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carolmunson · 1 year ago

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the boy is mine (carol's edition)

you know i had to do it to 'em. if you'd like to take a crack at the 'the boy is mine' writing challenge, you can check it out here. you can also see the masterlist of everyone's works here. a/n: for me, how eddie was fleshed out in FOI has always been how i see him. hurting, but goofy, but snarky, but sweet, but loving, but scared, but all that. eddie 'has taken care of himself since third grade' munson just makes sense to me. in this ficlet, our romantic night in gets muddled when eddie doesn't know how to just let someone love him right. i've also always have written eddie as older than he actually is, so here -- he's 25. argue with the wall. tw: 18+, angst, hurt/comfort, some smutty references but no smut, references to smoking and drinking. some arguing but nothing crazy.

The day was hard on his shoulders and back, no one should be hunched over the hood of a car for this long -- and even being young isn't saving him from the grimace he makes every time he gets out of his bed with a decades old mattresss. Eddie cracks his neck each way while he chugs down the road leading to Forest Hills, slick and shiny with rain from the afternoon. The orangey yellow headlights on his beat up '71 Chevrolet bounce cheerily off the darkened asphalt, but the scrape, clatter, and growl of his engine and whatever else was a stark reminder that this van was on it's last leg. As bright as the headlights were, the gloomy purpled evening sky was a perfect match to his mood.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday.

For the past few years, Eddie has spent his birthday working double shifts at the auto shop and then meeting the guys at the Hideout to get so drunk he can't see. Can't be sad about your birthday if you're too drunk to think about how your mama's dead and your dad won't call. Can't be sad about how you won't ever get to hear her sing you happy birthday, or put on a record, or dance with you in the living room. Or have your dad make dinner and put the six pack away if only for that night. To not run out on 'a job' or 'work a late shift' where he won't come back for days afterward.

He'd drink and drink until you had to hold him up to get him out of the bar, piling him into the back seat and having the guys follow you home to help load him into bed. He always looked forward to the greasy diner hangover breakfast in the morning where it could be just the two of you, and not his birthday, and not all the awful things he thinks he is.

The gravel groans and crunches when he pulls in at the side of the trailer he used to share with Wayne. With another roll of his head and shoulders he kills the ignition, hopping out of the van and leaning over to grab his bag. It's only when he slings it over his shoulder that he notices the warm glow of the kitchen light on, passing muted through the small curtains. He hip checks the door shut and makes his way up the steps that need repairing -- another thing to add to the list for 'Spring Cleaning' in a couple weeks that he knows he'll forget to do until you remind him or one of the boards rots out. Eddie's ring tap against the metal handle and he braces for the screech of the door, only to be met with the cozy blend of garlic, onion, and rosemary hitting his nose first. He swallows while he kicks off his work boots, turning the corner to see you in the kitchenette, putting the lid back onto the one large pasta pot he has and turning the burner off. "Oh!" you jump when you see him, shock turning into a smile, "You're earlier than I thought you'd be. Hold on!"

"What're y--" He's interrupted by you hurrying into the fridge, glass clinking when you pull out a Mionetto bottle that was already opened to reveal the cork.

"Surprise!" you ring out, popping the bottle with a little flourish, "Happy birthday!" He stands there, unsure at first what he's looking at, trying to take it all in. You in the kitchen with an apron on, the table set nice, a cake set on the counter to cool with a covered bowl of what looks like home made vanilla frosting next to it. To the side, a familiar small notebook lays opened to a buttercream recipe -- his mom's buttercream recipe, still scrawled in her loopy handwriting on yellowing pages with fading blue ink.

"Melvald's didn't have any like, nice cups," you say with a scrunch of your nose as you pour two glasses of prosecco into flimsy plastic flutes, "Is that okay?" "Uh..." he snaps back to reality when you hand him the cup, "Y-yeah that's okay." "Happy birthday, handsome," you smile, raising your drink before you take a sip, he follows suit.

"What is all this?" he asks, voice sounding like it's coming from someone else. Objectively, he should be falling to his knees right now, crying with adoration for you. Sobbing over the clear effort you've put in for a romantic night together at the trailer. "Um," you suck in your lips quickly, and release them, eyes lowering to the scuffed linoleum, "I uh, I made braised short rib and mashed potatoes, some broccoli. Wayne told me that um, that your dad used to smoke them for your birthday but we don't have a smoker so..."

"Why?" The swell in his heart builds from genuine affection to suspicious bitterness, this was way too much.

"Did you not check the calendar today or something? It's kind of a big day," you try to lighten the mood with a laugh, taking the apron off and hanging it on the hook by the hallway, "Sit, sit." He follows your direction, sitting at the table where the place setting is the best it can be with what you have. You even folded up the paper towels nicely. He silently sips on the bubbles, uncomfortable on the makeshift throw pillow cushion on the chair, while you take the plate in front of him and begin serving.

"I should um," he starts, voice gravelly, "I should wash my hands and uh, and change or..." "Yeah," you nod, voice higher pitched than expected, "Go, go ahead. It'll all be ready when you're done washing up." He leaves the glass behind, thudding into the bedroom where he notices a Frederick's of Hollywood bag sitting at the end of the bed. A small pile of gifts in shiny blue paper lay stacked up pretty on his dresser -- a card front in center 'Eddie My Love' - you write it in the same way you sing it to him absentmindedly every now and again. Flipping the lyrics every time. He swallows again, pulling in his cheeks and biting down while he peels off his coveralls and slips into what he was planning to wear to drinks later -- a band tee and some worn jeans. It feels cheap to wear this now, now that you've put in all this effort. Now that you're looking all sweet and put together in the kitchen for him. He rolls his shoulders again, trying to stretch the frustration out. He doesn't wanna be mad at you, you didn't do anything wrong. He doesn't wanan feel so sick in his chest over it -- but he does. All this work for what? Eddie takes his rings off to wash his hands, using the same Dove bar soap to wash the remaining grime off his face from work. Big inhale, big exhale into the towel on the door before making it back to the kitchen where the dinette table was ready for dinner, two tapered candles lit in old holders on the side. He sits across from you, your eyes glittering in the light of the flame.

"You didn't have to do this," he says quietly. Your lips twitch into a half smile, head cocking slightly to the side. "I know, but it's your day...it's a big one, too. The big two-five," your voice doing its best to soothe, "Can't just, I dunno -- get plastered at The Hideout every year..."

"Sure I can," he shrugs with a quirk of his brows, pushing the mashed potatoes around with his fork. He watches the melty pat of butter ooze off one of the edges like a volcano, pooling in next to the broccoli. "And you like that? That's fun for you?" you chuckle before noticing he's just playing with his food, "You gonna eat?"

"Getting plastered at The Hideout is like, tradition," he mutters, looking at the clock over the cabinets, "And we're gonna be late meeting the guys."

"Ed..." you say, a vapor of disappointment floating through his name when you say it. He winces.

"Like I said, babe," he says, "You didn't have to do all this -- y'know, spend all this extra cash on dinner and --"

"I know I didn't have to, but I wanted to -- I wanted to do something nice so that your birthday could be sp -- " "Okay, well I don't need my birthday to be special, it never is," he snaps, he doesn't mean to, "I didn't ask you to do this for me." You hold your soft gaze at him, shoulders round down while you rest a cheek on your palm. If Eddie's mama was still alive, she'd tell you to get your elbows off the table.

In the flame, your glittering eyes turn glassy. You let a soft breath out through your nose, a sulk clear in your posture. "You're right," you mumble, a soft squeak of a sound while you slowly stand, shaking your head, "You're right, you didn't ask. I shouldn't have assumed that you..."

You trail off while you flick the lights on in the kitchen, leaning forward to gently blow out the taper candles. Your hand swishes away the smoke and soot, pushing out out of the cracked kitchen window before the smoke detector catches it. The cabinets creak while you take out some Tupperware from the top shelves, the good stuff that the ladies in the park sold Wayne back in the 70s. They click and clack as the bowls and trays and their tops hit the formica counter top.

"Well--well, wait -- you don't have to pack it up, babe," he says, sitting up a little taller in the chair. When he hears the shudder in your breath he stands, "You don't have to put it away."

