Blood Contract | Diavolo X Reader

1 | Make it Happen

Smack in the middle of a deadly and inhospitable desert, there is a glittering city of indulgence and lawlessness and cheap sin, that has purposefully engineered itself to obfuscate your sense of time and reality, to keep you there as long as possible as it drains you of all your worldly possessions and riches you weren't even sure you had.

In a dazzling penthouse, dripping the very definition of wealth in each golden corner, a door is knocked down, and the city's most trusted and well-known politician is held at gun-point.

"Goodness, haven't you heard of knocking?" (Y/n) hummed, their hands stiff on either side of their head. "I would've answered the door all the same."

"Whatever you did, you better reverse it before your brain gets fucking blown out." There stood a peculiar man; Strange in the sense that as charming and fit as he seemed, there was clearly a screw loose in his head.

Control and power at one's fingertips can be as easy as a fiery gaze and a hungry soul. A devil's alluring graze against an unaware existence, his whisper into the plain air which seemed to pull men to their knees in work and worship. One would think it was as easy as that.

 But this devil, as much power as he had, as much control as he altered, he could not seem to get a hold of this dripping dew of misfortune, which seemed to expand and escape his reach the more it ran between the cracks of the concrete holding up his astral poise. 

But, inevitably whatever drips into concrete gets absorbed like water to soil. So it was no surprise when Diavolo, the assumed king of the underworld he ruled, was able to pinpoint the culprit of this invisible chaos so easily.

"You did something." His words bled venom as naturally as any snake. "I've done my research like I'm sure you baited me to, and it's clear you did something to cause all of this."

"Whatever do you mean?" (Y/n) was, if it hadn't been obvious, the type to play dumb till they won.

They had this staple, so to say-- this unmistakable identifier; for if you were to put them in a room full of clones of themselves, you'd always know which was the real (Y/n), as the grin on their face was as permanent as the blue sky above, never leaving, not even for a moment.

That distasteful beige suit they wore wrinkled as they relaxed their arms a bit, the dull sheen in their eyes leaving no evidence of them really having any soul at all. 

"I've tracked every promise, every lie a politician might use in their campaign to drag in more votes under the premise of them actually getting done. But your guarantees had actually all been done. The literacy rate went up, like you promised. The poverty rate went down, like you promised." Diavolo flicked his fingers forward, the grey-haired man at his side at the ready with his gun. "And now, you're trying to get rid of the mob, just like you promised."

"Well, I assume I must be doing something right if you're here then, hm?"

"If you believe murdering those who hadn't got the 'get the fuck out of here' memo you sent is right, then sure, you're doing something utterly splendid." He hissed. "Now, I would love to believe you just hired some out-of-town hitmen to get rid of the majority of them, but then that wouldn't explain something else?"

"And that would be~?"

"You also said you'd stop the drug trade, yes? I had thought you'd meant you'd find a way to shut down our factories, or buy us out, maybe even endorse our competitors. But you've managed to surprise me this time."

"Isn't that what one lives for? The bubbling excitement and dead of a surprise, something you didn't expect?"

"You're a stand user." The room went quiet, and the smile (Y/n) had plastered so smugly on their face a minute ago began to falter. "There's no other way around it, is there?"

That disgusting mob leader, tainting their fine carpets with the shoes he bought using dirty money, turned to the grey-haired man on his left, who seemed constantly threatened by the sharp top of doorways, and snapped his fingers. "Risotto, if you'd please."

For one reason or another, which seemed to be explained in just a moment, the goliath known as 'Risotto' opened his suits jacket, and instead of pulling out whatever the don wished for like any other lackey would, he had him get it himself. 

"See this?" Diavolo said promptly, holding up a bag stuffed with a white substance. Cocaine, (Y/n) mused. "I know you aren't dumb enough to where I have to tell you what it is, but I'll demonstrate exactly what I'm talking about."

The bag was discarded to a nearby coffee table, and on command, Risotto walked over to it like an obedient dog, and reached out to grab it. The bag moved out of the way. He tried again, and it moved again, as if two magnets repelling each other endlessly.

"You're going to stop the drug trade by preventing us from even touching it." The look on the politicians face said he was correct in big, bold letters. "Not just that, you're killing my men without lifting a finger, and if you don't reverse all you've done, and I don't care how, then the newspaper will have a real fine headliner for tomorrow."

The dim light swallowing the room whole only added to the tense mood, that seemingly expensive chandelier, dangling from but a single chain, glimmered as it swayed in the slight whip of a draft. (Y/n) continued to grin, though unlike before, it was clear  there were merely agitated.

"My word is law." They began in a mumble. "My existence is proof of divine right, the mandate of heaven has chosen me to rule, and under this crown, I wish for your death."

The Mandate of Heaven is a Chinese political philosophy that was used in ancient and imperial China to justify the rule of the King or Emperor of China. According to this doctrine, heaven – which embodies the natural order and will of the universe – bestows the mandate on a just ruler, the "Child of Heaven". 

"What are you babbling on about?" Diavolo bit; but of course, this must be (Y/n) in fright! Of course, this meaningless sentence was them attempting to soothe themselves, for who wouldn't tremble in the presence of a man who was a true king?

"Please, pardon me, I'm merely sputtering nonsense." The politician swiftly turned to look at the other escort, some nobody with slicked black hair, and repeated themselves. "My word is law, my existence is proof of divine right, the Mandate of Heaven has chosen me to rule, and under this crown, I wish for your death."

The escort collapsed to the floor within seconds, eyes tumbling into the back of his head as his face drained blue.

"That's odd." They laughed, so senile, so malicious, that this couldn't have been a coincidence.

And Risotto picked upon that.

He'd seen it before. He's watched gangsters of different territories, near and far, his comrades and his foes, all suffer the same fate. They'd either explode into portions of themselves, or, they'd choke and fall to the ground.

"Hey, are you going to check on your guard?" (Y/n)s agitated dissipated like smoke, and soon, their smug expression arose once more. "He doesn't look too-"

In an instant, they were on the floor, pinned by their shoulders and gagged with their own tie. IT happened so fast, one might even dare to say that time had skipped, for neither (Y/n) or Risotto remembered such an apprehension taking place. Sure, the bodyguard lunged for them, but when had he the time to take these measures?

"Is that how you manage to do those things you do?" Diavolo hummed, raising an eyebrow as he walked over to the politician, who eyed him suspiciously. "Make a demand, and it's done in a flash? Anything you desire, layed at your feet with no consequences?"

No response.

"...I believe we got off on the wrong foot." He cleared his throat and turned away, and instead of taking up the gun laying temptingly at his feet, Diavolo sat on the love chair not too far away, and took upon a champagne glass into his large hand. 

"Perhaps we may be good allies for one another to have." He spoke. "Care to strike a deal?"