𝒔𝒚𝒏𝒐𝒑𝒔𝒊𝒔: He doesn't want to admit that he likes (Reader).
𝒂/𝒏: I FOUND THIS TO BE REALLY CUTE!
𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈(𝒔): Some she/her pronouns mentioned, but most if it probably might say you so don't mind it.
𝐄ver since Abbacchio left his life as a police officer behind, he always thought that he was alone in life. The somber and rainy nights, being in the same abandoned place where his partner got shot at, getting wasted till there was no tomorrow. He just wasn't the same person he originally was... That's until he met you; (Your name) (Last name). The two met in Passione after you became its second member when Bruno found you sitting on the floor outside depressed and sad from men treating you differently and the abuse you endured from the relationship you were in at that time. Shortly after that, you were brought to a restaurant where he usually goes to and you were met with the purple lipstick guy.
He had his headphones on,
The gloomy look in his enigmatic yellow-purple gradiant eyes,
And a cup of coffee in front of him.
Bruno let both (Your name) and Abbacchio get to know one another while he went to talk to someone. She remembers exactly how that day went... He was cold and stern towards her, showing her how disinterested he is to converse with her. It's been like that ever since they have been in Team Bucciarati.
Eventually over time as people such as Mista, Fugo, Narancia and lastly Giorno, the newest member in Team Bucciarati, Abbacchio learned how to get used to (Your name), considering that the two are teammates and all. He had to admit, he thought that (Your name) wasn't bad, but did he let her know? No. Reason for that is because for one, he didn't find himself capable of falling in love with anyone opposite from him, the other reason's because he's extremely horrible when it comes to expressing himself, yet alone a female (the only female in the team). Bruno could tell from the way Abbacchio is around (Name) that he's started to get used to her, same with Narancia and Mista, both who likes to tease him whenever the female team member wasn't in sight.
Today, (Name) has been assigned on a mission with the newbie, Giorno, and the two left for their mission as the others did what they loved most. Abbacchio didn't like the idea of Giorno on the mission with her, especially since he doesn't trust him. Ever since he joined, he didn't like the blonde 15 year old for some reason. Mista notices the look on the stoic stern man's face and he snickers alongside Narancia, who is covering his mouth to not get caught snickering, but he already heard the duo quietly snickering.
"What's funny?" Abbacchio asks, his enigmatic eyes are subtly darker than usual.
Both Mista and Narancia stops snickering, and instead of not saying anything, Narancia says, "You like (Your name), don't you?" That question alone makes Abbacchio's eyes pop out, staring at Narancia and Mista silently. Abbacchio's eyes slowly darkens more, before he spoke again coldly. "I don't like her, she's just a teammate."
His sentence alone was hard for not only Mista to believe, but also Narancia as well.
Both could tell from the subtle signs he gives, the way he protects her in his own way, how he would lecture her but he doesn't act like how he usually is towards the others, and lastly, how he would get defensive towards her and how he subtly gets flustered when (Your name) doesn't react to him or anything but instead remains cheerful and bubbly, not minding it one bit. "Heh, keep telling yourself that, Abbacchio." Mista says sarcastically.
Abbacchio was about to bark something at Mista but he hears the front door open, seeing the two return from the mission. (Your name) comes in with Giorno as Giorno explains what happened on the mission. Mista and Narancia side eyes Abbacchio, lightly snickering before both goes off to do what they love doing best. As he looks at the female, his eyes remains the same as if she was the prey and he was the predator, feeling his heart subtly beat as he observes her from afar, keeping quiet while seeing her converse with Mista, Narancia and Fugo.
The female was smiling and remained cheerful and bubbly while speaking to her teammates, hearing her voice from far away, being lost in his own world when watching her speak with them. It did something with her heart, but he didn't know what.
Maybe, just maybe... Mista and Narancia was right for once, but since Abbacchio is Abbacchio, he couldn't let them know that. Especially since they might tell her and it would be a complete hassle.
(Your name) (Last name) brings him peace, even if he won't admit up to it.
"I’m only doing this because I’m cold." Abbacchio whispers to you while breathing deeply. A moment of silence goes by as Abbacchio's embrace tightens and you feel his chest heave in and out with his heavy breathing. Your body relaxes as you wrap your arms around his back and sigh gently into the crook of his neck. You can feel his strong heartbeat as his body temperature continues to rise due to the closeness of your bodies. You rest your chin on top of his head and rub small circles against his shoulder blades.
