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Hello! I am an English girl of 19 who you may call Elsie ☺️
I post all things relating to depression era outlaws, mafia members, gangsters and a few miscellaneous criminals from the 50s - 60s too. Most of my posts are archival pieces but I will be posting the occasional fic here too.
The interest I have in outlaws began at quite a young age and has done nothing but grow stronger and fascinate me even through the years. Some of my favourite real life people to research are Homer Van Meter, Charles Floyd, Alvin Karpis, Kray Twins, Fred Barker, Delbert Linaweaver, Charles Luciano, Irving Shapiro and John Dillinger 💞
Some of my favourite video games are Mafia, The Last Of Us, Life Is Strange, Red Dead Redemption, Outlast, Silent Hill, Horizon Zero Dawn, Resident Evil, Metro, God Of War, Lollipop Chainsaw, Alice: Madness Returns and Telltales The Walking Dead.
Some of my favourite musicians are Daniel Lanois, Sons Of The Pioneers, Vera Lynn, Lorne Greene, Gracie Fields, The Ink Spots, Adelaide Hall, Bill Callahan, Henry Hall, Elsie Carlisle, Al Bowlly and Akira Yamaoka.
I would also like to state that my private messages as well as my ask box are always open for those who wish to chat, be friends or ask me questions about things. I love to talk 🥰 all I ask is that minors please do not message me! You are more than free to interact with my posts and such but please do not message me and such.
Is there a fandom for Empire Of Sin on Tumblr at all? I was thinking about some headcanon and possible fic related things for Frankie Donovan because he is my favourite character and I absolutely adore him 🥺 I do love Robin Kray too.
So much of my mind has me convinced that Ruggero Spadaro would call his significant other his “piccola colomba” as a pet name 🥺 he uses it ten times more than usual when he knows that you are a bit upset with him too; whether it be because Ruggero returned home later than he said he would or because he did something that you do not at all agree with. He will use this pet name so much when you are giving him the cold shoulder and the silent treatment for whatever it is that he has done this time.
Ruggero is not at all a total sap in my opinion though. There is no doubt that he loves his significant other more than words can even explain but he is not the kind of man to get down on his knees and beg for forgiveness is all. He is much more the kind of man who butters you up and manages to slither his way back into your good books by peppering soft kisses across your shoulder and along the sensitive nape of your neck while you have your back turned to him. Ruggero murmurs quiet apologies against your warm skin with each lingering kiss and he has to bite back a satisfied smirk when he feels your tense shoulders loosening beneath his touch. He knows how to work his way around you and break your stubborn walls down into smithereens. Not to mention gift giving 😶 Ruggero is someone who views gift giving and kind of intense affection as making things up to you. He will arrive home later than what he told you but at least he bought you that glamorous necklace you pointed out to him a few days back. He will know that you are aware of something awful he instructed at the mines but he will take you out to an expensive dinner to forget all about that knowledge.
Perhaps this is quite a massive flaw within him though because Ruggero is never truly sorry for his actions or his instructed actions against other people. The only thing he is actually sorry for is upsetting you because that is something that actually affects him. Nothing else and no one else matters to him in the way that you do. Ruggero tries rather hard to keep his line of work and business far away from you most of the time anyways though. His pet name for you is “piccola colomba” which means “little dove” and doves represent peace and innocence as well as purity among many other things that he knows both he and his line of work are not in the slightest. Ruggero views his significant other as his own little dove and does not ever wish to see your metaphorical white feathers stained with crimson blood and dirt. He will keep things as far away from you as he can - even if for kind of selfish and knowing reasons.
Ruggero is such an interesting character to headcanon things for as a romantic partner because I feel like he would be so sweet and endearing in some ways but also rather toxic and unbearable in others. I love his character so much though. The whole Spadaro clan were actually one of my absolute favourite parts of Mafia: The Old Country and I pray we see a little bit more of them in the upcoming DLC 🥲
Is it bad of me to think that Tommy Angelo would be quite into and turned on by oral finger activities with his partner? Something about him makes me think such is the case is all.
I feel like Tommy did not even know that it did something for him before you and him got together. It was not something that had ever even crossed his mind until you made it do so.
The awakening within him happens late one evening after he has taken you out for dinner to a local safe club that features live music and expensive food in a room with dim lighting and thick air that holds the lingering scent of French perfumes and cigarette smoke. Both of you have had a few drinks with your respective meals. Tommy had two rather small and light drinks because of course, he knows he has to stay sober in order to drive the two of you home safe and sound. You, on the other hand, have had quite a few more drinks than a mere two small ones. You are wine drunk is all.
