#dilfiano!

[filthforfriends]

[mywritingonlyfans]

Imagining damiano talking in italian to our 1 year old baby girl 🥺🥺🥺

NOOOOO listen (read) to me,,, she's still a lil thing and as much as you communicate more in english you were trying to start introducing your mother tongues to her (maybe when she's around 1 year and something) and then the first time she hears damiano talking to her in italian for the first time she'd be immediately not recognizing him by the voice and then she'd be holding dad's bearded face between her small hands and staring at his wide smile face as he talks to her and you just laughing because you understood what she was feeling... and when it's late at night and she can't sleep and she just calms down when dami sings some song in italian for her so she would always look for him and rub her face on his chest so he knows what she wants or you calling him so he can talk to her thru the phone... ugh

[writingmaneskin]

the audience is waiting for another dilfiano blurb 🙏🏻

👀😌 alright

[ccweasley]

i barely have followers but i wanna come here to address and apologized (again but this time in public) to @filthforfriends for sending an ask to paula when i was thinking about the dilfiano series.

i didn't know it was a bad thing to ask for the same kind of story bc i see a lot of people doing it on the blogs i follow. i really mean no harm to anybody since i love so much all the blogs that i follow

i sent to paula a public ask saying that i got the idea from that series but since barely anyone here understands portuguese it probably went unnoticed

here's chapter one of the original dilfiano series, go check this out, it's honestly my favorite fic right now

[filthforfriends]

Such good content that I wanted to scream. Very much inspiring DILFiano

[filthforfriends]

Poll: Which fic do I finish?

While writing Guardian Angel I've started a lot of fics. I'm going to post the beginning of each and let you vote on which one I should finish. (Depending on the fic, I might let you vote to change the character) Please reblog this post. Tumblr still hasn't fixed my blog so no one is getting my notifications or tags.

#1 Quirk

Quirk was the language you’d decided on. You called it a problem, Thomas called it fucking adorable, and quirk seemed neutral. Sometimes you’d blame it on him. Tommy loved your rty talk, insisted upon it. The closer you got to orgasam, the more it became descriptors and ramblings, instead of intentional and sexy. 

You couldn’t just stop talking altogether when things become less polished. Falling silent would be awkward. Tom would worry about your pleasure and check-in. You’d already tried that. Most of all it was hard to shut up when Thomas was hanging on to your every word. Especially when you were on top, and he was gazing up at you like the mortal equivalent of Aphrodite. Eyes wide, but also threatening to flutter closed from the stimulation. Pillow, pink lips parted, sexy little teeth showing, and flushed beautifully, elegant nose included. 

“I love it when you talk to me,” he admitted in the afterglow.

#2 Panic

Thomas snapped at you, probably because he needed an outlet and you were the closest thing. It really upset you. Not because he was cruel, or because your boyfriend wasn’t allowed to have a bad day. Thomas simply didn’t externalize stress onto his loved ones. He’d play some violent video game or destroy his nails by picking the polish off or shred his guitar until it was out of horrousicly tune. Taking it out on you, however? A very irregular occurrence.  

You’d still slept in the same bed that night, both wide awake for different reasons. His breathing was off, almost panicked. Thomas would get these runaway, anxious trains of thought that sped his heart rate up. He couldn’t stop the worrying.

#3 Something New

Two years ago it might have freaked Thomas out, but he’d matured as a sexual partner since then. He understood that him and sex toys were on the same team. He knew lube was his friend, not his competition. Sure, sometimes natural excretions are enough. Sometimes a carefully selected lubricant can make things more comfortable. There was also a third option: menstrual blood, which he fondly coined nature’s bonus lube. 

He’d tried this euphemism when proposing maybe not avoiding sexual contact like the plague for six days every month. Which is when he learned that a questionable father figure and all your brothers had acted like your period was the most disgusting thing in the universe. 

It started with dropping to your knees in front of him as soon as you got home from work.

#4 Awake

The last time you checked your phone with an exasperated huff it had read 10:45pm. Ethan was supposed to text you when he was going to be home 15 minutes ago. It wasn’t a particularly significant amount of time, but you were struggling to keep your eyes open. He’d occupied your thoughts nearly every moment of this very long day that had rendered you exhausted to the point of vertigo. 

Regardless, Ethan had brought back an obscene lingerie set from France and gifted it to you this morning. So tonight's plans had been implied hours ago. The body suit and garter belt was gorgeous and so fucking uncomfortable that you wanted to time wearing it until the last minute. No matter how sleepy you felt, the adrenaline and endorphins of the moment would keep you going.

#5 Satin, Lace, and Other Pretty Things Part (continued)

Digging through what you affectionately referred to as your little box of horrors, was even more fun than you anticipated. You’d forgotten the full contents of your sex toy collection since you’d moved in with Thomas and stuffed it at the bottom of a closet. He had a barricade up that you were always testing the bounds of, trying to gently work around. Anal fingering? Fine (as long as you didn’t really talk about it). Rimming? Nope. 

Thomas made up for this with orgasams galore, so you were far from bored. However, you also knew that wiping out a 10 inch neon green dick and balls with a suction cup at the base would just intimidate, and maybe also traumatize him. So you kept the more adventurous items in your collection tucked away in case they became appropriate later on. At the bottom of this innocuous looking plastic container, was your strap on harness. It was simple, because that's all you could afford when it came to quality leather and an adjustable o-ring.

