All Hail (Diavolo x Reader)

100 Days Before Rebellion

Diavolo doesn't understand how he got into this position, with you straddling his upper body and grinning down at him like the mischievous little devil you are, holding his body firm against the grass as your knees weigh down on his hands.

"Let me kiss you," You repeat, your eyes confident as they click with his.

A hand finds its way onto Diavolo's jaw, tracing the sharp angle of the flesh.

"I..." The demon trails off, his voice thick with tension. Thoughts flare in his mind: thoughts of Rebellion and the Resistance and everything which demands he push you off.

The demon closes his eyes.

He really doesn't understand how he got into this position.

And honestly, how can he? Frozen under your earnest eyes, he feels like his mind is completely deserted of the memories that led up to this moment. The memories which hinted that this was an undeniable outcome. The memories which should have prepared him for this, but didn't.

Because twenty days ago, when you approached him, he really should have known better than to accept your proposition—because it could have only served as a catalyst for one thing, and it was the last thing Diavolo was prepared for.

***

[20 days ago, 100 days before Rebellion]

"No."

Diavolo crosses his arms and turns away from you, quietly stuffing another spinach puff into his mouth as he continues to disregard you completely.

"What?" You whine, jutting your lower lip out into a pout. He didn't even consider your suggestion! "Diavolo, please. I'm a good teacher, I promise. If you let me train you, you're going to be strong enough to defeat anyone, even the Victor!"

But the demon simply shakes his head, continuing to eat the food you brought him. "I don't want to learn the art of combat from someone so weak," He mumbles through a mouthful of food, not even bothering to make eye contact with you as he reaches for a satchel of water.

You snatch the box of treats from his lap before he can react, narrowing your eyes sharply at him. "Someone so weak?"

"I didn't—" You watch as Diavolo sputters beneath your glare. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Tell me, then: How did you mean it?"

"I..." The demon trails off, shifting awkwardly under your gaze. After a long silence, he sighs. "Listen, it's just that it wouldn't be fair. I'm practically triple your size. And—and look," He gestures, thrusting his arm out and motioning for you to do the same.

The moment you do, a scrape of annoyance fades from your face when you compare the size of your arm to Diavolo's (which, when placed directly next to yours, looks like something akin to a mammoth's leg next to a chipmunk's tail).

"I'd hurt you, and I don't want to do that," Diavolo concludes, popping another pastry into his mouth as if that settles it.

Immediately, a piece of your heart melts. And you groan inwardly.

Why does this demon have to be so sweet all the time?

You try to suppress the way a warmth instinctively creeps onto your cheeks at the words, instead choosing to focus on the red of his hair to bring your attention back down to earth.

Only, the longer you stare at the crimson tresses, the more you want to run your hands through them. And now that the strands aren't matted with blood, they look so soft and touchable and fluffy and...