#thomas raggi imagine

[tempobrucera]

Fire Alarms & Love Hearts

Pairing: Fem!Reader/Thomas

Description: Thomas might be the reason why you and your neighbours are getting annoyed. And he might also be the one who asks you for a date.

Words: 10.1k

Warnings: Smut, it’s silly - I’m well aware of that

A/N: About 1 ½ years ago i received this lovely prompt and guess who finally wrote it @l0standn0tf0und

Add yourself to my taglist.  / Masterlist

._____.

It's the beginning of November even for Rome the night air is chilling, and you would like to be in bed instead of staying outside in the cold. In your pyjamas. Your neighbours are all outside with you, the fire alarm went off the second night this week. The second night you're staring at your neighbour, you think you overheard someone call him Thomas a few nights ago. He's standing there only in his briefs and while you're still asking yourself how he isn't cold you see him shiver.

"I probably should have grabbed my bathrobe on the way out," he says. You know you should say something but you're busy looking at him, he's tall, fascinating eyes, cute smile and your sleep deprived brain can’t handle anything at this moment. “But then no one’s really dressed for the occasion, are they?”

You realise he's talking to you, and you blush. "Sorry?"

He giggles.

"I’m cold, my ass is going to freeze and fall off and then it's going to get lost somewhere around here and the city is going to be sued because of a naked butt running around and..." He trails off.

Now you are the one laughing.

“I’m sure that’s not what you said before but we can’t have your butt get lost, good thing it looks like they’re letting us inside again."

You're right. A few minutes later you're back in your apartment, ready to fall asleep again. Snuggled in your blankets, thinking about Thomas winking at you before you parted ways again.

When you leave the next day you can see a little note on your door.

“Hello neighbour,

I would like to ask you out for dinner.

If you're interested just let me know, if not please burn this note and never mention it to anyone! And just pretend you don’t know who I am the next time you see me.

P.S. My ass is still in place, no suing yet ;)

P.P.S. You should ask out the cute guy from the floor above you.

Thom"

You're laughing as you fold the note and put it into the pocket of your coat, not knowing how you should respond. Bold you think, but somehow charming. And now you also know who lives in the flat over you, the wind sometimes carrying lovely guitar tunes to your window from his.

It takes you three days to have the courage until you're knocking on Thomas' door. He opens the door in his pyjamas, messy hair and his mouth open in surprise.

"Hi, I'm your neighbour from downstairs, the one you asked out for dinner" you say, a big grin on your face.

He laughs, and you are glad that you didn't just leave a message and go to your flat again.

"Yes, yes, I did," he says, opening the door for you, "but right now I'm making pancakes.”

“Is that what’s smelling like it’s burning?”

His eyes go wide.

"Shit!"

He turns around and runs to the kitchen. You take the time to look at his flat, there are a few books. Guitars. Magazines. A stray sock on the floor. Photos.

He comes back out a few minutes later, smiling sheepishly.

"Okay, so, it's not burnt. It's just... not exactly the way I had planned."

You knit your eyebrows together thinking about the fire alarms again but shake your head at yourself and smile at him instead.

“I would share them but …. I was kind of planning to eat them straight from the pan and my cooking isn’t exactly made to be shared, or even fit for human consumption.“

You laugh.

"I would like to share them anyway," you say and wink at him, "and I'm sure they're delicious."

He smiles back.

"Well then, sit down and let me be your host," he says. “But if you get food poisoning that’s on you, I warned you.”

“You can say if now is a bad time instead of trying to poison me if you want to, that would be perfectly okay, maybe I should have just written a reply to the note. So sorry if I'm interrupting anything. Or anyone."

"You're not. I'm not... I mean... I'm single. I'm sorry." He blushes. "I didn't mean to say that. Fuck. I mean..."

You start laughing.

"Okay. Calm down. Breathe. It's fine, I promise.”

“I’m only in my pyjamas. I wasn't really expecting anyone. Let alone the person I tried to ask out."

You smile at him.

"Well, I didn't expect you to still be in pyjamas in the middle of the day either." It's 4 o'clock in the afternoon, you really didn't think he would be in his pyjamas.

He looks at you sheepishly: "Good point. You can have my pancakes but only if you're getting in your pyjamas as well."

It's something you can agree on and ten minutes later you're sitting in his living room, in your pyjamas. He smiles and laughs and you have a nice fuzzy feeling when he looks at you. You talk about music, about travelling, about everything and nothing. When it's dark outside and you're full of pancakes, that are only half as bad as he thought and said but somehow still burned at the edges and the inside that should be fluffy sometimes not quite cooked. You're glad you took the chance. He's fun to be around and you talk more, about concerts, memories and favourite places. It's easy to talk to him, and it's even easier to laugh with him. When the conversation dies down a little bit and your eyes are getting heavy, he looks at you and grins.

"We should do that again."

You look at him, he's beautiful, he's sweet, you nod.

"Yes. Definitely."

"Maybe not in pyjamas next time."

*_____*

Thomas doesn't really think he can call it a date, it's not a real one, but it's a great evening and definitely a beginning of something. He likes you, he would love to take you out, and he feels like a fool for having given you a note and not asked you out directly. It's not his usual behaviour. When he's walking you to the door, he thinks about kissing you. But you're just getting to know each other, so he hugs you, and kisses you on the cheek instead. You're grinning and wave at him, he watches you walk to the door and down the hall to his front door.

"See you around?" He asks, a little hope in his voice.

"Of course. I think that's an offer I can't refuse."

"Good, next time I'll take you out for dinner." He says, you lean in and for a second he thinks you're going to kiss him, but you just give him a quick kiss on the nose.

"That would be wonderful," you say and then you're gone.

He goes back inside, closing the door and leaning against it.

"Fuck," he says to himself. "I've got it so bad."

*_____*

Two weeks later you're going out for dinner with Thomas. He's a little late and when he walks into the restaurant he's already apologising from afar.

"I'm so sorry, the traffic is hell," he says, his eyes wide. "And my phone battery died and I couldn't call you. But I'm here, finally."

You smile.

"It's fine," you say and you take a deep breath, he's so cute, you already knew that but seeing him makes you nervous and happy and giddy. A feeling you haven't had in a while. He sits down opposite you. "And I have to say it's nice to see you in something different than your pyjamas or only in underwear."

He blushes.

"You liked the sight then," he says with a smirk and winks at you.

You look at him, raising an eyebrow and grin.

"I didn't say that."

He chuckles and starts looking through the menu. You watch him, trying to figure him out, but it's not as easy as you first had thought.

"Do you want some wine?" He asks, looking at you.

"That sounds great," you say.

He looks at you, you think he's waiting for a question, but you're not sure what.

"I have another idea," you say, hoping it's a good one.

"What would that be?"

"A bet."

He raises an eyebrow.

"What would this bet involve?"

"We have to make the other one blush, the first one to lose the game has to pay for dinner."

He laughs.

"So we're both going to be in trouble tonight."

"Maybe, maybe not."

He looks at you and smiles, "okay, we can do that, but I should warn you I've got a few tricks up my sleeve."

"We'll see," you say.

And with that the game begins. You're looking at each other, smiling, flirting, and you're having fun.

The waiter comes over and asks for your order, Thomas gets Carbonara, and you're getting ravioli.

"Can I try yours?" You ask.

"Yes, if I can try yours."

You're nodding and when the food arrives a few minutes later, you take turns feeding each other.

"This is amazing," you say.

"Yours is too, do you think we should switch?"

You're smiling, shaking your head.

"No, it's good."

"Do you think the pasta is as good as me?"

"Don't make me answer that."

He chuckles.

"I would say we can just not decide who has to pay and just split it."

"You would say that, and I can't tell if it's because you're afraid of losing or because you're trying to be a gentleman."

"I'm always a gentleman." He laughs.

He smiles at you and for a second he looks at his hands, before looking up at you.

"I'm not afraid," he says. He takes your hand, and you know you should prepare yourself for something, "your lips look lonely, would they like to meet mine?"

He looks at you expectantly, his eyes wide, a little shy. It's endearing. And it's really adorable. You try to stay serious, to not laugh. But when his face changes from hopeful to worried and then he's trying to pull his hand away, you can't help yourself.

"That was the worst line ever," you say, laughing.

"I don't know if I should be offended? Are you laughing at me?"

"No," you say, still laughing, "actually it's kinda cute just... it's cute, and I can't believe you actually said that. I thought you're going to make me blush with something dirty but you're just being adorable."

"Hey," he says, pretending to be offended. "I'm not adorable, I'm handsome and I'm..."

"Adorable."

"Not."

You're shaking your head.

"Definitely."

He pretends to pout, which makes you laugh even more. And you can see the blush creep into his cheeks.

"I can't believe I'm the loser of this bet," he says, sighing.

"You might be, but you're right, my lips are a little bit lonely. Mind to help out?"

"I can try, not making any promises though," he says, he leans closer, putting his lips on yours, and kissing you softly. You're smiling, and so is he. It's a short kiss, and it's not really enough, but it's still perfect.

When he pulls away, he's looking at you, his eyes full of wonder, his mouth slightly open.

"What?" You ask.

"I just want to savour the moment, I haven't kissed many people lately, and it feels a little strange to have my first real kiss in a while after a bad pick-up line."

You chuckle.

"You can have another one if you like."

He nods and kisses you again.

*_____*

When dinner is over, Thomas walks you home. He takes your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours. He doesn't want the night to end, he likes being with you, and he has a feeling that you might like him too.

He brings you right to your apartment door and kisses you goodbye. It's soft and sweet and you're smiling, leaning into him. He can feel your smile against his lips, and he wants more.

He kisses you a little harder, his tongue flicking out to touch your bottom lip, and then your upper lip. A surprised moan escapes him when you open your mouth, granting him entrance, his tongue sliding over yours. Your arms wrap around him, holding him close, his body pressed against yours, and he can feel you against him. Your soft curves, your breasts pressing against his chest, your warmth and the smell of your skin, it's all intoxicating.

When the kiss ends, his lips are tingling. He looks at you, his mouth open and his breathing a little faster.

"You're good," you say, a smile on your lips.

He blushes.

"Thanks," he whispers.

He's leaning in again, kissing your cheek, and then the side of your neck, nuzzling your skin.

"Thomas," you whisper, his name coming out as a sigh.

He likes the sound of it, he wants to hear it again.

"Hmm," he hums, pressing a kiss right under your ear, sucking gently on your skin, his hands stroking your back. And then he pulls back. "I should say goodnight before I do something stupid."

You look at him, and for a moment he's afraid you'll disagree.

"Yeah," you say, sighing. "You're right."

He's glad that you understand, and a little disappointed that you're agreeing to let things progress slowly.

"Thank you for the lovely evening," he says.

"Thank you."

"I hope we can do that again, soon."

"Me too."

You give him a quick peck on the lips, then you're gone, closing the door behind you.

He stands in front of your door for a moment, his hand on the door, smiling.

"Fuck yes," he says to himself, a spring in his step when he gets up the steps to his own flat.

*_____*

After your third date with Thomas he's away for some time but he texts you. The first night he's back, is the night before your holidays and the first night another fire alarm goes off again, it's the beginning of January. You're annoyed, it's freezing cold outside, your flight is early and not even Thomas who's standing there in only his briefs again, with a bowl of pasta, can't make you smile.

"Hi neighbour," he says.

"Hi," you grumble.

He puts the bowl down, walking towards you and taking your hand.

"What's wrong?"

"I've got an early flight tomorrow, and now the stupid fire alarm went off, and..."

Thomas looks at you with guilt in his eyes, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sure the fire department is going to be quick."

"They better be," you say.

You turn around and see the firefighter that you already saw talking to Thomas the last few times. Thomas tries to sneak away, you look at his pasta that all of a sudden looks suspiciously burnt.

"Is this your doing?"

He smiles sheepishly, "maybe."

"Maybe," the firefighter says. "I have a feeling, it might be your boyfriend who's a little bit clueless in the kitchen."

"That's not true, my pancakes are delicious." He says and looks at you for help.

You look at them both.

"Not my boyfriend, not really, and your pancakes were for human consumption but also ... burnt a bit," you say, and the firefighter looks at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Okay, they were horrible, but I didn't burn anything in a while. Just today."

The firefighter sighs.

"This is the sixth time in not even as many months, please order pizza or go to a cooking class, please, for your neighbours sake," he says and you look at him.

"You're really getting a cooking class," you say to Thomas, "this is not negotiable, you can't cook, and everyone's getting fed up with being woken up by the fire alarm. You need a teacher, or someone, just... something. Please."

Thomas sighs, but he agrees.

"Fine."

"Good," you say.

It's not much longer until the building is empty again and the fire alarm is shut off. You walk to your apartment, and Thomas follows you.

"Sorry about the pancakes, and the pasta, and the fire alarm. And the other fire alarms," he says, sighing.

You shrug.

"It's okay, and now that the fire department knows that the fire alarm is set off by an incompetent cook, they hopefully know for future incidents. Now I should sleep, I'm getting up way too early tomorrow."

"Good night," he says.

"Night."

He hugs you, and kisses you, and you're glad to be inside again.

*_____*

The first time you sleep with Thomas is after you're back, the two of you are spending more and more time together, and there is no way you would ever describe it as 'just friends'. You've been flirting with him, and he with you.

Thomas is kissing you passionately. His hands are under your shirt. You're kissing back, trying to keep up with his kisses and his movements. You're in his bed and while you are both still wearing shirts and underwear you feel a little too warm all of a sudden. He is on top of you, kissing down your neck and biting softly, you let out a soft moan.

"Fuck," he whispers.

"What is it?"

"This is embarrassing, but... I might not last long," he whispers, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Don't worry about that, I won't be offended," you say, stroking his hair, and kissing his temple. “Feels like a compliment to me.”

"Still."

"It's fine."

He lifts his head, looking at you, smiling, his eyes full of hope and lust. He kisses you again, and starts rubbing against you. The thin layer of fabric is the only thing separating the two of you. You're grinding back, moving together, and it's not long until you're both gasping, and you're holding on to him. His hands are moving, slipping under the waistband of your panties, pushing them down, and then his hands are between your legs. You can feel his fingers on your folds, stroking gently.

"Shit," you breathe, your eyes falling shut.

He's moving, getting between your legs and kneeling on the floor. You prop yourself up on your elbows, and look down at him, watching him, he's licking his lips, and looking at you, his pupils wide. You watch him and he leans in, his breath hot against your skin, his lips kissing the inside of your thigh.

He kisses upwards, getting closer and closer, and when his mouth finally touches you, your head falls back, and a moan leaves your mouth. He's sucking and licking, his tongue teasing your clit, his fingers thrusting into you. Your breathing is ragged and fast, your heart is racing, it doesn't take long until the wave of pleasure is crashing down on you.

"God, fuck, Thomas," you gasp, as the orgasm washes over you.

He keeps going, drawing out the pleasure - making you tremble and writhe. When he's finished, you're lying on the bed, breathing hard. He gets up, and gets rid of his underwear, and his shirt, and when he climbs back on the bed, he's naked. He leans down, kissing you.”

"Can I?" He asks, looking at you.

"Yes, please."

He lines himself up and slowly pushes into you, you can feel him stretching you, filling you, and you wrap your legs around his waist.

"Shit," he breathes.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, it's just..." he trails off, not finishing his sentence, and he starts to move, his thrusts are slow and gentle.

You can see the expression on his face, his mouth is hanging open, his eyes are closed, and he's moaning, and whispering. His name is on your lips, and you're holding onto him, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

His thrusts become faster and harder, his breathing is getting ragged. He's moaning, his hips stuttering. He's groaning and grunting, his body tensing, and his muscles straining, and when he comes, his whole body shakes. He collapses on top of you, his weight resting on you, and his head resting on your chest.

You stroke his hair, and kiss the top of his head, and he's breathing heavily, his eyes closed.

"Sorry," he whispers, after a few moments.

"It's fine."

"It's been a while."

"You can't control these things."

He rolls off of you, and turns his head, his eyes opening.

"I'll make it up to you," he says.

"There's nothing to make up, really. It was wonderful."

"Still," he says.

*_____*

Thomas' birthday is coming up and even though by now he has told his friends and the band about you, he's still nervous asking you to join them for the evening. In the end he doesn't know what he was so worried about, you're excited and happy about the invitation.

Thomas is in the middle of his party, surrounded by friends and family, and you're sitting next to him, with a beer and a slice of cake, and he's happy. You're holding his hand, and occasionally lean over to kiss him.

Victoria is pulling you away from him to dance with you, and he's smiling and laughing as he watches the two of you.

"Good job," she whispers into his ear after she's sick of dancing.

"Thank you!" He has to grin, and then she's gone, and you're back by his side.

"How's the birthday boy doing?"

"Great, now that my girlfriend is back," he says.

You raise an eyebrow.

"Girlfriend?"

"Yes," he says, looking at you, a hopeful smile on his face.

"Okay, boyfriend," you say.

He blushes, and smiles, his eyes are wide but his smile is almost shy. He pulls you in, kissing you softly, and wrapping his arm around you.

"I like that," he says.

"Me too."

*_____*

He drags you into the bedroom as soon as most of the people have left and you can't stop smiling and laughing. Thomas closes the door and turns around to look at you. You're standing there, your hair is a little messy, your shirt is crumpled, and your cheeks are flushed. He can't stop looking at you, and when he doesn't say anything, you take a step forward.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes," he says, and closes the distance between the two of you, kissing you, and holding you close.

He starts unbuttoning your shirt, and kisses the skin that's revealed, then pushes the shirt off your shoulders, it lands on the floor, and then his hands are on your breasts, squeezing gently.

You pull his shirt off, and your fingers trail down his sides, making him shudder. His skin is warm, his stomach soft. You push him down onto the bed, he lies back, looking up at you, his pupils blown, his breathing ragged, and his cock hard.

"I've got a surprise for you, birthday boy.”

"Oh yes," he says, his voice hoarse.

"Close your eyes."

He does, and you take some lube from the nightstand, and get out of your skirt and your underwear, and kneel next to him, straddling his thigh. You squeeze some lube into the palm of your hand, warming it up between your fingers.

"Can I look now?" He asks, impatiently.

"Almost," you say, and then your hands are on his cock, stroking him, your thumb brushing over the tip, his hips bucking into your touch.

"Fuck," he whispers, and he bites his lip, trying to stay quiet, his eyes still closed.

You start moving, your hand stroking his cock, and he's groaning, his hands are grasping the sheets, and he's arching his back, and thrusting into your hand.

"Fuck, please," he gasps, and you stop.

He opens his eyes and looks at you, his mouth hangs open, and his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

"That was mean," he says, but the smile on his lips is telling you that he liked it. “Is my surprise only sex or is there more? Like is it edible underwear or something, a costume … oh," he cuts himself off, when he sees the look on your face.

You raise an eyebrow.

"A costume. You'd like me in a costume, wouldn't you?"

He's blushing, and his cock twitches, he doesn't answer, he doesn't has to.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Yeah," he admits.

You laugh.

"Well, I don't have one now, but if I find one, I might surprise you," you say, “I have something different for you, I want to eat you out and when you’re a whimpering mess, I want to ride you."

"Fuck, yes," he breathes.

"Lie back and relax."

"I can do that," he says.

You lean down and start kissing his chest, nipping and licking his skin. You can feel his heartbeat, his breathing shallow. You're working your way down, kissing his stomach. You take his cock in your hand, and stroke him, and he moans. You kiss further down, getting between his legs, and licking his balls, and then his cock. He's moaning, his hips jerking.

"Oh god, please," he gasps.

You continue, sucking his balls into your mouth, and then moving back. He spreads his legs a little further apart, and lifts his hips, you kiss his thighs, and stroke his cock, your other hand moves between his cheeks, and when your finger brushes over his hole, his hips jerk violently.

"Fuck," he gasps.

"Can I?" You ask.

"Please," he begs.

You're spreading his legs a little more, and kissing the inside of his thighs, and then you're licking his hole, your tongue teasing the tight ring of muscle. He's panting and gasping, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open. He's writhing on the bed, his hips moving, and when you push your tongue into him, he's swearing, his hands gripping the sheets.

“Oh god, please don’t stop. Shit, please. Fuck, this is amazing, shit, please, fuck, I want- I need- please, please, please, please," he's babbling, and when you reach between his legs, and wrap your fingers around his cock, his body is shaking, and he's swearing. "Fuck, oh god, please, please, I need you. If you keep fucking me this good," he gasps. “I might just have to marry you.”

Your mouth is still on him but you smile, and you're licking and sucking, your hand is stroking his cock.

For Thomas it feels like minutes, for you, it must have been less than a minute. He's writhing and swearing, and moaning, his breathing is ragged, and his hips are stuttering, his cock throbbing and leaking pre-come. He's a mess, his back arched, fingers entangled in your hair.

“You enjoy that?”

"Fuck, yes. Yes. God, yes, please, please, I need you, please," he pants, and his eyes are wide open, looking at you.

"You ready for me, birthday boy?"

"Yes, yes, please," he whispers.

You kneel over him, straddling his waist, guiding him to your entrance. He's holding on to your hips, his eyes squeezed shut. You lower yourself, and when the head of his cock slips into you, the both of you moan. You're moving, taking him in inch by inch, and when he's completely inside you, you're sitting in his lap. You move your hips, riding him, and he's thrusting up into you, his cock rubbing against your walls, hitting all the right places. He's groaning, and his fingers dig into your skin.

“That was so good, no one ever did that for me before, I didn't think I'd like it, but fuck, this was amazing," he's talking, and it sounds almost like he's drunk. Drunk on lust and emotions.

You start riding him, your hips moving, and he's thrusting up into you, his moans fill the room, and the sounds of your bodies moving together. The slap of skin against skin is the only sound, apart from his voice.

"Please, don't stop," he's begging, and his words are slurring, his movements becoming erratic. His back arches, his muscles tense, and his body starts to shake, his grip on your hips tightens, and his mouth falls open. "Oh god, fuck, fuck, please, oh god, please, please, please, please, oh god," his voice is hoarse, and then his hips are jerking, and his cock is throbbing and his eyes are squeezed shut, his body is shaking, his nails digging into your skin. He's gasping, and his cock pulses inside of you.

He's panting, his eyes are open, and he looks at you, his gaze unfocused. You lift your hips, and he slips out of you, his hands are resting on your hips, his grip still tight, and his breathing is laboured.

You roll off of him, and lie down next to him. When he reaches for you, you hold him. His body is trembling, and his heart is beating fast. He's breathing hard, and his eyes are closed.

"Wow, that was amazing," he mumbles.

"It was," you say, kissing his temple.

"I need to clean up, give me a second," he says, and he's trying to get up.

"Stay, I'll do it."

"You sure?"

"Yes."

He's smiling, eyes still closed, his head resting on the pillow, and his breathing is getting steadier again. You get up, and walk into the bathroom, and return with a washcloth.

"This was the best birthday present," he says, looking at you. “No candy underwear but you can’t have everything.”

"It was a pleasure."

"What about you?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me, I came long before you.”

"You did?"

"Yes."

He smiles, and closes his eyes. You're cleaning him up, wiping away the sweat, and his come, and his eyelids flutter. You put the washcloth into the laundry basket, and crawl back into bed.

"I'll do something for you, just let me catch my breath," he says, his words are slurred, and his breathing is deep.

"There's no need," you whisper.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He nods, and he's snuggling closer to you before he drifts off to sleep.

"Happy birthday," you whisper, and press a soft kiss to his forehead, and he sighs contently.

*_____*

A couple of weeks later, you're sitting in the dressing room with Victoria after a show. He's sitting on a couch, his legs spread wide, and he's talking to someone. You can't hear what they're saying, but you're watching him. His smile, and the way his eyes light up, the way he talks. The way he moves his hands.

Victoria is next to you, she's watching you, and a smile is playing on her lips.

"You're staring," she says.

"Yes," you answer.

She's grinning.

"Do you need help?" She asks.

"No."

"I know a lot about him."

"I don't doubt it."

"I mean, if you wanted to surprise him," she says, and winks.

“Actually I would need your help,” you smile, “Valentine’s is coming up and I would like to do something. Something a bit romantic, and something a bit, you know, … sexy.”

She's grinning, and her eyes light up.

"Oh yes, I would love to help you with that."

"As long as it doesn’t involve edible underwear,” you laugh.

She looks at you confused.

"No, but why would you think that?"

"Thomas mentioned it. He was curious about it."

"Oh," she grins, "c’mon it would make him laugh. You’re both silly like that. Just do it as an extra little thing, a candy bra and some really nice lace panties.”

“You’re right, if nothing else it would make him laugh, and he would love it. Thank you, Vic, for all the help you gave me and I would be honoured to have your advice and assistance with this."

"So, what do you have planned so far?"

"I'll tell you, but first I need to ask Thomas if he has any plans for the day, because if he does, we have to plan around them."

"Sounds like a good idea," she agrees. “He’s a romantic, so I don’t think he has other than plans he might have come up with already, but I can interrogate him a little bit. So what’s the plan?”

“I want to cook with him at home. You know how he set off the fire alarms a few times when he tried cooking and I figured that we can try it together, and maybe I can help him, make sure that we won't have a repeat performance of those days. Maybe we can do it together, so he will actually learn something, or maybe we'll fail spectacularly together. Light some candles, maybe get a bit wine drunk. And then after dinner, maybe have a bath and then go to bed, have sex, cuddle. Just the two of us, and a nice relaxed evening. No stress, no worries, just us. What do you think?"

"It sounds great," Victoria smiles. "So, what are you going to cook?"

"We never really cooked together before, but I did some research and I found a recipe for a lasagne, that sounds really good. We should be able to manage that. Worst case scenario we’re ending up with take-out.”

“Great, I’ll let you know when I find something out.”

._____.

Later that day, you're in bed, you're naked, and his face is buried between your thighs, his tongue is lapping at your wetness. His fingers are inside of you, and he's working his tongue on your clit. You're arching your back, almost grinding against his mouth. He's humming, you can feel the vibrations, and his teeth graze your clit.

His tongue is flat moving down, licking the length of your folds, and he's nipping at the sensitive skin. His fingers are curling and rubbing against the sweet spot inside of you, and when his other hand moves from your hip, and his finger brushes over your entrance, your breath hitches.

"Fuck," you gasp.

"That's the plan," he says, his voice muffled.

"Fuck," you say again.

He chuckles and his finger slides into you, his tongue is teasing your clit. His lips wrap around your clit, and he's sucking gently. Your hands are on his head, your fingers running through his hair, and your hips are moving. He's fucking you, his fingers are curling and pressing, and his tongue is stroking and licking, and your body is tensing.

"Thomas, please," you beg.

He doesn't stop, and his finger pushes in and out of you, his lips wrapped around your clit, his tongue licking, and his fingers are hitting all the right places. You're arching, and your hips are moving, and you can feel the orgasm building up. Your muscles are clenching, your breath hitches, and your toes are curling. You're close, so close, and you're grinding against his mouth, and his finger is still moving inside you.

"Fuck, Thomas," you gasp, and you're coming.

Your body is tensing, and your eyes are squeezing shut, your back is arching. Your muscles clench, and your walls are gripping his finger, and he's still fucking you, and his lips are wrapped around your clit, his tongue licking and sucking. Your hips jerk, and you're shaking, and he just doesn't stop.

He's lapping and licking, and you're squirming, and your hips are bucking, and you're whimpering. His finger is pressing and pushing, and his tongue is lapping and stroking, and your back is arching. He's humming, and your breathing is ragged.

You're tugging at his hair, and you're whimpering.

"Thomas, please, I need a moment, please," you're panting.

He stops, and looks at you, his chin is glistening, and his eyes are dark, and there's a small smirk playing on his lips.

"Are you tired already?"

"Yes, very much, I need a break," you say.

"You'll get one," he says.

He gets up, and moves over you, and your bodies are touching, his weight on top of you, and his cock is hard and twitching against your thigh, and you reach between your bodies, and wrap your fingers around his shaft, and start stroking him. He's groaning, and his head falls forward, and he's burying his face in your neck. His breath is hot against your skin, and he's rocking his hips, his cock sliding through your fingers.

He's panting and gasping, and you can feel him throb, his precum is smearing across your stomach. He's thrusting his hips, and his breath is hitching like yours before. He's moving, his hips jerking, and he's pushing his cock into your hand, his body is shaking, and his fingers dig into the mattress.

"Please, I want to come inside you," he moans.

"Do it," you say, and his cock twitches, and you spread your legs a little wider, and guide him between your folds, and he's entering you slowly.

"Fuck," he moans, and his body is trembling.

"You're so wet," he gasps, and his eyes are closed.

You lift your legs, and wrap them around his waist, and he's completely inside you, and he's still for a moment. He's panting, his cock is pulsing, and his muscles are tensing, and he starts moving, his thrusts are shallow, and his eyes are closed, and his lips are slightly parted, and his hair is hanging in his face. His hands are on either side of your head, and his body is shaking.

"Thomas, look at me," you say.

He looks at you, his eyes are glassy, and his pupils are blown.

