#in my defense the cosplayer was showing his happy trail...

[cerealandchoccymilk]

screaming and thrashing and shouting (i accidentally felt attracted to a gojo satoru cosplayer)

[bjnurse]

A Life With Imperatore

I wanted to give Diavolo lovers/fuckers a happier ending. <3 I hope this helps soothe any broken hearts. This is part 1 of 2 (maybe 3?). [Please excuse my poor theory behind GER.]

Read this on A03 here!

Reader x Diavolo 

------

The screen before you shows a happy ending. The good guys won and Italy is safely in the hands of Giorno and Mista. You turn off the TV, but that ending didn’t leave you feeling happy. You’re filled with anxiety and dread over the way your favorite died… is still dying? Constantly? It’s heart-wrenching to see your favorite character die, but to see it in multiples is torture. 

“Thanks, Araki!” you sarcastically mutter as you walk into the kitchen for a snack. 

You glance out of the window to the back yard and see someone laying face down in the grass. Your heart pounds, flooding your veins with panic. Not because how the fuck did someone get into my back yard? But because you recognize him. Purple pants, pink spotted hair, and the tattoos on his arms that’s...

“What the actual fuck?” A cosplayer snuck into your backyard?

Before venturing outside, you grab the bat that you keep by the front door for self defense. Luckily, it’s never been used like that. 

You call out to the man but there’s no response. Nudging him with the bat warrants no response. You can’t help but to look at the muscular body before you and feel something… He does look like your husbando after all. Bending down, you turn him onto his back. You let out a shriek when he’s on his back and you see he looks exactly like Diavolo… You study the person before you. He’s breathing even if barely. 

Just leaving him out here isn’t an option. After thinking for a minute, you run inside of the house and grab a spare comforter. Once back outside, you lay it out next to him. “Sorry.” You plead as you roll him back onto his front onto the comforter then roll him over one more time so he’s in the center of it. With all your might (thank god you recently started going to the gym again), you drag him into the house. Once in the living room, you collapse, sitting next to him and catch your breath. You keep the bat close by you just in case. 

A bit of pink hair is out of place so you reach to move it, as you brush the strand from his forehead, you chuckle to yourself. The popular phrase comes to mind “kono Diavolo da” because after all “this is Diavolo!” You stop yourself… is it though? Is it really? 

As you stand to get a bottle of water, you think of how Gold Experience Requiem works as you understand it… If Gold Experience Requiem prevents Diavolo from reaching his end it could be taking him to alternate universes at each moment of death. That though sends a pang to your heart- all of his deaths. You take a bottle of water from the fridge. Thinking better of it, you grab an extra one. 

You sit down next to the man on the floor. If there is an infinite number of alternate universes then Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure is as real as our universe. If our perception of that universe as an anime or manga is two dimensional then maybe bringing Diavolo into our three dimensional universe breaks Gold Experience Requiem’s loop? It barely makes sense in your head but it’s all you can come up with if this in fact is Diavolo.

Looking at the handsome man again. You swallow hard… how many times have you thought of kissing those lips… how many times have you thought of… you let your eyes trail down his body. You shudder at the inappropriate thought. You reach again to move hair from his face when his eyes flutter open. He starts breathing heavy, his brow furrows, his inhuman green eyes fix on you and he lets out a whimper. He curls into a defensive ball and starts babbling in Italian. 

Fuuuuuck! It is him, but he’s pretty fucked up. You know better than to try to touch him. 

“English?” You say, “do you speak English?” 

He doesn’t respond to you, he continues to babble. You hope he understands, “I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe here.” 

He looks at you through his hands, “Safe? Nowhere is safe.” He nearly pleads. His Italian accent is thick but you can understand him well enough. 

You want to tell him that you understand what he’s been through… but knowing Diavolo, that is the opposite of comforting. Instead, you sit with him. From what you have seen, death comes for him within minutes. If you can out wait that, maybe he’ll calm down. You can see his mind racing from the continuous torture that he’s been through. He’s exhausted and an absolute emotional mess. He needs time… which is ironic seeing how he’s always ran from time. 

You decide to take the same approach as you would a feral kitten- let them come to you. Stay calm, quiet and be patient. Placing the bottle of water in front of him, you assure him again that you won’t hurt him. You sit back and get out your phone. You open Spotify and find a Frank Sinatra playlist. That’s what a mob boss listens to right? Besides, you don’t want to freak him out with music from the future, but you try not to think about that. 

Absentmindedly, you softly sing some of the songs, as you sit and you wait. About the 5th song in, you see him relax. He moves his hands from his face and he looks at you, he studies you. 

You smile kindly. “Do you like this song? It’s one of my favorites.”  

Although you’re excited out of your mind that your favorite is in front of you, you play it cool as best you can. You drink from your bottle of water and gesture to his. Tentatively, he grabs for it, but he falls short. He tries again and reaches too far and knocks it over. He sits up and tries to take hold of it since it’s on the floor but he misses a few more times. You look at his face and don’t see a man. You see a boy who’s tired, scared and frustrated. You think of Doppio for a moment and feel another deep pain in your heart. You see tears starting to form in his eyes. In an instant the boy is gone and he looks at you with rage in his eyes, as he furiously yells at you in Italian. Although you can’t understand, you assume he’s accusing you of something with the way he’s gesturing. You look at him and put your hands up. “English please, Signore.” 

He blinks at the title and starts over, he takes a moment to recall what he’s learned. His thick accent only makes his voice even more alluring. “What have you done to me?” 

