The Strings of Fate: Part 10
Wildflower - Diavolo x Reader
Series Masterlist
A/N - Oh noooo, I dropped my part, nooo... Ugh, god I love him so deeply you have no idea guys... Enjoyy! <3
Title song - Wildflower - Beach House
♡ Fluff ♡ Word Count - 4.9k
"Nommy?" His head tilts just barely in your direction when you speak, silently showing you he's listening without really meaning to. "Have you seen my keys?"
"No."
"Damn it… Okay."
Lidded eyes follow you for a few seconds before you slip back into the living room without another word to him, searching for keys he isn't actually sure if there's a reason you have them… It's not like anyone could enter without your permission. And yet you lock the door when you sleep anyway. Habit perhaps? Protection even if you don't entirely need it, something he understands all too well.
"Why do you lock the door?"
You're taken aback by his question when you walk through the doorway into the kitchen, not even getting a step into the room as he speaks, low and curious… more curious than you think you've heard from him. And it's over keys!?… He's so weird.
"Uh, like the front door?" A small jingle breaks through the question when he turns to face you, waiting for the answer even if his usual boredom seeps through the cracks in his armour like sunlight through a canopy. "I guess habit? Makes me feel safer…"
Pride blooms in his chest before he huffs out a small, amused laugh and leans back into the kitchen chair. It's uncomfortable but he doesn't plan to stay here for long, not when the ache in his brain begins to dull from how little he slept last night. Nightmares… again.
At first he thought it was simply a side effect of your stand, weakening him, leaving him without fate on his side and confining his soul to his body. Unprotected.
But no… this is… It's strange. He has never stopped for long enough to feel remorse for the crimes he's committed, the bodies he left decomposing in the dirt around him. But now he is forced to still, to feel. It is… infuriating. Diavolo does not feel guilt for traitors. They knew their transgressions long before they attempted to press a blade to his throat. Yet he does. So many lives, so much blood. Hands stained with ichor that he could not even begin to cleanse from his skin as if he is rotting from the inside.
"I don't want to state the obvious but…" His eyes snap up to you immediately before you can step closer, your fingers curling around a strand of hair by his temple to inspect it with a question that makes him glower up towards you. "Do you want me to get you some hair dye?"
"Excuse me?"
"I… sorry, uh… your hairs fading." A small blush blooms across your cheeks when he questions you, offended that you brought it up in the first place. As if he does not believe you. "The green? It has been for a few weeks, not much but…"
"It does not fade, it's natural."
Right… You didn't take him for a liar.
His hand swats yours away with a sharp glare, dangerous and entirely distrustful of your comment. But you don't back down with the sudden flicker of anger in his eyes.
You simply reach out and tilt his head up, gentle even with the forcefulness of the movement as you pull a small fading patch of green into his vision, making him look before he can jerk away from your touch. And he freezes. It is fading, deep green that lightens just barely enough to notice… That's not possible... Simply a trick of the light.
"It is natural." He pauses for a second, his fingers curling around your wrist to tug you carefully away from holding him. "I don't dye it."
"Sure… Just like you didn't plant that pomegranate tree the other day?"
"I have killed people for less than insulting me."
The threat falls easily at your sarcastic tone, laced with a playfulness that makes his heart beat faster in his chest before you turn to toss your keys into your bag with a smile… You're laughing at his subjugation. Again… You truly believe it's a joke and not the warning that he means it to be.
And then his gaze snaps back to you. Confused… You know what he did.
"What tree?"
"Nommy, you're not subtle." His eyes are wide when you glance over your shoulder, embarrassed and blushing slightly under the morning glow of the sun. "It's cute, don't worry… thank you."
"Enough."
Your smile only widens when you move to the fridge, mindlessly pulling out your food for the day before you leave for work. And then you turn, only a little, but enough to watch him drag his hand across his face with a shaky exhale, hair falling in front of his lidded eyes almost purposefully to hide from your intense gaze.
It's probably not the best time to bring it up, the other night. That you said that you… that you loved him. You meant it, of course you did. It's not something you say lightly. But he seems, hesitant to let you near him on a night. Like he's afraid that you might say it again.
Or maybe you're just imagining things.
"Can we talk about the other day?" His brows knit together when he glances up, head tilting in confusion as if he has no idea what you're talking about. "What I said."
"That doesn't entirely narrow it down."
"Watch it, Nommy… I don't talk that much."
