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filthforfriends · 2 years

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Guardian Angel: Chapter 3

Omegaverse: Damiano x fem reader

Word count: 9.8k

Damiano’s version of talking was texting you that he was busy today. You thought of four excellent, searing replies, but ended up sending nothing. Avoiding you was the most rational thing to do. Hell, you would avoid yourself today, sequestered at home with your mother taking a day off to watch you. On your way to explain how unnecessary this was, vertigo had you head over ass, falling down the stairs. The bruising to your tailbone felt semi-permanent and you wanted to scream like a toddler out of frustration.

So you ended up bed ridden, getting ahead in school to feel useful. You tried reading recreationally for the first time since fourth grade. Turns out the ability to chew through 400 page novels was a stage not a character trait. Your breasts still ached and the hot flashes were aggravatingly persistent. After a few bouts of crying and way too much TV, you went to bed early, feeling woozy and unstable.

The following day was spent much the same. You conquered the shower, tried to make yourself a meal and was interrupted by tachycardia. Mx.Frankie had sent you a note and Dr.Rowan and medical report. It contained the language “agitation” and “suspected mood swings” which would have made you seethingly angry if it didn’t make you laugh. Thalia’s academy for the gifted got out early so she came to your room. Her footfalls were nearly silent, her nervous energy barely quelled.

“You want to ask me something don’t you?” In terms of social skills, Thalia was definitely the youngest, or maybe just the least capable. She nodded and stepped into your room, and onto the carpet. Immediately she started tapping her finger tips together in repetitive rhythms.

“So now that you’re on suppressants, does he get to be your boyfriend?” She analyzes her painting, which hangs on the opposite wall as decoration, with critical eyes.

“Hypothetically, I guess.”

“Because dad’s statement is null if you have an HSIUD.”

“Right. We’ll see how that goes over,” you shrug, turning to follow her gaze, now landing on the window.

“What’s it like?”

“Tally, you have a boyfriend,” you emphasize.

“Fighting with dad. What’s that like?”

“It’s not…great, but it feels necessary. I know you hate it.”

“Just the yelling, but you’re kind of doing me a favor. Anything I ask for the next day seems perfectly reasonable.”

“Huh,” you chuckle, and she joins in awkwardly, followed by a lengthy silence. Thalia finally meets your eyes, and you know that she’s found her way to the point.

“So Oliver got into this volcanic international study program and I was thinking that maybe –”

“So you’ll be on the same work study trip as your boyfriend away from this god forsaken place, yes.”“The topography here is extremely boring, as you know.” You did, she’d complained at length. “And so –”

“Y/n, Damiano’s here,” your mother calls from downstairs. Thalia keeps talking, but your brain ceases to function as soon as you can smell his pheromones. You nod along, agreeing to what is very likely a reasonable request, given who it’s coming from.

“So you’ll let me know a couple days prior to upsetting dad?”

“For sure, Tally,” you say, before passing her on your way out of the room. Clio would be insulted if you brushed her off, but Thalia was harder to offend. You stop at the top of the stairs, having learned your lesson the hard way yesterday. Wool socks, shorts (not of the sexy pajama variety), and your oversized t-shirt was not the way you wanted to present yourself, but he had given you no warning.

Your mother and Damiano rounded the corner. Fuck, he looks good. It wasn’t even the outfit, which was the simplest you’d seen. He was glowing somehow, maybe a tan. Plus a couple silver necklaces that brought attention to his shirt, first four buttons undone. Might as well just take it off, and wouldn’t that be a splendid turn of events.

“So you’re not gonna come down here and greet me,” he teases, radiating confidence to compensate for any animosity on your end.

“I, um,” you swallow hard, getting an iron grip on the hand rail. After a tentative first step, you consider taking off your socks to prevent slipping.

“Y/n!” your mother warns, then turns to Damiano. “She fell yesterday. Down the stairs, she got dizzy and –”

“Oh, jesus fucking christ don’t!” He holds his hands out as if to catch you, 11 steps later. Relishing the dissipation of his cockiness, you decide to tease him a bit further.

“Oh no, you’re right! I wouldn’t want to be rude.” You take another step, focusing on correctly judging the distance. The mix of terror and dismay on Damiano’s face is positivly hilarious.

“No, no, no it’s fine! You don’t have to – I mean, I was just –”

“If my alpha commands it then I must persevere.” Damiano realizes you're joking and rolls his eyes. Unfortunately, a bout of dizziness does wash over you, and in an effort not to wobble you squeeze your eyes closed and hang off the rail by both hands. Your mother inhales sharply, and the floorboards creak as Damiano bounds up the stairs. He holds you steady against him, standing one stair below so he’ll be able to stop your fall. The vetigo passes quickly and, after a couple seconds you feel normal, looking up to find Damiano’s face perfectly level with yours. He recitfies the situation, before sexual tension can even form, stepping up.

“By the time you’re 16 I’m going to be fucking 30 after everything you’ve put me through.” You snicker and he's already smiling, looking away so he doesn’t end up laughing despite himself. “I swear to fucking god, y/n the walking hazard.”

“Damiano, the massive slut.” He turns towards you in absolute shock, mouth agape. He displays theatrical offense which might be at least some parts authentic. Dami’s dramatic reaction has you laughing even harder. “In front of your mother?!” he whisper-yells.

“You’ve sworn five times in 20 seconds,” you hiss back. “Plus, it's important that my family gets to know you, right?” Dami shakes his head in disbelief. Again, he’s trying not to smile, but his affection is revealed in the way the corners of his mouth turns upwards despite his best efforts. The whole flirtatious interaction is done nearly chest to chest with Damiano holding you firmly. You will your body not to slick up. The hormone suppression was supposed to help with that, but you didn’t trust its efficacy.

“And I am genuinely sorry that I’ve caused you so much stress.” The guilt settles in your throat, right below the origin of tears. Having all your exchanges as light-hearted flirting wasn’t authentic.

“Hush you, my life was boring before. No medical emergencies? No biblical levels of temptation?” You let out a dramatic yawn and Damiano looks skeptical and confused.

“Oh, I was just already getting bored from the description.” Dami rolls his eyes, sighing in mock annoyance. You delight in his humorous exaggerations, but when his gaze returns to yours, there's a hunger that can’t be hidden quick enough.

“C’mon lets get you back to bed,” he sighs. You suggestively wiggle your eyebrows as he guides you up the stairs and he pretends very poorly not to find it funny. “With the door open!” he exclaims. Damiano turns to see your mothers approval, but she’s already made herself scarce.

Thalia is standing in the hallway, just outside her door, observing. She doesn’t offer to help, probably preferring to watch documentary clips about ancient cave temples. So really, you appreciate the gesture of watching you make it back to your room.

“Dami, this is my sister Thalia, she’s 17 too, but she goes to Emerson.”

“Oh, congratulations! That’s really impressive, my general practitioner actually went to high school there.” You miss his hands on you, even if just to keep you from becoming concussed.

“Thank you.” She gives a single nod, then looks at you for an out.

“I should really sit down in case I get dizzy again.”

“Yeah, absolutely.” By the time you and Damiano have taken two steps over the threshold, Thalia has closed her bedroom door behind her. You sit in the middle of the bed, cross-legged.

“Was she mad at me?” Dami seems mystified. You forget that your older sister isn’t easily readable to those outside your family.

“No, I think she really liked you! She just hates obligatory conversations and talking to new people.”

“Huh, well that's understandable. I’m not the social butterfly I seem either. Or the, how did you phrase it so eloquently in front of your mother of all people, ‘massive slut?’”

“Oh, no?” you giggle, taking the bait.

“No! I admit…there was a stage when I was 16 that uh,” he tilts his head to the side and winces. “Why am I trying to justify myself to you?”

“I don’t know, but it's certainly amusing.”

“Oh, I’m glad I amuse you,” he replies, sarcastically.

Totally ignoring his tone of voice, you respond, “yeah, me too because I’ve been bored all day. Hey, dance monkey, dance!” Damiano does a little jump and jig that leaves you cackling, then looks baffled as to why he heeded your request. Dami brings a hand to his face, letting out a huff.

“What the fuck was I talking about?”

“Your 16th year spent balls deep in any willing orifice.”

“Oh my god, no!” He cringes and makes a gagging noise, shaking his head as if it was possible to dislodge the phrase from his memory. “I was a little more selective than that y/n, but yes…basically I had only one mated relationship and I was trying to get more experience while I killed time. Also I was horny and people were available.”

“How romantic,” you guaff.

“I like to see it as guaranteeing my feelings were tried and true.”. Suddenly this conversation is lost on you.

“Wait, what? Why was 16 year old Damiano killing time?”

“Because you were 14.” He’s bashful, shoving his hands in his jean’s pockets, rolling back on his heels and looking at the ground. For a few seconds, you’re unsure of what to say, and the silence hangs heavy in the air.

“You waited for me to be ready,” you marvel, suppressing the urge to leap off of your bed and onto Damiano.

“Well…yeah, but I wasn’t sure at first. It was experimental for a while.”

“And then?” you prompt.

“And then I was sure.” He says the words so casually, like this isn’t adjacent to a declaration of sorts. Alpha’s pledging to be an omega’s mate often results in a relationship that at the very least lasts several years. Damiano isn’t doing that, but he was letting you know that he was prepared for that step. He’s also watching your reaction very closely. Do you look freaked out or overwhelmed? His astute gaze flitted from one feature to the next.

“I don’t know what my face is doing, but you’re not going to scare me off with honesty.” You try to sound warm, crawling to the edge of the mattress to embrace. You stop yourself, unsure where Damiano stands when it comes to affectionate touch. He seems determined to stand in the middle of the carpet, and not any closer, out of reach.

“Come ‘ere,” you coax, beckoning him. “It feels weird and impersonal to have this conversation so far apart. I don’t like it.” Damiano steps almost within arms reach, his breath quickening. “You can sit. I’m not gonna do anything without your consent.” If Damiano didn’t know that already you’d made a massive error along the way.

“I just think I should stay standing.”

“Okay…”

“Because of how – because you’re too tempting to me. Like I’m –” he flexes, then clenches his hands into white knuckled fists. “I’m actively reminding myself that I can’t just do anything I want, but even with that thought, like…No matter how much I focus, all I can think about is all the things we could do and most of them require some kind of surface to rest on.” His jaw is set, veins in his neck visible as he swallows hard. Even the muscles in his face are tense.

“So you’re standing up,” you conclude. Deciding to meet him where he’s comfortable, you climb off the bed. Dami’s eyes go wide like he hadn’t thought of this possibility.