It is when the wine starts making you let out loud, slurred laughs at the simplest of small things that Tommy knows it is definitely time to get you home. He all but carries you out of the club with a soft, loving smile on his face as he settles you down into the passenger seat of his car. Under five minutes into the familiar drive back home, you reach over and grab one of his hands, pulling it away from the steering wheel. At first, Tommy reacts with nothing more than a curious raise of his eyebrow and a quick glance thrown over at you; he knows that he can drive as normal with one hand fine enough. He assumes that you want to hold his hand is all, which is more than fine by him. You do tend to be a lovey dovey kind of drunk most of the time after all.
It is only when, literal seconds later, he feels a sudden warm wetness around his fingers and the unmistakable feeling of a slick tongue gliding across his calloused finger pads that he swerves by a small amount on the desolate road in genuine surprise. “Jesus, sweetheart, what’re you doin’?” Tommy questions lowly. His voice is notably heavy and breathy with unfamiliar confusion, surprise and a newfound sense of growing lust that prickles beneath his skin, as if demanding to be acknowledged. The vibrating feeling of you responding to him with a simple muffled laugh and a quiet hum around his fingers makes him swallow thickly, his adams apple bobbing in his throat and his eyes darkening beneath the light of passing street lamps. For the rest of the short drive home, his mouth is dry and his pants feel tighter with blatant arousal. Yet he never once even goes to pull his hand back from your mouth. The feelings and sensations of his two calloused fingers being held in your warm mouth is so new and overwhelming for him. It is almost akin to a kind of torture - albeit a form of torture that he has come to be a more than willing receiver of. It is almost addictive to him.
The two of you do nothing more that night. You seem to have no idea about the extent of what you have done to him through your wine veiled brain and Tommy would never engage in intimate activities with you when you are drunker than he is. You fall asleep within mere minutes of him changing you into a comfortable silk nightdress and helping you nestle into your shared bed. You cling to his figure and bury your face into his warm chest all while he keeps a strong arm secured around you and remains awake for one long hour into the night. Tommy spends that hour staring up at the ceiling of your bedroom as his mind takes the form of a violent whirlwind, thrashing around different thoughts of what had happened and why on earth he has been so incredibly affected by it. He forces himself to ignore the near painful want for relief in his lower half and falls into a sleep.
When the following morning arrives, it is a whole different story. As the two of you are awake in the morning but have yet to climb out of bed, you somehow come to remember exactly what you had done the previous night and apologise to him with a small, flustered smile before he even speaks a single word to you about it. Tommy brushes it off at first with a sweet, comforting smile and pulls you tighter against him to press a kiss atop your head. He reassures you that it was not a problem at all and that you have nothing to be sorry for. Then, after a moment of unsure hesitation from him, he sighs and tilts your head up toward him with his two index fingers, guiding you to prop your chin upon his chest as he leans back against the headboard of the bed. “I, uh… I didn’t mind it at all, sweetheart. I don’t mind it.” He reveals, keeping his chestnut gaze locked with your own as your eyes communicate a thousand more silent words and quiet confessions between each other.
You say nothing but instead hold his gaze as you tilt your head down by a small amount and brush your soft lips across the tips of his fingers. His eyes darken like threatening storm clouds as he watches you, his lips parting while his breathing grows ragged and heavier while a familiar heat sparks within his lower half. You barely even graze his skin with the tip of your tongue before he lowers his free hand downwards to grab your waist and flips you over to position you beneath him on the bed with an almost animalistic ease. Tommy does not move his hand from your mouth by an inch, slipping two of his fingers past the threshold of your parted lips, releasing a deep groan when you welcome them with a soft moan. He makes use of his other hand to manage all of the work beneath the covers blanketing your lower bodies.
After that sudden awakening within Tommy, any intimate oral activities with his fingers are always more than enough to get him beyond hot and bothered in a little amount of time. It is a wonderful way to tease him too because even pressing a simple, slow kiss to his thumb when he holds your cheek in his palm makes his pupils blow out so much to a point of there being almost no warm brown of his irises left visible at all. Teasing him like that, even more so if the two of you are around other people, will have consequences though 😶
Anywho, what do we think about this? I am super into the idea of him loving oral finger stuff 🙃 I think he would like having his fingers sucked and similar things.
