Hi~ It is so strange but can I get nsfw scenario about relationship s/o and Bruno's soul in Diavolo's body?
this was fun to write but it also made me sad! thank you for such an interesting concept. i hope you like it! 18+ under the cut.
Stolen - Diavolo!Bruno x F!Reader
It doesn’t register with you until his hand (but it’s not his) is threaded through yours, heavy silence in the air. He’s looking at you – bright green eyes instead of blue – and the only thing you can recognize is the way he parts his lips when he’s about to apologize. What was once sharp but soft around the edges is now only sharp like glass. If you reached out, perhaps, it would shatter underneath your fingertips.
The suit – his suit – is too tight for this new body. It’s better, at least, then the gaudy outfit he had been wearing originally. Lips that were as black as the night are a pale pink now and the bright pink hair framing his head is pulled behind him in a loose braid. He’s trying to look softer– He’s trying to look like Bruno instead of Diavolo. (Bruno was not soft, not really, but he certainly wasn’t this.)
(It’s unclear what happened, only that you’d seen Bruno’scorpse and couldn’t think anymore– But then it was over, and someone washolding you and after that, when you finally woke up, the only person missingfrom the room was Bruno. Giorno had explained, still covered in blood, that Bruno’s soul was living on in Diavolo’s body. It was too much, and you couldn’t breathe, but Bruno was alive. You didn’t know how, and you didn’t care.)
Your boyfriend is in a body with a beating heart and he’s no longer cold to the touch and although he hasn’t been close enough for you to feel yet, you know you’ll feel the familiar warmth of his breath on your neck when he holds you in your sleep.
Time seems to stand still, though, while the two of you stare at each other. You’re mapping outanything you can on this body to remind you of Bruno’s, and he’s staring back at you like he doesn’t know where to start.
“Bruno? You ask, and he squeezes your hand. The action is familiar, but the grip is all wrong and he catches when you flinch, eyes averting to the floor instead of looking at your face.
“Amore,” he begins, before making a noise that makes your heart hurt. Bruno doesn’t cry, and this body isn’t Bruno’s (this voice isn’t Bruno’s’), but you see the wetness forming at the edge of his eyes.
“I’m so sorry.” He heaves again and you wrap your arms around him. His head doesn’t fit in the crook of your shoulder like it used to, but the way his arms return the gesture around your own body reminds you of what you already know – it’s Bruno, and it’s always going to be him. He’s quiet, only the dampening of your shirt letting you know he’s still crying.
“Don’t apologize to me.” You murmur before placing a kiss on the crown of his head. It’s hard to resist hesitating when you see the bright pink instead of silky black, but he needs your reassurance and you’re not going to rob him of it – not after he’s already been robbed of his own body.
He lifts his head and it’s another expression you recognize, the lines on his face different but still conveying the same tender gesture Bruno always gave you.
“I understand, if you can’t do this.” He’s giving you an out and you know it will break him apart, but you don’t want an out.
“Bruno Bucciarati.” You say, resolute. You make sure he’s looking you in the eyes, his green eyes flickering with an emotion you can’t quite read. “My heart would have died without you.”
Before he can reply you lean forward and press your lips to his – (not as plump, you think) – but the way he leans in is all Bruno, from the way his fingertips brush against your jaw and the way he instinctively starts to press closer to you. When you part his eyes are lidded and he’s clenching one hand into a fist.
“It’s not too… strange?” He asks, unsure. You imagine that this body has never spoken to anyone in this tone. His forehead is pressed to yours and even the way that feels is different, but the tingle starting low in your spine is unmistakably a reaction to the kiss.
“It’s different. But,” you pause, searching for the right words to express yourself. “The way you’re touching me, the words you use… I know it’s you, Bruno.”