"It’s okay," you mumble in response. Your voice rumbles softly against his ear, making him shiver. "You don't have to pretend." Abbacchio stiffens at your words but doesn't say anything else.
He pulls away just enough so he can look into your eyes with an annoyed expression plastered across his face. His brows knit together as he looks down at you with narrowed yellow eyes. The way his heart flutters differs from his annoyed expression. "What do you mean I don’t have to pretend?" He asks gruffly, trying to sound intimidating, though his face remains flushed with embarrassment.
"I’ve been holding you like this for the past ten minutes, and you’re still cold." You smirk, looking up at him. "Don’t give me that face, y/n." He grumbles, letting his hands fall to your waist before gripping it tightly. Abbacchio takes another deep breath and closes his eyes, leaning his forehead down onto yours.
"Just stop talking. Just... be quiet for now." He mutters quietly and presses his lips firmly against yours. It’s as if the world seems to disappear for the two of you. Your fingers clutch his coat tighter as Abbacchio’s mouth works against yours hungrily. His arm wraps behind your back, grabbing your lower waist with his other hand and pulling you flush against him.
This kiss feels like nothing less than heaven. The way he holds you makes everything seem more real than it already is. In that moment, it feels to him like time itself has stopped, if only for a few seconds. He feels a new emotion rush through his body and mind, and you begin to slowly feel the same thing. Your hearts beat in sync, and your breathing patterns are similar.
After the fight with Illuso, so i guess that’s the title lol
I need abba fluff
Overly sweet abba I.E [SIMP]
word count: 1100
Aftermath
A little kiss to the temple makes you slightly recoil, the gentle affection responded with a wince that showed how uncomfortable you still were.
It wasn't because you were trying to get away from the long haired man's touch, but instead, it was an instinct you had upon the contact that still stung.
the discolored spot is greeted with a soft press, and while such a gesture is sweet, it does little to soothe the pain.
It aches, however, you would admit that the tenderness he shows you makes your heart melt, and forces a little smile to form.
As you close your eyes for a moment while you reach one of your hands to your darling's arm as your own form of reassurance.
Coincidentally, it'd been the arm that had ended in a bloody stump a few moments prior, and you couldn't stop thinking about how it was now back in place.
- like it never happened.
It's only briefly that your eyes find their way to the golden-haired teen within your group.
He's silent, even while standing next to Fugo, and it seems that he doesn't pay any mind to you and your curious peek.
But you're certain he knows. After all, you can feel his gaze every now and then, and during one of those glances, he must have seen you.
Before, you'd caught him staring like he had his own questions, but it was only at that moment that you actually paid him any mind.
Even while introduced to you, you hadn't really bothered to speak to him aside from the initial, pleasant 'hello'.
But now, his entire demeanor and what lay beyond his gaze became interesting.
you actually found yourself curious as to what he didn't say and wanted to voice to you.
You then released a thoughtful hum, thinking over how all things considered, Giorno Giovanna was a valuable asset; a lucky card in your deck.
At the end of the day, he'd somehow managed to tame purple haze; doing the unthinkable and coming out alive from the stand's exposure.
it was remarkable, even admirable how much fearlessness it took for him to do what he did, because while you considered fugo a friend, family even, his stand was another story.
"- Are you okay?" Leone then speaks as he moves his arm so he can hold your reaching hand, and you stop thinking about all the analytical parts of life in that moment.
Instead, you try to focus on Leone instead.
You don't say a word, rather, you purse your lips, barely nodding, your attention still elsewhere even if you bring your eyes to your loved one.
All because you can’t stop thinking about how much of a difference your new member meant.
You owed Giorno, you owed him your life, and it's not because he'd fixed up your messed up shoulder, but because after how nasty your dear Abbacchio had been, he'd still offered his help.
Kindly, without a shred of malice.
And if there was a way into your heart, it was through Abbacchio.
"Mia Amata," Leone then whispers gently, and he sounds a little pouty as he knows he's ignored.
Your mind is elsewhere, and he doesn’t know if you’re too stunned by everything that had happened, or in a sudden spell, thinking about something else entirely.
