?”
As he was met with a chorus of groans, you shifted closer to Ethan and poked him gently.
"Can I play with your hair?"
He nodded. "Let me sit on the floor so it’s easier for you."
You immediately got to work, first twirling a few strands around your index finger before portioning off a section to braid it. Victoria noticed immediately and pouted.
"You always play with Ethan’s hair, what about the rest of us?"
You looked over at her in mock pensiveness. "Well, Thomas never appreciates my company, Damiano has no hair to play with—"
"Fuck you!" 
"—and Vic, you never ask!" you finished, ignoring Damiano’s indignation. "Not to mention playing with Ethan’s hair is, like, my brand. It’s our thing, if you will."
"I will not," Vic scoffed. "I think we should have a thing too. I don’t care that you’ve known Ethan longer."
You shook your head, turning your attention back to the braid. Your focus was unmatched, continuing even as Thomas yelled at Damiano over something menial.
"Owie," Ethan whispered after a minute. "you’re pulling it too hard."
it was impossible for you to contain your laughter. "Did you just say 'owie?'"
"Yes, and what about it?"
"Nothing, nothing," you replied, suppressing a giggle. "it’s just that in all the time we’ve known each other, I have never once heard you say the word 'owie' unironically."
He did nothing more than put up a middle finger in response and you got back to work, making sure not to pull on his hair too tight.
You didn’t quite like the first braid and kept trying to get it right as the rest of the band decided on a show to watch, occasionally pulling Ethan’s hair as a sign that he was moving too much. And partially to see if he would react with another 'owie.'
"Almost done. You’re so pretty—and so is the braid, obviously," you whispered, mostly to yourself as you reached the bottom. Ethan immediately moved his head to face you.
"What?"
"What do you mean, what? Accept the compliment!”
"I—" he started before resorting to a sigh. "Thank you."
“Whoa, Ethan, don’t get so full of yourself,” Thomas joked. “Do you need a hair tie? I have one here from that time I tried putting my hair in a bun the way Damiano used to—"
He fished around his pocket and pulled out a hair tie, which you took and used to tie the braid.
“Honestly? This is some of my best work. I’ll take a picture so you can see."
Damiano looked over to see your handiwork and nodded, seemingly impressed. you fished your phone out of your pocket and took a picture of Ethan’s hair to show it to him. He gave you not one but two thumbs up and flashed a smile.
“It looks great.”
“Thank you, thank you,” you said, pretending to bow. “I should tag along on tour and just do your hair for you.”
"Okay, cool, my turn now," Vic said, shoving Ethan over.
“I don’t know how much of a miracle worker you think I am, but I can’t make you look any prettier than you already are, Vic,” you said. 
203 notes · View notes
filthforfriends · 6 months
Text
Chapter 1: Checking In
The Sun is the Center of Everything
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See Author's Note (CW: addiction)
Word count: 3.5k
Damiano David x Y/n
His family and his friends, mutual and otherwise, made tepid comments about Damiano’s wellbeing. They knew they didn’t have the right to ask anything of you, not anymore.
“Just checking in! I know the breakup was tough.” Tough. The word choice made you outright laugh. It was something you’d say to a child who just lost a football game. I know that was tough, buddy. 
“Hey, checking in, hope you’re doing well.” 
“I wanted to check in and see how you’re doing, y/n.”
“I know I checked in on you earlier, but I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.” I was forced to choose between my sanity and my relationship, but God granted me neither.
“I’m doing fine, all things considered.” “Checking in” was their excuse to call, it was a transition to statements like, “We all miss you alot. Hope we’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” “Well, I’m glad you’re doing well, since I know Damia has been struggling.” “Have you heard from Dami? I was gonna call and ask how he’s doing as well. I heard he’s not coping well.” “You were such a force for good in his life. I think he really needs that.” “I wish I knew how to get Damiano closer to being fine, too.” That last one earned a real life eye roll. At least his friends had the etiquette to feel guilty for dragging you back into it. 
You were certain that your heart couldn’t bear to love someone hellbent on self-destructing. You were certain that Damiano wasn’t going to get sober of his own volition. He’d lose his temper when you’d bring up those two years of not drinking. Articles, books, podcasts, speeches, YouTube videos, TV, movies, therapy, support groups, doctors, even a sobriety coach. You spent more time on resources for his addiction disorder than you did self-care, or hobbies, or some days, even work. Your life revolved around stopping this behavior before he became a tragic stereotype and left a black hole in your life. Damiano’s life revolved around Maneskin’s unrelenting schedule. 
He’d do anything to reclaim his autonomy, but the options were slim. The documents from Sony US hadn’t been translated with nuance and you wondered if that might void some of it. Hoped, really. He’d signed his life away to realize his dream. Now all he could do is show his handlers that they’d bought a faulty machine. In fact, he was self-destructive enough that he’d do it just to spite them. 
The first time Damiano was hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, you found about a dozen ways to reassure yourself that everything wasn’t falling apart. He’d been sober for two years so his tolerance was low. Damiano was probably drinking the same amount. Then you found out it’d been hard alcohol, no mixers. Now the excuses were he didn’t remember when to stop. He had to relearn how to self regulate when drinking. 
Ethan had been the one to call the first time, when they’d managed to contain it. The second it was his head of security, Ronnie. In a totally normal and healthy way, you combed through Twitter for an hour. The knot in your stomach said the news would break and it did. Splashed across tabloids was a haggard looking picture of Dami that you tried to date based on his outfit. Your therapist called your behavior “obsessive,” but followed it up with a surprising amount of empathy.
“Tough love can be equally painful on both sides.” You’d never told her you still loved him. It was obvious. For the first time, carrying around all Damiano’s secrets felt like a burden. You’d never betray his confidence, despite how poisonous he’d been towards the end. SME had you sign a non-disclosure agreement in early 2021. You’d insisted it wasn’t necessary, that there wasn’t enough money in the world to pay you to talk to the press. Sony had simply said, “for now,” prompting Dami’s stereotypically Italian temper to flare.
Ronnie was more concerned with you telling Damiano that he’d relayed this information, clearly against your ex-boyfriend’s wishes. 
“Be honest with me, are you breaching contract by calling me?” There’s a very long sign on the other end of the line.
“Technically, no. He hasn’t taken you off his emergency contacts. I’m more concerned about the disruption it would cause.”
“Disruption?”
“Explosion. Whatever he’s ingesting has made him volatile, constantly on edge. The edge of rage, that is. We’ve stopped hoping for good days and started hoping for some good hours every few days, ideally around showtime or interviews.” 
“Wow, okay. I know he has a temper –”
“He’s never not angry. It's always simmering under the surface.” Through the silence, you can hear the sounds of the hospital. Layers of anxious voices and the constant beeping of some machine.
“You didn’t do this.”
“I know,” you respond automatically.
“Y/n, you didn’t do this. He did this to himself.” Dami had violated boundary after boundary as you set them. He became less recognisable, until he wasn’t the person you fell in love with. Full of creativity, light, good humor, who loved art and comradery more than he did any substance.
“I mean, I don’t think the breakup is why he’s so angry. The depression is probably from the alcohol. That’s actually why I’m calling.” Ronnie has the same tone of voice as those who are “checking in.” “The decision has been made, that he’s going to rehab.”
“Good.” With your back braced against the wall, you slide down onto the floor with relief.
“That decision has been made without Damiano’s consent.”
“Can’t you consult him?”
“No,” Ronnie says firmly. “Addicts aren’t rational.” It was the first time you’d heard someone call Dami an addict. Before now, that word had only existed in your own head.
“I can’t believe it got to this point so quickly.” Your cat, Princess, senses your anxiety and rubs against you. Dami had picked her out as a tiny kitten. When would she start wondering where her dad was? Maybe not yet, he was gone for long stretches of time on tour. Princess doesn’t know he isn’t coming home, and that thought both makes you jealous and sob hysterically. 
“Y/n? Y/n? You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry,” you sniff, eyes burning.
“SME is using the full weight of its influence to force Dami into rehab. He might call you and say anything he can think of to get out of it. Don’t believe him. You can’t trust him right now.” The thought of Dami calling and begging you to fly him home, only to go on a bender makes you sick.
“Should I block his number and Whatsapp?”
“That's up to you.”
“You called to tell me it's up to me?”
“I called you to warn you. So you could steal yourself. So you’d know about it before the tabloids.”
“I suppose now that Dami’s hospitalization is public, someone is also gonna leak that he’s going to rehab. Cover their own asses?” Ronnie falls silent. “You know, going to rehab in privacy would be a fuck load more effective. Let them wonder.”