"I'm not made of glass, please fuck me."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, please," you beg, and you move, and wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. He starts moving, his movements slow and deliberate, and his breathing is ragged, and his muscles are tense, he's gritting his teeth.

"Harder, please," you moan, and your hips are bucking - matching his thrusts. Your back is arching, and his eyes fall shut, and he's pushing into you, his thrusts are hard.

"Shit, oh fuck," he groans.

“God, so good, Thom, please," you gasp, and his body is trembling.

He's gasping and moaning, and he's leaning down, and kisses you, his mouth is on yours, and he's thrusting into you, his movements erratic, and his fingers are gripping the sheets.

"You're so beautiful," he pants, and his voice is raspy.

He's moving faster, and his cock is sliding in and out of you, his lips on yours, and his tongue is moving against yours. Your legs are shaking, and you can feel the pressure inside of you building again. The tension coils in your belly, you're getting closer, and your fingers dig into his shoulders. You're gasping, his name a breathy moan.

"Please, Thomas, please," you beg.

"Please, what?"

"I want to come, I'm close," you moan.

"I know, love, so am I, please, come for me," he gasps. “Come again, please.”

He's moving his hips, his thrusts are fast and hard, and you're gasping and moaning, and his movements become more erratic.

"Shit, I'm close," he moans.

Your muscles clench, and the tension in your belly is too much, you can't hold it any longer. You're coming, your body is shaking, you're crying out, your body is arching, and you're clinging to him. His cock is throbbing and twitching, and his hips are jerking, and he's coming. You're trembling, and his cock is still pulsing, and his body is shuddering, and his face is buried in your neck.

"Fuck," he groans.

"Yes, indeed," you breathe.

*_____*

“What are you doing on Valentine’s Day?” Vic asks him some days later just after they had dinner together.

“Yes, so I was thinking of taking her to Verona for a day or two. Or maybe go to the planetarium and have a nice dinner afterwards. What do you think?”

“It’s great, Thom. But maybe you should do Verona another time, take her to the planetarium and maybe don’t worry about dinner. Romantic night in, you know.”

“You know something I don’t know, don’t you? Okay, planetarium and romantic night in. Understood.”

She grins and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

._____.

It's Valentine's day and you're sitting on the couch together for breakfast. You made pancakes, edible and not burned. After you finish eating he's kissing you, and his arms are around your waist, his body is warm against yours. His lips are soft, and his breath is hot, and then he's pulling away from the kiss.

"I have a present for you," he says.

"So do I," you smile.

"Me first," he says, and his cheeks are red.

He's taking a little box from the cupboard, and gives it to you, and you open it, and there's a bracelet. A thin, golden bracelet with three charms. A tiny rose, a guitar, and a heart.

"Oh Thomas," you whisper. "Thank you, I love it."

"Really?"

"Yes."

You take the bracelet and put it on.

"It's so beautiful, thank you."

He's smiling, and there's a pink blush on his cheeks.

"And now your turn," he says.

You're going to your room and take a bigger, gift wrapped box, and give it to him, and he sits on the couch next to you opening it. In it is a knitted sweater, he takes it and he smiles. The sweater is pale blue, and has a white pattern of musical notes and stars on it.

"Oh, this is so beautiful," he whispers. “I can’t believe you knitted for me.”

"I'm glad you like it."

"I love it." He gives you a kiss, “and I thought we could go to the planetarium and I was told to have a romantic night in.”

“Yes, the night is my part of the plan.” You smile.

._____.

When you arrive at the planetarium it's almost empty. There's only a group of school children, a couple and a few people that seem to be there just to have a look around, but there's no guided tour and no lectures, so you're wandering around, looking at the exhibits, and watching the different shows while holding hands.

At some point, when the children have left and you're alone in the room, there's a show about the northern lights, and Thomas is staring at the ceiling. His eyes are sparkling, he smiles at you.

"One day I want to see them with you," he says.

"Someday, maybe."

"Yes, someday," he sighs, and smiles.

The lights dim, the show ends, and you're leaving the room. You're wandering through the hall, looking at the displays, and the pictures of the different constellations and galaxies, and stars. You're standing in front of the big picture of the milky way. Thomas is behind you, his arms are around your waist, nuzzling your neck.

“What’s your favourite,” he asks.

"You're my favourite," you whisper back.

"Your favourite galaxy, silly.”

"That would be still you," you say, and he kisses your neck.

"I’m also quite fond of you," he chuckles.

"So, which one is yours?"

"That would be the Orion nebula."

"Why that one?"

"Because of the colours and the beauty, and the fact that it's made from gas, dust and stardust, and the fact that it's a birthplace for stars, that makes it special to me."

You look at him.

“Maybe Ethan talked a lot about space lately and I think it might not be a galaxy, but it is still something related to the universe, so we’ll pretend that it still counts."

He's laughing and kisses you.

._____.

When you are back home and there's music playing, the lights are dim - the candles are flickering.

“I thought we could make lasagne together, have some wine, have a bath and later move to bed, have some more wine and then sleep or do other things."

He laughs.

"That sounds wonderful."

You start cooking together. Chopping, sizzling and at some point there's tomato sauce spilled, and tomato on the wall, and on the kitchen counter.

"Oops, sorry," he laughs.

"It's okay, I'll clean it up," you laugh.

You're cleaning up the mess, and then there's tomato on his face, and on his shirt, and you're still laughing. He's taking the bowl, puts it on the kitchen counter, and moves closer to you. He's leaning in, his lips touching yours, his hands are on your waist. His tongue is pushing against your lips and he's deepening the kiss.

“We should cook first, at least have the ragu sauce cooking,” you say between kisses.

"Yes, that's right," he whispers.

He's smiling and kisses your nose.

"Later," he says and winks, which makes you giggle.

You're making the ragu sauce, he's holding you from behind, his chin is on your shoulder, and his lips are against your neck.

"Do you need a hand?" He asks.

"No, the sauce is fine," you say, and his hands are roaming over your body, his mouth is on your neck, and he's nipping and kissing. His lips are brushing against your ear.

"Thomas, stop, or I won't be able to focus," you laugh.

"That's exactly what I'm hoping for," he chuckles. “Also don’t deny it but I saw that earlier. You checked out my ass when I bent down to take out the wine glasses and the bottle."

You smile and giggle.

"Yes, and I'm not even sorry, it's a really cute butt."

"Thanks, it's a gift from God, and I'm not even kidding."

You laugh and turn your head, your lips brush against his.

"Yes, it is."

He's laughing, and his fingers are digging into your waist.

"I love you," he says, his voice is low. His breath is warm against your skin. And his heart is beating against your back.

"I love you too."

He smiles and kisses you. Thomas’ hands are cupping your face and he's leaning his forehead against yours.

“Can we make out while the things in the pots are cooking and boiling, please, and maybe a bit later?"

You're giggling.

"Yes, I would like that," you say.

His lips are soft. His tongue is licking and sliding against yours, his hands are sliding over your body. Thomas’ touch is gentle. He's lifting you up on the kitchen counter and you're wrapping your legs around his waist.

“Can I touch your cute godsend butt," you ask, and his body is shaking with laughter.

"Yes, yes you can, and I would be offended if you didn't."

You're running your hands over his shoulders, down his back, right to his ass. Thomas’ hands are in your hair, his hips pressed against yours. His lips are sliding along your jaw, down your neck, and he's sucking at the spot just under your ear. His hardening cock is pressing against your core.

"Thom, the sauce will burn," you gasp.

"Right," he whispers, “but it’s not burning yet, let me kiss you some more."

"Okay," and with that he's deepening the kiss again.

His fingers are slipping under your skirt, his thumbs are brushing against the lace of your panties. His hand is sliding between your legs, he's slowly pushing the fabric aside, and his fingers are tracing along your folds, he's circling your entrance. And then his fingers are entering you, his thumb stroking over your clit.

"God, you're so wet," he moans.

"Thomas," you gasp.

"Mhm?"

"The sauce, it's burning."

"Shit," he curses. Then his hand is gone, he steps back and turns off the heat.

"Sorry." He gives you an apologetic little smile.

“Is this how you triggered the fire alarm before, cooking, and getting distracted?"

"Yeah, I tried to make dinner once, and I forgot to stir the sauce, and the next thing I knew the alarm was blaring."

“Making out? Or just distracted.”

“Just distracted, I wasn’t making out with anyone, I was alone in the flat, and had no idea why the alarm was going off, I was a little confused. It took a few seconds to figure out it was the food on the stove. Once or twice or maybe … more.”

"I'm not even surprised, and I can relate," you smile, and he grins.

"Sorry," he chuckles, and gives you a kiss, and his lips are lingering, and his tongue is licking against yours, and his teeth are scraping against your bottom lip, and his hands are sliding over your back.

"The sauce is safe now," he whispers, his nose is brushing against yours and his hands are in your hair.

"Let’s put together the lasagne and put it in the oven, then we can make out some more," you suggest.

"That sounds like a good plan," he says.

"Yes, very good plan, I know," you chuckle, his body is warm against yours..

You're finishing the lasagne, putting it in the oven and Thomas is setting the timer.

“Now I want more kisses," he looks at you.

He's kissing and sucking at your neck, his hands are pushing your skirt up, his fingers are pulling down your panties.

"Thom, we should wait until the lasagne is done," you whisper and he groans.

"Just a few minutes, please," he pleads, his other hand is gripping your thigh, his fingers digging into your flesh.

"Okay," you moan, his thumb is circling your clit not leaving you room to think.

"Thank you," he breathes. “Bedroom, we have a timer anyways. We will hear it, and can continue."

You nod, his hand is gone, and you're stumbling towards the bedroom. Kissing on your way and his hands are sliding under your shirt.

“Oh, is this …” he laughs, “finally what I wished for? Candy hearts in your bra?"

"Maybe," you laugh.

"I love it," he says.

"I thought, since it's valentine's day, and the edible underwear was a bit out of my comfort zone, maybe that’s close enough for you? Or too much? It's weird isn't it, I'm sorry," you say, and he shakes his head.

"No, not weird, I love it, and I'm so glad you did that for me," he says, and pulls away from the kiss. "You know what else I wanted?"

"Tell me," you say.

"This," he says, and sneaks his hand in your bra, and takes one of the candy hearts, and his hand is moving up, and the little heart is touching your lips.

"Open," he says, and you open your mouth, and his hand is moving up, and the heart is in your mouth.

"Now, can I take off the bra?" He asks.

"Yes, go ahead, you can eat the rest of the candy," you laugh, and he's pulling the cup down, and taking a candy heart with his tongue and he's biting it, and then his mouth is on yours.

"Delicious," he chuckles, and his eyes are sparkling.

"Yes, very," you smile.

"You're delicious," he says, and his mouth is on yours, and the taste of the candy and the wine is still on his lips, and his tongue is licking against yours.

His lips are moving along your jaw, and to your neck, and his mouth is sucking and kissing at the crook of your neck.

He's lying down, and you're straddling him, and he's reaching for your bra, and pulls it off. His hands are cupping your breasts, and his mouth is on the valley of your breasts, and his tongue is licking along your sternum, and his teeth are grazing against your nipple.

He's sucking, and his teeth are pinching and his tongue is flicking over the sensitive bud, and you're gasping and moaning.

His mouth is moving to the other breast, and his lips are closing around your nipple, and his mouth is warm and his breath is hot against your skin. He's sucking and his teeth are grazing against your hardening nipple, and his hands are on your back, and they're sliding over your hips.

“I think some of the hearts fell out of the bra," he chuckles.

"I can look for them later," you laugh, and he laughs, and kisses you.

"Yes, we'll find them later, now, can I lick the rest off of your body?"

"Yes, please, and feel free to use your teeth too," you whisper, and his tongue is licking along your neck, and over your collarbones, and his tongue is moving over the swell of your breasts. His teeth are grazing against your nipples, and his lips are brushing against the underside of your breasts, and his hand is cupping the other, and his thumb is rubbing over your nipple, and his tongue is moving lower, and his teeth are biting and sucking.

“Found one,” he says and nibbles it off your stomach.

He's licking lower, and his tongue is sliding along the edge of your panties. His mouth is on the lace, and his tongue is licking along the damp material, and his teeth pulling back the waistband with his teeth.

“I think you missed one.” You pull his head back to your bellybutton.

"Oh, yes," he breathes, and his tongue is swirling, and he's sucking and his teeth are nipping, and the candy is gone.

His hand is cupping your pussy, and his thumb is stroking over your folds through the damp fabric.

"Can I have a taste?" He asks, and his breath is hot against the damp lace, and you're nodding.

"Yes, please."

His hands are pushing the panties aside, and his fingers are brushing along your slit, and he's pushing two fingers inside, and curling them.

He's spreading your legs, and his tongue is flicking over your clit, and he's pushing his fingers deeper, and curling them, and stroking against your g spot.

"You taste so good," he moans. “Better than the candy."

"Yes," you gasp.

"And you're so wet, and hot, and soft."

"Thom," you moan, and his tongue is lapping over your clit, and his teeth are grazing against the sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Come on my face, please," he moans, and his fingers are rubbing against your g spot, and his tongue is flicking against your clit, and his thumb is pressing down on the swollen bud.

"I'm almost there, don't stop," you moan.

"Good, come on my tongue," he growls, and his fingers are moving faster, and his tongue is licking over your clit. “Let me taste you."

"Yes, yes," you whimper.

"Yes, let me lick your sweet juices, come on," he moans, and his fingers are fucking you, and his tongue is stroking over your clit, and his eyes are fluttering open, and when he looks up at you, you’re tumbling over the edge, and your pussy is clenching around his fingers, and the wave of pleasure is crashing through you.

"Yes, that's it," he breathes. "I love it when you're coming on my face."

"I love it when you're licking me clean," you breathe.

He's laughing, and his mouth is sucking, and his tongue is licking, and he's swallowing your juices, and his tongue is licking into you.

“But now I would love to return the favour,” you’re pulling at his hair, “and taste you too."

He's groaning, and his eyes are shining, and his lips are curving into a smile.

"Yes, please, I would love that."

You're pushing him on his back, and he's lifting his hips, and pulling down his boxer briefs.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Touch me," he says.

"I am, but where do you want me to touch you," you say.

"Anywhere," he moans.

"What about here?" You run a finger over his hipbone.

"Yes," he whimpers.

"And here?" You lick his abs.

"God, yes," he moans.

"What about here?" You circle his cock.

"Yes, please."

"Here?" Your lips are wrapping around his cock, and your tongue is stroking over the crown.

"Fuck, yes," he groans.

"Where else, should I touch you?"

"On my thighs," he breathes.

"Okay," you say, and your fingers are stroking over his inner thigh, and your nails are dragging over the soft skin.

"There, please," he pants.

Your mouth is sinking down on his cock, and your tongue is swirling over the head.

"Yes, there, God, your mouth feels so good," he moans, and his fingers are in your hair.

Your fingers are stroking over his balls, and over his perineum, and his cock is pulsing in your mouth.

"There too," he whimpers.

You're circling his opening, and his hand is fisting your hair.

"Yes, there," he moans.

Your fingertip is circling his opening, and he's gasping and panting.

"Can I?"

"Yes, God yes," he says, and your finger is pressing into him, and your lips are sucking his cock, and his hips are pushing up.

"Fuck," he curses, and his hand is pulling you back down by your hair and his legs are shaking.

"Are you close?"

"Yes, keep going, I'm so close," he moans, and your finger is pumping into him, and your mouth is sinking down on his cock, and your tongue is flicking over the head, and his body is trembling.

"Faster, please," he begs, and your finger is curling, and his cock is pulsing, and his hips are thrusting, and his ass is clenching around your finger, and his cock is twitching and his cum is spilling over his belly, and his hand is tugging your hair.

"So good," he whispers.

"Good," you whisper, and his fingers are tracing along your cheek, and you're kissing his belly.

"We should get cleaned up," you say, and he's smiling and his hand is pulling you down for a kiss. “Shit, does it smell burnt in here? Shit, Thom, the lasagne."

"Shit, fuck," he says, and sits up, and gets off the bed, and pulls on his boxer briefs.

He's sprinting to the kitchen, and you're following him, and when he's opening the oven, there's a cloud of smoke coming out. And somehow a little baking paper inferno has formed, and you're not sure what happened, and it's smoking, and Thom is staring at it, and you're turning off the oven.

"I'm sorry, I think I left the baking tray I made pizza on yesterday in the oven, with the baking paper.”

“It’s fine, just open the window before the smoke alarm goes off and the fire brigade is your guest again.”

He opens the window, you put out the tiny flames, and the oven is full of black crumbs. But your lasagne is salvageable.

"It tastes amazing," you say, after the first bite.

"Yes, the sauce is so good," he says, and grins, and his foot is caressing your leg under the table. “Let’s sleep in tomorrow and just cuddle. Maybe we should start our own little tradition.”

“Okay,” you say looking curious.

“How about we make that day of the first fire alarm, when we talked to each other first, our day? Eat pancakes, talk, cuddle, almost burn down the house.

"That sounds perfect," you smile, and he smiles and kisses you.

……

Tag list: Taglist: @oro-e-diamanti, @iamtashaquinn, @teenyweenynightghost, @findaqueenwithoutaking, @foreveryking-thatdied, @findoutwhoyougonnacall , @sunlightbabe , @little-moonbeam-666 , @ethaneskin , @maneskin-dimensione , @l0standn0tf0und , @butkutee , @gr8rainbowpunk , @maneskintifoso , @hiraetheral , @imjustanerdwholikestoread , @cuzimitaliano , @hopelessromantic727 , @wonderlandishell , @paralianeyes , @que--sera--sera , @roisinlove123 , @romanoffswoman , @lovelyy-moonlight , @crwnnjules, @lizzylynch1 , @maneaterdoll, @imposter-27 , @soundscuntfeelscunt , @gaiagoddess26 , @lonnybunnys , @lexasaurs634 , @milfhunter889 , @shinshans

[oro-e-diamanti]

The one with Thomas' fingers

Description | You have a sudden realisation about Thomas... and the way his fingers move.

Content | Smut, fluff

Pairing | fem!Reader x Thomas Raggi

Word count | 4300

***

It hadn't supposed to happen. This… realisation. Not after years and years of being friends, not after years and years of seeing them everyday, then every week, then every month, as they rose to stardom. There was simply no reason for any of this to bubble up below the surface, rise and rise, and breach your line of consciousness now. But it did. It did, as you were sitting in an expensive seat at the arena, eyes transfixed on the screens that showed a detailed close up of Thomas’ fingers as he played his perfect solo.

You had seen it, watched him, hundreds of times before, probably quite literally that often if you added up all shows, impromptu sessions, rehearsals that you'd attended over the course of your friendship. Had gotten countless opportunities to study him, learn him by heart, but somehow, this overwhelmingly important detail had passed you by without notice and all of a sudden, you couldn’t tell how.

If someone were to ask you, afterwards, what song had been playing at the exact moment it all changed in your brain, you would have been at a complete loss. All that seemed to matter was keeping your eyes on the screen, wishing you could be close enough to see it for real, silently lamenting all the chances you’d had without making use of them, as Thomas’ fingers continued moving over and with the strings, and you wondered if you’d ever seen something that beautiful.

Any hope of behaving normally when the show was over went straight out of the window as you made your way backstage, immediately bumping into a sweaty but deliriously happy Thomas, who almost knocked you over in the process, only just managing to hold onto your wrist, his other hand quickly finding the small of your back, pulling you back.

“You okay?” he laughed, easily, carelessly, but your brain was going and going and going and whirling with the sensations of how his fingers wrapped around your wrist so easily, slender and careful and rough at the same time.

His face was too close to you, eyes trailing over yours. You could feel the heat emerging from his body, could smell it on him, the exertion of two hours on stage, his chest bare, acutely aware of how you were pressed against it. Never had you ever wanted Thomas, had never even considered it in earnest, jokes about hooking up with one or the other member of the band flying around easily, but none of it seemed as funny now.

“No,” you sighed back, then immediately realised what you said and how his breath was hitting your skin and untangled yourself from him. “I mean, yes. Of course.”

“Having a normal one, you two?” Damiano asked as he passed by, giving you a much-needed opportunity to remove yourself from the situation and you took it gratefully.

“Oh, always,” you replied, not with a lot of conviction and followed him towards their dressing rooms, hoping for Ethan and Vic to join you sooner or later. Anything that kept you from being alone with Thomas as your heart went on a rollercoaster so fast it almost made you sick.

Your wish wasn’t granted.

As Damiano disappeared into the room, Thomas snuck an arm around your waist, holding you steady and steering you away. You didn’t have it in you to protest or fight it, letting the man lead you into a different room, letting him close the door behind the two of you, letting your breathing even out as much as you could. It didn’t last for long when you turned around and once again caught sight of his bare chest, a singular drop of sweat finding its way along his nipple and towards his soft belly.

“Are you sure nothing happened?” he finally asked, drawing your eyes away from their tantalising view and up towards his face. “Normally you’re as ecstatic as we are when we get off stage but tonight you’re just… quiet.” He mustered your face, as if he could find any clues in it. You could feel a blush threatening to rise. You had never been this awkward in his presence, but now that you were, you couldn’t stop it, no matter how hard you tried. “I’m just worried. If you want to talk, I’m here, or I can get Vic for you or-”

“Everything’s fine,” you interrupted him in what you hoped was a reassuring tone. What would you normally do in this situation? It seemed like your brain wouldn’t provide you with the necessary information. Hug him, you subconscious whispered to you. Touch him the way you would any other day of your life.

But it wasn’t any other day of your life and as much as your fingers itched to reach out to him, a different part of you was screaming at the implications of it all. But his eyes, his eyes, you had never wanted to worry Thomas a day in your life and seeing him now, knowing you were the one to cause these feelings in him, had you fighting against every fibre that convinced you to keep away.

Your hands found his neck, reaching up to softly place them against his skin, thumbs stroking along the rough stubble that was starting to form on his chin again, a familiar move that had never felt stranger before. You wanted to be normal so desperately but all of your moves caused reactions you hadn’t anticipated.

“We’re fine,” you told him, even though he hadn’t explicitly asked. You needed him to know, more than you needed him in that moment. His breath was hitting your face as he leaned in and you fought the part in you that screamed for you to recirpocrate the gesture and the one that wanted to pull away to safe yourself. Instead, you let yourself fall into the moment, just a little bit, let him kiss your temple, let yourself indulge in him with all your senses.

“I don’t think I could handle it if we weren’t,” he whispered in your ear. You couldn’t either, you thought. You really couldn’t.

It’s why you moved away form him, pried your fingers off his face, not letting yourself miss the feeling of his skin under yours, and put on your fakest smile. He didn’t need to know.

***

Two weeks. The band was gone for two weeks, travelling over Europe, doing more shows, promos, no time to come home, and you were left with your thoughts. Well, with your thoughts and too many videos to be found online that had you hyperfocusing on Thomas’ fingers as they played the loveliest of riffs.

You didn’t want to think about the amount of time you spent in your bed, cuddled up underneath blankets, your hands between your legs when you couldn’t take it anymore, time and time again. It was innocent, you told yourself, a simple fantasy, something temporary, you were single and bored, a slight loss of sanity every time you recalled the way Thomas’ fingers curled around your wrist, imagining how it would translate to your neck, your thighs, your breasts. It wouldn’t change anything. Surely.

There were text messages, the odd video call, from all of them. You followed their journey via social media, not quite part of it, but adjacent enough. And you counted the days until they were back, your best friends, the most missed parts of your life when they left, no matter how much you supported and loved them for doing what they were passionate about. Yet you couldn’t help your anticipation growing with every hour until you got to see them again.

***

The party was a mess. You had arrived two - three? - hours ago, falling into the arms of Vic and Damiano immediately, which was followed by chasing down Ethan, who pressed a kiss to your hair and told you he had missed you. Thomas was harder to come by, a quick shout of hello, hi, give me one minute as he was carried away by some of his friends in an apparent effort to get him to do a keg stand (American much?).

Now everyone was drunk or way past it and after dancing to yet another song you didn’t know with Vic, you finally pulled yourself away, accepting the drink that was pushed into your hand on the way, and made your ways outside. The pool in the garden was covered, just in case the cool breeze wasn’t enough to discourage people from jumping in. Your aim, however, was one of the sunchairs at the edge of it. An opportunity to get some air, away from everyone else, and lie down, trying to get the spinning of your head under control.

Sliding down on the lounger a little, you hoped it would hide you from anyone else venturing outside, hide you from the moonlight illuminating you, but it wasn’t to be. You barely had time to move the drink to safety, dripping some of it down your chin and your neck, before a body squeezed onto the space with you, moving you just enough that neither of you would slip off. The armrest was digging into your back, pressed against your spine as you turned to your side to study Thomas.

He was drunk, or on the verge of it, looking back at youwith blurry eyes, strands of his hair falling into his face, he didn’t bother to push them away. He was beautiful like this, wild and carefree and young and a walking, talking temptation. You could feel a drop of alcohol slip from your chin to your chest, having almost forgotten the near disaster with your drink. Thomas’ eyes were trained solely on your skin now.

He discarded his empty beer bottle, the sound almost scaring you as the glass hit the ground, but your focus was set on him, his fingers, the way they were reaching for you now as everything else faded into background noise. The urge to flinch was barely suppresible as his fingertips touched your chin and ran along the length of your neck, delicately tracing the way the alcohol droplets had taken, until they reached the edge of your shirt, stopping just moments before they would hit the fabric. They left a line of goosebumps in their wake as your body was set aflame, your breathing growing heavier.

Quickly, he scooped up some of the liquid that had pooled there, wiping it off with his finger, before bringing it to his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick it away. You hated how audibly you reacted to him, a little whimper, saying so much more than any words ever could. For a moment, you wondered if he was going to put it in his mouth, give you even more of a visual than you were already getting treated to, but then he dipped it into the liquid again and held it out to you.

Your brain wasn’t quite catching up with you, leaving you in a stupor as you stared back and forth between Thomas’ finger, dripping with liquid, and his face, an anticipating look painted all over it, his own mouth slightly open, watching you just as intently. He tapped against your lower lip and as if on command, you opened up for him, letting his finger press down on your tongue, the taste of your drink mingling with his own.

The switch was tangible as you curled your tongue around his finger, closing your lips to swallow more of it into your mouth. If you hadn’t been sure if the attraction was one-sided before, you suddenly had the clearest indicator that it wasn’t. Thomas didn’t attempt to hide his moan. Fueled by a new kind of confidence, you grabbed onto his hand, leading another finger towards you, letting it join the first one. His movements were uncoordinated, restless, his hips rutting against nothing but clear air between you.

Thomas leaned over, his fingers still firmly planted in your mouth as you lost yourself in the taste and the feeling, pressing his lips against your cheek, carefully, then onto your chin with more force, travelling down and down your neck. You arched against him, gasped around his fingers, exposing more of your neck to him as you turned your head, his tongue licking a long stripe against your skin.

You didn’t know what would have happened, out there, squeezed together on the sun lounger, intertwined in ways you had never been before, but whatever you imagined didn’t matter because none of it happened right then and there. With a loud crash, the background noise came back to you twice as loud as it had been before, it tore you apart in shock.

“Where the fuck is Thomas?” a voice called from inside, then the sound of the door to the backyard being opened. Thomas moved away from you in an instant, jumping up from where you were laying. He spared you one more look, somewhere between surprised and disappointed, before running inside.

You stayed right where you were, trying to catch your breath and silently committing the view of the way his trousers had tightened to your mind forever.

***

“Please tell me that Thomas isn’t cooking,” you exclaimed as you stopped in front of his house with Vic. All you knew was that you’d been invited for an evening of food with the boys as she had picked you up at your place and led you through the streets of Rome.

“Oh god, no,” she replied quickly. “Damiano wants to cook, but his kitchen is being remodeled and Thomas’ is as good as new, ‘cause he never uses it.”

“Alright, I’ll close the food delivery app then.”

The chaos was already in full swing by the time you both arrived in his apartment. Damiano was screaming at Thomas to get the hell away from the stuff as the other desperately attempted to sneak a taste, spoon in hand and halfway to the pot of sauce simmering. The splatter of red against the kitchen tiles told you it wasn’t the first time this had happened. Ethan, meanwhile, was speeding around the table in the middle of the room, desperately trying to catch up with Thomas and keep him from causing more havoc.

In an instant, however, Thomas spotted you, almost climbing over a chair that had been pulled back to get to you. Effectively using you as a human shield, he hid behind your back, arm wrapped around your middle to keep you in place as he ducked his head down, trying to make up for the height difference.

“Don’t!” he shouted. “She’s innocent! Don’t let her get caught up in the war!”

“You’re the one who’s putting her in the middle of the battlefield,” Damiano replied dryly.

“Well, love is a battlefield too, isn’t it?” Thomas pulled you back further his other arm reaching around your shoulders now, hand flat against your chest, just underneath your neck. Your skin was tingling at the contact, you found yourself pressing backwards against him against better judgement.

