#To: Only if he really has to because lord knows Bill's going to wring amusement out of it. Please don't make it a weird sex thing Bill | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

indiavolojones · 4 years

Text

also a long... long time ago someone asked me for an artist!mc wanting to draw satan. I still 100% want to do it, but here’s a little placeholder in the meantime!!

Satan intensely examines the framed work in front of him--you think that it might be some kind of… statement on fertility? There’s definitely a feminine figure in the garish swathes of puke green. Maybe. Could also be a peanut. If you squint and tilt your head, it kind of looks like an animal?

You’ve never had an eye for this sort of thing, only agreeing to come because Satan had invited you.

hope u guys don’t mind i completely veered off the request path.. but here’s something short!!

1.3kish words, gen, satan/gender neutral!mc

~~~

“Mammon would be furious if he knew he missed you like this,” he grins, bowing and holding his hand out.

The outfit is… fancier than anything you’ve ever really worn in front of the brothers. It’s perfectly tailored to your body thanks to Asmo, the vest cinched at your waist like one of Lucifer’s. It accentuates the slight curve of your waist, enticingly settling at the small of your back.

Your brows raise at the outstretched hand, before rolling your eyes and snorting at the gesture. Satan looks like he expects you to playfully bat his hand away with some flustered complaint. To his surprise, you take his hand, and lace your fingers with his.

Satan’s eyes widening is a sweet reward in itself.

The art exhibit Satan takes you to is far fancier than Satan had led you to believe, so with each passing devil appraising you, you’re glad you let Asmo guide you into his closet for an outfit upgrade.

Satan is dressed in a casual sports jacket and fitted slacks, but his natural good looks and the undeniable power radiating off him would have made him a knockout even if he was wearing a tracksuit. (Maybe. That actually sounds hilarious.)

You fiddle with the hem of the vest, at the quintessential, billowy-sleeved Asmo shirt he’d paired with it. You look like you belong in a fantasy novel as a princely character, but perhaps that’s what Asmo intended. If you had any doubts about how different your outfits are, the worries are blown out of the water by the sheer chaos of Devildom “high fashion”.

Besides, Satan seems to like it, if his constant gentle touches mean anything.

By comparison to the eccentric shades of Devildom fashion (some more... daring than others...), the art itself is nothing exciting. Once you’ve sipped enough champagne to calm your nerves, you realize that the art is actually...

Terrible.

You’ve seen some god-awful art up in the human realm, but it’s almost comforting to know that there are also snobby devil artists with bad technique and signatures as big as their egos. But… Satan likes it? You think.

You’re not quite sure, honestly, and you don’t want to offend him by saying anything negative. He stares at every framed work with an intensity that would burn through the canvas if looks could kill. Sometimes it’s a few seconds, sometimes several minutes, but Satan will nod once he’s finished appraising the canvas, and then move on to the next one.

Almost without fail, he will place his hand on your waist or the small of your back and lead you to another… suspect… painting.

Satan intensely examines the framed work in front of him --you think that it might be some kind of… statement on fertility? There’s definitely a feminine figure in the garish swathes of puke green. Maybe. Could also be a peanut. If you squint and tilt your head, it kind of looks like an animal? You’ve never had an eye for this sort of thing, only agreeing to come because Satan had invited you.

“This isn’t your kind of date,” Satan states, and you jump, looking at him with cinched brows.

“I never said that--” Satan rolls his eyes.

“You’ve spent more time looking at me than at the art.”

You’re a work of art is the infantile comeback that comes to mind, but you don’t have the strength to be so bold or cheesy. Crossing your arms sheepishly, you look anywhere but at him.

“I… You seemed interested, and I didn’t want to tell you no?” You admit, and Satan sighs, like he’s not sure what he’s going to do with you. “Did you…” You fumble over the words, “Did you like this one?”

Satan blinks as he looks at you, his head tilted. Huffing with amusement at what he finds in your expression, he shakes his head. He looks back at the painting and squints at it.

“Honestly, no. It’s gaudy, the technique is terrible, and I’m sure the artist was drunk the entire time. There’s Demonus stains in the corner here.” he groans, pointing at the out-of-the-ordinary purple splotches that don’t match any of the other materials used. You can’t help the glee that fills your chest at Satan admitting that he also thinks these works are absurd--there’s relief as well.