You sat with your back to the wall, amongst phallices and vibrators spread out on the hardwood floor, running the black straps through your fingers.

#6 Colleagues

Embarrassingly enough, it was the most action you’d gotten in months. You were turning a corner, nose in your field trip roster, not watching your surroundings because the building was practically empty. His tennis shoes were quiet enough that you didn’t see Damiano until walked right into you. This wasn't a meet cute bumping into each other, you fully collided and lost balance.

“Oh shit! Shit!” He pulled you against him to stop your fall and hold you upright. For a second you were a few inches away from one of the most beautiful faces god had ever created. Giant brown eyes, jaw sharper than a blade, sky high cheekbones and an inhuman level of symmetry. Damiano knocked everything in your hands loose, a folder full of papers scattered on the shiny floor.

#7 Alpha!Ethan

“Ethan, hold your breath,” Damiano exclaims. It’s a harmless enough request that he obliges rather than asking why. Being the most rational member of Maneskin was a chaotic experience at best. That is until Dami breaks out into laughter, Victoria snickering with a hand over her mouth. Ethan hears the door shut and looks in your direction. 

Walking into a room where you're the subject of the latest joke was never a great feeling. Your alpha’s bandmates were never cruel, but the power differential always made you feel like a target on some level. Even if it was just teasing between friends, they were all alphas and you were an omega. All eyes were on you: Dami and Victoria because they thought your influence over the ever-composed Ethan was hilarious. Your boyfriend looked annoyed and Thomas awkward.

#8 DILFiano (continued)

Three hours: barely a respectable amount of time to party hop with your friends before asking to go home. It’s not like you didn’t have a good excuse: they wanted to drive over an hour to some bougie party in the hills. Icarus liked to use her dad's name to get into events every now and then, just for the thrill of it...

“Is it okay to just drop you off at mine? Or do you need me to take you home?” Your heart jumps at the prospect of spending time in the David’s home. Pretending you were on this little adventure for Icarus was morally and emotionally exhausting. It’s not that you didn’t care about your friend, but because the globe had shifted its axis.

#9 More Than Friends

You were going to tell her. Victoria had made her intentions clear, and insisted you don’t answer right away. 

“There's no time line. I’m sorry if this – I don’t want you to feel pressured. We’re still friends like before. Even if you’re not interested. Okay?” You open your mouth to agree. “Don’t say anything just yet,” she blurts. You raise your eyebrows, asking if now you’re allowed to say something. 

“Sorry, sorry, uh! I ask you a question then interrupt you. I’m just…” Vic sighs and looks at her hands, fingers chipping at the navy nail polish. “I’m so fucking nervous,” she confesses. Her suitcase stood by the door: so nervous she waited until the very last minute.

#10 Information Introductions (continued)

“Whatever you want.” You’re on your sides, facing each other. Damiao has both his hands tucked under his head like a pillow, like you’re at your first sleepover. It's such a sharp contrast to the man who just coaxed you towards orgasam with such tenderness for the past...15 minutes? You look up to the vintage clock on your wall, still ticking away.

“40 minutes? Is your leg okay?” Damiano chuckled.

“Yeah, it's fine.” His voice lilted up on the last syllable, like the corners of his mouth upturned in a smile. You wanted to drag your fingertips along his side, but initiating touch felt like you were reaching out into the dark.

[filthforfriends]

✨thank you✨

Well at least someone is reading it

*sighs in attention whore*

[filthforfriends]

DILFiano Thoughts

“Getting the code to the wine cellar by locking us in and peeking over my shoulder won’t work twice.” Damia calls, eyes scanning the shelves.

“Can’t believe that worked once,” you retort. The lock clicks as you close the heavy door behind you. Oh to be locked in a cellar (or cell, for that matter) with Damia, what a grand fantasy to come to fruition.

“Oh, hey you,” he replies with warmth and surprise, tone changing completely. If only he knew how affirming this reaction was he’d have quelled it completely. But now it was too late. He was happy to see you.

“I checked on Icarus and she’s still sleeping. Her alarm doesn’t go off for another two hours.” You trot down the stairs while speaking. Today was the David’s going away party for their daughter, mostly, but also her friends by extension. Unable to stand the excitement of seeing Damiano again, you’d come over unreasonably early under the guise of helping set up. So early, in fact, that you had Damia all to yourself by no coincidence.

“Ah…” He falters. Something dark passes over his expression. “She’s cutting it close,” he says lamely. Movement stilment, Damia turns back to his wines, returning the bottle in his sensual hands back to its place. He turns halfway around to face you, looks down at his empty hands, then awkwardly pulls another bottle out. You make note of the fact that Damia was so weary of what his hands might do around you that he elected to keep them occupied.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine,” he responds mechanically, searching anxiously for something to do with the bottle and thereby keep his back turned. He’s wearing a white button-down, the fabric light for summertime. It’s just translucent enough to hint at the glorious expanses of olive skin underneath.

“Damia, how are you?” As in, this isn’t a social nicety. I want to know you.

“I…” He sets the bottle on the counter and folds his hands behind his back like a schoolboy, turning to face you with reluctance. No, shyness. Damiano looks up at you even though you’re standing on even ground. He’s demure in a way that’s vaguely feminine and endlessly enticing.