“I wish they would.” Here was the impasse you always reached. Damiano treated as a doll to be flung around for profit, as if he didn’t have a soul. 
“Fine. Thanks for calling me.” Each time, you tried to tell them not to update you in the future, and each time your tongue refused to form the words.
“Y/n, I have a feeling that something is really not right with him. That it could get much worse before it gets better.” Now, he’s managed to tick you off.
“Ronnie, I tried everything in my goddamn power to keep him from crashing and burning. More than anyone else! I devoted hours to –”
“Y/n, I know.”
“I couldn’t stop him from self-destructing. I tried!” The sound of tears creeps into your voice. “I couldn’t stand to watch it anymore. I don’t know if he was refusing to get better or was unable to, but either way I…tried.”
“No one questions that. I mean that Damiano might need for things to get worse for them to eventually get better. He’s stubborn and short-sighted. I want you to be ready.”
“How much worse?” you whisper.
“He might need to bruise his ass on rock bottom to stop idealizing self-destruction.”
“‘Live fast, die young’ sounds a lot like I’d rather stick it to the man than grow old with you. My ego is bigger than my love for you”
“I don’t know that that’s true, y/n. For some people it's a matter of time before they become addicts when they’re put into this pressure cooker. I’ve seen it before.
“And?”
“Only Damiano can pull himself out of it.”
“So I just wasted my time,” you respond bitterly.
“Showing Damiano how deeply and unequivocally you loved him might save him still.”
“I thought he had to save himself.”
“You’re telling me that after five years he’s not a part of you and vice versa?”
“No.” No, I’m not telling you that, because I know the opposite to be true so viscerally that it has almost destroyed me. The part of Damiano that lay in your heart should be withering in his absence, but it remained very much alive. How do you move on from someone you hadn’t broken up with? The version of Dami that caused you to end it wasn’t truly representative of his character. He was still in there, progressively buried under the rubble of this revolt. The man you loved was unreachable which also made it impossible to move on. Every day he held you in his hellish limbo. 
Damiano did his 30 days. Then 30 hours after discharge, he overdosed in Milan. You started buying a train ticket as soon as you saw Ronnie’s contact on the screen. 
“Is he alive?” 
“Yes, but he’s on a ventilator.”
“God damn it Dami,” you whimper, doubled over and on the verge of screaming into your hand. “What's happening?”
“That's literally all I know. Someone found him in the bathroom of a bougie nightclub and gave him Narcan, thank god. His lips were purple, so…” For a moment Ronnie’s voice is drowned out by a sob. “It’s gonna be messy. The ambulance was photographed.”
“Christ.” This would make international celebrity news. Every asshole who’d typecast Dam after Eurovision would be competing for the most public validation. 
“We don’t think it was intentional.”
“But how bad was it? Like would he think he was gonna die in the moment? Was he alone? How long was he conscious? What – what about organ failure. What if –”
“Y/n, I don’t know,” Ronnie says slowly. “I will call when I have more information.” You’d been on the train for 20 minutes before your phone rang. He was going to be okay. You balled up your coat and screamed, using it as a gag.
“Turns out, to compensate for the hangovers, he’s been doing cocaine.” Never has irony been more painful. “He wasn’t testing his drugs. The coke was laced with fentanyl. Another line might have killed him.” Only then does the possibility that Damiano could end his own life become apparent. It swallows up every other aspect of your reality, until you’re standing in the doorway of his hospital room. 
Thomas’ girlfriend Mia sees you first and runs in for a hug. Ethan and Vic were sleeping in their hotel rooms. Ronnie’s jacket is crumpled in a chair, forgotten after drifting off to sleep probably.
“Hey! Ronnie said you might come, but…” But I’m not Damia’s girlfriend. Perhaps he’d found someone new, and you were encroaching on their territory.
“Shit, I just thought that, um…is he dating –”
“No.” The amount of relief that provided was just evidence of how damaged you were. “He’s been in a coma for almost three hours, lots of good brain activity. He should wake up soon.”
“Coma?” you squeaked. In Tom’s eyes you saw how taxing this new Damiano had been. You weren’t the only one that loved him unconditionally. 
“Yeah.” Thomas rubs his face and sighs. “Fuck. We have so much shit tomorrow.” SME had scheduled a press tour as soon as Damiano was discharged, to make up for lost time. Everything was pushed back because the band couldn’t release something they hadn’t done publicity for.
“I’ll sit with him for a while,” you reassure. Mia helps Tom up out of the chair. After exchanging appropriate greetings, they exit the room, whose door remains open. Now you had to look at him. The ventilator emits rhythmic rushes of air, so your eyes find the source of the sound first. Then you follow the tubing until it enters Damiano. He’s gray, sickly looking like he had COVID again. Surely they already tested for that. 
The concern had been damaging his voice, like the tobacco and weed hadn’t already put his vocal chords on the edge of irreversible harm. How damaging is a plastic tube shoved down your throat? Alcohol caused esophageal cancer and coke eviscerated your sinuses. What would those do to his singing voice? 
You’d refrained from watching his gigs, but now you have the compulsion to find a video of this morning’s interview. It was just the talking portion, no performance. That was Sony’s idea of easing back into the public’s eye. In the thumbnail, he doesn’t look like an addict. Damiano’s skin had aged backwards while in rehab. He was beautiful, pale from so much time in doors, but healthy. The fact that he’d managed so much damage in a matter of hours made you nauseous. 
You sat in the bathroom while the feeling passed. The pale green tiles were cold. Should you leave? You couldn’t even work up the bravery to touch him. But if you left, Dami could wake up alone with a tube down his throat, confused that he wasn’t dead. Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights illuminate details in the reflection of the mirror that you’d prefer not to be made aware of. After pondering some adult acne, you decide that you aren’t the type of person to abandon someone, just because they abandoned you.
Upon exiting the bathroom, you startle the nurse at Damiano’s bedside.
“Geez, I didn’t know you were in there!” She brings a hand to her ample bosom while taking a deep breath.
“Shit, sorry. I was just…having an existential crisis.”
“Ah, so you must be the girlfriend, then.”
“Yep,” you answer automatically. After five years, that response was ingrained into your frontal lobe. This would have been the first time you answered no.
“I’m Maria and I’m gonna be your nurse this morning.”
“Morning?”
“It is…” she checks her smart watch, “5:04. So early morning.” Her chipper tone gives you cognitive dissonance. “I’m just gonna take some blood, just to monitor how his organs are functioning. Unfortunately a tiny amount of fentanyl can wreak havoc.” 
“His organs are failing?”
“No,” she answers firmly, going so far as to round the bed and pat you on the shoulder before putting on latex gloves. “He’s young and it's his first OD. He could bounce back quickly, but a coma is the body's last ditch effort at keeping itself alive. He’s lucky.” She gives you a knowing look. “I can recommend some great treatment programs, now that he officially has his Substance Use Disorder diagnosis.”
“Um.”
“Maybe we’ll tackle that around breakfast time. Now why don’t you hold onto his hand.” She ties a purple tourniquet around his bicep on his left arm while you gingerly take a seat. “Mhm, go ahead,” she permits, completely oblivious to the war raging inside you.
“Does – does it help?” Your left hand quivers, half an inch above his, close enough to feel the heat.  For some reason, you expect Dami’s skin to be cold too, like a corpse. 
“It can be difficult to find a good vein after an overdose.”
“Are his veins damaged?”
“We didn’t find any evidence that he was using intravenously. Unfortunately hypoxia, A.K.A. oxygen deprivation, is a result of –”
“Will he have brain damage?”
“You’ll have to ask the doctor that question.” 
“Does Narcan hurt?”
“No, but he’ll probably have a headache.”
“Does overdosing on fentanyl hurt?”
“It’s heavily sedating.”
“Would he know that he was overdosing?”
“Depends on how experienced of a drug user he is.”
“I’m pretty positive that this is his first overdose.”
“Then probably not.”
“Would he be scared then?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“Would he be afraid of dying?”
“Honey, hold his hand.” Maria pats you on the shoulder as you finally set your palm against Damiano’s. His skin is warm, as always, and he feels sturdy. The sensation of his hand in yours brings back so many memories that you’re fighting not to drown in them. It's strange, him not responding as you squeeze down. Dam loved to talk about marriage, how the ceremony would go, the reception. You’d debated matching rings. Now you watched the blue line of his heart rate on the beeping monitor.
“Okay, all done,” Maria announced, smoothing adhesive labels over vials of blood. “The doctor will be in shortly and – oh.” She freezes, then presses the call button.
