🥖 | [kiraboss] this is what you call a bad night

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Diavolo sobs, and wonders just how Kira can love him in moments like these, in moments when he can't even love himself.





Character(s): Diavolo, Kira Yoshikage, Doppio (mentioned)

Relationship(s): Diavolo/Kira Yoshikage

Tags & warnings: depression, PTSD, mental health issues (not too sure which ones but i'll tag just in case), some graphic depictions of violence, HURT/COMFORT, angst with happy ending, mentions of the death loop, language

Completed: 16/6/20

Word count: 1574





wanted to finish this sooner, but depression said no :')

stg i was planning a fluffly kiraboss oneshot for a request, but my braincells died and i ended up finishing this one first ;_; it's so all-over-the-place like idek if this even has any redeeming qualities... love i guess 😍✌️

the song used for the title is "Bad Night" by Joshua Speers!







One.

A knife to his stomach. Just a blunt, rusty knife, but it took his life as swiftly and violently as any Stand user could have.

Two. Three. Four.

A doctor. Trained to save lives, yet his screams and pleas all fell on deaf ears.

Five.

A pavement. A fucking pavement. And then a car, ramming into him so hard he felt each bone snap and shatter.

Six. Six. Seven.

A girl.

Six. Seven. Eight.

A little girl. A child. So innocent, yet he could already see his blood splattering onto her babydoll shoes.

Eight.

Babydoll.

Eight.

A child.

One. Eight. Six.

One.

One.

One,

one,

on—

Diavolo's eyes snapped open. His skin was slick with sweat, yet he felt cold, cold as ice even with the covers pulled up to his chin. His lips were dry as he parted them and tried to suck in a breath, to no avail — the air around him seemed to have melded with the darkness, thick, stagnant, until his lungs throbbed like all he'd done was fill them up with tar. All his muscles were rigid, and his eyes burned, with visions, with insomnolence, with tears, but he could not for the life of him shed a single drop to ease his suffering.

It was as if he was dead.

No. No. No. Something warm slid down his temple, quickly followed by several more. It seemed his dam just broke. Diavolo clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sobs, but they kept coming, sharp and jagged and excruciating. Doppio refused to come out. Everything felt too much like the fight with Metallica. Diavolo felt his lips turn salty from the sweat on his palm, and with a strangled moan he bit down into the soft flesh, hoping the pain could distract him even if just for a second.

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