#doppio jjba

[goldandoden]

struggles of being self employed

(my reference from: AutisticJesterBat on Pinterest)

[yknowdat]

Art by @BnmrTksk82926

Permission was given by the artist. Do not repost or remove credit.

[meringuedete]

What about diavolo and doppio doing the readers make up? I feel like doppio would be good at it and have fun but diavolo would act like he's defusing a bomb

𝘠𝘶𝘱. 𝘛𝘰𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘭𝘰𝘭. 𝘐 𝘨𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦? 𝘐𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦… 𝘐𝘵'𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘻 𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘪𝘯 2 𝘸𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐'𝘮 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘥. 𝘚𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘭𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘦.

“Am I doing this right?”

“You can be a little rougher, you know. If you don’t, it’ll just drag on the skin and accumulate.”

Doppio tried applying your foundation using your sponge. He was clearly nervous from your eyes, focusing idly on his face as he messed with yours. You felt his movements going from too soft to firm, still clearly not enough to hurt you.

“That’s it,” you encouraged him.

Quickly, as if eager to show you a piece of art, he grabbed the little mirror and brought it to your level so you could admire his work. 

You analysed it for a bit, moving your head to see every angle and inch of skin touched by the product. “You need to do my neck too, it needs to match. It looks weird if it doesn’t.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry.” 

You smiled kindly at his apology. “Don’t sweat it, Doppio. It’s okay,” you soothed his worries as you unzipped a bit of your sweater to get it out of the way. You felt him stare, just a little, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed.

“Don’t get distracted, though.” You raised your hand to reach his jaw, grazing your fingers against it to make him look at you in the eyes. When he did, you retracted your arm to rest by your side once again.

You smiled at him, and it shooed away most of his uncertainty. You watched as he brought the sponge to the back of his hand, dipping it repetitively in the melting pool of foundation that was left on it. Not long after, your neck was covered appropriately.

“What next?”

“I do concealer. Sometimes before foundation, but sometimes after… Depends if I think about it.” You grabbed the small tube, opened it in a wet ‘pop’ and applied it where you saw fit while looking at yourself through the mirror that Doppio was holding for you. 

“You leave little dots under the eye, on the lids… It hides my veins,” you laugh at the accidental confession of your insecurity. 

“You don’t like them?”

“Well… No, it’s not pretty when everything is supposed to be smooth,” you answered as you continued applying the concealer on the appropriate places. 

“I like it. It’s like… a target.”

“Target?”

“To kiss.”

His innocent tone made your smile last, as you blended the makeup yourself while looking in the mirror. “Well, it’s gone for now!” you teased. “You can do the powder and eyeshadow now. I’ll let you choose the color…”

A while later, filled with makeup coaching… It was time to apply lipstick. When Diavolo pushed Doppio to the back of their mind to front, it didn’t even surprise you. The taller man had your jaw tight in his grip, analysing his sweet boy’s work. 

“Hm, I guess he chose well. Purple fits you,” he commented with a hint of disdain. Someone felt pissy today, that’s for sure… But you didn’t comment on it.

“You’re here for the final touches, I presume?”

“Obviously, I won’t let him ruin your face with his rookie mistakes. Especially not those pretty lips…” His eyes widened briefly, catching himself complimenting you somewhat absentmindedly. “I mean, I am obviously the most qualified to do it.”

“You can choose the color you want,” you invited him to pick, pointing at your second, smaller bag.

He grabbed it, searching through the multiple sticks available, swatching the ones that caught his attention on the back of his hand. Watching him getting messy for your convenience made a part of your heart melt. The serious look on his face couldn’t hide how important your looks were for him at this moment, because it relied on his decisions. He didn’t want to make any mistake, he wanted it to be perfect. He wanted you to look perfect, true to yourself. 

He stopped at the sight of a cold toned, apple red he spread on his skin. A couple of seconds passed as he admired the color, before bringing his hand next to your head to compare with the rest of the makeup. 

“Yes, this is good,” he spoke to himself, as if forgetting you were even there.

He didn’t apply it directly on your lips, no, that would’ve been too unsubtle. He wanted to put care and precision into it. You guessed what he was looking for, and gave him a small, thin brush. He nodded as a way to thank you, and immediately got to work.

The hairs brushed against the product, covering them with the intense color. He brought it to your face, his eyes and mouth warning you, “Don’t move an inch.”

The long haired man started with your cupid’s bow, defining it without making it vulgar or ridiculous. Simply perfect, the same way his usually was. The slightly cold product on your warm skin was enjoyable.

“Open. Slightly,” he ordered again, the way he’s used to. You did with no complaint, knowing you could trust him. And he continued his painting. 

Quickly, it was done. He had no trouble showing off what he had done, holding the mirror proudly for you to look at yourself into. You couldn’t help but smile, they made you so pretty. A graceful doll. 

“Thanks, you two.”