“May I hug you?” It takes him a moment to process, rolling his bottom lip against his teeth.

“Uh, yeah. Of course,” he replies softly. Instead of taking a step towards you, he takes two steps back, centering himself on the carpet, then holding his arms out. Apparently this is a safe distance from the bed. You walk into his arms and immediately he bends down and buries his face in your hair. Damiano breathes in like he’s about to dunk underwater, like your smell is what he needs to subsist. The second exhale turns into a rumbling growl of satisfaction that you can feel in his chest. One hand is wrapped around just under your shoulder blades and the other is massaging your scalp. Indisputably, Damiano needed this hug more than you did. He’s calming down, relaxing.

“God, I get fucking withdrawals. The way that you smell is just,” he exhales in carnal satisfaction, his chest rumbling again in a way that makes your nipples harden and every hair follicle stand up. You squeeze Damiano tight, reassuring yourself of his presence, forehead against his exposed chest. He’s wearing cologne, but his pheromones are overpowering it, as is the musk of body odor and you want to lick him clean.

“You’re not wearing a bra.” Damiano clears his throat roughly. His skin is so hot that it makes you shiver, like the contrast of a warm shower after coming in from a cold day.

“No, I’m still sore.” He starts to loosen the hug, but you squeeze tighter in response. That’s not what I meant.

“Can I tell you about my thoughts these past couple days like this?” You nod enthusiastically, and Dami rests his chin on your scalp. Anything to elongate the physical contact is welcome. He has one hand rubbing up and down your back slowly, and it's more calming than any drug.

“I think that ceasing all physical contact makes us so desperate we can’t function and then we fail anyways. Avoiding each other doesn’t work. So I think that touch in moderation is the only way to stay sane until you’re ready.”

“I agree.” Damiano pulls away so he can read your facial expressions.

“And this only applies as long as you’re completely comfortable. You can rescind consent at any time.” He was trying so hard to even out the power differential, when really you were on the verge of begging him to take advantage of you.

“And of course vice versa.” It feels like the adult thing to say so you punctuate it with a staunch nod.

“Sex and kissing is still off the table.” Immediately, you want to argue with the kissing ban, but decide to pick your battles.

“Define sex.” Damiano's eyes widen, then he looks behind him at the open door. “Mind if I close it now?”

“Uh, yeah.” He clears his throat and rolls his shoulders back, standing tall.

“Is there something off limits to talk about?” You ask, knowing the answer.

“No, of course not. You can ask me anything.” He gingerly turns the knob while shutting your bedroom door.

“Okay…” you climb back on the bed, stealing yourself for this conversation. “So tell me what counts as sex to you, just so we’re clear.”

“Well no knotting or penetration obviously.” He’s getting visibly flustered just talking about it, and you know it's because he’s picturing you.

“Does fingering count?”

“What – what do you mean? You can do anything you want to, um, to yourself.”

“I know that,” you dismiss, intent on keeping your cool. “But like, if I was really turned on could I ask you to finger me? Or would that not be okay?” You actually watch in real time as Dami’s brain short circuits. He starts shifting his weight back and forth, fixing his gaze just to the left of you.

“Well, n – not um, uh. It depends.” Even that non-answer seemed almost overwhelming for Damiano, and you know you take too much enjoyment in this.

“Because if you were ever really pent up, you could ask me for a blow job, just so you know. Would you ever give me oral? Only if you were super into it of course.” He takes a trembling breath and looks up at the ceiling. His hands are flighty, in his pockets, then folded, then resting at his sides like they can’t choose.

“Um, no. No, I don't think so. Not because I’m not – because I really, really want um…huh. I gotta – I’m gonna turn around.” It hard not to giggle over the fact that Dami is so sexual charged that he can’t look at you and talk about intercourse.

“Okay, so oral counts as sex, but fingering it depends. What about hand jobs? Could I give you a hand job?”

“I don’t, uh, hng –”

“I guess I should say that I give you permission to ask for a handjob if you ever wanted to.”

“Right, okay, um…” He turns back around, obviously flushed. “I need water. I need – need to uh –”

“Bathroom is across the hall.” Damiano turns mostly away from you and tries to adjust himself subtly. He looks over to find you literally licking your lips, because for a moment the outline was abruptly clear.

“Can you at least attempt to control yourself,” Dami objects. You laze back on the bed, languidly looking him up and down. For a moment, you wonder if this is what it's like to be an alpha. Then Damiano stares at you with a gaze that could burn through the mattress. He has both hands on his hips, cock proud inside his jeans, eyes searing and you remember your place.

“Sorry, I’ll go get us water,” you volunteered, feeling parched yourself.

“No, please just stay here,” he emphasizes, a hand gesturing at you to sit down. “I won’t be able to think of anything else if I’m worried about you falling down the stairs.” His concern has you feeling foolishly warm in your chest until you hear the bathroom door latch. An earnest panic propels you halfway across your room before you get a chance to evaluate it. The gist: I’m right here. I’m here and my alpha is in there with his hand and very active imagination. I’m right here!

It was not just about pleasure, his and yours, but the vulnerability at the moment of release. There's an intimacy in watching someone cum, even if you have nothing to do with it. All the little details of their form reveal something beyond the moment if watched closely enough, and you wanted to read Damiano like a map as he shook with pleasure. There's the warm panting of breath against your cheek, the slight sheen of sweat, the perfect balance of relaxation and tension in their face. How hands and toes curl, and the spine arches to reveal every sensation, letting you in on a sacred secret. Because this nakedness that had nothing to do with clothes was sacred. Orgasam unreliable except for being reliably honest.

However, now Damiano was already across the hall, behind a door, and you hadn’t had the chance to communicate any of this. A desperate plea of: let me close to you. Let me see you. You walked out into the hall, examining how strong your will might be. So often we lose chances because we write off mistakes as impossible to undo. We’re not willing to risk rejection and embarrassment.

You lean your forehead against the door and tap twice with the pad of your middle finger. It’s poorly made and hollow. Can he smell me? Damiano taps back from inside the bathroom, and you whisper against the doorframe.

“If this is how you desire this moment to be, tap.” There’s silence, and on the other side of the door Damiano is in the same position, breath held. “Then please come back to my room,” you whisper, hoping you’ve caught him in time. The door opens slowly, his eyes scanning the hall. Glancing down to his groin, you can see that Dami’s still hard, and you pull him into your across the hall, closing your door behind you.

“I understand that you want to wait for certain things, but the last people we should be hiding our sexualiy from is eachother.”

“You’re right. I should have made this a negotiation,” she shakes his head, scowling.

“Hey it’s okay,” you coo, “c’mere.” Damiano lets you pull him onto the bed. You sit back on your heels so he has room to arrange himself. At first, Dami mirrors you. Then he lays down, decides that's not right either, and props himself up on your pillows. He gages your reaction once settled, but you’re just happy to have gotten this far. You work your way up, hands rubbing his shins, then over the knee, lower thigh, and you stop before pushing any rules.

“Will you take your shirt off?”

“Oh, uh, yeah.” Damiano pulls it over his head and off, revealing his chest. You’re happy to explore that with your hands too, starting by running a hand from waist to neck along the centerline. Your fingertips trace his clavicle, sternum, then your palms caress his pecs. Repeatedly, you run into his necklaces, until Daminao takes both off and sets them on your bedside table. Now your thumbs brush over his nipples as you decide to come back to that. Every freckle is marked by your touch, every line of musculature stroked with care. You had to intentionally appreciate him in pieces, giving each their own moment, or you’d get utterly lost in the glory of his body.

Damiano’s abdomen quivers under your hand, the muscles contracting. When you reach his happy trail, his cock jumps too, and he holds his breath. His regulations that served as a hindrance were now forcing you to appreciate him more fully, so you make a game out of following them. Since kisses weren’t allowed, you kneel between his legs and simply rest your face on his skin, breathing him in, feeling the warmth that radiates from his body. You run your lips down his happy trail to feel the hair tickle, and realize there are so many things a mouth can do besides kissing.

Turning your attention back to his nipples, you position your lips over them, resting your body against his for as much contact as possible. Your hands cradle his ribcage, feeling each shuddering inhale. You suck his left nipple into your mouth gently and Damiano gasps. While increasing the suction in increments, his back rises off the bed and towards you, seeking more sensation. Switching tactics, you bite down lightly, and Dami lets out a moan. You look up to find his face wracked in pleasure, not even attempting to school his expressions. When was the last time someone savored him? Or did they all succumb to the overwhelm of his beauty?

Switching to the right side, you lick harshly, then trace his mauve nipple with the tip of your tongue. He lets out a whine, arching into your mouth, so you rake your teeth across the sensitive bud and feel a hand on the back of your head. Damiano allows himself to groan in pleasure, his pelvis rocking forth in search of pressure. You give him your weight, moving your body with his.

“Y/n, y/n please, just…just,“ he murmurs, hoarse from trying to control his volume. You look down and think about all the possibilities. Using friction you might be able to get him off as is.

“How may I serve you?” Dami looks burdened with decision making. His nose crunches, as he continues to roll his hips up to meet your abdomen.

“Clothes off,” he commands.You undo his belt buckle and his fly, before he gaffs. “Your clothes, darling.”

“Oh.” You look down at your own unflattering attire, having forgotten about it. Getting your shirt off was the easiest part, so you start with that. As soon as your breasts are exposed, nipples hard, Damiano captures one in his mouth, tweaking the other with his fingers. His mouth is warm, wet, and soft, the sensation going straight to your cunt. It’s immediately apparent that he knows what he’s doing, alternating between caressing with his tongue and sucking. Damiano is surprisingly gentle, no teeth, using just his lips to pull at and release your nipple.

“Touch yourself.” His earlier words appear in your mind. You can do anything you want to yourself. The problem was, getting yourself off took time, an above average amount of time from what you’d deduced. Obeying, you push your right hand into your underwear and find your clit. Damiano starts working a hickey into the soft tissue of your breast, and you try to focus on touching yourself, but end up distracted. Should you fake orgasam in a timely manner? Was Dami expecting you to finish anytime soon? Could you even get yourself to orgasam with another person watching?

His tongue, now refocused on your nipple, feels better than your own hand rubbing your vulva. You take it as a sigh to recognize the futility of this effort and do something else. Rescinding your hand from your pants, you return your focus to Damiano's state of dress, getting his trousers undone.