Cannot stop thinking about how dad! Paulie Lombardo would be the kind of father who tries to teach his little girl how to do such foolish things without hurting herself and then goes on to hurt himself in the said process 😭 like the time when his daughter was teaching herself how to shoot little rubber bands at a wall from her fingers and Paulie had taken the rubber band from her to show her how to do it in fear of her hurting herself. He managed to somehow fling the rubber band backwards and right into his own eye within literal seconds of positioning it around his fingers.
It is never ever your daughter that you have to fear hurting herself. It is in fact Paulie. You have to fear your husband hurting himself whilst attempting to teach your daughter how to do something so random and so unserious. He always tries to play it off so well and unbothered too but that rubber band incident had his eye drooped by a small amount and stinging for the rest of the day - which of course did not go unnoticed by Tommy nor Sam who were both quite quick to poke a bit of fun at him as he grumbled to himself and held back on explaining how it even happened.
His daughter once asked him about how to do a handstand and had pleaded with him to show her with a visual demonstration because she was afraid to attempt it without seeing someone do it in front of her beforehand. Paulie could not ever speak the word “no” to her even if he wanted to. So of course he attempted to perform a handstand whilst wearing a full three piece suit and of course he did almost break multiple bones in the process of doing so. His failure was rather miserable and his attempt alone was pitiful as a whole but it made his piccolo pulcino laugh at least so it was more than worth it to him.
Not sure if anyone else has mentioned this before - please do forgive me if they have - but in certain cutscenes with Paulie where the light reflects against his face in a certain manner like in the capture below, it kind of looks like he has some pitted acne scars on his cheeks. Some similar markings are shown on his cheeks on the art of his cigarette card in game.
I do not know if this is an intended trait or if it is a simple trick of the light kind of thing but I am choosing to believe that these are in fact a few pitted acne scars 🥺 it got me thinking about if his partner is someone who deals with acne or someone who has their own acne scars. I deal with occasional acne breakout myself and I think Paulie would be so sweet with a romantic partner who has acne or even if it is wife! reader who begins to experience acne breakouts due to being pregnant, which is a common occurrence for pregnant women.
I think Paulie would have quite a soft spot for being kissed on his scarred cheeks too. It softens him up and flusters him far more than he would ever like to admit 😶 all of this is solely nothing more than a personal headcanon but I can view him as having been extremely insecure and embarrassed about his acne as a teenager. So when he has a partner who sees his leftover acne scars and does nothing but love them and kiss them all over with no disgust at all, it heals something so deep down inside of him that he thought he had long since buried and forgotten about as a whole.
Unrelated to my acne headcanon for him but another headcanon I have for him is that Paulie loves being kissed on the thin scar that runs down through the left corner of his upper lip from the skin above. The scar itself is quite sensitive and almost ticklish from even the lightest of touch. One lingering kiss to it will have him fumbling over his words a bit as his mind fogs over. Even more so with how close it is to his actual lips themselves. Kissing his scar will never not end in him turning his head over to catch your lips against his own and holding them in a deep kiss.
Yet another random headcanon but dad! Charles Luciano and wife! reader have a little girl who goes through a rather intense phase in her toddlerhood where she can only fall asleep when she is in a moving car. This odd phase lasts for around three weeks and is an unrelenting force for that time.
Neither you nor Charles could figure out what was wrong with her when it first began. The first night it began, neither of you knew why on earth she was fussing so much and sobbing up a storm as he and wife! reader attempted to put her down to sleep. For an hour, both you and Charles rocked her in your arms, offered her food, sang lullabies to her and even put the radio on to a low, comforting volume. Nothing worked in the slightest. When it reached the hour mark of her relentless crying into the dark night, Charles let his parental paranoia win and decided that it was time to drive her to a local private doctor that he knew was secure and safe. He was worried that she was ill or had even hurt herself somehow.
When the two of you carried her out to the car, Charles kept her held on his lap against his warm chest while he settled into the drivers seat. The moment the engine began to rumble and the car began to move in gentle motions as he pulled away from your home, her cries began to quieten within literal seconds. All of a sudden, with the car rolling down the desolate roads, her heartbreaking sobs devolved into simple sniffles and the occasional hiccup. You and Charles shared a bewildered look at her sudden calmness. Believing her to have found a simple sense of comfort, Charles had pulled the car over to the side of the curb to check her over and perform a u-turn to drive back home. This was quite the mistake because as soon as the car idled, her eyes widened and filled with massive tears again. She began wailing at the stillness. It was at this moment that the pieces clicked together for you.
