Weeee

You’d barely seen him in weeks. Each time you went out of your way, he would be swept off to sign some letters or do some other high and mighty shenanigans he had no time to explain properly to you. You would frown when you just missed him leaving or when he’d cut you off with “I’m sorry, but I must go.” Barbatos would approach you carefully, as if you were an injured animal, and place a pristine plate of almond cookies alongside a perfectly made, black puddle tea in front of you. You’d quietly give your thanks, meeting his understanding eyes, when he offers you a soft “I miss him too” or “He’ll be back to normal before you know it.” 

After you finish your cookies, you’d spend the rest of your evening with Barbatos, he’d show you new recipes he’s conjured and ask for your thoughts to make you feel like your visit wasn’t a complete waste of your time. Despite his best efforts, each walk back to the House of Lamentation dragged on with the overwhelming realisation that Diavolo just doesn’t have time for you anymore.

It’s not like you and Diavolo were dating or anything. The thought had crossed your mind once until the harsh reminder that demons and humans can never be together, especially when it’s a demon of such high power and just an average human, came crashing down on you. Ever since then, you’ve ignored the longing looks, the slight touches, the giggles you share in intimate spaces alone, for the sake of your own mind, and belittled it down to just being good friends.

To make things worse, you weren’t even allowed to come to the coronation, this major event in your good friend’s life, as you were human. Since the war, there were still some demons that attested to humans - many being of high status - and you would be put at risk of being harmed, so it was in everyone’s best interest you didn’t attend. But who were you to follow the rules?

That’s how you ended up here: peering around a decorated pole and witnessing the royal crown be placed atop his bright red hair and between his downturned horns. He begins his pledge, swearing to safeguard the place he calls home until his words die on his tongue.

“I promise to always protect-“

You. 

He spots you attempting to sneakily catch a glimpse of the event. Your eyes meet and for a moment he forgets where he is, and why you definitely should not be here. He watches as your body flinches at his recognition and immediately slips back out through the small gap in the door. He quickly regains himself, suddenly very aware of the unimpressed eyes laid upon him by some members of the council. He continues his oath as he shakes off thoughts of you. 

Next came the after party - correction, a social event for everyone to drink free demonus and discuss whats next for the Devildom. As he’s stood pretending to ignore the Clauderic familys passive aggressive comments thrown directly at his face, he looks over to his favourite demon brothers wrapped up in their own conversations, almost carefree. He feels a presence missing though. Your presence.

He thinks about how you should be here celebrating with him, until his mind wanders back to that moment in the hall, where you deliberately went against orders. 

“I need to leave,” he suddenly announces, cutting off whoever’s speaking to him now as he turns on his feet and walks straight for the door.

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After Diavolo had spotted you at his ceremony, you speedily left to go back to the House of Lamentation. You knew he would be mad at you, especially when you caused him to stop in the middle of his oath, but you haven’t seen him in weeks. You doubt he’d even have the time to come and express that anger. You lounged on your bed, your eyes stuck to your ceiling and limbs sprawled out as you prayed Beelzebub had kept his promise of sneaking you back some snacks from the party. 

Your door swings open, something you’ve become accustomed to living with hells most dramatic demons, so you make no immediate move to get out of your lazy position. “Beel? You guys are home already?”

You’re met with silence. “Beel-?” You tilt your head backwards, meeting eyes that definitely do not belong to your ginger friend. Hand still gripping your doorknob, Diavolos chest rises and falls, breathless, as you rise to your feet similar to a soldier. “Diavolo-“

“Why did you do that?”

Your sentence dies in your throat. Maybe he did have the time. “What are you-?”

“Earlier. During my ceremony. You snuck in. Why?” Diavolo stares straight through you. His tone harsh yet laced with concern. You suck a deep breath in, your mouth opening just to shut again, thinking of what to say. You haven’t seen this man for more than 10 seconds in weeks and now he’s just here. In your bedroom.

“I told you not to come. Why can’t you listen?”

His tone was baffling to you. You scoff, anger suddenly overfilling your senses. “You’re mad at me,” you pause, eyebrows furrowing, “Because I came to see you on one of the most important days of your life?”

Diavolo shuts the door behind him, stepping closer to you. “No. I’m mad because you keep putting yourself in danger just to see me,” he replies. 

“At least I still make the effort,” you exclaim, holding your head high. 