“Well, right now I am nervous,” he confesses.

“I assumed you’d still want me here to –“

“And I do,” he interrupts. “But you know by now I like being around you. Especially in ways I shouldn’t.” I like being around you. No, you didn’t know. Or, rather, had been so caught up in your own feelings you hadn’t come to that obvious conclusion.

“And I like being around you.” Things feel contrived again. How did those same words sound so elementary when spoken by you? “But let me know if this becomes sexual harassment.” He bursts into laughter even though you hasn’t intended him to. Dami’s right hand comes up to roughly rub his face and he hides behind it.

“If only. Anything would be easier to navigate than how I…” feel. Making the most of this rare relaxed moment, you walk up with a thundering heart and kiss him. As chaste as it may be, Damia’s lips are ready.

[filthforfriends]

It’s giving DILFiano and we both know it

"Oh darling all of those city lights, never shine as bright as your eyes" 👀😻🌌

[filthforfriends]

Glass Houses

Read parts 1 - 4 of DILFiano on my Masterlist

CW: Morally grey age gap and power dynamics.

Word count: 4.9k

Three hours: barely a respectable amount of time to party hop with your friends before asking to go home. It’s not like you didn’t have a good excuse: they wanted to drive over an hour to some bougie party in the hills. Icarus liked to use her dad's name to get into events every now and then, just for the thrill of it. Most of you were leaving for college on Monday anyway. This was one last hoorah. 

“I just feel super nauseous.” The statement was an excellent way to get home because no one wanted you in their car. 

“You better not puke, or I swear to god…” Icarus threatened

“It’s just nerves about the move. I’m struggling to remember why I wanted to attend college on the other side of the country.”

“You had like two sips of punch, anyways,” slurs Elliot.

“Fuck you,” playfully shout towards the backseat. ���Someone needs to take care of your ass when you have alcohol poisoning!”

“Hey, I’m on your side!” protests Moxy.

“Oh, I’m sorry, love!” You blow kisses in her direction, both tacky and affectionate. 

“Is it okay to just drop you off at mine? Or do you need me to take you home?” Your heart jumps at the prospect of spending time in the David’s home. Pretending you were on this little adventure for Icarus was morally exhausting. It’s not that you didn’t care about your friend, but because the globe had shifted its axis. Your world now revolves around Damia. Ingesting various substances, dancing until you broke a heel, and stumbling back to your car at dawn was totally ineffectual in comparison to him.

“You can drop me at yours, I don’t want to deal with getting my car tomorrow morning. Ugh! I’m just fucking tired for some reason.” You were wide awake and so impatient you couldn’t even disguise it. Luckily everyone’s attention was on Google Maps.

“Just crash at mine like we were going to do anyway,” Icarus offers. “And we’ll be home…” She looks back at Elliot, who’s scanning the directions on his phone. 

“It’s an hour and 23 minutes away,” he supplies.

“Okay we’ll probably just sleep there then.”

“Sick! I’ve always wanted to spend the night in the hills!” Moxy is excited to cross something off her stereotypically L.A. bucket list. You try to be happy with her, but internally you’re counting the trees as they pass. While your physical form is trying to plaster a smile on her face in the passenger seat of Icarus’ G-Wagon, your mind is already at the David’s house. Biding your time on the ride was unbearable. You wanted to crawl out of your skin or just feel the dry desert air on your face as the wind rushed by. 

The sound of the tires changed as Icarus turned from asphalt, to her smoothly paved driveway. You wanted to jump out of the car and sprint while the SUV rolled forward.

“Wait, what is the turn off again?” She whipped around, coordinating with Elliot.

“Uh, shit, let me check. I screen shot the directions in case my battery gets low.”

“You can just charge it.”

“I forgot my phone charger,” he groans, and Moxy rolls her eyes.

“I literally texted you –”

“Okay, okay!” He holds up his hands defensively. Elliot had smoked too much random weed at the second party and was jumpy as a result. It was a risky move, just taking whatever was offered with no questions. Sometimes you’d be fine and others you’d want to rip your eyebrows off.

“Are you playing nice back there?” Icarus called. 

“Can I get out?” Keeping the urgency out of your voice was impossible.

“Huh, what?” 

“The car is still moving,” you snap.

“Oh shit,” she puts it in park. A good person would make sure Icarus was absolutely fine to drive. A good person would make sure all their dumbass friends ended the night safely. A good person would put aside their own personal needs for the sake of others, but that had been your entire life. Tonight you weren’t going to be a good person, you were going to seduce your friend’s dad.

Hopping out of the car, you exchange various expletive ridden farewells. The wave of relief at watching your friends drive off was like fully exhaling for the first time tonight. How freeing it was to be in the company of someone you didn’t have to take care of.

Damia had the house to himself, now. Alexander stayed at his mothers apartment so his older sister could have a going away party. You wanted to know how exactly Damia came to chaperone. Did he volunteer? Were you on his mind every waking moment too?

After your meeting a week and a half ago, Damia hadn’t called or texted. You waited in rapture for the first four days, then gave up hope. A grown man isn’t going to chase after you like a teenage boy would. You’d have to earn that reverence. Holding it against him wouldn’t be fair, anyways. Chiara would probably use your relationship against Damia in court, trying to win sole custody of Alexander. She seemed like the type to play dirty, and with a heart as pure as Damia’s, that was reprehensible.  