While Charles was frantically stroking the wetness from her flushed cheeks, murmuring desperate words of comfort to her and bouncing his legs, you reached over to grasp the back of his free hand with a hopeful smile. “Start the car and drive, Charlie. Drive around the block.” You said. His face was riddled with visible confusion but he was far too exhausted and worried to think about it. He started the car again and exactly as you had expected; her tears came to a slow as he pulled away from the curb. “She… she stopped. She stopped cryin’ again, doll.” Charles whispered over to you in disbelief, throwing you a baffled glance and tightening his arm around her whilst guiding the steering wheel with the other. Looking between her and the empty roads, you could almost see the puzzle being completed in his head as he reached your same conclusion. Her red eyes drooping from the heavy hum of the engine and the sway of the car was all the proof you needed. “The car calms her, Charlie.” You confirmed with tired relief.
After that night, it became a regular, honoured routine almost every single night for you and Charles to have to take her on hour long night time rides in the car for her to fall asleep for three weeks straight. Nothing else worked better at all.
Is it a bad opinion or headcanon to say that I think dad! Sam Trapani would be kind of a complicated father? Perhaps this is beyond foolish but I have thought this for a while now 😶
With the known lore of his father Luca passing when he was a mere child - though old enough to remember his father, even if in small, fleeting glimpses - I think he would be afraid of letting his child get too “attached” to him, so to speak. Sam is not a stupid man for the most part. He knows exactly what kind of life he lives and he knows what risks it brings with a near constant threat on his life - which could be snuffed out at really about any unexpected moment. He knows that people in his line of work do not often get to live out long lives. He does not want his child to experience the same kind of loss that he did. He thinks that if his child does not attach themselves to him and view him as their loving father, his loss will not be hard on them and they will grow up without any complications, they will not have to bear the same burdens as he did. In a strange sense, he believes that not outwardly showing them love and affection is in fact the biggest form of love and care that someone like him can offer to them.
So if he were to have a child… I think that he would come to remember so much about the past fate of his own father. All of a sudden, his own childhood memories of losing his father and the feelings it brought him would rush back to him like an overpowering tidal wave. All of the things that he had tried to forget and block out would be pushed to the very forefront of his mind, refusing to budge like a stubborn stain.
Instead of going a much better way about handling this, Sam at first takes it as a glaring sign to disallow his child to become attached to him. Or at least, he tries to. Sam is not a cold hearted man and eventually, after so much opening up and vulnerable explaining to wife! reader at the quiet dead of night, he would come to realise that if anything, it should be a sign to treasure every single split second that he has with both his wife and child.
It would not be an instant transition within him. It would not be a thing that has a drastic change within a short day. It would be complicated and unfamiliar for him. But he would truly try so hard and would try to give his child a love that they will cherish and remember even when he is no longer around.
Wanting to write a fic based around this recent dad au headcanon I have for dad! Paulie Lombardo but I cannot choose a name for his OC daughter 🙃 please do feel free to help me out with the vote below or even recommend other names in the comments.
What should her name be?
Lucetta Lombardo
Rosalinda Lombardo
Benedetta Lombardo
Lucia Lombardo
Voting ended onJun 9
For nicknames, I think Paulie would tend to call his daughter “piccolo pulcino” but in terms of shortening birth names down; I think he would often shorten both Benedetta and Lucetta down to “Etta” and Rosalinda down to “Rosa” ☺️
One simple headcanon that I have within my dad au for Mafia is that dad! Paulie Lombardo purchases almost any purple clothes and accessories that he ever finds for his little girl.
Paulie loves matching with her 🥺 he adores wearing his purple suit and tie while she wears her purple dress and bows in her hair. With how often Paulie wears the same purple suit in the game, no one can ever tell me it is not his absolute favourite suit - same with the amount of purple ties he wears. His favourite colour is purple and that opinion comes to be very much shared by his daughter too.
It is not at all an uncommon occurrence for Paulie to arrive home in the evening after attending some business with Salieri with a few boutique bags held in his hands. He will walk right up to wife! reader with a knowing but proud grin on his face and start pulling all new purple coloured clothes and accessories for their daughter out of the bags, gesturing back and forth between each newly revealed item and his own pristine suit with his free hand. “I had to get it for her, doll. The pattern matches my tie!” He defends with the most genuine excitement, holding a dollish purple dress up to his silk tie to prove the close pattern match when wife! reader softly tells him that their daughter already has both a large closet and a chest of drawers that are each overflowing with clothes that she will soon come to outgrow.