“Is he okay?” Your heart falls from your chest to stomach, out your ass, and lands on the linoleum floor. 
“Yep, looks like he’s coming out of it, actually. Stand up,” Maria requests, pulling on your arm. “Make sure you’re in his line of sight. Waking up on life support can be quite disorienting.” Damiano’s face looks the same, but then his pupils move under his eyelids. You’re the first thing he’ll see and that pressure is impossible to bear. 
“I can’t! I’m so sorry.” You rub your eyes then stand up, grabbing your purse and overnight bag. Maria doesn’t protest. She lets you leave in a flurry of movement and tears, throwing the door open so forcefully that it hits the wall. Once outside of the hospital room, you immediately feel compelled to go back. Dami had never done anything to warrant being left alone at such a pivotal, terrifying moment. You knew with absolute certainty that if the roles were reversed, he’d have never left your side.
“Okay.” You take a deep breath upon re-entering the hospital room, holding Dami’s right hand in both of your own. “Okay, I’m here. What now?” 
“We wait,” Maria answers, as a doctor enters the room. There's the medication given, vitals taken, brain activity analyzed. The waves on the monitor become closer together, then more drastic. Medical personnel may be accustomed to it, but the rapid beeping elevates your anxiety.
“We’re bringing him up out of it gradually, so he doesn’t hurt himself,” narrates a young doctor. “Mr. David will have regained a level of consciousness by now. Probably thinks he’s dreaming.” How would a person not startle while waking up with a tube in their throat? It’d been almost three months since you’d last seen him, but if you thought about it that way, you’d just run. Instead, you imagine that you’re waking Damiano up from a bad dream, even though it was typically the other way around.
“Will he recognize your voice?”
“Of course.” The response comes out defensive when you didn’t intend it to be.
“Talk to him.”
“I…okay.” You lean down, getting closer to his ear. “Dami, it’s y/n. It’s y/n, I’m really here. It's me, baby.” That last word gets stuck in your throat. It’d be so long. How many messages had you missed? He must have tried to contact you.
“I’m sorry, I haven’t answered. I don’t know the right things to say. I don’t know if saying something is the right thing.” Maria and the other nurse in the room are looking at you with a bit of judgment, but the doctor is focused on the monitors.
“Great. That’s great.” You raise a shaky hand to Damiano’s cheek and brush your thumb back and forth.
“As soon as I heard, I got on a train. I still think about you everyday, even more than when we were together. Hopefully you won’t remember any of this, me babbling on. I’d call it pathetic, but you wouldn’t like that.”
“Page whatever respiratory therapist is on call this morning, please. Thank you.” For another couple minutes you wait for improvement, signs that your boyfriend still existed in this body. The doctor is enthralled in what appears to be unchanging information to you, and administers another dose of something. 
“I always thought it was kind of sudden,” you confess. “Damia, if you can hear me, come towards the surface.”
“He can definitely hear you. I’m Dr. Williams, by the way, or just Paul.” The young physician never breaks focus. “Common misconception. If waking up from sleep isn’t instant, why would waking up from a coma be,” he chuckles. Damiano’s hand twitches at the wrist, like a muscle spasm.
“He just moved!”
“Mm-hm.”
“Is everything okay?” Ethan exclaims, having walked in while all your focus was elsewhere. Someone herds him into the hall and closes the door. Then Dami squeezes down on your hand, properly, like he intends to. His eyes flutter and you feel his presence enter the room.
Notes: Chapter 2 posted on Sunday. Let me know if you find this fic interesting/compelling so far. I'll be posting two short chapters a week, word count ranging from 2.9 - 7.3k. Hello to the new members of my taglist!
-XOXO Eden
Read the rest on my Masterlist
Get notified via my 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 @hauntedpostpersona @shinshans @bai-wuxiangs-mask @lonnybunnys @davianos-blog
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tiredeyesight · 1 year
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potential partners
description : in an interview ethan got asked which artist or band he wants to collaborate with, he says y/n leaving thousands to start shipping the two of you causing your first interactions out of many
word count : 374
a/n : this was so bad omg, i might rewrite it in the future but i need to get a fic out i’m so sorry. anyways even though thsi is really bad hope you enjoy !!💓
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ethan was preparing for an interview smiling at the talk his band mates and friends were saying. a little while later they went out into the interview room organising themselves and sitting down waiting. the interviewer came into the room and they heard the count down, ‘3, 2, 1 begin.’ the interviewer welcomed måneskin and saying thanks for joining them today. then the questions began.
the questions were more or less the same as the normal interviews they attended to but then they started asking for personal opinions about other music related stuff. ethan then got asked, ‘ethan, if you could choose any band to collaborate with what band would you choose?’ ‘y/n without a doubt.’ ‘and why is that?’ ‘i think their music style fits similarly to ours and they seem super fun to hang around. plus they have the same energy on stage as us so it works really well’ ethan answered smoothly.
the interview came to a end and they got thanked for attending yet again. the four of them gathered their things and left to go grab some drinks.
the interview was released a few weeks later and the comments exploded with how good and you and ethan would be together, some even created a ship name within a matter of minutes.
you were scrolling through instagram when you saw that you had an excessive amount of tags with ethan torchio, the drummer from måneskin. intrigued by why everyone was going ballistic over an interview you went to go find it. after watching around ten or so minutes you found that the ethan torchio wanted to collaborate with you.
after a few minutes debating whether or not you should you decided to dm ethan, you rewrote the message so many times it was horrifying that you ended up leaving it alone for a few hours out of nerves.
as you getting ready to go out to run a few errands a notification stood out to you. ‘@ethantorchio messaged you on instagram’ you basically ran to your phone and opened the message. ‘hey! i don’t know if you have seen the interview or what the fans are doing but i’d really like to meet up some time you seem super cool:))’
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1-800-simping · 2 years
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your couple pics with måneskin
warnings: none! (let me know if i missed any)
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victoria:
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thomas:
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damiano:
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ethan:
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a/n: none of these pics are mine! i found them off the internet so all creds go to the owners!!
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ghostcookieturner · 2 years
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what do you think about an imagine with damiano when he writes a song dedicated to you and performs it for the first time? 🤍
i would start seizing but that wouldn’t be very fitting for a fic so i’ll wipe up something where the reader doesnt die🤭
ps this is more like a blurb then an actual imagine just bc i’m horrible at describing things ajajaj
~~~~~~
300,000 HEARTS
where damiano sings a song about you he wrote in highschool, to a full arena
Damiano David x Fem!Girlfriend!Reader
word count: ~300
tws: grammatical errors, unedited, being totally flabbergasted lol
It hit you like a current in a river.
Your boyfriend, rockstar Damiano David, singing the song he wrote about you in high school, in front of the sold-out crowd at Circo Massimo.
The crowds reaction was everything but calm. They danced and swayed to the song while you held back tears. You knew it was your song from the first line of the first verse.
Of course, there were a couple tweaks and fixes to the song here and there, but the chorus sounds the same as it was when you were both 16. It’s a slow, little love ballad that has a 70s vibe to it. He called you a couple days after your first date and he told you to go over to his place. And there, he preformed the rough draft of the song he is performing right now, in front of the packed Circo Massimo.
It was his dream to preform here, sold out to a crowd who knew their songs like the back of their hands. That’s why the chorus sent 300,000 hearts to you, one from each person who attended.
You finally understood the lyrics now.
“300,000 hearts I send to you my love, my love.”
He gave you a wink after the last word, seeing your amazement even onstage.
Your insides melted, like a candle burning wax. All you could hear were the cheers and screams of fans all around you, obsessed with the new song.
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cherry-harrison · 1 year
Text
Muse
Painter!Ethan Torchio × GN!Reader
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: None
Words: 1.3k
Summary: Ethan creates a masterpiece using makeup products, and Reader's face is the canvas
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“Are you sure you don’t mind helping me?” Ethan asked for what seemed like the hundredth time. “I know it’s really short notice, so you don’t have to.”
“Of course I want to help you.” You replied, leaning against the door frame as he gathered the rest of his supplies. “I’m actually kind of excited. I’ve never been a canvas before.”
Ethan was a pretty decent artist, dabbling with multiple forms of media, preferring ones such as charcoal drawings or a simple graphite sketch. Lately, he had been seeing various examples of artists using their own faces as their sketchpads. He marvelled at the idea of using makeup as a medium, and decided to have a go at it. However, doing it to his own face in front of a mirror might have been too steep of a challenge for his first time, so he opted for practicing on someone else first. And you were more than happy to oblige.