“That makes no sense,” Vic judged, “but you do you, I’ll set the table for whenever you’re done with… that.” She gestured towards the two of you. You almost spoke up, almost tried to explain your way out of it or laugh it up but Thomas simply said “Got it” and walked the two of you backwards until you were out of sight. His hands on you the whole time.

“Hey you,” Thomas whispered in your ear, too close for comfort and not close enough at the same time, pressing a kiss against the side of your face as he held you.

“Hey,” you breathed back, entirely distracted by the way his fingers trailed upwards. “Missed you.”

“Missed you more.”

You gasped, audibly, as they slowly started caressing your neck, softly at first, then moving to wrap around it. Keeping you safe and secure, the only lifeline as you felt yourself falling apart. A little squeeze.

“You love my fingers everywhere, don’t you?”

You didn’t have it in you to disagree. The whimper gave you away as he grasped onto you a little tighter, leaving you breathless in more than one way.

“Maybe we should find out what they feel like in other places, too.”

The arm that was slung around your waist suddenly moved, grazing the fabric of your dress, almost, almost going between your legs, moving over your thigh, and then suddenly, all you felt was a freezing cold in the places he had touched you as he let go completely. He took a step back, but you didn’t manage to turn around, didn’t manage to move, check his face.

Instead, all that left your mouth in the most pathetically broken voice was, “I think dinner’s ready.”

***

The realisation, the lingering thoughts, the pining, the flirting. You didn’t expect the resolution to come in the middle of the night, but it did, in the form of a knock and whisper of It’s me through the door. He looked tired, sleepy even, and you were pretty sure he was wearing pyjama pants. Had he come here straight from home? Had he been in bed already? When he realised that whatever was on his mind was important enough to deal with right there and then?

You let him in without words, unsure of where to go or what to do, both of you left standing in the small hallway, looking at each other in the dark, trying to figure it all out through nothing but the way the other’s eyes glimmered.

“Can I?” Thomas asked. You didn’t know what he meant, didn’t know what he was referring to, what he wanted, but you nodded, always, anything. It didn’t matter. What had started with a friendship and had been interrupted by a sudden urge was evolving into something more, something more tangible, something everlasting with lightning speed. You allowed him to take the reigns.

He pushed you against the wall, gently enough not to hurt you, but his fingers were pressing into your hips in a way that had you feeling it in your bones. You melted under his touch and then, then his lips were on yours, finally, and it was perfect in a way that made you want to cry. You clawed at his back as you pulled him closer. You had been wanting this for so long, possibly so much longer than you had been actively aware of, that this felt like a release.

You couldn’t tell how you made it into the bedroom at all, your thoughts deeply clouded with nothing but Thomas, Thomas, Thomas but then you were on your back, sinking into the mattress, and your top was being pulled off and you couldn’t get your fingers to stop shaking enough to get him out of his own clothes as well. He didn’t seem to mind as he tenderly removed every piece of fabric covering your body, fingers and lips exploring what he exposed.

As he leaned back, throwing his shirt somewhere into the depths of your room, he stopped in his tracks, studying your body, the way your chest heaved with every shaky breath, how your hands were already reaching for him again, craving the closeness. He looked utterly breathtaking, pale, soft skin, every hair on his chest leading you down, down, down, your hands in his hair, nothing but an insatiable need in his eyes.

Carefully, his fingers traced invisible lines on you, your cheek, over your mouth, not allowing you to open up enough to get a taste of him, your chin, your neck, a hint of the grasp he’d had on your earlier, down to your breasts, feather-light touches on your nipples, down your stomach.

“Where do you want them?”

Your eyes darted between his fingers and his face and you knew that he knew. Had figured out your obsession, your constant thoughts, your innate need.

Your reply came in the form of your legs falling further apart, thighs spreading, inviting him between them. Thomas gave you the faintest smirk, already preoccupied with fulfilling your wish as utter concentration filled his face. You weren’t sure if it were down to him being insecure, unsure whether he could satisfy you appropriately - because as soon as he touched you, right there, you were reduced to a moaning mess, unable to keep any noises to yourself, all silent fantasies finally answered as he traced along your wetness and finally, finally pushed a finger into you.

Your hands fell from his body momentarily, letting yourself fall into the sensation that surpassed every single night you’d laid in bed and imagined this very moment, had tried to recreate it with your own fingers, unsuccessfully, as you now found. Nothing could come close to the real thing.

Leaning back down towards you, the angle of his wrist changed ever so slightly, making his finger slide inside of you even more perfectly. You desperately clawed at his back, silently begging for more, only to feel all air leave your lungs as he let another finger join at the same time as he put his lips against your neck. He immediately stilled, seemingly alarmed by your lack of vocalisation, but all you could do was whisper pleas into his ear and pull him back into you.

Your hands wandered lower, clumsily, and distracted with every single one of his movements, until they found his trousers, trying to push them down but failing miserably. Thomas let go of you, carefully pulling his fingers out, leaving you to cry out at the loss, already missing his warmth, the stretch. He made quick work of the rest of his clothes, barely giving you a moment to take in the view, to realise you finally had him all to yourself, naked and perfect, before he was back on the bed with you.

You moved to push him down, reaching for his hard cock, but he pressed you back into the mattress, gentle fingers ready to leave bruises.

“I just want to be in you,” he breathed. All you could do was kiss him, again and again, and tell him to do it. With a quick grab, you managed to get a condom out of the nightstand, handing it to him with shaky hands that had nothing to do with nervousness. He took it from you, letting you watch as he put it on.

Thomas’ whimpers composed symphonies in your ear, his dick gottenyour thighs, his hand holding onto it, pushing inside of you. If his fingers had had you close to seeing heaven, you were sure you were transcending into paradise now. Wrapping your arms and your legs around him, you pulled him closer, closer, almost making it too difficult for him to actually move, but your brain was focused on nothing but Thomas and the way his skin felt against you, the way his breath was hitting the shell of your ear in harsh bursts, the way he felt inside of you.

You were unravelling embarrassingly quickly as he picked up his speed, fucking you fast and hard, but you had no time feeling unconscious about anything, not with Thomas making you feel like this, moaning into your ear, getting closer himself. You just about managed to squeeze a hand between the two of you, touching yourself through the impossibly close contact, and within moments, you were barrelling towards your release.

When you came undone, it was like a flood you hadn’t known to be held back inside of you finally breaking out, the sensation travelling through your body, letting you feel it deep in every single bone of your body from your toes to your skull, vibrating with the intensity of it, unsure where you ended and Thomas began as he, too, came, harshly grabbing onto your flesh.

You felt yourself stuck in a trance, barely registering when Thomas pulled out, laid down next to you on the bed, held you close. Your breathing seemed to take forever to calm down, as did the beating of your heart, but when both finally did and the world shifted into focus again, it seemed clearer and sharper than ever before.

He gently ran his hand down your face and turned it towards himself, you were more than happy to oblige, putting your lips on his. You couldn’t get enough of him. You weren’t sure if you ever would.

“When did you know?” he asked, quietly.

“Know what?”

“That you wanted me back.”

“Wait-” You sat up a little, propping yourself on your elbows to get a better look at him, but he simply pulled you back into him and pressed another kiss to your mouth. “Wait, want you back?” You studied his face but you found no lie in it. “I had no idea you liked me.”

“I’m in love with you,” he smiled

You couldn’t quite say it back, not yet. As intense and deep as your feelings ran, for you, this was new and delicate and on the edge of scary. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to catch on.” His lips so soft against yours. You suddenly couldn’t recall how you had ever not been falling in love with him, had ever thought anyone else could have been that one person for him but you. Now you couldn’t ever imagine not knowing. “I’ll make up for it, forever, if you let me.”

His hand on the back of your head was holding onto you securely and where the sensation of his fingers had only brought lust and need before you could now feel it intertwine itself with something that was so much more.

“I’m looking forward to it.”

***

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[hxllfires-gifs]

PAIRING. thomas raggi x fem!reader

SUMMARY. måneskin is competing in eurovision and thomas’ girlfriend surprises him with the help of their friends, to support her lover who thought that she would be staying home because of work.

WORD COUNT. 897

Y/N L/N WALKED around the airport after her flight finally landed and she gathered her luggage. She had flown to Rotterdam in order to surprise her boyfriend Thomas. The grand final of Eurovision was later on and there was a specific time that she needed to meet her friends at the venue. She made plans with Victoria, Ethan, and Damiano to surprise the youngest member but she also wanted to be there to support her friends.

She had a taxi take her to the place and she was met by Victoria who ushered her to the backstage area. She would be sitting in the green room with them once the finals actually started, but for now she was ready to see her partner. The two girls walked for a little longer before the H/C haired girl came to a stop. She could heard Thomas’ voice speaking to Ethan and Damiano most likely.

“What is this surprise?” Thomas asked, a tiny bit annoyed that his friends were trying to keep something from him and would not tell him. He had asked about it like fifty times, yet he still got no straightforward response.

“We will tell you soon, just be patient!” It was the singer who spoke up this time, his voice being louder than he intended. “You are going to love it, that’s all I can say for now.”

Thomas rolled his eyes at the two other males, not wanting to talk about it anymore because of the fact they were so hush hush. He wondered what could be so important but everyone in the band could be a little on the unpredictable side sometimes. Who knows what they had in store for him.

“Stay right there for a second,” Victoria’s words were more quiet so that Thomas was unable to hear. She turned and walked back into the dressing room with a smirk present on her face, not attempting to hide anything from the younger male.

Her slight mischievous energy gained his attention, causing him to focus on Victoria completely. “Why do you look like that? Did you do something you shouldn’t have?” His words held a teasing tone to them.

“Why do you assume I did something?” It wasn’t long before she feigned offense, not able to do it for too long though.

She glanced at Ethan and Damiano, who had the same type of expressions on their faces. It was time for them to reveal the big surprise. The bassist was excited to see how her friend would react. His girlfriend had been working a lot recently and originally thought that she wouldn’t be able to go to Rotterdam, but fate had different plans.

The de Angelis started explaining what she and the other two had been keeping from Thomas. “We are finally ready to tell you about your surprise. You’ve seemed a little…disappointed recently, so we wanted to cheer you up with someone special.”

This was Y/N’s cue to made her presence known so she joined the band in the room and her eyes immediately landed on the guy she loved so much. A look of disbelief had flashed upon his features but it was soon replaced with happiness. Thomas walked over to his girlfriend and wrapped his arms around her, feeling tears in his eyes that he tried to keep at bay.

“What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t able to come because of work. Are you staying for the finals?” There were so many thoughts in his brain that he almost couldn’t keep up.

Y/N laughed, finding his reaction a little funny but more-so precious. “Yes, I am staying for the finals and afterwards. I’ll go back home with you guys. I honestly thought I wouldn’t but I worked something out with my boss and she let me take a couple of days off. I talked with these three about surprising you and hopped on the first flight here that I could get.”

She rubbed his back once she felt his hands fidgeting, which was a habit that he had picked up because of her. He was the happiest person and it was obvious in that moment. The girl stepped back a bit and it didn’t take long for their eyes to lock with one other’s gaze. He had a couple of tears that escaped, which made Y/N frown for a split second.

She wiped them away before kissing his cheeks. “Angel, I’m here, okay. I came here to support you guys. I could never miss out on something as big as this.”

“I was convinced that I’d have to do this without you, but I’m happy that you’re here now.” Thomas’ confession almost broke the L/N’s heart but she was over the moon that she could be here in person to cheer him on like he and their friends deserved.

“I hate to break up this sweet moment but we have to finish getting ready,” Damiano reminded his band mates.

Y/N placed a hand on her boyfriend’s arm and smiled once more. “I’ll be here all night so go and get ready, rockstar.”

Thomas playfully rolled his eyes but did as she and Damiano said, going to change into his outfit for their performance. It was going to be a crazy night but he felt like it would be ten times better now that Y/N was with him.

[filthforfriends]

The Hybrid (Part 4)

Damiano x Thomas Omegaverse

Word Count: 6.9k

CW: mentions of abuse and also god might smite you for reading

They snuck out of Damiano’s building the back way, leaving a note on the table in case the security force came to check on him. The less the government could track their whereabouts, the better. 

The Raggi’s lived in a small apartment in a giant complex. Damiano had always wondered why they didn’t pick a better location. With Thomas’ job, he could definitely afford to move his mom somewhere cozier. Dami then realized that it's a lot easier to blend in, to be inconspicuous, when you look and live the exact same as hundreds of units. Even if the security force did arrive, it would take several precious minutes to find the address.

“Head down, hair in front of your face,” Thomas murmured. 

“What about sun glasses or a hat?”

“No, it’ll look like we’re trying to hide. That's more likely to get us in trouble than some bruising.” Getting out of his nice, warm, comfortable nest had been terrible. The apartment smelled foul and everything reminded him of Samuel: the mediocre, the bad, and the ugly. Thomas made them both shower all the pheromones off, change clothes, and laundered the dirty ones. Dami didn’t realize how comforting the scenting had been until it was gone. Everything felt too raw and sharp. 

They didn’t even touch after showering to reduce the production of pheromones. Damiano wanted to cling to Thomas, but wasn’t allowed a hug and it was brutal. In the car Tom drove with all the windows down. Even though he wasn’t chilly, Damiano started shivering and couldn’t stop.

“Are you cold?” He shook his head no and Thomas refocused his attention on driving, jaw set. He’d coached Damiano not to display any affection, not even signs of a close friendship. Dami knew that this was for his mate’s protection and would therefore follow instructions exactly. Nevertheless, Tom’s embrace in his nest had been the only thing that made one of the worst days of his life bearable. This stoicism made him feel so isolated that Damiano wanted to cry from loneliness and his breath caught in his throat.

“Take a deep breath. Remember that I love you.” The omega clenched his teeth and focused on not gasping for air. Damiano willed himself to keep it together a while longer until they were safe.

“I love you too.” Out of instinct, he reached towards Thomas after getting out of the car. They were always connected in some way: an arm around someone’s shoulders, waist, or hips. A hand on the back or musing someone’s hair. Holding each other in some way, playing with the others outerwear, usually in an effort to bring them closer. No, they hadn’t been inconspicuous enough.

Damiano followed dutifully behind Thomas, not completely confident in his ability to remember the location of the apartment. When they reached the door, he didn’t knock, just stood close to the keyhole. After a moment, his mother opened the door and shooed them inside. The place smelled of food, but Dami wasn’t sure what. He was just getting his bearings when Thomas crushed him in a hug. Showering him with compliments while moving the hair from his face, he kissed his forehead then lips. 

“You did so well, caro mio. I’m so sorry you had to do that, but you were amazing and perfect. I’ll do my best to keep you from doing something like that again.” Kiss. “And I’m so proud of you.” Kiss. “You were poised and composed and casual. I don’t think anyone noticed you did such a good job caro mio. I love you so much, cucciolo and I’m so lucky…” The ache in his ribs caused Damiano to tune him out. The shivering has stopped, as has the unease from Samuel’s smell, and the fear from being somewhere he could find Damiano. The omnipresent exhaustion from spending hours in fight or flight kicked in and he was slouching, giving Thomas his weight. 

“Woah, I got you cucciolo.” Damiano felt himself being swept off the ground. So close to the blurring light fixture the rays started to give him a pounding headache so he closed his eyes. The next feeling he registered was his shoes being taken off, and found himself on a bed with pink roses embroidered on the sheets.

“How long have I been asleep?” he mumbled, discombobulated.

‘Uh, about 45 seconds,” Thomas chuckled, pulling a shoe off. Thomas' mother blocked the hallway light when she entered the room, and put a hand between his shoulder blades.

“Drink this.” A straw was held up to his mouth, and the liquid thick, like a smoothie or meal replacement, probably with electrolytes.

“Thank you Marcella,” he slurred.

“Sit up for me dear,” she coaxed, that hand on his back pushing him upwards. Damiano sensed Thomas, felt the bed shift, and saw him leaning over. With the help of his mother, he pulled off Damiano’s top layers, and yanked his coat out from under him. He left the room which caused a pang of anxiety.

“Tommy –”

“He’ll be right back, bambino. Drink more.” Dami makes a noise of dissent, but Marcella reminds him of his own mother, so rejecting self care is not an option. She’s known him for too long not to force her maternal instincts upon him. Thomas does walk back into the room, and immediately reaches for the button of Damiano’s jeans, who this time makes a grunt to indicate scandal and chokes on his smoothie. Thomas laughs and actually smiles for the first time today, so it's worth it.  

“Unless you want to sleep in jeans, that is?” He pulls the pants down, and off, carefully replacing them with old pajamas. 

“Cold,” he hears a female voice say, only registering that it's a warning from Marcella when the contusion ointment meets the bruised skin of his ribcage. Damiano hisses in pain, but feels his hand being held by Thomas, who's sitting in the middle of the bed. He thinks that Dami has his eyes closed, that he doesn’t see Thomas turn his back because he can’t bear to watch, and who puts a hand to his mouth to repress the urge to be sick. Marcella’s touch is steady when it moves up to Damiano’s face. She pauses.

“Caro, let's put a shirt on him while he’s still awake.” Tom doesn’t trust his voice, just pulls the ratty long sleeve he brought from his childhood bedroom over Dami’s head, guiding his arms. He takes the glass back to the kitchen as an excuse to leave his mother’s bedroom, but ends up setting it on the counter and running to the bathroom. Thomas turns on the sink hoping that his omega couldn’t hear the retching, couldn’t hear this total crumbling of strength. Would he have been able to do this without his mom’s help? Maybe, maybe not. 

Like a coward, he stays in the bathroom until his mother’s gentle knock on the door. The wobbles on his feet, emotionally exhausted in his own right.

“Is he asleep?” Thomas asks, opening the door.

“Yes. Come eat, let’s talk.” Marcella is barely tall enough to hold her son's face between her hands. Tom stoops over to embrace her. She feels small and delicate, like the skeleton of a bird. This perception of fragility is the thing that finally brings Thomas to his knees, both emotionally and physically. Marcella strokes his hair as he cries, kissing the crown of his head lovingly as he had done to Damiano just minutes ago.

“You did everything right. Getting help, coming here, loving him. I know it's jarring to learn that he’s not invincible, but you’ll adapt.”

“Will I?” he sobs.

I don’t expect you to be superhuman, and neither does that boy who’d follow you to hell and back if you asked. You held back for as long as your biology would let you.”

“And now what?”

“Now we contain this for as long as possible while still letting you live your life.”

“And after that?”

“A discussion for another evening.” It was a relief to confide in his mother as he sat on the living room couch. Every 20 minutes of ranting she would give him something new to eat or drink. Finally, Thomas didn’t feel alone in anything, and the urge to cry abated. 

Marcella stroked her son’s head, who had grown up and was a foot taller than her. His soft, blond hair had been the same since she held him as a baby, when Thomas was new and delicate, and so tiny. She remembered being able to hold the grown man beside her in one arm. When she’d gotten the diagnosis, Marcella laid infant Thomas on her chest and felt the pitter-patter of his little heartbeat against hers. She watched the shadows her son’s long eyelashes cast on his flushed cheeks as he slept, and tried to figure out an ethical thing to do. As the full moon moved outside the window, the shadows on Tom’s face lengthened then shrunk to nonexistence. Marcella decided that she could not fix her baby, because he was not born broken. 

During that endless night, she thought about all the inevitabilities. That one day her child would grow up, and he would love someone so much that his choice to refrain would be taken from him. That would be a joyous day, whether he be a fully fledged omega, or a hybrid. Marcella could never have anticipated how messy things would get on the way there. 

“He’s so beautiful,” she hummed. “He always was, but his energy has changed. He’s more receptive, less prideful.”

“I can’t believe it’s finally happening.”

“The relationship?”

“That…but knowing who I am. He showed me.” She nodded thoughtfully, then seemed to come to a decision.

“Then everything is as it should be.” Her peaceful expression sours after a moment. “Except what the monster did today.”

“I wish I could hurt him, do permanent damage,” Thomas seethed.

“But you were made for better things.” This was a mantra he’s been raised on. When met with the urge for retaliation, violence, or aggression, Marcella would remind her son. This was, ofcourse, because Thomas didn’t have the physicality to take on an actual alpha and could get mortally wounded.

“The frustration and inadequacy you’ll feel is rooted in a society that views physical harm and control as desirable conflict resolution tactics.That is not a society whose opinion you should care about. Be good to those you love and let love compel you to do good. Not violence.” Marcella sits back and unclasps her hands. “You should sleep now,” she instructs.

“I don’t know if I can,” he sighs, looking at the kitchen clock. “How is it only 9pm? Christ, okay.” He groans as he stands up and walks to the linens closet. 

“What are you doing?” his mother inquires.

“I’m gonna sleep on the couch and you’ll sleep in my bed, right?” 

“No, you should sleep with your mate. I put Damia in my room because you can barely fit on that tiny mattress of yours. I’ll sleep there.” Thomas opened and closed his mouth twice, face feeling hot.

“I, I – but we don’t need to be in the same bed! We’re not gonna do anything.” Marcella raised one eyebrow and looked at him quizzically. She was a matter of fact woman unintimidated by any conversation. 

“If he wakes up in the middle of the night a knot might be the most comforting thing.”

“Mom,” Thomas groans in mortification. They talked about everything, but part of never having a mate or sustained relationship was that there was no reason to talk about this.

“I assume that's a function the two of you have figured out?”

“Oh my god, can we please not talk about this?”

“Thomas Raggi,” using his full name was never a good sign. “There is nothing gross about omegan reproductive biology, just because it’s not your biology,” she scolded. “The reason we’ve made it this long is because I had all the information and could research it.”

“I know that,” he lamented. “Yes, that part works.”

“And what other parts work?” Thomas sighed, looking at the floor when he responded.

“Bonding, scenting, and glands, but it's uncomfortable.”

“Not marking?”

“We haven’t tried. I wasn’t sure I’d be safe and I was right. Victoria recognized my alpha scent from his nest today.”

“Alpha scent? So it’s not the same?”

“No.” Marcella started scribbling down on a notepad. She’d likely spend the whole evening pouring over the stacks of books concerning hybridism that she hid between the walls. It was an ever growing collection of not necessarily banned, but somewhat incriminating literature accessed via a loose board and lots of ingenuity.

“There’s also this thing, where we can comfort each other using pheromones.” Thomas didn’t see his mother surprised often, but the expression flashed across her face before she resumed writing at a frenzied pace. Thomas waited until her pen slowed.

“So what do you think?” He regarded his mother’s advice above all else, sometimes even his own reasoning. 

“I think marking might be the most healing thing for Damiano, and the best for both of you. It's the natural progression. I think he should understand exactly what he’s getting himself into first. Too many people know for this to stay quiet. Victoria will be trustworthy for a time, but Samuel is going to indict you as much as possible. It's almost inevitable that you’ll be detained, even if you’re just accused of having a romantic and sexual relationship with another omega. With your history, they’ll ask questions and your mate could be implicated too.” Just the thought of Damiano being put in harm's way has Tom choking on his panic.

“I’m gonna check on him.” Thomas opens the door slowly, a slant of light illuminating Dami’s form under the pink comforter. His back is turned, so Tom tip-toes in to get a look at his face. Damiano’s expression is peaceful, such a stark contrast to the bruising that marks his face. His body has automatically favored the uninjured side in his sleeping position. It’s immediately too much for Thomas and the nausea comes back. He quickly leaves the room, propping his forearms against the kitchen counter as he collects himself.

“He’s still asleep,” Thomas announces as he walks back into the living room. “I think I’m gonna sleep out here so I don’t disturb him.”

“Thomas –”

“Mom, I can’t even look at his face,” he divulges. “I don’t want to exist in a world where bad things happen to Damiano.”

“And like every other alpha, you’ll have to reconcile the fact that terrible things are going to happen to your omega, and you’ll be powerless to stop them.” If not for his slumbering mate, Thomas would seriously consider outright screaming in frustration.

“But how, mom? How!?”

“Center him in everything you do. An alpha’s world revolves around themselves until they find a mate. It's not about you anymore, Thomas. It’s not about your preferences, it’s about what he needs and –” A noise coming from the bedroom causes Marcella to pause, and Thomas rushes down the hall. 

“Uh, what, huh? Tommy?” Damiano is half conscious and disoriented in the dark, unfamiliar space. Their voices must have been too loud and woken him. Thomas closes the door behind himself, deciding that now is as good a time to go to lay down as any. Sleep was going to evade him regardless.

“Right here, cucciolo. You okay?” The bed dips as he sits down and shucks his jeans off quickly.

“Huh? I think, um, I…hey.” Thomas crawls up the mattress, rubbing his hand along Damianos form over the blanket so he’d know his alpha was close. Thomas had barely pushed a leg under the covers when Dami tried to snuggle up to him. That was made difficult by the fact that Thomas hadn’t laid down yet. He was immediately too warm with two bodies under heavy bedding. As his head hit the pillow, he felt almost suffocated, claustrophobic plagued by the nerve wracking fear that he was going to fail his mate.

When Damiano actually laid his head on his alpha’s chest, that emotion dissipated and intense affection took its place. Dami wasn’t satisfied with having just an arm slung over Thomas, and slithered so he was almost completely on top of him, legs tangled together.

“You’re here,” he croaked, as Tom carefully wrapped him up, conscious that his arm didn’t put weight on a tender spot.

“I’m here, cucciolo.”.

“But where am I?” Instead of lifting himself up to converse, Dami’s eyes stayed closed and he burrowed further against Tom’s neck, nuzzling him contentedly. Wherever they were, Thomas was here too, which is another way of saying that Damiano was home.

“We’re at my mom’s apartment and I was going to sleep right here, with you tonight. If that’s okay?”

“Mhm!” Damiano confirmed, enthusiastically nodding his head. There was that sick feeling again. How could anyone not cherish him? Thomas couldn’t reconcile reason with reality.

“This isn’t the couch. Did you get a new bed?” he mumbled, voice sleepy.

“No, we're in my mom's room. She’s sleeping in my bed.”

“I fucking hate that bed,” Dami groaned. “Was too small for both of us. Didn’t have an excuse to cuddle you,” he complained. Thomas was thrilled to know Damiano’s inner thoughts from those early years.

“We tried once, remember? You said you were too uncomfortable to sleep.”

“I meant my dick was too uncomfortable for me to sleep. You were spooning me and I was hard the whole fucking night.” Tom giggles and grins into Damiano’s curls. Despite the day they’d had he can feel Dami’s lips turn into a smile.

“You could’ve gone to the bathroom.”

“Oh, I thought about it. But I couldn’t risk you not holding me when I got back.”

“So you just suffered the whole night?” Thomas laughs incredulously. 

“Was worth it.”

“You could have woken me up. I probably would have helped you deal with it!” his chest rumbles as he speaks.

“You were 15. Plus, if I woke you up every time I got a boner from us being in the same bed, we would never sleep through the night.”

“Then why’d you put yourself through it?” Thomas exclaimed.

“You’ve always smelled so, so fucking good,” he moaned. Each word he rutted against Thomas’ hip a little. 

“Okay, I can’t smell that good!” Thomas was feeling shy, but loved being surrounded by all this affirmation.

“Mm-mm, you don’t get it. You’re not fully hormonal, the scent part is so fucking strong.” Damiano clutched Thomas’ thigh between his own so he could rub against it as the memories flooded his mind. “I got a little obsessed with it. I thought you were just the cool, kinda introverted kid that was a wicked good guitar player and fun to be around. And then I started to smell you. Wasn’t sure that I liked it at first, but that evolved into me huffing your dirty gym clothes when to one was around like a fucking pervert.” 

“So you figured out you liked it?” Thomas chuckled, feigning his casual manner. Damiano decides to spare him the teenage fantasies of masturbating in a pile of Tom’s dirty laundry. Also filed under Maybe We Don’t Tell Him Ever is licking Thomas’ dirty boxers when he went to the bathroom and consequently having a toe curling orgasam after thrusting against his mattress exactly four times. Instead of answering Thomas' rather rhetorical question, Damiano surprises him by pushing his sweatshirt up and ducking under the fabric so he can lick Tom’s armpit while scenting him. 

Thomas gasps at the feeling, pulling away because he's ticklish. He feels the same confused arousal as he did when Dami rimmed him during his rut. Dami hangs on, seeking out Thomas’ body when he pulls away, thrusting against his thigh in all their clothes. Tom had been very thorough in instilling in his conscience that they couldn’t have sex tonight. For a moment he forgets why, because Damiano is sober and extremely enthusiastic right now so why not? Oh yes, because if he turned the light on his omega would be covered in bruises from the fist of another alpha.

“I can’t, I can’t,” he rushes out while reaching to switch on the bedside lamp. Damiano pushes Tom’s sweatshirt over his head, who’s subsequently greeted with a glorious view of Dami’s stomach where his shirt rides up: tattooed, tan, muscular, with a smattering of hair and the beginnings of sweat. Christ. The bruising is isolated to one spot, and the swelling in his face has gone way down, so if he’s just self aware when they have sex…no.