"No, it's fine," you assure, a small strain coming through from your chest, "It'll be like -- you'll be so excited when you get home and there's all this food. I just gotta call the guys and tell them to just go to the bar instead of coming here."

"Whaddayou mean, coming here?"

You turn around, eyes wet now but not crying, a tug on your brow and taughtness in your jaw from where you try to hold it back.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," you shrug, "But like, it's not important. Lemme just pack this up and I'll get it figured out." "What's the surprise?" he asks, tilting his head to get a better look at you. "Well I..." you let out another breath, lower lip wobbling; an action your stop with a sharp inhale through the nose. "Well I thought it would be fun if the guys came over and did a birthday oneshot campaign with you. I helped Gare and Jeff write it and Jeff was gonna DM," you let out in one breath, "And it was gonna be like, a silly drinking game version." "You were gonna play?" he asks meekly. You nod. You rarely play, always watch. Always make snacks or help him clean up the trailer, always order the pizza because Eddie forgets to. Always add extra mushrooms on one because Richie likes extra mushrooms. Always make sure to get one with white sauce cause red cause doesn't sit great with Dustin.

"Did a, um, did a character sheet and whatever," you say, defeated, while you open the utensil drawer to pull out an extra pair of tongs and a serving spoon, "Drew her -- it's in your card."

You start to pack up the food and the tears start up again, welling in your eyes but still not spilling over. Eddie steps forward, getting between you and the pots and pans on the stove.

"Hey, wait," his voice bare audible, "Babe, don't."

"It's okay," you sniffle, "I just have to call them."

"No -- baby, stop," there's an edge now, ring hand falling on your wrist, "Stop packing it up."

"It's fine--"

A waltz between you, him, and the tupperware on the counter.

"Don't make me..." he huffs, trying to maneuver the tongs out of your hand, "If you don't stop, we're gonna have a pr--"

"Ed, enough! We will go to the bar, it's fine," you urge, anxiety heightening in your chest where it bursts, you start to cry, "Please, let me put it away. It's fine. I just -- fuck --"

"I feel like such an asshole," you sigh, breaking. You relent, letting go of the tongs where he takes them and leaves them between the burners on the yellowed stove.

"Don't be like that, you're not," he soothes, closing in on you against the counters edge, "You're not, I'm sorry."

"I really just wanted your birthday to be special," you weakly murmur, wiping at your eyes.

"You know how I get," he says, rough hands coming up to cup your face where he leaves a soft kiss to your cheek, "M'just not great at bein' fussed over."

"You deserve to be fussed over, doofus," you garble out, his thumbs replacing your fingers to catch the tears as they fall.

"It's hard, babe," he nods, "You knows it's hard for me. Y'know with my mom's stuff gone and my dad being...who fuckin' -- who fuckin' knows. The Hideout just makes sense. That's y'know -- that's what I deserve."

"That's not even true," you shake your head, "Don't be stupid."

"Well, I barely graduated so," he offers you a peck to each salty, wet cheek, "Stupid's my middle name." "Don't cry, sweetheart," he breathes, leaning in with a slow kiss. A kiss drenched in apologies and thank yous, breaks away just to kiss again. And again, and again, and again until you're both breathless under the sickly yellow green glow of the overhead kitchen light. "How about I change into something nicer than this, and we'll pop these plates in the microwave and start over," he asks, a smile toying on his full lips, "'Kay?"

You nod back, getting another peck stolen from you, and following him down the hall. "Oh, yes, yes, allow me to slip into something more..." he announces with flourish, posing half sexily half awkwardly in the doorway to his bedroom, "Uncomfortable." You snort, giggling while you follow in after him, settling on the end of his bed, "You don't have to dress up fancy." "'Course I do," he tsks, brows furrowing, "M'going to a five star restaurant doll, I can't look like a slob." He pulls out a pair of slacks from a funeral he went to two years ago, discarding his jeans and sliding them up over his pale legs. To your dismay, he plucks the t-shirt with a screen print of a tux out of his closet, and exchanges the worn Dio tee with that. You'll always prefer the Dio tee. "Classy," you tease. He winks, and that's enough to make you okay with the tux shirt. His fingers trail over the stack of presents and land on the envelope.

"Can I open the card?"

"Sure."

"Am I gonna cry over it?" he asks, looking at you over the dull paper when he flicks open the top.

You shake your head, "Nah, it's not sappy. You're the sappy card writer."

"I'm so sappy," he agrees, pulling out the card, "I gotta work on that, huh?"

"No, I like when you're sappy, ya sap." You watch him read the card, blush evident in the warm wash of gold from his bedside lamp. You're not a sappy card writer, but you always know how to make him feel like a kid with a crush. When he opens up your character sheet his bottom lip tucks between his teeth. "Shit," he grins, "Rogue tiefling, huh? You tryna kill me?"

"I thought it could be fun," you titter, standing up to look at the pages next to him, "Chaotic evil. Look at me."

"Ugh, baby's first villain," he gushes, "I love it."

"Look at the picture," you bounce on the balls of your feet while he goes to the next page. A much quieter 'shit' falls from his mouth. It was not a drawing that was for the rest of the guys to see, a sketch of a tiefling version of you in an outfit meant for his eyes only. "So you are trying to kill me," he asks, fingers tracing the curve of 'your' hip on the page where the outfit digs into the fat of 'your' hips.

"No, that'll be later," you smirk.

"Hm?' his brows raise.

"What do you think is in the Frederick's bag?" you ask, faux innocence smattering into your tone.

"Ah, you put a little costume together for me?" Eddie's mouth waters at the thought, brain fuzzy as he looks at the picture and then at you.

"Something like that," you tease, making your way back out into the hallway. "Something like that?!" he repeats back, hurrying back out to pull you into a searing kiss before you can make it back into the kitchen. The kind from the movies where he dips you down toward the faded carpet. As he pulls away, he nuzzles your nose against his, staring at you through lowered lids, "Thank you."

"You're very welcome," you nod, both of you making it back to full height, "Happy birthday."

You relight the candles on the table and nuke the plates of food, topping off each others plastic flutes with the left over Prosecco. There's three cases of beer in the fridge and you know Gareth is bringing Absinthe and it's something you pray doesn't mess your boyfriend up too much.

Dinner is the best meal Eddie's had in years, unable to keep his eyes off of you in between bites while you rehash your day and him, his. You're picking up the dishes off the table when the boys show up and they deliver. Taking the heat off you, they provide the snacks and even more extra booze. Jeff passes out party hats that make you all look ridiculous -- Eddie can remember laughing this much on his birthday, not even when he was a kid. Not even when his mama was alive.

After the oneshot completes and everyone is ankles deep in a tipsy haze and the smoke from a few joints lingers in the air, you walk in with the cake that is finally frosted -- the 2 and 5 confetti colored candles dancing in front of him while the rest sparkle in the middle of the coffee table. He makes one thousand wishes that he knows will come true because his friends are all still there with him and so are you. You're one room right over, cutting the cake and plating it up, and you'll be there when the boys leave in your skimpy nerdy costume that you bought just for him. And you'll be there while he sleeps and you'll be there when he wakes up. You'll be there across from him the next morning when he feeds you fries dipped in chocolate shake at the diner.

Today is Eddie Munson's birthday. And his mother's buttercream frosting is the sweetest it's ever tasted.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fan fiction #eddie munson fanfiction #the boy is mine challenge #eddie munson x y/n

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pedge-page · 11 months ago

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Candles

Part 5 to Best Man Series. follow Christmas Party.

Joel Miller x F!Reader, Tommy Miller x F!Reader

Summary: It's Tommy's birthday. So why are you still looking for Joel to celebrate it?

notes: Its been 4 months but here's the next part for those of you still waiting on since December! The next part will most likely be the finale.

Warnings: unprotected sex (with Tommy), infidelity / cheating, pregnant reader, toy usage, dildo riding, breeding kink, oral m!receiving (with Joel), m!masturbation, short voyeurism, vaginal fingering, cum eating, jealous!Joel, emotions are FLLYYINNGGG in this one

18+ ONLY

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Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

He’s at home, drifting off in thought as his hands do poor work on wrapping paper around the new pair of shoes and watch that he picked out. When Sarah, who’s focus is on brushing her doll’s hair and changing her bathing suit, starts yapping about how Uncle Tommy's kid is gonna be her best friend since she doesn't have any siblings to play with right now, all Joel can think about is you and Tommy together right now on his special day.