The house was dark, so you kicked your shoes off on the welcome mat instead of the tile, that way your arrival didn’t echo through the silent house. It felt early to you, but the kitchen clock read 12:07am. He must be asleep. You go to the trouble of depositing your belongings in Icarus’ room for appearances sake, before tip-toeing to the otherside of the house. Damia’s bedroom door didn't squeak when you opened it, the whole home was well-oiled and in perfect working order. 

However, you could sense that Chiara’s presence here was waning. All of Damiano’s eclectic art she’d managed to arrange in an orderly fashion stood on its own. No longer balanced between a neutral-toned painting and a perfectly proportionate end table, the heavy colors of a disfigured facade leered at you from across the hall. Up until today, you’d thought the bust was of a humanoid face. Now it was so clearly a mask, crazed eyes boring through wind-warped wood from the other side of some secret.

 Another painting had been moved from Damia’s office to the living room. The piece was both gory and abstract, radiating deviant energy. There were no mangled figures, but the blood red paint had been applied to look like straining muscular ligature.  In fact, all the paintings that had newly achieved pride of place were disconcerting, which you realized, was the point. In an effort to find himself, Damia must first be uncomfortable in the world around him. He was too beloved for anyone to do that to Damiano except himself. 

Walking into his bedroom, you found the space above the headboard surprisingly baren. At 15 years old, you'd snuck a peek during a dinner party. There was nothing remarkable about it. The David’s had an under-stated European style. Given how Damia had centered his sexual charisma as a musician, you’d expected plenty of nude imagery ranging from sensual to erotic. Hell, maybe even attachments for restraints on the bed. However none of this was true, and you’d shut the door, fearful of getting caught. All you could recall was the absence of things, but had no memory of what the master bedroom looked like.

In a room lit only by artificial light sleeping through the window, it was hard to decisively observe anything. After closing the door, you became distracted by the books. First and second editions of Maya Angelou, Willian Carlos Williams, Walt Whitman, Sylvia Plath, Virginia Woolf, Allen Ginsberg, and others whose names you didn’t recognize. There's a sensuality in your fingers running down every spine, as if caressing their drug addled ramblings.

Of course your eyes then fall to Damia. No one is more angelic when they slumber or more evocative of sin when they wake. The dark washes us clean. Maybe you and Damia could stay up all night together.

“Hey,” you whisper. He doesn’t stir and after a moment you're glad you haven’t woken him up. He lays on his side and you lift the covers, scooting in behind him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar position. You always rose first at sleepovers, even in elementary school. The boredom of waiting was hellish, but not now. Nothing could hold your attention more completely than the even rise and fall of Damiano’s ribcage as he breathed peacefully. In such close proximity, you could see he was shirtless and propped yourself up on one hand to admire him. The muscles of his pecs were relaxed as were his biceps. All this beautiful body resting easily, folded in on itself. 

You lay back down before the urge to run your hands on his warm, freckled skin becomes overwhelming. Testing the limits, heart racing, you put the pad of a single finger on  Damiano’s back and hold your breath. As far as you can tell he’s still sleeping. You scoot closer so certain places are just barely brushing against his body: knee, forehead, stomach, the back of your left hand. You imagine Damiano had invited you into bed with him, that you’d fallen asleep together like this, maybe after a night of love making. You press your lips to his spine, then can’t bring yourself to pull away.

Damia startles and flips over suddenly. The glass house you’ve built in your mind is shattered.

“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me!” he heaves, hand to his chest. The mortification sets in. This wasn’t the slow, sensual wake up call you’d be hoping for, with kisses and gentle touches. Of course it wasn’t, because you were an 18 year old girl and a near stranger in his bed.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” Damiano reaches over you for his phone and for a moment he’s held above you so intimately it makes your cunt throb. After a few taps his sighs and lays back on his bed, disposition changed. 

“I take it Icarus is with her phone?”

“Yeah, of course! I wouldn’t – fucks sake I wouldn’t do this if there was any risk of be found.” It's then that the reason for Damiano startling occurs to you. “Oh shit, you thought I was Chiara for a sec.” You sit up, weight resting on your hip and left hand. Looking down at him felt so casual, a snapshot into a fantasy life.

“No, no. We haven't shared a bed in almost a year. This bed,” he pats the mattress on either side of him, “is brand new. I’d like to sell the house, but…it’s not the priority right now.”

“Alexander.” Damiano was trying to give some consistency to his son. He nods and puts his arm behind his head. His tattoos stretch across his skin. The claw of a sprawling dragon pierces the head of a sphinx because Damia hadn’t coordinated between tattoo artists. He says he prefers it this way.

“You’re a good father.” Damia snorts and you realize immediately why that might not have been the best comment.

“Oh am I?” God he’s gorgeous. His happy trail is dense because Damia’s body hair spans his lower stomach. It also partially conceals the coiled serpent on his sternum, and reaches across his pecs. You’d never slept with a man who had adult body hair. It must tickle. Everywhere.

“You could move to a different room? That should be a manageable amount of change.”

“The guest bedroom is right next to the kitchen, though,” he wrinkles his nose. Moving Icarus’ bedroom likely wasn’t on the table either.

