JJBA one shots

DIO- Compassion

I have such a huge crush on Dio ☠️

Female reader

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"My son,"

"Yes?" The young Mafioso's attention lifts from where it was lost in the book.

"How does one become compassionate?"

"Why?" Curiosity and light amusement shine from Giorno's eyes, scanning over the way his father tries to hide his scowl in a half-facepalm.

Dio, on the other hand, is endlessly annoyed to ask someone else for help. "...How does one take care of a sick and injured human?" He knows the basics, but only in the mechanical way- bandage, medicine, food, rest. He's fully estranged from the world of gentleness and love, which humans do prefer, especially when they have a high fever classified as hyperpyrexia. After getting ambushed and bloodied by a cruel stand user.

"You aren't human and you aren't sick," Giorno pushes, knowing his father. Knowing he's too embarrassed to ever admit he cares about another. "And, you aren't injured—"

"You brat," Dio snarls, with no bite. "Just tell me." I can't believe that I, Dio, is asking someone else for help.

"Not until you tell me who it is first." Giorno doesn't even try to hide the smirk dancing on his lips. He brings his arms up to his chest, crossing them.

"You little.." Dio bites his cheek. "She's someone I've favoured recently."

Good enough, Giorno thinks. He begins to teach his father compassion 101 like a toddler. Well, how else is there to teach? People are usually old enough to know by grade school.

"If you weren't my blood, I, Dio, would never fucking ask.. sorry," Dio catches himself swearing a little too late, one thing he tries to avoid in front of his son. "I can't believe there's something I don't know—"

"Aren't you lucky you have such an empathetic son?" Giorno blinks as if he didn't just sign a paper ordering execution of three people from their rival gang. He also blinks as if his father, who refuses to curse in his radius, wasn't the one who suggested it.

"Shut up before I make you call her 'mom',"

Giorno's mouth falls, and "Don't you dare—!"

Dio grins, satisfied he got back at his son for embarrassing him. Even though he was the initiator who wanted help.

As he ascends the lengthy flight of stairs, the facts Giorno taught him resurface. Soft voice.. gentle touches.. "how are we feeling?".. part of him sits uneasy at seeking answers from other than pages of a publication older than him. That part, however, is bitten down by an aberrant pull to take care of his woman. Finally, he's also overcome with the larger sense of fatherly pride. Stay close.. keep her warm.. reassure her..

"(Y/n)?" He peers in, trying to not startle his human.

"Yeah.." (Y/n) croaks weakly, too tired to incline the finish of her sentence into a question.

"Don't speak," Dio states gently. "Rest." He shuts the door behind him, stepping into his separate realm of a bedroom— grand, maroon bed fit for three kings. Individual tables with full sets of chairs. Smaller, plush sofas minor the room, being the background focus point. Ancient paintings hang on walls, silk curtains hang over bay windows. Closet doubling as a vault. Not to mention, the size of his chamber is good for a family of four.

Dio looks over at (Y/n), wondering how he ever allowed her into his bedroom. How did this woman steal his heart?

He makes his way over as she stirs lightly. "Don't move," he sits at the edge of his bed. "You might tear your wounds."

"Mmm.." She acknowledges through a haze of pain. "Hurts.."

"It's okay, baby," Dio's voice surprises himself with a rare gentleness. He frowns in confusion at his own use of the pet name. "Let me get you some painkillers." He shuffles around the first aid kit on his nightstand, extending his hand with two pills.

"Dio.." (Y/n) whispers as he helps her take the pills.

"Yes, my love?" Dio thinks it's a force of nature that makes him spew out pet names every sentence. He can't even control it.

"Cold.."

Dio doesn't think as he hears this, his primal instinct to protect kicking in. He envelops (Y/n) in a gentle hold, careful to not rip her bandages. He pulls blankets over the two of them, adjusting their position into a comfortable snuggle.

"Better?"

"Better."

He hums, satisfied. Ignoring the back of his mind asking him why the hell he's being so kind. Maybe I've grown soft. His train of thought halts as a patterned knock sounds.

"Son?" He answers.

"Papa," Giorno opens the door, peering in. The sight of his father cozed up with another catches him off guard. "Papa, what the hell?" He's smirking now, holding up a camera.

"What did you need, boy?" Dio feels the slightest kiss of warmth on his cheeks.

"Aww, you're blushing." Giorno decides to not tease anymore as he gets to the point. "One of our capos is utterly useless," hushed tone. "I came to inquire for advice."

"Kill him," Dio doesn't even look, the habitual sentence running out his mouth. He turns his attention back to (Y/n), kissing her temple. He bites down a smile at the way she shuffles closer.

"Now, leave me alone, will you?"

Giorno nods a curtsy, grinning at how it is indeed possible for his father to display compassion. He thinks about ways to kill the useless capo.

"Maybe I'm only soft to you," Dio whispers in the ear of the woman in his arms. "I hope he kills him with cement boots." He presses another kiss to her temple, holding her a little tighter. The unfamiliar feeling of warmth rises in his chest as (Y/n)'s breath slows.

"Sleep well, baby." He mouths, smiling at her peaceful face.

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No one can convince me Dio isn't like this to his loved ones