His lips brush over your knuckles before he gives each a small peck, and after he's done there he holds his position, looking up at you with expectancy, hoping that's enough to get your full attention.
He sounds terribly lovesick, and that's enough to rouse the gentlest chuckle from you, fully snapping you back to reality.
"I'm alright, " you say, guaranteeing him that that mirror jerk hadn't done anything worse than to disorient you enough to slam your head into a brick wall.
All things considered, you could have ended up much worse.
he stares at the bruise on your forehead, and he chews on his lower lip in a way that lets you know he has more to say, but he's biting back.
His eyebrows furrow before he shakes his head slowly, nearly tutting at you.
"I though I told you not to do anything stupid," he mutters seconds before his forehead gently presses against yours, and you don’t mind as it doesn’t touch the sore spot on the side of your head.
There's a mix of frustration and mirth in his tone, and any fool could catch onto it.
- like he's annoyed with you, but all the same amused.
"If it were the other way around..." you start with just a bit of sass in your voice, and he knows well what you mean.
You don’t even have to finish up on what you’re gonna say.
He has no room to say anything because he'd give his life for you.
Easily, and without question.
"...you're going to be the death of me," he breathes with a single airy chuckle of his warming your heart.
he detests the thought of you being hurt, but he's touched by how you'd risk your life for him too.
"Are you saying I'm no good for you?" You say with a little pout of your own, looking away with playful melancholy he scoffs at.
"You're the best damn thing to ever happen to me," he admits without a doubtful eyebat, but you already know that.
- you just wanted to hear it again.
Little scares like these bring out the part of him that's just a bit too sweet and is usually reserved for alone time, and you can’t get enough of that side of him.
"What I'm saying is that I can't live without you, you hardheaded idiot," he says with only an inch between your lips.
"You already know that..." he huffs, knowing your game, aware you're just being a little jerk at that point.
By then he's done with words, going in for another kiss and you smile back, waiting.
You even stretch out your arms so they slide over his shoulders and dangle there as he gives you your smooch.
And you aren’t thinking about it, but one of your legs kicks back creating a cheesy image of a doting couple in the midst of a passionate exchange.
Your fingers tangle in his hair and just when you start to feel warmer, forgetting that you’re not alone, he pulls back slowly, just enough to press your foreheads against each other again.
He breathes just a bit heavier, matching your own exhales, and it makes you laugh when you notice how much color suddenly warms his face.
Before you part, you look into his eyes, and you can’t imagine living in a world without him.
"I Cannot Bear to be Apart from You Anymore" Leone Abbacchio x Reader
genre: fluff
warnings: fem!reader. feminine terms used.
a/n: i can't get the idea of a gooey, lovey-dovey abbacchio love confession out of my head... he's so stubborn but holding his feelings in drives him nuts. (PS, my requests are still OPEN!)
you were nervous. the gang was so close to finding the true identity of the boss, but it hadn't been an easy task. it had been dangerous and scary, and it was about to get even scarier. fighting the boss face-to-face was going to be incredibly hard, even with all of your team working together. but even scarier than the thought of yourself dying was the thought of him dying. abbacchio.
you hadn't admitted your feelings to him. you were way too scared to do that, what if you ruined your friendship? the two of you had become close ever since you joined Passione, sharing plenty of deep conversations over glasses of wine. the more you two got to know each other, the more you realized you had in common. abbacchio used his stubborn, stoic persona to try and seem tough to everyone else. tough he was, however there was a soft, loving man underneath that hard exterior. you knew this because of the way he had opened up to you.
before you had even realized it, you had fallen head over heels. your heart fluttered each time he walked into the room, and you could barely contain your excitement when he sat next to you during gang meetings. but did he feel the same? did he want to be more than friends the way that you so desperately did? there was no way for you to know. what if you admitted your love for him and he didn't feel the same? just the thought made you sick to your stomach with fear. this fear is exactly what made you keep your feelings to yourself.
bucciarati had called for one final meeting before going to confront the boss tomorrow. he wanted to make sure that everyone was prepared for the deadly fight that was about to take place come morning. you walked into the room, abbacchio right behind you. he sat in his usual spot, right beside yours. you smiled at him, and he smiled back. you noticed he was fidgeting with his hands a lot, and he even had sweat beads forming on his temples. he wasn't usually the nervous type. was he really that nervous about the fight tomorrow?