Ethan wanted the experience to be as comfortable for you as possible, choosing his bedroom as an optimal location. You sat down on the bed and brushed your arms against the smooth fabric of the blanket, using one of the pillows to lean back against the headboard.
Once you were settled, he laid out all the colors he would use, along with several brushes varying in size. You allowed Ethan to use your makeup for this adventure, and while you didn't have the largest collection of items, you did have an appreciation for graphic liners, which was the closest makeup product to paint that you could possibly have. You informed him of having to spray the liners with water to activate them, and that was really all there was to it. In his mind, it was just like using watercolor paints. 
Once you saw him coat the brush with the first color, you felt yourself getting excited again. "Are you ready?" Ethan whispered, holding the brush a few inches from your cheek.
"Permission to paint is granted." You declared with a giggle, closing your eyes and leaning forward. The second the blob of pigment touched your face, you wanted to squirm, but it was more from anticipation than anything else.
"Is it cold?" Ethan asked, sensing your plight of trying not to move.
"Not too bad." You mumbled, making sure not to stretch your cheeks too much. "It kinda tickles." Keeping with the theme, Ethan used your makeup brushes instead of his own. His were too abrasive to be used on your face anyway. But even though they were your own brushes and you had used them more times than you could count, the way they glided across your skin gave you a type of tranquility you had never known before. 
Ethan hardly said a word while he was working. He had his quiet moments on ordinary days, but while he was concentrating, you couldn't even so much as hear his breathing. His level of focus was unmatched, and it was always clearly visible when viewing the masterpieces he was able to create. 
The silence throughout the room actually served to heighten your other senses, and the experience was magical. You felt every stroke of the brushes, the difference in the density of the bristles based on which one he was using, and somehow, each color felt different as well. You still had no idea what he was creating, but the mysterious aspect served to benefit you. It was similar to viewing a piece of abstract art, but almost from the inside out. You were the foundation for said art, and you had no clue what it looked like. It was the most anticipating of exhibitions, one that you were honored to be a part of.
“You doing okay?” Ethan piped up, making small circular motions on your eyelids. You slightly nodded, not wanting to disturb what he was doing, but enough to give him an answer. “Just checking,” Ethan replied, chuckling to himself. “For a second there, I thought you fell asleep on me.” You tightly pursed your lips, attempting to stifle your laughter to preserve his precious artwork.
“You can laugh, you know.” He commented.
“I don’t want to crease anything.” You responded. “You worked very hard on it.” You still had your eyes closed, but could almost see Ethan staring intently at your lips.
“Hearing your laughter is worth more than anything I could ever create.”
After several minutes, and several more brush changes, Ethan had finished his masterpiece. Apparently, you two had been sitting there for quite a while, much longer than you estimated. Upon opening your eyes, you were captivated by how the rays of sunlight coming through the window were not only in a different position, but they were beginning to turn a dusty orange. To you, it had felt like mere seconds, as it seems to be true that pleasant times pass by quicker. 
You turned back to Ethan, who offered you a warm smile, letting you know he was satisfied with his work. He extended his hand to help you sit up straight.
“Okay, what goofy-looking creature did you turn me into?” You joked, standing up to make your way towards the vanity mirror.
“Very funny.” Ethan retorted. “But I’m quite proud of it, and I hope you like it as much as I do.” When you gazed at your reflection, your eyes widened. The amount of detail he had put into his creation was astounding.
Starting at your jawline, a flurry of monochrome green rolling hills were bounding up towards your cheeks. Ethan even integrated your facial features into the artwork, painting your lips to look like a giant flower neatly perched on one of the hills. Blanketed across your nose and underneath your eyes was the beginning of a beautiful sunset, the orange hues slowly blending into yellow as they swirled around your eyes, ending their journey just below your browline. Continuing upwards, a rapid transition of color led to a world of vibrant pinks, blues, and purples. Ornately decorating your forehead were various groups of stars and constellations. You didn’t recognize all of them, but you were certain Ethan would be overjoyed to tell you if you asked him about it. For an artist that was known for mostly grayscale work, your face was sporting quite the rainbow. But what might’ve been the most overwhelmingly admirable detail was the fact that the entire piece was done in perfect symmetry. Whatever he added on one side, he had to add to the other, a crucial ingredient to anything that he created. It was a true work of art and you couldn't be more proud of him.
“Ethan, it’s beautiful.” You beamed. “Oh, gosh it’s so wonderful I never want to wash it off. I wish I could leave it here forever.” Ethan’s eyes lit up, his shoulders bopping back and forth with a mix of pride and excitement.
“I’m so happy you’re pleased with it.” He said, staring in the mirror alongside you for another closer look. “But I’m sure it will get itchy eventually, which is why I ask that you let me take some photos before you wipe it off.”
You stepped back to pose as Ethan took out his phone. He captured several images of his creation, all in various lighting and angles, keeping his fingers under your chin to tilt your face in between photos. Once he was done, you looked in the mirror again, silently planning the next time you wanted him to do this. 
"Oh, wait, I forgot to sign it." Ethan whispered as he turned you back to face him. You were about to make a comment when he leaned in closer, pressing a punctuating kiss to your lips.
Well, at least no one could ever replicate the signature.
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Once again, thank y'all so much for 50 followers!! 🥰🥰🥰 I promised to post something today, and something you shall get! As far as full fics are concerned, I don't have any other ones planned, so requests are always appreciated! 💕
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l0standn0tf0und · 2 years
Text
the seventh part of my favorite fics with Little Beautiful Gorgeous Breathtaking Talented Meow Meow
first part
second part
third part
fourth part
fifth part
sixth part
* - smut
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I'll sit here, with my arms wrapped around you, all night
I really do love you (😭the reason of my mental breakdown, such a good work)
the part of me i’ll always need
♡shy boy (everyone, do you hear me? I mean everyone, drop anything you're doing now, and read this one and the one below. because these are pure perfection)
♡prompt 17
♡in need of some extra love
♡let's just cuddle?
♡I'll kiss you again (if every time I re-read this I received a coin, then I would be a millionaire. I'm dead serious, I've re-read it for a shitload of times, this fic deserves all the time in the world to be spent on reading it)
♡love is in the small things
♡fluffy abc (14k of perfect representation of relationships with thomas. 14k of sweetness. 14k of perfectly described temper of thomas. and simply 14k of words that will bring you comfort and calm)
♡all my friends told me you’d break my heart*
♡satin, lace, and other pretty things p.2 & p.3* (these are favorite smut fics ever)
♡the taste of it* (no, I've changed my mind, this! is my favorite smut fic ever)
♡lesson one: it's all about anticipation*
♡lesson four: take matters into your own hands*
♡lesson six: the choice is yours*
♡hacred heart - tainted church* (someone, for the God's sake, call firefighters , this fic is too hot)
♡loosing it (part 1)*
all the love to the authors of all these masterpieces: @cuzimitaliano @eyoricka @tempobrucera @mywritingonlyfans @idyllicbutterfly @writingmaneskin @filthforfriends @oro-e-diamanti ❤️
masterlist
add yourself to my taglist
sweeties from my taglist🥰: @that-one-ma-blog @littlebitchsposts @shadowhuntyi @imjustanerdwholikestoread @britishmoonchild @maneslut @iamtashaquinn @icarodamiano @butkutee @writingmaneskin @theimpossiblehologramtree @little-moonbeam-666 @ilwiwbysmv @cc0le @oro-e-diamanti @inari-zaheer @superchrystaldrug @hiraetheral @que--sera--sera @iosonoarina @idyllicbutterfly @weareoddlydrawn @teenyweenynightghost (feel free and let me know if you wanna be removed from the tag list)
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your camera roll if thomas raggi was your boyfriend p.2
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p.1
masterlist
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maneskin-dimensione · 2 years
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Genuine question: is there such a thing as over-writing? Because I've been fine so far but today it's like I've just lost my motivation to write and everything that I have managed to write today reads like shit :/
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marlena-immortale · 11 months
Note
Imagine being annoyed with damiano’s new haircut because there’s nothing to tug on while he goes down on you and he just smirks every time you pout
Aww I love this!
At first you love it because the short cut gives you the best access to give him the head scratches that he loves, but then once he starts kissing down your body and starts licking your clit and all you want to do is tug him closer ... there's nothing to hold on to. He hears you whimper and looks up to see you pouting at him and asks what's wrong. When you tell him you miss tugging on his hair he just smirks and shakes his head, getting back to work and guiding your hand to the back of his head anyway.