“I can’t get hard right now, knowing what happened barely a day ago…” Damiano reaches between their bodies and grabs Thomas’ cock over his briefs. His completely erect dick jumps in response. Dami raises an eyebrow, but after seeing the amount of conflict in Thomas' expression, his face falls. Damiano realizes that he’s probably not going to get a knot, (or what he really wants, to be marked) because his mate has such a strict moral code. Thomas sees the genuine, crestfallen disappointment, and combined with a contradictory gut instinct, he reevaluates. 

“I'm making this about me,” he says slowly, checking that the words feel just as true rolling off the tongue. “This is about what you need. I’m afraid that I’m going to cause further harm because I don’t have the awareness of a real alpha.”

“You’re my alpha,” Damiano counters, straddling Tom’s hips, who’s propped up on his elbows.

“I am,” he smirks, looking up at his mate.

“So you’re a real alpha.” Damiano watches where his fingertips touch the skin of Thomas’ chest, circling each freckle. “And I’m not making my choices in a cloud of hormones. I have near complete autonomy with you, so don’t worry about compensating for the pheromonal influence. In fact,” Dami leans over to kiss a line down Thomas’ chest. “I’ve never been so clear-headed with anyone.”

“Is that your long-winded,” Dami draws a circle around Tom’s bellybutton with his tongue who lets out a sigh. “Extremely sexy way of saying that this isn’t going to make things worse?” He runs a hand through his omega’s greasy hair, only noticing its silky texture. Dami catches his hand and sucks on what should have developed into a scent gland, but didn’t due to Thomas’ hybridism. He expects to feel nothing, which is why the bolt of electricity down his arm makes him jump. Dami looks up with a devilish smile, like Thomas’ body is his favorite playground, because it is.

“I think you’d really struggle to harm me accidentally.” There's nerves in Thomas’ wrist that he’s never felt before, awakened by Dami’s insistent tongue. It’s uncomfortable, but also so exciting. His internal glands had matured completely, which made sense since they’re the first to be developed in the womb. Next came the neck glands which were underdeveloped, but not so severely that people noticed if he kept his hair long. However, the glands on his wrists just looked like a scar, which is exactly what Thomas said they were. As a child he had a tragic, rare infection that resulted in them being removed. The government was so desperate to keep any variation a secret, that they came up with the story for him and stuck it in his official medical history.

“Can we stop experimenting now? Do something we know works?” Thomas whined, wrinkling his nose from enduring the discomfort. 

“Of course, principe,” Dami gives the area a final lick. 

“Why are you so far away, come ‘ere,” he coaxes, affectionately. Damiano crawls upwards and Thomas greets him with the softest kiss he’s ever received. It's not a peck, or a brush of lips, just so, so careful. Tom opens his mouth while tilting his head to deepen the kiss, letting Dami press his tongue into his alpha’s mouth.

“Take off your clothes, cucciolo,” he coos. Damiano swings a leg back over so he can peel back his pants and boxers, doing the same to Thomas, who’d usually be the aggressor, but is waiting patiently for Damiano to straddle him once again. Tom notes that he elects to keep his shirt on, pulling it down to cover his abdomen. 

When they resume kissing, Thomas lays back and gently guides Damiano with him. Seeking more contact, Dami flattens his body horizontally, against his mate. Having a layer of fabric between them felt very strange. Thomas’ mouth stays soft and relaxed, minimizing his movement, but making sure every breath was heavy with passion. Now that his hands were free, he gripped Dami’s thighs, where he knew there was no injury. Even after this hellish day, he was starting to slick up for Thomas, who slid his hand over to massage his omega’s rim. His other hand slid under the shirt on Dami’s uninjured side, warm and steady. 

Damiano resumed rutting against Thomas, the stimulation much more intense now that there was no fabric between them. However, every time the hem of his shirt brushed the tip of his cock. To make the process more comfortable Thomas inserted one finger into his omega, putting some pressure on an internal gland. Immediately he was rewarded with a rush of slick and a groan of sensitivity. He applied the natural lubrication from his pubic hair to chest, giving Damiano a surface to thrust against. 

That hand under his shirt, stroked everywhere Thomas was sure was safe. He knew how important skin to skin was for Damiano, for both of them. Meanwhile, he worked a second finger inside, helping Dami get some force behind his thrusts to make them more pleasurable. 

“I want, I want –” he started, likely trying to articulate that while this was great, on his alpha’s stomach was not how he wanted to cum. 

“You can cum inside me,” Thomas offered. The view of Dami’s cock glidingly against his body transcended all higher self. He was aroused to the point of slick. Only after he spoke the words did it occur to Tom that this was a way to give Damiano his power back. Was it his sexual desires or his omega’s best interests that motivated him? Or were those two things already becoming one?

Dami froze for a second, his brain struggling to understand the proposal. Receiving a knot and doing the fucking never happened in the same session, or even the same day (with the exception of a very late evening trist with Thomas.) Damiano’s mouth had stilled and he opened his eyes before Thomas, whose face was relaxed. His lips were parted and brows unfurrowed. He was soft and willing to receive. Dami’s mouth finally caught up with his train of thought.

“Yes. Yeah – yes, um.” He walked his hands back, sitting on Tom’s thighs while he strategized how to rearrange their limbs.

“Is this how you want me?” Thomas asked, and it was like every time they’d hooked up. This was a beloved, familiar, pleasurable rhythm they’d perfected over the years. He parted Thomas’ thighs and knelt between them, rubbing his quads affectionately as he assessed the situation. Thomas had barely started producing slick and there was nothing to prop his hips up with. His bollocks were heavy and tight against his body, skin flushed. Dami decided to prep him in a more accessible position.

“On your stomach,” he directed. Thomas flipped over, laying flat. Dami knelt between his parted thighs. It was unorthodox for an omega to pleasure their alpha in such a subordinate, vulnerable manner. Dami pressed his hand between Tom’s glutes, teasing his hole more than anything else. He tried to get Thomas to relax by kneading the muscle. He gave his cute little butt a playful slap prompting Thomas to giggle into the pillow, which turned into a moan as a finger was pressed inside him, elasticity tested. The more aroused he became the stronger the scent of slick. Soon the room would reek of lovemaking.

Damiano wasn’t drunk on it like he’d been before, but that could have to do with his own lack of hormones. Still, Thomas was always delicious and the urge to taste, to know if something had changed, was strong. He sat back on his heels and reached both hands under Thomas’ hip bones. He pulls Tom’s ass up to meet his face, using his thumbs to part his glutes.

He licked a solid stripe across his entrance to start, then pressed his tongue inside. Thomas squealed and keened, hands gripping the mattress. Normally alpha’s had external glands, not internal. So, while the prostate could still be stimulated, many male alphas outright refused to bottom and went untouched internally. Damiano always thought this was a waste. He loved eating his partners out, regardless of anatomy. They had to let their guard down, which established intimacy, plus the stimulation was excellent whether vaginal or anal.

Of course, actually being able to taste them was on its own level entirely. Thomas had always taken a little more work, most similar to a female beta. Damiano never minded spending extra time in bed with Tom, or with the flavor of his slick. It soothed the intense compulsion he had for physical intimacy with Thomas, who had always been a delicacy, his absolute favorite. As a teenager he’d eat him out until Thomas had to ask him to stop, exhausted. The way Damiano would moan between his legs made every orgasam feel like a rush. As a pent up 16-18 year old, he’d go full throttle until the edges of his consciousness were blurring.

Damian could insert a finger and stimulate his glands directly, but his mate was so sensitive that it wasn’t exactly pleasurable. So it was a game of patience, spending time with Tom’s body. Coaxing him to relax had never been so difficult. He was stuck in the dialectic of pulling away from sensitivity, and pushing back against Dami’s face in pleasure. His breath kept catching in his throat as he let out little gasps and whines, which almost turned into pleas: the sounds of a submissive. There was delicious musk that hadn’t been present before, and the erotisicism of topping his alpha was impeding upon Damiano’s decision making. He started to nip at the round muscle of his buttock. If Thomas would just ask to be marked this torturous self restraint wouldn’t be necessary. 

“I want you to be mine,” he growled, thoughts going unfiltered. 

“I’m yours,” Thomas answered, voice muffled by the pillow. Damiano wanted to beg to go a step further, but knew it wasn’t safe. Demanding such a thing would kill the mood, so he pulls back, clenching his jaw shut. Instead he scents Thomas, on his neck and in his hair. Thomas couldn’t get as wet as he wanted, and that was okay. Damiano could use his own slick as lubricant, and they could talk about this tomorrow. 

“Ride me,” Dami demands, pulling away and laying down on the bed. Thomas turns his head at the sound of Damiano’s voice. His honey golden hair partially covers his face, but he pushes it out of the way with his long, elegant fingers, still on his stomach. Even in the low lighting his irises are visibly green, how down turned eyes making him look perpetually somber unless he was smiling. There’s the hint of a scruff on his face and his plush lips are parted to a pant, a couple stray strands sticking in the corners of his mouth. His feral teeth are almost visible and Damiano is struck by such intense fondness that his love for this man beside him is almost crippling. 

Thomas sits up and gets his legs under him. It’s a good thing too because Dami was suddenly on the edge of something he didn’t feel equipped to cope with right now. He helped guide Thomas as he swung a leg over to straddle his omega’s lap. Despite how evolved he was, Damiano had never had his mate ride his cock. Sure a couple hookups had because he was so beautiful that even an alpha would try anything once, but there was a sacred, untouched level of devotion between Dami and Tom.

He reached underneath him, using his own slick to lube his cock. Thomas sank down slowly, letting his body adjust to the intrusion. His hands tugged on the hem of Damiano’s shirt for something to hold. He was so pretty, sitting on Dami’s cock. No man was pretty like Thomas. He didn’t have much muscle definition, so everything looked delicate and soft. He had chest hair, and a dramatic waist. He had plentiful pubic hair and the most beautiful pink nipples. He had a proud, engorged cock, and shapely lips parted just so. Masculine and androgynous in perfect balance. Watching Tom ride his cock was an exquisite sight, and made Damiano refocus on the goal at hand: to cum inside his alpha. 

Thomas straddled his lip, rhythmically tilting his hips upwards towards Dami, letting out little pants. He didn’t need to be directed, Tom was happy to take initiative, with those somber eyes making sure his omega was enjoying the show. His cock was leaking plenty of pre-cum to compensate. Immediately he felt too far away, and Damiano surged upwards, grabbing wherever he could get a hold to bring Thomas nearer 

He repositioned to be upright, arms wrapped around his mate, holding him so close that it was impractical. There wasn’t room to breathe.

“Damia, can’t –” 

“Need to be close to you.” Thomas whined in arousal and felt his chest flush. Losing verbal ability himself, Thomas scented his omega back, and feel the pressure of knot behind his taint.. For a moment he was dizzy, and lost rhythm, so Damiano’s hands were there to help him ride his cock. 

“Keep going, principe. I’m close.” Thomas let out another long whine, this time forlorn and Dami immediately tried to figure out the source of his displeasure so he could fix it. Looking down at himself, he remembered that he’d kept his shirt on for Tom’s benefit. Of course now, Thomas was trying to get a hold of him and was going about it blind. His sweet baby was stressed that his hands were going to bump a hurt spot.

“You can take it off,” Damiano cooed, happy to be done with all the clothing. As soon as he was bare chested, Thomas finally got into it. Slick leaked onto Damiano’s thighs and Thomas clawed at his shoulder blades to bring him closer. His breathing pattern changed and all the focus in his face dissolved as his eyes fell closed. This whole time he’d just needed a lack of barriers between them. 

Again, that feeling of fondness so intense that Damiano wanted to bite down as hard as he could took over. That urge was indicative of orgasam (among other things), and so he tried to push through and maintain a basic level of self control. Now, they were so close that Thomas’ cock was rubbing against Dami’s stomach and leaking pre-cum everywhere. The scent of their slick was already overwhelming, and now that was compounded with salty spink, sweat, and scenting making the room smell sour and heady. Tom’s head lulled backwards and Damiano started thrusting upward, trying to stay in the lead. He wrapped both arms around Thomas’ ribcage and crushed his mate's body against his own. Damiano used the grip to control the sex, holding Thomas still as he drove into him, who let out a little grunt of pleasure each time.  

Dami looked down at Thomas’ cock, receiving sporadic friction where it rubbed between their abdomin’s. The ridge of his shaft started to swell with a knot, and even the minimal contact in that area was intense enough that Thomas was literally drooling. A trail of spit landed on his pubic thicket, glistening where it combined with pre-cum. Dami’s nose was less than an inch away from the right scent gland on Tom’s neck. Can I finish without marking him? For a moment Dami considered stopping the whole thing. If Thomas came now, it would be hard to get another knot and the weight of exhaustion was felt behind his eyelids with every blink.

“Don’t cum, don’t cum,” Dami begged. “Please don’t cum, please don’t, please don’t.” Tom tensed his entire body to hold orgasam back and the resulting pressure internally caused Damiano to finish. He bit into his hand to spare Thomas, and started crying from the pain. He could taste blood and feel it against his lips. 

The second Damiano could relax his jaw he pushed Thomas off and flipped over onto his side to receive a knot. His normally conscientious mate was less than a minute away from orgasam, and pushed in Dami immediately. With his face out of view, Damiano tried to control his breathing as the knot formed, so the amount of emotional intensity wouldn't devolve into a worrying hysteria. Tom is able to knot him immediately following it up by a couple desperate thrusts. He forces himself not to race towards orgasam, stilling inside for a moment while he rearranges their body’s. One arm goes under Dami’s neck, the other around his waist.

“I’m in love with you,” he whispers into his mate’s hair, feeling a rush of serotonin as they bonded. It’s the inexplicable urge to become part of the other because there is no close enough. He wanted to melt into Damiano, like butter left out to soften too long. Thomas resumes movements, hips stuttering as he tries to slow things down and fails. The splash of hot spunk behind Damiano’s belly button, should ground him and Thomas tries to help by reiterating his earlier words.

“I’m yours, I’m yours,” he chants, rubbing his omega’s chest soothingly as he ejaculates inside him. Of course this does nothing but further trigger Damiano’s emotional response to being unable to mark his mate. By bringing them even closer, bonding has made Damiano more aware of the excruciating distance between them. He makes an ugly, despairing sound that isn’t even immediately recognizable as a sob. 

“Damia? Cucciolo?” Thomas props himself up, looking over Damiano’s shoulder to his face which is streaked with tears. Another sob rips from his mouth and he holds his injured hand up to catch it.

“Woah, what's wrong? What –” he moves to pull out so he can properly evaluate the situation, which prompts his omega to make a desperate screech and grip his thigh so he can’t move.

“No! No!!” His voice is shredded, there's not a hint of self awareness. It's the most intense longing combined with the most potent joy and saiation. Damiano is overflowing with feeling.

“Okay! Okay, I’m sorry! I won’t move, I promise.” He settles against Dami, hooking his top leg over, which gives him something to hold onto. “I’m reaching over to grab the comforter,” Tom narrates, throwing it over them. “What just happened? Did I hurt you?” He forces his tone to stay level. 

“No, you didn’t,” Dami sniffles, trying to stop a cry from ripping forth. “I bit my hand, so I – so I didn’t, um,” sob “mark you.” Sob. “But I really wish I could have,” sob. “I’ve always wanted to and now it’s really, really,” sob, “difficult not to.” Thomas processes the words, kissing Damiano’s cheek a couple times.

“So you’re crying because you’re emotionally overwhelmed, not because something went wrong a moment ago?”

“Sex with you is basically perfect. I never thought I’d cry this much over really amazing sex. I never thought I’d cry this much, period. Ugh!” Dami wipes his face with the back of his uninjured hand. “I’d tell you I’m not usually like this, but…”

“But I already know.”

“Yeah.”

“Because I know you, seeing as we’re officially boyfriends and all that”

“Yeah.” Damiano is smiling now, lacing his fingers through Thomas’. He takes two deep breaths, letting the second out through his mouth.

“Whew! What the fuck,” he mutters, settling. It seems that they’ve just taken the long road to afterglow, because this is a response to sex that Thomas is very familiar with. Dami seems to actually relax back into the bed, and chuckles self consciously. 

“I must be a great boyfriend, randomly giving you two minutes of the most extreme emotional response you’ve ever seen in your life, then just moving on.” He rolls his eyes at himself, which Thomas doesn’t like very much. This emotional dysregulation could be from a dozen perfectly valid things: beginning of a new relationship, terminating a mate, getting a new mate, enduring physical abuse, being reminded of past trauma, having your home made inhospitable, being removed from your nest, the desire to mark, having your mark denied, exhaustion, malnourishment and dehydration. By the time Thomas has listed all these off in his head, Damiano is struggling to keep his eyes open, the knot doing the trick.

“I don’t mind at all,” Thomas whispers, pecking Dami's scent gland experimentally. “Sleep now. Talk Tomorrow. Love you.” Thomas reaches behind himself to turn off the lamp.

“Love you,” his omega repeats.

Notes: Ah! I know its not what you wanted, but I was going through my Masterlist and realized the link for this chapter isn't active because I never fucking posted it!

[writersblockiskillingme]

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

I’m in my delusional era

Only Angel | Damiano David

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

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

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

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

I saw this angel

I really saw an angel

Open up your eyes, shut your mouth and see

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

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

And there's nothing I can do about it

Damiano could still remember the first time he met her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Broke a finger knocking on your bedroom door

I got splinters in my knuckles crawling across the floor

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

But I think that's what I like about it

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

One night stands.

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

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

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

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

As I went about my business through the warning signs

End up meeting in the hallway every single time

And there's nothing we can do about it

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And why is that, angel."

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

That's all he needed.

Told it to her brother and she told it to me

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

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

And there's nothing she can do about it

Hey, hey

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

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

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

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

"Arch your back for me, angel."

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

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

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

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

"Ah- I-"

"Do they!?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl."

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

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

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

Wanna die, wanna die, wanna die tonight

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She's an angel

Only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My only angel

She's an angel

My-my-my only angel

->

->

->

TAGLIST

@opal-rugger

[bulletproofbandits]

LIVE TONITE ❗

flyer i made for the Bulletproof Bandits band au i’ve been talking a lot about with @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands <3

[capuletoo]

Blue Valentine — Thomas Raggi

—note: it’s been so since i wrote something for måneskin…please please request something because i wanna write for them but have no ideas

—TW: stealing hehe, fluff | thomas raggi x fem!reader

—summary: After a party the reader meets a boy with a motorcycle

—words: 1.3k

THE WORDS IN ITALICS ARE LYRICS OF THE SONG ‘BETWEEN THE BARS’ BY ELLIOTT SMITH

You end up leaving with regret. You don't want to go back to the party. In addition, the effects of alcohol are beginning to dissipate: You tremble with cold and your head throws you atrociously. Arms crossed in a vain attempt to comfort and venture randomly into the street. There are not even cats, it seems that you are alone. Footsteps resonate in silence.

“Drink up baby,

stay up all night with the things you could do,

you won't but you might…”

You take the opportunity to sing, just to warm up.

“The potential you be that you never see,

the promises you'll only make. Drink up one more time,

and forget all about the pressure of days.

Do what I say and I'll make you okay,

I'll drive away the images stuck in your head…”

The coolness of the street and the dull noise of cars in the distance take a weight off your shoulders. You feel strangely lighter. Maybe because you are far away from the party, or perhaps because you're disappointed.

“People you've been before that you don't want around anymore…” A second voice is added to yours. “They push each other and won't bend to your will, I'll keep them still.”

The voice is clear and suave. You immediately turn around to see a slender silhouette wedged against a black motorcycle a few metres away. Same black shirt that reads joy division same face. He's the boy with the red chipped guitar

“You have a pretty voice” he compliments. “Why didn't you go on stage earlier?”

“I don't sing in public.” You bite your lower lip, unsure of his intentions. After all, you don't know him.

“It's a shame.” He detaches himself from the machine and advances nonchalantly a few steps, hands in his pockets.

“I didn't hear you with the noise there was,” you said.

“I know, it was hell, we couldn't play.” You remembered how his bandmates were angry at everyone, voices louder than the strings of the guitar, the bass.

“Are there many of you?” You say, trying to convince him that you didn't really pay attention to the small improvised stage, but you remembered every face that was up there with him.

“Yeah, I have bandmates”

“Oh, so you're a real artist?” He smiles and seems to understand a joke that escapes.

“Not you?” It's your turn to smile.

“ It´s not my field.”

“I would say that…” He tilts his head and pretends to think. “Are you writing?”

You nod your head and then sniff. The freshness is starting to feel serious, if you don't go home soon, you'll get cold. “What betrayed me?”

“I don't know, I guessed it as soon as I saw you.” He says and glances back at his motorcycle. “How do you get home?” He asks without giving up his half-smile, a child's smile.

A sigh leaves your lips. “I'm supposed to spend the night with a friend, my father is coming to pick me up in the morning” a tone so bleak that he raises his eyebrows.

“Did you leave the party early?”

“I was fed up.” You rub the floor with the tip of your boot. “It's only one o'clock in the morning.”

Your gazes meet, and you can already tell the next question he's about to ask, and you already know the answer you would give him.

“Do you want to go for a ride?

[...]

The wind caressed your cheek and dragged the scent of his jacket. A fragrance, both intriguing and luxurious, you could recognize the notes of wood.

As you held him by the waist, the engine roared to life, and the motorcycle surged forward , carrying you both into the night. The cool breeze whipped against your face, ruffling your hair and awakening your senses. The city lights straked past, creating a blur of colors.

On his back you could feel the vibrations of the mototcycle beneath you, the ehythmic rumble resonating through your body. It was a thrilling sensation. Yet, being with him, it felt oddly liberating.

Your breath feels upside down, it makes you forget that you have no idea where he is taking you, forget that you don't know the time he will bring you back. Everything is fine, for the moment. You want to laugh, dance and sing. The feeling of speed reminds you of cycling without hands when you were younger.

When we descend, the stars are reflected on the river that runs along Verona. Thomas - that's his name - takes a bottle of white wine out of the trunk of his motorcycle. So you walk in the cool night, bottle in hand. He doesn't think about the small size for a wine or the fact that you don't drink. He doesn't tease you, he's not heavy like all the others are. He drinks quietly, from time to time, observes and listens and you imitate him.

Most of the noise comes from the nearby cafes and bars.

He proposes that we rent a boat to cross the river. I accept but warn him that you don't know how to swim. He makes no remarks, he is not surprised. And even if you knew how to, you doubt that there will be people renting at this hour.

“I will save you if you fall, " he just answers by catching the oars on each side of the gondola. There’s no one there. You can’t help the feeling of stealing.

So you sail on the shore. The noise of the city fades and the crickets are singing. Fireflies appear. They form dozens of small lights that are all reflected in Thomas' eyes. His eyes whose intensity is close to the abyss. You don't see the end. It's beautiful, it's undeniable.

He is calm too, and his half smile is similar to that of a child. You have never seen anyone like this boy before. His smell embalmed the air again and you want to fill your lungs with it. He is still stoned, which dilates his pupils in an exaggerated way. He begins to hum a melody and the sound of his voice transports you elsewhere.

“Are you writing song right now?” He asks suddenly.

“It happens sometimes” You said, keeping your eyes closed.

“Give me a title you wrote.” His voice is getting closer.

“Blue Valentine.”

“I love it” His breath is mentholated and your eyelids remain closed. “What is it about?”

Now you feel him distinctly, his smell. It surrounds you like a halo, you bathe right in it: you are in Paradise. And the sound of his voice, it is almost made up of material, you can almost feel it.

“From a slightly chaotic girl. Of a love that is not enough.” You refuse to open your eyes, you don't know why, you have the impression that they are welded. His face on yours. A warm breath hugs your cheeks. You feel it very close, very close.

“And what is the last verse?” He moves his lips while talking, and touches yours.

“The bread will be my redemption.” His lips gently and voluptuously crush on yours. You can feel a smile and wonder if it's about the kiss or if he's making fun of the last verse.

An electric current runs through and gently ignites. His lips are delicately sweet. The contact does not last more than a second but it is enough to turn your head. Colors dance under your eyelids, his mouth is like two petals. He marries mine perfectly. So perfect that it's almost unreal.

Your eyes are open: he is only a few centimeters from you and his look is so intense that you feel something melting. His face is too perfect, he's too close, you are going to erupt. His blonde locks, his smell is too stunning, even his Adam's apple seems to make you look.

Without a word, Thomas leans in once again, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. The world around you fades away as you lose yourself in the electric embrace. It feels like a spark igniting a fire within you, a rush of emotions surging through your veins.

As the kiss lingers, you feel a warmth spreading throughout your body. It's not just the physical contact but also the emotional connection that seems to be growing stronger with each passing second. In this moment, you forget about the regrets and disappointments of the party.

When you finally break apart, a sense of exhilaration and wonder lingers in the air. You both catch your breath, your eyes locked in a gaze that speaks volumes. The electric energy continues to crackle between you, fueling an unspoken desire for more.

Who is this boy and what is he doing? You look at each other like this for several seconds that seem endless. And finally you put a word about the sensation that passes through you: electric.

[fruitpunchnoice]

[wh0r3-for-older-men]

I really wanna write some more fanfiction but I’m currently in the process of transitioning between obsessions but it currently seems like I'm stuck between the two of them? And the problem is I don't have the motivation to write for the first one but don't know enough yet to write for the second one. It's so frustrating. So I mean I'll force myself to write for the first one but only if people request. (Maneskin btw please request)

What I might do is write some short ones or some preferences and post those to get more people to request. Honestly though, it's so hot right now (32-34 degrees celsius) and my brain is mushed because I'm not accustomed to this heat. I’m going home in four days though but unfortunately I won’t have time to write because I’m going out with friends and also I’m gonna be studying (for exams) because I currently have three Es (i think it’s that) and really want to actually go to college.

As well as the fact that I managed to go this whole time just tanning and then somehow sunburnt so goddamn bad I look like a tomato. I’m going to try and write through the year but my entire schedule is prolly gonna be school —> home —> studying then on weekends a mix between studying and going out and to gigs and stuff.

Anyways i've been working on my italian (yes ik i should already be able to speak it but my nonni gave up ok) and I can still barely speak it. My comprehension is defo better though.

Anyways, buongiorno/ goodbyeee (not a direct translation btw)

also im begging u guys to please request so i can give you content

[mshalfemptygirl]

GUYYYYYYSSSSSSSS  🤯 🤯 🤯 I GONNA SEE MÅNESKIN ON NOVEMBER 3RD AAAAAAAAAAAA OMG I CAN’T BELIVE THAT I GONNA SEE THEM AND ALSO SING THE SONGS IT’S FEELS LIKE A DREAM IM SO READY FOR RUSH WORLD TOUR  💞 💞 💞  THEY ARE SO HOT IM DYING  🥵 🥵 🥵

[tempobrucera]

Linger

Pairing: Thomas x Reader Wordcount: 2.2k Summary: 5 times you want to ask Thomas to stay the night but don’t + 1 time Thomas stays Warnings: Fluff, some yearning - I guess A/N: Short and sweet (short isn’t what I am known for and the other ones are getting much longer again) and probably not really good but I need to get myself back to writing. So many ideas are still waiting for me, next ones are gonna be another Thomas (smut) one and some more poly fics.

Add yourself to my taglist.  / Masterlist

.#####.

One

You can’t really remember when you thought about it the first time. About Thomas staying the night. Thomas in your bed, next to you, keeping you warm. The first time you thought about asking him to stay you can remember however. 

After everyone already left Thomas decided to stay.

“I could have another drink,” he had smiled, “And another cigarette.”

And he stayed for another cigarette and drink right at your kitchen window. Lit cigarette in one hand, drink in the other. Your eyes followed his movements, how he moved the cigarette to his lips. How he inhaled, then exhaled. 

Internally you sighed, aware of your staring. 

First there was Thomas, who leaned outside the window, looking up at the sky with a frown. Just before a raindrop hit your own face. It started to rain down heavily in a few seconds. Thomas flicked the cigarette out of the window before closing it.

“Do you have an umbrella for me?”

You did just shake your head, you don’t have one. You gave it to a friend a while ago and have not seen it since. There was another sigh from Thomas. 

That’s the first time you thought about asking him to stay the night. The image how you cuddle close, watch something silly before falling asleep, how you could touch him without worry. All the things you’re too afraid to ask for, you weren’t quite sure what he would think about it, if he would be surprised, confused, maybe even uncomfortable.

“Time to get wet then.” 

Thomas smiled at you before pulling you into a hug for a bit longer than usual.

Two

The next time it happens is about a month later. Thomas being home from tour for a few days and coming around when some friends are over for dinner. He brings a bottle of white wine. 

It’s a normal night, laughter, drinks, Thomas who compliments your pasta in front everyone, spaghetti still in his mouth. It has you blushing. 

You got closer over the last weeks. You feel like you are becoming a friend to him. But with that your longing also intensifies. A burning little flame somewhere close to your heart. You’re surprised that no one has called you out about it by now. Sometimes you can’t take your eyes off him, when he laughs or when he’s silly and cute. When he pouts at Vic. When he plays guitar which someone just put into his arms in a bar. Someone should have noticed by now but even Thomas himself seems to be oblivious to it. Sometimes he just looks back at you - and smiles.