What would it be like, waking up to you in a shared bed every day? To be the first to kiss you, smell your morning breath and sift his fingers through your bed head? To see your eyes shine from the sun reflecting off of them, twinkling with the buildup of a tear after a yawn.

What would it be like, getting a birthday blow job from you first thing in the morning? Even if you aren’t his wife, he’s thought about getting to have you all the time, just for him. He doesn’t get jealous of Tommy very often, because Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous, but he tuts at the idea that your mouth wrapped around his cock is a sight he gets to behold more often than Joel ever will.

What would it be like, to not have to sneak around? To just have you loudly, unashamed, sloppily, proudly, the way you deserve, without constantly checking behind your back? To capture your lips in front of everyone like it were normal, to hold your pregnant belly like it was his, because damnit it might as well be.

It drives him insane he can’t mark you up the way Tommy can, less the two of you be caught in your affair. All he can do is pound you better, ruin you some more, and fill you with his seed.

As if the last one hadn’t already reared its consequences in your growing belly. You’re too beautiful, too full of something special to be kept to one guy.

Still. He’ll only ever be second to Tommy.

What would it be like … to call you his?

��Dad…Dad!”

“What!”

Joel looks down at Sarah who’s got her hands on her hips and a stern look about her face.

Jesus, she really does spend too much time with me.

“The door,” she repeats, pointing downstairs. On cue, the doorbell chimes again.

He grunts as he lifts himself to his feet, brushing her head messily with his big palm before hopping down to answer.

It’s his dad.

“How old ya gotta be to leave your old man standin’ outside in the cold?”

Joel rolls his eyes, shifting to allow his father through the front. “It’s 79 degrees out.”

“Cold for my old bones,” he groans, feinting a shiver. “Share-Bear!”

Sarah bulldozers straight to his abdomen and wraps her arms in a big hug.

Joel lightly tugs on one of her curly strands and she yelps “ow!”

“Go upstairs and get changed.”

She barrels upstairs to her room, leaving Joel and Miller senior.

Joel continues tossing a bunch of tape on to the sad excuse of a gift before crinkling all the paper up and tossing it. He moves to search for a gift bag in the closet instead.

His dad sighs loudly. “Tommy sure got a nice beat goin’ for ‘im.”

“Sure does,” Joel notes, his attention more on the shoving past the vacuum.

“Good house, good job, kid on the way. A pretty gal.”

Joel closes the closet and turns towards his dad. “What’s your point, pops?”

“You know my point. He’s got it all together. You...”

“Me what? You don’t think I ain’t doin good on my own?”

“You shouldn’t have to be on your own. Sarah’s mom wasn’t...we knew she wasn’t gonna stick around. Its tough havin’ a kid to raise by yourself—“

“I wouldn’t trade my babygirl in for anything else in the world,” Joel snaps quickly. His eyes dart upstairs briefly. Its a conversation he hates when his dad brings up, especially when Sarah could just be lurking around the corner.

“Im not sayin’ that but.” Grandpa Miller shakes his head and takes a seat at the island. “Kid needs a mom. You need a woman. Someone to hold and kiss and make promises to. Someone to love.”

Joel drops the now filled bag on the countertop. I have that already. It’s just—complicated. “There a reason you stopped by? Other than to lecture me?”

His father grunts apathetically. “Just came by for some wrapping paper, but by the looks of it—“ He glances at Joel’s empty tape roll and bunched up pile of ribboned paper—“Guess I’ll go down to the store to get some.”

“Well you know where the door is.”

His dad follows Joel to his open front door to show him out. One aging father and one rapidly aging eldest son look at each other with a sense of sadness.

“Joel—“

“I’ll see you at Tommy’s.”

If you weren’t so pregnant, waking up before Tommy would have been so much easier to give him a blow job.

Instead. It’s half past 9, and you’re just rousing to consciousness. Fully well knowing Tommy has probably been awake for at least an hour but faking it just so he can wake up with you.

“Good morning birthday boy,” you grumble groggily, a soft smile spreading across your cheeks as you pull him in for a peck.

He grins and wraps himself around you. “Mmm Good Morning, little Momma. Ya know what I want for my birthday?”

You did know. He dropped hints like crazy and you already had it ready to go by your nightstand.

The thing about Tommy is…Tommy likes watching. It’s something you figured out when you were already dating after a year. Something about watching you touch yourself, spreading your legs on the bed and fucking yourself with a dildo, or grinding on his pillow and moaning as he stroked his cock from across the room, has him leaking in his palm with dirty words of encouragement.

And even with a hefty baby in your belly, his view of you bouncing on top of the sizable dildo was no different.

“Fuck, fuck that’s it angel. Takin’ that dick so good. Bet it feels good, huh?” He grips his balls with his palm while the other fists over his dick. Sitting upright in your makeup chair, fully naked and facing the bed, he gets a view of everything. His hungry eyes never once leave your body.

You nod. Your knees hurt, but the sight of Tommy’’s heart shaped eyes watching your milky breasts bounce, your lips spread to accomodate the girth of the silicon cock has you smiling for your deserving husband.

“It’s—not as easy with the bump…” you say fretfully. You feel like shit, not being able to give him the show that he wanted on his birthday. It’s a lot more difficult to angel and thrust a stick into you when there’s a planet blocking your view.

Tommy hoists himself up quickly, jerking his cock as he approaches you. He tosses the dildo and crawls over you before veiny hands caress along your hips, over your belly and squeezing your tits. “S’okay, little Momma. ‘m’here now. Daddy’s gonna make it better.”

You grasp his face with both hands and grin, pulling his lips to yours. At the same time, he slides his leaking member into your folds, forcing a grunt in the back of both of your throats as he bottoms out.

“Happy fuckin’ birthday to me,” he growls, fucking you steadily with deep strokes. “I get my one birthday wish today. Thinking’ I’m gonna leave a little present in this pussy. Have ya walk around all day with a lil bit of me inside.”

You laugh and gently tap your belly. “There’s a bit more than a ‘little’ bit of you inside me already.”

His stomach rumbles with a a chuckle. “That’s for everyone else to know who ya belong to. Nah, I’m talkin something just between you n me.” His arm holds himself above you as he rocks his hips with shallow ruts. “Shit, shit, ya gonna take it f’me? Gonna take my present on my fuckin’ birthday?”

You let out a high pitched whine, neck convulsing backwards as your cunt starts tightening around his length.

Tommy locks your lips to his, tongue’s messily rolling into one another’s mouth. A string of saliva connect between the two of you when he pulls away, only for him to rub it against your breast.

“Tommy,” you moan desperately. You’re close, you’re about to tell him so: “I—“

“I love you,” he rasps. His eyes are shut tight as he finds that sweet spot inside, sending you over the edge before you can finish your thought.

He thrusts a few more times before stilling. His balls twitch with satisfaction, each grunt from his chest echoing the spurts of his seed inside you. He feels at peace when he can be this close to you, his hand warm against your tight tummy and his soon-to-be kids.

His soon to be complete family.

His words rattle in your ears. You feel the opposite of light and airy after an orgasm. No, everything is heavy. Your head feels like a boulder stuck to the pillow. Yet empty. Your body so full yet feeling incredibly hollow right now.

Tommy kisses your lips once more, not noticing the way you don't return the vervor. He sits up, wipes the sweat from his brows and slaps your thigh.

“You okay? Fucked ya a little too hard, baby momma?” He snickers.

You fake a laugh, hoping he’ll see you’re feeling exhausted rather than suspect anything is wrong.

Your husband kisses your forehead with a whisper “Stay in bed, you rest as long as ya need,” before walking towards the bathroom and closing the door behind him.

I love you. It should have made you feel surrounded by him. Comforted, secure, proud, inseparable, sound, cherished, warm, fuzzy, happy, truthful, light. Your husband confessing his love to you.

Instead, it only reminded you of the dream had about Joel again last night.

Joel in your house. Joel in your bed. Joel dropping Sarah off at school and feeding your newborn with her bottle. Joel cooking in your backyard, Joel’s hands entwined with yours on a walk. Joel rubbing your shoulders and whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Joel kissing your cheek and telling you he lo—

You cover your face with the back of your hands. Tommy’s the one in your bed. Tommy holds your hand and kisses your cheek, and will be feeding and burping your baby, will be there for you forever and always because that’s what you promised to each other.