“What about an add-on to the studio? Expand the bathroom, add a bedroom, and make all the Swedish producers sleep in here?” 

“You know, that’s actually not a bad idea.”

“Sleep in the guest bedroom when Alexander has friends over.”

“So I can hear all the nefarious activities happening in my house,” he chuckles, nodding. “You're full of good ideas.” He extends a hand to your knee, face thoughtful. “You know what the issue here is though? You’re better at these conversations than my peers.” His words are the sweetest, most delicious, most unbearable torture.

“Damia, you can trust my discretion.”

“I trust you as much as I can possibly trust an 18 year old, since I’ve been one.” You don’t like this answer and he can see it. “Where is Icarus tonight?”

“Getting drunk an hour and a half away in the Hollywood Hills and spending the night. Probably will be too hung over to get home before 4pm.” Damia is bargaining with himself and visibly gives in.

“You can’t spend the night in my bed, but we can cuddle for a bit.” Is cuddling what he called tucking Icarus into bed? Or did he say something else like snuggle? Is cuddling what he called his caresses with Chiara? Which role are you: daughter or wife? You are neither. 

“Also please don’t tell my daughter that I have a tracker on her phone. It’s for her own safety, but –”

“I understand.”

“Of course you do. This’ll be our secret too.” There was no earthly thrill like keeping a secret with Damia, because it created an intimacy that couldn’t be denied. Even if neither of you named it, that tether was made stronger. You wanted thousands of secrets with him, to drown in all the promises you made and kept like your life’s purpose. 

You scoot closer, putting off the moment where this touch could feel parental rather than romantic. It was far worse: contrived. As you lay down on his chest, Damiano’s smell was everywhere: his bedsheets, his pillows, his skin. It was the perfect encapsulation of his sex appeal: mature, masculine, refined. His arm wrapped around your back, fingertips dragging up and down your side. The sensation made every hair stand on end and you shivered. Damia chuckled which broke the awkwardness. 

Feeling a little shy now, you turn your face against his skin and get a whiff of body odor. For some reason you want to hide how hard your nipples are, like there was any point in decency now. The hand strewn across his chest comes alive, holding onto Damia’s ribcage. The deep breaths aren’t really enough. Some part of you wants to bite into the muscle of his pec to feel it in your mouth, dig our fingernails into his skin and drag him across the bed. Consume him whole. It’s so carnal that you don’t recognize yourself.

“Pheromones. The smell thing it's…you’ll grow out of it, I think.” Having your mind read by Damia evokes that forbidden, cherished memory under a vibrant sky. For the first time ever, you weren’t thinking of the kiss already. Damia falters in stroking your arm, eyes turned to the ceiling in thought as well.

“Then why is it so hard for you to hold back?” The outer corners of his eyes crinkle as Damia lets out a short laugh. He shakes his head, not at you, but at himself. He should have known you’d be capricious.

“You call this holding back? Hmm.” Damia brings you closer and presses his face to your scalp, breathing in deep. Mothers say the heads of their newborns smell sweet when making the same gesture. If not sweetness, then how did you smell to him?

“I’d say we’re doing a terrible job,” Damia whispers. Upon being released, you finally feel confident enough to give into the craving that nags you, throbs between your legs. Nuzzling his arm out of the way, you press your face into his exposed armpit.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize for your depravity, then take deep gasping breaths of Damia’s body odor. “Sorry,” you mewl, trying to scoot closer. His hair tickles your nose, lips, and cheeks. Damia lifts his arm, permitting easier access. You pet his armpit hair with trembling fingers and your knees bump his flank. Testing the limits, you open your legs and try to nudge his thigh in between. Only when he abides, do you realize why you want Damia positioned that way, why you want his thigh wedged as high up as you could get it.

“I’m sorry.” He shushes you soothingly. 

“Sweetheart, stop apologizing.” You stick the tip of your tongue into the hollow of his armpit and taste the salty skin, then lick upwards. Thankfully, he’s not ticklish, but your rapid breaths against his wet skin makes Damia shiver.

“I want you so bad,” you whimper. “And if you’d just – I’d be happy just to give you a blowjob or handy or anything. If you wanted I’d eat you out. God, I’d lick you clean after a run. I don’t even need you to touch me, because just knowing that I got to touch you…I’d be so thankful and I’d never ask for anything again. I’d take it to my grave, I promise.” This had devolved from propositioning into pathetic begging, but you really were that desperate. Damia looks pained when you want him aroused.

“Sweetheart, if this situation were different –”

“But it’s not. This is the situation.” There's a flicker, a candle fighting the wind. Deep down, a fraction of a fraction of Damiano is considering it. Maybe pity wasn’t the way to go. He was so confident, he probably was attracted to confidence in return.

“Sorry that was rabid, um...” You have to instigate because Damia can’t. But push a little too far, he’d shut down completely and ask you to leave out of guilt. You commit to a course of action, rolling over to the side of the bed and peeling off your tights. Damia’s eyes go wide in alarm. Instead of taking the rest off too, you kneel in front of him, wearing just panties and a skirt.

“I want you to feel how wet you make me.” 

“We can’t –”

“And I’m not asking you to do anything! I just want you to feel, just once. You don’t have to get me off, but I want you to know.” There's that flicker, no longer just one candle fighting the wind. 