“Then tell me, tesoro, if you need to stop.” He guides you from the seat you’re sharing to the bed, pressing you into the mattress. The body caged over you is different and his movements are just slightly off— But then he’s kissing you again and his hand is traveling a practiced path across your collarbones and down your chest, until he reaches the hem of your shirt. He stops to pull away, pressing his forehead against yours.
“I want you so bad,” he whispers. “Please.”
The response you want to give is stuck in your throat so you capture his lips again, and something ignites inside both of you—your shirt is slid off and your bra removed with a frenzied touch and his hands are caressing you like it’s the very first time (and it is, in a way). He breaks apart the kiss to move to your neck, leaving a trail of heated kisses and bites along your tender skin.
(And Bruno was normally a bit shy about leaving those marks; but you’re alive and he’s alive and it just doesn’t matter right now.)
“More, Bruno—” you say, and when he looks up to meet your eyes the arousal in the pit of your stomach stirs.
He moans (and it’s deep, almost a growl) and sits up to tug your bottoms off in one quick motion, your glistening sex now on display for him. You know it’s Bruno, but you can’t help the blush that rises to your face when the man in front of you that doesn’t look like Bruno is staring at your naked body.
Bruno is as observant and ever and stops to grab one of your hands, braid falling around his shoulder.
“Do you need me to stop?”
“No, I just…” You bite your lip and the pink tint on your cheeks deepens. “I don’t want you to think that I’d do this if it weren’t you.”
He smiles – lips curling higher on this face – and squeezes your hand.
“I know, cara.” He lets go of your hand and moves in to give you a kiss on the forehead.
He leans back to take off his own jacket and your breath catches in your throat – Diavolo’s body ebbs and flows in an entirely different way than Bruno’s. It makes your chest ache to think that you’ll never get to run your hands over Bruno’s body again, to feel his soft lips on yours while his nimble fingers dance across your skin.
He pauses to look down at himself and the unfamiliar body he now inhabits. Tentatively, you place a hand on his chest, and he melts into your touch. For a moment he doesn’t move, until he’s gently pushing your hand away and ghosting his own hands above your breasts, asking for permission.
You push your chest up and his hands waste no time going to work, experimenting with how you feel underneath his new touch. His hands are larger and less delicate than Bruno’s were but the feel of his warm mouthencasing one of your nipples doesn’t let you think about it for long. His motions are more desperate than usual, his free hand rubbing and twisting your opposite nipple until you buck your hips against him. He slides off with a pop, giving a final teasing lick to your hardened bud, before starting his ministrations on the opposite side.
“B-bruno,“ you gasp out, grasping at his pink hair. He pulls away and looks up at you through long lashes, green eyes still surprising you every time you glance at them.
“What’s wrong, amore?” He replies. He runs his hand down your chest and stomach before reaching your slick center, sliding a teasing finger through the sensitive area. The pressure is delicious, and you keen into him, eliciting a laugh that’s lower than Bruno’s but holds the same cadence. There’s nothing you want more than to have him inside you and to remind the both of you that he’s still here.
“I need you, please.” You groan, thrusting your hips up at him again. He presses himself against you at your plea, clothed hardness rubbing against your bare thigh. He lifts himself off you to remove his bottoms and turns back to you, hard cock bobbing in front of him and an expectant look on his face.
You swallow and meet his eyes, feeling a pang of sympathy when you see the pink dusting his cheeks. Diavolo’s cock is thicker and a bit longer than Bruno’s was – it wasn’t embarrassment rising on his face, per se – just the realization, perhaps, of how you’d look with his cock inside of you.
(But you feel another pang in your heart, too, at the fact you and your boyfriend won’t fit together the same way anymore.)
“Bella.” He murmurs. He leans over you to capture your lips once more as his fingers slide down your body back to your wet center, one finger dipping inside you. When you moan into his mouth, he responds with a low groan and slides another finger into you to help gently spread you apart.
Bruno pulls back and slides his fingers out of you, replacing them with the tip of his cock. There’s so much you want to say and by the look in his eyes you can tell he wants to do the same. Neither of you can wait,though, and you’re desperate to be pressed close to him.
