Wild Cards (JJBA Villains x Reader)

22| Unfortunate Things Pass

We've just hit 100k reads! 

I'll make this short because I know plenty are just wanting to read the chapter and be done with it, but I just want to let you know I'm so very thankful for you all and all the support you have given me over the years. 

I first wrote this when I was like, what, in middle school? Now I'm applying to colleges. Crazy how long I've been with you all, how much not only I have matured but how much my writing skills have as well.

Every one of you, whether visible or not to me, I am thankful for. 

Now, let me know what kind of chapter you'd like as a thanks! There's not much I can offer you on the grounds of me being only a fanfiction writer, but I can give you a chapter of whatever, so let me know what you'd like! (I'll even allow some kind of smut since this is a big celebration :D )

Thank you all again!

3k+ as a treat :DD

(You already KNOW i refuse to read back through and edit. That is future ME's problem)

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And I am them, and that is eternity.

The flowers seem to speak this as light hits their petals in a gentle wash. Resplendent, its vivid spread almost alien in a room so intimidatingly plain. It adds a touch of humanity in a place where none is expected.

Sleeves rolled past the elbows, you take part in a pity-operation of cleaning up your office a bit, hoping it'll wake you up and distract from the pain in your neck. Sleeping on the couch is absolutely taking its toll. 

Not as carefully as someone who gave a shit, though with some caution, you stepped over a sleeping Valentine like someone trying not to trip over their lazing dog sprawled right in the middle of everything.

You took the water bottle beside him, and dumped its aged contents into the flower pot, the heads of the bloom nodding thankfully as they drank the dusted spill. Eager is the dying man. Or flower, in this case.

Your desk is never too out of order. Messes are messy, and that is one flaw you will not have. All that is needed is a few reorganized papers, and a couple pens returned to their cup, and all is well.

And all was well, until a sharp pain once more erupted from that troublesome spot on your neck, and your agitation had sparked to life. Today could've been a nice day, maybe you wouldn't have yelled at Dio as much, or lectured someone of the same childish intellectual level. Maybe today, you would've been the textbook definition of nice.

But that single, painful spot ruined it for everyone. You, especially.

And you were reminded why you had that single, painful spot in your neck. It was because of the couch. But it wasn't really the couch, it was the fact you didn't have your own bed. 

Oh, and that realization really did it, didn't it? An anger truly began to fester beyond its previous, dismissible irritation. The more you hurt, the more you angered, and the more your temper bubbled over its limits. 

It was frightening, those who witnessed it could say-- How quickly but calmly you stomped to your bedroom, the way you opened the door with such a respectful but direful presence. 

The lasting bits of the nights-- closed curtains, disheveled blankets, the mess of it all --remained with the man who was meant to only be there for maybe one night alone. Diavolo slept sound, curled up in cozy blankets atop a mattress that didn't give you neck cramps.