You hold the ring on your finger up high in the air, its dazzling shimmer glints in your eyes. Your eternal promise, displayed on something so small yet so permanent, wrapped up in such a beautiful band.

The same ring that Best Man Joel carried in his pocket safely for months before you swore yourself to his brother.

You curse under your breath.

You’re still going to have to see him today.

He watches you crowd over Tommy seated at the head of the table, your hands lovingly on his shoulders. He thinks about his “one wish” for a while, but he only looks sideways towards you, holding your gaze for a moment before he confidently blows his candles. The room erupts in a rumble of cheers and clapping, but Tommy and you are only smiling at one another. He grabs your face and kisses you, smearing some icing on your nose. You laugh with him and rub it along his own, the two of you giddy and in your own world.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

And when you slice into the cake, nobody really understand why the cake is split between a blue and pink center. Everyones thinking the same thing--we already did the baby shower, it was going to be a girl!

“We might...have found out…there's gonna be another one,” you say sheepishly, your hands rollings over the heft of your larger than life belly that surprisingly has two little bubbas growing inside.

Twins. you're having fucking twins.

Tommy grasps your face and smears more icing on you, the two of you locking lips again and getting a little too pg-13 in a room full of raucous screeches that feel like nails on a chalkboard, shuffling chairs like a thunderous stampede. Everyone rushes to congratulate the two of you, how your lives are really starting, how exciting it must all be, what names you’ve been thinking of, its its everything you’d hoped it would be.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

Tommy knew, of course he did. Both of you planned it, to announce it like that. He’s got that smug look on his face, nothing of surprise. Just absolutely elated to share news that had been sitting on the two of you for who knows how long. Something Joel used to always get firsthand word from. You’re having twins. And he’s learning about it for the first time, same as everyone else. Tommy’s friends pat him on the back. Aunts kiss his cheek and even his dad smiles towards his youngest son’s success, all while the whole time, his ringed hand hasn’t left the curve of your swollen womb.

Joel Miller doesn’t get jealous.

He slips out the back of the room, everyone too engrossed in surrounding the happy couple. Nobody cared for Joel’s presence, not since the minute Tommy was born. Nobody would bat an eye for his absence today too.

…

You’re excited, you want to celebrate, and having everyone touching and surrounding you and asking questions wasn’t the way you wanted it. That’s why it was supposed to be during Tommy’s birthday, so there was something else to focus on.

But your body is on edge. It was attention from all that thrill. Jittery and warm under your palms.

Between your legs.

It’s hard to force Joel out of your mind whenever he’s in the same room. So when he dips out of the kitchen without making any gesture towards you, you didn’t hesitate to excuse yourself for a bathroom break. Nobody questions it, continuing their swarm around Tommy now who’s too eager for all the attention to really notice.

You don’t know what you expect from Joel. You don’t even know why you’re seeking him right now, and not standing by your husband’s side. You love Tommy. He’s everything to you.

So why is there still this half of you that feels… like you need more?

Maybe your body is thinking on her own accord now, and that’s been a problem that needs to end. No. No you just wanted to talk. That’s all. He's your brother-in-law, for fucks sake. it’s natural you want to hear his thoughts. He’s gonna be a double uncle! He deserves a congratulations! Hope he’ll tell you congratulations too. Acknowledge it in some way. That its happening. That you and Tommy—are just you and Tommy.

You wonder where the older Miller may have gone in such a small house. Sarah was still in the room, sneaking cake since nobody else seemed to care to slice it up, so where on earth—?

A callused palm wrap around your mouth and pulls you backwards into the dark bathroom, the door closing you inside with him warm and pressed tightly against your back.

“Shhhhhhhhh,” he whispers. The warmth of his breath makes you shiver, all the way down to the dampness spreading along your panties. Fuck. What was it about just ‘talking’ to him again?

“J-Joel,” your voice wavers cautiously. “I—“

“You still gonna keep pretending you don’t want me?”

You face him as he turns the lights on and the two of you are caught in one another’s grasps. There’s a moment where you size him up, and he wonders if you’ll bluff his pass.

Instead, Like magnets that can’t resist their attractions, your instincts overwhelm you. Your eager fingers dig into the back of his neck and smash his lips against yours. The traces of icing still linger on your lips and tongue, the two of you devouring one another, fighting to get the last lick before coming apart to breathe.

Joel just smirks, his tongue swiping over his puffy lower lip. “Sweet,” he hums. His thumb brushes the bit of icing you didn’t know was still on your nose and puts it in his mouth. “How somethin’ so sweet come from someone so naughty?”

You quickly drop to a squat and roughly shove his hips back against the sink. Nimble fingers working swiftly to unbuckle his jeans and shove them down to his thighs.

You’re both panting through swollen lips, heart rate moving a lot quicker than the activities you’ve so far done would permit. He’s gorgeous like this—illuminated by the harsh florescent light above, his sincere, albeit sinful, smile and rosy cheeks watching you kiss his hardened length.

He doesn’t force you. Doesn’t do anything to make you feel concerned. In fact, you’ve cornered him against the vanity, forcing yourself between his bent knees and inserting his tip to your wet mouth.

“Beautiful,” he whispers softly. His thumb strokes over your cheek as you guide more of his leaking cock into your mouth until it hits the back of your throat. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you, not even to blink.

Your head bobs eagerly, swallowing around him. There’s just something about that huge dick of his that has you going feral. An itch you can’t scratch until his cum is either nested safely in your stomach or your womb. Maybe it’s because you’ll never be able to get rid of him. He’ll be around forever, and that means you can keep seeing him and his beefy horse cock forever. Forbidden yet yours for the taking. Every day if you wanted.

The sounds of the party outside feel so remote compared to the events happening in such a little room right now. Just between you and Joel.

The babies ain’t quite here yet so just you and Joel.

“Pretty pretty angel, sucking’ Daddy’s cock like that. What would your husband think? Suckin’ his big brother off in your house? I’d tell ‘im you got to your knees all by yourself. Little slut couldn’t wait for it. Second she saw me, needed my fat cock stretchin’ her throat, ain’t that right? Needed me to give ya something today too? Just that selfish, aren’t ya?”

You pull off his cock with a big gasp, smiling lazily. He slaps his cock against your open tongue with thick and wet patpatpats.

He tsks you. “Pregnant gal, on her knees, takin’ cock like a slut. What a woman you are, little momma.”

You hum in approval, the drunken desire for Joel to fill your every senes clogging your brain.

Soft lips enclose around his tip again and he thrusts forward this time, holding his cock deep. You try to remember to breathe through your nose, even with his hairs tickling your lashes, but Joel pulls back enough to just his tip, and sets a gentle rhythm back and forth.

Joel’s head falls back against the mirror. His eyelids feel heavy each time he looks down to you. So full and rounded by a child—two children…if they're his, Joel’s having another daughter and his first son.

“Told ya you were made from breedin’. You’re gonna be like this the rest of ya life. Gonna put another baby in ya, then another—” he chuckles to himself, “N’another—havin’ ya suck cock not remember what number baby ya got growing’ in ya belly.”

He hisses through his teeth as you suck his member in and out, picking up pace. Your tongue works over his tip with each swipe, hand jerking off the base of his dick that you can’t fit. Any saliva and precum is immediately suckled and swallowed, leaving no evidence at the scene.

You’d gotten pretty good at that.

Joel’s beefy paw grasps the porcelain edge behind him as he hisses through his teeth. His stomach tenses, the veins in his v’line straining and you know he’s close.

You alternate between sucking his balls and jacking off his cock above you. “What if I busted all over that pretty face? Have ya walk around your house with my cum on those lashes as everyone told ya what a cock hungry whore you are.”

You moan around him, your pussy so slicked between your thighs that it’s dripping down your pants. Its wrong. Fuck, you’re so wrong to want it. Want Tommy to see who’s marking you up, see how much you’d spread your pussy for Miller cock no matter if its your husbands his brothers.

His cock finds its way to your mouth again, and he starts thrusting lightly.