Once again he stays behind again when everyone leaves. Even helps you clean dishes, hums some melody next to you. He looks tired, there are dark circles under his eyes. You want to brew him a cup of tea, wrap him into a blanket and wait until he falls asleep. But there’s that fear of him looking at you out of big eyes and to scare him away. That he could think that you’re too clingy. The fear of the awkwardness the question could bring.

He laughs about a stupid joke you tell him when you’re back in the living room. He looks good sprawling his long limbs all over your sofa and he doesn’t look like he’s planning on leaving soon. It’s already two o’clock in the morning. And for the first time you’re talking about something that goes deeper, that feels like a connection. 

You want to ask him to stay when he hugs you goodbye two hours later. But you don’t. And Thomas leaves, you can feel the brush of his lips against your cheek.

Three

The third time has you laughing and Thomas muttering under his breath. Thomas just came back inside from smoking on your balcony. 

“What did you do?” You laugh.

He’s only in one shoe - the other one missing.

“Fell through the railing when I stretched my legs.” 

“You don’t want to get it back?”

“And then some weirdo grabbed it and ran away.”

You snort. 

“For real?”

“For real.”

He sits down next to you and puts his head on your shoulder. He started to be closer to you, also on a physical level. It makes your cheeks heat up and sets a colony of insects free in your chest. Everytime his fingertips are brushing your skin, everytime he hugs you close, when he whispers something against your shoulder and you can feel his breath. 

“I guess, you don’t have a pair to spare in my size?” He laughs and gets you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“No,” you laugh as well. But you could stay here. At least until the morning and someone could fetch you a pair, you think. But all you say is: “Sorry.”

“Looks like I’m gonna walk home barefoot then.”

Four

Another night, another night you want to ask Thomas to stay. 

It’s the last night of Sanremo. Vic is lounging on your couch with a drink in hand while Ethan and Thomas are sitting on the floor, Thomas has his head in Ethan’s lap until Vic throws a pillow at his head.

“You're going to be the next Damiano?” She laughs at him. 

Damiano left an hour ago, his social battery running low. Vic rolled her eyes and made fun of him not helping the general situation until Ethan told her off and Damiano decided to flee out of your home. Now she’s throwing another pillow against Thomas' head. He looks up at her grumpily and the next cushion hits him square in the face. Ethan catches the next one while Thomas scrambles up from the floor, takes his drink and ends half on top of you not even a second later. 

You can see Ethan and Vic look at each other but they don’t comment. Thomas only cuddles closer and you brush your fingers through his hair, scratch his scalp. He sleeps through Vic jumping on the sofa, Ethan who moved up to sit next her telling her to fuck off when she jumps on his thighs and both yelling at the screen in Italian. He only wakes up when you whisper into his ear.

“Who won?” He yawns.

There’s no time to answer him as Vic already screams Ice Cream time and Ethan tries to shush her.

“You’re like a five year old on a sugar high already,” Thomas mumbles. Somehow Ethan still trudges to your freezer and hands out cold sweetness to each of you.

Thomas feels like dead weight on your legs when Vic and Ethan go to get their jackets and shoes. Ethan comes back with Thomas’ stuff which he dumps on Vic when he sees that Thomas doesn’t move.

“Thomas, c’mon.” Ethan mutters. “Or do I have to carry you out of here?”

You want to say that he can stay. In your lap, just like he is. Half asleep but Ethan and Victoria are both looking at you and everything you want to say dies somewhere in your throat. 

Thomas stretches his arms out to Ethan who picks him up with a sigh.

“Can some of you idiots please open the door for me and the bigger idiot in my arms?”

Five 

It’s already half a year since the thought crossed your mind the first time. 

They just came off stage and Thomas hugs you as sweaty as he is. Grinning and twirling you around a little bit. You laugh. The moment ends when Damiano gives Thomas a friendly slap to the shoulder and he lets you down. 

There’s dinner, drinks and dancing when they’re all showered and in their day clothes again. Thomas who chases after you on the sidewalk when you go back to the hotel. Thomas who weasels himself into your room before you can protest, throws himself on your bed - shoes still on, turns on the TV and grabs for the menu that’s on the nightstand.

“We just had a three course meal?”

“That was hours ago,” he looks at you offended, “I’m still growing.”

“Where are you still growing?”

He looks back at you and blushes. You’re sure you’re getting redder than him. Before one of you can say something Thomas buries his nose in the menu and you lock yourself in the bathroom. 

When you come back Thomas is sprawled out on your bed munching on some steak fries. He is completely occupied by the documentary that’s on TV. He only looks at you when you crawl into bed next to him, he gives you a slice of apple cake.

“You said cake is always a good snack,” he says before you can question it.

He’s right, you did say it but that was months ago. 

The point of the night where you can’t keep your eyes open anymore reaches sooner than you want to. Thomas moves next to you, takes the plate out of your hand, covers you up with the blankets. You force yourself to open your eyes and for one silly second you think he’s going to kiss you. He’s only kissing your cheek like he did so many times the last few months. 

“I should leave.”

But he’s still lingering on your bed next to you. As all the times before you want to tell him to stay. You’re sure you’ll feel lonely the second he closes the door behind himself, you would love his company and waking up wouldn’t be such a tragedy when you would wake up next to him. But there’s still the worry to freak him out, that you’re too desperate. 

“Good night.”

You can hear the almost silent click of the doo that announces that he’s gone.

Plus One

It happens again when Vic shows up at your place for a movie night. To your surprise she has Thomas in tow who gives you a small wave and a smile before he bites his lips. 

“Brought a chaperone,” Vic looks at you apologetically, “Damiano said I need to be supervised. No party, no fun.” She rolls her eyes. You’re asking yourself why Thomas of all people has to play the babysitter, it’s not like he’s known for saying no to a party or a wild night out. Maybe sometimes more tamed than her because as he said he loves his bed more than Vic would ever love a guy but still not the person you would have expected to look after her. 

“I thought we were only watching a film and drinking some wine anyways?”

“Great,” Vic says and ushers you into your own flat, “Thomas loves some wine and watching a movie.”

He looks like he wants to slap her and you’re sure he’s communicating to her without words, just with a look, at this moment. You raise an eyebrow but it is ignored.

You don’t think about it anymore when you’re all spread out across the living room. Wine and snacks between you. Thomas ends up with chips crumbs all over his shirt. Vic shakes her head: “Can’t take you anywhere, you’re a pig.”

Thomas just shrugs. 

“At least you’re a good reminder to myself why I shouldn’t go back to men. Your species is horrendous.”

He flips her off. 

Half way through the film they’re having another argument, Vic calling him a disgrace. You’re getting more wine. 

By the end of the film Thomas is asleep on your sofa while Victoria and you are sitting in your armchairs. Without thinking you get a thin blanket to wrap it over him. You blush when Victoria laughs. 

“Was a great evening,” Vic says when she gets up, “but I have to leave.”

When Victoria hugs you goodbye you finally ask: “And … What’s with him?”

“I’m certain he can find the way to the door himself. Or he doesn’t.” She winks. Then she’s gone.

You can’t bring it over yourself to wake him up just to kick him out. Which is why you let him in his peaceful slumber, you press a kiss to his forehead before you go to bed.

You almost scream when you wake up in the middle of the night, someone behind you in your bed. You’re close to a heart attack and the panic sets in.

“Sorry,” Thomas whispers, “Shit, sorry, it’s just me.”

“God, you scared me.”

“That was stupid,” he admits, “Sorry, sorry, that was a stupid idea.”

Only now you realise that Thomas has his arm wrapped around your waist, his face buried on your shoulder. 

“Sorry, I didn’t want to invade your space like this,” he says, “But … Can I stay?”

“I would like that,” you say when you turn in his arms. Thomas aims to kiss your cheek when you move the tiniest bit and his lips land on yours, your hand in his tousled hair.

He looks at you.

“Sorry, sorry,” now it’s your turn to apologise, “Sorry.”

Before you can flee from your own bed, he wraps one of his legs around you and gets you to kiss him again, this time deeper than before. 

“That means …,” he sounds a bit out of breath, “I don’t have to go back to the couch?”

.#####.

END.

.#####.

Taglist:  @writingmaneskin, @oro-e-diamanti, @iamtashaquinn, @teenyweenynightghost, @findaqueenwithoutaking, @foreveryking-thatdied, @findoutwhoyougonnacall, @maneskinbrainrot, @little-moonbeam-666, @ethaneskin, @maneskin-dimensione, @l0standn0tf0und, @butkutee, @gr8rainbowpunk, @maneslut, @maneskintifoso, @weareoddlydrawn, @hiraetheral, @imjustanerdwholikestoread, @cuzimitaliano, @hopelessromantic727, @dating-villain, @maneskinsimp, @till-you-scream-and-cry, @wonderlandishell, @h1ppieth1ngs, @paralianeyes, @livvyysstuff, @que–sera–sera, @romanoffswoman, @lovelyy-moonlight, @crwnnjules, @roisinlove123, @whitewolf-writes, @lizzylynch1, @fugg1977, @maneaterdoll, @imposter-27, @cheese-toastie-11​

[hxllfires-gifs]

PAIRING. thomas raggi x fem!reader

SUMMARY. y/n comes to terms with the fact that she’s bisexual but finds it difficult to tell her lovely boyfriend, but as everyone would expect, he fully supports her.

WORD COUNT. 914

THE SOUND OF a sigh filled the room as Y/N L/N paced back and forth, thought after thought running wild inside of her brain. Her boyfriend Thomas was coming home from a couple of months of touring the world with his band. The girl was beyond proud of him, but she could not think about him right then. Thinking about him brought forth anxiety as she had something important to tell him.

She had always questioned her sexuality but only recently came to terms with it. She was bisexual and while she knew Thomas was going to be supportive, she could not shake the nervousness inside of her chest. It wasn’t necessarily him or their friends that made her nervous, more-so the public.

There was a part of her that worried that things would change once she came out, as crazy as it may seem to some people. It was pretty scary but she tried to push down the negative feelings. She eventually stopped pacing once she heard the sound of a door opening and closing, not realizing Thomas had gotten home until then.

“Amore mio,” the Italian called out while he shrugged off his jacket.

“In here,” she responded. She attempted to hide the fact that she had been stressed out and anxious, but didn’t know if he would believe it.

One thing about Thomas Raggi was that he was so attuned to her feelings and the tells her body would give when she was not feeling positively. That’s one thing that she loved about him, even though there was a long list of reasons. He was always there for her and they supported each other so she felt a little silly for being so fearful. She just couldn’t help it.

Thomas walked into their shared room, a smile appearing on his lips at the sight of his girlfriend. Her H/C hair was tied up into a messy bun and she was sporting a pair of shorts and a blue tank top. He always loved seeing her looking so comfortably. She was the most stunning person to him and he was always quick to show her these feelings.

He walked closer to Y/N and hugged her for the first time in months, closing his eyes and enjoying the moment. He had missed her more than words could express so of course the first thing he had to do was hold her. However, his moment of peace wasn’t long once he felt her hesitation to return the affection. He pulled away and furrowed his brows.

He confusingly asked, “Are you alright? You usually are happier to see me. I didn’t do anything wrong and forget, did I?”

“No baby, you didn’t do anything.” She was quick to calm down his rising worry.

The girl turned and went to sit down on their bed, closing her eyes for a second to calm herself. She opened her eyes and was met with her boyfriend sitting next to her, a gleam of concern in his eyes.

“N/N, is everything okay? Did something happen while I was gone?” Thomas asked a little too fast but she was able to understand each word.

Y/N turned her head and their eyes made contact for a split second before she looked away. “No? Yes? I don’t know, it’s not all that important I guess. There’s just been a lot on my mind but it’s not anything that anyone has done. I’ve just come to terms with this part of myself that I wanted to hide for the longest time.”

When Thomas still had confusion painted on his face, she knew that she would have to elaborate further. She took his left hand in her own, lacing their fingers together. She looked at him again and was ready to get everything over with.

“I’ve come to terms with the fact that I am bisexual. I’ve been nervous to come out and actually say those words. I wasn’t nervous to tell you specifically because you’re the most supportive, but not everyone is like that. I worry that people will take my sexuality and turn it into something negative when it comes to you.”

She continued sharing her feelings after pausing for a moment. “I mean, there has always been a stigma that bisexual people cheat, and I don’t want people saying that about me and our relationship.”

Thomas kissed the top of his girlfriend’s head and held her other hand too. He felt happy that she trusted him enough to be open with this information but he hated that she was thinking about things that would’ve never crossed his mind.

“Mia cara, I’m so proud of you. I know it’s not the easiest thing but I adore you. I don’t want you worrying about something like that because I know you love me. I love you too and I trust you. Your sexuality is a beautiful part of you. There will always be people who don’t understand but you have to ignore it.”

He raised one of her hands up and kissed the back of it. He looked back at his girlfriend and noticed the tears in her eyes.

“How did I get so lucky?” Y/N asked.

Thomas chuckled and shook his head. “I think I’m the lucky one. How about we watch a movie to cheer you up?”

“That sounds great,” Y/N agreed.

The couple spent the rest of the day in each other’s arms, watching movies and enjoying each other’s company.

AUTHORS NOTE! this is an older imagine that i’d written a couple months ago. i have a eurovision imagines book published on wattpad and i finally decided to post some of them on here since there isn’t that many none-måneskin related ones. yes, i started with a måneskin member, but i do have a lot of others for loreen, bojan, käärijä, etc. if you see any typos, please ignore them because this was written months ago and just copied from my notes. thanks for reading!

[filthforfriends]

The Hybrid (Part 3)

Read parts 1 & 2 on my Masterlist

Damiano x Thomas deranged Omegaverse

Word Count: 5.8k

CW: Gratuitous, self-indulgent, sacrilegious hurt/comfort mentioning domestic abuse

Vic: Weird question but is Damia with you by any chance? He stood me up for lunch today & he’s not answering his phone. 

Vic: Hey just remembered you’re working, sorry! I’ll just go bother him he probably forgot.

Vic: Oh my god Thomas call me

“Hey its, Victoria, call me when you get this is really important. It’s about Damiano, the security force is here.” 

“Hey it's me again. I’m taking him to the hospital and he’s asking for you. I don’t think he’s too hurt.”

Vic: The doctors are evaluating Damiano (check your fucking voice messages). Why aren’t you answering??? I know you’re off work

Vic: HES ASKING FOR YOU

“Thomas, I can’t deal with this alone. So call me soon, or I’ll call Ethan. You better have an excellent fucking excuse.”

“Hey, it's Ethan. Victoria told me to tell you to call her. What's going on?”

Ethan: Is Dami hurt? Victoria sounded really upset, but she said she needed your help. Let me know that everything is okay, please.

Thomas had silenced his phone for a private music therapy session. He ended up talking to the parents for 45 minutes afterwards, giving them assurance more than anything else. Feeling excellent about his day, Thomas turned his phone back on to check his messages and had an actual panic attack. He crouched down, aching pain in his chest, feeling sick, and called Victoria. 

“What the fu -”

“Work ran late, I’m so sorry. Where is he?”

“He insisted we go back to his place, but he’s been regressing. Like he’s not even verbal.”

“I’m coming now!” Thomas tripped over his own feet, grabbing his keys, wallet, coat, and scarf from various places in the room.

“Uh, okay. I’m - I’m not sure what to do right now. He demanded we go home, but maybe I shouldn't have listened to him. I just wasn’t sure what, what…” Her voice breaks and Thomas can barely breathe.

“What the fuck happened!?” He takes the steps two at a time, while trying to stuff everything into his pockets.

“Damiano basically rid every trance of Samuel’s scent from the apartment and his nest smells like someone else.” Thomas’ stomach dropped. For a second he struggled to speak.

“Wh – wha – but they’re not exclusive.”

“Yeah, but they had a fight and Damiano told him to just get out, that he didn’t want to bother with the dynamic anymore. Said he didn’t get anything out of it, and he’d lost interest.” Victoria paused, sighing, and her tone changed. “It was all very sudden, I think he just snapped, it's not like there was much romance there. So Sam got all his shit together, but he roughed Dami up in the process.”

“What the –” Thomas drops his phone on the seat, while trying to maneuver everything into the car. “What happened? What – is he okay?”

“Bruises, and his face is a little messed up. Almost got a hairline fracture on his ribs. I didn’t think Samuel was the type.” But I did. The tears burned in Thomas’ eyes as he drove out of the parking lot. He should have known when Damiano flinched, he should have known. He should have pressed the issue.

“I didn’t think Dami was the type to stay with an abuser. He’s so strong.” Even as he said the words he hated himself. What kind of victim blaming bullshit mentality was that? No matter how powerful he may be, Damiano was an omega first and foremost. Forced into a subservient role by society, even he was subject to abuse. Thomas let out a sob on the phone.

“Hey he’ll be healed in a couple weeks.”

“No he won’t,” Thomas says through gritted teeth. “You don’t just get over that.” Despite himself, he lets out another sob and almost hits someone’s bumper.

“Hey Thomas, hey –”

“I should have answered the phone.” The visual of Damiano, in a hospital bed, asking for him, wounded and scared, plagues him. Thomas had to grip the steering wheel tighter because his hands were shaking. “I failed him, I fucking failed him. He was hurt and I wasn’t there. I should have known.”

“Hey Tom, it's not like you ignored this on purpose.”

“He was asking for me, and I wasn’t fucking here.” His voice lilts upwards at the end and cracks. He has to slow down because of the tears. “It’s my fault.”

“Thomas, just get here. You didn’t do anything wrong.” Oh, but I did. 

“Okay, I’m gonna hang up, so I don’t crash.”

“Okay, we’ll see you soon. Breathe.” Thomas’ tunnel vision narrows as he bounds up the stairs, wrestling with the door. The lock had been knocked loose and shoved back into place.

“Damiano!” he calls out, already knowing where he is. Victoria is crouched down next to the closet, where the door is cracked open. Her mascara has long since dried on her cheeks and she looks shaken. Thomas drops to the floor and sees Damiano curled in his nest. He’s using the corner that contains Thomas’ dirty clothes as a pillow. Dami was trying his best to self-soothe, and Thomas’ scent was his mechanism. Yet, he’d had to go to the hospital without him. Having a fork put through Tom’s hand would be less painful than this visual and the knowledge that accompanied it. 

“Cucciolo, hey, it’s me” he whispers, sliding the closet door open. Thomas crawls forward into Damiano’s nest, placing his limbs carefully.

“Tom, don’t -” disturb his nest. Victoria stops herself, as she places the new scent. Something so closely adjacent to Thomas’ that it couldn’t be anyone else.

“Thomas, what the fuck is that?” 

“I really, really need you to not ask questions,” he emphasizes. “Don’t tell anyone, please, I’ll explain later.” What was worse: his hybrid status being revealed or Damiano being hurt? Thomas rubs his back tentatively, getting ready to curl himself around Dami, who shifts and looks up. 

“Caro mio, I’m so sorry. I would give anything for it to have been me,” Thomas confesses. To take on Damiano’s pain so he didn’t have to bear it: there was nothing more appealing. 

“Tommy?” He sits up, reaching towards him, with grabby hands, showing he wants physical touch. One of Thomas’ hands grasps his thigh and goes around his waist. He maneuvers Damiano onto his lap, but the closet is too dark to see his face. Holding him is like a piece falling into place. It's easier to breathe, Thomas can serve and nurture his omega now. Damiano straddles him, back turned to Victoria, and tucks his head against Thomas' neck. Thomas would do anything for him at this moment. Take a bullet, donate an organ he couldn’t live without, give him the last sip of what in the desert, or simply lay down his life in the place of his omega’s.

“I’ve got him, Vic. You can go, I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before.” As Thomas leans forward, Dami uses the opportunity to wrap his legs around him. 

“Are you sure?” He can see the toll today as taken on her. Knowing its weight, she is resistant to dump it entirely on someone else. 

“Yeah, absolutely.” This task should feel insurmountable, but Thomas is grounded by his role in Dami’s life. This was his intended place in the universe right now, to heal and love Damiano.

“This is exactly where I’m supposed to be,” he affirmed, rocking back and forth soothingly. Damiano would communicate when he was ready. Right now, he just needed to be held and made to feel safe. 

“Okay, if you say so.” Victoria got up and collected herself, pacing through the apartment to locate all her belongings. She poked her head in once more, and lowered her tone to a whisper. 

“How are you so calm?” she hissed, looking genuinely mystified. The answer to that question was more complex than he could explain in an hour, let alone a single sentence.Thomas kissed Dami’s temple a couple times as he thought.

“This feels more organic and affirming to me than anything else.” Victoria wanted to ask why so badly, but held off. “I’ll try explaining it to you another time. For now, I really need you to not tell anyone.”

“Not even Ethan?” Thomas was deciding how to answer this whan Damiano spoke up.

“No one,” he mumbled. Victoria seemed shocked to hear him verbalize at all, and nodded.

“No one,” she agreed. Thomas waited until she was out the door before scenting Dami. Tom tried to think loving, protective thoughts, not pure rage. That wouldn’t help his omega right now. Still, it was difficult not to let poison seep into his mind, fantasies about dismembering Samuel. Damiano moved his head to the other shoulder, allowing Thomas to scent both sides, who fretted over the idea of knotting. If Damiano asked, he wouldn’t be able to get hard given the situation. 

Thomas’ heightened emotions reminded him of Damiano’s ability to help him regulate. During his last rut, he'd worked himself up into such a cloud of anxiety that he was only half present. Dami’s pheromones responded and quelled Thomas’ panic. Lilac was the smell of tranquility. So, he attempted to do the same for his omega. First he tried to evoke feelings of calm within himself, and when that didn’t work he searched for memories of his calmest moments. Chamomile tea with his mother at eight years old while she read him a story. Laying under his grandfather's piano while he played The Nutcracker.

He checked in with Damiano, who’s breathing was still ragged and who had twisted the fabric of Thomas’ sweater into his fists, hanging on for dear life. What was calming to Damiano? They’d spent their young adult lives not being too close. Their connection couldn’t be too intense or too satiating, or too natural. Otherwise Thomas’ hybrid status could be discovered. 

Collectively, he’d spent hours watching Damiano when he couldn’t explore his feelings. Watched him sing, cry, argue, giggle, sleep, rant, sweat, and cum so hard he shook in Thomas’ arms. He’d watched him brush his teeth, restart his household’s router while cursing, dig through a pile of laundry for a sock, cook elaborate dishes then burn his hand and whine incessantly. He’d watched him wipe jizz from his abdomen, brace for the pain of a tattoo, lose his keys, fight with the clasp of a necklace, and struggle to open his favorite sauce because the seal on the jar was always so tight. 

He came to know Damiano so well that Thomas took him into those fantasies. He and Damiano crawled under the grand piano, lay on their backs and felt the music move in the floor. They climbed out his parents bedroom window and onto the roof, watching the stars and space shuttles blink while smoking weed. They sat on his bed and listened to Spanish guitar tapes until their eyes grew heavy. They took a freezing cold walk on a coastal beach in the middle of winter, frigid wind biting at their cheeks.

Thomas took him into his earliest memory of serenity: a yellow comforter and soft lighting. It could have been a blanket fort or his parents bed, or the bottom of a linen closet. It was abstract, but something as deep in a person's psyche is bound to be. He took Damiano there, where it was warm, insolated, snug, and smelled of lavender drying sheets. Thomas kept him there, right next to his heart. As he held him, Thomas could feel that Damiano’s body had gone quiet, finally soothed.

It wasn’t without effort, however. Emulating calm for Damiano evoked the same mental exhaustion as doing calculus. It took all Thomas’ focus to hold steady, but it was worth it because Dami felt decent enough to scent him back. He started shifting in Thomas’ arms, no longer hunkered down for survival. Damiano sat up, forehead and nose pressed to his alpha’s, whose eyes were screwed shut in concentration.

“I’m okay.” His voice came out broken, Dami hadn’t spoken for hours between the tears. Thomas took this as permission to drop the mirage, and did so with a gasp, like breaking through the surface of water.

“That was so beautiful, thank you,” he cooed, a hand sneaking up the base of Thomas’ skull and into his hair. “How did you do that?”

“I just knew that you needed it, so I did. I’m not really sure where it came from,” he confesses. Even with his face shrouded in shadow, Thomas can see the wonder in Damiano's features. In those same features he searches for the damage that Samuel’s fist caused. Thomas must look sick with guilt, an expression so incongruous with Damiano’s affectionate admiration. Dami��s face falls into a scowl, realizing his former mate is soiling this moment as well.

“Thomas can we please just forget about this? My life isn’t ruined because I got punched one time. Remember how I used to wrestle with other kids when I was younger. I’m fine, I promise.” Damiano seems to actually believe the excuses he placates Thomas with.

“Get into the light,” Thomas orders in a monotone, his mouth clenched into a straight line and pursed in repressed anger.

“What?”

“Let me see you in the light, I want to see your face.” Damiano makes a noise of dissent as Thomas throws open the closet door and partially disentangles himself to reach the light switch. When he turns back to his omega it's very clear that he was hit more than once. Damiano has a swollen cheek, a cut right above his temple, and a bruise on his swollen jaw. He winces, not in pain but in the knowledge of what Thomas is currently looking at.

“Okay, one fight, but I’m still fine. Just ignore the bruises.”

“Ignore the bruises?” Thomas seethes. “You’re lying to me.” He didn’t want to direct any negativity towards Damiano, but out of all the situations he’d anticipated outright denial was not one of them.

“Everything’s fucking fine! I’m not lying to you,” he insists.

“Pull up your shirt,” Thomas deadpans. 

“What does –”

“If everything was fine the security force wouldn’t have shown up. The lock wouldn’t be half torn off the door. Vic wouldn’t have taken you to the hospital. So show me your ribs, now.” 

“I don’t have to prove anything to you!” Damiano shouts, pulling as far away from Thomas as possible while still remaining seated on his lap. 

“I know that, cucciolo! Because this is my fault, I did this!”

“Thomas, in what world –”

“You flinched, okay? You flinched that first morning when we were mating on the bedroom floor. And afterwards you didn’t seem to remember so a part of me didn’t want to deal with it because I couldn’t fathom existing in a world where you were anything less than cherished. It’s not a fight, Damiano, it's abuse! I know it happened more than once so if you’re honest with anyone let it be me.” Thomas was out of breath by his last word. The wave of guilt that stifled him settled in the pit of Tom’s stomach. This was not how he wanted to deal with this. He wanted to give a perfectly calibrated and reassuring reaction, where he held complete control over his emotions. Instead, he’s trying not to cry.

“Damiano, please forgive me,” he begs. 

“You won't get it, because,” he sighs, not in anger, but in trepidation. “Because you’re not like the – because you’re a hybrid. You don’t have normal, or, I mean typical heats with alphas. You don’t understand how much control hormones have. Most omegas get roughed up once or twice in the course of their lifetimes while mating. It happens, because occasionally, certain alphas take things too far, use omegan biology to twist shit up.” Thomas thinks back to Victoria’s original reaction to finding Damiano and the language she used. 

“This can’t be normal,” he insists, pulling Damiano closer. He scoots up on Thomas’ lap so their abdomens are pressed together, but avoids eye contact.

“This was the first time outside of heat that Samuel’s…this. He had an unfair advantage, hormonally. He’s supposed to go into rut pretty soon. And obviously I…” just went through an early heat with you. Damiano trails off, picking at his black nail polish, almost timid. 

“So he roughed you up,” Thomas winces at his use of language, but outright calling it abuse may be too intimidating for Damiano right now. “When you were both hormonal?” Dami almost nods, but not quite.

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t be pushing the issue. We don’t have to talk about it right now, cucciolo.”

“You have to promise to still like me after I tell you this.” The pain in Damiano’s face is tenfold of what Thomas has encountered before. What could he say that would nullify Thomas’ affection so immediately? It wasn’t possible.

“Cucciolo, after all these years, you have to know that I could never just –”

“Promise me,” Damiano insists. At a loss, Thomas simply agrees.

“Okay, I promise.” Now that Damiano finally has permission to say whatever he needs to, the words catch in his throat. Perfect, peaceful Thomas would never see him the same again. How could he sacrifice that so casually?

“I – I, um,” he sighs in hesitation. Damiano hugs Thomas tightly, pressing his face into Tom’s neck as he speaks, too scared to meet his eyes. Without question, Tom holds Dami back, a soothing hand stroking his skin. His omega winced, feeling undeserving of such tenderness. 

“We would fight, sometimes. Physically, I mean.” 

“When you were both hormonal?” Dami nods his head. Seeking to understand, Thomas pulls back so he can read his omega’s face.

“The first time, I – god this is so fucked up,” he whimpers, hiding his trembling mouth behind a trembling hand. “The very first time, part of me liked it, the intensity. I never told him, but I thought Sam could sense it, which is why he did it again the next month.”

“So he’s been abusing you for a while?”

