#the devil ch

For the first few weeks, the demon did everything he could to ignore you, tossing you towards his imps or King Dice at any given chance he had. It didn’t matter how many sad, glassy-eyed stares you’d give him-- he wasn’t a damn babysitter.

And yet you still followed at his heels like a puppy, and squirmed your way into his daily routine:

If he had to sift through a mountain of paperwork for that day, you’d be situated in the corner of his office, idly doodling. If he had to sit through a business meeting, you patiently waited in his office. And when he returned, you greeted him with a grin before running up to grab his leg into a hug.

Despite his best efforts, the demon couldn’t get rid of you. And it wasn’t until that, one day, you had left a gift behind for him, that he had taken a moment to pause. It was a crudely drawn picture of the two of you. The words “my bestest friend” were scribbled beneath the black blob that was supposed to be him, and he felt a low pang ache in his chest.

The demon is conflicted about it for a while. While he’s no longer tossing you to the nearest henchman nearby, the Devil is still trying his best to ignore you. There is no way in hell that he’s getting attached to some-

That sentiment got thrown out the window the moment you tackled one of the Cup brothers, all because they tried to hurt him. And when you gained a black eye during the tussle, the Devil saw red-

Well, shit. Guess it’s too late for him at this point.

Afterward, the two of you are practically attached at the hip. Wherever the Devil goes, spectators would find you trotting along after him-- a pleased-as-punch smile on your youthful face. Be it meetings, up on the balcony chair over the main lobby, or in his throne room, you’re always by his side. And though the demon maintains a mask of indifference to the public, the way he occasionally reaches down to ruffle your hair is telling enough.

While the Devil is centuries old and undoubtedly is supposed to be the more responsible between the two of you, he’s far too lax. Not to mention the demon's a bit of a bad influence. Which, to be fair, he's the Devil. What were you expecting? He'll try to teach you how to gamble, encourage you to punch anyone who wronged you, and he even let you take a sip of his Scotch since you were curious.

Though he ended up howling in laughter as you hurriedly spat it back out. Yeah, he’s kind of a jerk like that-

He keeps a drawer in his office dedicated to the gifts you give him. Try as he may to maintain his uncaring bad-guy attitude, he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t cry a little when you gave him a friendship bracelet you’d worked on all night.

-----------------------------(Bonus Drabble: “First Meeting”)----------------------------------------------

The Devil glared intently at the little whelp standing before him, his thin lips curling into a scowl. This is what had pulled him away from his work desk? The kid hardly looked old enough to know how to tie their damn shoelaces, let alone call him here of all places.

As the demon sized them up, the kid gently tilted their head as their nose wrinkled. They stared up at the massive beast in front of them, their eyes falling into a squint. Soon, they looked down towards their hands. The Devil followed their gaze and was met with an old, dusty tome that looked far too heavy for their tiny hands.

Their bottom lip jutted into a puzzled pout and in a small voice, the child gently mumbled. “You don’t look like a fairy…”