Diavolo is taken aback by your vexation. Sure he’s seen you mad before, but usually at Mammon for secretly selling your stuff or Beelzebub for eating your lunch. Never like this - never at him. He understands you haven’t seen him, his own immediate disappearance making him just as antsy, but you could’ve gotten hurt, and he would rather die before hurting you. “You need to start listening to me - I’m your King.”

You flinch at his words, causing Diavolo to lower his head - he had not meant for it to come out that way. After a moment, you regain yourself. “Well, I thought you were my friend,” you frown, “My mistake, Your Majesty.” 

Silence falls between you once again. The tensions so thick you could almost smell it. You feel like you can’t breathe in this room, with his distressed gaze searching you, under the heaviness of your shared words. You go to leave before he steps in front of you - the sheer size of him forcing you to avert your gaze at his feet. 

“I haven’t seen you in so long,” you admit, words seemingly pouring out of you, “and I know I’ll be seeing you a lot less now that you’re King, which is fine, but I just thought… I just wanted to see you one more time.” 

A striking awareness dawns on Diavolo: you were willing to risk your life just to see him. 

Diavolo lifts his hand, slowly tucking a loose hair behind your ear to rest his hand lightly on your jaw, tilting it up towards him. He looks into your eyes, the very eyes he dreams about, and sees a beautiful softness in them, a vulnerability. “You’re not losing me. I’m sorry about what I said - it was unfair of me to use that against you. I know I’ve been busy,” he sighs, “and honestly I’ll get busier… but I’ll always make time for you. I can promise you that. I’m sorry you weren’t invited, but seeing you there, it felt right, until I realised I can’t always protect you, and that scares me.”

He rubs the tip of his thumb across your warm cheek as he whispers, “Look at me.” And you do. You see a King. But you also see your closest friend - the man who would risk anything to be around you, the man who left his own coronation to be here, right now with you.

“What about your party?” You ask, puzzled.

“I don’t care about that right now.” 

He lowers his head, his nose just grazing yours, his lips parting slightly. You instinctively close the gap, breathless as your lips meet. Kissing you was intoxicating - something Diavolo was willing to risk anything for. 

He pulls away, his brain fighting his quickening heart; he knew you could never be together, but God did he want to taste more of you. He slowly walks you backwards, hands still caressing your face, eyes fixated on your salivating lips. Your legs buckle once they hit your bed, causing you to sit, your eyeline landing straight on his abs. Your fingers delicately dance across his dark skin, the muscle beneath them tensing with anticipation.

He stops you when he places his hands above yours, almost holding them. You look up at him now, seeing the outline of a lazy smile displayed on his face.

He lowers himself onto your bed, pushing you flat against your back, and kisses you greedily, hungrily. He gently bites your bottom lip with his fangs, causing you to let out a quiet whimper - practically music to his ears. “You’re so sweet.” Desperation overcomes you once you tug his shawl off his shoulders, throwing it to the side, along with your own top and your sensibility. 

“Eager girl,” he chuckles, mesmerised by the slight furrow in your brow as your nimble fingers attempt to remove his ridiculously difficult pants. 

You barely register his teasing with your mind so full of this sizeable man above you. “Sorry. Missed you,” you mumble when you finally succeed in removing his pants. He feels the heat from your palm against his dick, suddenly bringing a very painful thought to the front of his mind: he might never see you like this again. You’ve both always been uncomfortably aware of your differences in this place, the taboo of humans and demons sharing a romantic love for each other, this being much more strict with him being King - the council would never accept a human to be his Queen alongside him. 

“Wait,” he whispers. Your hand retracts as if you’ve been burnt, you look at his face observing a slight lour, the last thing you wanted was to ruin this moment.

Diavolo knows this isn’t right. He knows that it’ll never work out. But God knows he can’t resist you.

Before you can stutter out an apology and offer to end this, he kisses you. A simple, soft, unhurried kiss that causes your brain to short circuit. “Just want to take my time with you.” 

You smile feeling his words melting away your concerns. He gives you one chaste kiss on your mouth before moving his head lower down your neck, peppering kisses along the way. You giggle at the feel, Diavolo takes this moment to give you a small teasing nip on the shoulder, making you shriek “Hey!”

He lets out a breathy laugh before retreating back down your body. He pauses for both of your breasts, alternating between kissing one and simultaneously toying with the other. 

