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.