“This is a horrible idea,” Damiano responds, propping himself up on an elbow. “I can’t believe I’m…” He extends his hand and you shift position, parting your legs to make room. You pull his wrist under the skirt and his fingertips bump right above the waistline of your panties. Before you can control the reaction, everything tenses in excitement, pussy pleading for you to give it something to squeeze down on. 

Damia’s gaze is knowing, but he doesn't break the asphyxiating sexual tension with a witty remark. He’s not going to invalidate this moment for either of you. Trying to read into that, you lower his hand a centimeter to your panties. Damia’s short fingernails catch on the elastic, but his eyes never leave your face. Rather than blush and turn away, you stare right back, pushing his fingertips past the waistband. 

Of his own volition, Damia slides his hand between your legs. His mouth falls agape, because you’re so wet he has to focus on not accidently slipping inside.

“Tesorina, I –” he touches you at a loss for words. Damia sighs in admiration at how warm and silky your pussy feels. Out of habit, he goes to apply pressure just outside your vulva with his pinky and pointer, while his middle and ring finger play with your pussy. He has to stop himself. You almost wish Damia was wearing a wedding ring so your body’s lubrication could loosen it.

“You feel lovely,” he purrs, pulling his hand back. You close your legs around his touch, clutching it between your thighs. It fits there so perfectly that you can’t help but rock against his palm. Both hands wrap around his wrist. A shameless part of you uses the grip to work back and forth against him. 

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but mm please – don’t –”  Damia wedges his upturned hand firmly against your vulva. “Oh my god,” you mewl, careening forward.  You get fistfuls of the quilt and cry out, pelvis naturally finding a rhythm to rock against Damia’s hand.

“Ah mm, I’m sorry.” 

“Shh, stop apologizing,” he insists in a whisper. Damia isn’t even concealing the relief in his expression at you making this decision on his behalf. Testing the boundaries, you sit back on your heels and give Damia’s hand your weight. He applies firm upward pressure to counteract and your source of friction ends up being even more snug against your pussy.

“Fucking, fuck. Thank you,” you moan, grinding your clit against the heel of his hand.

“Right now, it's okay to listen to your body, tesorina.” Experimentally, Damia’s finger slides into the divot of your vaginal opening. He strokes your hymen in circular motions. Without using any pressure, Damia allows just the tip of his middle finger to slip inside. A car drives by and the headlights momentarily illuminate half of Dami’s face. You can’t tell if it's the half he shows the world, or the half he’s failing to hide from you. 

Captivated but conflicted, Damia drags the arousal up to your clit, middle finger dipping out of your hymen. Immediately you're grieving the lack of intrusion with a whine. Upon reaching the crest of your labia, he brushes back and forth in progressively smaller strokes. Damia uses a massaging motion around and on your clit. Rather than blindly picking a spot to rub, he allows the messy slickness of your pre-cum to inform his movements. 

At first you're in awe of his presion while so deep in thought. Until you realize that subconsciously, your hips were shifting to bring his touch to the best spot. Under all that focus, he was listening to your body’s minute signals. When Damia does find your clit, he puts it directly under his thumb and your hips buck violently. 

“Are you sure?” Something changes in the way he’s positioned. One of his fingers is extended and you falter as he presses it inside. It’s all you can do to nod. Head hung, your expression is corrugated by pleasure. He curls the digit against your g-spot and now your hands are pushing the blanket away, back arching, mouth falling open as your moan. 

“Hey, look at me,” Damia prompts “Are you really, really sure?” It’s absurd for him to expect an answer while he finally pleasures you. Maybe this isn’t an overwhelming amount of stimulation for some women, but you’re on the verge of full body trembles. Damia holds your clitorous between his fingers internally and externally and stays consistent, titrating the pressure up and down, trying to find that sweet spot for you. One hand tightens its grip on Damiano’s wrist as insurance. The other is planted in front of you, bringing your face closer to his.

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes.” Your intrepid confidence issues a scorching challenge. If this interaction ceases out of someone’s fear, it wasn’t mine. Because I am sure. You hold eye contact, gaze completely level. Equal. No longer a little girl in need of a replacement father figure. Damia returns your gaze, alarmed at your power, but also something like impressed. His pupils flit down to your lips. Eyes. Lips. Ridiculing himself. Lips, again.

“If you have the slightest doubt, tell me.” There's a sinking sensation in your stomach, not out of regret, but out of the knowledge of how wrong this was. It just made the whole thing more enticing; a door into the world of depravity that you coveted. People expected you’d spend your life as a righteous woman. Instead you wore a lacy thong under your skirt to seduce your best friend’s father when she was driving on the 405 tipsy. 

“If holding on to me feels good, that's fine, but I won’t pull away if you let go. I’m not cruel.” Damiano visibly makes the same kind of enduring moral concession. During which, his hand had stilled in the last few moments, but you didn’t have the decency to stop using it as a source of stimulation. It was an inexcusably filthy thing to do, hump Damia’s hand with so much vigor it made you sweat. It was fucked up. While Damia couldn’t bring himself to verbally encourage it, his eyes begged you not to stop. 