After what feels like eternity, Diavolo is between your thighs, his fingers lightly skating across the soft skin of them. You feel his breath fan over your underwear, “If you want me to stop, just say the word,” he speaks, watching as you nod your head in understanding. He presses his lips against your clothed clit, reeling in the sigh that leaves your mouth. His thumbs then move to hook around the waistband of your underwear, gradually pulling them off your legs, leaving goosebumps in their wake. “So wet, sweetheart”, he notes as he slips his middle finger inside of you. Your teeth bite down hard against your bottom lip once you feel the slight stretch from his gentle penetration. He develops a comfortable pace in and out of you before adding another, watching your face contort in pleasure. 

He chuckles, “That feel good?” 

You respond with a whine, immediately cut off when you feel the warmth of his tongue circle your clit. You feel your whole body blush, your hands gripping onto Diavolos hair, an encouragement to keep going. His fingers hit a spot, one that has you curling your toes and throwing your head back. “There she is,” he muses before going back to licking where you needed him most. 

You can’t even speak with your mind so empty from pleasure. But Diavolo knows exactly what you need - he always has. His fingers continue to flex inside you, feeling you pulse around him. “There you go baby,” he coos, “Show me how good it feels.”

You cum with a strangled moan, your back arching and thighs trembling as they squeeze either side of his head. He doesn’t stop his movements until you cry his name, removing himself from between your legs and coming back up to be face to face with you. “Tell me what you want.”

You frown, isn’t it obvious? “I want you.”

Your eyes dart down between your legs, watching his cock twitch against your slick pussy, and then back up to his beautiful face. He has this charming ease about him, like he was just made to understand you, something you’ve missed from these past weeks. He pushes his dripping tip against your entrance, eyes still connected to yours, love and lust clouding his irises.

“I want you too.”

He pushes fully inside you, your hands clawing at his shoulders to ground yourself. His thrusts are deep, you feel him in every pore of your skin, and he lets out small groans watching you succumb to the pleasure. If your fingernails digging into his skin bothered him, he didn’t show it. Maybe that’s what he needed. A physical reminder struck upon his skin that this had happened. A reminder that you willingly bared your souls to each other - something he will hold against his heart forever knowing after this moment, it will simply be a vague memory of blurred limbs and bleeding hearts.

You wrap your legs around his waist, small gasps leaving your mouth as he drags himself tentatively out of you, just to suddenly push back in and be completely sheathed by you once more. You beg for more, for him to be closer, for anything that he can give you and he does - he wants to give you everything you could possibly dream for.

You feel so deliciously full while he continues, learns what makes you feel good, what makes your whines turn into moans. You’re both entirely lost in the feel of each other, your fingers delicately intertwining with each others beside your head, juxtaposing his harsh thrusts into you. 

He studies you hard, the way you react to him,  as he tries to swallow down the devastating fact that he will never get the chance to see you like this, so vulnerable and open, again. His pace stutters at the emotional turmoil in his head, so he tries to conceal it by kissing your lips softly. Then your flushed cheeks. Then your head. Then your perfect nose. 

The pure kindness of his motions causes you to flutter around him, earning a desperate moan from him as he removes one of his hands from yours to circle your throbbing clit. Your body immediately tenses, the coil in your belly snapping as you squeeze tight around him. “There you go,” he praises, his head hidden in the crook of your neck as his hips falter from his own release following yours. 

You both lie there in contentment, breathing harshly as you come down from your joint high. He slowly pulls out of you and lays on his side to face you, his fingers lazily dancing up your hip. You giggle and bury your face into the arm propping his head up. God, you’re so beautiful.

You peek shyly at his face, seeing nothing but pure infatuation in return, until your gaze lands on his horns. You fully turn your head, “I’ve never seen them so up close before.”

Diavolo immediately knows what you’re talking about and tilts his head ever so slightly to let you look even closer, “Do they scare you?”, he questions airily, frightened of both the sheer openness of the scene before him and your answer.

“No. You could never scare me Diavolo,” you whisper, your fingers timidly skating across the roughness of his horns. “They’re beautiful. You’re beautiful.”

His breath hitches. All sense leaving his head at the brutal honesty of your words. He wants to feel your hands on him and hear your angelic voice speak forever. He needs to watch you bask in your post-sex glow, unknowingly making his heart thump loudly against his chest. He craves your presence in every way you let him.

He loves you. Diavolo, your greatest friend, your King, is painfully and irrevocably in love with you.

