Blame it on the...
(A-A-A-A-A- Alcohol Baby) *let me show my age*
Devil's and dances. A match made in the bowels of hell. Spirits run free and spirits imbibe- maybe a bit too much. But who are you to turn down a drink or six? Especially when a handsome prince is holding out on you.
Dia x plus sized fem reader (Fight me)
Word Count: 2.2k
Your bodice is too tight.
The supple skin of your breast threatens to spill out with each twirl around the ballroom. The palace ballroom is packed. Traveling dignitaries and the princes's usual guests swirl and clash like waves across his expansive dance floor. Demons and dances go hand in hand- as does the sweltering heat they produce.
The room is warm, hot even with the amount of partygoers below him. Not that any of the revelers seem to notice or care about the temperature. Their bodies are built to withstand this. Yours, however, was not.
The heat brings simmering beads of sweat to your brilliant face. They dance along your proud cheek bones, tickling the sides of your wide nose before pooling at the pronounced cupid’s bow of your radiant smile. Diavolo follows the teasing trail of moisture as it streaks down to your bare, and woefully unblemished neck. It plays at your clavicle before finally plunging in the tight valley between your breast.
Damn, the Prince curses to himself with a dry chuckle before finishing off the dredge of his champagne. It does nothing to quell the itch of longing in his throat. He would have to commend the brothers on their creativity and ingenuity in this design.
He claps along with the crowd as the song ends and the dancers separate to look their next partner on their cards. Dia watches you bow low to a visiting Duke. Your curtsey exposes your chest further to him, and his guests traveling gaze.
Forget commending them. He should have them whipped for tempting him like this. It was unsightly for a demon of his statue to yearn for anything. Never in his life has he been so jealous of a few measly drops of water or some nameless Duke.
Diavolo wants to enjoy seeing you blend in so effortlessly with his social circles. The pride you take in his program is apparent to everyone. The societal elites couldn’t seem to get enough of you.
For your first debut, all was going beyond expectations. You smile polity at every venom laced compliment. Eye down cast down in fake humility, as if the world didn’t know you had the Princes’ favor.
His eyes narrow when another pair of hands beacon for yours, leading you into another round on the floor. He has lain no claim to you this evening. But, that hardly stopped his jealousy from souring his mood for the evening.
In truth, Dia wanted you all to himself tonight. He need bordered on the profane. You were all he imagined a human could be and more. You, his pretty human spun from glass and wrapped in Hell’s finest. The sweet scent of purity and unabashed joy for life radiated off of you and every little thing you do.
He had wanted to keep it that way. But tucking you away in a little glass box would do nothing Burt raise concerns with the dignitaries from up above. No, he had to be above his base desires.
He entertained your silly human beliefs of romance and courtship. At first he took a liking to it. It was a pleasant little novelty compared to the hard and often deadly traditions of the Devildom.
He studied to please you, to be a perfect “gentleman” as you would say. He mimicked it all, the flowers, honeyed words, and simple, yet meaningful dates. It had been worth it to see you smile and to feel something himself…for the time.
Now, his needs were over boiling. He grew tired of playing human. The urge to take you in the manner befitting his station was beginning too overcome his sensibilities.
A slim crystal flute breaks his line of sight. “Something to satiate you, my Lord?” Barbados appears at his side with a sly grin. One that the prince does not return.
“You are hardly humous.” The prince takes the glass downing it in a large gulp. The sweet liquor does nothing to calm the gnawing in his stomach and the heat raising in his loins.
His blood sings with the swell of the orchestra, pounding harder as the drink hits his stomach. The drinking will be a mistake. But, it doesn’t stop him for taking another, trying to burry the lecherous thoughts coming to the forefront in his addled state. The drinks do the opposite pulling up the acts that race through him late at night while his hand is tight around himself.
He knows the feel of your lips, and just how sweet your kiss is. He knows the softness of your hands. The warm curiosity of them as they caress his cheek, trailing up to tangle into his hair.
But, he needs to know more. He needs to know the taste of you when he delves between your thighs, legs quacking around his ears as he devours. He needs to know just how you would scream to the silent heavens above when he fills you. What euphoric pleasure it would be for you to willingly surrender your chastity to him.
A deep shudder runs up his spine, the stone banister groaning under the pressure of his grip. With a deep breath Dia pushes himself away for the merriment. “I will be retiring for the night. Keep my quarters clear of wondering guests.” Bloodlust and restrained passions were a dangerous mix.
Barbados bows low humming thoughtfully at the demand. “If that is your desire.” He looks to the crowd momentarily before getting the door for the Prince. “Shall I call for you little Giglio?” Your pet name on his butlers lips brings about a visceral rage.
Dia bares his fangs in warning. “Do not dare. Let her enjoy her evening.”
“Even if you don’t enjoy yours?”
———————————————
All the dancing was making you dizzy. The hours of drinking, talking and toeing the line of propriety has done a number on you. You are flush, dusky skin glowing with sweat and exertion.
The hour prior you had begged Belphegor to loosen the ties of your corset. The constraints making the sweltering heat of the dance floor at least bearable. Not that any of your dance partners seem to notice your discomfort or having the same issue. Figured.
Despite the purpose the the program no demon seemed to remember the cardinal rule: Humans are fragile.