Due to how frequent it is for her to see him wearing purple, the colour itself becomes a massive comfort for her. If you are familiar with those videos of fathers shaving their beards and their babies or toddlers hating it, the same sort of thing happens between Paulie and his little girl when he decides to wear a suit that is not purple for once. She does not like it at all and that man is not her father 😭 her father wears purple; bring her purple clad father back.
Paulie also keeps one of her many purple ribbons - which are used for making bows in her hair - in the inner breast pocket of his suit blazer at all times as a good luck charm and because it reminds him of her. She had toddled up to him and pushed it into his calloused palm right before he was due to head out and handle some business alongside Sam. He had pocketed the small ribbon and kissed her on the head before leaving. The supposed business turned out to be a relentless shootout in which he miraculously avoided getting shot multiple times by mere impossible inches. He has not taken the ribbon out of his pocket ever since. It reminds him of what he has to fight for and of who he has to stay alive for.
The same tradition occurs between Paulie and wife! reader too. He has bought countless purple dresses and skirts and blouses for wife! reader and he has no plans on ever stopping. He has done so for long before their daughter was born. Truth be told; dad! Paulie, wife! reader and their daughter are a mere beautiful lavender bouquet of a family.
Another random little mini dad au ramble here but dad! Paulie Lombardo is the kind of father who is very easily manipulated by his little girl 😭 one glance at her wide, pleading doe eyes and her pouted, trembling lower lip has his resolve crumbling into a million pieces and giving in to any want that she has. He does not have a backbone whatsoever when it comes to his piccolo pulcino. Paulie is an intense gift giver when it comes to both wife! reader and their daughter. It makes him feel like such a proven provider - even though you tell him so often that his love and care is more than enough and that material things are not a constant need.
Paulie does not even know that the word “no” exists when it comes down to his little girl. She erases that word from his mind without even truly intending to.
Not to mention the few times that his daughter starts to use the dramatic water works tactic because Paulie does not say “yes” fast enough for her liking 😶 it makes him feel so awful and he will dive into a panic ramble about how he will get her whatever she wants so long as she does not cry. Her little bedroom would be spilling over with so many different expensive toys because of his total inability to tell her no. Whenever wife! reader and Paulie go shopping with their daughter in tow, any simple necessities trip will very quickly turn into a spoiling trip and end in Paulie having his arms full of different bags that are overflowing with new toys and clothes.
His disuse of the word no does not only occur when it comes to him purchasing material things for her though. It still stands true in more simple ways like when his piccolo pulcino toddles up to him at home with colourful ribbons held in her chubby hands and climbs up into his lap from his suit trouser leg to begin decorating his pristine tie and suit blazer with an abundance of messy bows. Even if he has a meeting to attend with Salieri himself and the other men within the hour, Paulie is not about to push his little girl away and tell her no when all she wants to do is “make papa pretty.” He will show up to that meeting with loose bows hanging from all over his clothes without a care in the world and brag all about how his piccolo pulcino has a “real eye for decoration and fashion” and how she will be a “big shot fashion designer” in the future.
All Paulie wants to spoil her and give her an incredible life and never let her want for anything 💔 he cannot handle the concept of her wanting for something and not getting it. If she asked for the moon itself, best believe Paulie would be looking for a way to lasso it and pull it down for her.
Random ramble but dad! Damiano Bastoni would absolutely be the kind of father who swears up and down to his brother that he has not gone soft in the slightest and has not even changed at all since becoming a father all while he has his little girl perched up on his shoulders as she pulls at his immaculately styled hair and reaches around to gently smack at his scarred cheek 🥺 at this point, Corrado would not even be looking at Damiano as he attempts to defend his stubborn honour of being a stone cold enforcer of Spadaro. Instead, Corrado would be looking right up at his niece with the blankest but most knowing of expressions on his face and the tiniest of smirks finding his lips. He would be so unimpressed and unfazed 😭 Corrado knows fine well that while Damiano might not have become a complete softie since becoming a father, he most certainly is a total softie for his daughter; whether he fully accepts it or not.
And outside of how he acts with wife! reader and their little girl, Damiano truly is not soft in the slightest 😶 in fact, ever since getting married and then having a child who relies on him as a father and a protective figure, he has only become even more aggressive and intense when working for Spadaro. He is only a massive softie for his wife and child.