It was the briefest glimpse into the version of himself that Damia chained to the back of his mind, because it was a danger to his own reputation. A version of himself that sought out rules so his unquenchable rage had something to pulverize. That version of Damiano was allowed to fixate on the girl who fell to her knees in public and begged to blow him. He was allowed to accept the offer, and drag her back to the backseat of a car and have her ride his thigh. Both over and under the trousers, depending on which she liked better.

 “I know you’re desperate just from touching yourself, because sex toys are still embarrassing at your age. I could probably just buy you one, but…” he clicks his tongue at an intrusive thought and shuts his eyes. Jaw set, Damia carefully gets himself under control, but can’t stop the hand against your thigh from shaking. 

“I know you’re desperate because you’re so turned on that I can feel your heartbeat.” His fingers slowly curl towards your belly button as his thumb draws a straight line up your vulva. A breath gets caught in your chest, the pressure underneath your sternum threatening to become a scream. 

“Please, please, ” you babble, mouth falling open when he finds your clit again. With the plentiful pre-cum, Damia runs his fingers back down your pussy and inside. The reentrance makes a squelching sound from all the wetness and you cringe hard, eyes closed in embarrassment. 

“Shh, tesorina. Did you know most people have to use lube to get this wet? Hmm?” You had so much to learn. Why couldn’t he teach you? Damia’s fingering feels amazing, the slightest bit of delicious strain. You realize that he’d been using two. It’s more than you’d attempt so soon, but totally painless. Of course, Damia would know your body better than even you.

“How's that?”

“I didn’t think that I could take...but it feels mm.” You shift your hips side to side, exploring new sensations. 

“Of course you can,” he coos. Just as it had reflexively a minute ago, your body bears down out of a desperate craving for internal stimulation. This time you get to squeeze down on two thick fingers and that relief brings you to your forearms.

“Damia, oh my god,” you moan. At this point, you’re just breathing in your own hair where it falls around your face. Damia uses his spare hand to pull it from your mouth and tuck it behind your ear. Somehow, it's the most intimate thing he’s done today. 

“Do you want to try three?” No one had ever asked you that. It was counterintuitive to the goal of staying tight. It felt like you could take three. Maybe you’d really enjoy it, even if that was wrong. The stretch of two was deeply satiating. 

“Sweetheart, it’s okay if the answer is yes.” He sets his hand on your thigh and rubs up and down slowly.

“Yes,” you blurt, scooting your legs apart to create room. Damia works the third one inside much differently than the second. He starts with his pinky, just pushing the tip past your hymen. That’s easy after a couple passes, so he switches to using the pointer as the third finger. You’re frozen in anticipation for something you’d never allowed yourself to be interested in. When he pushes three inside you adjust your pelvis without thinking about it.

“See how you spread your legs to open your hips? It's totally intuitive. Never let anyone ignore your desires.” Listening attentively, you manage to integrate all three fingers to the last knuckle. It takes a little force from Damia, which just makes the whole thing hotter. The flat of your hand slams against the mattress in stimulation. A whine turns into a throaty moan that wasn’t supposed to escape.

“Mm, see? No one teaches women how good having your pussy stretched feels.” You’re nodding in agreement even though Damia hasn’t asked a question. He thrusts his fingers in and out at a relaxed pace. At some point during this exchange, Damia went from laying under to kneeling on top of the comforter to be closer. The hand stroking your flank was equal parts sexual and reassuring. 

“I could fit four fingers if I wanted too, hm? I could fit my whole hand, even. Would you like my whole hand inside you, tesorina?” You think about it, nod, and turn bright red. Even too embarrassed to meet Damia’s eyes, you can feel his smile. He’s thrilled at your honesty in this moment of self-discovery.

“Now I bet you didn’t know that about yourself until I asked. Here's the secret: most women love the way this feels. A woman, when she’s aroused, relaxed, and really wet because someone’s been patient with her, can fit more than just a cock. She can fit a cock and a finger, a cock and a toy. Never let anyone shame you for what it takes to feel full. It's your pleasure.”

Notes: No, that is not the end of the scene, however it is the end of my patience. My blog has been broken for months and it hasn't been fixed. For one, I can't tag people, hence the lack of taglist. PLEASE submit a help to Tumblr on my behalf. Yes, I know you're not supposed to, but I've resorted to annoying them into action. I'll post the rest once people can actually see my writing.

[filthforfriends]

Thank you for the awesome insight to your process!!! It’s so interesting. I was always too shy to ask and then someone did. I think it could be very cool if we ever got a Dami pov chapter. I know you’re almost finished but the chapter in SITCOE right at the end from both of them when they are all happy and back together and good 😊 a girl can dream 😏😏😏😏😏

Also reading about your approach to writing smut is SO COOL and I love that you love that we eat it all up. I truly think that second to your unmatched and astounding dialogue and descriptions of your characters emotions, the thing that you are the absolute best writer that I know at is that raw humanity in your smut.