“It doesn’t really count though, because I started fighting back. Plus it wasn’t enough to leave a mark. I mean, until now. He’s never been this rough before.” Thomas nodded, and watching him attempt to process the information was more painful than the rest of it to Damiano. Sweet, non-violent Thomas, realizing he was with the type of person that answered aggression with aggression, instead of terminating the relationship altogether. 

“Did you ever ask him not to, um –”

“Well, yeah of course. I didn’t just let him walk all over me, but maybe that would have been better. If I wasn’t going to leave at least I shouldn’t have stooped to his level.” Maybe then I’d still deserve you. That was the thought that always echoed in Dami’s mind: what would Thomas think of this? Would Thomas still desire his omega if he knew what kind of person Damiano was? 

“How the fuck would not defending yourself be better?” 

“I should have just left.”

“And there shouldn’t be institutionalized power dynamics between alphas and omegas that are practiced in our society above all reason. There shouldn’t be a biological advantage that trumps all personal autonomy.” There's a fierceness in Thomas’ eyes that Damiano expected, but didn’t anticipate being directed elsewhere. 

“So you don’t think I’m a monster?” 

“What the fuck!?” Thomas answers, in genuine shock. Damiano bursts into tears and catapults himself back into his alpha’s arms, far more relieved than he is saddened. It became immediately apparent that this is what Dami needed, to ugly sob in Tom’s embrace until the impulse passed.

“Caro mio, I would never judge you for this. I can appreciate the complexity of the situation. cucciolo,” he pledges. Damiano tries to take a breath, but it gets caught in his throat.

“I didn’t want you to think I was,” sob “like, into violence, or” sob “or something.” Sob. “Because you’re – you’re” sob.  

“Amore, we’ve had sex before. Samuel isn’t the only one that knows what turns you on.” From the way his breathing pauses, it seems to be the first time Damiano has considered this. “In fact, I’d like to argue that I’m far more qualified to pass judgment on your sexuality and general character. Seeing as we’ve been hooking up since I was 16, and friends a year beforehand.” Thomas tries to coax Dami from where his face is pressed into his mate’s neck to no avail. He’s determined not to budge from his safe place, and clings incessantly. 

“Caro mio, I think you’ve internalized a lot of bullshit from Sam because he was your mate.” Dami doesn’t respond, his mind too muddled by manipulation and ego to decipher its thoughts. “For example, we’ve been intimate for twice as long as you’ve known Samuel, but you’re so fearful that I’ll spontaneously share his views that you’re shaking. Bello, please stop shaking,” he pleads, voice pained. 

Thomas never expected to see Damiano so broken down and gaslighted by another person. His strength seemed unmatched, but no one was immune to the societal repercussions, mental programming, and pheromonal manipulation that resulted from being born omega. In at least that aspect, Thomas’ hybridism had spared him. 

“I don’t think you’re a violent person. There’s no evidence to support it. We both know your tendency to be mouthy has nothing to do with a desire to hurt me.”

“Of fucking course not,” Damino bites, punctuating his words with a pathetic sniffle.

“Mhm,” Tom agrees, soothingly. “I think you can be highly defensive and occasionally combative. However, I also know you’re self aware and this doesn’t come as a surprise to you.” Dami nodded his head, kissing Thomas’ scent gland, trying to gently elicit some light excretions that he could lap up with his tongue for comfort. The sensation startled Thomas and he jumped.

“Sorry,” Damiano muttered, adjusting his arms to make his hold more comfortable and less desperate. Secretly, Tom loved that his mate looked to his body for comfort. If the consequences hadn’t been negative for Dami, he also would have loved the fact that he rid his shared apartment of all other pheromones. It indicated an extremely intense attraction that Thomas could grow to share. Of course, he was still ignorant to the extent of Damiano’s emotions, for his own protection. 

“I know you’re right,” he suddenly confided. “You just get so wrapped up in it and everyone sort of says it's normal. It’s really hard to separate.”

“Can you name a single time you’ve been violent towards me? In any way?” Damiano takes a deep breath and considers for only a moment before decisively shaking his head.

“Mm-mm.” 

“Exactly, I’d even venture that you’ve most agreeable around me.”

“Well you’re really easy to get along with,” he confesses.

“Actually we’re just really compatible.” Damiano likes his comment so very much. He smiles wide, even nips at his alpha’s scent gland. He’d had so many fantasies about sharing a moment like this with Tom, yeared for it painfully for the last six years. Now that it was here, he struggled, but was forced to admit to himself that every alpha up until now was a placeholder. Damiano knew he couldn’t have Thomas, because it wasn’t safe, and he would never endanger him like that. In fact, he cared for Thomas so deeply that when the urge surfaced he was awash in self loathing. What triumphed was a primal need to protect and shelter him, because he was made vulnerable by Dami’s knowledge.

“So now that we’ve established that nothing Samuel says can be trusted because he’s obviously a piece of shit.”

“Yeah, I agree on that one.” Damiano is picking at his nail polish again instead of meeting Thomas' eyes. He feels suddenly foolish, having built up this confession in his head to something catastrophic, but Thomas is holding him the same way he was 10 minutes ago. There’s a special kind of nausea that settles in the stomach of a person when they realize they’ve been manipulated. Damiano had fancied himself too smart to be the victim of Samuel’s mind games. Yet, his entire world view was warped and his perception of his relationships poisoned.

“I feel like a fucking idiot.”

“You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met.”

“I was so sure that you’d reject me. I don’t know how he got in my head like that, we didn’t even talk about you that much,” Damiano marveled, rubbing his face roughly. There were so many questions he wanted to ask, so much clarity he wanted to seek. Yet the knee-jerk reaction every time Damiano opened his mouth was to question if Thomas would want him after he spoke. What was there even to say that would be so divisive? Damiano knew that it was irrational, yet the fear was so deeply ingrained that it overpowered logic.

Damiano had craved being Thomas’ boyfriend and mate for so long. To go through heat with Thomas, to have Thomas run to his side, speak his defense. They’d finally agreed that their relationship was inevitable. There was no point in resisting and making themselves miserable. Now, Damiano was free from prior obligations, he was in his chosen alpha’s arms, cherished by Thomas. And yet, part of him yearned for how things used to be, despite the past having no merits. Part of truly having Thomas was the ability to truly lose him. 

When all previous relationships and partnerships had ended, he would cry over connection or even the love that was lost. Then Dami would go to Thomas’ to mourn, drink, receive comfort, eat, laugh, fuck, and cuddle. He’d mate with Thomas during his next rut, which essentially felt like pressing the reset button. If things with Thomas ended, he could lose him, and maybe even their shared friends. Damiano wasn’t a reflective person, but he was sure he wouldn’t survive that. There was nothing to survive for, an emotion so intense that he feared verbalizing it would spook Tom.

“Cucciolo look at me.” He hooked a finger under Dami’s chin, coaxing him to raise his gaze. “The most effective thing an abuser can do is isolate. It’s hard to leave someone if you feel they’re all you have. I’m going to keep reminding you that you have me and you will always have me, no matter what.”

“I know that,” Damiano answers automatically. Tom is silent for a moment, observative.

“Damia, I don’t think you do,” he says slowly, tone cautious. “If you were to become a monster right now, I would devote years trying to get you back, just based on who you’ve been in my life so far. You are endlessly lovable to me.” Endlessly lovable. No one had ever called him that, not dotting romantic prospects with the gift of language, not his wonderful parents. It was more powerful than saying you can do no wrong. Endlessly lovable means you can do wrong, but I will still want you always. 

“If you ever have a question, just ask, caro mio. Deconstructing shit like this takes time.” He tucks Dami’s hair behind his ears. After weeks of not cutting it, the length was nearing his shoulders, and that's what Tom tried to focus on, not the swelling and discoloration. 

“Hopefully not too much time. I didn’t even like the fucker that much,” Dami muttered darkly. Unsure of how to segway, Thomas takes a deep breath and keeps talking.

“I think we also need to face the reality that Samuel suspected, which means others probably do as well. Maybe we’re not as sneaky as we thought.” Thomas tries to say the words lightly, to cloak his panic at being outed.

“I swear to you, I didn’t say anything we didn’t agree on. I promise I am so careful, Tommy. I tried to never mention you, I –”

“I know.” Damiano speaks with such desperate intensity, but Thomas needs no additional affirmations. “But Samuel wouldn’t have spent so long turning you against a casual hookup, would he? He also failed pretty epically.” Dami looks down at the mess of intertwined limbs sat on their dirty sheets and snorts a laugh, then keeps laughing. Not because it's particularly funny, but because it feels good not to be crying. It feels even better to be wrapped around his mate in the middle of his nest and to have some body awareness returning.  

“I’m sorry,” he chortles, “I’m like half lucid right now.” Nothing could compel Thomas to laugh, but seeing a break in the tension at least prompts a genuine smile. It only sort of looked like a grimace. 

“What were the doctor's directions?”

“Rest, ice, disinfectant twice daily. I can pick up some of that Tachyangiogenisis ointment from the pharmacy if I want to speed it up.” 

“What about referrals?”

“For what?” 

“Domestic abuse recovery?” Damiano huffs in aggravation. “I work in the alternative pediatric psychiatric therapies, but I’m sure that I could help you find someone –”

“I don’t need anyone in APPT, Thomas. Hitting a couple keys on a piano isn’t going to change what happened.” Thomas continues on, unaffected, as though Damiano hadn’t just insulted his entire field of treatment.

“I’m sure I could help you find someone in an appropriate medical sector if it feels too overwhelming right now,” he finished. “Sensory overwhelm is a totally normal reaction and I want to help in every capacity I can.” Damiano sighs and bites his cheek in shame.

“That was a really dickish thing to say, Thomas. I didn’t mean it at all.”

“I know.” Children who lacked verbal ability due to developmental variation or lacked the language to describe a traumatic situation were often Thomas’ clients. Piano, usually, but often other instruments, allowed them to describe their emotions in a detailed, precise fashion, where there was no external pressure. What made the session therapeutic was largely Tom’s patience and unequivocal kindness. He was born with a wonderful temperament, and just his two syllable response was a reminder of this. Damiano loathed himself for lashing out.

“I’m so sorry, I really didn’t mean it! I don’t think that at all. I really don’t, you’re so perfect for your job and all those families are lucky to have you.”

“Dami –”

“I mean you devote your life to helping people, what's more admirable than that? And I know the science is sound, I do. I’m not some uneducated skeptic that shits on people of better character and moral fiber. I’m not. I’m fucking not! I’m just really, really sorry –”

“Shh, it's okay.” Damiano has Thomas’ shirt gripped in handfuls of fabric again, pulling it taut to bring Tom close in this moment of desperation. His eyes are panicked and their foreheads are pressed together. 

“I’m sorry and I’ll go to therapy if you think it’s right. I trust you.” Dami looks into Tom’s eyes and sees such softness. He rocks back and forth, shushing him, and running a hand slowly up and down his back, such a juxtaposition to Damiano’s thundering heart rate. 

“I don’t know why I said that or why I can’t just shut up.”

“Because you’re totally deregulated and need the help of your mate to stabilize.” Damiano falls against him once again. When he sucks on Thomas’ scent gland, Tom lets him. He tries not to flinch from sensitivity. Having gone practically untouched here his whole life, the sensation took some adapting to. 

“I’m here, cucciolo. Give me the reins for a couple days.” Dami nodded, his nervous system finally taking a step below absolute terror survival mode. 

“You need to eat and sleep.”

“Not here. There will be an officer outside the building until they’ve arrested him, but I hate the smell.” The word is spoken with intense disgust. “Can’t we just go to your apartment?” Where everything will smell perfect and I’ll be surrounded by impeccable nesting materials.

“If Samuel’s figured it out, and remembers where I live, my place isn’t safe either.”

“Vic’s?” 

“No. I’ll call my mom,” he sighs. Dami moves off his lap so Thomas can get his phone from his pants.

“I can’t compromise her safety too! I’ve already put you in danger,” he sniffles, face distressed.

“You are not doing anything. My mother put herself in danger 21 plus years ago when she decided not to treat my Primary Gender Dysmorphia. She has spent my life making me internalize that fact. So no, you are doing nothing.” It was only then that Damiano understood the strength of not only his mate, but his blood line. Thomas had grown up knowing that someday his identity would be discovered, and he would be persecuted, but he lived anyway. His mother, a woman only a few years older than Damiano was now, willingly put the rest of her life in danger to preserve her child's autonomy. She made her entire life into an act of protest. There is no strength like being a warrior with unconditional, soul-deep kindness in place of a bloodied sword. With no shield, only the best of intentions and a gentle hand. The only thing more difficult than being hardened, is to be soft, strengthen unchanged.

“Hey, mom, Yeah, I’m good, I was just wondering if I could come pick a couple things up? Yeah I left my blue sweater there last time and I need two pairs of socks. Mhm, okay, yeah we’ll stay for dinner. Love you, bye.” Immediately Thomas turns to Damiano. “I need you to wear a blue sweater under your clothes for my mother’s sake.”

“Yeah, of course!” he enthusiastically agreed, happy to be able to do something. “But, um, why?”

“Because I’ll carry it on the way back. If I get detained it won’t look like we were using code.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to you!” he cries out.

“We don’t know how much Samuels pierced together, or how much he’ll say when they find him. Damiano you need to know something.” He cups his omega’s face between his large hands and holds Dami’s gaze with a burning intensity. “No matter what happens, I chose this. The consequences are worth it. It is not your fault.”

“This can’t be happening,” he whimpers, eyes welling up again. This is my life. To someone who’d lived in normalcy, the amount of risk involved in just existing semi-authentically for Thomas was totally overwhelming. He searched for the right words, and found nothing but a whirlpool of panic in his mind. So instead of speaking, he kisses Damiano, just a brush of lips, then up the bridge of his nose to his forehead. For a minute they just breath each other in, synching each inhale and exhale.

“It’s time to go.”

Notes: I rarely write stuff this heavy, which is why I originally was only going to post The Hybrid on AO3 since that place is a cesspool (affectionate). But having different fics on different platforms felt ridiculous so here it is. Message me to be removed from this fics taglist.

-XOXO Eden

taglist: @blackberryblossom @bobfood @butkutee @bohemianrainbow @cuzimitaliano @daisy0gf @elvirabelle @gr8rainbowpunk @harryssshouseee @hiraetheral @iamtashaquinn @ilwiwbysmv @immrbrightsideeee @kammerstx @l0standn0tf0und @little-moonbeam-666 @lizzylynch1 @maneslut @minnietmouse @mortyandem @obiw4n @que--sera--sera @slavicgoddess13 @stardustingold @teenyweenynightghost @thegeminisgirl @weareoddlydrawn @whore4damia @bieberhoodforever

@ursulalurks bestie I do not know wtf is going on, but I still can't tag you. All I can recommend is contacting Tumblr Help, sorry. <3

[pjisskullourful]

𝓼𝓽𝓪𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓼𝓱𝓮𝓮𝓽𝓼

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

⏰Damiano × reader

part 27 [series masterpost]

NSFW🚨 nasty shit, the word nut makes an appearance in a way that has nothing to do with food

° Damiano David/female reader insert ✨ cameos by Victoria De Angelis, Ethan Torchio & Thomas Raggi

wordcount:: 13,492

° wonderfully requested by the wonderful @vittoriaisfuckingpathetic 💋 i’m imagining stained sheets!damiano backstage at a må show with the reader [...] the point is !!time limit!! and damiano says to the reader “you’ve got about four minutes, kitty. either you cum now or you don’t get to at all later,” whilst fingering her. a delicious idea to spend time on! thankyou!!

° [ITA:] cazzo: fuck

° none of the lyrics included belong to me!

Australia may have been the furthest you had ever been from home. You had some vacation days saved up at work, cashing them in to join this part of the world tour. The flight had felt torturously long, but it had been worth it. You and Damiano had taken the touristy photos with koalas, kangaroos and other native animals. You had even gotten some time at the beach, feeling just how warm it could get here.

But it wasn't just about sightseeing and going to vintage clothing stores. Your boyfriend was busy, there were sell-out concerts he had to deliver at.

You had spent an extra stretch of time in bed at your Sydney hotel room, staying asleep while he left for sound check. At dinner last night, you had enjoyed a few too many cocktails with the distinctive name Porn Star Martini. When you didn't have work to worry about the following day, and you had a tour company paying for everything, you found it nearly impossible to not indulge. There were photos of you ruddy-cheeked and pulling down the V-neck of your dress to attest to this. There had even been a part of the night where you had tried to wear Damiano's shirt with him, your heads poking out of the same hole, bodies smushed together.

You were awake by the time he came back to the hotel to collect you. You were dressed and sitting on the floor, in front of a mirror to apply your makeup. You sipped on an iced coffee, getting yourself ready for all the excitement that (still) came from attending a show.

He had been pacing around the room behind you, talking about nothing in particular for a while. Before he paused and seemed to become focused. “I should shower, but should I have a cigarette before or after?”

You scoffed sarcastically. “There's never just one ‘after shower' cigarette with you. You're gonna have a bunch tonight, regardless of when you take a shower.”

“It's part of my artistic process.” He said and you laughed with more sarcasm. “Certainly you're not questioning my artistic process, are you?”

“Oh, most assuredly not. I was just thinking about my artistic process, this makeup doesn't just apply itself. And part of my process is to be given pet bunnies, so many of them.” You said.

He rolled his eyes. “Right, bunnies.”

“Are you questioning my artistic process?” You asked.

“No, no, no.” He said as he crouched down next to you, your eyes meeting in the reflection. “But I do have a question about your process…”

“Mm-hmm, which is?”

His eyes left the mirror, now looking at the side of your face. “At what stage of your process do you get in the shower with me?”

“Alright, I've just powdered on top of my concealer, so… um, never. There is no space in my process for that.” You said, continuing on with your makeup.

“Babe…”

“I’m already doing my makeup, getting it all washed off in the shower now would be such a waste. And I wanna look good for tonight, for you.” You tried to reason with him.

He rested his head on your shoulder, exaggerating disappointment. “But I'm gonna be naked in there.”

“You'll be naked out here, too.” You said. “I know what I'm giving up, and I'm at peace with it.”

He sighed then dropped the dramatic act. “Okay, I don’t understand your decision, but I’ll respect it.” He raised his head, looking at you as he pouted both lips out. You accepted this silent invitation, turning your head so you could kiss him quickly. After this he stood up and you went back to your makeup.

He seemed to get lost in his own thoughts, which slowed him down in the process of removing his clothes. He picked up his phone, tapping at the screen as he pushed his pants down with one hand. You kept your mouth shut against any teasing or sarcastic comments, trying to not become another distraction.

“... should sing that Jet song in the shower, I still don’t think I’ve got the lyrics one hundred percent.” He said of the cover track that was a region-exclusive of the show’s running order.

“That’s a good idea.”

He nodded decisively and looked up to orientate himself toward the suite’s bathroom. “Yep, sound check just for you.”

With the door shut and the water running, his voice didn’t come through very clearly. As you sculpted your eyebrows into the shape you wanted, you couldn’t pick out any of the words he was singing. And you didn’t know the Australian rock song well enough that you could recognise the tempo - you just assumed that he was singing it correctly.

Until he finished in the shower and opened the door, letting you hear each word as he sang it. It was a song you had heard more than once last night, not because he would be performing it tonight. But because Ethan had gotten it stuck in his head.

“Hey mama, this that shit that make you groove, mama…” He wasn’t singing with all of the power his voice box held. “Get up on the floor and move your booty, mama…”

“Still?” You asked, looking over your shoulder to where he was towelling his naked body off. “It’s still stuck in your head?”

He nodded as he kept his spot in the Black Eyed Peas song. “We the blast mast’as…”

The old track had been brought up during dinner last night. A song in the restaurant’s playlist had reminded Ethan of it, but he hadn’t been able to remember its name. Almost everyone sitting around the large table had tried to help him in the task of recalling the title. The easiest place to begin was with the lyrics, but all he could remember was a moment of Fergie singing ‘la-la la-la-la’.

It hadn’t been a quick process of elimination, but eventually the desired result was reached: Hey Mama, it had been a top ten hit.

But not everyone was sure they had heard it. So Ethan went up to the bar, seeing if it could be played soon. When the staff had confirmed it, he thanked and tipped them.

You hadn’t recognised the party song. Victoria knew it and remembered how short Fergie’s skirt had been in the accompanying music video.

There had been some humorous misunderstandings of lyrics. So Ethan had gone back, asking them to play it again, allowing him and a couple of the others to check what they heard against what the online results said.

“I heard it three times last night, what do you expect?” Damiano asked.

The third play had come as your party were preparing to leave the restaurant, the staff doing this of their own volition. One of the team’s assistants, Gianna, had pointed out that this could have been prompted by the fact that tipping wasn’t commonplace in Australia. Ethan providing money with his request may have been a big deal to the staff, prompting them to be more generous with the amount of plays.

Damiano had been sporadically singing snippets of the song to you in the time since the restaurant. But now it seemed that he planned to sing more than just a few lines. And you couldn’t help getting distracted by it. There was a smile on your face as you lowered the small brush, giving more attention to this impromptu, naked show.

He saw you watching and put some more purpose into his movements. This was only a fraction of the energy he would charm the audience with tonight - but it was more than enough to keep you engaged. He had begun smiling, too.

He jumped to be side-on to you, showing you how he matched the swinging of his hips to the next lyric. “...to shake your bum-bum-ah. Come on now, mama.”

You shook your head a little. “I believe that the lyric was actually bam-bam-a.”

“And what the Hell is that?” He asked. “I’m going to sing it my way, which means I’m singing about bum. Don’t act like you don’t love it.”

He wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking a corner down to keep it in place for the time being. With his shoulders, he did a little shimmy as he took some measured steps around the end of the bed, getting closer to you.

“We the blast mast’as…” He sang. He held your eye in the reflection as some exaggerated swinging of his hips accompanied the steps that delivered him to the space behind you. “...blastin’ up the jamm’a.”

He pointed one finger directly down at you and luckily you knew what he wanted, not embarrassing yourself. You sang at about half the volume he had been singing at. “La-la la-la-la.”

He wasn’t entirely still, making you think that the song continued to play in his mind. “I definitely did not learn the verses.” You laughed to yourself as you picked up your powder, ready to set the work you had done on your brows. “But there’s another part I do know…”

You were trying to not give him so much encouragement. You couldn’t stand the thought of being part of the reason for him not running on time for the show. As much as you were entertained by him, you wouldn’t let the priorities get muddled up. You dipped your brush into the powder, your eyes beginning to travel away from him for brief moments.

His dramatic pause ended with him raising both arms above his head. “The pre-chorus.”

He put his hands together, reaching over to the right. At the same time he jutted his left hip even further out to this side. As he started to sing again, he alternated from side-to-side, his movements fast and well-coordinated. From what you could recall of the beat, he was matching it.

“Now y’all know, who we are. Y’all know, we the stars…”

His next energetic movement made you forget about pressing more powder over the dark colours of your brow. He performed a smooth body-roll to the right. At the same time he lowered one of his hands, licking the tips of his fingers. This was then swiped down and across his nipple, keeping the smile firmly on your face.

“How we rockin’ it, girl. Without bodyguards…”

Before he could reach the next chorus, you were working more consistently on your makeup. You noticed him gathering up the bottom of the towel, but you didn’t try to anticipate what he would do next, just picking up your eyeshadow primer instead.

You got the applicator out of the component, but you didn’t have the chance to touch it to your skin. Things got suddenly darker and you felt something soft pressing against your face, thanks to him throwing part of the towel (which was still attached to him) over your head.

“...dance to the drummer.”

“Damiano.” You snapped, automatically looking up. When this didn’t give you much, you started reaching for the white towel. “Goddamnit…”

“What?” He asked, acting at being oblivious. “Is this not part of your process?”

You were aware of the back of your hand brushing against his cock. But you didn’t let this distract you from your goal of getting free of the towel. You yanked the soft fabric away from your face, stripping it from him in the process.

“Can’t you hold your chaos in until I've finished my makeup?” You asked, meeting his eyes in the mirror again. “Then I’ll play and we can fool around to your heart’s content.”

He picked the towel up, slinging it over his shoulder without a shred of modesty. “I don’t really know why you’re bothering, you’re just going to sweat all of that off before the end of the night.”

You scoffed. “That’s very presumptuous of you.”

“Okay, I was actually referring to the temperature.” He said.

“When are you going to learn to believe in the magic of setting spray?” You asked.

“We could see about sweating it off another way, if you would like, babe.” He said, beginning to run his fingers through your hair.

“Oh yeah, that song just seduced me so much.” You said sarcastically, dabbing the primer onto your eyelids one at a time.

The change in his smile was only subtle, but you had seen it enough to recognise it.

“Can we have a little play right now?” He asked. “I’ll let you finish your makeup, I promise. But I’m feeling like maybe some special Daddy-kitten time is part of my process tonight.”

You weren’t entirely surprised by this proposal (maybe you should have been expecting it since his request to get you in the shower). You had been too drunk upon returning to the hotel last night, sex hadn’t been any kind of option.

You tilted your phone to check the time, not letting yourself give in very much yet. “Won’t that make us late? I don’t want to delay everyone else’s night. You act like it’s nothing, but I know it stresses you out when you run behind for stuff as important as this.” He listened to you, not waiting to butt in. “I’m just trying to be responsible and help out future-Damiano.”

“You’re a good girl. But we don’t have to be late. If we don’t do a whole production, we can meet everyone as soon as the car arrives.” He said, still playing with your hair.

You noticed how he neglected to mention any further time allocated to you doing your makeup. But his determination was so compelling, how could you stand up to that? And did you even want to?

“Do you promise that we won’t be late for the car?” You asked, picking up the bottle of setting spray, instead of going for the eyeshadow palette you had already selected.

He continued to gently play with your hair. “I promise you.”

“I need you to promise that we will stop when time runs out. No matter what part we’re up to, it will be over straight away.” You said.

“Of course I promise, one hundred percent.” He said. But he would have looked more serious in this vow if he could get that smile properly off of his face.

“I think I’m going to need to hear you swear to it.” You said, considering his expression in the reflection. You briefly shut your eyes, applying some of the preserving mist over your eyebrows, which had maintained their shape through the towel attack. “Swear on not accidentally fucking your leg up again.”

This ripped the smile off of his lips. His jaw fell open at the mention of his injury the previous year, which had not only been painful, but had messed with some of his work responsibilities for a while.

“You would wish something like that on me again? That’s cold, babygirl.” He said. But his put-on surprise didn’t result in him getting turned off, his eyes remained on his prize.

“I’m not wishing it on you.” You defended. “I just need you to swear on something serious.”

“Okay, I swear it. Can you suck my dick now?”

“Is that what you want?” You asked.

“Uh-huh.” He said, his smile getting wider now. “I figure I should take advantage of the fact that you didn’t get up to the putting on lipstick part of your process.”

You began to turn around, keeping your eyes up and on his face, even though your own face was immediately lined up with his hardening cock. “You can’t just destroy the makeup on my face. Please let me look a bit presentable. We can get feral later tonight.”

“Feral? I’m gonna hold you to that.” He said.

Your eyes left his face and you considered something of a mental catalogue before making first contact with his cock.

You could see that he wasn’t fully hard yet. So you worked at changing that, applying your tongue to the side of his length with long strokes. He let out a deep exhale and you positioned yourself comfortably on your knees, a stance that could be maintained as you were prepared to somewhat lose track of time too.

You let your eyes flutter shut and tilted your head, your tongue getting closer to his balls as you kept moving consistently. You put your hands to his thighs and you could feel him getting tenser against your tongue, the skin getting tighter.

You progressed until your mouth could reach his sac. You swirled your tongue around one of his balls, spreading your saliva even further. You swirled your tongue around the other and his hand returned to your head, appreciatively stroking your hair.

You pulled yourself back as an immediately enticing idea came to your mind. “Were you planning to wear shorts for the show, or…?”

It took him a moment to figure out how to respond, his brow furrowed. “Actually I haven’t properly decided yet. I picked a few different options and they’re at the, uh, venue already. But no, I don’t know for sure which I’ll wear. There is an option with shorts, but I really haven’t made my mind up yet. Why?”

“I’m feeling kinda into the idea of scratching your legs a bit.” You said, running your hands up-and-down his thighs. “Nothing too vicious, just something that would feel good for you.” He had started to smile. “And then you and me would have a sexy secret. Under your pants you would have some little kitty claw marks. It seems hot to me, but you-...”

“No, no, it is hot.” He rushed to tell you. “Do it, and I’ll tell you if it’s too much.”

You began to drag your nails up his bare skin, not trying to leave any marks yet, just wanting him to feel what you were prepared to use on him.

With nothing left to say, you wrapped your lips around his head. You slowly ran your fingernails up-and-down his legs. At the same time you moved your lips further down his length. You didn’t hesitate to take in as much of him as possible, rubbing your tongue on his underside as you took him deeper.

You kept your mouth set in place around him, a firm seal that could certainly get tighter. You heard his nonsense sputtering as you deeply inhaled through your nose.