“Amore mio,” he says, voice laced with adoration as he pusheshimself inside of you. You wrap your legs around him as he goes deeper, your hands gripping his shoulders as he stretches you out. The feeling of Bruno’s cock stretching your walls is only a bit uncomfortable – but it quickly ekes out into pleasure and he lets out a sinful moan when he bottoms out in you.
His chest is pressed against yours and the feel of his heart beating against your chest makes you want to cry.
(The last time you slept with Bruno, in his own body, the cold touch of his skin and the lack of pulse when you kissed at his neck broke you, and you were sure that your boyfriend was living on borrowed time.)
But now he was here, wholly different on the outside but with the same soul that you cherished. Bruno runs his thumb across your cheek, and you realize you’ve started crying. It’s strange, to see adoration from the eyes gazing into you. Diavolo’s face is not soft, still, but when you look hardenough you can recognize it as Bruno’s expression.
“I’m sorry—” you start, but he gently places a finger over your mouth.
“You don’t need to apologize either.”
There’s more to be said – of course there is, but the soft roll of his hips against yours is enough to bring you back to the present. Diavolo’s hips are sharper and they dig into you just so, making you scratch at his back.
Marking this body up feels right, for some reason, and when you dig your nails into Bruno’s back harder, he grunts and increases the pace of his thrusts.
You’re not surprised, then, when Bruno’s thrusts become deep and rough. You dig your nails into him harder and wrap your legs around him tighter and bite at his neck – he’s alive and you love him but you’re so angry, and the snarl on Bruno’s mouth mirrors how you feel on the inside. The snap of his hips against yours is passionate – both with love and anger. Bruno has hadso much taken from him and his reward is this; a body that is not his, a body thathas committed so much evil. He’s alive, though, and if you know Bruno you know he’s battling with the thought that he should be grateful.
It’s almost animalistic, how he’s rutting into you and how you’re clawing at him as you both moan shamelessly, sometimes meeting eachother in the middle instead and fighting for dominance in a kiss. He’s claimingyou – you’re still his by choice and you’re accepting him in this new body, harsh and sharp.
The heat inside of you is building to a crescendo and by the way Bruno is pumping into you tells you that neither of you are going to last much longer. It’s still unfamiliar to hear low moans Bruno is breathing into your ear, but he keeps calling your name and grounding you back to him – a reminder that it’s really him fucking you right now.
He says your name with a desperate whine, and you clenchnaround him – fuck, was it hot to hear him come undone even like this.
“Say my name, amore,” he rasps.
“Bruno—” you moan, scraping your nails down his back. He hisses and bites at your neck and you say his name again, over and over until he slams into you a final time, holding you down with the weight of his heavy body. He bites at your neck while you clench around his cock and milk his release while his cock twitches inside you.
He’s not forgotten about you, of course, and obediently slides a hand between your slick bodies to bring you to your own release, crying out with you when you clench around him, the pleasant pulsing low in your body lasting for longer than usual.
He slides out and pulls you onto his hard chest, the pounding of his heart a welcome sound. For a few minutes, the two of you sit in silence, until Bruno speaks up.
“Thank you, tesoro. I love you.” You peek up at him from his chest to find his eyes trained on you and a small smile on this face.
“I love you too. Always, Bruno.”
He sighs and holds you tighter against his chest, carding a hand through your mussed-up hair.
“I’ll change things to look more like me.” He says, closing his eyes. Even like this, Diavolo’s face has a sharp edge to it. You wonder, briefly, if you’ll ever get used to it.
(And even though it’s not the time, you think of Bruno’s haircut, and realize with a bittersweet feeling that it would look good on no one but him.)
“No matter what, I’ll love you.”
He hums and places a kiss on your forehead but says nothing else.
You fall asleep to the beating of his heart, but even then you’re aware that the sound is not the same.