He forgets who he is, what duties await him once he leaves these walls, as he stupidly and impulsively opens his mouth. He whispers your name, unwavering, “I lo-“

The deafening sound of his D.D.D rips through the affinity of the room, interrupting his words. You both unintentionally flinch away from each other. The once comfortable silence of your room now instantly awkward; the tranquility engulfing the both of you. You’re ripped from the delusion that this could happen again, that Diavolo would stay. 

Beep! Diavolo watches as you move your gaze from his own to the device, and then straight back to his eyes again. He notes the sudden disappointment in your eyes and the distance begins to grow, like a weed planted in the middle of blossoming lillies. 

Beep! The sliver of moonlight from your curtains infiltrating your room feels like the harsh blinding of an interrogating spotlight, causing you to sit up and cover your chest with the cross of your arms. You feel cold. He feels bitter. Diavolo looks to you, the only future he wants, then back to the pile of clothes where his brash device is hidden, the only future he gets. 

Another beep! You stand, your body acting before your mind has a chance to catch up. Your eyes stay fixated on the ground but in your peripheral vision, you notice Diavolo hasn’t made a single move. How foolish of you to expect him to reach out for you, to tell you none of it matters after this.

He felt as if he couldn’t breathe. He had you. He had you in every way he could’ve and now he was hooked. He selfishly wanted more; you were the most beautiful drug he had ever tasted. He thinks back to just moments ago: when you had so casually and cruelly said he could never frighten you, but when he averts his eyes to you, your inherent discomfort, he quickly realises he had done just that. 

Beep! He stands too now, agonisingly aware of the stretch of space between you. He tries to think of something to say - anything that could reassure you - but fails shortly once he hears you sigh sorrowfully. 

Beep! Beep! His brows furrow as frustration begins to over flood his senses. He’s mad, not only at the dolt disturbing his peace but at himself for being so stupid. He knew nothing good would ever come from this, his brain reminded him of it every few minutes tonight, yet he pushed it down. He pushed it so far down in such a thoughtless manner that he had ended up hurting you. He understood it would be inevitable - him damaging your relationship - but he wanted so badly for it to happen later, so he could still selfishly keep a few moments with you. 

You think about his promise from earlier tonight: “You’re not losing me, I’ll always make time for you” and your heart begins to ache. He still hasnt said anything, God, what could he possibly say to make this better anyway? It’s not like you didn’t know this would happen. 

“Humans and demons will never be allowed to be together”; you had repeated this mantra in your mind so often yet somehow, in these soft, adoring moments with Diavolo, you’d allowed that phrase to slip to the back of your mind. You’re ridiculously hoping he’ll stick to his promise, that somehow he will find a way to fix this and stay here with you. 

Beep! Your mouth begins to feel tacky. It feels like these mere seconds have lasted for hours. You were embarrassed really, that you had allowed this to happen, and that you’re just stood there. Pathetic. Naked. You can’t seem to honestly read his emotions, maybe you never have, so you do what you do best, what you know. 

“Go,” you say, a harsh tone accidentally slipping into the air. You can’t even register your own voice but by the look on his face it seemed to snap Diavolo out of his trance. Unbeknownst to you, it also shatters his heart. He marginally shakes his head, scared to lose you, the best part of himself. “Please,” you beg. You can’t stand being so bare in front of him anymore, the man you’re losing, the man you can now only refer to as your King. 

You turn your entire body away from him. The continuous beeps from his phone maintaining like the rise and fall of a heartbeat monitor, contrasting the numbing death of your relationship, before it had even truly begun. You hear shuffling from behind you, the movement of clothes. You hear what sounds like a sniffle, but whittle it down to your mind playing wicked tricks on you. 

Diavolo is now fully dressed and as he stands to his feet, he can’t help but look at you, one final time. You truly are the most divine being he has ever encountered. 

His clothes feel rough against his skin and his crown feels heavy atop his head. He’s silently begging for you to turn around, to exhort him to stay, to hold his hand and say they can find a way - together.

You don’t. 

His fingers ghost past the marks you left on his shoulder, knowing they’re inevitably vanishing. He wanted them as a reminder that you were really there, that this really happened. Now they only remind him that you too, are beginning to fade right in front of him. He sniffles, tears beginning to well in his dispirited eyes.

He thinks about saying it anyway. That he loves you.

But he knows the damage he’s caused, how irreversible this is and settles for a tragic “I’m sorry,” before walking out of your door, closing it gently behind him. 

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