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘯𝘰 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 (𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘮𝘦, 𝘐'𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩). Taglist: @theshatteredstar @chaotic-cute @dotfuzzy @ginkgowrites @ladydevil147

[moldygreenteeth]

Do you think Diavolo ever has Doppio run to the store to get pizza rolls or something

[rabbithvn]

his pronouns are she/they

[kailixart]

Dopidopidoppio 💜🩷💜

[daylovesbugs]

I dont know what compelled me to make this 😭

The chad doppio and shrimpy, scrawny diavolo...it was a funny idea at first but now it kinda makes sense

Oh also mista is here cus idk, i felt like drawing him

[sogggywaffless]

This might be kinda specific (sorry for that twin) but could u write smth about an S/O who saves Doppio from dying? Like during that scene where he dies (made me SOB) he manages to call them and they take care of him so it's angst and fluff at the same time🥹

OMG DOPPIO MENTIONED?? Also this is a bit of a rant but I HATE how the fandom babies him as if he isn’t part of a crime syndicate… 🫩

Tags: Gender neutral reader, SFW and hurt/comfort

The rain blurred everything - sound, shape, thought. Doppio’s body was heavy, blood-soaked, every heartbeat shaking loose another fragment of consciousness. Somewhere, Diavolo’s voice had gone silent, leaving only static in his mind.

He should have been afraid. He should have begged his boss to come back. But all he could think of was you.

Your laugh. The warmth of your hands when you’d wiped a smear of mud from his cheek. You had always looked at him like he was real - just him. No orders, no mask, no secrets.

His trembling fingers found the crushed remains of his phone - or what he imagined was one. Maybe it was a rock, maybe a scrap of metal, but in his fading mind it was enough. He pressed it to his ear.

“H-hello…?” His voice was a ghost of itself. “Boss? No… you-”

He smiled faintly. “It’s you, right? You always pick up for me.”

Your voice came to him then, through the haze of rain and static. Maybe it was real. Maybe it was the last dream of a fading mind. “Doppio? Where are you?”

“It’s… getting late,” he murmured. “I just wanted to hear you once more. You said you’d answer if I called…”

“I’m here,” you said, over and over. “Don’t hang up. Please.”

If he could have, he would have laughed at that - the world blurred too much to see your face, but your voice filled every inch of him.

“You sound like sunshine,” he whispered, blood pooling in the corner of his mouth. “I… think I’ll sleep now, okay? Don’t be sad. I just wanted to say your name.”

He said it like a prayer - the last thing keeping him tethered. Then the line went quiet, but you could almost swear he smiled before everything faded.

You didn’t even remember hanging up. One moment you were hearing his voice - thin, shaking, full of static - and the next you were running through the rain, the phone clutched in your hand so tightly it cut into your palm.

When you found him, he was half‑conscious near the edge of the road, eyes unfocused. Blood ran down his arm and soaked the hem of his shirt. But when you said his name, his gaze found you.

“… you came,” he breathed, dazed.

Those three words were enough to keep you moving. You pressed your hands against the wound, whispered shaky reassurances, and somehow dragged him into your car. Every red light felt like an accusation. By the time you reached your home, he’d gone limp - but his shallow breathing told you he was still fighting.

Hours blurred as you cleaned the cuts, wrapped bandages, and forced him to drink water drop by drop. He mumbled through fever dreams - apologies to his “boss,” half-formed words you couldn’t understand. But when you brushed his hair from his eyes, he stilled.

“You’re safe,” you told him gently. “No one’s going to hurt you here.”

That night he didn’t let go of your hand. Even in sleep, his fingers twitched as though expecting the ring of a phone, the call of another voice ordering him away. You only squeezed tighter.

Days passed before he could sit up. His smile was fragile but real.

“I thought I was dreaming,” he said softly. “When you answered.”

“You’re not dreaming,” you replied. A faint laugh escaped you - half relief, half disbelief. “Next time you call, try not to make it sound like a goodbye.”

He nodded, eyes glistening, then whispered with quiet awe, “You really picked up.”

The rain had stopped days ago, but the sound still lingered in Doppio’s dreams - the hiss of water on pavement, your voice breaking through static. When he woke now, the air smelled faintly of tea and clean sheets. He was alive. You’d saved him.

He found you sitting by the window, your book forgotten in your lap as you watched him stir.

“You should be resting,” you said, smiling softly, though your eyes held the kind of worry born of sleepless nights.

“I am.” He sat up, still a little shaky. “I just… didn’t want to dream again. I wanted to see you.”

You tilted your head. “You see me every day.”

Doppio’s lips parted as though to argue, but he stopped - words caught between his teeth. He’d faced Stand battles, stared down death, but this - this truth - felt heavier than any fight.

“When I called you,” he said slowly, voice trembling, “I didn’t think I’d hear you again. I wasn’t afraid to die, but…” He stopped, meeting your gaze. “I realized I was afraid you’d forget me.”

You crossed the room before you could think, cupping his cheek with careful fingers. “Doppio,” you murmured, “I could never forget you.”

Something in him broke then - quietly, like ice giving way under sunlight.

“I love you,” he confessed, voice cracking, “I tried to tell myself it wasn’t real. That it was just a feeling I borrowed from someone braver. But it’s mine. I love you. You picked up for me when no one else ever did.”

You didn’t answer right away. Instead you leaned forward until your forehead touched his. The silence between you wasn’t empty - it was full of everything that needed no words.

Finally, you whispered, “I love you too. And I’m not hanging up.”

Outside, the rain began again - soft, steady, and new.