“Swallow it, swallow it all. Want ya hesitatin’ to kiss Tommy after this. Knowin’ ya got my spunk in your mouth still. Fuck me babydoll, mouth’s a dream.”

His jaw drops low as he cums, and god what a sight. Your cunt throbs as he lets out pained breaths into the air, ready to cum if you were able to touch yourself right now.

You gulp down his salty load, lips suctioned to his tip and milking him clean to avoid any messes that might linger.

“That’s a good slutty wife,” he whispers down to you. Even on your knees, the heft of your pregnant belly is doing wonders to him.

You lazily grin up to his smug grin. He knows you like showing him just how good you are at swallowing loads, like a good wife always does.

He pulls his softened cock out of your mouth, and you gasp a big breath of air, your hands still clinging to his thighs.

You feel his protective hands hoist you up to your feet.

“Anything hurt?” He asks gently, holding your body flush against him as he rubs your tummy and hips. He feels much less tense than just moments ago when he pulled you in the bathroom with him.

You shake your head. It’s not the first time you’ve gone down on a man while 30 pounds heavier with a baby. Your knees are a bit sore, but it’s nothing compared to the ache you’ve been feeling in your back for months now.

You try to pull away from Joel, but his arm is wrapped tightly around you.

“Didn’t think you were pullin’ me in here just to suck me off. Why are you actin’ like this little snatch is happy from that?”

“I didn’t pull you—you pulled me,” you correct.

“You came lookin’ f’me. And you got on your knees all by yourself.”

His hands caress lower down your hip, gliding along your leggings towards your crotch. It should be wrong, the way your hand closes around his wrist to guide him closer, his digits dipping below the waistline and down your panties.

He feels it: the soft squelch of your slick in your ruined underwear, pulsing madly. He grins and lets out a satisfied yet devious ‘ooooh there we go’ against your cheek.

But there’s more. More dripping from here than he’s given you just from the thrill of sucking his cock.

He pushes his middle finger past your entrance and fingers out the glob of cum that had been deposited inside you earlier today.

“It’s —it’s Tommy’s birthday,” you moan, as if he needed an explanation as to why your husband’s seed is dripping out of your pussy. “Had—to give him—ooohhhhuugggg—his…gift—“

He continues to finger fuck you slowly, his younger brother’s cum practically pooling in your underwear. “Got one man’s cum in your mouth and a different one’s in ya pussy." He shakes his head. when he gets you like this, sometimes he would forget that you’re Tommy’s wife, after all. That Tommy gets you more than him. Gets to fill you whenever he pleases. Gets to hear your moans as loudly as he wants. That Tommy’s right to your pussy is his first and foremost, sacredly, forever and always.

That doesn’t stop Joel from seething at the thought of having to finger his brothers spent out of you.

"What, he didn’t make ya cum?” He taunts, picking up the pace. Even as you wreathe under his touch, your nails clench into his bicep, feeling the muscle work with each flick of his knuckle. “S’why you’re so desperate today? Wifey didn’t get her selfish little cunt pleased from your husband on his birthday?”

"I did come …” you protest weakly. You squeeze your eyes shut, head tilted down as he works you open. It’s sloppy and sticky in your leggings, soaking the underside with your slick and Tommy’s cum being forced out by Joel’s big fingers relentlessly hitting the gummy spot inside.

His other hand grips your chin and forces you to look at him:

“Then why you comin’ to me?”

There’s a prickle of a tear filling your eyes. You've been asking yourself the same thing for months. You don’t know from what; the brink of pleasure or guilt, but there’s a hefty stone that’s burrowed in your chest all day that you didn’t know needed to escape. The words are forced out of your chest with a pained gasp.

"... I just want... more.”

It should pain you to admit it, to be so selfish for these men, never feeling one is enough for you.

Normally He would kiss you right now, to hush your mind to reveal something so heavy, but instead, he holds your gaze, gritting his teeth with a snarl just barely poking along his lip. He wants to let your words sink into your bones, really grasp what you've been denying for too long. Suffer with it, even.

You hadn’t even realized he backed you up against the door, pressing his knee between your leg. You’ve become trapped and hadn’t even noticed. His fingers prod your entrance incessantly, reaching deep inside so there’s no way of you to wiggle out of his grasp. curling up and beating your g-spot better than Tommy can—at this point, its very possible you’ve had more sex with Joel than with your own husband.

And that makes the coil in your pussy snap.

Joel belittles you without any words while you fall apart against the wooden door holding you up. Working the heft of his palm against your clit until your brows are furrowing, mouth agape, walls clamping down tight around him as you cum. The door rattles with each little roll of your hips, and your moans aren’t hushed either.

He watches, the way your eyes are glued to him, blown wide in guilt and in pleasure while little whines escape your lips. Unrelenting and stoic as he works you through your orgasm, granting no mercy nor even trying to shush your little cries from over stimulation. You don’t hesitate when he brings his fingers to your lips, swallowing them whole and sucking Tommy and your slick off Joel’s fingers. He wipes the rest off on your shirt.

Every emotion you feel with Tommy, you feel with Joel in moments like these. He holds you close to him as you breathe in his musky, minty scent. His shirt smells a bit like flowered softener and a hint of early morning sweat. Fumigated with the thick aroma of sex.

You're looking at the ring on your knuckle.

“I helped pick it out. Carried it for months. ’S practically my ring to you too.” He’s babbling now, getting lost in that hazy after-orgasm glow between two people who are connected by a strong, strange bond. “Sometimes …sometimes I think about stealing you away all to myself.”

He makes you two look in the mirror together, with him cradling your belly as you hold your ring hand to your chest. “Look,” he commands softly against your ear. “Kinda looks like our own little family.”

You hate that you kind of liked that idea. But then Tommy is in your mind, the man that you actually love, who fought for you, who you tied your vows to, and as far as you’re concerned, the father of your children.

Angry, you try to break away and shove Joel, but he's used to it. Used to you closing him off right after these moments of pure insanity. He's not letting it happen today. This time he’s got a firm grip on you like a brick wall and steel wire melding you tight to him. He knows you don’t actually want to push him away.

"You said you wanted more.”

It’s not a question: it’s a statement. A fact.

The very real thought, the one you tried to push away every time this happens, dawns on you: Joel is tired of sneaking around. Wants to have you when he wants. When everyone is watching.

Not just sex. To be in your bed, making you dinner and watching movies, dropping Sarah off to school rubbing your back when you’re in pain, there for the babies when you deliver and every day after.

You manage to push him off of you and shake your head. The chatter outside grows louder than the beats of your heart. Hoisting your pants back up into place, you go to grab the bathroom door, but Joels strong grip lays over top your and forces the door shut.

There’s a deadly, threatening finality to his tone. “I’m telling him.”

You turn back with a shocked expression, partially expecting him to be joking about it. Not that it’s funny. It’s not funny at all.

But Joel hasn’t moved. Hasn’t cracked a smile. A man whose resolve has overcome his patience. His lips are tight, jaw tense as he watches you try to answer to that horrifying outcome.

“Joel. No. Are you insane?”

“If its my kids you’re having, I have every right to be there for you—“

“But it’s NOT!”

“You know that? Tell me right know, you know it for sure. Say it ain’t mine, and I’ll never bring it up again.”

You go quiet, looking down at the belly that’s carrying your babies. You want to shrink away from your fears, from the men who’ve caught you between them with their words and their love and their touch. You’re Tommy’s wife. Yet here you are with Joel. Again. In your and Tommy’s house. And Joel’s hand on you, and on your finger is Tommy’s ring—Joel’s ring--TOMMY—

It’s too much. Everything is closing around you, your lungs suffocating themselves under the pressure that you caused by seeking him out. Finding him and putting yourself in this exact situation ever. Single. Time.

You yank the door again, desperate to escape, but Joel doesn’t budge. He refuses to let you walk away from the conversation. From him.

“You didn’t deny it,” he reminds you. he pulls your reluctant focus to him again. “Just say it: Tell me you want me. Tell me you lo—”

“I don’t.” You declare rigidly. Its too far. No, no, no,nonoNO. You expel those thoughts, his words, quick to cast them out before letting them enter your system. The next words rush out of your mouth with a deep ache seized in the pit of your stomach: “You’re just a good fuck.”