“I want to get you off first,” you justify. “Can I?” He nods, leaving goodbye kisses in the valley of your breasts. He lays back and helps you take off his bottoms and boxers. Damiano has the cock you’d expect from an alpha: sturdy, sizable, well-performing. He was rock hard, shaft not quite resting on his stomach. What you were perhaps more interested in, was his external scent glands. He hadn’t given you permission to suck his cock, but there were many other places to put your mouth.

Your hands parted his legs, and you propped yourself up in between. The wave of pheromones from his totally exposed glands made you feel inebriated for a moment. This was the first time you’d been this close to a matured alpha’s glands. They looked like you expected: two small swells, almost shaped like an unripe grape, just inside the crook of his thigh. There was a slit, similar to the gill of a fish, that allowed scents to be released.

“This is your first time seeing an alpha’s glands in person isn’t it?” Damiano asked, surprisingly confident for being in this vulnerable position.

“Mhm,” you confirmed, licking over the glands, which rested just below the testes. Your tongue continued to the root of Damiano’s cock. He hissed with sensitivity. Unsure if it was positive, you gave the other side the same treatment, this time a bit gentler.

“They’re really sensitive, baby, be careful,” Damiano warned. Instead of larger motions, you used the tip of your tongue to lightly trace the opening of each gland. Your touch was barely even there, but that seemed to be plenty of stimulation as Dami’s thighs clamped down around your head. You sensed movement above you as he started working his own cock. Taking this is a good sign, you continued your ministrations on the other side.

“Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” he groaned, shifting his pelvis. You shook your head between his legs, and took his balls into your mouth, one at a time. Each time you sucked on the soft, sensitive skin, you caressed the round shape of his testicle with your tongue. Damiano cursed and his unoccupied hand moved to your hair. It was almost preferable this way, you didn’t have to attempt to memorize and maintain the perfect rhythm for Dami. He did this for himself, allowing you to explore.

Wondering if his prostate was in the same place, you pressed a thumb between his scent glands, right underneath his sack, searching for that sweet spot. This was the special move you’d perfected over the last year since you’d lost your virginity. Older girls at school were gossiping about it, so you’d found yourself a diagram and a partner to test things out. If you managed to stimulate someone’s prostate externally, it was always obvious. Their legs would cramp down and spasm, fighting to maintain contact. It took considerably longer with Damiano, but you managed to locate his p-spot, and he nearly kneed you in the face.

“What the – what!? Oh my god,” he moaned. You kept pressure with your thumb while also returning to flicking his scent glands with your tongue. Who knew how much could be achieved on the male form without the gift of suction or friction. Damiano started to arch, not just up, but into you. His hand began working frantically, and you devoted yourself to continuing exactly what you’d been doing. Consistency was key and he yanked his cock ruthlessly. You could tell Damiano was near the edge by the tension in his body, by the way his moans climbed in pitch. The moment before release he was whining in a way you never imagine an alpha could, sounding just as desperate as any man, no hint of bravado.

Damiano came down the otherside rocking his groin against your face, milking his shaft to release rope after rope of cum. He looked down at himself, so focused, yet eyes always fluttering or even rolling back in his head. When the spunk no longer streamed from his dick, Dami still pulled at his member ruthlessly, until the sensation made him shiver in overstimulation. Only then did he let his exhausted cock rest. Getting the sense that he was done,, you sat up on your heels instead of crouching between his legs.

Damiano was flushed, sweaty, and panting. You rubbed his flank as he came back into his body, more relaxed than you’d ever seen him. It made you wonder how many times this is what he had craved around you, and how often he refused that urge. On so many occasions, he must have been painfully pent-up, nearly bursting from the efforts of self control. Dami could have just asked. If your lips between his legs was all that he required to orgasam, it was a small request indeed.

“You didn’t even try to finish,” he observed. You felt self-conscious, looking down at your body, unsure what to say.

“It just takes me a long time, so I’ve never tried doing it in front of someone else.”

“Huh.” He sounded genuinely intrigued, his eyes scanning your form, much more discerning than you’d like. Dami had probably been with other girls that could masturbate to completion for him. The situation left you jealous of the capabilities of people you’d never met.

Or perhaps you had met them, considering how Damiano got around. In fact, you had no idea who he’d slept with, but undoubtedly you’d interacted with a few of them in total ignorance. Had they known who you were? Did they think you were a fool?

“Why did you focus on your clit?”

“What?” This wasn’t a line of questioning you’d expected.

“I mean, if it takes you a long time to cum, why waste you time on your clit? Why didn’t you finger your scent glands?” Without meaning to, you release an exasperated sigh. Omega scent glands were internal, and highly sensitive. They were responsible for the production of slick. Unfortunately, you struggled to find yours, the same way beta’s struggled to find their clit.

“They’re really high up or something. I can never find them.” Dami looked vexed by this answer and you wanted to snap at him. As a sexually liberated alpha you were just bracing for the lecture about failing to embrace your sexuality. If you just embraced it, masturabating would be easy. In essence, you were holding yourself back. This messaging was blasted at you from a culture so sex positive it became toxic.

“I could show you.” His eyes were careful, but his face devoid of judgment. “I understand if that’s more sexual contact than you’re comfortable with, of course.” You made a face, nose scrunched as you weighed your options. “What are you thinking?” he prompted.

“Well…” You let out an exasperated huff. “I’m pretty sure they’re not in a normal place so what if you figure that out and don’t want me because I’m deformed.” Damiano had one eyebrow cocked, smiling in amusement.

“What!?” He threw his hands up in concession.

“Your slick production is normal, your hormones are normal, so anything wrong with your glands is only going to bother you. So unless they have teeth, I’m really not worried.” You sigh, nodding. It's humorous how serious the conversation has become before the jizz on Dami’s chest has even cooled.

“Okay, so should I just…?”

“Lay on your back,” he instructed, pulling his boxers back on. You’re of half a mind to complain about his state of partial dress. Stacking a couple pillows on top of eachother, you rest on the bed, feeling a weird combination of naked and covered with your breasts fully exposed, but also still wearing wool socks. Dami pulls his pants back on, looking way more sexy than he has the right to. You let out a groan of complaint, and he gives you a full, shining smile.

“I think it's best if only one of us has our underwear off at a time.” The view of his canines reminds you of last week, or was it a lifetime ago? When he’d come to your defense, in full alpha headspace, but you felt unafraid. Gia’s older sister had said that one of the most offputting things about sex with alphas is the shift in appearence. The teeth, the darkened eyes, muscles flexing, but you’d been unbothered.

“Why didn’t you change, just now?”

“I, um –” he clears his throat, crawling towards you. “Well, I tried not to. I know it can be, um…when I’m able to, I try to avoid it.” He’s shy about something, not meeting your eyes.

“What?”

“It’s uh…” he sighs and looks out the window. “I really freaked someone out once, when I had just turned 15. I guess they thought that, like, that, it was a myth, a scary story.” He finally meets your eyes, wincing.

“Oh, no. It was bad? Screaming, crying, running, the whole horror show?” Beta’s had a tendency for treating alphas and omegas like fantastical creatures, with the myths and legends to match.

“Yeah,” he lets out a huff, turning to face you. “And when his parents came to see what was wrong, I was still…”

“Exposed?”

“Mhm, it was horrendous.” He flops down next to you, and the intimacy of laying on your bed together makes you feel warm, even if you’re talking about a former hookup. Damiano leans his head against yours.

“Sounds traumatizing for both of you.” He nods, and laces your hands together. So this is what people mean when they talk about butterflies.

You forget how little empathy and softness is allotted to male alphas. Just treating Damiano like a person built rapport. He lifts your hands up where you can see them, lacing and unlacing, like a flower blooming. Every brush of skin is a rush, and you finally understood Dami’s reasoning. Sure, you could very well hurry from meeting to knotting, but he wanted time for these moments, when holding someone’s hand feels a little forbidden and so exciting. If someone’s knotted you, there’s no thrill from lining your palms up exactly.

“Must have been hard, everyone having sympathy for him, but not you, even though someone treated you like a monster in the middle of sex for something your couldn’t help.”

“You know, I never thought of it like that.” He turns onto his side, and you do the same, almost kissing. It's wonderfully humanizing to observe flaws in Damiano. He hasn’t plucked his eyebrows and his patchy stubble is starting to show. He had a freckle in the hollow of his cheek that you can barely see and two blemishes near his cupid’s bow.

“You’re very symmetrical,” you whisper, brushing a curl that had fallen in front of his eye. His hair is long, just past his shoulders.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, and there’s a hint of adoration in his expression which completely throws you off guard.

“Well, you get called hot all the time, so I have to use some originality.”

“You know, actually I don’t. My mom’s friends are big fans, though.” There's no ego, it's an honest response. He’s not performing. You hadn't realized how much intention Damiano put into presenting himself, until he wasn’t allocating any energy to the task. His skin is soft, but the softness went beyond that. His expression was careful, his face relaxed, and his smile modest. Perhaps that softness had more to do with what wasn’t there: a system of defense. His hold to maintain control was so tight, but now that you’d helped him cum, he could decompress. You realize you've never seen him not battling impulses.

“Hi there.” Reintroducing yourself in a hushed tone only feels appropriate. You rub your nose against his, so close you could feel his breath on your cheeks.

“Hey,” he responds, eyes focused on your lips. Knowing you’re about to get completely lost, you fight to remember the point that felt so important to make.

“I’m not, I don’t mind,” you sigh. Damiano shifts his eyes back up, curious. “The change, I don’t mind. I’ve already seen it, it doesn't scare me.”

“It’s not a big thing,” he assures, analyzing your expression closely.

“I just hate the idea of you holding anything back,” you justify and Dami stops breathing. “Even if it’s possible to do, I want to see you change if that's what comes naturally. You waste your energy maintaining control when that's never been what I want or need.” You’re halfway through letting out a breath when you find yourself flipped on your back, with Damiano crouching over you. He rests on one knee, which he’s using to apply pressure to your groin. It leaves you squirming, unsure if you’re allowed to grind down on it.

“Did I say something –”

“You didn’t say anything wrong,” he purrs, and lowers himself, licking up the valley of your breasts. He gets a forearm under the small of your back then nips at your stomach, lifting your body up to meet him. He knows you’ve never been bit before, and you’re both aware that your stomach is the most sensitive part of the body. You take a deep breath to steady yourself, and look at the ceiling, waiting for whatever he chooses.