"you okay, leone?" you asked, placing a hand on his.
he looked up quickly. "y-yeah. just nervous about tomorrow, is all," he stammered.
bucciarati began the meeting as soon as all of your team members had made their way into the room. the air was thick with tension, and you could tell everyone was anxious. even the strongest of the group were shaken up. however, abbacchio seemed especially nervous. way more than he usually let on. "what's up with him? this isn't like him at all..." you thought to yourself silently. it was all you could think about the entire meeting, as you attempted to comfort him by placing your hand on his tense thigh.
after the meeting let out, he grabbed you gently by the arm. "y/n, can i talk to you for a sec?" he asked nervously.
"of course, you can tell me anything," you smiled. your heart raced in your chest. what did he want to talk about that was bothering him this badly?
he grabbed you by the hand and led you out to the moon-lit street outside. it was dead quiet outside, except for the sounds of crickets chirping off in the distance.
"look, y/n," he said, his amber eyes meeting yours.
"the two of us have been getting closer these past few months. i love your company, i love talking to you. no one has quite been able to understand me or comfort me the way that you have."
your eyes widened. you pinched yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming.
"i, i just..." he was struggling to get his words out. his cheeks were tinted pink, and he had sweat running down his face.
"i cannot bear to be apart from you anymore. i have to confess this to you, even if you don't feel the same. i might die tomorrow and i can't let myself die without telling you that i love you. i always have, since the day you joined our team."
you sat in pure shock. you felt your cheeks getting hot, and tears stinging behind your eyes. all this time, he had felt the same about you. you were both in love with each other.
"oh, leone," you sighed happily. you reached your hand up to cup his cheek. "you don't know how long i've waited to hear those words come out of your mouth."
a look of shock covered his face, like he couldn't believe that his feelings were reciprocated. he grabbed your face and pulled it towards his. your lips were almost touching, you could feel his warm breaths escaping his lips. you leaned in, finally closing the gap between the two of you. you closed your eyes and melted into him as he kissed you, his large hand placed on the small of your back.
he pulled away, arm still wrapped around your waist.
"y/n, when all of this shit with the boss is over with, i want to take you back to naples and marry you." he said gently. you felt your heart flutter with joy.
"are... are you proposing?" you asked excitedly.
he laughed. "yeah, fuck it, i guess i am. if we survive this fight, will you marry me, y/n?"
you didn't even have to think about what you wanted to say. "of course i will. i love you."
% | you and abbacchio were riding a bus together and he decided to listen to some tunes.
& | 0.2k ✰ fluff
$ | was thinking about this and decided to put it into words! and i apologize for the theme changes, just trying out something new until it sticks.
just imagine you and abbacchio sitting on a bus waiting for it to stop at your destination and he just pulls out earbuds from his bag. of course, he’s a music kind of guy and he loves his peace and quiet—with his tunes—but for some reason he didn't put the other earbud in.
he looks over to you, admiring your resting figure as he gently taps on your hand, hoping you’d wake up.
your sleepy eyes became wide again as you looked up at abbacchio—his purple hair tied up into a messy bun, his black hoodie that covers all of his body except his hands with his smooth touch, his black pants hugging his thighs ever so godly that it looks like he had been carved by professional sculptors. his golden eyes gazed upon you.
“wanna listen?” he asked, holding his other earbud in his hand. you blinked up at him, confused at what he was asking you because of your interrupted slumber.
you took the earbud out of his hand and placed it in your ear, satisfied at what he was listening too. he smiled in delight as he leaned against the window of the bus.
you began to fall asleep to the soft jazz that was playing on abbacchio’s phone. he felt a light thump on his shoulder and looked next to him to see your sleeping figure.
“cute,” he muttered underneath his breath so only the two of you could hear. “so damn cute.”
he then laid a hand on yours and put his head on yours as you both fell asleep to the sound of jazz music playing in your ear.
the bus driver had to wake you two up because you missed your stop.
produced by @k-3nt0 — please do not copy, translate, repost or plagiarize.
red eyes and mornings after (leone abbacchio x reader)
genre: fluff-ish
recommended song: are we still friends by tyler the creator
warnings: drinking/drug use/intoxication, light/implied nsfw
reader is gender neutral
You can see the light behind your eyes. Looking around the room, you can't help but giggle at the way the shadows overlap and merge and soothe each other. Abbacchio smiles at you; a true rarity. The two of you alone in the safe house. Anything can happen, no?