“I am not going soft.” Damiano spits lowly at his brother through gritted teeth, his eyes steely and dark with stubbornness. Then his little angel toddles up to the two of them with a colourful flower in her hand, stops right by his leg and lifts her arm up to show him with the most adorable smile and immediately, his simmering irritation and stubbornness vanishes. His eyes soften and lighten at the mere sight of her. “Very pretty flower, principessa.” He says as he crouches down to take the flower from her and pushes it behind her ear to rest in her dark hair, completely forgetting that his brother is standing right next to him and is watching this whole ordeal happen in real time. Because the second his little girl steps into his space and wants his attention, everyone else becomes irrelevant and invisible to him.
Damiano Bastoni, I find that you most definitely are a softie.
It looks so wonderful 😭 even from the super short teaser alone. This is the best thing to have been shown and revealed at The Summer Game Fest for me so far. I kind of hope that the small teaser shown tonight is the only trailer they release for it because I do not even want to see any more until I have it in my own possession 😵💫 since the DLC is said to take place in 1905, perhaps we will get some more Damiano content…
💭 | Damiano arrives home from the mines with anger in his mind and blood on his face. You make it all better.
Decided to write that little fic idea I posted about 🙃 could not stop thinking about it. I have been in love with Damiano since the release of this game. The world is in desperate need of more Damiano. I hope that anyone who reads this likes it and thank you for reading 🩶 this is my first time ever writing for Damiano so I do apologise if parts of him seem OC but I do think he would behave different with his wife.
Shining in from the open windows of the home you share with Damiano, the Sicilian sun warms the skin of your face and arms. An occasional breeze blows in past the trees of the private land and offers a fanning of cool air. You sit in a cozy armchair in the parlour, drinking from a fresh preparation of tea and reading small portions from the usual newspaper that sits spread out on across the low wooden table in front of you.
The sound of a car screeching to a sudden halt right outside of the house pierces through the peaceful air. You lower the porcelain teacup back onto the painted saucer that sits atop the small table beside the armchair with a resounding clink as your attention snaps toward front door. The harsh slam of a heavy car door follows shortly after, reaching your ears with ease through the open windows.
Your eyebrows furrow with rising concern. You were not expecting Damiano to be home from the mines for at least a few hours longer at this point. It was not often that he was ever able to or allowed to return home earlier than planned. Such a thing is not a liable luxury in his line of work. His line of work never fails to be time consuming and demanding at the best of times. Even then, Damiano did always try his hardest for you at least. You had given new meaning to him and your marriage had only strengthened that further.
Suddenly, the front door all but thunders open and thuds back against the wall. Damiano steps in through the frame, his steely gaze is locked on the ground beneath his boots. Your lips part with an unstoppable gasp when you see him. One of his hands is covering the side of his face as the unmistakable crimson colour of fresh blood drips down his knuckles through the gaps of his fingers. His other hand slams the door closed again behind him, locking out the outside world. “Damiano-” you start. Your voice wavers with overpowering concern. His hair is in a far messier state than when he had left earlier. Multiple strands of his hair are loose from the usual immaculate style he had brushed it back into before leaving. No doubt the result of some kind of violent altercation.
His head snaps up to face you at the sound of your voice calling out to him. Upon the mere sight of you looking back at him with visible worry on your face, his intense and stormy eyes soften by a massive fraction in a way that only you can cause. “Cuore mio…” Damiano clears his throat in a desperate attempt to wash away the lingering threat in his low tone. You watch in a shocked silence as he fully straightens his slightly hunched back, still grasping at the side of his face.
It is not the first time that Damiano has come home with blood on him. He has come home with bruised and split knuckles more than once in the past. You are always the one to sit him down and clean his hands for him while he looks up at you like an angel sent from high above for him and him alone. You have observed fresh stains of crimson on his clothes more times than you can even count on both of your hands. But he had never once arrived home with such a notable wound to himself. He had never been one to let another person get the upper hand on him.
You stand up from the armchair and rush over to him in a series of hasty steps. Your heart thumps wildly in your chest with a rush of fiery adrenaline caused by your concern. “Damiano, what has happened?” You ask, stopping in front of him. “Let me see…” you lift a careful hand to his face, intending to pull his hand back and observe the state of the hidden wound. Damiano takes a small step backwards, turning his head away from you with a stubborn tilt of his chin. “No. I will deal with it myself.” He declares.
Your eyes soften at the familiar tone of his voice. You can see the invisible walls he is attempting to build up around himself in the moment. You can see the vulnerable spark in his endearing eyes and hear it loosely disguised in his voice. You can always find it and see it. No matter how much he attempts to hide it away from you. “Come over to the kitchen at least.” You sigh, aching to at least sit him down and not let him lock himself away in the bathroom or bedroom to clean his wound up alone.