Then you plunged down further, adrenaline pulsing through you as you took his head into your throat. You sucked your cheeks in, earning eager whines from him.

You had definitely stopped thinking about time, now you were just experiencing his pleasure through him. And you were planning how to unlock more of it. You treasured how his fingers stroked through your hair, to the sounds of his increasing moans.

You challenged your gag reflex for just a second. Then you eased yourself back, your nails truly scraping him in their continuous voyage now. You moved them a little faster up-and-down his thighs, copying the tempo you adopted to suck his cock with.

He twitched where he stood, his whimpers starting to coordinate with how you concluded each stroke with him hitting the back of your throat. You worked your lips back-and-forth, making sure he wasn’t far from your throat for long. His shaft was getting slicker, the movements coming so much easier.

You plunged yourself all the way down, getting him nestled into your throat. It contracted as you held him there. But you didn’t back off and you could feel how he throbbed in response. He was so hot and so heavy against your flattened tongue.

“I hope you don’t think that I’m not noticing how you’re trying to rush me.” He said, his fingers twisting around some of your strands of hair.

It was true that you weren’t giving him the kind of prolonged treatment that he may have been expecting. You didn’t typically take him into your throat so soon. You had bypassed the time you would dedicate to working him up.

“But your throat feels too good for me to care about correcting your behaviour.” He added, giving your pride a boost.

You tried to not move too vigorously, bobbing your head just a little, while keeping him mostly in your throat. You gave him some friction and he whimpered, clearly pleased by this small effort.

You held off from giving in to your need to draw a breath for as long as you could manage. But essentially it had to be done, you pulled back until your mouth was empty.

You let your hands still, holding onto his thighs as you gave all of your energy to refilling your lungs. You started to notice the details around you again. Your heart was racing and you recognised that his legs now bore some thin red lines.

“Oh, you’ve got so much drool on your chin now.” He said and you tilted your head back, giving him a better view of your face. You had been aware of the moisture building up on your chin before his comment. “Truly, it looks like it’s about to drip.”

You could have wiped some of it off with the back of your hand, or there was a box of tissues closeby. Instead you licked your lips.

“Oh, you like getting messy for Daddy, huh? You’ve made me all messy too.” He said. He put his hand to the back of your neck, the other wrapping around his wet cock. “I’m already leaking precum.”

On his tip you could see some thick and milky drops of his essence, begging to be used. And you couldn’t ignore it.

You put your mouth to his pink head, giving it a kiss and you were soon feeling the consistency of his cum on your lips. Then you parted them and took just his tip into your mouth. He held his shaft steady as you rubbed your tongue all over the tip, massaging as you cleaned him. The primal taste filled your mouth as you planned a couple of steps ahead how to draw more from him.

His fingers clasped harder on your neck as you continued to work your tongue.

“Babygirl, that’s so good. Clean me up just like that. Clean me up before we-...”

His explicit thought went unshared. The atmosphere in the room instantly changed in response to an authoritative knock on the door. He froze and you promptly yanked your lips off of him, your eyes looking over to the locked door.

“Hey guys, we’ve been trying to call you.” It was Belle’s voice, a member of the touring team. “The car is leaving for the venue in about five minutes. And we kinda need you to be in it. We could organise a second car, but…”

“We’ll be there.” Damiano called back, adopting the composed tone of voice he needed. “She’s just lacing her shoes up now and I wanna roll a smoke for the ride. We’ll meet you at the parking lot door in a few minutes. We won’t miss it, promise.”

“Okay. See you down there.” She sounded convinced.

His hand was still holding tight to the back of your neck, you thought it might keep you from getting to your feet. You grabbed one of the tissues, wiping your chin as you looked at your surroundings. Your thoughts were rushing as you tried to plan at least five steps ahead, trying to figure out how you could quickly get yourself ready.

“Okay, just put me back in your throat real quick.” He instructed and you could feel the subtle pull on your neck. “I’m super close, it’s only gonna take a couple of minutes.”

“What? Damiano, no.” You said firmly.

He let go of your neck, a slightly hurt look coming onto his face. “Really? ‘Cause I can feel how close I am.” You took the chance to stand up, gathering some of your makeup supplies as you went. “I’m sure that all I need is another minute in your throat, then I can nut and we’ll go.” You moved beyond his grasp, rushing over to where you had already packed your handbag. “I’m one hundred percent sure that it’ll take just one minute.”

You shoved your makeup and phone into the bag, swiftly progressing to snatching up the dress you had pre-selected to wear. “You need that minute to put some fucking clothes on.”

“They’re right here, I…” He collected the clothes he had been wearing when out for sound check. “You’re serious about this, aren’t you?”

“Fuck, yes. I don’t wanna be late.” You said, shoving your feet into a pair of shoes. “I’m not letting that car leave without us.”

“It’s not gonna leave before…” He trailed off with a sigh. As you put a piece of gum in your mouth, you thought you had never been so pleased by the sight of him pulling clothes on. “I can’t believe that you’re really gonna make me put my aching cock and balls into these pants.” He covered his scratched legs with the faded denim. “Rather than just helping your daddy out.”

“You promised.” You said, wiping both your hands, chin, neck and chest with more tissues.

“Yeah, I did, but-”

“And I don’t need to hear your insider's secret about how a five minute warning actually means ten. We will have time later for me to absolutely drain your balls.” You said.

He finished getting dressed, putting shoes on and picking up a jacket. The weather meant that he didn’t need to wear it, instead he carried it in front of himself, disguising the bulge that his boner created in his pants. It was already less noticeable now and you were sure it would be gone by the time you got to the car.

Once in the elevator, you rushed to slather your lips in dark lipstick, hoping this would make you look more put together than you actually were. Then you raked your fingers through your hair, trying to get rid of its dishevelled appearance. You used the mirror mounted on the rear wall to guide you before you caught Damiano watching you in it.

“I’ll make it up to you.” You said.

“I know you will. I’m sorry that I got kinda pushy after your no.” He said, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

You turned around but you weren’t entirely distracted by the doors sliding open now that you were at your destination. “I genuinely didn’t notice.”

You shouldered your bag and accepted his offered hand as you left the elevator. He walked with his head tilted slightly down, but no strangers bothered him as he led to the lesser-used exit.

You didn’t know exactly how long it had been since Belle had knocked on your door. But it had felt like it had taken a long time for you to get out of the room.

You were relieved by the sight of the van, with Belle lingering at its side. With two of the side doors remaining open, it didn’t look like it was on the verge of leaving the garage. You didn’t doubt that Damiano had a ‘told you so’ ready to share with you. But you didn’t look at him to give him the chance to say it, just getting into the van to find a seat.

He paused to provide an excuse to Belle. “She forgot to take her phone off silent after her nap, and I left mine in the bathroom. I’m sorry we missed your calls, we weren’t trying to.”

“It’s totally fine.”

You sat down on the right-hand side, leaving room next to Ethan for Damiano. In the row in front of you were Victoria and her girlfriend. You noticed amongst the other occupied seats that Thomas wasn’t present.

As soon as Damiano had sat down, you pushed your handbag into his lap, on top of the ‘just in case’ jacket. “You hold this while I do my eyeshadow.” You pulled out a palette and a brush.

Victoria turned around with a swish of blonde hair. “Are you still doing your makeup, how much did you oversleep?”

“Are you roasting my girlfriend right now?” He asked, protectively putting a hand on your knee.

But you understood where her words were coming from, and they had little to no effect on you. You were distracted by needing to come up with a cover story for you and your boyfriend. “Only ‘cause I’m always roasting myself. I could easily take four hours to do my makeup, and a professional could do the exact same thing on her in about forty minutes.”

“But you need time to break for cups of tea.” He said.

“I would never diss her, that’s my sister.” She said, it wasn’t the first time she had shared this sentiment.

You had looking into the palette’s mirror as an excuse to not make eye contact with the others as you began to deliver your lie. “I got distracted from finishing. We were watching other Black Eyed Peas music videos.”

“You still have that song stuck in your head?” Ethan asked Damiano.

“Yep, and thanks a million for that.” He said sarcastically.

“They have way more songs than I first realised.” Ethan said and you were pleased by how your cover story had given him a tangent that would distract from you entirely. Using your fingertips, you swiped a pink glitter pigment across each eyelid. “I thought they had that one really big era where they were literally everywhere. But they were everywhere for a long time.”

“Yeah, across multiple albums.” Damiano said as you were using a brush to buff out the sparkly pigment.

You heard Thomas’ pained yell before you saw him. The exaggerated shout got louder as he was running closer to the van. It broke up, becoming the word sorry over-and-over.

“I lost my lighter.” He offered the explanation as Belle shepherded him into the vehicle. “I thought it would take five seconds to find. But nope.”

He all but collapsed into an available seat. Belle and another member of the crew took their seats, then the driver was given the instruction to go.

Nobody brought their attention back to what you and Damiano had been doing in your room. You worked quickly to add a darker colour to the outer corner of your eyelid. You noticed that the jacket had shifted from his lap, but looking at the crotch of his pants you saw there was no hint of a suspicious bulge.

“Can I do Ethan’s makeup?” He asked you as the car navigated through Sydney’s traffic.

“Of course you can, darling.” You said.

*** *** ***

“Maybe you don’t actually need all of that time you give yourself to do your makeup. You had to rush it, but I think that you look very pretty, kitty.” Damiano said, coming over to stand with you now that he was free of the hands of people helping him get ready for the concert. He leaned against the same wall as you, focusing entirely on you, as if the rest of the green room (and the excited fans beyond it) didn’t exist. “You look great. I would even go so far as to say that you look delicious.”

You blushed under the intensity of his gaze. He hadn’t warmed up to it, just coming in with very flattering words straight away. It was more than you had been ready for, but it was exactly what you needed to hear. You hadn’t felt brave enough to try applying eyeliner to your upper lid in a moving car (the pauses from traffic definitely weren’t long enough, or predictable enough) and without it you hadn’t been feeling your prettiest. You felt like the look was incomplete, your makeup not bold enough.

But he thought your appearance was worth complimenting, something he wanted to stare at. Maybe doubting yourself had been a waste of time.

“Thank you.” You said, easily sliding your hand into his as you moved in closer. “And you as well: definitely delicious.”

He struck a playful pose at that - pushing his shoulders back and placing a hand daintily under his upturned chin. He pouted his lips a little, there was no denying that he had started to get into character for the stage. It was the lead-up to that part of the night where you had to share your boyfriend with the audience. It always impressed you how he could select which parts of himself to highlight, only bringing his most entertaining side forward.

And the audience was going to love him for it, because you loved him for it. This exaggerated, extroverted version of the man you lived with every day was still so sexy to you. You could feel the freedom as he left his doubts, insecurities and worries behind. The extra cheekiness was entertaining to you for the brief window of time that it existed.

“Serving delicious.” He said. “Look, somebody has to do it.”

You cupped his freshly-shaven cheek. “It must be such a burden.”

“It is.” He said, indulging in this dramatic display for a moment longer. “I’m not gonna lie to you kitty, it’s a big burden.” You laughed together, going back to normal. “Are you gonna have fun tonight, gonna behave yourself?”

You raised your eyebrows. “Are you going to behave yourself?”

“Of course, I will be working. I am a professional.” He said, seeming to be working to keep himself sounding as serious as possible.

Meanwhile, you had begun to smirk. “Yeah, a professional slut. I’ve seen how you work before.”

His eyes grew wide and his mouth dropped open, as if he couldn’t believe what he had just heard. This set you off giggling, feeling pleased with yourself.

Then his expression changed - his mouth forming a frown as he narrowed his eyes, going for an intimidating look as he leaned in closer. He stuck his pointer finger into the air between your faces. You had stopped laughing, but you continued to smile.

“You should be careful with what you say to me, babygirl. ‘Cause you’re already due for some of my payback after pulling the plug on that blowjob. Don’t make it worse for yourself.” He said in a lower voice than before.

You didn’t act worried because you didn’t feel it, despite the look in his eyes. You also didn’t feel any need to stop. So you put your lips up to his finger and once they were touching, you blew a raspberry.

You counted it as a victory when he groaned and yanked his finger away. He wore a displeased expression and he chose to wipe the moisture off on your dress.

“A-yo, Damiano.” Thomas called out, putting an instant pause on this stand-off. “You wanna run through the song? Make sure we’ve got it one hundred.”

“Yep.” Damiano yelled back. Before going over to the guitarist, he looked at you, giving you some stern parting words. “This isn’t over.”

He started to walk away and you chipperly sang out after him. “Okay.”

He kept going across the floor of this main room of the backstage area. He went over to the lounges where Thomas was sitting, an acoustic guitar propped in his lap. This was when Damiano started to appear truly professional.

You had no responsibilities to worry about, going over to the table where a generous spread of different foods had been laid out. You picked up a few of the crispy-looking spring rolls before going over to where the duo were practising, sheet music laid out before them. You perched yourself on the armrest of the sofa.

“Brig black boots…” Damiano sang before screwing his face up and Thomas stopped playing for the moment. “Wait, let me do that again.”

He adjusted his hands to their previous hold and played the same notes again. He and Damiano were tapping their toes to the same, unheard tempo - holding the music in their heads better than you could ever hope to.

Damiano waited for the right moment, giving the pre-chorus another try. “Blick black blu-... what?” Thomas patiently stopped playing again and Damiano leaned forward, getting a closer look at the lyrics. “It’s all those buh sounds real close together. I can’t wrap my fucking mouth around it.”

“You’ve got it, man.” Thomas said. “You did it last night, you know you’ll have it tonight.”

Damiano stared at the English words, saying them quietly to himself. “Big black boots, big black boots, big black boots…” He cleared his throat and looked up, trying to sing the words now. “Brick bla-... what?” You eased yourself off of the armrest, scooching in closer to him.

“You could sing that Black Eyed Peas song perfectly the whole drive in here.” Thomas said. “But these are the words that are tripping you up?”

You gently got Damiano’s attention by resting your hand on his knee. “I think the issue is that you’re thinking about the sounds of the original and you’re trying to recreate that when you’re singing. But what you should be singing are each of those words, separately, as their own topic.”

“That sounds right.” He said. “I’ve gotta get the words unmuddled in my mind.”

You picked up the paper. “Let me help. Okay, what are they?”

“Big black boots.” He said, the words not coming naturally as he tried to over enunciate every syllable.

“So, they’re small, right?” You asked, playing dumb.

“No, they’re big.” He corrected.

“Uh-huh, big flip-flop-kinda shoes, aren’t they?” You prompted.

“Boots, it’s a pair of big boots.”

“Oh. What colour were they again?”

“Black.”

“What are they?”

“Big black boots.” He said, he didn’t stumble over any of the words and he was sounding more conversational.

“I was picturing little pink shoes.” Thomas said, his hands poised in position to resume playing the song.

Damiano was smiling as he turned to him. “No, they’re definitely big black boots.”

“Huh, what are they?” You asked and Thomas played a single chord.

“Big black boots.” Damiano said.

Thomas played more chords, it sounded like the part of the song they had been practising earlier. “What are they?”

This time Damiano sang his response. “Big black boots, long brown hair…” He began tapping out the beat on your knee. “She’s so sweet with her-”

“-get-back stare.” Thomas joined in, continuing to play even as he returned to talking. “Keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah.” Damiano said before transitioning faultlessly into the chorus. “Well I could see you home with me…”

As he continued to sing, you followed along on the page. He didn’t stumble nor did he need the page back from you, he was confident in preparing for the stage again. It was a relief to hear and you began to bob your head to the rhythm of Thomas’ guitar. Damiano wasn’t singing with the full power of his voice but you could hear how much more comfortable he sounded.

“Are you gonna be my girl?” He cut the last word off, not giving the note its full moment. “And so on.”

“That sounded great.” You said.

“Yeah, I don’t think we need to run it again.” Thomas said.

“Me either.”

Damiano leaned back against you, his head resting on your chest. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging his body to yours as you enjoyed the sight of a smile on his face. You gave him a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you, baby.” He said.

“She knows how your mind works, man. Good luck trying to outsmart her.” Thomas said, taking the guitar out of his lap. “But I wouldn’t exactly hold my breath waiting for the day when you outsmart someone.”

Damiano retaliated by kicking his leg out, striking Thomas’ shin with his foot. Thomas stood up, moving out of the range of possible other attacks. But he didn’t immediately walk away.

“Have you considered quitting your job so you can come with us on the road and be his emotional support person?” He asked, you weren’t sure how much he was kidding. “You know how to calm him down and help him prep for a show. He’s always in a better mood when you’re around, which is definitely none of my business.”

“He needs emotional support with how much you guys bully him.” You joked.

Thomas got distracted, looking around at the reliable backstage staff for guidance. “Do I have time for another Red Bull?”

Gianna was there, nodding after she checked her watch. “Yes and there’s plenty of it left.”

They walked away and you just got to enjoy the fact that this cuddle with your boyfriend wasn’t on the verge of ending.

But you couldn’t totally forget about what this room was so close to. “Do you ever worry when you’re sticking the microphone in people’s faces during Kool Kids that they’re gonna say something nasty?” He repositioned how he laid his head so he could look up at you. “Let’s not downplay that your horny rock attracts a horny audience. I’ve seen the kinds of signs that they bring to shows.”

He smiled as he didn’t disagree with you. “Well what could they say? They don’t get more than two seconds.”

“I don’t know. I just know that I won’t be surprised if one night fuck me gets sang, instead of the lyrics.” You said, making him laugh. “It’s the same amount of syllables.”

He gave your knee a pat. “Just ‘cause you can’t control yourself, babygirl.”

You rolled your eyes, a clever comeback failing to come to mind. “Do you want me to throw my bra at you? It could help you with getting into the right headspace for the gig.” You had never thrown items of clothing when attending any kind of concert. But you couldn’t say for sure that you wouldn’t get pulled into that type of fun, especially if the receiving performer played it up as much as Damiano did.

“Because I’ll do it.” You said, showing him how serious you could be.

He sat up so he could turn around and look at you properly. “I want to know what you would say. I’m on stage, I put the microphone in your face and you get two syllables- what are you gonna say?”

You didn’t already have something in mind. And thinking about it now, the answer didn’t immediately come to you. Because if you tried to picture yourself in his scenario all that you felt was intimidated. The nature of his onstage persona was very intimidating, for the duration of an entire concert. The man he embodied for a profession made you feel even more shy than you had at the start of your relationship.

Even the thought of being faced with that version of him was enough to make you blush and you answered him in a quiet voice. “Meow, meow. I would do the entire song as a kitten.”

He raised his eyebrows and laughed a little. “Oh really? And how might that go?”

You paused to look around, checking how close everyone else was. You were the only two sitting on the sofa, it didn’t seem like anyone was in listening distance.

You began your nonsense meow-singing softly. His smile grew and he rhythmically slapped his palm on his knee, providing you with the beat of his song.

You weren’t trying to sing well, your only goal was to sing quietly because you didn’t want anyone around you to hear. Judging by the look on his face, you thought he would probably enjoy it if you got louder. He loved it when you got proud about the fact that you were a kitten (his kitten). But what he loved even more was when you got embarrassed and started to squirm, showing nerves.

You were relieved when he didn’t try to get you into that state of vulnerability right now. You paused to take a breath and he applauded your effort, giving you the sign to stop - all without any of the other people backstage seeming to notice.

“Incredible.” He said. He put his hands on your cheeks so he could pull you in for a kiss. “That was so fucking great. Do you want to go out and do the whole set for me with those amazing meows?”

You gave his shoulder a playful shove. “No chance in Hell.”

“You’re so great. Well, when you’re behaving.” He said.

You could have tried to defend yourself that you only vexed him as a way to motivate him. It was done to inspire his punishments, which you both enjoyed. But this didn’t seem like the right time or place to get into that discussion.

He spoke to fill your silence. “When I go out on stage, I want you to go into my dressing room and stay there for the entire show.”

“What?” You asked, thinking about all of the socialising you were going to miss out on - the people that he worked with were far more interesting than the majority of your co-workers.

“Yep, you’re gonna keep the door shut and work on being the best behaved girl in the world, for as long as I’m gone.” He said, a stern look in his eyes as he stared you down.

You furrowed your brow, wondering how rude this would make you seem to everyone else. You liked when everything felt united among the band, team and travelling loved ones. You didn’t want to contribute to any form of division, that was important to you.

“Why?” You asked.

He leaned in and produced an invisible muzzle with his next sentence. “‘Cause Daddy says so.”

Your defiance was shattered in an instant because his approval was above and beyond more important for you than anything else.

*** *** ***

It was strange being this close to the concert without getting to experience much of it at all.

You had been looking forward to watching from the side of the stage. There was a lot to be seen from that vantage point and you liked comparing the things you noticed to what Damiano saw and remembered.

Instead you only had four unchanging walls to look at (eight if you counted the attached bathroom). The music was loud and powerful enough to rattle some of the fixtures, but it was a muffled listening experience. You needed the setlist taped to the makeup mirror to help you keep track of which song they were up to. You couldn’t distinguish any of the words when he was singing Are You Gonna Be My Girl. You had to trust the audience’s reaction that it had gone perfectly.

With nothing else to do, you mentally chewed over what he had said. While you didn’t agree that stopping the blowjob early was misbehaving (you still held to your reasoning that you had done it for his benefit). You did agree that your overall behaviour could be improved, you wanted to be the best girl for him, always.

After sharing a few messages with Max (you told her that you were certain her future husband lived on this continent), you sat down and got to a task just for Damiano. From his backpack, you had pulled out his tobacco pouch and supply of rolling papers.

One after another you packed and rolled cigarettes for him. Smoking had never turned into a habit for you - you were sooner to forget a cigarette lit for you than finish it. But you had seen Damiano roll so many that you could easily copy his steps. You knew exactly how he liked them, you could work to get them perfect for him.

Even though he wouldn’t be able to smoke any immediately (Australia’s laws were quite strict), it would save him some time. You thought (and hoped) that your unprompted providing of this convenience to help would win you some of his favour. It certainly seemed like the kind of thing a good girl would do.

It had been a little over an hour since he had left you for the stage, when you noticed a closeby speaking voice that distinguished itself from the murmurs of everyone else that had been going on for most of the show. You sat up straighter on the sofa, trying to pick out what Damiano was saying. Everything was underscored by Ethan and Thomas continuing to play, their instruments were still blasting out the outro of Kool Kids.

“-should be done in the bathroom in plenty of time, but give the door a good pounding when it’s about two minutes to the encore.” You could hear what Damiano was saying now, his voice definitely nearer to the other side of the door. “I can make that run back to the stage in less than two minutes, don’t you think?” He laughed and you saw the door-handle begin to move. “Thanks Belle.” 

You were starting to get up as he opened the door, coming into the room unaccompanied. “Hey, is everything alright?”

“Everything’s perfect.” He said, giving you no reason to doubt him. “I just need you to stand here with your back against the door.”

You completed the action without thinking to question it. You were too distracted by taking in the sight of him - alive with unpredictable energy, sweaty and without the shirt he had been wearing to begin the concert. You were expecting him to promptly disappear into the bathroom, taking some seconds of privacy before going back to give his all for the last two songs. You couldn’t think of any other reason why he would have needed to come in here.

But he wasn’t going for that door. He picked up one of the provided towels to dab himself down as he faced you, not grabbing for a drink or anything else laid out for his convenience.

“Everyone sang the right words for Kool Kids?” You asked, eyebrows raising as he brought his knees down to the floor. “Nobody got cheeky?”

“The only cheeky one is you.” He said and he flicked up the skirt of your dress, keeping it raised with one hand.

“What are you doing?” You asked, surprised but not about to resist something so enticing.

“I’m going to see how good you can be at keeping to a time limit when it’s your pleasure at risk of interruption.” He said and he moved the crotch of your underwear to the side, just exposing your cunt instead of going to the bother of taking the lingerie down.

Your heart was racing now and you had forgotten to keep track of whether Thomas’ guitar solo was still going or not. “What?”

He dragged his fingers up your labia, his eyes switching between looking at your face and your cunt. “Yep, you’ve got about six minutes, kitty.” You moved your thighs apart as he continued to rub you, his hand delivering more pressure than you were used to in this early stage of teasing. “So, either you come right now, before Belle knocks on that door because they need me for the encore. Or you don’t get to come at all later.”

“Cazzo…” It was all that you could manage to say, because you knew that you didn’t want to tell him no. You didn’t know much else, your mind was in such a scramble as you struggled to catch up to him on this completely unexpected page.

He knew how to interpret your lack of no. And he adjusted his hand, poising his fingers then swiftly ramming them inside of you. Two at once - you couldn’t help squeezing your eyes shut, surrendering before you had been prepared to. He didn’t wait to start working his fingers within you and you tensely bit into your bottom lip, determined that no one would hear.

He attached his mouth to your clitoris and the pleasure rushed you like a wave, infusing adrenaline into your system. You grabbed for his short blonde hair, trying to help brace yourself. You may not have been ready for this, but there was no denying how spectacular it felt.

He was rushing you, as you had been accused of doing. But maybe it wasn’t rushing for him. It was sexy to think that he may have had this on his mind for some of the show. Had he been building this up as he sang for the audience? The way he had been acting since coming into the room seemed to support this theory, he simply couldn’t hold it back any longer.

You started to experience powerful twitches through your body as he curled his fingers between your walls. He was aiming for your sweet spot while his tongue tirelessly lapped at your clitoris, playing with all of the sensitivities here.

“Daddy…” You choked out, ready to lose yourself completely. “This can’t be payback. Because payback is a bitch, but this feels too damn good.”

His strong and confident thrusting came in at a relentless page. Your heart was thundering in your ears, making it next to impossible to notice anything else.

You hadn’t been trying to keep track of the time. But you were sure that you would hit that climax before he was whisked away. You weren’t worried about it not happening. With this aggressive campaign against your composure, your worry lie in disappointing him by coming too fast.

His lips left your clitoral hood in the interest of speaking, but there were still some strokes from his tongue to savour. “Did you get all worked up when you were sucking me off, toy? Did it make you wet? Did servicing me make you want to come?”

He wasn’t projecting his voice very much, willing to keep the secret the same as you. Underscoring his words were the sounds of your heavy breathing and the wet excitement from your pussy as it accepted his fingers deep with each stroke.

He pushed his tongue against your clit before posing his next question. “Maybe you had been wishing that we were sixty-nine-ing so that you could enjoy my mouth as I was enjoying yours?”

The obvious answer that he wanted wasn’t clear in your dizzyingly aroused mind. So you just tried your best to please him. “We can, we can sixty-nine all fuckin’ night. I would love to do that for you, Master.”

“Mm-hmm.” He hummed against the hood of your clit, making your throat momentarily clench. “I bet you fuckin’ would.”

He plunged his fingers all the way into you and your knees felt like they were turning to useless jelly. This feeling only accelerated when he placed his other index finger to your clit. You fought back the cry that wanted to erupt out of your chest in response.

The way he manipulated the hood was driving you wild. It was bordering on more than you could handle as he sought out a new way to tease you with his lips on your thighs. He kissed and sucked both of your inner-thighs, alternating between them with unfailing vigour. 

His fingers pressing into your g-spot again-and-again was bringing the pleasure to a brilliant height. With it so ready to overwhelm you, it was easily blocking out your awareness of time passing. It felt like your entire body was reeling, keeping you from thinking or caring about anything. Maintaining the schedule of the gig wasn’t your responsibility right now, anyway.

He grabbed some of your thigh fat with his teeth then clenched his jaw. This made you squeak - he still had exciting surprises in store for you. You clasped a hand over your lips, now that you were so close to falling apart you truly didn’t trust yourself to keep quiet.

“Are you gonna come, babygirl?” He asked before he nipped and bit at your other thigh. “I don’t know if you’ve got much time left.”

“Mm-hmm.” You whined into the palm of your hand. “Close.”

“Aw, keen little kitten can’t wait to come, huh?”

You nodded, helplessly breathless as he kept biting all over your thigh.

Your excitement for the release drove you to start moving your hips. It was wonderful the way that every needy pump intensified his massage of your clitoris.

“You’re gonna write lines for me once I go.” He said. “You’ve got a pad and paper in your bag, right?” You nodded. “Good, that’s going to help you learn this lesson. You’re going to write it is my job to make Daddy cum. And you’re going to write it as many times as you can while I’m finishing the show. I will decide when we get back to the hotel if you’ve written enough or if you need to do more, okay?”

“Mm-hmm.” You whined, unwilling to open your mouth for even a second. You feared all of the loud noises that could escape if you did.

Your muscles all clenched and you gave an unintentional jerk into him. To the feeling of him dragging his teeth down your inner-thigh, you felt your orgasm dawning on you. You gave yourself over to the release at once.

He continued to stroke his fingers between your spasming walls, keeping you at this incredible height. The relief flooded through you as you grabbed his shoulder.

“Yes, that’s a good girl. You came nice and fast for me. I guess I won’t just be edging you until the sun comes up, huh?” He said, making you smile. He took his fingers out of you and ceased playing with your throbbing clit. “I think you’ve left me with enough time to give my hands a proper wash. Wow, great work.”