You chose your words carefully and try to speak clearly, “I haven’t done anything to you. I found you outside, you were passed out and I brought you into my house.” 

Diavolo looks at you unbelieving but not untrusting. He looks around at his surroundings then back at you. He tries again for the bottle of water and grasps it. Holding the bottle in front of him, you can see how shaky his hands are. It takes a few attempts, but he manages to get the cap off. He looks at you then back to the bottle as he tries to drink from it. His shaky hand stops short and he spills water onto his lap. He hisses something under his breath in Italian and you assume it’s a swear. 

You fetch a towel for him to clean up with. You reach out to hand it to him and he can’t quite seem to grab it from you. Instead, you take hold of his hand and put it into his palm. He clumsily dabs at himself while you go to the kitchen and return with a straw. Taking hold of the hand with the water bottle, you place the straw in it then sit down a few feet in front of him. 

Awkwardly, you start some small talk. Since you know he’s so uptight about giving details about himself, you tell him about yourself. You try to earn his trust by trusting in him. After an hour of sitting on the floor and talking your stomach grumbles. 

“I’m getting hungry, would you like to eat something?” You ask as you stand. Who knows how long it’s been since the last time the poor guy ate! 

He just nods and attempts to stand. He nearly falls over, but you catch him and help him to his feet. 

“Do you want to just stay here?” The concern is obvious in your voice, but you don’t try to hide it from him either.

Diavolo actually seems to blush, “I don’t want to be alone.” With his arm around your neck and you’re arm around his waist, you help him into a chair at the kitchen table. You place a new water bottle in front of him, but this time you put a straw in it right away to make things easier for him. 

Your one sided conversation picks up again, but he’s more attentive this time and asks questions and comments. Once dinner is ready, you sit a plate and utensils in front of him. He has the same struggle with his fork and his food that he had earlier. 

Without asking, you sit next to him and cut his food and offer it to him. You know if you offered to help like this, he would just turn you down. He’s a proud man who’s had his ego nearly demolished. He accepts your actions and eats with your assistance. You talk more and you can see by the time he asks for seconds that he’s feeling better. 

When you’re both done eating, you place the dishes in the sink. Right now, Diavolo is your concern, you can worry about dirty dishes later. You help your guest to the couch and you sit and talk with him more. The more you talk the more he opens up. By now, he shares little stories or small pieces of his life. You both lose track of time and it’s late before you know it. 

Diavolo said he’d sleep on the couch, but you insist he sleeps in the bed with you. You can tell by the dejected way he made the offered that he honestly does not want to be alone. This is made even more apparent by his insistence to accompany you to make sure all the doors and windows are closed for the night. There’s that Diavolo paranoia that you know so well. 

You help him to sit on the bed. Rummaging through your drawers, you find something comfortable he can sleep in. An ex boyfriend's t-shirt and basketball shorts is all you can manage. You place the items next to him and remove yourself to the bathroom to change yourself. 

Upon returning, Diavolo sits on the bed, shorts/t-shirt in hand with a dejected, pleading look on his face. Getting his bearings here is really straining on him. He went from being an Imperatore in his own eyes to being unable to dress himself or even feed himself. He doesn’t even need to ask for your help. You won’t put him through that. You know there’s nothing wrong with needing help, but if he asked for it, it would be another blow to his already shattered ego. 

With a kind smile, you take the shorts from him. You stay as focused and as platonic as possible as you unbutton his pants. Pull them off of his hips and down his legs, you can feel your face hot as you’re probably blushing against your will. You remove his shoes, pants, and help him step into the shorts. You look up at him as you pull the shorts onto him and he’s blushing as much as you are. You see shame in his eyes. Once so proud, he hates having someone take care of him like this. Once so proud, he hates having someone take care of him, especially like this. In his adult life, he had acquired an incredible social status and influence. He had worked so hard to build his life, but that is all gone now. 

With the shorts pulled up to his thighs, you help him stand and you put them over his hips. Once he’s seated again, you put the shirt on him and adjust the shoulders to sit properly on his muscular form. Your hands rest here and you smile shyly at him. He looks up at you with gratitude tinted with shame. 

You swallow hard and tell him, “It’s alright. I’m going to take care of you. I’ll make sure you’re okay.” You help him into bed. Turning off the light, you hear Diavolo gasp at the darkness. You flip the light on again. “Are you ok?”

“Yes.” he says automatically, but you realize, he’s probably seen a lot of “darkness” lately. Turning on the bathroom light and closing the door over seems like a good enough compromise. A small beam of light streams into the bedroom and Diavolo is calmed enough. 

Walk to the other side of the bed, you get in. You can’t help but feel your heart pound in your chest having this handsome man so close to you in your bed. You smile to yourself but you know nothing can come of it. He’s far too delicate at the moment. You lay there trying to calm the thoughts in your mind to welcome sleep when Diavolo speaks up. 

“Cara?” 

“Hmmm?” You reply sleepily. Turning to him, you see he’s sitting up and looking at you. His green eyes seem to glow in the dim light. 

“Is this okay?” He gently moves your arm as he lays against you with his head on your chest. 

“Of course!” You reply trying not to sound excited. You try to will the pounding in your heart to soften but you know it’s no good. 

He rests his arm around your waist and your hand meets his bicep and you let your thumb rub circles into it. 

“I’m sorry. I just feel so alone.” As he speaks these words, your thoughts go to precious Doppio and that sting of pain stabs your heart again. You hold back the tears that want to weld up in your eyes. 

Trying to keep the shakiness from your voice, you reply, “Don’t worry. You’re not alone.”