Prompt 3: 🥺"How could you say something like that?" (Diavolo/GN Reader)
Way back at the start of this year, to celebrate reaching 69 followers on Twitter, I let people send me prompts for the Obey Me boys for 12 hours and then tweeted the resulting stories.
Characters: Diavolo/GN reader
Prompt: 🥺 "How could you say something like that?" Sfw or not I want it SOFT
Submitted by @Yubbi_chan on Twitter.
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"Ta-da! HAHAHA, what do you think?"
You shield your eyes from the bright lights of the hotel suite, blinking as the world comes back into focus after the darkness of the passageway. Diavolo ushers you into the room and the door is locked behind the two of you.
Diavolo's arms are around you immediately. He presses your back gently against the wall, leaning in for a deep kiss that he sighs into. He tastes like demonus and the spice from dinner. His hands are wandering your body slowly as you kiss him in return, then slowly pull back.
"Uh . . . hey, mind if we slow down a bit?" you say, breathless.
He pulls back from you immediately, giving you space. His hands return to yours, holding them both in his as he had over the table at dinner.
"Ah, I got ahead of myself . . . I'm sorry, my love."
He has enough sense to look guilty and leads you away from the wall next to the doorway, into the more open space of the sitting area. Indicating to the loveseat by the fireplace, he asks, "Are you warm enough?"
"A little cold," you admit.
No sooner have you said so, the fireplace crackles to life. He did little more than wave a hand at it while his attention remained on you.
"Wait here, my love," he says.
He squeezes your hands as he disappears into the bedroom and returns with a thick blanket, looking chuffed. You laugh as he tries to figure out which edge is the long edge of the blanket before making a show of billowing it over you. It settles unevenly across your lap and he tries again, with similar results.
"Thank you," you say, pointedly grabbing the edge of the blanket.
You adjust the blanket in your lap, then pull it up over your shoulders, tucking it around yourself. He watches with a grin as you make yourself comfortable.
"And the room is nice. Could we turn off some of the lights though?"
"Of course!" he says, quick to locate the switch.
He turns off all of the lights except for the one over the kitchen island behind you, leaving the fireplace to bathe the room in softer warm light instead. You let out a sigh you didn't know you were holding in and let your head rest against the back of the couch.
"I have one more surprise for you this evening!" Diavolo announces.
You keep your eyes closed a moment longer, only opening them when he starts pottering around in the kitchen behind you.
"Oh?" you ask, a note of exhaustion evident in your voice.
He straightens up with a giant grin across his face and a cake in a giant container in his hands. You blink a couple of times as you process the sheer SIZE of this cake.
How the fuck are the two of us going to eat all that? Is Beel under the bed?!
But before you can find out the answer to either of these questions, Diavolo takes a seat beside you and holds out a plate with a generous slice of a most decadent looking piece of chocolate cake, covered in chocolate icing, rainbow sprinkles, glacé cherries, and whipped cream.
You slip your arms out from beneath the blanket to take the plate.
"It looks fancy," you say with a tired smile.
"Do you really think so?" he asks, brimming with delight.
You nod as you take a spoonful and bring it to your lips.
But the moment the cake touches your tongue, you know something is wrong. Very, very wrong. The icing, cream, and cherries all taste fine, from your very quick mental assessment, but the cake itself is so, so awful that you can't hide the way you cringe.
You spit it out before it makes you gag, but the foul taste lingers on your tongue.
"BLEH! SOLOMON MADE IT?!" You give him a horrified look, eyes watering against the godawful residue. "Are you trying to kill me?!"
Through teary eyes, you see his expression fall. Diavolo looks totally heartbroken, his own eyes watering like a kicked puppy. A hand splays across his chest in shock.
"How could you say something like that?" He doesn't sound mad, but he does sound hurt. Totally, thoroughly, severely dejected. "I made it myself."
Oh. OH. You don't know what to say so you just blink at him, then look down at where your fingers clutch at the edge of the plate as if it might come to life and try to force-feed itself to you.
"You made this . . .?" you repeat. "Oh, Dia, I'm so sorry. It's . . . really bad."
Diavolo pouts, but stiffens his lip, swallowing down the pain of your fatal blow.
"Barbatos offered to make it and said no. Then he offered to help, but I insisted I wanted to make it for you myself. I didn't think it was going to be anywhere near as good as his cakes, but . . ."
He looks at the slice of cake in his own plate and takes a spoonful.
"Surely it's not as bad as something Solomon would have made."
You cringe just watching as he puts it in his mouth. A split second later, he freezes, his eyes watering anew. He swallows without chewing.
". . . Dia?" you ask, reaching for his hand.
You place your plate on the coffee table between the couch and the fireplace and then take his plate off him, while he continues to stare dejectedly at his hands. You slip your fingers between his, gently squeezing.
"I can see why you thought Solomon had made it."
The words are spoken solemnly, but a moment later, his shoulders shake and he erupts in laughter, throwing his head back against the couch.
"Oh, I am so sorry my love. Let's . . . get the taste out of our mouths."
He makes you both a cup of tea, and the two of you snuggle under the blanket on the loveseat while you sip and chat. When you're done with your drink, he places a cushion in his lap and you lay your head down.
"I promise to let Barbatos supervise next time," he swears.
