W2H x Reader OneShots and Preference

Don't Let That Devil get to You

Prompt: You're just a small music artist doing what you love, regardless of how much attention you get. But there's one man that tries to entice you every so often. At least, that's how it started, but now you can help but feel like he's there for something more. 

Request/Suggested?: Yes, by 00TheGreatGeek00

Author's snip: Finally! Something for Meph! Ya'll have no idea how long the Mephistopheles one-shot category has just been sitting here waiting for at least a singular one-shot to have. Thank you so much Geek, you're my favorite, and only, request patron!

(Y/N) = Your name

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  Bright spotlights, big stage, sold-out venues, adoring fans that will follow your every word, and songs that make top of the charts only within half a day of dropping. It sounds amazing. Being the newest big shot in the music industry. Something that so many people want, but never get. Willing to do anything to become the artist in everyone's mouths. 

  Not you though. You don't really care for the idea of groupies and a lavish life brought by infamy. You made music simply for the art and being able to make something of your own. Something that you felt was easily lost once artists got famous, losing the soul of what they made. You assumed that that's what people meant when artists "sell their souls to the devil". Their 'soul' being the part of themselves that they put in their music and 'the devil' being the fame asking for more out of them. That is, until one night.

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  The first time you met him was probably through chance, to be honest. You were opening up act for the main performance at a bar. Nothing you weren't used to, that was your usual role when you landed a gig. Just warm up the crowd for a little while and then let them finally have who they were actually there for. 

  This night you were prepping the crowd for an up and rising band that they were there for. You had just left the stage with your equipment and instruments when a man approached you. He was tall and slim, wearing a red suit, and had ginger hair that bled into side-burns that were accompanied with a little goatee. You recognized him as someone in the crowd since he stuck out like a sour thumb compared to the sea of people adorning a fashion more fit for the event. 

  "(Y/n), right?" he asked casually, revealing that he had a New Jersey accent. "Yes? Who might you be?" you responded with a question of your own. 

  "I saw you opening up for tonight's big show. You're pretty good, kid." he complimented, not answering your question. You thanked him.

  You two conversed for a little while. Him giving you small compliments on how talented you seemed and how you seem like you could make it big in the industry and you thanking him and his constant compliments and praises. You kinda weren't paying attention to it, assuming him to be some sort of contractor who was more on the scamming side. 

Up until he asked you a rather odd question.

  "Would you sell your soul to get up there?" he said.

  Still having that calm and casual smile that looked more like a smirk.

  "Excused me?" you asked, not knowing whether or not you heard him correctly.

  "Would you sell your soul so that you can finally be up there with all the other big shots?" he repeated. "I can get you there within the blind of an eye, kid." he commented.

  "About two months ago, those three bozos on stage right now couldn't get more than a small group of people to listen to their garbage. And look at them tonight, they filled out a whole bar," he mentioned, still with that casual voice, but the words he was saying made it slightly cryptic. 

  "Not that you don't have a chance and just make auditory trash. You're actually good at what you're doing. You just need a little help from another party." he complimented, putting an emphasis on the word 'help'. 

  You would be lying if you said you weren't a bit scared. He stared at you with his eyes that you hadn't noticed were yellow up until that moment. They looked straight into yours as if he were trying to scare your soul out of you. 

  "No." you managed to squeeze out of you. 

  "No, thank you." you re-worded, trying not to sound rude to someone who, as silly as it sounds, might be the devil.

  "I figured you'd say that. Don't worry. Everyone usually does when first offered." he spoke as his voice seemingly dropped the cryptic undertone in the things he said. 

  "I should be going anyways. My current clients are almost ready for our little meeting," he said. "Here. Just in case you change your mind." the man added, putting a small business card in your hand and promptly left before you could even properly gather yourself from the odd interaction and ask who he was again.

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  From the card, you saw that his name was Mephistopheles. Or at least he referred to himself as that on the business card. There was even a means of contact, but you weren't interested in what he was offering. Regardless of if that band you opened for that night was now getting aired left and right and crawling with women, even if they actually do sound like garbage.

  But your lack of contact didn't stop Mephistopheles from coming up to you every once in i while after serving as another opening gig or barely even noticeable performance. 

  After a while, you even grew used to him showing up backstage when you're alone to the point where he couldn't possibly startle you when he did show up. And every time he'd come, he'd compliment you and your music until he coughed up that annoying little offer again, and you declined it again. Hell, at a certain point he stopped giving you the offer and would just hang out with you a little bit backstage together, even singing him a song your working on if you're up for it. It was nice.

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  You just got done playing him a new little song that you still had in the works but felt confident enough to perform in front of him. Meph gave you a little applause from where he sat. 

  "Jeez, you really are good aren't you (Y/n). Are you sure you don't want to give up your soul for some deserved fame?" he complimented, adding the old offer that was now just a little joke in between the two of you. You gave a small chuckle at his words and set yourself aside from your instrument.

  "Enough about me Meph. How have you been? I haven't seen you in a while." You spoke. 

  "Eh, you know. Working on some stuff in hell, and having to deal with a new worker of mine." Mephistopheles responded. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with him, himself. He's a sweet kid. But I've assigned him to counterpart with this living kid, and, well, he's not very good at it. I honestly think he has a little crush on the guy." he added. 

  You giggled, "Well, you gotta cut the boy some slack. People don't really do what they're supposed to do when they have a crush on somebody." you remarked.

  Meph looked at you for a moment, and you could tell that there was something that went on in his mind for a second. You couldn't tell what that thought was but you didn't ask since that's between him and himself. 

  "I guess they do, don't they?" he commented. 

  "Speaking of the kid, I haven't checked on him in a while. I should probably get going." Meph spoke as he got up from his seat to leave. 

  You bid him goodbye only for him to say - "See you, sweetie."- before leaving you to process what he just called you, just like the night you first met.

Sweetie? He called you 'sweetie'. He's never called you that before. Not that you're complaining, it was just sudden. You actually kinda liked it and felt your face get slightly warm with a faint blush.

  No, no he didn't mean it like that. You can't blush at that. He's just being his regular smug, cocky, charming self. You can't let that devil get to you.