You wanted to know him. The tall, beautiful, dark stranger who you feel you've known your entire life and lives before. At first it was just to relax. Take half of a little rose colored delectable, offering Abbacchio the other half. Wanting more and feeling impatient, another delight was split. Now you're laying across the couch as an involuntary (but quite invited) seductress, shirt riding up and waistband hanging low. In the dizzy and the haze you cast your gaze up at him. He takes on an opposite form to you, standing stoic and yet lost in the feelings of his own world. You smile, laughing quietly without incentive, communicating with his silence. His silence opposes your activity, as you find yourself talking to yourself with him as a compulsory listener. The jazz spinning from the record player buzzes in and out of your mind, but Abbacchio hears it all too well. In your state, you feel emboldened by the fog and haze. You stand to meet Abbacchio though he stands much taller than you. Loopy and dazed, you trip conveniently into his unconditional embrace. Sighing in content, you pull him to the sofa (giggling and muttering all the while).
So here you are. You're tired, he's tired. He's under you, gently supporting your head with one arm while the other wraps back around the pillow that in turn supports his head. As your highs subside, you drift down and close to Abbacchio's preserved heart.
When Bucciarati returns, he flicks on a soft light. Smiling softly at the sight he's greeted with, he lays a blanket over the merged figures on the sofa. And he flicks the light off again.
warnings: none, sfw, fluffy, brief misunderstandings. gn reader!
He’s nervous.
You’ve seen Abbacchio nervous plenty of times, of course; for all of his attempts at toughness, the reminders that he’s a hardened mafia man, he’s still unsure of himself. It’s gotten better since Giorno Giovanna became the Don of Passione and he was granted trust, a place in the inner sanctum – since he was reassured that he was a good man who’s doing the best he can with the hand he’s been dealt.
But he’s always been a little extra nervous when it comes to you.
Your first kiss, for instance: he’d been trembling as he’d pressed his lips to yours, though you knew that you were hardly the first person he’d done such a thing to. His hands had been unsure, hovering over your waist – as if he was afraid that you were going to pull away at any moment and tell him that this was all a mistake.
You had kissed him back, of course – you’d been pining and mooning over him and trying to deny your feelings for months – but it wasn’t until your arm had locked around his neck and you’d made it clear you were perfectly happy in this progression of your relationship that Abbacchio had seemed to grow confidence.
Other, smaller things; the slight shake in his hands when he brought you a bouquet of flowers before a date. The way he always murmurs to ask if this is alright as he leans in and brushes stray strands of hair from your face. The swallow in his voice, sometimes, before he tells you that he loves you.
He’s incredibly nervous today.
It’s your anniversary, and he’s taken you to the opera. His hand keeps brushing your knee restlessly, and sometimes when you look at him he’s not even looking at the stage; instead, his gaze is on you, making you shift and heat rush to your cheeks.
It’s not like him. He doesn’t get a lot of time to go to the opera – despite now having the money to go and sit in expensive boxes and buy champagne in the intervals – so when he does, he studies the stage like a man having a religious experience and talks to you about it afterwards with his face all bright and animated, his deep voice rising and pitching in excitement as he mentions what a bold new take this or that singer had on a role, weren’t that baritone’s vowels awful--
But he keeps staring at you, and though you give him nervous smiles it gets to you like an ache in the centre of your stomach. He wouldn’t break up with you on your anniversary, would he? He’s been so secretive recently, so jumpy--
And other members of Passione have given you little looks, as if they know something you don’t. Your fingers dig into the plush velvet of the chair you’re sitting on, teeth biting into bottom lip. Abbacchio would not be so cruel. You know that beneath the veneer of callousness and the gruff voice and the way he banters with the younger members of the organisation, he’s as soft as anything. He leaves bowls of food out for stray cats, remembers everything that people tell him – you’re always telling him he has the mind of a detective – would do anything to protect people he cares about--
You sigh, and Abbacchio’s eyebrows raise in concern.