"Delusional." The chair creaks when he faces you fully, watching you intently while you try to find the right words to say. Trying not to make it worse. And of course he's not stupid, he knows what you're talking about… He just wishes you hadn't brought it up. "But no… you don't talk too much."
"Cute… When you were sick, the first night…" Regret seeps into every word you say as you trail off, your gaze falling to his fingers curled lazily around the edge of the table. You should have just… not said anything. This is stupid. "Uh, when I helped you?"
"What did you say?"
Your lips part, then close again. Maybe it's better if he doesn't know. It's easier… you think. So you don't, you just smile with a shake of your head, hair falling out of your usual style just slightly before you turn away from him. It's easier this way.
"You were right, the couch isn't that comfortable… I lied." Tears prick at your vision when you move to grab your bag with a sweet joke, unsure of why the ache curls around your heart as if he would ever feel the same. You were stupid to think that he would remember… and even more so that you hoped he would say it back. "Might have to steal my bed back from you."
"You can try."
"Kidding… I'll see you later. Don't miss me too much, Nommy."
He doesn't repeat it back. He never does… but he regrets it every time the door swings closed behind you and leaves him in a numb loneliness. You backed down… You never back down from his stupid goading. You lied about the couch? No, that's… that isn't it.
Maybe you just lied.
Solitary.
That's how Diavolo has always known how to live. Silent, empty and preferred over the sharpness another's voice could bring. He adores the quiet of the void. Not a single creak nor breath. Protection. No one can harm him if it would be obvious that they're approaching from behind.
He adored it.
And now he hates when you leave. It's too quiet. Empty. No humming, singing or gentle conversation that he acts as if it's a chore to respond to you. Diavolo never believed he would miss the presence of anyone, much less one that is not… equal to him. He does not hold the same sentiment. He misses your company, and you are far from below him.
He… is nothing. Not anymore. And you are a deity holding him carefully in hands that could end him so, so easily. But he trusts you not to.
He trusts you.
Diavolo misses you… What a painfully human feeling, one that no longer surprises him in his irritating weariness. His nails tap against the table mindlessly, staring forward at nothing in particular as he forces his thoughts to focus on anything. God, anything! Try as he might, it's to no avail, reading is impossible when the words refuse to sink into his mind, the animals sleep soundly. He is left unbothered.
And so insanely bored.
The chair creaks loudly in the silence when he stands, a sigh falling from his parted lips before he glances in the direction of Doppio where he lays comfortably on the windowsill, basking in the warmth of the sun. How he managed to crawl his way up there, he has no goddamn clue. But he did, and he hasn't bothered to move in hours from his comfort.
Risotto doesn't stir even when the door opens as he so often does, merely twitching at the breeze of it swinging shut behind Diavolo with a near inaudible click, purposeful as his hand stops the wood from slamming against itself. Kindness.
Sunlight warms his skin quickly, comfortably, while he walks. Not towards the orchard this time. You said something that intrigued him last night, that there is more to your domain that he hasn't seen yet, past the treeline he never slinks further than in fear of somehow finding the bounds of your stand.
'Impossible' you'd said. A reassurance that made his shoulders drop, eyes narrowing in a small relaxation that you have him securely in your grasp.
It should be unnerving, horrifying. Someone having complete control over if he can leave or not. But it doesn't, not anymore. For he is safe. Completely protected by your adoring fingers curling around his soul and keeping him close to you… And he knows you shouldn't.
For he is… not a person that you should want to save.
He would never tell you of course. What could he say?
'My name is Diavolo, I've killed more people than you've met in your entire life.'
No. He cannot tell you. Even if it means letting you stand in front of the barrel of the gun aimed directly for him… And hating that it's his finger resting on the trigger.
Silky petals brush across his fingertips when he caresses the roses by his side, deep crimson that looks akin to black under the right lighting, soft and beautiful. His eyes fall below the winding, thorny stems and down to the electric, striking blue of the forget-me-nots as they grow. Small but blooming already in the evening sun. They're a good addition, even if he didn't know what they looked like before picking them, unintentional but… fitting. In more ways than he's prepared to admit.
His gaze doesn't linger as he passes by the bushes before freezing, huffing sharply in disbelief when he sees a tree that was very much not there a few days ago. Not fully grown, but it's close. Growing too quickly to ever be something you haven't forced to mature.
You… you are an idiot. He remembers you telling him how exhausting it was for you to make things grow, the pain it brings, the tiredness that follows. And it makes sense why you've been so sluggish lately. So weak. For a damn tree.