The air is thin around you. Something has dropped, a pin, a dime, a fucking boulder, between the two of you. Joel grits his teeth and removes his hand from the door, backing away from you with a scowl. He pulls it the knob open harshly and brushes past you quickly, not even taking a moment to check if anyone was nearby to see you emerging from the bathroom too.

He grabs his jacket and strides towards the living room. You can make out the commotion behind the wall; Sarah is having her own philosophy course to her personal audience, asking, "Whats the point of having so many candles if you can only make one wish!?"

Joel grabs her hand and dismisses them quickly. Her sad cries echo into the hall: “But why! It’s too early!”

Joel’s stern voice echoes in the hall as they make their way across the entryway. “Because I said so. I’ve got work tomorrow. We’re leaving.”

She continues to complain, but Joel doesn’t have any heart to continue their conversation. Ushering her out of the house and slamming the front door behind them.

You stare at the door, having not moved from your place.

The carpet beneath your socked-feet feels too shaggy. I hated this carpet. Its too fucking much for fucking Texas and every god damn person who sees it here.

You flinch when Tommy’s hand creeps along your belly. Disgusting your sniffle as a cough and wiping your nose. You worry he noticed, but he doesn’t do anything to push the matter further. “What’s up with him?”

You huff an annoyed sigh. “I don’t fucking know. He’s your brother. Just Leave me the fuck alone.”

Tommy observes your face momentarily, the way you avoid his eyes. He pulls away. “I’m gonna let this one slide as a pregnancy hormonal thing,” he says lowly, a cold soberness to his tone. “Then you can tell me what’s botherin’ ya so much lately. Or not. I’ll let you decide.”

You cover your face with your hands, sinful hands that feel like dry leather and charred ashes. Hands that don’t feel like your own anymore.

It would be better if Tommy just walked away. So you can simmer in your guilt and pain, like any cheating wife would. Like a sensible man who doesn’t take that shit from his wife, no matter what her personal problems are. From a woman who’s secretly jeopardizing their marriage for… what exactly?

You wanted more…but…what did you want more of?

Instead, Tommy feels his lips quiver slightly. He brings your head to his chest, smothering you in his scent and his embrace, his love and comfort.

Your insides break down in a flood. Tears and hiccups suffocate you as you wrap your arms around your husband and sob into his denim jacket, the one you just gave him this morning as his first birthday gift from his new wife.

Tommy’s never pushed you for anything. Maybe to his own detriment.

Deep down, you suspect, he knows it too.

Instead, he just holds you, swaying back and forth with gentle ‘shhh’ into your forehead. Never once faltering on the stretch of his hug, his arms holding you up and against him like a seatbelt built for a lifetime.

You feel like you just drove the car off a cliff.

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chronicallyonline101 · 4 months ago

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OH WAIITERRR!!! May i have your finest glass of leone abbacchio x reader pretty please! One where the reader finds Abbacchio beat up on the curbside only to find out he got into some kind of bar fight! So she pulls up and is like "Again??! Get in," and takes him home, patches him up, FLUFFY STUFF!! WITH A CHERRY ON TOP

ORDER UP!!! Here is your glass i do hope you enjoy! (i wrote this on mobile so if the formatting is weird thas why soz pooks(

Nights of White Satin

Leone Abbacchio x reader || Oneshot, Fluff

You traced your thumb along the bottom of his bruised lip; bloody, illuminated by nothing but an old, flickering streetlamp in the midst of a sad, gloomy night. His purple lipstick had long since worn off, but the mottled blue's of his injuries did well to replace it. Despite how you tried to peer at him, his eyes always managed to evade yours - glued to the ground in what was a mixture of shame and fury welling together in an ombre cocktail.

Cars flew by behind you. Tires screeching against wet concrete, the thrum of engines and splashing puddles but none of it mattered. You fixated on the man in front of you with clear concern. Concern that only had him biting his cheek with disinterest.

"Leone... what happened?" You leant closer to him, a frown settled across your lips as you gently moved your hand to cup at his delicate cheek and redirect his gaze toward yourself.

For a moment, Abbacchio allowed himself the comfort of your presence; leaning into your touch like a feline starved of affection, but when your fingers brushed across a stinging open wound he hissed in a breath through his teeth and reeled backward. Now grounded, he reprimanded himself for getting so comfortable and took to curling his hands into fists.

"It's nothing," He grouched, turning his gaze to the floor once again. "Just some work things. You know how it is."

You leant back a little, swallowing thickly. Of course... Abbacchio's 'work'. The thing you would call organised criminal activity was just a normal Tuesday for him - to no avail, looking at him here, sat in the gutter with a broken wine bottle to his side... you felt that perhaps what had happened was less serious than what he was making it out to be.

With a short, frustrated huff, you stood upright. Hands on your hips as you looked up wistfully. The sky was clouded, not that it mattered; you could never see the stars in the city, but the sight of such gloom reminded you of how unsafe it was to be on these streets of Napoli late into the night.

"You got into another fight again, didn't you?"

He winced at your question. Tensing when he felt your gaze turn accusatory. There was no way he could deny it. The amount of times you'd find him in this condition - or worse - had made such a task impossible. Instead, he let out a groan and while burying his head into his hands mumbled:

"He made fun of my hair."

His words were followed by a shameful silence.

You sighed, pinching at your temple before decidely shoving a hand into your pocket and fumbling about for your car keys. Abbacchio lifted his gaze to watch you. After a few seconds, you pried the jangling things from your pocket and pressed at a button to unlock your car which had been hastily parked atop of a curb only a few feet away.

You turned toward the vehicle with a fervent urgency. "Come on then."

His brows furrowed, and for a moment he remained still, watching with an intense glower while you clicked open the door to the drivers seat and hopped inside.

Upon realising he hadn't followed, you honked the car horn at him with urgency. It was with that, he slowly arose to his feet; wobbling unsteadily for a few seconds. Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he walked toward the passenger seat to your car, and as he took his place beside you.

You stuffed the key into the ignition, twisted, and soon the two of you were off. At first, the atmosphere in the car was silent. Filled only by the gentle rumbling of its engine, but it was too much for Abbacchio. Silence meant thought, and right now he didn't want to deal with his thoughts.

So he spoke: "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home." A small huff left your nose, condensating against the cold air. Your grip around the wheel tightened, praying to anything out there that he would drop it at that.

You wanted to help him, but he was so damn stubborn. When his brows rose in distress, you knew he'd put up a fight:

"You don't know where I live." He griped, and crossed his arms over his chest in disobedience. He cocked his head in the direction of the window, watching with hazy yellowish eyes as the flashing world passed by.

Another sigh passed your lips as you admitted defeat. "My home. We're going to my home, Leone."

"Why? I don't want to---"

"---I'm trying to help you. Please... let me help."

For a moment, you risked peeling your eyes away from the road. Wide and pleading, you watched longingly while he glared out the window beside him. His silver hair glimmered prettily against the night sky; the moons shadow befell him like a cotton blanket and even in a roughed up, bloody state he was so... perfect. So radiant. An image of tragedy yet glowing with hope.

"Your my friend." You decidely went on. "And I like you."

And at your words, Abbacchio bit into his bottom lip to hide a whimper of utter sorrow.

A friend. His friend. You were his friend.

The venomous thorns of guilt coiled around his heart like a snake; he was wreaked with shame. You were so good to him, such a kind, loving person and here he was - a criminal. A delinquent.

How many times had you found him at the side of the road? How many times had you welcomed him into the warmth of your home? Bathed his wounds in salt? Patched him up with a hug and a pat on the back?

It was sickening, to think of how often you opened your heart to him and how little he gave back. Every night he found himself here with you he put you in danger, it was cruel and selfish, and yet he loved every second of it. As nonchalant as he tried to be, he loved the attention you gave him.

Such is why, though he grumbled and complained, he never once stopped you from taking him home. Never halted his footing as he traipsed along behind you and never snatched your housekeys from your palms; he watched curiously all the while you welcomed him into your abode, sitting with compliance on your couch as you ushered about in the dark to try and a first aid kit.

When you finally settled down beside him, there was a small cotton ball clutched between your fingers. Doused in isopropyl alcohol; you lifted it up to gently press at an open wound. He winced and flinched backward,

"You need to stop getting into these fights." You tutted at him, relocating the cotton ball to his lip where you then cleared away his smudging lipstick.

