Wild Cards (JJBA Villains x Reader)

22| Unfortunate Things Pass

You'd nearly felt a vein pop at the sight. Lazy, irksome, the sight makes you grind your teeth audibly. 

You call Diavolos name once, twice. Nothing. He shifts in his bed, his ears firmly sandwiched between the pillow and comforter. 

Well, his choice. Next you throw open the curtains, and you swear you hear a hiss. Though in truth it was nothing more than an irritated grumble. Diavolo retreats beneath the surface of the blankets, now an odd lump writhing beneath fabrics.

"Enough. Wake up." You say. "Your ankle is fine now."

"Asshole, go away." A muffled voice replies. "Let me rest in peace."

"I've let you do that for almost four days now. You're recovered, I'm sure, and I'd like my bed back."

"I will not be going back to that twin-sized madness you think you can give me."

"You are."

"I refuse."

His immature way only peeved you even more, so, you think of an adult way to handle it, because that is what you both happen to be. Two fully grown adults, not one adult and a child.

"Well then," You say, "If you won't leave, then at night, you will have to make room, because I am not sleeping on the couch anymore. My kindness has left."

"You will not."

"I will. I kick in my sleep. I talk. I throw fits, you might get hit during one, be warned. I have night terrors, so I may scream, too. Let's not forget-"

"You're not sleeping with me!" Diavolo yells beneath the covers, and at this, you grasp hold of a corner and rip them off entirely, causing him to nearly fold inward at the loss of warmth.

You scowl at him, "Then get out of my bed."

Diavolo turns his head so that now he peers at you through his length of messy pink hair, hideous green eyes looking at you with a disgust unmatched as he remained where he was, only breaking from his still position to reach back for the blankets

You only pull them back further in response. By now, there's something stirring  within your office, and you assume Valentine is awake when you hear a weak, groggy call of your name, "...(Y/n)?"

You don't answer.

"Where are you, sweetheart?"

His voice irritates you to no end. Still recovering from an embarrassingly short fever, a slight migraine still remains, and Valentine only seems to fuel it with his pestering. 

Diavolo follows you with his hand, crawling over a small part of the bed in chase of the blankets, shouting to the open door, "Your dearest sweetheart is in here being a nasty bitch!"

A harsh popping sound resounds through the conjoined rooms, and Diavolo flies backward with a red cheek. 

"Watch what you call your superior, Diavolo." His face is snatched in a painfully pinching grip. "Next time, I will take your tongue and nail it to the wall."

Ah, and here we are, once again faced with the issue of whether to be hateful and despising of your power, or to be in awe, a servant of its force. All the senses of the world seem to mute as he decides just how he should feel about this.

And it seems as though he doesn't need to decide, perhaps he could just pretend his resentment existed and simply feel the excitement shooting through where your hand sat clamped on his mouth.

But of course, Valentine comes in to ruin it all, as he does often. His face pops into the picture in a way so unflattering to Diavolo he almost considered gagging just for the effect. He stands at the door with a scowl on his face, leaning against its frame.