Yet, you persisted. It didn’t matter if your feet scream out, or if the drinks were getting to you. No, there was one demon you simply needed to dance with. You met Diavolo’s eyes only once this entire evening. It was brief, a simple wink of one dazzling gold eye before he was pulled into talks with whatever traveling dignitary vying for his attention. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fuel your determination.
He hadn’t danced once this evening and Dia loved dancing.
Something naive and hopeful blossoms in your chest. Could he perhaps be saving one for you? Maybe all those evenings out together will finally culminate into something greater. Something official. A lofty dream, improbable and stupid…and yet.
Your question was answered with a devastating blow when you glanced to his very empty seat. He had vanished. With that the night falls heavy upon your shoulders. Excusing yourself from the waiting crowd you make a beeline to the exit, heels shuffling on the polished marble. You try your best to ignore the wandering eyes of the passing demons. Down in the Devildom they felt no need to mask their feelings or true desires. Asmo had been so adamant, swearing on his mother’s life that this dress would drive the prince to the brink of madness.
How stupid of you. He didn’t even have a mother.
Your dress toed a fine line. It danced between a playful innocents with it’s soft ruffled hems and draping fabric. The lay of the fabrics on your hips hints too all the supple flesh begging to be explored beneath the wide skirts. It’s pearls, painstakingly hand stitched into the bone ribbing of your corset shimmer in the candle light of the hall. Their smooth white radiance accentuate the golden lace and precious metals spun into fine threads finishing off the edges of the mantle. So many soft feminine designs meld together in stark contrast to the bold colors of the fabric. It was a stamp, a regrettably removable mark of his claim.
Simply put, you wore his colors. Deep crimson and black covering you from chest to toe. You tug at your stomacher trying in vain to contain your chest trying desperately to spill out. One deep breath would have your breast breaking free of their tight confinements.
Which, is probably exactly what Asmo had wanted. No doubt wishing a devilish blessing on each stitch that it would fail in the most fashionable way. Devilish ass… not that you wouldn’t have minded it too badly.
You blush, excusing yourself from the ballroom. What a mortifying thought. Diavolo has been nothing but a perfect gentleman, and all your stupid human brain could only think of was sex. “How predictably human.” You grumble walking till the guest trickled away and you were left blissfully alone. Walking alone you wander the halls only partially paying attention to your surrounds.
It was easy, getting lost in the quiet beauty of the Palace. In the beginning, Diavolo himself showed you his halls. He was overjoyed to share the history carved into the marble. At the end he drags you early to show you the parts of that hall he built himself.
You stop finally, stumbling over yourself as your feet scream for a break at such a section. These halls were wider then the rest. It’s arches while not masterfully done were still beautiful in their own ways. You fingers trace along deep grooves marring the stone pillar next to you.
Resting in front of a large stain glass window you look out over the turbulent sea below. The wails of the souls of the damned echo from below. Their spirits crashing against the rocky cliffs. Looking out over the vast nothingness, your mind wanders.
You wish you could have danced just once with Dia. To feel the solid plane of his chest pressed against yours as he takes lead. What you wouldn’t give just to have his hands on you again. Even if only for one dance…
You look back to the darken corridor remembering all the stolen kisses in this every hallway. Your lips tingle at the memories. His kisses were so soft and patient. You never expressed your… inexperience but you knew he knew. Feeling the trembles of you lips and body when he held you close.
He taught you wordlessly, guiding you and building your confidence until you could explore him unabashedly. It was so simple, so intensely human. You only ever got tastes of his true hunger.
Sometimes his hunger pushed through. His hands would roam, tugging and groping at you uniform. It was as if he was trying to drag you under into his waves of unrelenting passions. The heat would last just a moment before he would pull away eyes wild and utterly savage. These moments were the ones that fueled so many of your sleepless nights.
With a sigh, you move away from the window walking right into Barbados with a screech.“My apologies,” The demon steadies you with a cool smile. “But, I did announce my arrival.” He had learned over time just how bad popping up out of no where was for the human heart.
“I-“ You collect yourself. “No, it’s not your fault. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Hmm.” He nods looking you over, cat like eyes reflecting in the moon’s glow. “May I?” He escorts you to an empty bench further down. “I had feared the party was becoming a little too rambunctious for your liking.” You follow allowing him to fuss over you.
He sit you on a puff tucked into an alcove. You pat the spot next to you on the plush cushion. He takes it gracefully. He pulls your feet up, resting them on his pressed slacks. He inspects you making note of your swollen ankles, sweaty brow and fluttering breath. “You’re simply flushed.”
“I’ve,” You poke at his chest. “Been drinking. It’s normal for humans. And…” You stop yourself before your loose tongue could admit to your fantasying. Probably wasn’t polite to admit you were having the most improper thoughts about your esteemed host.
Barbados arches a slim brow but wisely doesn’t comment at your sudden shift in attitude. Your face growing even warmer. Instead he lets a friendly silence fall. Whatever magics he possessed focused on mending your feet in the meanwhile.
The moment lulls you into a sleepy trance. The night and drinks catching up to you. Gods know when the boys would be ready to go of the night, and you couldn’t walk home alone.
“Would you like a room for the night?” Barbados asks, the ever vigilant butler ready to please.
“Really?” You crack an eye open. “I wouldn’t be intruding?”
The old devil laughs waving away your concerns. “Nonsense, I have the perfect room prepared.”