The apprehension is excruciating, but the brush of his neck while scenting you is a sweet resolution. All those subsequent happy chemicals start to blur the edges of your vision, so you jump when his lips finally return to your body, delivering a sweet kiss. You’re about to compliment him for being gentle when he begins sucking a hickey into your left breast, just under the existing one. That spot is going to be sore tomorrow. The arm under your back forces you to endure this as well, as does his tongue which licks all the low places on your chest where sweat might collect. Eyes closed, your body curves into every touch. He’s painful one moment and soothing the next. You end up debating whether to fight omega headspace, or let yourself slip away under the attention of an alpha.

“Y/n,” he summons your attention. It takes you a moment to focus, but clear vision isn’t needed to observe his eyes which have turned charcoal black. He looks up from your body, without words saying “this is who I am. I’m taking the risk of showing you.” Damiano doesn’t even bother to hide the insecurity behind alphaism. The sight of anyone bearing these characteristics should make you cower with fear, but Dami is your alpha, and you have never been afraid.

“You are magnificent.” Your index finger traces the bridge of his nose, booping the tip affectionately. He seems to accept this, relaxing his mouth so his top lip isn’t covering his canines. Alpha teeth look sharper in person than you expected, but given their purpose is to pierce through flesh, it makes sense.

Testing you, he rises up to your neck, breathing in deep, letting out a rumbling that borders on a growl. He snaps his teeth near your ear, implying a threat to mark you. However, you know that Dami would never do such a thing without asking, so the threat is empty.

“I’m not afraid of you.” You cup his cheeks in both hands, noticing that his dark lashes are the perfect framing for his new features. He must see this affection in your eyes, and for a very brief moment, Damiano looks like he might cry. Instead, he relaxes against you, resting some of his weight on your form, pressing your foreheads together. It's so intimate that with anyone else you’d close your eyes, but Dami doesn’t, so you don’t either.

“I see you.”

“I see you,” he nods. For now, those sentences mean drastically different things. You join in, and the act of nodding with your foreheads pressed together is so silly looking that he smiles, and takes a deep breath.

“How much experience do you have with omega headspace?”

“Nothing substantial.” Damiano holds himself up on one elbow, propping his head in his hand. Its comforting to have the weight of his body resting on you, so warm you’re beginning to perspire.

“I know you’ve never been with an alpha before, but you can explore it on your own, no?”

“Have you ever realized that you overslept for something important while you were still dreaming? And you wake up in this disorienting panic?”

“Christ, that's how it feels?” His eyes switch back to hazel in the span of one blink.

“When there's no one to give control to, yeah. So you can’t ever truly let go, but some for people it's still worth it. Not me, I like control.”

“Yeah I know,” he murmurs, brushing hair away from your face as you had his. You’d forgotten how nice it was to have your hair played with and you let out a sigh. Closing your eyes now won’t be perceived as rejection, so you do, turning your head towards his hand. It's the first time Damiano has seen you totally relaxed, and you look angelic. It's a reminder of your inexperience, and he immediately questions his choice to guide and educate, rather than preserve certain parts of your innocence. However, the fact that you trust him this deeply, having seen exactly who he is, leaves Damiano without the choice to walk away. He’s hooked.

For the first couple minutes, Damiano stroking your head is wonderful, but it causes other parts of your body to demand attention with distracting insistence. You have to resist squirming underneath his touch. You want to seek out more pressure, stimulation, or just something. Because you’ve never had this much physical contact with him before, and its awakening desires you couldn’t put a name to. Despite the hormone suppressants, your body is reacting to his pheromones and musculature, revealed by his bare chest.

Out of curiosity, you open your eyes, unsure if you’ll find hazel of midnight black. It’s the latter and his brow is furrowed in thought. The tips of his canine teeth press into his plush lower lip. You’re too hot, not like the radiant heat of a fire, but like a fever.

“You’re not relaxed,” he observes, and only then are you aware of your breathing.

“Oh,” you gasp, trying to calm your rapid oxygen intake. “Yeah, I’m really warm.” You fan yourself and Damiano turns his head, face scrupulous.

“All of your muscles are tense.” He’s observing you with the kind of objectivity that's insulting. It reminds you of him rattling off your symptoms a couple days ago. You didn’t want Damiano to be capable of being impersonable. You wanted to affect him to the point that it made his life difficult, because that's what he did to you.

“Did I pull your hair?”

“Huh?”

“Or am I too heavy?” He starts adjusting and as a result his locks brush against your nipples. You grimace in an effort not to make a noise. However, his knee is wedged between your legs again and you can’t help the pitiful sound that escapes. Nor can you help the impulse to grind down as hard as you can, regardless of what's permitted. He smirks, and the realization that Dami knew what he was doing all along has you swiping at his shoulder.

“Hey, hey!” he protests, eyeing switching back to hazel as he giggles.

“Mean!” you proclaim, getting a hold of a pillow and hitting him upside the head. “Rude, very rude!” You flip onto your side, pouting, with your arms crossed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he croons, laying behind you. Dami presses his face to your scalp and takes a deep, self indulgent breath. He rolls his hips up so he’s spooning you, cock half-mast. Damiano’s entirely bare chest is pressed to your entirely bare back, creating a position you could likely masturabate to completion in. You’re wracked by a full body shudder as he scoots infinitesimally closer to you. Now this is intimate.

Birth control and suppressants are not enough to overpower your biological reaction to this much skin to skin contact with an alpha. Your heart rate starts to speed up and laying still feels impossible, even though you’d rather die than move from this exact spot. The kinetic energy building in your pelvis had you on the verge of screaming, or combusting. All you could do was rub your thighs together desperately while Damiano took his sweet ass time savoring your presence.

“This is really nice,” he whispers into your ear, voice husky. Suddenly the realization hits that he got to cum and you haven't. You take the hand that rests on your side and pull it onto your stomach, slowly sliding down. The hand directing his shook with anticipation, as Dami showed no signs of objecting.

“Please touch me,” you begged as you pushed his hand into your underwear. There's no point in maintaining your pride, when you’d far rather have the ability to plead. He slides his right hand between your legs, cupping your vulva. You sort of can’t believe he’s touching you here. Maybe it's the pheromones that make it feel like a transcendent experience. His hand is sure, providing pressure and warmth, slick dripping between his fingers. You roll your pelvis against him, prompting Dami to move, but he doesn’t. You cannot be held responsible for any desperate whining that occurred in protest. Why won’t he do anything?

“I’m taking off your shorts and underwear” he narrates in your ear. You like that he doesn’t ask. It's better that he didn’t ask. Wiggling out of the remainder of your clothes isn’t as dignified as you’d like it to be. Using your left foot, you fling them off the end of the bed. Immediately you open your legs and Damiano slides his hand in between. The lack of fabric lets you pin his hand there, by squeezing your thighs shut. He allows you to enjoy the presence and warmth from your clit to your opening. Taking liberties, you grind harshly against his hand, holding it in place by his wrist. Hearing no protest you try rubbing your thighs together again. Having something between them this time was so satisfying that you start rutting into his palm, and don’t police the moans that come forth.The slick dripping from your cunt starts to make the soft tissue at the largest part of your thigh stick together.

“Let me know when your done treating my hand like a sex toy,” Dami whispers, smile audible. You feel yourself flush with embarrassment so hard that it aches in your chest. Looking up at him, he eyes are still somehow kind, despite being void of color.

“Sorry,” you squeak, stilling.

“Don’t apologize,” he purrs directly into your ear. Each approving hum is punctuated by his tongue swiping at the extremely sensitive follicles in your ear canal. You relax your legs and Dami stretches out his hand. Immediately, you’re a little bit horrified for being in such a horny frenzy that you nearly dislocated his fingers. This is offset by his good natured chuckle against your cheek. This gives you courage.

“Will you take your jeans off?”

“I – um, I”

“For the skin contact,” you clarify. He nods behind you, rescinding his hand and rolling onto his back. The vein on his forehands stands out as he lifts his hips to remove them. Once his pants are shed, also thrown off the side of the mattress, Dami puts his attention to other matters. He readjusts his hard cock, tucking the head under the waistband of his boxers, to minimize the sensation of being stabbed in the back. Then he flips back over to embrace you, and presses your bodies together in every way possible. One leg rests between yours, parting your thighs. It's such a rush that you make a sound like the wind being knocked out of you. In that moment, Damiano could have started with three fingers and you’d take them happily. You’re sweating, pussy dripping, but he didn't make you wait. Damianos pushes one finger inside to the hilt.

“More, more,” you beg, eyes screwed shut in pleasure. He inserts a second digit and has to clamp a hand over your mouth.

“Uhh, uh, oh my god.”

“Shh,” he quieted. You didn’t care. You really didn’t care how loud you were, not even slightly, not even enough to be decent. You were entirely indecent as Damiano pushed two fingers inside, deep enough to brush your scent glands. Your hips bucked against his palm, then missed the contact of his body so you glued against Damiano’s form where he lay behind you.

“And those are your scent glands.” His mouth was parted in focus, displaying his teeth, whose shape only made your cunt throb. His gaze was directed down to his hand, hair falling in front of his face and tickling your shoulder. Despite the change, Damiano’s expression was so clearly that of careful concentration. His eyes flitted back up to check on you, and found himself being admired. He grinned and you could see the vein on his temple, the flex of his jaw. Perfectly collected Dami, in his element, was not collected at all, but he was free.

His embrace was steady and consistent, every other touch left you shaking. Once you realized that Damiano was keeping his hand over your mouth, you stopped worrying and let yourself slip into sensation, letting out whatever cries of pleasure were prompted. You were floating in your own head, so thankful for being spooned by your alpha, because otherwise there would be no anchor.

“More, please. Please, more, please. Dami please!”

“Shh, breath. You’re okay, y/n.” His contact with your scent glands became more substantial, which was impressive considering he was doing this completely blind. The sensation was like a bolt of electricity to the core of your pelvis. It hurt, or rather it contained the idea of pain which was totally overpowered by the sensation of crippling pleasure. Maybe it was all an expression of intensity. Maybe you were so lost in this soul deep satiation that you were trying to make sense of the nonsensical.

You kicked Damiano in the shin bone as your body tried to externalize some of this unmanageable sensation. Your grip on the bedding ripped the fitted sheet up.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” Dami reminded you. However, you knew you were okay and what could possibly suggest otherwise when you were experiencing more pleasure than you had in your entire life.

“You’re so beautiful like this, I wish you could see yourself,” he admired.

“More, more,” you demanded through gritted teeth.

“You might not be ready for three. Baby, take a breath.” You tried to inhale, but it got caught in your throat as Damaino managed to find a new place inside you that had never been touched. Accidentally, you bit down on his hand. It wasn’t a thought out impulse, just the first thing that came to mind. You didn’t make the connection to where the urge came from in time to stop it.