Not needing any time to recover like you, he immediately got up and went to the bathroom. You remained pressed to the door, not because he had told you to, but because you needed it to support you. You lowered yourself a little, your knees still unsteady.

“Holy fuck, Damiano.” You gasped, struggling to know how you would come down from this. You would need the two songs of the encore to remember how to act normally. “That was so much.”

He was wearing a smug smile as he came out of the bathroom. “But was it too much?”

“A bit.” You said, willing strength back into your legs.

“Do you remember what lines I want you to write?” He asked.

You readjusted your underwear and skirt. “Uh-huh. It is my-”

“Two minutes.” Belle’s voice accompanied her powerful knocks on the door. “Time to start running, my friend.”

He was immediately alerted, striding over and grabbing you by the biceps. He gave you a kiss as he moved you out of the way of the door. “See you in a second, love you.”

“I love you too.” You responded at once.

But you couldn’t be sure that he had heard it. Because as you spoke he had opened the door, letting the impatient roar of the audience come through louder. He disappeared in a flash, the door swinging shut behind him.

You loved the idea of lying down on the sofa and feeling the effects of your orgasm fade out to the sounds of I Wanna Be Your Slave.

But you resisted and kept yourself upright once you were on the lounge. You collected your handbag, unzipping it as you finally caught your breath. The little notebook that you kept on hand was in its usual pocket and you found a pen amongst the other items inside.

You started to write, feeling less frazzled with each line. You listened to this muffled version of The Loneliest, keeping your pen constantly moving.

*** *** ***

You were alone inside the hotel room for the moment. You covered more of the white pages in the sentence you had been told, without distraction while Damiano was out on the balcony. He was further winding down after the show with one of the cigarettes you had made for him.

But it wasn’t time to fade out of this day. This night was just starting and you didn’t know what he had planned for these free hours, just that it wasn’t going to include sleep for a while.

You set your intention for the hours ahead with every word that you wrote. It is my job to make Daddy cum. He had sent you straight to the desk as soon as you had gotten back to the suite, not giving you any time to change your clothes. While he had promptly stripped out of the sweaty outfit he had been wearing for hours, you were still in your dress, still in the underwear that he had made very wet.

You didn’t look up when you heard the door sliding open, you remained facing the wall. You gained the scent of his cigarette as he walked nearer. You heard the thud of him dropping his phone onto the sofa.

“It is still so warm out there. It’s the middle of the night and not even a single goosebump. It’s so great.” He said. “If we lived here I could just be naked all of the time.”

“Well that’s all the convincing I need.” You said, making him laugh.

He stood behind you, his hands going to the chair’s backrest as he leaned down. The temptation to look at him was strong, but you obediently kept writing. Rather than simply reading over your shoulder, he rested his chin on the top of your head.

“How are those lines coming along?” He asked.

-my job to make Daddy cum, you finished off another sentence. “I’ve done lots for you, would you like to see?”

“Yeah, let me see if you need to write more or not.” He said.

You flicked back to the page you had started on, then passed it over. He thanked you as he straightened up. It seemed like a good sign that this exercise was over when he asked you to sit with him at the bed.

But you weren’t to sit on the mattress with him. You sat on the floor by his feet, silently watching as he checked over your work. It wasn’t as simple as him flicking through the quantity of pages, he looked at every single one. You wondered if he was looking for errors, words scribbled over.

As he seemingly read, you let your eyes wander, checking his legs for signs of your scratches. You could pick out a couple of long lines that were red, it didn’t look like you had broken through any deeper than the top layer of skin. There were some shorter red lines that you had managed to leave behind too, scattered across the expanse of his thighs. They weren’t placed in a uniform way, testifying to the frenetic energy he brought out of you.

You compared these to the revenge he had inflicted on your thighs. The inside of each thigh was splotchy, not as bright as it had been in the immediate aftermath. But the random pink patches (each of them about half the size of your fist) that could be seen hinted that you could be wearing this damage for a while longer. His bites might leave you with bruising and you looked forward to repeatedly viewing them.

“It looks like you’ve learnt your lesson.” He said as his eyes moved down the final page, which you had gotten about three-quarters full.

You looked up at him, nodding, no longer feeling the need to express your conditions to challenge his rule. “I have.”

“I know that you were just trying to be responsible, and that’s a really great trait to have.” He said. “I don’t need you to change. But for right now I think you should make something else your responsibility…”

“Cock?”

“Cock, that’s right.” He said.

You changed how you were sitting, coming up a little higher as you moved onto your knees. “Do you want my mouth again? I can finish what I started.”

He caressed your cheek, the notebook now placed aside so all of his attention could go to you. “I’m sure that would be really fun, but what I feel like is fucking.”

“How would you like me, Master?” You asked.

“First things first: get naked for me.” He said and instantly you grabbed for the hem of your dress. “Then how about you take a seat on the edge of the bed?”

He stood up, keeping his eyes on you as you made quick work of finally getting out of your clothes. You left them on the floor, then sat in the same spot he had been occupying.

You parted your knees as he placed himself directly in front of you. In the light cast by the lamp, his eyes moved all over your body, paying attention to some features more than others. With your heart-rate keenly picking up speed, you realised that the only enraptured crowd you needed was right before you. His honest admiration didn’t leave you wanting more and it made you feel as special as if he was a stadium of cheering fans.

He leaned down, one of his hands going into your hair at the same time. His fingers dragged across your scalp as his lips got so close to yours. Your eyes fluttered shut, and the next second, that very-welcome first kiss happened. There was no hint of haste, you could melt into this as there was a lovely absence of needing to be anywhere else, or to do anything else.

With no orders to keep your hands to yourself, you placed your arms around his neck. As you sought to deepen the embrace in this way, he started to ease his tongue into your mouth. Seeking synergy, it felt like you could leave the rest of the world behind.

He dragged his tongue along the roof of your mouth, but he didn’t let this become his entire focus, drawing his tongue back towards himself before too long. He sucked on your lower lip before moving on from your lips.

You kept your eyes closed as he kissed his way down, his lips treating your chin and then neck. Your thoughts were getting quieter, less significant, until the only thing you cared about was submitting.

His hands were firm on your back as he pressed one kiss after another down the length of your neck. He wasn’t seeking to leave marks this time, appreciating across your bare skin without a hint of teeth. You ran your fingers through his hair, which was back to being soft to the touch.

The lower that he kissed, the more he eased his body weight into you and you started to recline. But you kept your arms around his neck, refusing to allow too much distance to come between your bodies - you were getting to be too needy to let that happen.

His hands discovered your sides next, stroking up-and-down with his fingers following your natural curves. Your eagerness had seen your nipples getting firmer, extremely ready for his mouth as he kept kissing his way lower. He used the tip of his tongue to draw a circle around your nipple before closing his mouth around it. Your gut clenched and you dragged your nails across his scalp.

When he transferred his mouth to the other nipple, he treated it to a suck. You couldn’t help whining, that irresistible heat spreading further under your skin.

“I don’t get to have you as an after-work treat often enough.” He said, keeping the pressure on your nipple with his fingers as he spoke. “Have I mentioned how much I love having you come on the tour?”

“I think you have said it, but you could show me how much you love it.” You said, keeping any bossiness out of your tone.

“Oh, I’m going to.” He said.

His mouth got occupied with your nipple again. More of his body weight eased into you, guiding you down until your back reached the mattress. He was on top of you partially, but you wanted more, the desires building higher as his tongue manipulated the stiff peak of your nipple.

He put his hands under your elevated knees and your thighs were spread even further apart. He moved in to fill this space, his hip bones pressing into the cushioning of your upper-thighs. He got close enough that you could feel how hard his cock had become as it rested against you. But he didn’t make any moves toward penetration, just rubbing himself on you as his lips kept playing with your nipple.

You grinded against him, unable to conjure any patience within yourself. He sucked hard on the nipple and you felt the excited aching in your cunt, so eager to be acted on.

“If you have any doubts about how much I love it- this kind of obsessed with it love…” He said, his shaft getting wetter on your labia majora. “I’m gonna fuck those doubts right out of your head.”

“Right now?” You asked, gripping the back of his neck hard enough for the nails to press in.

“Uh-huh.”

You tilted your hips, expecting penetration. But this continued to not happen, just more grinding that you knew could not get you the relief that you needed. Inside you, the tension coiled and it was impossible to think of anything but this need. There was nothing you could mentally reach for that could help you calm down.

You knew that he would disapprove of you trying to fill your cunt of your own accord. And you were trying to prove to him that you didn’t need any further punishing tonight. So you just moaned through the continuing of this activity that was starting to feel as taunting as it was pleasurable.

He transferred his mouth to your other nipple and you felt the nerve-endings giddy response to his manipulations. It earned a louder wordless plea from you.

This sound extended out when you felt your pussy lips finally being pushed apart by the head of his cock. Your heart leapt into your throat, you were so thrilled to be progressing to the point of feeling your cunt filled.

His mouth remained on your nipple as he started to settle inside of you. He kept massaging his tongue against it, providing a distraction as you adjusted to the new way he was lying on top of you.

He parted from the sensitive bud when the need for air got too great. He gasped and straightened up, his concentration going to fitting more of himself into you. Your cunt had started to throb, all of the pressure in your body needing somewhere to go.

“What’s your job?” He asked, measured rocking of his hips allowing him to gently move in deeper.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, steadying yourself so you could meet his gaze. “Making Daddy come.”

“And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do, right?” He asked.

“Fuck yes.” You immediately replied.

He got about three-quarters of his length into you, but didn’t instantly follow through with the remaining inches. Instead he started to experiment with the current depth, stroking his bare cock inside of you.

He moved himself back-and-forth, establishing a maintainable tempo. You joined him as soon as you could, matching him without trying to rush ahead of him. Your excitement being acted upon was an improvement that you thought could help with your patience. It was enough to just feel yourself building towards the orgasm.

His consistency led him into moving quicker and you stuck with him, unbothered by your recovery time lessening. You were rewarded with accelerating sensitivities, tingles carried out through more of your body.

The increase of his pacing had you gripping the bed-sheets, a tremble in your hands as your breath got quicker. His eyes rushed up-and-down your body, gaining inspiration for his hips swinging - while unable to land on one definite point of interest.

He plunged in the deepest yet, with his next pound forward accompanied by him leaning down. His lips met yours as you rubbed your body against him, celebrating this proximity. You wrapped your arms around him, your hands grasping in a greedy manner.

He worked at this new angle and the pressure it brought to your clitoris made you want to melt. Waves of pleasure surged through the sensitive hood, reaching down into your receptive core. This made your walls respond to his stroking more, the fluttering getting to be constant, and more powerful.

“Squeeze it just like that.” He coached. “Squeeze it on me like you were squeezing my fingers earlier.”

You drew in a breath and made a conscious effort to clench. At the same time your legs gripped his hips tighter. You tensed around him, feeling something truly big still swelling in the deepest part of you.

“Yes.” He told you in a strained voice as he began to jackhammer faster into you. “Yes. Does that make you feel like coming?”

“Yes.” You said with a choked sob, as sticking with his pacing started to take more effort.

“Not yet.” He warned. “Daddy gets to come first, okay? That’s what’s fair.”

“Uh-huh.”

He surged that final amount of his shaft into you, his hips crashing against your body. He barely pulled back before pounding forward again.

This signalled him moving into a faster and more reckless tempo. No time was given to recovering and you could feel the tension inside you starting to fray. How much longer could you fight back getting totally overwhelmed?

He was powering through to his climax, the textured walls of your cunt starting to get coated. He was ready to unload into you. He rested his face in the curve of your neck, kissing between gasps for air.

It was a challenge to keep up with his jackhammering, your body writhing in response to his recklessness.

“Fuck, kitty.” He whined, his hips stuttering to keep him buried the whole way in.

As you were poised on that edge, he plummeted off of it. He was shivering through his climax, pressed into you as his cum unleashed. You held him, not expecting much activity right now.

As his energy stalled momentarily, you stopped the conscious effort of clenching your pussy to him. But that didn’t mean your inner-walls stopped fluttering or otherwise reacting to his continuing penetration. There were still so many sensitivities housed in this area, so you bided your time until they could return to centre stage.

You held your arms around him. Even though you desired nothing more than to make use of the electricity pumping through your system, you bullied yourself into not moving. He was to set the lead, so you just listened to the way he was steadily catching his breath.

“That’s how a good girl does her job.” He said, allowing you to see his face again as he lifted his head.

You licked your lips, expecting an imminent kiss. But he moved too far away, suddenly deciding to stand up again.

His cock remained hugged by your pussy, sliding in deeper as he planted his feet on the ground. You watched him resuming this position as your whole body ached for release. You wondered how he would give it to you, the need sat on your chest like an almost-real weight.

He picked up one of your legs again, his other hand going to your hip. It was a measured and steady plunge that he made into your pussy. He didn’t rush into any kind of pace, instead concentrating on long strokes that could deliver him to your sweet spot.

“I gotta make sure that cum is in nice and deep.” He said. His movements were coming in more consistently now, establishing a thorough but unhurried tempo.

“Uh-huh.” You were still mostly breathless as you responded. Your heart racing and your nerves remaining so tense because that dominating hunger kept you from settling.

He started to raise your leg up higher, lifting until it could be draped over his shoulder. This provided him with an extra ease of movement, his cock gliding to new angles in your slicked cunt. But it didn’t inspire him to go faster, instead he remained fixated on stroking his entire length back-and-forth.

His slow motions were giving you time to recover, which wasn’t what you had been hoping for. The cooling down of intensity was leading you to thinking, coherent thoughts starting to form, even though you deemed them to be unnecessary.

It occurred to you that the orgasm was further away than it had felt before (reality would start to creep back in, demanding acknowledgement soon). You kept moving with him, even though these swings of your hips didn’t seem to be getting you closer to your orgasm, you were still enjoying the sensations allowed to you. This felt better than lying still would - you were certain of this.

Not wanting the fire to be dulled any further, you tried to increase your own speed. You didn’t care to match him as you pulled your hips back. Regardless of how he was moving, you quickly jolted yourself forward, claiming a brief glimpse of the friction you desired.

He maintained control over his movements - either he didn’t notice your rhythm, or he was entirely uninterested in it. He stayed at his own speed, enjoying the thorough follow-through of each stroke.

You worked yourself up to a tempo that felt better than what he was currently providing you with. You arched your back as your needy pumps came in consistently.

You didn’t need him to match you to get you back up to that energising peak of sensitivities. But you couldn’t ignore how the collisions weren’t hitting as deep as you needed. Even as you worked in promising motions, you knew that something essential was missing.

“Daddy.” You whined, letting him hear how desperate you were. “You said that you wouldn’t have to edge me all fucking night. Wasn’t that the deal?”

He paused, going entirely motionless as if he needed a moment to consider this. “Oh, I wasn’t trying to edge you. I was just taking a little extra time to enjoy your pussy.” You could have cussed him out, slapping a hand over your eyes. “Are you ready to come? I didn’t know, you’re actually being so subtle.”

You let the frustration dominate you for a moment. More swears came to mind as you curled your hands into fists around sections of the bed-sheet.

You tried to decipher what he wanted from what he had said. You put your last ounces of logic into the effort.

“Please. Please let me come.” You said, locking eyes with him as you resumed your earlier speed. “Please Master, please, please!”

It got more exciting when he began to match your rhythm. As he met each of your energetic fucks, you were finally treated to those sensations that rocked you down to the core of your being. You strengthened your actions as you tightly wrapped a leg around his waist. This may have been more control than what he wanted to hand over, so you made sure to keep begging.

You didn’t have to hold anything back as you recklessly chased that climax. You went totally wild, rocking with all of your power because you were unbothered by the possibility of being exhausted in the aftermath of this.

“Yes, give it to me just like that, please. Please.” Your voice got louder as you could feel the orgasm coming back within reach. “Please give it to me.”

Your leg slipped from his shoulder as he rocked forward, more of his body covering yours. He grabbed fistfuls of the bed-sheet to help brace himself through the last moments of frenzied pounding.

When your climax finally arrived, it was so vastly different to what you had experienced in the dressing room. Immediately you handed your entire body over to it, crying out as your cunt spasmed through the accomplishment.

Suddenly it got even hotter between your receptive walls. To the sounds of his moans competing with yours, his cock unloaded into you for the second time.

“Oh, my perfect toy…” He gasped, releasing the sheet so he could caress your sides.

You fell out of the tempo quickly, making a fast transition from dazzled to devastated. With absolutely nothing else to give, you started to lower your body down to the mattress. It felt like sleep wasn’t too far off.

After pulling out, he gave you some more kisses, none of them lingering as they had earlier tonight. Then he climbed off of you, seeking his own comfortable spot on the mattress.

“There’s another continent we’ve stained some sheets in. We can tick it off the list.” He joked.

»»————-　♡　————-««  

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[cherry-velvet-skies]

Sleepy Stitches

Thomas Raggi × GN!Reader

Genre: Fluff (maybe a sprinkle of Angst? idk)

Warnings: Mentions of needles (they're embroidery needles, but they're still needles 😅), brief mention of smoking

Words: 2.6k

Summary: Thommy can't sleep, so he works on one of Reader's art projects until he falls asleep

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

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    “So you just take the needle and thread it through here, trying to keep the stitches as tight together as possible.” You instructed, demonstrating the action on your small embroidery hoop, pushing the needle through the stretched muslin fabric, adding another colorful loop of thread to your artwork. “You can try it if you’d like.”

    Thomas held his hands out to take the hoop from you, loosely holding the needle between his long fingers. He pinched it between his index and thumb, attempting to locate the closest possible entry point next to the stitch you had just placed before him. He poked it through the fabric, flipping the hoop over to make sure he initiated contact. He giggled when looking at the other side, realizing how zany the bottom half appeared, finally unveiling the secret twisted pathways underneath the beauty of an embroidery artist’s work.

    “It looks like a bowl of colorful spaghetti.” He mused, flipping the hoop back to its right side to see where the next entry hole should go. He alternated between looking at the top and bottom, making sure the needle lined up with its target. When he finally poked through, the noise of its break caught his attention. It sounded like puncturing the batter head of a drum, the pop echoing throughout the quiet living room.

    “I’m sure you have gotten used to that sound by now.” He teased, handing the hoop back to you to assess his progress. You chuckled, sticking the needle halfway through the fabric to keep it from accidentally rolling away and poking you. You only made that mistake once.

    “Well, the fabric has to be super tight so the stitches don’t get all jumbled together. That’s the purpose of the hoop. Fabric slack is an embroiderer’s kryptonite.” You punctuated your statement with a snicker. Upon further inspection, you noticed that the exit hole you made during your stitch was suddenly a bit bigger than before. A classic rookie mistake made by almost every novice of embroidery art, including yourself at one time: accidentally putting the needle through the previous thread hole when trying to get the stitches as close as you can. A satin stitch, or any of the flavors of embroidery, weren’t an exact science. However, there were times when things needed to be as precise as possible.

    “Thommy, when I said get them as close as possible, putting them through the same hole was not exactly what I had in mind.” You joked, showing him the hoop. He tilted his head in confusion, leaning forward to inspect the threads, gently parting them to find they were indeed not separated by even the thinnest of weft fibers.

    “Oh…sorry.” He whispered, laughing awkwardly while running his fingers through his hair, sporting that incredibly lovable downturned smile. 

    “No need to apologize,” You assured, “It’s quite a common mistake and it’s an easy fix. I can’t tell you how many times I did that when I first started. Don’t worry, you’ll get better at it.” You saw Thomas’ hesitation still lingered as you simply backtracked the needle, undoing his stitch. You quickly did another one and handed it back to him, offering him a redo. “I know it’s a small needle, so I get if it’s tedious, but you can try again and I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

    “I don’t know, love,” Thomas sighed, “maybe this whole stitching thing is too hard for me. Plus, you’ve been working on this thing for like three weeks. I don’t want to mess it up for you.”

    You pouted, staring down at the artwork in your hands. It was a six-inch circular landscape, complete with a golden sunset and a lush field of flowers. Well, almost all the flowers had been added. You were currently filling in the various rolling hills with a gorgeous sage green thread. You wanted Thomas to help with the flowers, too, but the idea of even attempting a French knot stressed him out. You knew he wanted to learn, since embroidery art was something you loved. As your boyfriend, he was interested in learning about anything you liked, but this was one thing he felt like he couldn’t completely get into.

    “If potentially messing up my artwork is what you’re worried about, how about we try a fresh piece of fabric?” You tried, setting the hoop and needle down on the coffee table. “I could show you a chain or a stem stitch again. Or you can face your fears and try the French knot?”

    “Oh, no, leprotta, those are way harder than what you’re showing me now!” Thomas whined, rising from his seat on the couch to try and compensate for his rising nervous energy. “Maybe we can pick this up again later? I think I need a little break.” 

Your eyes widened, not sure how to respond. Not wanting to make him any more anxious, you mustered a small “Okay” before returning the hoop back to your bedroom. But “picking up again later” never happened.

    Later that night, Thomas found it hard to fall asleep. As much as he loved to sleep, this time it just wouldn't happen. He tried to get comfortable time and time again, but to no avail. He would close his eyes and try to bring about his own exhaustion as much as he could, but when he glanced at the clock again, only mere minutes had passed. Despite having to be awake early the following morning to be on time for one of the band’s interviews, it seemed that the more he tried to sleep, the more restless he became.

Thomas sat up, wondering what could be prying him away from a night of peaceful slumber. Too much caffeine? He may have had a larger slice of chocolate cake than usual for dessert, but that never bothered him in the past. Was it his nerves? In that case, having a cigarette typically calmed him down enough to get some rest. Doing his best not to disturb you, who was occupying the other half of the bed, he slowly got out from under the blanket and headed to the window. As he lit his cigarette and exhaled the first puff of air, he felt bad about the interaction he had with you earlier. Thomas didn’t want you to think he didn’t care enough to contribute to your art project. He just wanted to make sure that if he was going to make any sort of contribution, he was going to do it right.

Sticking the cigarette in the ashtray to extinguish it, he softly made his way back to the bed and began yet another attempt at sleeping. About thirty minutes later, his eyes shot open again, only aggravating him further. Thomas looked at the clock again. If things continued like this any longer, he’d be having to get up anyway by the time he got around to falling asleep. It was situations like these where the only viable solution was to get up and do something until it physically tired him out, so he had no choice but to go to bed. 

Sitting upright again, Thomas surveyed the room to find his perfect activity. Practicing guitar was impossible as it was far too loud and would surely wake you up. He could write a new song, but currently had no good ideas, and anything he wrote down would've been forced just to keep himself occupied. And then he spotted it.

Taking one final glance over at you to assure you were still sleeping, he tiptoed over to your desk to grab the small wooden hoop, still attached to the same threaded strand of sage green yarn. He contemplated staying at the desk to work on it, but feared that the scraping of the chair legs against the floor would wake you immediately, so back to the bed it was.

Thomas stared at the fabric, his fingertips caressing the shiny golden clamp at the top of the hoop. Plucking the needle from its muslin bed, he started from where you left off. His first idea on how to improve his satin stitch technique was to use one hand to feel along the bottom for the previous thread loop, preventing him from placing the thread in the wrong spot. However, all he succeeded in doing was poking his middle finger when he tried to make the stitch because he didn’t move it before threading.

Mouthing “Ow” as he yanked his finger away from the fabric, he began to get discouraged again. Taking a steadying breath, he closed his eyes and tried to remain positive. “Okay, Thom, you got this.” He whispered ever so softly, the words barely leaving his plush lips. “You can do this.”

 Not being able to see very well with only the small streaks of moonlight coming through the window, Thomas turned around to switch on the small lamp next to the bed, making the room a tad brighter. It wasn’t much light, considering it was only a table lamp, but at least he could see the colors on the fabric better instead of everything looking like one big grey blob.

You had been sound asleep up until this point, but the sudden abundance of light that seemed to be right outside your eyelids caught your attention. You slowly opened your eyes to inspect the source, seeing Thomas sitting up in front of you, slightly hunched over and extremely focused, his activity of choice concealed from your view. 

“Thommy?” You mumbled, rubbing your eyes. “What are you doing, baby?”

Thomas froze. This was quite possibly the only time he would ever prefer you not to know what he was doing. He slowly turned his head to look at you, his expression one of worry as he knew he had woken you up. Now that his position had changed, you could clearly see what he was up to. You smiled faintly, your emotion a mix of tiredness and perplexion as to why Thomas decided that now was the time to practice his embroidery skills. Upon closer inspection, the odd timing wasn’t the only thing to bewilder you. The way Thomas held an embroidery needle was unlike any you had ever seen before. He held it like a pencil, pushing it through the fabric with his pinky. It was certainly different, but undoubtedly adorable considering he was still a beginner. You could almost start giggling from that alone.

You sat up next to him and rested your chin on his shoulder, placing a kiss on the side of his neck. He smiled and continued to fill in the design, keeping the stitches nice and tight, just like you had shown him earlier.

“I guess you had been paying attention.” You whispered as you continued to observe him. 

“I remembered everything you said.” Thomas responded, his voice an equally low whisper. “Sorry for waking you, though.”

“You didn’t wake me.” You lied, hoping to ease his tension. “I felt a bit restless anyway.” Thomas knew you weren’t being truthful, but didn’t press the issue any further. “What made you want to practice this now?” You asked him, noticing his hand twitch at the question.

“I couldn’t sleep,” He confessed, “And I thought I could do something until I got tired. I thought maybe some practice alone would be better for me. But then you woke up.” And that’s when it hit you. 

“Did practicing in front of me make you nervous?” You breathed, praying you weren’t correct but sensing there was no other logical conclusion. Thomas nodded.

“When you first asked me to try it with you, I assumed it would be easy for me. Sewing is something you need to have good finger movement for. I figured my guitar skills would help me a lot, but I was wrong.” He explained, making another stitch to demonstrate. “The one big difference I didn’t think of was that, when I’m playing guitar, my fingers are constantly moving. From what you’ve shown me, sewing is much slower. I think the idea of normally moving quickly is what’s making me mess up. I just wanted to practice a bit more before coming back to you with it.”

Your gaze flickered between Thomas and the embroidery hoop. You smiled in a way that made your dimples quite prominent. “From what I can see here, you’re skills are doing nothing but good things for you.” Thomas stared down at the fabric, wondering what you meant. “I can’t even tell where I finished and you started.” You praised him, running the tip of your fingers across the muted green loops. 

Thomas looked up at you, his pupils so large you’d think he was high. “You mean it?”

“It never mattered to me if you were good at it, Thommy.” You replied, resting your chin against his shoulder again. “Regardless of what you were able to do, I’m just happy you want to be involved.”

Thomas resumed his embroidering stance, left hand holding the edge of the hoop against his lap while his right hand tightly gripped the needle. He went to make another stitch, but stopped. His eyes moved back and forth, as if he were reading invisible words on an equally transparent page. His left hand abandoned the hoop and grasped the thread instead, making sure to grip it as close to the fabric as possible. He softly repeated what you had told him when wrapping the thread for a knot. “Three loops for a small one, five loops for medium, seven for large.”

He carefully coiled the thread around the scarf of the needle before making contact with the fabric, remembering to hold the knot firmly against the stretched muslin to ensure it was secure. He extended his right hand to pull the thread, making a dent in the center of the yarn ball like a bundt cake. He had successfully created a French knot.

“You did it.” You whispered, moving a few stray hairs away from Thomas’ eyes. “I’m so proud of you, Thommy.” 

“I love you, tesoro.” He purred, turning his head towards you to press a kiss to your lips, his heart soaring with confidence and validation. 

“I love you too, baby.” You responded, softly tracing your finger along the edge of his jawline. Feeling uplifted from his wonderful contribution to your artwork, he continued adding stitches to the fabric, making rapid progress to the various regions of the field. You observed him with pure happiness, lazily stroking his hair, sweeping your fingers along the back of his neck. You felt your eyelids getting heavy, briefly closing them as you continued to lean against Thomas’ shoulder.

After several minutes, you no longer heard the distinct popping and stretching of any stitches being made. Slowly opening your eyes, you looked over at Thomas’ face to see his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open, his long eyelashes softly resting against his cheeks. You knew he was trying to fall asleep, but you thought he would at least make it back to bed before he did so.

Chuckling to yourself, you slowly took the hoop and needle out of his hands and placed them back on your desk, making sure Thomas didn’t fall forward or backward when you moved. Turning back to him, you gently held the back of his neck as you guided him to lay down, pulling the blanket up over his chest before getting comfortable on your side of the bed. Thankfully, you didn’t disturb him on the way down, since he was typically a heavy sleeper once he was finally out. Hurriedly turning off the lamp and climbing back into bed, you cuddled him until you fell asleep, ever so proud of him for always doing his best.

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I wrote a rough draft of this fic about a year ago reflecting on an embroidery class I took in high school. And yes, I included the part about awkwardly holding a needle because one of my classmates held their needle that way and it absolutely baffled me lmao 🤭 I was always amazed how they made such incredible designs using that particular form but I guess they were doing something right 😁