Taking his free hand that hangs idle by his side, Damiano allows you to guide him over into the sunlit kitchen and sit him down in one of the wooden dining table chairs. His hand still refuses to drop down from his hiding whatever wound marks face. Turning around, you grab a clean rag from the countertop and run it beneath the tap, drenching it in cool water and ringing it out. You throw a glance back over your shoulder. Damiano is staring at his dust covered boots. You can almost see the heat of rage and humiliation steaming on his skin and radiating in the air around him. His hands are trembling with unbearable anger and what you have no doubt is a sense of unfamiliar embarrassment. Your heart tightens at the sight of him in this state.
You pull a chair up to sit close enough to him until your knees brush together. “Lift your face, Damiano. Please.” You plead softly, moving your free hand that is not holding the damp rag to settle on his knee, stroking the skin through his dusty trousers. You can smell the lingering scent of the sulphur mines that still clings to his skin and clothes; a mixture of blood, sweat and earth. It is a scent that you are long since used to by now and yet you still find yourself resisting the urge to wrinkle your nose at it. At the pleading tone in your voice, Damiano relents. He was never one who could let you want for something. He was never one to deny you or something. Damiano lifts his head to face you. He swallows thickly when you bring your hand to cover his own on the side of his face.
“Let me see.” You stroke his crimson covered knuckles, noting how a large amount of the blood has since dried and is cracking against the skin like a staining mask. “It is not pretty, cuore mio.” He warns, his voice thick with glaring resentment for someone unknown to you. “I do not care. It needs to be cleaned and I will not have you doing that alone. I want to see it.” You reinforce. Damiano lets out a low, gravelly chuckle at the burning fierceness and stubbornness on your face and in your tone. “As you wish.” He breaths heavily.
Damiano watches your face as you slowly pull his hand away from his face. He waits to see the disgust. He waits to see the disappointment. He waits to see the embarrassment. None of it comes to your face. He only observes your eyes and your face softening even further than before with blatant worry for him at the sight of the now revealed wound. The cut is an unbearable size, spanning a sizeable length up along his cheek beside his lips all the way up to the very corner of his eye. Most of the blood seems to be dried now but some large pearls of dark red still rise from some sections. With no doubt in your mind, you can recognise that the smooth cut was given to him by a sharp handheld knife of some kind. It was certainly no accident.
You do not ask questions for now and simply bring the cool rag in your hand up to his face. Your hand halts. “This will hurt a little bit, my love.” You prepare him. Damiano meets your gentle gaze with a swift nod of simple permission and understanding. Glancing down at his lap, you notice that both of his hands are sitting limp atop his knees, still trembling in place with the intensity of his emotions that are boiling inside of him. You reach down with your free hand and take one of his hands into your own. Instinctively on contact with the familiar warmth of your skin, Damiano squeezes your hand. It is a little thing that he has done for a long time now. As if having to prove to himself that you are truly here and not a lonely delusion or a fabricated angel of his imagination.
When the damp rag makes direct contact with the deep cut, Damiano immediately stitches his brows inward, biting back a grimace that threatens his stubborn resolve with a quiet, rumbling groan. “‘m sorry, my love.” You apologise, offering your own comforting squeeze to his hand as you watch his face. “Not your fault, cuore mio.” Your hand pauses in the middle of cleaning the wound for a fleeting moment before resuming again. “Who… what happened, Damiano?” You hesitate.
You can see the way he grits his teeth together at the question alone, the aggression and hatred in his eyes from earlier when he had first stepped into the house returning with a sudden burst as he thinks back. “Just a little rat from the mines; a worthless nobody who has no idea what is coming for him.” He spits the labels out with a spiteful venom, causing you to instinctively begin stroking the back of his hand with the pad of your thumb in an effort to calm his spiking anger. “He got out and ran like a rat from the mines. I have to leave soon to find him. Rats do not get far but...” he trails off and averts his gaze toward the open window above the sink. You do not even need him to finish to understand and know exactly what he is too stubborn to admit aloud in this moment. He needed to come home for a moment. He needed to breathe in the signature rosewater scented air of you. He needed to see you. He needed to feel your skin against his.
His lips part with a sudden breathy groan of pain that he fails to bite back when you continue to clean the cut and brush against a particularly sensitive part of the wound. The grasp of his hand tightens around your own. You can feel the small grits of dust and sand from the mines itching against your palm from his skin. You can tell that he is attempting to hide the deep stinging pain from you. “You need to rest, Damiano. Not go searching for someone. Let the others do it. This cut is bad and you have been working like a dog for the past week.” You plead with him, noting how the endearing steely blue of his eyes appears darker than usual with tiredness. Damiano shakes his head with a quiet sigh, looking into your eyes as you continue to clean his face with a gentleness that makes his chest warm with a sensation that arises around you alone.