He wasn’t cruel. Damiano wouldn’t penalize you within a couple minutes of an orgasam you’d obviously needed more than he’d understood. He could appreciate that this was his own failing to an extent. Instead Dami put his fingers into your mouth, and sucking on his pointer and middle finger seemed to render you content.

Biting Dami’s hand then sucking on his digits caused you to sink into a new head space that was deeply primal. You couldn’t have opened your eyes if you wanted to. You felt like his pup, a position of total submission. You didn’t need sight, nor taste and smell. All you needed to be Damiano’s pup was the ability to feel and hear his directions, and then obey.

“Three, three, three, three,” you chanted.

“Baby, I don’t want to tear your hymen or hurt you or –”

“Three, three. Please, three.” Your voice was wracked with tears. The urge to cry was inexplicable, there was nothing to prompt such a reaction. Yet there you were, fears falling from your eyes to his hand that you suckled like a pup. He let out a sigh and gave you three.

Damiano had been right, it was too much. This was a bad position to take three fingers, so you opened your hips more by hooking your heel over his thigh. Still, it stung. Where there should have been whines of discomfort, out come sounds of deranged pleasure. Tears fell from your eyes and Damiano had to apply some force to get to the last knuckle. It was too much, you felt too full, and maybe that's why you’d craved it in the first place. Maybe you’d known this was more than your body could take, and you’d done so anyway to appease some convoluted desire that you didn’t understand.

“I can’t knot you, I’m sorry.” That was the name of the yearning: a knot. So easily you’d been reduced to your biology, but instead of fear, you felt freedom. Damiano interprets your tears as pain, which they may will be. You had no idea what was going on, only that sucking on Dami’s fingers brought you comfort.

He switches back to a single digit and adjusts so every inch of him is pressed against every inch of you. He uses that one digit to stimulate your scent glands at a pace that brings you to orgasam. You almost yelped in surprise when a rush of slick wetted your and Damiano’s thighs. It seemed that sensation was building and building, until you arrived at a peak so suddenly that you were surprised to find yourself free falling into climax. Dami didn’t abandon you. He remained cupped over your vulva just as you had positioned it, holding you close. The fingers on his other hand, still in your mouth. As self awareness returned you startled, feeling unable to open your eyes. Damiano felt you wince and started soothing you with his words.

“Take your time, I’m not going anywhere. This is normal.” His thumb whipped the tears you hadn’t realized were falling and the hand that had been between your legs moved to rub your tummy. He started humming in your ear, melodies that sounded vaguely familiar bleeding into one another. It felt like a mediation until you, a grown ass woman, realized she had someone’s hand in her mouth.

“And you’re back,” he chuckled as you spit out his fingers and cringe in disgust.

��Ew, what the fuck?” You rough wiped at the tears on your cheeks, then the drool around your mouth. “What the fuck?” you repeated, this time more hysterical.

“How do you feel? I didn’t mean for you to slip into headspace. It's never happened like this before.” You know Dami doesn’t mean any offense, but it still makes you self conscious. “I would have prepared you, I’m sorry.”

“I mean I’m…fine.” You turn onto your back while he observes you closely. Your eyes are drawn downward, to the wet spot at the top of Dami’s boxers. He follows your gaze, bashfully.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to, um…it’s just – it’s just if you had seen yourself. Like, holy shit, but I know –”

“It’s actually kind of affirming, Dami, don't worry about it.” You gesture to the tissue box, which he uses to clean two ejacutions worth of jizz off his chest. Your brain begins to process the last however long.

“Oh my god I��I – why?”

“You didn’t do anything strange, don’t worry,” he calms. “I’ve just never seen someone slip into omegan headspace like that before.” Upon observing your expressions, Damiano immediately backpedals. “And that's not a bad thing! There's just always been some barriers, but you’re not put off by the change, so…” He trails off, beaming. How anyone could find this terrifying after knowing Dami is beyond you. His expression was full of so much sweetness and vulnerability. Your chest swells with the knowledge that you’ve validated him or your dynamic, in some way.

“Is my…like am I still –”

“Vampire Damiano? Yes you are. I thought you could feel the change.” His behavior had suggested as much.

“I can, it’s just…your face,” he grins.

“What's wrong with my face?” you demand, purposefully indignant.

“Nothing! Nothing! I like your face. I’m just not used to this reaction. It's a nice surprise. It’s really really nice.” After everything, this somehow makes you blush, but you can’t resist the urge to tease him a little bit.

“So that thing you said about wanting me to date other people in the meantime so I could be sure.” Damiano lets out a snarl, but it's playful and nothing else. He starts poking at your sides, testing if you’re ticklish. Once he gets you laughing, Dami pins you to the bed with his weight.

“Mine,” he growls in your ear. “Mine. Mine. Mine!”

Notes: Depressive mood swing over, fan fiction up! Any spacing issues are due to Tumblr barely letting me upload this due to its size. As always I live for external validation and thanks for reading (and waiting)!

taglist: @asianhawkeye @biancathecool @bieberhoodforever @blackberryblossom @bohemianrainbow @boyswillbeexecutied @butkutee @ch3rryk4ii @cuzimitaliano @damoriaa @daisy0gf @donuts247usa @elvirabelle @ethaneskin @gr8rainbowpunk @hiraetheral @homesicam @iamtashaquinn @idyllicbutterfly @immrbrightsideeee @iosonoarina @ilwiwbysmv @katyldamusic @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @minnietmouse @obiw4n @ohdamiano @que--sera--sera @teacosea @teenyweenynightghost @thatonebraziliangirl @thegeminisgirl @theimpossiblehologramtree @solacestyles @stardustingold @superchrystaldrug @wasteddoubts @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @woahzz11 @xweirdxsceletton @dustyinkpages @the-chaotic-cow

#damiano #maneskin #måneskin #damiano david #damiano maneskin #omegaverse maneskin #omegaverse #alpha beta omega #damiano david fluff #damiano david smut #damiano david fanfiction #damiano david x reader #damiano david imagine #maneksin imagine #maneskin fanfiction #maneskin smut #maneskin x reader #maneskin fluff

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oro-e-diamanti · 3 years

Text

Quiet Music: Accelerato (Chapter Two)

In collaboration with @bethanysnow

Authors' note: I (oro-e-diamanti) will not be available a lot from August 2nd - August 6th so any questions should be directed at @bethanysnow :)

First concert of the tour, decisions are made. Did they make the right call? Hushed voices in the cab of a taxi, champagne flutes and old photos. Follow the feeling.

Content | Fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Damiano

Word Count | 7475

Taglist (please add yourself to my new taglist if you haven't already!) | @damianodavide @lizstans @unitermoonshine @its-afucking-mess @ethaneskin @dont-let-me-drown-in-you @vampirtet @lividisuigomiti @juststalking @tabi-toast @ethan-torchio-angelo @cheese-toastie-11 @thewitchinthemountain @manesimp @sofckinelectric @emmawruck @daddydamiano @grumpybottom @finelinejpm @superchrystaldrug @ginny-lily @ohtorchio @kanevill @messyhairday-me @shaunthesheesh @butterfly-skinnylegend@bidet-and-legolas @maybankslut @pingpongchamps @lidiyabest @killerqueen1985 @katyldamusic @ccweasley @bluscryn @fuckim-so-gay @deluxeplanteater @demoiselle-en-detresse00

***

It wasn’t the first time that waking up the people she worked for was an important point on Y/n’s daily schedule. She didn’t mind if they took forever to wake up or demanded she never arrive without some sort of caffeine in her hands or if they ordered her to leave the room again immediately. She had dealt with all sorts of people in the morning. However, none of them had looked quite as attractive as this whole band constantly seemed to.

Victoria had been easy, fresh and up on her feet the second Y/n had knocked on the door. She was bouncing with excitement of the tour finally starting, effectively putting a smile on Y/n’s face. Thomas, pointedly ignoring everything going on in the shared room, was much more difficult. Y/n would have opted for a softer option. But Vic roughly jumped on his bed, throwing herself on his sleeping body and shouting at him to wake up. She didn’t stay to see the aftermath of Thomas’ annoyance, feeling like her job was done here, and slid out of the room to knock next door.

Ethan opened quickly, sparing her a tired but adorable smile, and invited her in.

“Morning, this is your wake-up call,” Y/n joked.

“I just got up anyway, but I think Damiano needs you,” Ethan murmured, before stumbling into the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind him.

Damiano was still fully asleep and, now being alone in the room, Y/n couldn’t help but take a moment to admire the view. He was on his back, bare torso, tattoos she would love to study further if given the chance, blanket carelessly swung over one leg. She could see his black underwear clearly as well as- oh. She couldn’t tear her gaze away, as much as she tried. He was hard. Okay, so this shouldn’t have shaken her up quite this much, it surely wasn’t the first time and won't be the last when something like this happened, but oh dear god, that image wasn’t going to leave her brain anytime soon. At least not when it was him.

Desperately trying to ignore the state of his underwear, Y/n reached for his shoulder, feeling like this was the safest spot for her to touch, shaking him slightly and calling his name.

“Damiano - time to get up.”

His eyes fluttered open, blinking in confusion, quite obviously unaware of where he was or what was happening. Then he focused in on the eyes above him, a blissful smile spreading on his face. Ethan had come back from the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light, probably looking for clothes. Damiano’s eyes widened.

“I didn’t know you had a halo, Y/n…” His hand reached up to move a stray hair from her face.

“I don’t. But you need to get up. Concert today, remember?”

Damiano still looked confused, but started moving, slowly sitting up and then going back to watching her.

“Just wake me up like this every day, angel,” he whispered, drunk on sleep, getting up and trying to wrap his arms around her. In the background, she could hear Ethan laughing to himself and she briefly wished for his help instead of his amusement. Y/n tried to move her body away, still acutely aware of Damiano… well, having a little problem south of the border, but the singer himself didn’t take any notice. He relentlessly chased her warmth, finally managing to pull her into a hug, as she desperately tried to keep it short. She only let her chest collide with his briefly, keeping her distance from his lower body.

“Stop being so uncomfortable,” Damiano mumbled, and finally, finally, Ethan came to her rescue.

“For god’s sake Damiano, let go of the poor girl, you’ve got a massive boner.”

That was all it took for him to release her, completely awake now, eyes widening. Without another word, he pushed past her and into the bathroom, shutting the door behind himself with a loud bang.

“You okay?” Ethan quietly asked Y/n. She nodded, her face almost as red as their bus.

“It’s fine. Not the weirdest thing to happen but, you know… Um. We are meeting at the back lot in a bit. I’ll see you there?”