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cheese-toastie-11 · 11 months
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sanremo || thomas raggi
pairing: thomas raggi x gn!reader
word count: 2707 (is this my longest fic? i think so)
warnings: swearing i guess? two poor attempts at avoiding a makeout scene because i didn't want to write them? overall cringe content? slightly suggestive at the end?
summary: ever the supportive boyfriend, thomas indulges you in a sanremo 2023 watch party.
notes: this was supposed to be posted like two months ago i'm so sorry. vic ethan and damiano editions coming soon* i hope. *iwbys video kind of soon if you know what i mean
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“TESORO, get in here! It’s starting!” you yelled from the comfort of the couch. 
“Aspetta!” your boyfriend yelled back from the discomfort of the kitchen. 
“Sanremo waits for no one!” you replied. You heard the clattering of plates and the sound of the stovetop being turned off before Thomas entered the living room empty-handed.
“So, I kind of fucked up the pasta,” he began. You sighed and opened your mouth to speak, but he continued. “Not to worry! It’s easily salvageable and the rest of the snacks are ready. I’ll bring them out in a second.”
He went back into the kitchen and returned moments later, balancing plates of prosciutto e melone and assorted cheeses as well as a bowl of grapes and some crackers. As he set them down onto the coffee table, you leaned over to pick up a cube of cheese.
“Nicely cubed,” you commented. “You should, like, feed me the grapes. I think it would be funny.”
Thomas raised his eyebrows. “Do you want me to? Because I’ll do it if you want me to.”
You glanced at the TV. “Not now. You have five minutes to figure out the pasta situation because I think Amadeus is almost done talking,” you said before pausing to contemplate. When it came to Sanremo, ‘almost done’ meant the amount you expect it to last, doubled and rounded up. Especially if it was Amadeus. “Maybe more like ten minutes. You have ten minutes if you want to be here in time for the first performance, five minutes if you want to briefly make out with me beforehand.”
That was enough for Thomas to run, nay, sprint back to the stovetop. 
You’d been watching Sanremo since far, far before Thomas and the band competed, and it was no exaggeration to say it was one of your favourite weeks of the year. The press conferences, the memes, the performances: all of it brought immense joy to an otherwise boring month. And it was a nice lead-in to Eurovision too—if you liked the winner.
Thomas was normal. He’d watch the final with you, and sometimes cover night as well, but he mostly relied on you to give him your takes on the best songs—he trusted your music taste. When he told you that Måneskin were considering participating, you yelled so loudly the neighbour knocked on your door to ask if everything was alright. And you admit, that was a bit of an overreaction, but in the moment, you simply could not contain yourself. Thomas understood. He always did.
Four minutes and thirty seconds later Thomas was back. He put the plates of spaghetti alle vongole next to the rest of the food and sat on the couch before pulling you onto his lap. Your lips had just barely met his when you heard a familiar voice emanating from the TV speaker. 
“Oh fuck, Gianni Morandi is talking,” you said, turning around so your back was pressed against his chest. He let out a whine of discontent. “I’m sorry, tesoro, but my parasocial grandfather comes first.”
He pouted and put his head on your shoulder, which you figured was a sign that he was going to complain, so you turned back briefly to grant him a kiss.
“You should do that more often,” he said.
“Kiss you?”
“Yeah!”
“I kiss you plenty,” you replied. “Now shush, I think Elodie’s about to come on.”
Thomas sighed. “I hope you were this invested when we were competing.”
You turned back to kiss him again. “This and more. You’re lucky you weren’t there to witness it, I was insufferable.” Your friend group took turns hosting viewing parties during that week, culminating in a big party at your place for the final. You had gone all out—you baked a cake, decorated your living room with assorted pictures of Thomas (for good luck), and even impulsively bought a bottle of Prosecco. Your friends still tease you about how loudly you’d shush everyone when Måneskin came on. 
The same went for other Måneskin performances as well—Victoria liked to tell you at the end of each show that your voice made up most of the screaming crowd during guitar solos. She wasn’t wrong, per se, and who could fault you! Being Thomas’s one-person hype squad was basically your second job title.
He didn’t bother you more, allowing you to watch Elodie’s performance in peace…sort of. By the end of the song, you were lip syncing passionately to Thomas as he watched with a massive grin on his face. 
“What?” you asked.
“Nothing,” he said. “I finally get what you mean when you say you like hearing me talk about my boring guitar shit. I like seeing you nerd out like this.”
You kept up the energy during Colla Zio and Mara Sattei’s performances; you made sure to tell Thomas all about how much you liked the lyrics Damiano wrote and how they really should consider recording more ballads in Italian because he has such a way with words, and Thomas laughed and said he’d pitch it at their next rehearsal. 
When the co-hosts started talking again, you realized the pasta was getting cold. Neither of you had touched the food since the performances started. 
“Oh my god, the food,” Thomas blurted out. “I spent like half an hour this morning figuring out how to clean clams and we haven’t even tried them yet.”
You moved off Thomas’s lap and leaned over to take one of the plates on the table and a fork, and Thomas did the same. You took the first bite simultaneously, making sure to try both the clam and the spaghetti.
“Hm,” you began. “I think it needs a bit of salt. I think the clams are okay, though. I rate it a 7 out of 10.”
“I don’t,” Thomas complained, grabbing a napkin to spit out a clam. “The clam I just ate was sandy. Gross. I’m scared to eat the rest of them now.” He pushed the rest of the clams to one side. 
To no one’s surprise, Amadeus and Gianni were still going on and on by the time you were finished eating. You were setting down the plates on the countertop to deal with later when Thomas asked you to bring a bottle of wine on the way back.
“Which one?” you asked, scanning the shelf of bottles with two glasses in hand. The various wines were organized by grape variety and year, for the aesthetic, but neither of you were knowledgeable to the point of snobbery. It was fun to act like you were, though. 
Prolonged silence on Thomas’s end. “I don’t care. A white wine. You should probably hurry, though, they’re starting the preamble for the next artist.”
You took the first bottle your free hand met and quickly shuffled back to the living room. This was one of the performances you were most looking forward to tonight.
Thomas beckoned for you to return to your spot on his lap by way of grabby hands. You happily obliged and yelled in excitement when Gianni announced the next performer.
“It’s my boy!” you cheered as Tananai walked onto the stage.
“I thought I was your boy?” your boyfriend asked, the pout evidence in his voice.
You weren’t sure if it was conscious on his part or not, but Thomas’s hold around your waist tightened ever so slightly.
“He’s my parasocial boy,” you corrected. “Now stai zitto, my boy is singing.”
This time, you meant it. You managed to contain yourself for the entire duration of the song—partly because you’d started sobbing a little halfway through—and so did Thomas. You continued to sit in silence even after the song was over. Thomas spoke first.
“Wow,” he said. “I’m starting to see why he’s your parasocial boy now.”
As the night went on, you fluctuated between being too tired to function and being incapable of sitting still. Thomas gasped loudly when Rosa Chemical brought Fedez on stage, and you briefly fell in love with Sangiovanni during his interval performance with Morandi.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you were rudely awoken by Thomas hitting your arm repeatedly. “Amore, they’re about to announce the artists in the super final.”
“I don’t care anymore as long as Ultimo doesn’t make it,” you replied with a yawn. You were choosing to blame your inability to stay awake on the wine—you and Thomas finished the bottle when you started playing a drinking game after Ariete’s performance. “You voted from both our phones, I hope?”
“Of course, schatje.”
“Dutch?”
“I needed to switch things up, I always call you amore. I learned it from a fan in Belgium.”
“Hmm. I like it. You should use it more.”
On the TV, Chiara, Amadeus, and Gianni were announcing the classifica. You were disappointed to see some of your favourite acts so low in the standings, and by the time they were announcing the top 10 you were clenching your fists anxiously.
“Il sesto posto…” Gianni began on the screen. You leaned forward ever so slightly. “Giorgia!” 
Tananai hadn’t been mentioned yet, which meant…
“MY BOY MADE IT TO THE SUPER FINAL!” you yelled, unintentionally hitting Thomas in the face as you pumped your fists. He, of course, was startled and almost lost his grip on you. “Sorry amore.”
“I’m okay, don’t worry,” he said. “Let’s vote for Tananai?”
“That’s the most romantic thing you’ve said to me all night.”
He handed you your phone and you went into your messages, sending the maximum amount of ‘02’s you could to the number shown on screen. Thomas did the same. After that was done, you went into your messages to beg everyone you knew to vote for him as well, and even took it a step further by grabbing Thomas’s phone and posting to his Instagram story. You would stop at nothing to make sure Tananai won—or, at the very least, to make sure Ultimo lost. 