You’re not sure if you’d be able to stand another hour of this.

“Why would anyone buy this?” You ask, and Satan looks at you helplessly.

“I have no idea. Art is subjective, but most modern art makes me furious,” Satan says, shoulders shrugging, “Sometimes I try to stop and really, really look at the piece. Usually that works. I suppose if I bend over backwards, I can start to maybe piece together whatever asinine meaning the artist intended.”

“What if you end up still hating it?” you question. Satan huffs.

“Then I buy it,” Satan’s gaze shifts to look at you from the corner of his eyes, and he can’t help his wicked smirk, “And I use it for kindling.”

“What?” you ask, eyebrows cinched together. Satan holds his hands up noncommittally, and you shake your head with a fond, disbelieving laugh, “You’re terrible.”

“You think so? Let’s just get on with the second part of our date. I think you’ll enjoy it much more,” Satan hums, and before you have a chance to ask, he’s looking out into the crowd.

“Malphas!” Satan calls, and waves a hand over at a timid looking demon in an older suit.

The demon, Malphas, shuffles over with a toothy smile--it was far too easy for Satan to get his attention in this crowd. Was the demon waiting for Satan to call him over? He shakes hands with Satan, grabbing the brother by the forearm in an enthusiastic greeting.

“Satan! I’m glad you could make it,” he rasps, a row of sharp, tiny teeth in the demon’s mouth bared in what you think is a smile.

“No, thank you for the invite.” Satan is charming--you’ve always thought so, but to watch him interact with anyone not you or his own family is an interesting change of pace. Malphas seems to be tripping over himself to gain Satan’s approval, even as his beady black eyes flicker between the two of you. Satan gestures at you with one hand, placing the other hand on the small of your back.

You flush at the contact.

“Malphas, this is our human exchange student,” Satan says your name, and you extend a hand out to him. Malphas blinks down at your hand, as if it will burn him, and you realize that with how little you know of demons.

Even if you forget when you’re amidst the brothers, there are quite a few devils who are hesitant about Diavolo’s integration ideals. You trust that Satan would never let you come to any harm from them, though. Malphas coughs, but then he’s bringing a small, clawed hand up to yours. His skin is clammy, and a strange texture, but you both manage the handshake under Satan’s careful watch.

At the civilized shaking of your hands, Satan beams, “Malphas is the gallery owner. He invites me to shows for up-and-coming artists, and I attend when I can.” The brothers often comment on Satan’s popularity, with varying reactions of disbelief and envy, but getting to live it is a whole other experience in itself.

"Listen, Malphas," Satan points at the painting in front of you, "I'd like to buy this painting." Satan winks at you from the corner of his eyes, and you glance at the demon to see if he noticed Satan's wink. Malphas, however, only wrings his hands together and lets out a pleased growl, nodding his head. "Bill it to my account."

"Excellent choice, my lord," he chirps, almost like a bird, "I will get this prepared for you immediately!"

Malphas skitters off, leaving Satan smiling at you and you staring at him in utter confusion. The hand on the small of your back slides to your waist, and Satan’s holding you close to his side--the mere concept of Satan buying this shitty painting is still enough of a distraction that you don’t immediately burst into flames at it. The opulence of this gallery opening also screams expensive. Satan hadn’t even asked for the price? You have so many questions.

"But this… is awful?" You ask, trying to picture where the hell Satan would hang this. Its bright colors don't match the interior of his bedroom at all; if Satan were to hang this, you'd never be able to not see it.

Another mischievous quirk of his lips, and realization dawns on your face.

Oh.

Satan has an interesting definition of fun.

Something about the ingredients inside the paint used on Devildom works causes a spectacular chemical reaction. You wonder how many poor portraits have fallen prey to Satan’s sadism--but remembering the work itself, you’re not particularly bothered.

Ashes and paint dirty the sleeves of Asmo’s shirt and you worry about getting the stains out, but then Satan’s sidling up behind you... and you’re sure Asmo will forgive you if you compliment him enough! Probably!

Satan’s height allows him to rest his chin on your shoulder as you both stare into the makeshift bonfire, his arms wrapped loosely around your center.

“I thought you were joking,” you snort as the bright red smoke billows up into the Devildom sky.

Satan’s hot puff of laughter tickles the hair by your ear.

#writing #ch: satan #pr: satan/mc #satan/mc #obey me satan #STILL STRUGGLIN W HIM BUT I TRY!! OK!!!

144 notes · View notes