Blood Contract | Diavolo X Reader

6| Graves In The Garden

Eve's guilt ripe apple placed in a child's palm, taught to swallow it whole, to choke down an oversized ache, to feel permanently heavy at the age of eleven. 

(Y/n) stares down absently at the apple in their hand, it's glistening shine glaring in the bright of the sun, slipping through the frayed clouds in rays. 

The underbelly of a church pew, it is the burden of promises better left unkept; people find more grace in a little child than they do in god. It is easier to shoulder regret onto someone who doesn't know the harsh realities of unconditional love, than it is to give to an almighty force powerful enough to condemn you.

The grave before them continues to age even as time passes, slowly, and they can see vines creeping up its side, the name of the deceased no longer legible with the flourishing moss on the tombs face. Bees hum, and butterflies flutter, in this garden Eden.

Diavolo looks down upon them, as he usually does to pass the time, and wonders. He's seen that grave before, when he'd first come along and struck his deal, but it's exact meaning had yet to reveal itself to his curious mind.

 He watched as (Y/n) continued to stare ahead, almost not even looking at the grave itself, but something beyond it. They've surely lost it, he thinks, as their smile refuses to falter, and the apple continues to sit in their hand.

Then something happens, he thinks something's happened, and (Y/n) perks up. A person with jagged green hair comes around the corner, approaching where they sit with a friendly pace. A single pair of overalls does the job of keeping them covered, and a cup of something swirls in their hand.

Something's said, a passing whisper he'd never get to hear, and the politician is to their feet. A short conversation between the two ensues, and then (Y/n) is gone, turned the corner and out of sight. The stranger turns their attention to the flowers in the garden, and begins to prune them with delicacy.

"You need a better hobby than people watching." Risotto says, somewhere else in the room. Diavolo doesn't bother to check where. "It's unnerving, sir."

"I'll do as I please, thank you." He snaps back, pulling himself into his seat once more when (Y/n) shows no sign of returning to the grave.

Just this morning, they'd flown back from their stupid meeting abroad, something Diavolo wished he'd never attended. He was left to his devices in the hotel room the entire day, and when (Y/n) had finally returned, he was sure they'd give him some grace to go look around the area.

But of course, they were too busy for that. It was right back onto the plane for them. 

That night, he pushed the covers off of them again, just for pettiness' sake, only to find that it'd been put atop him when he woke. Again, he cursed them for the kind act, and nearly had a tantrum over it too.

The elevator chimes, and (Y/n) walks into the room. 

"Is he still pissed about not being able to shop?" They ask Risotto, dull eyes trained on Diavolo as he continued to avoid their gaze.

"Extremely. Forgive him for any outbursts he may have today."

"Of course, but I feel it may not be necessary. Diavolo," They call, "would you like to go somewhere with me?"

"Another fucking meeting?" He scoffed. "Please, spare me."

"Unfortunately, no. There's a suit shop just down the street, I was hoping I could fix your mood by taking you down there and treating you to a new suit."

"Why would you do that?"

Their eye twitched. "Your constant pouting is getting on my nerves, acting like a toddler when you're a full grown man. Would you like one, or not?"