All that was left for you to do was wait. Thomas turned you around so you were face to face, like at the beginning of the evening. “Since we’re waiting around doing nothing…how about that make out session I was promised earlier?”
As if on cue, your phone started ringing. “Can’t, my mom’s calling me,” you said, reaching across the couch for your phone. You felt a little bad, sure, but he’d get his wish session eventually! 
“I hope she’s happy knowing she just cockblocked me,” Thomas grumbled. 
“Thomas!” you exclaimed as you answered the phone and put it on speaker.
“Ciao, cioccolatino,” you heard from the other end. Thomas’ grin was wide as you scrunched your nose at your childhood nickname. “How are you feeling about Sanremo so far?”
“Y/N’s very pleased with Tananai,” Thomas answered. He wasn’t in the mood for a conversation with his bandmate right now, despite your eagerness to share your opinions with someone other than him tonight. “Realistically, I think Men—”
You shushed Thomas loudly, as if him finishing his sentence would curse the results. “Tananai has a chance, shut up. How about you?”
“Oh! Thomas is there too! How wonderful! You know, I was just thinking—"
“Mom, not the time.”
“Sorry, sorry, you’re right. I’m surprised none of the women made it, I think that’s unfair. Mr Rain was definitely not better than Elodie.”
“Exactly!” you said. “The kids carried his whole performance! If anything, they should win the entire thing.”
You looked at Thomas, whose patience seemed to be wearing thin. 
“Amore,” he whined, just quiet enough that your mother probably wouldn’t be able to hear. “We were busy.” He wasn’t usually like this, but months away on tour does something to a person. Ever since he got back from the North American leg of the tour, he’d been far more touch starved than usual. You understood, of course. 
You covered the microphone to make sure she wouldn’t hear. “When my mom hangs up, I promise.”
He sighed, knowing he had no choice but to oblige. Voting hadn’t closed yet, so the chance of Sanremo results getting prioritized over him again were slim. Or rather, he hoped they were slim. You engaged in idle chitchat with your mom, knowing she’d likely start pressing for details if you tried cutting her off abruptly. Thomas was zoned out and tracing shapes idly on your thigh, as he did when he got bored. You’d joked that if you got his invisible doodles tattooed on you your thighs would be covered in the Lucky Charms marshmallow shapes. He didn’t get the reference.  
“Anyway, I should go, this wine glass isn’t going to refill itself. Call me tomorrow morning, cioccolatino. Have fun!”
“Bye,” the two of you chorused. As soon as you hit the end call button, Thomas took your phone and tossed it to the other couch, far out of reach for either of you. He gave you a look, the silent ask for consent, and you barely got out one nod by the time his lips were on yours. You wrapped your arms around his neck and one of his hands made its way to your waist, pulling you in closer.
The other hand, the one on your thigh, had since stopped tracing shapes and moved up ever so slightly higher. And higher. And a little bit more—
If it hadn’t been for the Sanremo theme blaring out of the TV speakers to signal the end of the ad break, the two of you could’ve easily forgotten all about the ongoing festival. This time, it was Thomas who pulled away quickly—much to your dismay. You glared at his smug demeanour as he moved his hand away from your thigh and up to his face to brush a stray strand of hair.
“Dude. Not cool.”
“My tongue was just down your throat and you’re calling me dude?”
“What do you want me to say!” you defended. “I admit, I was mean for depriving you of kisses for a prolonged period. But at least I didn’t fucking edge you when I did it!”
“Schatje, I promise you that wasn’t even close to me edging you. I’d be glad to show you after, but I think you want to see who wins Sanremo first,” he said, helping you turn around to face the TV screen once more tonight. Hopefully it would be the last.
As the hosts built up anticipation on screen, you squeezed Thomas’s hand tightly. So tightly, in fact, he had to pull away to avoid an actual injury. “Amo, I’m stressed,” you said. 
“I can tell,” he replied. “It’ll be fine. At the end of the day, it’s just a silly little song contest.”
You nodded in agreement. “You’re right. It is just a silly little song contest.”
“La quinta posizione…” the hosts announced. You muttered Ultimo’s name under your breath, as if to manifest it. “Tananai!”
“WHAT?” you yelled. “No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no. No. Non è vero. Non è possibile. Chi cazzo ha votato per Ultimo?”
“Well, this sucks,” Thomas said. “If it helps, I think he should’ve won.”
You laughed in disbelief, watching as Lazza and Marco stood on the stage and waited to find out who won. “I maxed out my votes, I maxed out your votes…hell, I begged your fans to vote for him too. How the fuck did Tananai not win?”
It took Thomas squeezing your hand to bring you out of your misery. “Y/N. Silly little song contest, remember? Besides, Eurovision is in Liverpool of all places, I think there are cooler places for Tananai to perform.”
You sighed dramatically, leaning against Thomas until you both sunk into the sofa. “I’m inconsolable, Thomas. I need a kiss.”
He quickly obliged. “I need to be anywhere but this living room right now. Bedroom?”
“You don’t need to tell me twice,” you said. “Sanremo is exhausting.”
You stood up and Thomas followed suit. He took your hand and led you towards your shared bedroom—dishes in the kitchen long forgotten. “I take it you’re too tired for an afterparty, then?” he asked, the smallest smirk evident on his face. 
“Me? Never.”
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filthforfriends · 1 year
Text
Lighthouse
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Thomas x gender neutral reader
Word count: 3.6k
TW: This is based on an ask I got over a year ago for a Thomas fic where reader is triggered by people yelling and he calms them down. Mentions of probable domestic abuse and vague implications of childhood abuse, neither necessarily physical.
Canvas bag in your left, Thomas’ hand in your right, the crisp spring air was maddening in that it made your nose cold and absolutely nothing else. Today was the first farmers market this year, more trinkets than produce because very little was ripe. Thomas wore a beanie to avoid being recognized, but got so annoyed with the thing that he took it off before you’d even exited the train. Now it was a bulge in his jacket pocket, taunting you with the possibility of falling onto the stale city street.
It was nice to have these as your day’s worries: skin bitten by the cold breeze, the lack of seasonal vegetables, a lost hat. There’d been a time when you prayed for the mundane, for stupid arguments over socks on the living room floor or the last cup of coffee already drunk. Socks could be washed and more coffee made. The problem with a broken home is that the pieces never quite fit back together. Too sharp.
“Hey.” Thomas shoulder checks you, using your intertwined hands to prevent tripping. He’s gotten good at spotting when your thoughts start circling the drain.
“Hey, sorry,” you huff, remembering to breathe.
“Don't apologize.” He kisses the top of your head, dramatically swinging your arms as a distraction. Because of the foot in height difference he’s jerking you around a bit. It’s annoying and very effective at getting you mentally unstuck.
“Okay, okay.” You smile, and instead of calling that a victory, Thomas starts walking backwards, tugging some more.
“I’m gonna trip and die or you’re gonna trip and die.”
“Such a pessimist,” he complains, with a theatrical eye roll. Tommy stops walking and you run into him, but it's purposeful. He’s ready for the forward momentum and drops your hand to wrap you in a hug. 
“It's inconvenient, how good you’ve become at reading my facial expressions,” you mumble into his jacket, zipper pressing into your cheek.
“And you can tell when I’m hungry when I can’t tell that I’m hungry.” 
“Mind reading is a cooler super power than being a hunger meter.”
“Mm mm, I disagree.” He loosens his arms so you can pull back and see each other.
“You’d look damn good in a cape though.” Tommy has this special smile that's exclusive to your compliments. He doesn’t worry that the adorable soft spot under his chin turns into a roll. His nose scrunches, revealing the minor asymmetries of his perfect mouth. Thomas had a tooth pulled on the right side at age 11, so only the left side is slightly crowded. In moments of intense passion you liked to lick where his canine overlapped with the tooth behind it. He never quite understood that.
“Well, I can’t argue with facts,” he shrugs, grabbing your hand and leading you towards the station. 
“Maybe they’ll have a cape vendor next week!” From then on, things are light hearted, because he's so good at that. The train is mostly empty, which somehow makes the plastic seating marginally less uncomfortable. Thomas takes a piece of gum out of your purse, laughing at the collection of accidently stolen pens bearing the insignia of various offices. Before he can crumple the wrapper, you take it and the Central Manhattan Dentistry pen to make a sketch of Thomas. He strikes a philosophical pose and you use your knee cap as a table for seven stops. 
“You need to pick a pose you can hold.”