There was a huff, but he moatly stayed silent. Leaning into your touch. Your eyes lifted to meet his, curious and attentive; he swallowed thickly, adams apple bobbing against the curve of his neck. The room grew warm while you held each others glaze, and with a light, awkward cough you broke away from the stare to dash the now red cotton ball to the side.

"Did you get hurt badly?"

He scoffed, turning his head to look to the side. "No. I left him worse for wear."

There was a short laugh. A rare sound, coming from him; and though it was quiet, it was honest. It told you he wasn't as grumpy as he made himself out to be and at that, you smiled.

"Mm. I feel bad. Maybe I should go back and help him out too, eh?" You laughed at your own joke, reaching down to grab at some gauze for his wounds.

You heard him grunt above you and failed to notice the expression of discomfort that befell his face. "I'd rather you stay, actually... I like you being here."

You paused. Lifting yourself up to look him in the eyes, brow quirked in a smug perplexion.

"You like it when I patch you up?" You leant closer to him; you could feel his breath fanning against your face, his breath once again hitching at your sudden closeness. He could feel heat rising to his cheeks.

His lips parted for a moment. He thought that perhaps you were going to go further. That maybe, you'd press your lips to his... but you didn't. He was left sourly dissapointed when instead you took to pressing the gauze against his wounded cheek.

"I do." He mumbled.

He went quiet, after that. Growing shy, unsure of himself or what he was even saying. He was pretty drunk, to be fair; he'd likely regret how mushy he was getting, but right now he was happy. He was content. His body ached like a battered banana, but every touch your fingers danced upon his fair skin had him leaning closer with serenity.

When you were done cleaning him up you packed away the first aid kit and he watched for a while as you teetered about putting things away and preparing both of you tea. He hovered behind you for a while and once you were done, wormed his way into your bed; the two of you shared it for the night because, well, he was injured and needed the bed and it was stupid to let you get a bad back on the couch because of stupid societal norms regarding bed sharing. And if he did reach out to hold you in the night, so what?

Abbacchio liked you a lot. He hated having you worry for him so much, but... he also loved how you treated him. It was gentle. Loving; thing's he could never have as a skilled mafioso. It was selfish for him to seek you out like this but at the same time, he knew he wouldn't stop. He'd get into more bar fights, he'd find himself in more scuffles and at the end of each day, he'd find himself in your house; your embrace; he'd find himself wrapped in your love.

(I HOPE THIS IS GOOD!!! IF NOT I CAN CHANGE IT PLS LMK!!!! to the ppl that sent in the Kira and Melone reqs I'm almost done with them! :) im just being lazy)

#Leone Abbacchio #Leone Abbacchio x reader #Abbacchio x reader #jjba part 5 #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken #fanfic #oneshot #fluff #leone abbacchio fluff #jjba x reader #x reader

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sherewrytes · 11 months ago

Text

T. A. R (Time, Appreciation, Respect)

(I'll always want you part 2)

Synopsis: Ony was calling Y/N constantly these days, trying to always reach out to talk and say his piece. Y/N wasn't sure if she was ready for it.

C.W. Angst, Black coded reader, Drug use (weed). Song links used as reference.

Fanfic inspired by the following song.

Solange: Cranes in the sky

Link for part one here

Time had passed since your confrontation with Ony on that fateful night. The sting of betrayal still lingered, casting a shadow over your every thought and action. You still find herself unable to shake the memories of everything that took place between you and Ony and the raw emotions it had unleashed.

It's 2:30 AM. You lie awake, replaying the conversation with Ony in your mind. A part of you acknowledges he may be right, yet you find it impossible to converse without being overwhelmed by emotions.

You heard Annie out on her part to play in all this but not Ony. You didn't have class until 2pm today so you had enough time to sleep some more if needed. You got out of bed, stretched, went to your desk to journal to clear your mind.

You lit the candle on your desk, opened your journal and poured your feelings into it. The pen felt heavy in your hand, similar to how your heart felt in your chest. You wrote about the confusion swirling within you, torn between the logic of Ony's words and the ache of betrayal that still lingered deep within your soul. Memories flashed through your mind of happier times, of sad times and every moment in between. You knew you should hear him out but, you couldn't decide if you were ready or not.

You closed the journal and texted Sasha to see if she was awake. You needed someone to talk to. Sasha responded almost immediately saying she's in the area, so she'd be over in a few and she has Connie and Eren with her.

You sighed and responded. You went to your kitchen to make a quick midnight snack for you and your quests. 15 mins later, at your apartment is Sasha, Connie and Eren.

Connie: "Is it okay if I smoke in here. Between Uni, my music shit and other shit. I'm stressed out."

You: "It's cool. I do smoke sometimes, well used to with Ony. Speaking of Ony. He's been calling my phone nonstop.

*Turns to Eren* He said you've been on his ass about me. Eren the fuck you on boy.

Eren sighed "Look I'm just looking out for him. Ony is taking this harder that I've seen him take anything. Him and I go way back. Ony only shows up to class, messages me for some weed well hella weed. He aint even in the studio much either."

You knew Eren, Connie, Mikasa and Ony were music majors at Paradis University which you all attended. Eren was the lowkey producer type that makes beats to rival the greats. Connie is a rising hip hop artist and Ony is a cross between Trap Soul and Rap. Mikasa was the soulful girl with a beautiful voice. You knew Ony never missed studio time for nothing, so you knew he was struggling.

"When last did he show up." Y/N asked Eren with some concern in her tone.

"Probably 2 months ago before that it was 3 months before that. Look you don't have to force yourself to talk to him or bear his wounds or help him heal from the mess he made on his own. It ain't your job to, What I'm asking is if you can hear him out even if its 5 minutes if you can't then Imma tell him to drop it."

You sat in silence for a bit truly wondering what to do, so you turned to Sasha. "Honestly I want to hear him out, I do but I need more time. I know everyone thinks I forgave Annie so easy, but Ony and I had something deeper than Annie and I had even with our years of friendship. Ya we were fighting and at odds that time but..I know I'm being dumb cause Annie is just as responsible as he was. I just need to clear my head some more."

Connie took a toke of his joint and passed it to Eren then Eren to Sasha. Sasha pulled out her phone and connected it to the speakers in your apartment and started playing L.E.S by Childish Gambino. They all passed the joint around the room you took a few hits here and there. Eren was mindlessly scrolling through his IG to see Ony posted a 15 sec video on IG with a link in the caption to his YouTube to his latest track Amphetamine.

Eren blurted out with a bit of shock, "What the fuck, Ony just dropped a new song. It looks like he changed his artist's name from Ony to Soro. I mean he mentioned the change last time he came in the studio. Yo Sasha disconnect real quick lemme listen to this real quick."

Sasha disconnected her phone to allow Eren to pull up the track. " The song is almost 8 mins WTF is Ony on" Eren says.

The beat kicks in with this smooth, laid-back vibe that immediately hooks you in. Everyone's silent giving the track a listen.

" It's like an amphetamine, how it marinate on my mind (stuck on me, yah) Got no doubt I'll be alright, if I just make it through the night."

You can hear, almost feel the range of emotions in the song. You can hear Ony's voice pouring out his feelings. The beat changes around 2:48 seconds in giving a whole different vibe to the song.

"Shawty cold as December, I still fold her, no Manila B-b-b-brr wit me baby, I hibernate, smoke the lettuce."

Everyone was vibing with the song until they heard Mikasa's voice drop on the track around 4:28 Everyone a bit surprised since Mikasa doesn't easily do features even if it's with her friends. Connie laughed a bit "He got Mikasa on this with him. Damn he really went all out. Aye Eren aint this the same beat he said he didn't want around 5 maybe 6 months ago?" Eren laughed thinking back to when he played this beat for Ony, and he said he hated it. Ony owed him big time for this, but he'll circle back to it. As the song finished. You sat with your eyes full of tears. You thought to yourself that you could feel every emotion Ony sang about in the song. The loss of their relationship, his struggles with his mental health and so much more.

Connie was the first the chime in when the song ended "Damn that was.... deep." "Yah it was Ony really flipped the script on this one." Eren chimed in.

Eren got a notification that Ony was live on IG. He clicked on it. He saw he was talking about his just dropped song and other usual shit that's going on in his life.