“I cannot. Spadaro wants me there searching with the rest, cuore mio. I have to do it.” You bite your tongue at the mention of Ruggero Spadaro. As much as you may hate it, Damiano and his brother are loyal to the older man. “I will find the rat and deal with him.” He assures, his voice ringing with a violent promise, though it sounds directed more at himself than to you. Damiano lifts your hand up to his lips and presses a deep, lingering kiss to your smooth knuckles. “Then I will come back home to you.” He finishes, breathing in the scent of your rosewater perfume on your wrist with a quiet hum of approval.
After a few more moments of dabbing at his irritated skin, the wound is as clean as you will be able to get it. You drop the stained rag down onto the kitchen table and observe the cleaned cut. “That will leave quite the scar.” You point out, offering Damiano a small smile as you tuck a stray strand of dark hair back out of his handsome face. “But lucky for you…” you lean in and brush your lips against the slice in his face, planting a featherlight kiss to the split skin. The sound of his breathing growing heavier at the intimate contact fills the room and throws a heavy veil of tension over the air. “I think you will look handsome all the same - with or without a scar, my love.” Damiano turns his head and immediately presses his lips to your own in a deep, wanting kiss that steals the breath from your lungs and makes your head feel light.
Damiano takes ahold of your hips through your expensive dress blouse, carefully but quickly pulling you up from your chair and onto his lap so that you sit sideways across his thighs. You hold his cheek as he parts your lips with his tongue and pushes it inside to meet your own. You are careful to keep your hand a good distance away from his wound whilst holding his cheek, not wanting to press down on it and cause more pain for him. His own calloused hand holds the back of your neck, tracing the sensitive skin below your ear with his thumb. The feeling of his body easing and relaxing beneath your weight is unmissable. The tight tension in his back and shoulders is loosening and melting down into nothingness from the mere feeling of your skin against his and your lips on his. His earlier anger and humiliation is being overshadowed and washed out by his intense love for you and the attention he dedicates to you in an almost religious manner.
The sound of birds chirping outside and the occasional breeze blowing through the air fades away into the distant background of your minds. The kitchen fills with nothing more than the quiet sound of open mouthed kissing and deep breathing with the occasional creak coming from the chair that now holds both of you. When you eventually force yourself to pull away from the kiss, Damiano blindly chases your now swollen lips but only finds the skin of your cheek instead as you turn your face away from him with a quiet laugh. “I believe that is more than enough for now, mr Bastoni.” You tease softly, leaning further into his chest.
Damiano leans his forehead against yours, his eyes heavy now lidded and hazy, swirling with a newfound passion and heat that makes the room feel ten times warmer and smaller than it is. “It is never enough for me with you, cuore mio.” He rebuttals. His breathing is heavier from the kissing, the feeling of his breath is hot as it fans across your lower face.
Before you can even think of responding, Damiano stands up from the chair and hoists you up off your feet, all but throwing you half way over his shoulder with an ever surprising ease. “Damiano!” You gasp out with a breathy, surprised laugh. “Put me down right away.” He simply chuckles lowly, keeping a secure hold on you and walking out of the kitchen, heading toward the stairs that lead up to your bedroom. “You teased me, cuore mio. You know what happens when you tease me.”
At that, you bite the inside of your cheek, a familiar heat igniting deep inside of you. Your lips curve up into something awaiting and eager as you smile to yourself, watching the staircase and the back of his boots move with his hasty steps.
Safe to say, you were most certainly going to help him forget all about the distant sweltering, demanding environment of the mines and relieve his pent up anger and you were going to take the greatest pleasure in doing so.
Has anyone written and posted a fic for Damiano Bastoni coming home to wife! reader after Enzo cuts his face up at the mines in the beginning of the game?
I adore both Damiano and domestic fluff fics so much 😵💫 if no one else has written it yet then perhaps I will get around to writing and posting it myself sometime. I have been wanting to write for Damiano for a while now. He is actually one of my absolute favourite characters from Mafia: The Old Country.
Damiano would try so hard to keep a straight face and hide his pain when his wife cleans the fresh cut up for him. Not to mention how his wife would be the only one who is truly able to calm his seething anger too. He would absolutely melt into the touch of his wife as she holds his face 🥺