“I can hold this,” he insists, chin in the deep between his thumb and pointer finger. He starts regretting it at stop two, but doesn’t admit defeat until stop five. Of course the drawing is horrible, but efforts to throw it away are met with progressively more zealous insistence from Thomas that the piece be displayed in custom framing. Through all the squabbling, the wrapper gets torn accidentally. Automatically, you brace for the fallout.
“Aww! You’ll have to draw me another one next week,” he laughs, rubbing your arm affectionately, lips to temple. It was his Everything Is Okay kiss, his You Didn’t Mess Up At All kiss, his I’m Not Mad At You Baby kiss, his I’m Never Gonna Yell kiss. 
“You know, I was thinking we should finish the ciabatta loaf today, before it goes stale. Your mint plant has been looking really good. I read this new technique where you turn the pot a quarter every week so the sun…” The gum wrapper flutters to the floor as you stand to get off, all of it forgotten.
Three blocks away from your second home and you realize it's gonna be one of those days. One of those days where your mind and the world collaborate to make you dust off every single coping mechanism in your repertoire. On the opposite side of the street a group of five wearing NYU swag are captivated by the epic row between similarly aged romantic partners. A man and a woman screaming with both windows open.
“Who the fuck doesn’t have the decency to close their windows?” This question is promptly answered, as the woman launches a speaker out of the second story window. Thomas stops to watch with his mouth agape, enthralled. On the other side of the street, you may be safe from shrapnel, but those college kids are taking chances with their proximity. What if one of them got hurt? Who would take them to the hospital? Which hospital? Would you have to call 911? Would they get mad at you for calling 911? What if the disbatcher fucks up and the ambulence never comes?
“You fucking bitch, this is the kind of shit that makes me want to wring your neck!”
“Oh yeah, threaten me, baby,” she replies with heavy sarcasm, bending over to push something towards the window. The man lunges in her direction. He’s going to slap her. He’s just picking something up. It's a toaster. He’s gonna bludgeon her with the toaster. No he’s throwing it out the window. This one lands on a car and the alarm begins blaring.
“Holy shit, this is like reality TV in real life,” Thomas chuckles. 
“I don’t want to threaten you! I don’t want to be that guy! But you make me into that guy!” You make me.
“I’M NOT FUCKING SCARED OF YOU,” she screams, hysterically trying to convince herself of this fact. She was terrified and sent a second speaker out the window. This one lands differently. Instead of a thud, you can hear it break into pieces as soon as it hits the cement. She has to get out of there. They’re both wasted, but she's belligerent and slurring. 
“I don’t want you to be scared of me, you crazy bitch! I deserve respect, as the man of the house!” he bellows. You shudder violently, because that sentence is way too familiar. 
“I already called the police so shut the fuck up!” screams someone from the unit directly behind you. This time you startle so severely that your feet leave the ground for a moment. The man throws the microwave out of the window and the glass tray inside breaks. The sound of glass breaking always made you nauseous, but you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even blink.
“Yeah? And what the fuck do you think the police are going to do!? Fucking NOTHING.” Her voice is guttural, rubbed raw and trashed. You can taste the copper in your mouth, just like you know she can. Blood diluted by spit from screaming. 
“Get out. Get out! GET THE FUCK OUT,” she wails, nearly falling over as she points to the window.
“This is my apartment. I pay for ALL of this shit!” There's that male rage again, its only purpose is to create subservience out of fear. Compliance from children who just want the sound to stop, whose insides get twisted up everytime their caretaker uses fear as a means to an end and then calls that love. Children who grow up damaged because they were taught that the world is scary and ruthless and unfeeling. 
If you hadn’t been in the midst of a flashback, your reflexes would have been better. Plates, glasses, mugs, the sounds of these breaking were your biggest triggers, the thing you just couldn’t defeat. When the woman pours a half-packed cardboard box out of the window, you can’t get your hands over your ears fast enough. It’s all kitchenware and at least half a dozen plates have shattered on the pavement by the time you’ve muffled the sound.
“No, no, no, no, no, no. No! No, no! STOP!” Someone was screaming, but not the woman in the second story apartment. It was your mother’s voice, or maybe your sister’s. They didn’t even live in this state, what the hell were they doing here? You can feel yourself being shaken, and only then realize that you’re in the dark.
“Y/n? Y/n? Y/n, amour, amour, tell me what's happening. Tesorina, do you need me to – should I, um, do I call…I don't know. I don’t know how to help. I should and I don’t. Fuck.” Finally you’re aware that the voice is speaking to you directly and open your eyes. Tommy is alarmed, bordering on panic. Finally the connection is made: you were the one screaming. Seeing his face brings the present into focus. He’s sitting on the ground which is why you’re crouched over. Or rather the cause and effect is the other way around.
One artichoke is on top of the storm drain, canvas bag crumpled beside you. The blown glass guitar Thomas had purchased and entrusted you to carry is shattered beyond repair. That metaphor and the public embarrassment, is what finally brings you to tears. 
“I br – bro – oke it. ‘M s – sorry.” Thomas looks absolutely mystified until he follows your line of sight. Hands still clamped over your ears, it sounds like you’re speaking underwater.
“Oh my god, tesorina, I don’t care. What can I do?”
“Home,” you squeak, vision blurred. 
“Of course.” Thomas takes the bag and letting him pull it from your arm means briefly uncovering your ear. The couple are now whisper-yelling, sparing glances in your direction. Bucklist item achieved: screaming at someone to stop shouting and they actually stop shouting. The first step forward, a piece of the broken guitar shatters under your boot.
“I ruined it,” you manage to blurt, before giving into a gasping sob.
“It doesn’t matter, tesorina.” Little treasure. Thomas reaches out and you snatch your hand away without thinking. Betrayal. He hides it at an impressive speed, but it's there.
“I’m s –ss – sorry. Ruined it,” you sob. “I – everything, I ju –just –”
“It’s a piece of glass,” he whispers. “I love you and it's just a piece of glass. It’s a thing, y/n.” Slowly, you reach forward, and Tommy meticulously laces his fingers with yours, one at a time. When your hands are clasped his thumb brushes back and forth, soothing.  
You never look up from the stained pavement, not once, even during a busy intersection. You can’t tell if you’re crying because you can’t feel your face. No words are spoken, but Thomas’ anxiety radiates from every pore. You stumble behind him, led by the hand, stomach in your throat as you free fall into a storming chasm of childhood memories. On the fourth stair you trip and land on all fours, so Thomas leads you to the elevator instead.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself? Y/n?” You stare at the upholstered wall. Chocolate brown with tan line work weaving in and out of itself. You count every time the lines cross. At 36 something touches your back. You wrench away from it and whip around. Thomas is holding the elevator open with one hand because this is his floor. The other hand had tried to gently guide you.
The heavy front door slams shut. That sound hasn’t made you jump for months, but today it prompts a sharp inhale that has you choking on your own spit.
“Tesorina, are you okay? Are you okay?” The carpet had been freshly cleaned, but the cigarette mark burned into the cream-colored fibers remained. Vision blurring out of focus, you remind yourself that these feelings are from a past life. You no longer inhabit a space where they’re true. Movement in your peripheral makes you blink hard to clear the tears from your eyes. It’s Thomas, crawling across the floor. He kneels at your feet to meet your downturned eyes. He waits. 
He weeps. Tries not to, but ends up having to wipe his eyes roughly. Tommy is visibly sickened by the magnitude of his empathy. He feels what you feel, and knowing how unbearable that is, you reach a hand out to cup his face. He places his hand over yours, brings it to his lips. Tommy kisses every finger tip, every knuckle, then palm, wrist, forearm. At seven years old, you’d watched your mother get “Corinthians 1:13” tattooed in the same place after an AA meeting. She repeated that verse to you like building a shield. Looking into your boyfriend’s face now, you understand that it was never about religion.
Love is patient and kind; love does not envy or boast; it is not arrogant or rude. It does not insist on its own way; it is not irritable or resentful;  it does not rejoice at wrongdoing, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.
You collapse into his arms and he catches you. Instead of letting you hide against his neck, Tommy presses his forehead to yours.
“Nothing bad is going to happen if you look at me,” he whispers. The habit was totally subconscious and you met his gaze. 
“Hey, here,” he hands you a paper towel. Gracelessly, you blow your nose. The velcro on the sleeve of your jacket scratches so you take that off. Usually Tommy would help, but he’d taken his hands away as soon as you were stable and was sitting on them. For some reason that makes you cry again. At first it’s a couple tears and then you burst into ugly sobs, hands hiding your face.