Ethan nodded, leaving her to vanish from the room in a heartbeat.

***

Y/n went over the list on her phone once more. Fruit - check. Coffee - check. Toast - check. Some other breakfast and lunch staples to keep in stock on the bus - check. Food and treats for Chili - double check.

“What’s all this food for? An army?” The clerk asked, scanning her groceries at high speed. Y/n simply chuckled, mentioning something about roommates, not keen on elaborating further. Another smile and she was back on her way to the bus. She was still in the middle of unpacking everything, tripping over bags left in the corridor, on seats and counters, and loudly playing The Strokes’ Last Night on her phone, when the band started filing into the bus. She quickly put up a little magnet with the Stockholm skyline that she had picked up at the store onto the fridge.

Victoria was the first to step on, immediately dropping Chili from her arms and letting her roam and explore the bus. Ethan and Thomas followed suit, all of them happily greeting her. Only Damiano stayed quiet, shuffling behind them as if there was any way he could hide, staring at his feet, a slight blush still painted on his cheeks. He felt horribly awkward. The scene from earlier would not leave his mind, however hard he tried. The more I try to impress her, the more I look like a fool, he grumbled to himself.

“You made breakfast?!” Vic called, much too loud, considering everyone was gathered in the same area. She picked up some berries, popping them in her mouth one by one, while Thomas grabbed a plate of scrambled eggs. Ethan started buttering a toast, but paused when he realised Damiano was still awkwardly lingering in the back.

“Fruit for you?” Ethan asked and Damiano regretted nodding absentmindedly the second Ethan handed him a banana, eyebrows wriggling.

“Fucking dick,” he shot back, but took the offending item, if only to hide the interaction from Y/n.

“It’s nothing much, just had some extra time before you got here.” Y/n smiled from where she was crouched on the floor, still filling the shelfs with groceries. “Make yourselves at home, I just need to finish putting this stuff away, so it’ll be out of your way. Shouldn’t take too long.”

Damiano moved some bags away, taking a seat. It was like he couldn’t decide whether he wanted to watch her or not. He could sense she was feeling awkward, yet had no idea how to alleviate the situation. He was making this unnecessarily difficult and he hated himself for it.

“Hi Chili,” she cooed as the fluffy dog climbed into her lap, demanding pats. “And who’s been a good girl for her mummy, hmm? Hm?”

The voice in Damiano’s head softened as he watched Y/n play with Chili. She was adorable. Y/n, that was. He scolded himself for wishing he was Chili.

“Right, I’m going to choose a bunk and unpack a bit, don’t be mad if I get the best one and you’re all left with the rubbish ones,” Damiano joked, still feeling awkward and knowing he wasn’t being half as funny as he wished he was. There were several shouts back at him as he walked through to the bunks, throwing his stuff on one, but he ignored all of them. Nothing on his mind but how Y/n had finally caught his eye as he had gotten up. Looking at him shily and with uncertainty and, oh, how he wanted this awkwardness between them to go away.

“Take Chili out for a walk when you’re done!” Victoria shouted after him and soon enough he could hear little paws jumping up to the singer. He picked the little dog up, holding her to his chest.

“You don’t care how dumb I’m being, Chili,” he murmured. “You just care about treats and snuggles.”

***

“So, did you guys get a good night’s sleep?” Y/n asked as she heard Damiano leave the bus with Chili.

“I would have if I hadn’t been attacked!” Thomas fell into a seat, dramatically looking at Vic who was obviously the reason for his complaints.

“Well it’s not my fault that someone decided to stay up until 3 am.”

“I did no such thing! I went to bed when everyone else did.”

Victoria raised her brow at her friend’s retort. He simply shrugged and made a face.

“So what about cleaning up, huh? Can’t let Y/n do all the work,” Ethan interrupted their little quarrel. His bandmates stopped their bantering, looked at the amount of work left in, looked at Y/n, and started to help.

Y/n stood back up off the floor, an inquiring look on her face. Suddenly being helped with a task wasn’t normally a thing that had happened with previous clients. It was a nice change. She quickly directed everyone as to where things went.

“She… she got my favourite snacks!”

“She put my stuff in the crates and organised it already. She even got a coffee pot.”

“There’s Italian spices in the cupboard. And everything else we need for a good plate of pasta!”

Y/n slightly smiled to herself, happy that she had managed to get everything they needed and a bit on top. Music was still pouring out of her phone, but the song had long changed. Rebel Rebel by David Bowie was currently playing, as she moved around the bus, moving her hips to the beat and mouthing along to the words, as the other three watched.

“You know, maybe we do have to take you dancing some time, Y/n, you’re surely into all the right music,” Victoria laughed as Y/n continued cleaning the kitchen area.

“I might just stay at the sidelines and make sure none of you die. My dancing doesn’t really need to be anywhere but the walls of my own flat.”

“Just a drink or two and we’ll get you on the dancefloor, I’m sure,” Ethan smirked. Y/n turned around to raise her eyebrows at him.

“You truly want to bring out the worst in me on this tour, don’t you?”

Y/n took one last look around, happy with the work she and the band had done, briefly wondering how long it would stay this tidy for, but immediately pushing the thought away. That would be a problem for another day. She let herself fall onto the couch next to Thomas.

“So, first gig today.” Y/n slipped back into work mode easily. “Anything else I need to prepare for you? Any special requests or anything?”

“I think most of it is on our rider, isn’t it?” Victoria thought out loud. “So, just the usual stuff.”

“Yeah, no worries, I got that here,” Y/n threw in, immediately going for her ever-present folder, looking for the right page. They had provided her with a general rider for all shows, just simple stuff they requested to be there, water, a couple of beers, towels, cigarettes, nothing extraordinary.

“I do have… um something I wanted to ask.”

Y/n looked up at Thomas, highly aware the two of them had barely exchanged words since tour started. She mainly put it down to his shy nature, combined with the fact that they all mostly spoke English with each other and she knew he was still in the process of learning, she didn’t take it personally.

“Always,” she smiled, trying to be as welcoming as possible.

“I was just thinking, this is our first big European tour-”

In the background, Vic shouted “tou eurovean!” in the most obnoxious way, obviously trying to rile Ethan up who only smiled to himself and shook his head, having long stopped being bothered by his bandmates mocking his accent.

“-and you’re really good with languages and all that, do you think you could teach us a bit for every place? So we can say, like, “hello”, “thank you” and so on when we meet fans?”

Y/n heart surely grew two sizes as she listened to Thomas’ request. She knew she was going to have a good time working with them from the beginning, but seeing just how much they cared and how much they seemed to love their fans, she couldn’t help but fall in love with these people. It wasn’t something she had found often in the business, and she appreciated it immensely.

“Well, that’s definitely something I can help with - just not sure if I can help today, I don’t exactly speak Swedish.”

“I’m half Danish, you doofus,” Vic suddenly exclaimed. “Why didn’t you ask me?”

“Huh?” Thomas’ face was marked with confusion.

“It’s super close in terms of language. I’ll just quickly google something and I can help you.”

“Oh, right,” Thomas smiled bashfully, but obviously eager to learn.

Y/N chuckled. Always happy to lend her services to those who wanna learn. But with the last things put away she turned to the group.

Everyone quickly gathered to have a look at what Victoria was pulling up her phone, Ethan with a serious, studious expression on his face, while Thomas seemed to be confused enough to regret having asked about Swedish at all.

“Right, so let’s look at some easy ones,” Y/n said, urging Victoria to scroll away from the long sentences she was currently looking at. “What do we need, something like ‘hi’, ‘I love you’, ‘thank you’, ‘bye’?”

One by one, the foursome went over the words, always guided by Victoria, who had the best feeling for the language due to her own familial ties. The bus was filled with sounds of “hej” and “tack” and “hejdå” and Thomas didn’t take long until he gave up on “Jag älskar dig” altogether, concluding he would simply not tell anyone he loved them tonight.

The music paused and was replaced with a ring. Y/N looked and gave a nod to Victoria to continue without her, stepping outside.

“Heeey, Y/n!” Her best friend’s voice echoed through the phone.

“Hey babe, how are you? How’s home?”

“It’s good here, your mum is driving everyone crazy as usual. Worried you’re gonna get picked up some place,” she coughed, ready to imitate Y/n’s mother and her northern accent, “‘good girls like our Y/n need to watch out! God protect her!’ Haha! I love your mum; I really do, but she’s a bit much!”

“I know, I should probably call her. Work has been busy. We just started the tour, so things are picking up.”

“Ooh yes! Tell me about it! Who is your newest client? You said something about Eurovision, is it Blind Channel? Please let it be Blind Channel.”

“Nope, sorry, as much as you may wish they are not. They’re called Måneskin?”

“Wait, I’m on my laptop, I’ll look them up. Hold on… Oh. My God. They are hot as fuck?! Are you fucking kidding me you didn’t tell me they were hot!”

“No, I didn’t. Because I was expecting exactly this kind of loss of hearing from your screaming,” Y/n said, slightly pulling the phone away from her ear. “And before you ask, yes, all of them are lovely, all of them treat me quite well, no ‘rockstar’ attitudes.”

“Good. I don’t need to fly to Rome and steal you away, do I?”

“No, mainly because we are in Sweden right now. But even if you did, my place in Rome is a tiny thing, could barely fit in the sofa.”

“Mate, you need to send me pictures of you with them!”

“You do realise they are my bosses, yes? Like, the manager which they hired signs my paychecks. Not gonna happen babe.”

“But they’re so pretty! Wait, which one is the pretty boy in the mesh top?”

“I assume he has short hair and buzzed sides? In that case, it’s Damiano, he’s the singer.”

“Ah, pretty boy has a name! You like pretty boy?” Y/n groaned at the teasing of her best friend. She loved her to pieces but the obsession with hooking her up with someone was too much sometimes.

“Fuck off, I don’t. Maybe as a person. I don’t really talk to them all that much. Again - me, assistant, getting them coffee in the morning, paid to stay out of their way.”

“Well, I know something you could assist him with.” Y/n could basically hear her friend wink at her through the phone.

“Right, you wish!” She laughed. “Well, I gotta run. Work is never done and all that. Text me, ya?”

“You know I will, babes. Be safe out there. I will try and satiate your mum a bit. Tell her you’re alright. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye.”

Y/n hung up the phone and put it in her back pocket, coming back down to earth after having a little sunray from home. She had worked so hard to get here - she couldn’t let things get in the way now. Damiano was an amazing person. Attentive, abstract, complex. All the things she typically looked for in a person to combat her type A brain. But this was work. And being friends wasn’t so bad. Right? Surely. She made the decision for herself to have a work-based relationship with him. Friends, if she was lucky. If she was good enough.