Sometimes it feels like there is literal crack hiding in your stories so I decided to end this with a list of scenes you wrote that live rent free in my head:

(I don’t know what’s up with me and lists atm)

1. Damiano coming home drenched from the rain and the breakthrough that happens in their relationship and communication (You can’t own me)

2. The first time Damiano and y/n share his sweatshirt (Guardian Angel)

3. Damiano and y/n showering together (Guardian Angel)

4. Y/n being territorial while making out with Damiano against the car (Guardian Angel)

5. Sharing the wine glass (Dilfiano)

6. The call when she is scared and Damiano kind of sounding like himself again (The Sun is the Center of Everything)

7. The first knot that didn’t hurt alpha Damiano (Guardian Angel)

8. The horny flirting and Damiano struggling a little but as he gets his mojo back (The Sun is the Center of Everything)

9. THAT phonecall (The Sun is the Center of Everything)

10. The first time y/n goes little again (The Sun is the Center of Everything)

11. Offering Damiano to come home after rehab (The Sun is the Center of Everything)

There are more but I should maybe stop….. You know I love you but I get that it’s also nice to hear or in this case read it sometimes.

You deserve every bit of props and recognition and praise and you are awesome. I absolutely understand how that voice in your head sucks. Just know that what you do is incredible work. Take your time when you need and know that we are always there to praise you all you want when you need it ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Love 💧

Excuse me while I sob ♥️

Also I wish I was almost done with The Sun Is the Center of Everything at 17 chapters but unfortunately it looks like it’s gonna go into the mid-20s. But yes, there will be a happy ending.

[filthforfriends]

Any update on GA 🥺🥺🥺

First and foremost, I feel so lucky that there are people out there who love my fics, who want to read my writing, who are excited about my stories. that is mind-boggling and amazing. I've been getting swamped by these asks recently and I've just started deleting them, but today I'm grouchy so anon, know this isn't directed at you in particular.

I don't know what you guys want me to say to these. if you want the latest on GA, scroll until you find the last anon who also wanted the latest on GA. because if something had changed, I would have posted about it. If I had a new chapter ready, I would have posted that too.

this ask is fine if I haven't published anything new in a couple weeks, but my latest work was posted literally 2 days ago. the update on Guardian Angel is that I'm writing a different fucking fic right now.

I'm also posting 2 days a week which is obviously time consuming. What are you guys asking for here? for me to post 3 chapters a week? do you want my first born too?? or are you saying that I should post a chapter from the fic of your choice instead of the one I'm planning on posting? because until y'all are paying me to do this, you don't get to ask those things.

you were just curious about a time frame? like I said, scroll down until you find something relevant

you wanted a Maneskin fan fiction account thats active, right? you're here for Damiano David fan fiction, right? Welcome! I'm posting Damiano David fan fiction twice a week! TSITCOE isn't your desired type of Damiano David fan fiction? Thats fine! Go find yourself a fic by a different writer thats more your taste.

did you want something about Ethan, Vic, or Tom? I'm not actively writing fics about them so go ahead and send an ask! thats fine

but you guys hounding me for other Damiano David chaptered series right now hurts my feelings a little bit. because its not like you're sending these asks wondering "Is Eden writing? What is she writing? When will she post again?" You know I'm writing TSITCOE and that I'm posting it twice a week. you guys have plenty of Damiano David fan fiction content by Filthforfriends. so sending this asks tells me that you liked GA and/or DILFiano and/or Succubus better. thats totally okay, but when I'm putting my whole heart into a different fic that I'm really proud of, I don't want to know that you dislike it.

[filthforfriends]

here's a comfort video of Thomas dancing for all those who read the latest installment of DILFiano

Thomas every time he hears music: 🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼

Kinky ABBA

[filthforfriends]

the armpit huffing and licking in dilfiano... you rly get it 🥰

Yes I do bestie ♥️🤭

[filthforfriends]

What a good morning in my timezone! A new bit of GA and what a bonus chapter yuuuum. You are really satisfying us with this protective comforting alpha for us girlies with issues hahaha reading this chpater was kinda heartbreaking though so I‘m glad it’s not a canon part of the story

Also I wanted to add to the talk about dilfiano. The way it made me feel is genuinely incredible. I had the most questionable thoughts because of your writing. I was going against all my principles and morals haha silent-screaming at my phone when they finally kissed and wanting them to finally fuck and dilfiano to take advantage of y/n holy shit! What I‘m sure of is no matter if they actually end up deepening their relationship or not it will fuck up y/n and that is the point and that is excellent… I love that

Your stories are UNBELIEVABLY GOOD and always have me reflecting and thinking deeper. I‘m looking forward to reading more of all your stories whenever you feel up to it. I‘ve never written an ask or anything but this new GA chapter made me feels so comforted and lovely I wanted to give you something in return haha hope you are into external validation cause you are great

It is asks like this that sustain me when I feel like a dead wet rat on a sewer grate in downtown Seattle thank you my love♥️

[filthforfriends]

my daddy issues are once again requesting a new smut 🫢🫣

There’s like a 40% chance that they’re gonna fuck in DILFiano. Maybe less cause it’s not the point. It’s my only fic with a point so writing it feels heavier and I approach it less often. I started the series because of the reaction people had to the Dami being groomed by his relationship before Gio. People were way too okay with that shit and I wanted DILFiano to take people on a similar emotional journey that CMBYN took me on (humble I know). Where you love the characters and the romance and it’s so hot n sexy that you’re like “it’s totally fine, why does everyone have their panties in a twist over this age gap Jesus Christ.” But eventually the story reveals how fucked up the relationship has made the younger character and you go through the journey of being gradually less convinced as you justify to yourself until you feel kinda sick over it and rethink the ways you view romanticized age gap relationships.