“Y/n can you nod yes or no?” You nod and Thomas lets out a long sigh. “Do you understand that I’m not mad at all?” Nod. Deep breath. Shaky exhale. Sob.
“Repeat,” you croak.
“Okay. I’m not mad at you about anything, past, present, or future. There is no anger in my body.”
“Annoyed?” You take a shuddering breath to calm down, able to stop the tears.
“I am not annoyed at all either. No negative emotions directed at you.” You nod and peak through your fingers. Tommy's eyes are so damn earnest. 
“No negative emotions directed at you,” he repeats. “I’m not gonna slam the door.” You nod, fighting the wave of suffocating anxiety from the mere suggestion. “I’m not going to break something or yell.” Back to sobbing, and now you’re choking on your own hair. “Shit, I’m sorry.” It was too close to home, but hearing the words would make breathing easier if not for the tears.
“Hug me,” you manage. Thomas slowly wraps you in a loose embrace. He’s leaning way forward, so your torsos aren’t touching. You climb onto his lap and squeeze, demonstrating what kind of hug you want. He sighs in relief and properly holds you. 
“Can I rub your back?” Nod. His right hand runs up and down, applying  light pressure. Seated sideways, you lean your head on his shoulder; hiccups, but no waterworks. Tommy’s Adam's Apple bobs when he swallows hard. He nicked himself shaving this morning. 
“I can’t tell you how sorry I am. This is my fault.” Just from his voice, you can hear that Tommy is also trying not to cry. “I know your history, but I just stood there and like, watched the worst trigger imaginable.”
“It's not your fault.”
“I should have gotten you away from there as quickly as possible, not stood to watch like a…” the self-disgust in his voice is palpable. “Piece of shit.”
“Thomas!”
“I’m not saying it was my fault, but I could have prevented it.” He lets out an uneasy, heavy sigh. This was way too much to navigate right now. Disagreeing would cause conflict and conflict would cause –
“Woah, breathe, baby, breathe.” Tommy rocks back and forth. “You’ve done nothing wrong and I’m just really sorry.” You scoff.
“I had a full fledged meltdown in front of everyone. Then I broke the sculpture.”
“I swear to god, if you mention that sculpture one more time.” Even with his voice void of malice, the blood in your veins turns to ice water. “I don’t care about the sculpture, I care about – Wait, no, no, no, that's not how I meant to phrase that at all. I care about you, not the glass thing, that doesn’t matter. God damn it Tom,” he groans, head tilted back. “Please breathe, amour,” he pleads as you shiver. 
“You lied. You are mad.” You get up. With tightly balled into fists, you walk to the sink. Rinsing your face doesn’t help and how he’s seen your hands shaking. You grip the counter and scrunch your eyes closed. How much anger had he buried and when was the reckoning? Would there be any warning? You couldn’t live your life bracing for it.
“Thomas, just get it over with.” You set your jaw, determined to stop the tears for good.
“Get over what?” he asks, standing up.
“Just fight with me now.”
“I just don't want to fight with you.”
“Just yell at me now and get it over with!” What was meant to be stern comes out as a scream, the same kind of scream the woman three blocks up used. Somehow the sound was still bottled up inside you, all these years later.
“Mia vita, I am not going to yell at you. I have never yelled at you.” You roll your eyes at his idealism, that hardened exterior that kept you alive going up.
“In every relationship people yell at eachother. Eventually you were going to yell at me. So just do it now.”
“Over a piece of glass? C’mon, we know this isn’t really about that. ”
“I’m. Not. Crazy.”
“Of course not.” He’s wide eyed and vulnerable, no defensiveness. “I didn’t mean to imply that, but maybe I did and I’m really, really sorry.” Taken aback, you wait for the rest of it.
“I know what anger sounds like, Thomas.”
“I know, I’m sorry. I should have watched my words and compartmentalized.” His tone of voice remains soft, regardless of your escalation. Again, you wait.
“If you loved me, you wouldn’t do this,” you snap. It feels like your heart is being squeezed in your father’s fist. Thomas is taken aback.
“Amour, I don’t understand,” he chokes, suddenly desperate.
“You wouldn’t make me wait and wonder when it's gonna happen, live in fear of when you’re going to snap!” The words fall to the floor with the same weight as stereo speakers out of a second story window. They just lay there on the kitchen tile, ugly and mangled. You’d like to clean them up before the grout is stained red, but don’t have the right supplies. Now you’ll have to get a carpet to hide the stains, or fabricate a perfectly anecdotal lie for house guests, or remodel the kitchen. 
Thomas pulls a bar stool out from under the island, carrying it so the legs don’t scuff against the floor. He sits down gingerly.
“Will you come here, please?” Deciding that Thomas isn’t the type to set traps, you walk over. Standing between his parted legs, you’re the same height.
“Look at me,” he murmurs. You meet his eyes and find no aggression, just his gentle demeanor. Tommy extends a hand, asking you to take it. He puts your palm against his heart and that iron clad exterior falls away. 
“I am upset with the situation, not you. I am upset at those people who made their relationship the whole neighborhood’s problem. I’m upset at myself for handling it poorly. I’m upset that none of the adults in your childhood acted like adults and now you have to suffer. I am not upset with you. I do not care about a piece of glass. I do not care if the whole neighborhood thinks I’m dating a crazy person. You are my crazy person and I love you.” What a relief it is to believe him.
“Shit, I’m so sorry –”
“No.”
“No?”
“You don’t get to apologize about this.”
“But in the elevator I –”
“Nope.”
“The artichoke.”
“Errr,” Tommy makes a sound like a game show buzzer.
“I had a full mental breakdown in public.”
“And?”
“I’m sorr–” He interrupts by loudly shushing you. “The snot!”
“Approval pending.”
“Okay, but for real, I’m sorry for screaming at you. I don’t know where that came from. Well, actually I do. I just didn’t know that it was so close to the surface.”
“Apology accepted,” he hums, wrapping an arm around your waist. You startle and Thomas begins to pull away, but you stop him. 
“I’m going to be jumpy for a while, but that doesn’t mean don’t touch me.”
“I hate that you’re scared of me,” he whispers.
“I’m not scared of you. It's a memory.” As soon as your hands touch his face, Tommy’s eyelids close with heaviness. He’s not expecting the kiss. The skin of your lips sticks together, tacky from tears and saliva.
“You are my lighthouse.”
Notes: Well wasn't that some nice light reading! I am an attention whore so feel free to give me feedback.
-XOXO Eden
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littlest-dark-age · 2 years
Text
Drabble/dialogue reqs open!
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1-800-simping · 2 years
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måneskin reacting to their s/o making them breakfast in bed
warnings: mentions of food, fire (kinda??) let me know if i missed any!!
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Victoria:
so grateful for you and absolutely loves it
“woah, thanks y/n! ugh, it looks delicious,” said your girlfriend as she began cutting the pancakes you had just made. she motioned for you to come closer, which you did, only to be rewarded with a side hug and a kiss to your forehead. 
Thomas:
panicked when he woke up without you beside him
“y/n?? where are you??” thomas called out just before he walked into the kitchen. his worried face quickly formed into a smile. he made his way over to you, slithering his arms around your waist while he gently squeezes you. you lean backwards into his embrace, while his head peeks over your shoulder. “that looks so good,” he commented before softly pecking your cheek. “thank you, it’ll be ready soon, so sit down!!” 
Damiano:
makes jokes about how you probably burned something in the house
"i was not expecting this," damiano said as you set the tray of food down on his lap. he pulled you in for a quick kiss, then began to take the first bite of the meal. you stood beside him, eagarly waiting for his reaction as he chewed with a blank face. as he swallowed the food, he turned to look at  you. "it’s fantastic! grazie, mi amore." you sighed in relief. "but, i'm wondering if you burnt part of the house down while i was sleeping. i doubt you could've made something this good without doing something wrong," he said with a wide smirk on his face. you put your hand on your chest and gasped at your boyfriend's comment. he only laughed and fed you a bite of the delicous food. 
Ethan:
finds it so touching that you went out of your way to do this for him
"good morning," ethan said as you entered the room. he was proppped up in the bed, reading  the book he had bought just the other day. "good morning," you replied as you set the tray on his lap. he lifted the book and fixed his eyes on the source of the sudden weight change, smiling in realization. "is this for me?" he asked. he had already set down his book next to him. "yep, enjoy!" you replied. he thanked you as he took a bite, his eyes lit up with joy. 
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word count: 389
a/n: vic please accept my hand in marriage, i’m begging you
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