Ony's eyes were the newfound usual shade of slight bloodshot red from smoking and hardly any sleep. He was reading off a comment asking him who inspired him to write the song. he responded with "Someone but also no one."

Ony's voice flowed through the speakers in your apartment causing Eren to disconnect his phone to watch the live a bit easier.

He commented saying "Fire track man, wish you'd let me know you were droppin a song man."

Ony read the comment out loud and smirked and said "Sorry man. I wanted it to be a personal project, but I owe you one big time for the beat."

Ony and Eren were engaging in their usual banter in the comments of Ony's Instagram live. You were deep in thought when Ony read aloud a comment from someone claiming his song was inspired by his ex-girlfriend. Ony and you had a semi-public relationship, which is due to his rising fame as a Trap Soul/rap artist.

Ony sighed, his mind drifting back to the last time he saw you in person, when you came to return his belongings from your place. He had seen you around campus since then, but it simply wasn't the same. His response was "It was inspired by pain. Pain of loss, loss of love, loss of hopes, loss of dreams. Loss of self. She's part of something I lost in my life."

Ony paused, his gaze drifting off as he recalled the bittersweet memories. He took a deep breath, trying to push away the ache in his chest as he continued, his voice laden with emotion. "So yeah, she's part of what I lost, but 'Amphetamine' is also about finding myself again. It's about reclaiming my voice, my truth, and pouring it all out into my music."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, though sadness lingered in his eyes. "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand. Understand that she's not just a memory, but a muse who ignited something within me, something I'll carry with me forever."

With that, Ony concluded, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air. The live disconnected indicating he ended it abruptly.

As the live session ends abruptly, the room falls into a heavy silence. You, sits with a mix of emotions swirling within yourself. Ony's words echo in your mind, resonating deeply with your own conflicted feelings. You can't shake the sense of nostalgia and longing that his music and words evoke. Sasha breaks the silence, her voice soft yet determined. "Y/N, are you okay?" she asks, her concern evident.

You took a moment to collect your thoughts before responding. "I don't know, Sasha," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sasha nods understandingly, her eyes reflecting empathy. "I get it. It's hard to hear someone express their pain so openly, especially when it's intertwined with your own." Eren chimes in, his tone reflective. "Yeah, but maybe that's what he needs right now. It's better than him bottling it up and tryna smoke it all away."

Connie exhales a puff of smoke, his expression contemplative. "True, but it's also a lot to unpack. Y/N, you don't have to rush into anything. Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want. What Ony did was messed up"

You nod, grateful for your friends' support. "Thanks, guys. I think…I think I need some time alone to sort through my thoughts."

With that que, Eren, Sasha and Connie left your apartment. you walk through your apartment heading to your room, the melody of Ony's song still echoing in your mind. Your emotions even more confusing than when you talked to Ony earlier. You looked at the time. It was almost 5 am. You decided to shower and head back to bed, hoping to get some rest before class.

Your mind was restless, torn between Ony's latest track and his words during the IG live, you were conflicted. On one hand, you acknowledged missing him, but on the other, infidelity was something you could never condone in a relationship. You recognized a desire to listen to his explanation, yet you feared your heart might not endure his version of the events.

The weight of Ony's words hangs heavy in the air, suffocating your mind with intense thoughts. Alone amidst the dim glow of your bedside lamp, the words "Maybe one day she'll hear this song and understand." taunt you with the possibility of reconciliation and closure. You thought to yourself "How could I ever hope to understand the depths of his pain when my own wounds still bleed with the memory of his betrayal?"

Finally entering your room, you sink onto the edge of the bed, burying your face in trembling hands, desperate to silence the cacophony of thoughts threatening to consume you.

"Take your time to process everything, to figure out what you need and want." Connie's words echo faintly in her mind. With a trembling sigh, you rise from the bed, your steps faltering as you make your way to the bathroom. The steady stream of water cascades over your trembling form, washing away the tears that stain your cheeks.

"It's 5 am. I should try to get some rest before class," you think to yourself. Climbing out of the shower, your limbs feel heavy. Wrapping yourself in a towel, the fabric offers a feeble shield against the lingering chill. You dress slowly, abandoning your usual routine for the simple comfort of bed, seeking to calm your mind. Eventually, you drift into sleep, the confusion in your heart, perhaps even greater than before.

*Slight Time Skip*

You finished up her class for the evening, your Textile Science class drained your mind. you run into Eren, Connie, Armin and Pieck in the courtyard chattin it up.

"Yo, Y/N!" Armin hollered, his grin wide as he motioned for her to come over. You gave a small nod, casually strolling over as they kept chattin'. It helped take your mind off things for a sec.

"So, y'all ready for tonight?" Armin asked, his eyes sparklin' with excitement. "Tonight?" you echoed, feeling a bit lost.

Armin leaned in closer, speakin' low like it was a secret. "The party, It's goin' down at my place. everybody's rolling through." You thought about if Ony was gonna be there since going Armin's parties was one of their go to things as a couple.

You shifted uncomfortably, tryna come up with an excuse to bail but before you could say anythin', Sasha and Mikasa slid through, bringin' a burst of energy to the scene. "Hey, y'all!" Sasha greeted; her smile infectious as she pulled you into a hug.

Mikasa gave a nod, her expression serious as she peeped Y/N with concern.

"Y/N, you gotta come through tonight," Pieck chimed in, her voice smooth and persuasive. "You never show up to the parties, and it's gonna be lit." Y/N hesitated, caught between the comfort of being alone and the fear of missing out on the squad's vibe.

Just then, Ony strolled past, casting a shadow over Y/N's mood. She felt a surge of anger bubbling up inside, memories of their messy situation flooding back.

Armin, clueless as ever, turned to Ony with a hopeful grin. "Yo, you coming tonight, Ony?"

Ony glanced at you for a sec before turning back to Armin, his face unreadable. But before he could answer, you spoke up with fire in your voice. "I ain't showing if he's gonna be there," you stated, pointing your finger at Ony with a fierce look.

The air got heavy; the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Y/N's heart raced as she waited for Ony's response. But instead of coming back at you, Ony just nodded quietly, his eyes holding a hint of regret before he dipped out.

You caught the concerned glances of your friends. You knew your emotions were a bit confusing being torn between wanting to hear him out, missing him then not wanting to be around him. Even though almost much time had passed, her emotions still felt raw.

You looked around to your friend group who was gauging your reaction to seeing Ony. Each stare, felt like a trap a push to make a decision you weren't ready for.

"I can't do this," you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you took a step back, your eyes darting between your friends and a mental escape route. Sasha's hand on your arm stopped you in your tracks, her grip firm yet gentle. "You can't run from this forever, Y/N, you're gonna have to address this or find the will to move on" she said softly, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding. You stared at Sasha's face trying to gauge her facial expression and reaction "I know, Sash I know." you whispered hoarsely, your voice cracking with emotion. "But I'm not ready to face him, not yet. I don't know if I ever will be."

With that said you turned and left them there, briskly walking back to catch an uber back to your apartment.

----------------------------While you left-----------------------------------

Eren stared at Armin, scoffing with annoyance "Bro, how you gonna forget they ain't together no more? Ony straight up did her dirty with Annie."

Armin sighed and took a step back. "I know but they're both my friends and I want them both to be happy and come out more. guess I messed up by asking them out around each other. It's just that we hardly get to chill with both of them around, you know...it's tough."

Eren shook his head, his frustration evident in his furrowed brow. "I get that, Armin, but you gotta realize it's not just about them being happy. Ony really hurt Y/N, man. And seeing him around just brings back all that pain."

Armin's shoulders slumped in defeat, his expression reflecting the weight of his guilt. "I know, Eren, I know," he muttered, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "I just... I don't know how to fix this mess."

Sasha, who had been listening quietly, spoke up with a sympathetic tone. "Maybe there's no quick fix, Armin. Sometimes all we can do is give them space and time to heal, you know?"

Connie nodded in agreement, his expression serious. "Yeah, sometimes the best thing we can do is just be there for them when they're ready to talk or when they need us."

Armin sighed; his gaze heavy with regret. "You're right," he admitted, a sense of resignation settling over him. "I just hope they both find their way through this, somehow."

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