His lips part slightly, not to speak entirely but not to remain quiet either. As if he could scold you for this… But he doesn't, he simply reaches out to trace his hand across the dry, chipped bark as it towers above his head. Leaves rustle when the wind ghosts through the foliage, loud and strangely calming. So soothing that he almost wants to quit his exploration already and sink to the base, press his back against the shaded wood and fall asleep.
You would tease him… He wants you to tease him. Irritation pools in his throat when his eyes snap open from their lidded, relaxed state. Pathetic… He doesn't want to be teased, what is he thinking? Perhaps the nightmares really did pull him into something akin to sleep deprivation…
But in a way he enjoys your playfulness, even if he dislikes the loss of control. It feels less like a blade and more of a caress against his skin after the rain, warm and delicate under such a small, ghosted movement.
There is no fruit in bloom. Not yet at least. And he has never enjoyed the taste of pomegranates anyway, like rotting sugar on his tongue, sweet and too sour all at the same time. Bitter. It was unfortunately something Doppio enjoyed far too often, indulging himself whenever he could on his time off. Much to the chagrin of poor Diavolo, suffering but never interrupting to stop him, no matter how disgusting it was. He just… couldn't bring himself to do it.
A faint scent of lavender lingers in the wind when he forces himself to move from the side of the tree, eyes blurring just too much to pretend that he doesn't care that Doppio is gone.
Everything he knew… it's gone.
Diavolo doesn't know why he doesn't cry, he is not performing for you in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by nothing but greenery and a comfort that his life never brought him. But he performs nonetheless. As if he is a king of puppets, unable to break from his own strings.
He supposes that is simply fate, he treat people as such, tools to use for his own gain. And now he's so tangled in the strings of fate that he doesn't know if he was simply the first knife that it wielded in its hand, carving in ways that he never had the freedom to choose. The illusion was nothing more than a performance that he fell for far too easily. Believing he could make his own fate.
Purple streaks across the corner of his vision when he breaks from the treeline, eyes locked onto the broken branches below his feet as they crack and shatter under his weight. Lavender.
So that's what you're hiding over here...
It's only a small clearing, a few meters stretching in all directions near thick, tightly packed oak, but it's a beauty that he hasn't seen in a long time, one he hasn't stopped to enjoy in years... Hundreds of stems of dulled green are swallowed almost entirely by soft lilac bushels across the length of it, over and over on every single plant that grows in the small meadow.
He pauses, curious to how it feels ghosting across his skin, he has never had such a pitiful want to indulge in something so insignificant. But he is entirely alone. So he takes it, moving slowly to the side of the shorter lavender sprouting between blades of grass that seem minuscule in comparison, both is size and in elegance.
It's hard. More so than he thought it would be, the many tight buds making it an interesting sensation. Both soft and firm between gentle fingertips, not attempting to break, or to subdue. To simply touch. To enjoy.
But that feeling doesn't stick around when he notices the sound of running water. Not a faucet nor simply a river, small and quaint that he knows slithers through your domain. This is something far more… intriguing, and it doesn't take him long to understand why. Loud splashing fills the air as he walks away from the small field of lavender, hesitantly but he moves, heading straight for the crashing of waves upon still water below.
A waterfall comes into view when he steps slowly through lingering, short trees, not nearly mature enough to block his vision in its totality but enough to obscure the sight.
You really have been hiding more than you let on. It's almost a cove, faces of rock surrounding above and creating a secluded, deep pool of water connecting to a river flowing down to the orchard. The thought of leaving doesn't linger for more than a second before he huffs out a sharp exhale and steps cautiously onto the sloped, shallow cliff overlooking the clear water below.
Even with the splashes the waterfall brings he can see all the way to the bottom before realizing he could so easily slip and fall in. So he takes a step back, then another, and another… He moves to sit, so quickly that it hurts his muscles at the sudden change of position, but it is far from his mind. He just needed to get away from the edge.
Grass is left crushed under his weight as he sinks onto the floor and calms his nervous breathing, panicked and rapid at the thought that he could drop into the jagged rocks and drown. Alone. Afraid. All over again. It's not the first time it's happened, not by far. But it's the first that he's so terrified to lose all that he's gained. There is no coming back from this death, not in a way that would leave him whole.
With a sigh he falls back, slowly and carefully into the meadow lacing the dirt and keeping him from touching the dry soil that would stain his clothes… again. Not that he cares. It can be washed, dirt will come out. He is comfortable and the sun has already begun to set deep on the horizon, leaving him calm through the eeriness that the dark brings.