“Are you alright?” He murmurs, low and deep, and you summon a smile and nod and try to get lost in the soaring melodies. This is one of your favourite shows, actually; one of the first operas you and Abbacchio had listened to together, you nestled against him with your head tucked beneath his chin as he narrated the plot to you in between the scratchy sounds of an old record.
He takes you to dinner afterwards. He always prefers to go to dinner after the show so the two of you can talk, but you get the impression that perhaps dinner would have been better served before in this particular instance; because he’s shaking as he pulls out your chair. His voice wobbles a little as he orders an expensive wine.
Looking around, you realise he’s taken you to the same restaurant you went to on your first date, and your lips curve into a smile despite yourself. Of course he’d remember. He’s so much sappier than people give him credit for.
(He sleeps with an old stuffed animal on his night stand; a duck that was once bright yellow but has faded to pastels, wonky-eyed and clearly well loved).
You try your best to make soft small talk with him about the performance, but he remains distracted; his knee knocks against yours beneath the table where it’s tapping, and eventually you can bear it no longer and you say;
“Leone?”
He wets his lips. Swallows.
“Yes, amore?” The pet name is soft, quiet, personal even in the full restaurant. You stare at the glass of champagne that he poured for you.
“Is there something you want to tell me?” You ask, gently. It will do no good to startle him; he’ll close himself off again. You try and give him an encouraging smile, but panic flares in his violet eyes.
“What? No, I--”
“Please.” You lay your hand on top of his. His knuckles seem to clench for a moment, a breath making his shoulders rise as he raises his gaze to look you directly in the eye. “You can tell me. It’s okay.”
“I didn’t think you’d notice,” he mumbles, the words caught in the back of his throat. You feel fear rise up in your stomach, hot and sour – he is going to break up with you, isn’t he? You’d thought everything was going so well – you and he had even talked about spending the rest of your lives together . . . but he’s brought you here to soften the blow. To remind you of all of the good times that you’ve had. “I thought I was being subtle.”
“It’s okay,” you say, but the words come out strangled. Those eyes furrow in concern. “I-- I don’t understand, really, but if it’s what you want--”
“You don’t understand?” His face is still all creased in confusion. He reaches deep into the pocket of his jacket, and his hand emerges – a small, black box clutched in it. You see the light sheen of sweat on his palms as he reaches to flip it open. “I--”
“Oh my God.” Your own voice is soft and pitiful as you stare at the ring nestled on a pillow of velvet. “I thought you were going to break up with me.”
“Amore!” Abbacchio’s outraged, and the way his voice – so expressive, when he wants to be – pitches makes you break out into a tearful smile (oh, there are tears in your eyes – you think, when they’d begun to gather, they were of sorrow. They now appear to be something entirely different). “Of course not! You’re the best part of me.” His gaze flickers down to the ring; it’s gold, delicate, one carefully cut but sizeable diamond surrounded by a ring of small purple stones the same colour as his eyes. “I wanted to ask you to marry me.”
All of his shifty behaviour suddenly makes sense. All of the nervousness, the looks the other Passione members have been giving you in the hauls. You reach out to smooth a thumb over his hand.
“Of course it’s yes,” you tell him. “Leone . . .” You can’t quite make your mouth shape words. You feel utterly, entirely, completely happy – your heart aches, but differently.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” he murmurs, as he slides the ring out of the box – as he gently puts it onto your finger, his own hand clinging to your fingertips to make the stones sparkle in the light. “I was scared you’d say no.”
“How could I?” You breathe, transfixed by the glitter – not the ones of the stones, but the one in Abbacchio’s eyes. “How could anyone?”
“Lots of people would,” he says, a tinge of gloominess creeping into his voice; but a day like this is no time for self pity. Your newly be-ringed hand gently pushes against his cheek, turning his gaze to yours. You have never loved anybody the same way that you love Leone Abbacchio; entirely and wholly and unreasonably. You want to wake up to see his silver hair spread over the pillows, watch him make breakfast in a morning, nag at him because he forgot to take out the trash last night.
With Abbacchio, all of the mundane things in life suddenly seem to be special.
Things you haven’t thought twice about and have accepted as unfortunate tasks that have to be completed are brand new adventurers.
“I love you,” you tell him, and you mean every word. “I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
When you kiss him, he tastes like champagne, and you never want to let him go.
