Blood Contract | Diavolo X Reader

3| Curiouser, and Curiouser

(Y/n) has always gotten what they wanted, always; So there they sit defeated at their desk, their forced smile now a bit crooked from agitation, as this is the first time in a while they didn't get what they asked for.

Diavolo's never too far, lazily observing them in their office as he leaned against the door. Curious, he asks, "What's the deal with you?"

"I'm just a little... confused. It won't do anything to you."

They've asked their stand fourteen times now to set Diavolo on fire, and three times to blow his head off. Nothing happened, unfortunately.

"You mean, it's not doing anything to hurt me."

"No, you idiot, I told you it doesn't do anything. I've considered that violent acts against you are meaningless, and tried to command it to spoil you in riches. Nothing. I told it to change your suit from black to orange, which is a harmless act. Still nothing."

(Y/n) straightens themselves up in their chair, dismissing their thoughts with the shake of their head before beginning to work on their laptop, doing whatever it is they do. Diavolo goes to open his mouth, but stops himself from speaking. It was tempting to tell them that he was experiencing the same problem with his King Crimson. 

Several times he's tried to kill the politician, just as they had to him, both in their sleep and in broad daylight. And each time he would call it out, try to force it to rip them apart or spear them onto their pearly white fence outside, it would simply hover, as if it didn't hear him at all. 

So to hear that both stands were behaving this way, King Crimson and whatever (y/n)'s was, was only as half as relieving as it should've been. There's something he's missing here, he assumed, that wasn't apart of the agreement they made.

From what they discussed, (Y/n) was to help Diavolo keep up his climax as the most feared and dominating mob boss in the country, while he kept their image clean and did their dirty work. However, their minimal respect for each other always led to one argument or another, and as a result, a few attempts at murder are made every now and again.

But seeing as each attempt is an utter failure, Diavolo just sits back and continues to wonder, 'Just what is going on?'

There's a knock by the office door, and (Y/n) knocks their table four times in response before someone enters. Strange.

"You have a two-o'clock with Davidson tomorrow afternoon, he expects you to be ready for debate among his colleagues for the topic that was shared in the email he sent you." A man walks in, bold and uptight, quickly scurrying over to (Y/n)s desk to set a fresh coffee onto their cork coaster. He doesn't seem to have noticed Diavolo; That, or he outright ignored him.

He's definitely an assistant of some sort, though its hard to tell based on looks alone. The stranger sports short blonde hair shaved into a square grid fashion, leading all along his chin and passing his sharp purple eyes. Two holsters are poised on either side of his hip, holding what looked like a metal ball in each one. Beneath said holsters, is a plain yellow suit, only a few shades off from the one (Y/n) happened to wear that day, which again, was once more a light brown.

"Thank you, Wekapipo," A weird name, for a weird man. "You're always such a great help."

"Is there anything else I may do for you?" Wekapipo continues to ignore Diavolo entirely.

"Would you mind setting up a guest room for my friend over there? He'll be staying here awhile." They vaguely throw their hand in the direction of the mobster in the corner. "And while you're at it, ask what he prefers, and make a quick grocery run to accommodate."

"Certainly." 

In a rather reluctant manner, Wekapipo swivels on his heel to promptly look at the mafia boss in a cold glare, not even bothering to offer him a fake smile of hospitality. All he did was look at him, his lean and semi-muscular build never dropping its high guard, and firm stance.

From his experience, Diavolo could easily tell that this was a hardened man, a cold and calculated individual that would always get a job done no matter what it would take, even tolerating the little hijinks that could be caused by an ass like (Y/n).

This Wekapipo fellow... was intriguing.

"I'm quite alright, Risotto will bring me what I need. I appreciate the thought anyhow." 

"What is it you would like me to get you, sir?" It became evident rather quickly that Wekapipo would only take orders from (Y/n), and them alone. Any denial or refusal on the other parties part will be ignored.

"I told you, I'm fine-"

"Thank you, Wekapipo dearest," (Y/n) cuts in, "But it seems our guest can take care of themselves. You are dismissed."

And with that, the man leaves, though not before scowling at Diavolo as he closed the door behind him. 

He and the politician sitting so boredly at their desk exchange a few awkward words every handful of minutes after the fact, and soon enough, a genuine conversation blossoms, perhaps the first one the two have ever had that wasn't an argument of some sort.

But of course, something must ruin it all.

The topic of Diavolos stay in the penthouse, which was apart of the agreement as to keep each under the surveillance of the other, arose without much warning, and he discovered a slight problem...

His daughter.

Where was his daughter going to go.