He is safe. And… so tired. Surrounded by sounds of gentle waves and faint bugs that he isn't entirely sure what they are or why you have them here. Pollinators he gets, but he knows no bee chirps in this way. Crickets perhaps?
He could ask, he may not remember by the time you are home and back by his side. If he even bothers to move from his comfortable position staring up at the coiling clouds. Not sharp or a signal for a deluge to come, it is tranquil. Wisps of white and pinks that caress the auburn that swallows the once serene, oceanic blue.
Lavender and water mix into a scent that he didn't know would be so enjoyable, addicting. He can see why you have this here, even when he isn't really sure that you still come here, not for a break anyway. You always head straight home after work, after shopping. Back to him with kind eyes and a smile that claws every semblance of the cruel composure that he wants to keep.
Not that he's had that in… weeks.
His thought flicker back to the moment it changed, he can't put his finger on exactly when. The night he found out about Requiem? No… his feelings were there prior, he just didn't want to admit it. How could he? After Donatella he refused to even speak to someone outside of Doppio. Too much risk.
Is that why he fell for you? Because you were… accessible?
He all but flinches at the idea that you're only easy for him to grow attached to because you're there. You are not a fleeting feeling. He will not believe that, it is false. Diavolo does not fall for convenience, it is more than that, whether that is a good or a bad thing. He doesn't want to think about it.
He does not love you because are simply here. But because you are so easy to fall in love with.
"Thought you might be here." Your voice makes him jump, eyes widening in a panic as he sits up and glares in your direction for not attempting to warn him of your approach. "Sorry! I didn't want to disturb you… you looked so cute."
"Why are you here!?"
Fate is cruel.
And so is the immediate grin at his hissed interrogation, woven with a fury his heart does not feel. Embarrassment. That is what he feels up until the moment you sink to the grass by his side and lay down with a content moan, the stress of your job cracking under the comfort of his presence even if he's still watching you with that same disgusted sneer.
"I do live here… I was gonna bring you here tomorrow, you know?"
"You're an idiot." He barely pauses when he chooses to lay with you, huffing out the complaint that has been on his mind since he saw that damn tree. "Do you wish to die?"
"I don't know if you're threatening me again or not..."
"The tree."
A soft, curious hum pools in your throat when you turn your head to watch him, even if he refuses to glance in your direction for a long beat of silence, deep, pink hair fanning out around his head like a model. A very cute, angry model. But he does look. And when he does, you see the concern in his eyes before he can hide it, just a flicker but enough that it makes your heart ache.
"You planted it for me…" Your head turns as your voice dips, tears clinging to your lashes before you can stop them over something so silly… It feels so pathetically weak. But he doesn't say anything even if he doesn't understand. "I didn't want it to die."
"I was wrong. You're sentimental all the time."
Warmth coils around his chest when you laugh, nudging him slightly before moving to stand and holding your hand out for him to take. Something he once hated so deeply. Help. A pity.
But it never was, it was always just a gentle kindness, one he takes with careful fingers, not placing any of his weight onto you as if you're brittle. You are not. Scarred from the pain that lingers from Requiems cruel clutches, but you are far from brittle.
"I used to like to swim here…" Your voice is soft as you peer over the edge with a smile, glancing back to him when he approaches, comfortable in the safety that you exude to believe he would never fall. "It's nice, can you swim?"
"Yes."
There's a split second of disgust that he has for the thought in his mind before it gives way to the playfulness he feels more and more around you. It's not that high up… He could save you if you panicked...
His lips curl into a sadistic smirk. That is the only warning you get before his palm caresses your back and he pushes you into the water below. It's cold. Insanely fucking cold.
He looks worried when you break the surface with a shaky scold of his name, shivering so hard that it makes him regret doing it in the first place. He really is an asshole… You were sharing parts of yourself with him and he pushed you in… What the fuck!?
"Nommy! Oh my god… you're such a dick."
The fabric of your clothes sticks to your body uncomfortably while you swim to the edge, hands pressing into the grassy lip just as he moves to the water, hand outstretched to pull you out with an apology on parted lips. One he does not get to breathe into life when you wrap your fingers around his arm and pull him in with you, laughing maniacally when he glares at you angrily through soaked hair covering his face.
"I offered you my help."
"You pushed me in!"
As furious as he looks he doesn't attempt to get out, pushing his hair back with a a shake of his head to try to remove the water he knows that he can't. It really is freezing… But at least he's more awake now than he's felt all day.