Even if everything about him was air-suckingly beautiful.

Friends, she told herself. Friends will be good enough.

***

Damiano left the bus with Chili, lighting up a cigarette as soon as he got outside and walking around the backlot. His mind drifted to past interactions with Y/n, the way she did things, the way she spoke to people with the utmost kindness and respect.

It was hard in his position. There had been and would always be many people trying to take advantage of the band, take advantage of him. Fame was a fickle and toxic thing, but it had gotten them where they were now. He tried not to think about it. In all honesty, people scared Damiano. People’s intentions. What they said when he wasn’t around. Not that the latter bothered him much, it was more the idea of him existing in so many different ways to so many people, none of them being the true him. Just another version. A version of himself that was false most of the time. He wasn’t some crazy rockstar. No big ego. No stage persona. Just Damiano.

He hoped she would see behind the facade. But the band seemed to like her. And he trusted them, and their judgement, explicitly.

Yet, they had worked so hard to get here - he couldn’t let things get in the way now. Even if Y/n could promise to be something amazing. Some spark, some magical thing. Maybe? He couldn’t put his finger on it, whatever it was. He vividly remembered the first day at that restaurant. No one would think to collect the dishes to make the wait staff’s job easier. But she did. He assumed she did everytime she went out somewhere.

But music, the band, it was his life. His greatest ambition. A new person could only bring disruption.

But what if it was for the better? The thought made Damiano stop in his tracks, the phrase replaying in his mind over and over again. Chili seemed happy to rest for a moment, flopping down near his feet. Damiano’s gaze fell on the tour bus. Was she for the better? He didn’t know. But his heart started to beat quicker at the thought of her. Palms getting sweaty. A fluttering feeling that would not go away.

She wasn’t going away. Maybe he should risk it, make a decision. Follow this fluttery feeling and see where it would take him.

Exhaling smoke and resting the cigarette between his lips, he suddenly knew what he was going to do.

***

Arriving at the venue was potentially the most chaotic thing Y/n had ever been part of. People, both from their own crew as well as that of the place itself, were bustling around like ants, carrying equipment, moving things around, just about managing not to bump into each other. Her best bet was to get out of the way, find the band's backstage room to check if they had everything they needed and further coordinate from there. It didn't take long, a flight of stairs up and a turn left, until she found the door displaying the logo of the band, proclaiming it to be their dressing room. She took stock of the amenities, finding everything to be in perfect order, and let herself drop onto a couch.

The actual gigs involved the least of her work on tour but she couldn’t help micromanage just a little bit, just to make sure the band was as comfortable as possible. It was less of a job duty and more of a personality trait at this point.

The door opened to five racks being pushed into the room, all with dress bags and compartments filled with shoes and the odd accessory that Y/n couldn’t make any sense of. The racks were labeled with each of their names, the last one simply stating the name of the band. She assumed it would contain mostly things to be shared between them.

Y/n stood flicking through the clothes, curiosity getting the better of her. Did they buy all of this themselves? How could they possibly afford this? She thought with a raised brow as her eyes flickered over the tags proclaiming luxury brands.

She didn’t stay alone for too long. One thing about the band was always knowing where they were - simply from the volume which accompanied their every move. Coming down the hallway towards her she could hear a badly made chorus of shouting and song. Victoria was on Damiano’s back, the singer running into the greenroom at full speed. Thomas was holding Chili, following Ethan into the room

“Oh my god, are those our clothes? Vic clumsily jumped off Damiano, almost taking him down with her. She immediately began shuffling through the pieces, making Y/n wince at how careless she seemed to be. “I can’t believe how much Gucci they sent us for this tour. I’m so glad we don’t have to buy our own stage clothes anymore, the mismatching outfits gave me a headache.”

Y/n sat back down on the couch with Chili curling up in her lap, Damiano dropping down next to her, obviously adamant about forgetting this morning’s awkwardness. Both watched as Victoria kept pulling things off the racks, holding them up while making appreciative noises or holding them up to Ethan and Thomas to judge how they would fit.

“Any idea what you’re wearing tonight, then?” Y/n asked.

“Gotta be perfect,” Vic mumbled, having drawn her two bandmates into looking through their options as well. “It’s the first night, after all. Oh I know! We should do a little fashion show for Y/n!”

It only took a minute before clothes started flying, Vic distributing shirts and trousers and blouses to the rest of the band while hanging aside a few things for herself, ordering everyone to get on with it and strip. Y/n gulped. A fashion show - yes, okay. But watching the preparations? No one had trained her for that.

Apparently, she was the only one with those kinds of thoughts, as she watched Ethan unbutton his shirt without hesitation, Thomas already pulling down his skinny jeans. Y/n found herself hiding partially behind her hands as everyone started to go bare. But her eyes did far more looking than she intended. Ethan’s body was lean and tall, as well as very close to her face. There was a constant internal push and pull between being modest enough to walk away and not being able to stop herself from catching glimpses. She tried to move away slightly, without anyone noticing, shuffling to the far end of the couch, only to get a full view of Victoria’s bare chest.

Oh god, oh god, oh god, what is happening. I mean… wow. But Jesus Christ! There really is no rest for the wicked and I am royally fucked! Her eyes turned to Damiano who now sat next to her, shirtless. Okay, I can do shirtless. I’ve seen him shirtless before. That’s normal. Oh crap, he looked at me - shit!

Y/n tried to give him a smile, a normal smile, an appropriate smile but her eyes wandered down to his chest tattoos and when they snapped back up, he was still looking at her, now with a smirk on his face that let her know he knew. Her face turned an even darker shade of red. A pair of pants sailing past her briefly caught her attention, eyes instinctively following the movement only to be face-to-face with Thomas in nothing but his white very see-through underwear.

Okay, she had known they were all attractive before she had taken the job but the photos online were nothing compared to this, to the way they moved around her so confidently and shamelessly and- oh dear, now Ethan was also down to his underwear, bulge easily visible - she closed her eyes, hands covering them. This was entirely too much for one day. Damiano this morning had shaken her up enough, now everyone else showing off more or less on purpose as well had her head spinning.

“Aw, cucciola, are you embarrassed? Or shy?” Damiano grinned at Y/n, trying to pull her hands from her face.

“Damiano, you are supposed to be picking outfits, not picking on me,” she retorted, causing the band to have a wave of joy, and now a target. Y/n kept struggling, but Damiano now had a firm grasp on her hands, effectively keeping her from hiding any more. Her face was horribly red and Damiano’s eyes had a playful glint, obviously amused at seeing the stoic Y/n get flustered.

“Come on, there’s nothing to it, just a bit of skin,” he smirked.

“You know,” Vic threw in and Y/n couldn’t help but notice she was still topless, “maybe you should join in, maybe you’d feel more comfortable that way.”

“Erm, nope, thank you - uh, very much, but I’m fine right here.”

She looked around just in time for Thomas to turn around and teasingly pull down the waistband of his underwear, showing off the slightest bit of hit butt, while cackling maniacally. Victoria didn’t hesitate in slapping it harshly. Y/n turned back to Damiano, unsure where to look or what to do.

“You liking the show?” He asked as he got up, grabbing some clothes that were being handed to him. Y/n sent him a glare that read fuck off but his smile only got bigger.

“Let her be. I know I wouldn’t know what to do if people I found attractive started stripping in front of me,” Ethan said, giving an amused look to Y/n. She almost wanted to thank him before it sank in that he was still teasing her as well, just in a far more witty and sarcastic way than the rest of them.

“I do not! I mean- no, wait yes, aesthetically you are all very nice.”

“Aw, she said we’re nice,” Vic laughed and Y/n was glad to finally see some more clothes on her frame. The bassist walked over, scooping Chili up into her arms and Y/n felt even more lost than before, not even the dog being there to fuss over.

Her eyes found Damiano again. She suddenly decided that stripping might be overrated - the way he dressed, the way he buttoned his shirt up in the most delicate way, sending her little smiles in between, was the most mesmerising thing she had ever seen. He briefly turned his back to her to grab and pull up a pair of trousers, Y/n watching his every move, following the piece of fabric up over his legs and his delicate arse with her eyes.

Wait, I did not just call his arse delicate in my mind did I? Oh dear, I’m so far gone.

As if knowing Y/n had been watching - and he probably did - he gave a little wiggle, very aware of where exactly her glance was resting.

Aw fuck.

“Now, let’s stop teasing Y/n,” Damiano said, but his voice still held a laugh. He grabbed onto her hands once again, this time pulling her up to his height and into a soft hug. “No need to scare away the new assistant straight away.”

Y/n tried to think straight, to remember what normal people would behave like in this situation, and she figured it was probably not to stand in his arms stiff as a board with her own arms awkwardly trapped between them. She patted his chest quickly like there, there. Damiano took this differently. Grabbing her hand that rested on his pec, he bowed, kissing her knuckles. The rest of the band cheered in between laughs.

Y/n awkwardly pulled away, uncomfortable with all the attention on her. Her eyes darted to the other three, who had finally put on some clothes, Victoria now giving her a wink. Ethan laughed at seeing Y/n’s still reddened face, quickly taking a step towards her as she turned towards him and putting a soft kiss on her hair.

“No need to feel uncomfortable, love,” he smiled and she would be lying if he didn’t succeed in calming her down just from his entire aura.

“Unless you enjoy it, of course,” Damiano, pulling her back to his chest for another quick hug, either completely oblivious to her slight discomfort - although, who could ever feel uncomfortable in Damiano’s arms, really? - or just beyond caring. His torso felt strong and protective against her, but she quickly got a grip and softly wrestled out of the embrace.

“Okay, enough teasing, I really need to go back to work,” she sighed, looking at all of them individually for a moment to make sure they had heard. Her eyes lingered on Damiano just that little bit longer.

***

The group had settled down after their little game of pin the blush on the Y/n. Thomas had gone out for a smoke break and Victoria stood in front of the mirror, messing with her hair. Chili yapped happily, watching her mom, who kept throwing a little toy through the room absentmindedly, just for the little fur ball to return it immediately. Y/n was focused on something on her phone, busy as usual. Ethan sat next to Damiano in the corner of the room by the window.

“Hey, um, remember the letter I showed you on the plane?” Y/n walked up to Damiano, phone still in hand and intently focused on the screen. “The old Italian one and we talked about how I wasn’t sure if I had translated that one weird sentence correctly because you were convinced it was something else?”