It's exhilarating, cold and dripping wet under a waterfall by your side. Painfully romantic, and it only gets worse when you meet his eyes with that goddamn smile tugging at your lips, the one you always get when he's being stupid but you can't help but fall just a little harder.
"Sorry for pulling you in…" You're not. Not in the slightest, but you apologize and move closer under the guise of steadying yourself, hand pressed against his shoulder before he shifts unconsciously to pull you closer by your waist. "Ah… oh."
Dark, lidded eyes flit up to meet your own when you wind your arm around his neck, taking the hint that he wants an excuse to hold you without a single word from his lips. It takes everything in you not to dip your head and steal a kiss from him, especially with him looking at you like you're the only thing in this world that matters.
"You um… you left the jam on the counter."
Maybe you shouldn't have said anything… Not when he freezes, blinking in shock for a long, painful few seconds before huffing out an annoyed comment that makes you smile, head falling to his shoulder and pressing your forehead to his throat. Intimate in a way you hope seems platonic…
"Yes well… it would not open."
"You lost to a jar."
"I did not lose." His voice loses the edge he wanted it to have when you laugh into his skin, soft, something so small that makes his heart beat faster. Pathetic and agonizingly in love, he just hopes you can't feel it when he leans away to speak again, looking distracted towards the crashing cascade of water. "You are lucky I didn't smash it."
"Want me to open it for you when we get back?"
You glance up, eyes lidded and dilating when you inspect his flushed face, droplets of clear liquid falling down to his jaw as you reach out mindlessly, turning his head to face you as if you're going to lean in and… You shouldn't. But you want to and he doesn't pull away. Not like you expected him to, if anything he presses his jaw into your palm with a slow, lazy blink down at you.
"Mm, if you did, it was simply because I loosened it."
"Sure… Says the man who can't open a jar."
"You're insufferable." His breath ghosts across your face when he pulls you flush against his chest, pinned between his touch and the edge of the land. "Completely infuriating."
"And you're still here."
Saliva clings to his lips when his tongue darts out to wet them, nervous and almost unintentional when his eyelids flutter closed. He wants this…. to kiss you, make you his. What would that even mean?… Who is he? Nommy or Diavolo? He cannot be both at the same time.
But the thought of pulling away from you is near torture when you hold him so delicately in your hands, one curled on his jaw and the other thrown around his neck like he is your lover. And he is not. But he speaks like he is, gentle and teasing like you've been together months, comfortable and as if he's not rethinking every moment up until this point.
"For now." His lips brush your own, just barely as his fingers slip into your damp hair, keeping you still before you can close the distance. "Until you open the jar."
"Nommy… Just shut up and kiss me."
His heart stops at your playful, needy demand. It's too real. You… you want him the way that he wants you, and it keeps proving to him that you shouldn't. So he pulls away with a feigned grin that falters immediately, eyes still lidded with a flicker of sadness in them, water dripping down his face and across your fingers. He doesn't kiss you, much to your disappointment.
Not in the way you wanted him to, instead he leans back in with a nervous swallow and presses his forehead to your own. Gentle and akin to a plea as he holds your face close to his with a slow brush of your cheekbone with his thumb. Intimate.
"I can't."
"Hey… it's okay." The bridge of your nose nudges his own, lightly, as if accentuating your reassurance. Gentle. Grounding him through his realization. "I can wait."
"You shouldn't." Stop... What is he saying? Stop it… His voice breaks softly when he speaks again, near terrified, hands shaking against your skin like the words could come out faster than he could stop them. He can't tell you. "You don't know me."
"Then let me in."
"You will not like who you see."
He sounds so serious. Scared. It should make you freeze… think just a little harder about who he is and why he doesn't want you to know. But he is not cruel. You trust that he is not as bad as he thinks that he is, he has never hurt you even when given ample opportunity. He is gruff but he is not a monster.
No matter what he did to believe that he is.
"I like you now… Is that not enough?"
His brows knit together, exhaling slowly under your sudden confession. Not like the other night, not a fleeting, panicked mutter of your adoration before you slip from the room. It's whispered into his fetid soul like it could make him believe it. As if he's worthy of believing that he's lovable.
He doesn't move, doesn't speak, not for a long time. Fingers entwined into your still damp, tangled hair, keeping you as close as you'll allow him to be before he finally pulls himself from the comforting tide and onto a sharp, glass ladened beach.
But he doesn't say it back.
Not when he knows that he can't stay.
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