Damiano nodded, a small smile spreading on his lips as he recalled their flight together, how excited she got about her work, how willing she was to let him be part of it even if he barely understood what she was talking about.

“Of course, I do. Why?”

“Well,” she gloated, “my professor got back to me and I was right! She said my analysis was spot on and I’d go far if I kept working like this.”

“Aw good girl, you’re doing such a good job.”

Y/n seemed to freeze in place at Victoria’s words. Her face glowed with pride, a smile so big it easily reached her eyes. Ethan and Damiano both watched as Y/n turned towards Victoria, only to see the woman talking to her dog who had once again brought her toy back to her. The air around her cracked a little and Y/n nodded, more to herself than anyone in particular, before going back to her place on the couch. Ethan leaned over to Damiano.

“Was that just me or did Y/n really light up thinking Vic was talking to her?” Ethan whispered.

Damiano would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed. The image was imprinted in his mind. Was she so starved for compliments or… was this a hint at a kink? His fantasy was faster than the rational part of his brain, he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about it. Complimenting her just to see her face light up again. Finding all the little pet names she’d appreciate. Praising her when she was lying under him… He shook his head to get rid of the idea. He could do compliments, though, for starters.

“No, just me?”

Damiano had fully forgotten about Ethan next to him. The drummer was now mustering him with a questioning look on his face.

“I think she’s just very proud of her work, who wouldn’t like to get complimented on that?” He quickly deflected. This new revelation was something he would have to try out himself. And definitely one he’d keep to himself.

***

There was absolutely no way to describe what Måneskin were doing on stage apart from absolutely and entirely fascinating. Y/n had never had the pleasure of seeing them perform before joining them on tour, so she had made sure to get everything done that needed to be done and hide next to the stage to witness the opening night. It didn’t disappoint. But what drew her in more than the songs itself, more than the musical talents they all possessed, more than the outfits and the lights, was the way they looked at each other, laughed at each other, how clearly they all loved each other and what they were doing. This is what made it worth it. The weirdness of this morning long forgotten. Seeing people do what they were born to do was captivating in it's own right, but the people in front of her were more than just born to be musicians. They were electric.

Then there was Damiano himself, incredibly charismatic, drawing the whole audience in without even trying. It was impossible to take your eyes off him. It didn’t help that he kept looking over and giving her rather non-conspicuous winks, especially during I Wanna Be Your Slave. She was glad to be hidden from the view of the audience. She really didn’t need that kind of attention.

The aftermath was as hectic as ever, the crew giving their best to pack up as quickly as possible, Y/n helping where she could, so everyone could leave and get back to the hotel for the night.

***

The car ride back to the hotel was one with everyone’s hearts in their throats. Victoria was talking a mile a minute about the concert. Ethan was grinning ear to ear watching the Swedish landscape go by, his hand out the window, feeling the air passing through his fingers. Thomas and Damiano had their hands out as well, cigarettes lit. Y/n sat next to them, chatting along with Vic. With a quick move, she undid her hair from the updo she had sported all day. Not bothered about what she looked like right now, the aftermath of the concert and the night crackling like fire.

Chili was on Ethan’s lap, enjoying the presence of the calmest of the bunch. Yellow hues were crashing into the van, making the space flicker from black night to noir warm glow, only being able to really see each other in small pockets of brightness from the streetlights.

Victoria was still talking excitedly, accidentally smacking Damiano’s face in her movements, dramatically moving her hands to underline what she was saying.

“Hey!”

“Scusa. Anyway! Y/n, what did you think? First time seeing us?”

“I thought it was brilliant,” she smiled, honestly. “Your bass solo was great, I’m sure everyone in the audience was ready to sign up to be a De Angelis cult member. You were all fucking amazing. I’ve seen many bands play, but none of them like you.”

***

Wow, she is beautiful with her hair down, Damiano thought, unable to stop staring at her. I think this is the most excited I’ve ever seen her.

***

“Grazie, grazie,” Vic laughed, bowing clumsily in her seat. “We really did kill it, huh?”

“You guys more than killed it, you sent it to hell and back.”

“Did you watch the whole show?” Ethan piped up.

“Did you not see her standing there the whole time, you blind eel?” Vic laughed as Ethan helplessly shrugged his shoulders.

“Probably Damiano’s fault anyway,” Thomas casually said between drags of smoke. “He kept pushing me away to make sure she was still there just to make heart eyes.”

“Did not!”

Suddenly, Y/n had never been more glad for a ride to end, already her nerves were firing up again at the conversation happening. As soon as the hotel was in sight, she unbuckled, almost out the door before the car had stopped completely. She could still hear the banter happening behind her as she stepped into the lobby. The first real day of tour had gone perfectly well, now she was looking forward to retiring to her room, look over the schedule and -

“You joining us for a little celebration in our room?” Vic threw her arm around her shoulder. “You know, first night and none of us fucked up, and that’s also thanks to you.”

“Actually-”

“Yeah, come on, Y/n. Wouldn’t be complete without you,” Ethan added and she found herself nodding. There was no way of saying no to this band, apparently. She followed them towards the elevator, highly aware of Damiano walking behind her. Highly aware of his hand on the small of her back as he led her into the elevator.

He is just being polite, her head told her. This is a tiny elevator, gosh, there are too many people in here.

Thomas was the last to enter, pushing the already close quarters to cramped. Stepping back, Y/n hit Damiano’s chest.

“Oh, sorry. Come here often?” She snickered at him, unwilling to let her nerves show.

“Not nearly enough by the looks of it,” Damiano mumbled. Ethan clocked what he said and wriggled his eyebrows at Damiano, earning himself a glare.

As soon as the elevator dinged and thus announced its arrival on the correct floor, Victoria bounced on her heels, pushing between everyone to get out first and make a run for the door. Ethan followed, shaking his head in disbelief, but not without a smile. Everyone else close behind, shuffling through the long corridor to Vic’s and Thomas’ room.

On the table was a bucket of ice and a champagne bottle, a little note telling them their congratulations from their manager, saying she would love to celebrate but sleep was calling her. Glasses stood near. Thomas didn’t hesitate in grabbing the bottle and shaking it.

“Ah, is that a good idea?” Y/n raised in concern.

“What’s wrong? Afraid of getting dirty?” Thomas smiled teasingly.

“Fine. One night won’t hurt.”

Y/n passed the glasses out to everyone. A few chuckles rang in her ears and she soon understood why - in fact, she understood the very second a loud noise echoed through the room and foaming champagne trickled down her head as Thomas aimed at everyone but himself. Victoria screeched, having gotten the worst of it, while Ethan fled into a corner and Damiano made haste to get Y/n out of the direction Thomas was pointing. She once again found herself in the singer’s arms, deciding that she was really getting more than a healthy dose of his charm today, as he tried to pat her hair dry.

“Thomas! Don’t do that to the hotel room!” Y/n shouted, already thinking about the poor cleaners and the additional pay management would have to come up with if they actually damaged anything.

Her voice of reason, however, was drowned out by Victoria turning up the music on her phone, screaming along to Morirò da re with a voice that had not been made for singing. Damiano grabbed Y/n’s hands, twirling her around before she could stop him and making her do an awkward slow dance to a song that really didn’t fit the mood. She followed along anyway, feeling herself getting more and more intoxicated by the man in front of her. As he twirled her out of his embrace, she found herself falling onto a bed, dizzy with the atmosphere in the room and thoughts of this isn’t your job, this isn’t professional, this isn’t what you usually do.

She took the glass of champagne that had finally been filled up properly without further questions as she studied the room. Vic and Thomas were jumping around, spilling more of the drink than landed in their mouths, while Ethan stood with his back to the wall, filming the two of them in amusement. Damiano sat down next to her, shuffling close on the bed that now felt way too small.

“You know, you should wear your hair down more often, it’s gorgeous,” he talked against the music, loud enough for only her to understand, and pushed a strand of hair back behind her ear.

“Thanks, I guess? It mainly just gets in the way.” Not pulling away this time, she glanced at him, taking a sip of champagne. “Your haircut looks good too, by the way. Don’t know if I said that before.”

“You know I really need to shave the sides again,” his hand trailed along the short parts of his head. “But I don’t trust our stylist to touch my hair and the others have forbidden me from doing it myself.”

“That is a fair assessment, reminds me of when I went punk for a year in secondary school. Shaved sides - patchy as hell! Looked awful, but it was fun,” she giggled, not knowing if it was the conversation or the alcohol.

“No way you were ever punk,” he giggled, moving closer, keeping the conversation between them as the others partied loudly. “You’re getting more interesting with every second I’m around you, you know?”

Cue internal screaming.

“I can show you the pictures, hold on!” Pulling out her phone, she quickly navigated to her mum’s facebook page and showed Damiano a photo. She was much younger in the picture. Black lipstick, badly smudged eyeshadow, shaved sides. Army green cargo pants, black mesh top, what looked to be her friends in the background, in some sort of dance studio.”See, I was fun at one point!”

Damiano grabbed the phone out of her hand and briefly, panic arose that he could potentially start swiping through her photos, but he simply studied the screen closely before giving it back.

“That’s adorable. But I still believe you’re much more fun now, working hard being yourself. You do a really good job, you know? I’m really glad to have you on tour with us, darling.”

After grabbing her phone back, it took a split second for her brain to process what he had said - and the realisation promptly caused her to spit out her drink.

“Shit - fuck - sorry!” She coughed as bubbles went up her nose. “One second, sorry.”

She hid behind her hand, face once again painted red, as she got up and walked to the bathroom quickly.

“Well, that was stupid.” She told herself as she looked into the mirror, seeing her tipsy eyes staring back at her.

Just friends. No… friends don’t call each other darling! Do they? He’s Italian, maybe it’s an Italian thing… Oh lord, this is going to be difficult.

As soon as she left the bathroom, she came face to face with Vic, a concerned look on the bassist’s face.

“Are you okay? You know, we’re not always this crazy, I’m sorry if-”

“No, no, you’re all perfect,” Y/n cringed at her own words. You were all perfect, why would she phrase it like that. “I just think it’s time for me to call it a night. I’ll be the one that has to get you out of bed and onto the bus tomorrow morning after all.” Giving Victoria all a small smile, she waved to the rest in the room, quickly looking at Damiano.

Tomorrow will be easier… it has to be.

#maneskin fiction #damiano david fiction #damiano david imagine #damiano david x you #damiano david x reader #maneksin imagine #maneskin x you #maneskin x reader #fluff #damiano david fluff #mywriting #bethanysnow #quiet music

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